Phantom Lover

by Susan Napier

  Perhaps her lofty lie pricked his conscience, for his stance relaxed.

  ‘I’ll get them for you, Honor, I promise.’ With a deft nudge of his hip he thrust the drawer closed again and hooked a finger under her belt. ‘Just not tonight. Really...it’s late and I’m tired.’ He towed her stiffly resisting body back around the bed.

  Her little snort told him what she thought of his promises.

  ‘When?’ she demanded.

  ‘Soon.’

  She dug in her heels, grabbing the end rail of the bedstead as he tried to manoeuvre her to the door. ‘How soon?’

  His mouth compressed at her stubbornness and his fingers twisted impatiently in her belt. ‘As soon as I can get to them. Now why don’t you go back to bed—?’

  ‘Get to them?’ All her senses went on alert at his slip. ‘Where are they? Don’t tell me you gave them to the police?’ she wailed in mortification.

  ‘No, of course not. Look, Honor, I—’ Something gave between them and they both looked down in surprise. The aged belt had parted under the pressure of his strong fingers and with nothing to anchor it the thick coat curled apart under its own formidable weight.

  There was a tiny silence. Adam was first to recover.

  ‘Rolling out the red carpet for me, Honor?’ he murmured softly, his metaphor revealing how dangerously attune to her thoughts he was. He fingered a fold of slippery, butter-coloured satin. ‘Isn’t this rather demure, given your wicked taste in lingerie?’

  Her mouth felt strangely dry. ‘You were the one who did my packing,’ she pointed out croakily, fascinated by the contrast between the shiny-smooth fabric and the hair-roughened back of his hand. She should step away, she knew she should. This was terrible. Exactly the sort of thing she had wanted to avoid!

  ‘Very sensuous, though...’ He flattened his hand against the front of her shoulder and created a soft friction between the fabric and her skin, the warmth of his touch sinking to her very bones. She felt a vivid tingling in her breasts and suddenly there were jagged shoals forming under the slick satin.

  ‘And maybe not so demure,’ he growled, watching the change take place. Where the fabric had formerly flowed over her breasts in a smooth unbroken curve, it now fell from two prominent peaks which trembled with each uncertain breath she took. His hand moved down and suddenly he was weighing her in his large palm, his fingers curving under her breast to her ribs while his thumb rode the upper swell. ‘Look how perfectly you fill my hand...’

  Honor bit her lip to stop herself moaning at his throaty murmur of gratified discovery of her size. His thumb moved experimentally against the thinly sheathed peak and this time the sound escaped her control, along with an explicit shiver that arced along her nerves, transmitting an unmistakable message to the man who held her.

  His eyes smouldered, the sensuous curiosity in his expression hardening to savage satisfaction.

  ‘Oh, yes, you like that, don’t you, Honor? You like the way I can make you feel...’

  With his other hand he reached around and took hold of the collar of the coat, peeling it down her body and kicking it away from their feet as his fingers returned to stroke warmly up the sensitive back of her thigh. The satin hem ruffled against his forearm as he ventured further, teasing the soft downiness of her bottom. With a thick groan he spanned the twin globes with the broad cup of his hand, adjusting his stance to pull her tightly between his legs as he found her mouth and set the seal on her pleasure with his kisses.

  The taste of him was as recklessly novel and exciting as his touch and Honor stopped lying to herself and threw caution to the winds. She wrapped her arms around his neck and went on tiptoe to fit herself closer to the hard male contours. The hem of his robe parted as he accommodated himself to her need, her hands clenching in the silky dampness of his hair as she felt the naked rasp of thick, hard thighs against her own. They were as densely furred as his chest, taut and quivering with the same rigid, muscular tension. Only the secure knot at his waist shielded her from blatant awareness of his burgeoning arousal. The threat of that reality muted, Honor was free to indulge her forbidden fantasies. She twisted her torso, seeking to increase the contact but not wanting to trap his hand and stop the exquisitely sweet torment at her breast; she opened her mouth and mind and heart to the luxury of pure, unadulterated, concentrated sensation.

  He responded to her lack of inhibition with a violent surge of lust. Both hands now cupped her bottom, his fingers curving deep into the dimpled flesh as he held her still for the heated thrusting of his hips. His tongue was equally fierce in the silky moistness of her mouth, shocking her with his ability to make her feel full and empty at the same time.

  Only when he pushed her on to the bed and bent his head to fiercely suckle her breast through the cream satin did her sensual stupor begin to dissipate. She suddenly became frighteningly aware of Adam’s powerfulness, his nudity beneath the robe. Even two overlapping layers of double towelling could no longer disguise the full extent of his swollen arousal. She badly wanted him to finish what they had started, for him to make love to her, but what Adam wanted undoubtedly had very little to do with that emotion. If nothing else, tonight had proved that he had a very strong sex drive. If he was still tied up in knots about his wife it was no wonder he had gone off the deep end.

  She felt his hand touch her belly and caught her breath on a wave of delicious weakness. ‘Adam—’ Her feeble protest was drowned by a loud crash from her room, quickly followed by a softly galloping thunder.

  ‘What the—?’ Adam’s eyes were glazed and his cheekbones streaked with red as he jerked his head up, instinctively wrenching Honor off the bed and pushing her protectively behind him, away from the source of the noise.

  The door to her room shuddered wider. A flash of grey streaked between their feet and shot out of the other door, leaving them teetering.

  ‘Monty!’

  The realisation came simultaneously, although only Adam added raggedly, ‘That scrawny cat! What’s he done now? One day he’s going to go too far and I’m going to wring his bloody neck!’

  His curse had a delightfully permanent sound to it but Honor was too busy staring, slack-jawed, after Monty. The hall door—it had been open all the time! Honor went hot and cold as she contemplated what could have happened. Thank God it had only been Monty who had witnessed their lustful clinch!

  No sooner had the prayer gone up than a slender figure in a striking négligé appeared at the door enquiring about the noise, and then a smaller one wearing what looked like a dead ringer for the discarded red carpet. Tania and Joy.

  And, then, the final blow—a child. Sara. As wide-eyed as ever and even more inquisitive.

  Being discovered together in a mutual state of undress would never have got a conviction—after all, everybody summoned by the crash was wearing her night-things. The violent upheaval of the sheets could have been the result of an early nightmare and the tousled hair and flushed expressions might just have been evidence of a vigorous argument in progress.

  What really destroyed Honor’s reputation in the Blake household as a woman of accepted virtue were two things that only a child would have dreamed of drawing attention to.

  Why, Sara asked, did Honor have a small, transparent wet patch on a strategically important part of her nightshirt, and why was her father ‘walking funny’?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HONOR bit into a big, crisp red apple, grateful for the techniques of modern cool storage which allowed her to enjoy such a fresh, sweetly ripe taste when all around her were trees laden with tiny, bitterly sour green fruit.

  She sighed with content as she munched, lying back in the cropped grass under the shifting shade of the shelter-belt trees. The tall, leafy species, planted to protect the fruit-bearing trees and kiwi-fruit vines from the wind, provided the perfect, peaceful resting spot. She closed her eyes, savouring the sounds of the country. Even the distant buzz of a tractor seemed strangely in tune with the environment.
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br />   Her peace was short-lived.

  ‘What are you doing down here? Are you hiding?’

  The girl must have radar. Honor opened her eyes reluctantly. Sara stood over her, panting, her round face pink and glossy from the exertion of running, her pale hair escaping from the rudimentary ponytail straggling crookedly from the side of her head. She wore grass-stained jeans, a shrill T-shirt and an expression of smug satisfaction. She couldn’t have looked more scruffy if she had tried...and Honor guessed that she must have tried very hard, for the previous afternoon Tania had produced an unexpected gift for her ‘favourite only niece’—a clutch of dainty dresses that she thought Sara might like to wear around the house.

  ‘I’m having my lunch. What are you doing—come for a sly smoke?’ She had had four days to get over the shock of being painted a scarlet woman, time enough to find a surprisingly natural ease in the girl’s company.

  Sara giggled. She flopped down beside Honor. ‘Dad’s looking for you.’

  ‘Is he?’ Honor took another bite of her apple, endeavouring to appear hugely unmoved by the declaration when her pulse was leaping madly. Damn it, you would think by now that her body would have calmed down!

  ‘Is that who you’re hiding from? Dad? Why, what’s he done?’

  ‘I’m not hiding—’

  ‘Then why aren’t you having lunch up at the house with us? Granny said we can have it by the pool today. Did you know I won the school junior swimming championship? I bet I could beat you in a race.’

  ‘I think you might have mentioned it a few times,’ said Honor drily. If Sara wasn’t asking frank and embarrassing questions she was force-feeding Honor unsolicited confidences. In a dramatic contrast to the sickly shock with which she had greeted Honor’s arrival, she had now decided that her dad’s new best friend must be her best friend.

  And she was helpful, so helpful that Honor couldn’t turn around in the upstairs drawing-room in which her computer had been set up as promised without being offered a cup of tea or coffee or finding her pencil newly sharpened or her copy removed from her printer and neatly trimmed of its perforated edges.

  Not wanting to hurt any fragile adolescent feelings, Honor had made sure she always had some little job ready to be tackled, but she soon discovered that Sara’s spirit was irrepressible. She wasn’t crushed by being ignored or snapped at, or even at being told to shut up and go away. Like her father, the girl had an independent self-confidence that was almost impossible to shake. She believed in her ability to do anything she set her mind to. When she failed she only became more determined to succeed next time. It was exhausting to watch her.

  ‘So, if you’re not hiding from dad it must be Aunt Tania!’

  That was too close to the mark. ‘I told you, I’m not hiding, I’m having a picnic.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry, she’s gone to some Growers’ Association lunch,’ said Sara helpfully. ‘She was mad because Dad was supposed to be her escort but he said he didn’t have time to take her. Is that apple all you’re having? You’re not trying to diet, are you? You shouldn’t take any notice of what Aunt Tania says. Did you know she sometimes takes diet pills to keep thin? That’s pretty obsessive, don’t you think? They can be addictive, you know—’

  ‘Like cigarettes, you mean?’ Honor interrupted hastily. Whatever her own opinion of Tania, it was wrong to encourage Sara’s disrespect towards her aunt. She was guiltily aware that by listening to the chatter in order to find out more about Adam’s life she had provided tacit approval of Sara’s eager indiscretions. Unfortunately on the one subject that Honor was most curious, and most reluctant to enquire about—Sara’s mother—the girl had been utterly discreet.

  Sara grinned, revealing teeth that were well-shaped but ever so slightly misaligned. She had refused to have braces—partly, Honor was sure, because Tania was so insistent on the importance of having perfect teeth.

  ‘Actually I was nearly sick,’ she confessed. ‘I only did it to get sent home.’

  So Adam was right. Honor tried to sound nonchalant. ‘Oh? Why was that?’

  For a moment she thought Sara was going to spill it out, then the girl shrugged sheepishly and picked at the grass around her feet.

  ‘You should have a talk to your father; he’s been worried about it,’ Honor urged gently. ‘Or your grandmother, if it’s something to do with—er—’

  ‘Sex? Nah, nothing like that,’ Sara responded with a frankness that put Honor’s waffling to shame. ‘If it was that I could come to you, couldn’t I?’ she added slyly. ‘Aunt Tania said that you’re the expert on sex around here.’

  The shady spot suddenly seemed stiflingly hot. ‘You shouldn’t eavesdrop on people, Sara,’ said Honor in her best quelling voice.

  ‘It’s the only way to find the good stuff out when you’re a kid,’ said Sara, unquelled. ‘Besides, I wasn’t eavesdropping that time. Aunt Tania just said it kind of under her breath...only she was breathing pretty hard and it came out quite loud. Granny heard too.’

  ‘And what did Granny say?’ Honor couldn’t help asking.

  ‘She didn’t say anything.’ Sara frowned. ‘Granny doesn’t say much when Aunt Tania’s around. She’s afraid of getting things wrong in front of her. She forgets things sometimes, too...but just little things, not the important stuff. She likes being busy. She always used to cook when Dad and I came to visit, when Uncle Zach was alive, because Aunt Tania doesn’t like messing around in the kitchen. Granny’s been sick but she just had a cough and a bad cold. I don’t think she has that disease that they put you in a home for—the A one...’

  ‘Alzheimer’s?’

  ‘Yeah. Aunt Tania’s got a book on it. Stories about people forgetting what day it is and who their family is and where they live. Granny’s not like that. She still plays bowls and everything.’

  ‘No, she’s not like that,’ said Honor firmly, wondering whether anxiety over her grandmother was the source of Sara’s fears and annoyed with Tania for exposing her to that fear, however inadvertently. ‘She’s a warm, whimsical, spontaneous person,’ she emphasised. All the things that Tania wasn’t! ‘I’ve had lots of chats with her and never noticed anything wrong. In fact she’s always seemed as sharp as a tack under that fluffy smile...’ Except for their first encounter, perhaps, but those initial, almost pathetically eager misconceptions had been set in concrete by the Bedroom Incident and Adam’s subsequent irritating behaviour. But Honor didn’t want to dwell on that...

  ‘She only seems vague around your aunt, maybe because they don’t get on and your granny doesn’t like to get involved in arguments—’

  ‘You mean because Aunt Tania bullies her?’ said Sara bluntly.

  Was Tania’s behaviour that calculated? Honor hoped not.

  ‘A lot of people like to think they know what’s best for everyone else,’ she said diplomatically. ‘Especially with other people who are not as assertive as themselves. But they’re not necessarily right just because they express themselves more forcefully. You couldn’t get two people with a more different outlook on life than your aunt and your granny; that’s probably why they have difficulty communicating. And then, too, maybe your aunt is afraid for your granny as she gets older—maybe she doesn’t want to feel responsible if something happens while she’s out.’

  ‘She’s always out...except when Dad’s around,’ Sara pointed out gruffly.

  ‘If you’re really concerned about it, why don’t you mention it to your father...?’ Honor said hopefully.

  ‘Oh, I already have, ages ago,’ said Sara, shooting that grand theory down in flames. ‘After Uncle Zach died. Dad said never, no way is he ever putting Granny in a home. And Aunt Tania doesn’t have to worry about being responsible because Granny’s coming to live with us...when Dad decides where we’re going to live, that is, because we might be staying here...’

  ‘Would you like that?’ Honor asked, her heart misgiving at the thought of Adam living permanently near by. She’d be forever in dre
ad of running into him, having to smile and pretend polite disinterest in his affairs...

  Sara shrugged and smiled very cryptically for a girl who probably didn’t know what the word meant. ‘Maybe. It depends on how things work out...’

  Honor opened her mouth to ask what things, but Sara beat her to it.

  ‘Are you sure you won’t come back to the house for lunch? After Aunt Tania left, Granny made a pizza and scones and apple muffins...’

  Honor’s mouth watered. She looked sadly down at her apple core. So much for will-power. ‘Well...I’ll have to have a swim afterwards.’ If it hadn’t been for the pool she would have put on kilos from the delicious meals she was eating.

  ‘Great, I’ll give you a race. Oh, look...I told you Dad was looking for you!’ She jumped up and bounded out to meet the four-wheeled farm-bike that roared up from the bottom of the orchard, skidding to a stop at the nearest row of apple trees.

  Honor couldn’t hear what Adam said to his daughter over the roar of the motorcycle engine but she could see its effect. Sara laughed and tossed a mischievous look over her shoulder at Honor and began running back towards the house, making little darting leaps and hops over tufts of grass as she did so. She certainly had a lot of energy, thought Honor, getting up slowly, feeling hot and messy as she eyed the man who, after gunning the engine aggressively once more, leaned over and turned it off.

  In the resultant silence the faint sound of the engine ticking over seemed unnaturally loud. Like a time bomb, thought Honor nervously.

  ‘What are you doing out here?’

  He and his daughter were definitely of like mind, only the same question from Sara hadn’t made Honor bristle.

  ‘Taking a break,’ she said crisply. ‘That’s the whole point about working for yourself; you don’t have to kowtow to a slave-driving boss.’

  ‘But the newspaper must have deadlines that you have to meet,’ he said mildly, unruffled by her challenge. ‘And your clients must ask for their work to be done by a certain date.’