by Anne Mather
14
The smell of wood smoke was in the air. Now that the mist had finally dispersed, the sun was clearing away the remaining clouds, and the woods beyond Fairings were displaying all the many colours of autumn. Underfoot, the woodland paths were slippery. It had rained the night before, and the dampness had turned much of the vegetation into mulch. But at the edges of the path, it was still possible to feel the crispness of the fallen leaves, and Mrs Webster's old spaniel, Flora, crunched happily beside them as they walked.
The scent in the woods was quite distinctive. It was a earthy mixture of wood, and foliage, and gentle decay. Where water was dripping from the bare branches, it sounded almost hollow—a haunting evocation of the season, of nature's grief that summer was gone.
Caitlin walked a little ahead of Nathan, ostensibly to show him the way. But, in truth, it was to avoid any intimate conversation. She was seriously wishing the walk was over. Her mother had had no right to force this situation on her, and for all his apparent enthusiasm, she was sure her husband wasn't enjoying the outing, either.
Apart from a casual remark about the weather, Nathan hadn't spoken since they left the house. She was sure he was still concerned about the contract her father and Marshall had mentioned that morning, and for all she had deter-mined not to get involved with him, she guessed it didn't get any easier not knowing who he was. But at the same time, she could appreciate her father's position. If there was some problem for which Nathan had been responsible, his amnesia must be causing some delay. But at least he believed Nathan's condition wasn't fabricated now. Until he'd spoken to her husband himself, he hadn't been convinced.
As for Marshall…
Glancing surreptitiously behind her, she found Nathan bending to pick up a twig to throw for Flora. The spaniel loped away to collect its booty, and Nathan straightened before she could look away.
"Something wrong?" he asked, quirking a dark eyebrow, and Caitlin wished he hadn't caught her watching him. She had no desire for him to think she was even mildly interested in his welfare, and it annoyed her that he could provoke her without any obvious effort.
"No."
Her answer, short and curt, was hardly convincing, but she turned about anyway and advanced along the path. If only she didn't find him so disturbing, she thought uneasily. Why now, when he'd only aroused her revulsion before?
Despite the apparent changes in his behaviour, she was too cynical to believe he'd been transformed by the accident. Characters didn't change; they only revealed different facets. As soon as his memory returned—and with it, all the unpleasant aspects of their history—he'd be just as objectionable as before.
Yet…
"Why don't I believe you?"
Once again, the warmth of his breath on her neck alerted her to the fact that he had closed the space between them. While she had been pondering the inconsistencies of human nature, Nathan had quickened his stride and was now immediately behind her on the path. The solid strength of his body was providing a welcome shield to the breeze that curled a little chillingly through the bare branches, and her skin tingled in anticipation of the threat his nearness evoked.
"Because you enjoy creating problems?" she suggested crisply, determined not to be intimidated by his mood. She schooled her features into neutrality before casting a careless look over her shoulder. "Are you sure this isn't too tiring for you? We can go back."
"And miss seeing the view from the top of the hill?" he countered innocently, and Caitlin couldn't be sure if he was making fun of her or not. It was true. The woods did slope up towards the distant plateau, and Mrs Webster had mentioned the panorama of three counties, which could be seen from the top of Keeper's Hill.
"It's not compulsory," Caitlin said now, aware that her father's old parka had never suited him so well. Once, she would have said that Nathan in anything other than his expensive designer suits would look totally out of place. But suddenly, the shabby purple jacket gave him a ruggedness she'd never noticed before.
"Aren't you enjoying the walk?" he asked, continuing his deliberate appeal to her sympathies, and her gloved hands curled into fists. "I am," he added, coming abreast of her on the path and slinging an arm across her shoulders. "These woods remind me of the woods back home."
"Back home?" Caitlin was too shocked by his words to displace the unwelcome familiarity of his arm.
"Yeah, back home," he repeated, his expression vaguely ironic. "But don't ask me where that is, 'cause I don't know."
Caitlin's breath escaped on a sound of aggravation. "Are you sure you don't say these things deliberately?" she demanded. "You must have known how that would sound to me. Or are you really so naive you don't even think of it? I should be careful if I were you. People might get suspicious."
Nathan's lips tightened. "Are you?"
"Am I what?"
"Suspicious." He paused. "I'd like to know what you think I have to gain." His eyes dipped to her mouth, and she felt an inward shiver. "I thought you were on my side, but I guess I was wrong."
"Oh, don't be silly." Caitlin's response was coloured as much by her own unwilling attraction to him as by any sudden confidence in his cause. "I just don't want—anyone-thinking you're making a fool of them. And—and these sudden spurts of memory don't even make sense."
"Anyone?" Nathan's mouth twisted. "I guess you mean your father, don't you? And that robot clone, O'Brien. What's he to you?"
"To me?" Caitlin was astounded. "Marshall means nothing to me. He's just Daddy's assistant, that's all."
"Mmm."
Nathan was thoughtful, and in his present mood, Caitlin didn't like to draw away. Yet the weight of his arm was absurdly physical, and she stood there stiffly, waiting for him to go on.
"I thought his attitude towards your father was—well, rather familiar," he said at last. "Has he been his assistant for long?"
"No." Caitlin didn't like his inference, and this time she didn't hesitate about putting some distance between them, and his arm fell to his side. "I don't know what you're implying. But you never liked him, so I suppose I can't expect anything else."
"I didn't?" Nathan's grimace was mildly humorous as he ambled after her. "So I haven't changed that much, wouldn't you say? I can't honestly say I disliked the guy, but he does appear to call the shots. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was in charge."
"That's ridiculous!"
Caitlin's response was predictable, but it was unnerving to hear her husband echoing her own doubts. If she and Nathan had talked more in the past, might they have reached an understanding? she wondered. But, no. Nathan had never been so approachable before.
Or so dangerous…
"Anyway," she went on, changing the subject, "you have to admit it's odd how you keep getting these flashes of memory."
"Yeah, right." Nathan gave her a wry look. "But I don't know any more about it than you do. I wish I did. How do I know if it's a real memory or just something I once read in a book?"
Caitlin shrugged. Again, she could feel herself responding to the weight of his frustration, and because she didn't want him to know it, she hurried on. It wasn't her problem, she told herself repeatedly. He'd deceived her too often in the past to expect her to support him now.
"You don't believe me, do you?"
He'd caught up with her again, and she felt the disturbing twinge of sensuality in her bones. "It's not that," she said. "I'm simply trying to make some sense of what you've told me. It doesn't achieve anything to keep going round in circles. I'm just trying to help you, that's all."
"Tell me about it." There was anger in his voice now, and she realised he'd completely misread her mood. "It's a pity you didn't think of that this morning. When I tried to make love to you, you were shaking in your shoes. Okay, before you say it, you weren't wearing shoes at that moment. But what kind of a marriage do we have, Kate? Tell me, have I ever raped you in the past?"
"No." Caitlin's breath caught in her throat. "I never said—oh, you're exag
gerating—"
"Am I?" His ungloved hand fastened about her upper arm. "So what is it? Why are you so afraid of me? Dammit, I'm not some monster, am I? Can't you see I need to know?"
Caitlin could feel the heat of those hard fingers clear through the fine wool of her sleeve. There was frustration in his grasp, yes, but also an unknowing feeling of possession. Whether he was aware of it or not, he was demonstrating how powerless she could be.
She shivered in spite of the warmth of her long duster. She had wrapped the thick coat about her in an effort to augment her almost amorphous attire. She hadn't wanted him to think she was doing anything to provoke his interest, unaware that its dusky folds accentuated the pure clarity of her face.
"No," she said again, forcing herself to stay still within his grasp. As she turned her head to look at him, strands of honey-blonde hair caught against her black velvet collar, and she realised when she saw his gaze move to them that any wrong move on her part could precipitate a crisis. "Of course I'm not—afraid of you," she added. Afraid of herself, maybe. "But you are—unfamiliar. If you'd let me get to know you, it would help."
"Get to know me?" His eyes, dark and impenetrable, moved over her pale face. "How the hell am I supposed to let you do that if you won't give me a chance?" His thumb moved against her sleeve in a circling motion. "Help me, Kate. You're the only one who can."
"I will." But Caitlin's heart was in her throat, and although she was trying to steel herself against him, she could feel his heat invading her, melting her resistance, destroying her reserve. "Look," she appended hastily, "this isn't the place to have this kind of discussion. You're cold. I'm cold. I think we should turn back."
"You don't feel cold to me," said Nathan, his voice softer now, gentler, imitating the sensuality she could see in his eyes. Oh, God, she thought, how would she feel if he kissed her? How far was she going to allow this to go?
His breath fanned her cheek, warm and pleasantly flavoured with the coffee he had drunk after lunch, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to appear unaffected by his nearness. The Nathan she remembered had usually smelt of alcohol, and she struggled to keep that thought foremost in her mind.
The sound of Flora, scuffling through the leaves at their feet, was a welcome distraction. Glancing down at the dog, she said, "Look, even Flora's ready to go home."
"I'm not," said Nathan, startling her, and lifting his free hand, he brushed back the silky curtain of her hair. "This is my home," he added simply, and cupping his hand round her neck, he brought her lips to his.
Weakness, hot and debilitating, flooded over her. His mouth on hers had a sweetness it had never had before. The fear he'd once evoked was absent. She felt dizzy, but it was a pleasant sensation, as his moist tongue learned the contours of her mouth.
And because she was curious to find out what he intended, she let him prolong that intimate invasion. After all, she told herself, in the tiny corner of her brain that was still functioning, she had nothing to fear from him here. With the damp leaves beneath their feet, and the mist slowly re-appearing, it was hardly an ideal situation. He could surely not attempt a seduction in the woods.
She was wrong.
As the kiss lengthened and deepened, she knew she'd made another miscalculation. Before she could even drag her gloved hands out of her pockets, he had backed her against the tree behind her and imprisoned her within the barrier of his hands. His mouth possessed hers; there was no other way to describe it. His warmth, his weight, his whole body threatened her very existence.
Yet, in all honesty, it was not a threat that alarmed her. For all she still offered some resistance, her senses were imploring her to give in. Almost against her will, her body was responding to the muscled power she sensed he was still controlling, and deep in her stomach a flame began to burn.
The memory of how he had treated her on their honeymoon returned to taunt her. But the fears she had had of him then no longer seemed to apply. As crazy as it was, she sensed he wouldn't hurt her. Had time—and his relationship with Lisa Abbott—taught him constraint?
She didn't know; she didn't care. She particularly didn't want to think of the woman who had to take some of the blame for Nathan's behaviour.
His lips were devouring hers now, eating away at any opposition she might make. His tongue, wet and forceful, was filling her mouth with the taste of him, almost stopping her breathing. Her head was swimming as she was mindlessly caught in the web of his fascination. He was consuming her, and she was rapidly losing the will to care.
He kissed her nose, the delicate curve of her cheek, her eyelids; they fluttered closed beneath the sensuous touch of his caress. Now he filled her senses as well as her vision, and as if aware of her crumbling defences, he allowed his heavy body to rest on hers.
Caitlin felt as if they were moulded together. She couldn't think, she couldn't act, she could only feel. Her whole being was suffused with a wholly unfamiliar hunger. His muttered words—sensuous, sensual, sometimes even erotic words—only added to the unreality of his embrace.
And part of that unreality was the knowledge that Nathan had never made love to her as he was doing now. Even in the earliest days of their relationship, when she had foolishly believed he respected her, he had never kissed her in such a sensuous way. She had never felt this tingling, this awareness, this anticipation of what might come after. She'd always wanted to pull away before they got that far.
But nothing could prevent the wild delight she was experiencing at this moment. Awakening feelings she'd never even known she possessed. With the growing pressure of Nathan's arousal against her stomach, she was incapable of coherent reasoning. And when he wedged his leg between her thighs, she had no fear.
His mouth found hers again, teasing and biting at her lower lip, sucking the tip of her tongue into his mouth. With every sensual touch of his lips, he was inciting her desire, and tearing off her gloves, she cupped his face.
His response was to pull one of her hands against his mouth and press a moist kiss into her palm. She felt as if she could feel that urgent caress through every nerve of her being, and when he licked the dampness from her palm, she felt a matching dampness pooling between her legs.
Did he know how she was feeling? she wondered anxiously. Could he feel the heat that throbbed against his thigh? Did he know how much she wanted to rub herself against him? To ease her aching need against his leg?
"Do it," he said against the hollow of her ear, and for a shattering moment she thought he had read her mind.
"Do what?" she asked, dry-mouthed, and he used the moment to draw the sides of her coat apart and fill his hands with the swollen fullness of her breasts.
"Touch me," he breathed, and when she hesitated, he took her hands and drew them to his groin.
He pressed her quivering fingers along the hard shaft that strained his zip, and then left them there while he opened her woollen jacket to continue his exploration of her body. Beneath the bodysuit she was wearing, she could feel her own arousal, and the abrasion of his palms caused the tender buds of her nipples to thrust against his hands.
The sensation caused a sharp pain of longing to spiral down into her thighs. It was impossible not to be aware of what he was doing to her, and where before she had been an unwilling spectator, now she was a willing participant. Almost without her volition, her hands moved to his buckle. She wanted to touch him; she wanted to wrap her hands around him, and his sudden intake of breath proved that he wanted it, too.
And then Flora barked.
The spaniel had evidently detected the presence of someone else in the woods, and Caitlin barely had time to drag her coat about her before Ted Follett and his two retrievers came strolling out of the trees. Flora's barking increased in volume as she went to investigate the intruders, and Caitlin took advantage of the dogs' frenzied reunion to slide out from between Nathan and the tree.
She probably wouldn't have been able to escape so easily if Nathan hadn't taken rather lon
ger than she did to pull himself together. As it was, she noticed rather worriedly that he slumped weakly against the trunk when she pulled away. But his groan of frustration seemed to reassure the elderly gardener. He evidently thought the walk had tired him out.
"I say," he exclaimed, ignoring the dogs in his haste to offer his assistance, "is Mr Wolfe all right? If you need any help to get him back to the house, just say, Mrs Wolfe. It's pretty chilly at the moment, and Mrs Goddard was just telling me your husband wasn't even well enough to come down to supper yesterday evening."
"I'm fine."
As if he was resentful of the other man talking to her about him as if he couldn't answer for himself, Nathan turned and braced himself against the tree. He didn't look fine, Caitlin thought guiltily. In fact, he looked exhausted. But he forced a smile to reinforce his claim.
"Thanks for the offer," he added, directing his remark to Ted Follett. "But perhaps you're right. I think I have had enough." His eyes were guarded as they flickered over Caitlin. "However, I'm sure my wife can manage. We'll have to miss out on the view for today, Kate. Come on. I'm ready to go back to the house."
15
Supper that evening was a fairly formal affair.
There were six of them at the table: Matthew and Daisy Webster, Marshall O'Brien, himself and Caitlin, and Nancy Kendall, a young schoolteacher from the village, invited, he was sure, to even the numbers.
Or to keep Marshall from monopolising Matthew's attention, he pondered, still sure there was something not quite right about their relationship, no matter what Caitlin said. The conclusion might have been obvious, but for all his doubts, they didn't act like lovers. But they sure as hell didn't act like employer and employee.
Then there was Mrs Webster's attitude towards Marshall to consider. It was apparent she had no love for the young man. Yet, if that was so, what was he doing here? Surely she had the right to say who came into her house.
