Beguiled and Bedazzled

by Victoria Gordon

  The words floated over his shoulder as he shifted past her in a movement that would have done a champion footballer proud and stalked into her kitchen, shaking his head at the welter of unwashed dishes, flinging open the refrigerator and shaking his head even harder at the barren interior.

  And then — the worst of all! He marched over to peer at the work on her drafting table, flinging papers left and right as he scrutinised them with a disconcerting eye that all too quickly turned upon Colleen herself.

  ‘You’re a fool, trying to work like this,’ he said. ‘No proper food. I’ll bet good money you haven’t been sleeping right either, and I’m not surprised. How you could ever expect to achieve anything significant going at it this way is a mystery to me ... a total mystery. I’d have credited you with more sense than this, Colleen. I’m surprised at you, I really am.’

  Colleen didn’t know what to say, at first. Her mind was in chaos. About the only certainty she could grasp was that Devon Burns thought that she’d left her phone unanswered and her kitchen a mess because she’d been working too hard. He had no idea about the real reasons behind the situation. Now, if she could only keep it that way...

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ she finally said. ‘I ... I get carried away like this sometimes and I shouldn’t, because, as you know, it doesn’t accomplish very much — not really.’

  She started edging towards the door. If she could just convince him now, just get him out of here...

  ‘I’ll stop now, give it a rest — give me some rest too,’ she said, rambling a bit, willing him to follow. Except that he wasn’t moving with her; he was turning away, back into the kitchen.

  ‘Fool,’ he was muttering as he once again yanked open the refrigerator, stooping to peer inside and give it a better checking over than the first time.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she cried, frustrated now, angry. It had been so close; another moment and he would have been gone, should have been...

  ‘I’m getting ready to fix you some decent tucker — or the best I can manage, anyway,’ he replied, haphazardly opening cupboard doors with one hand while he balanced several eggs in the other. ‘For a girl with no money problems you do keep a terribly bare larder ... you studying to be Old Mother Hubbard or something?’

  ‘But ... but I—’

  ‘You’ve had your chance at it,’ he said, with a scowl that changed to half a smile as he plucked a lone tin of mushrooms from the nearly empty pantry. ‘Surprised you didn’t starve to death on the road to fame and fortune, if this is the way you get things done.’

  Colleen was done. She could only watch as he expertly threw together the ingredients for an omelette that eventually arrived in front of her looking so much better than anything she had ever cooked — an omelette that made speech impossible because her mouth was watering, her entire being having become fixated upon it.

  You get yourself around that,’ he said — almost too late, because Colleen had already succumbed. ‘And then it’s off to bed with you, because we’ve got an early start and a very long day ahead tomorrow. You want all the rest you can get.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ She could only mumble the question around the savoury mouthful of omelette, but the panic in her mind obviously didn’t get to her voice.

  ‘Your memory playing up too?’ he asked. Smiling, too calm, too sure of himself. ‘You have been working too hard. Colleen. The change’ll be good for you.’

  He paused, but she was still chewing frantically when he continued without giving her a chance to interrupt.

  ‘Tomorrow’s Rooster’s big day ... remember? His first all-age competition—the one we’ve been training for, with your help on occasion. Surely you wouldn’t miss that?’

  ‘I thought you didn’t want me there,’ she finally managed to say, still struggling with the immense feeling of relief that he didn’t realise the effect he was having on her. He must not realise it — and would not if she could have her way. If she could only convinced him just to go away and leave her alone; she was too tired, too stressed out, too vulnerable.

  ‘I remember saying I hoped he wouldn’t play up because of you being there,’ Burns admitted, only to add, ‘But I also remember — specifically — inviting you to come along this weekend.’

  But why?’

  ‘Because I thought you’d be interested, of course. And if you aren’t—you should be! It doesn’t matter now; you’re coming anyway, just for my peace of mind. I want to be able to concentrate on Rooster. I’ll have to. And I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on him and worry about you at the same time.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about me,’ Colleen retorted around another mouthful of omelette. ‘Why should you have to?’

  Burns scowled, then turned the scowl into a broad look of disdain as he swept it round the flat, his amber eyes touching almost fastidiously on the dirty dishes, the scattered working papers, the general mess of the place. Then he turned the scowl upon her with much the same attitude.

  ‘Look at yourself — you look like death warmed up,’ he said, without so much as a smile to lighten the criticism. ‘You’ve obviously been working too hard, haven’t been taking proper care of yourself, and if left to your own devices you’d keep right on doing it until you dropped from sheer exhaustion. And don’t bother to argue. Colleen Ferrar; I know you too well for that to work.

  ‘No, you’re going to bed in a few minutes, and first thing tomorrow you’re coming with me and you’re going to stay with me for the rest of the weekend. No work! If you get too bored, you can find a tree somewhere to sleep under; at least I’ll know you’re getting some rest.’

  Colleen couldn’t argue. The words weren’t there because she hadn’t had any opportunity to prepare an argument. She’d forgotten his invitation, or ignored it in the heat of her annihilation by Ingrid, and now she could only sit there with her mouth full and stare blankly at him, half of her wanting to scream at him to get out of her life and stop tormenting her, the other half wanting just to sit and cry.

  She could only continue eating the omelette, wondering how something that had tasted so wonderful to begin with was now beginning to taste horribly like ashes. But she didn’t dare stop, because Devon Burns was watching, willing her to eat every last bite or suffer the consequences. She hadn’t the slightest doubt that he’d force her to eat if the notion crossed his mind.

  Her suspicions grew even larger, however, when she finally did finish the omelette. Burns reached across the table and picked up her plate, waving with his other hand towards the bedroom.

  Right. Off to bed with you, my lady. I’ll just give this place a quick clean up and then come and tuck you in if you’re awake enough to need it, which I doubt.’

  ‘I ... but ... I...’ She tried desperately but somehow couldn’t quite find the right words to tell him that she could put herself to bed without his help, and that what she really wanted him to do was just go ... get out.

  ‘Oh, all right. I’ll even kiss you goodnight if it’ll make you happy,’ he said, deliberately misinterpreting her confusion and grinning mischievously as he did so. ‘But nothing more — unless you’re prepared to beg and plead a little.’

  Then he laughed wickedly at her expression of distaste, and stayed watching as she self-consciously moved towards her bedroom, unable to keep from looking back at him with what Colleen knew had to be an expression of caution.

  ‘Don’t forget to brush your teeth,’ was his final word as she closed the door behind her and stood there, knees trembling, almost sick with the certainty that however she ought to have handled this situation she’d done it wrong!

  The feeling intensified when she found the courage to look at herself in the bathroom mirror — hair a ratty mess, eyes puffy and red with deep dark circles under them.

  ‘You look worse than death warmed over, my girl,’ she muttered, and immediately squared her shoulders and decided — not before time, with hindsight — that enough was enough. ‘Brushing teeth can wait un
til after a shower,’ she told the haggard image, not bothering to ponder whether the goodnight kiss threat had sponsored the change in attitude.

  Burns hardly looked round when she peered through the door and advised him of the decision. He had already run the washing-up water and was elbow-deep in the sink with every dirty dish in the place stacked up beside him. He didn’t even bother to reply, merely nodded his acceptance of the announcement and returned to his domestic chores, whistling dismally and off-key as he did so.

  Colleen retreated to the steamy warmth of the shower and the sweet scents of soap and shampoo. She stayed in longer than she had intended—stayed until she was half-asleep there on her feet. Then she wrapped her hair in a towel turban and her body in the most decorous nightgown she owned, and tucked herself deep into the bed with the covers pulled close up beneath her chin.

  And tried to stay awake long enough for the arrival of the promised goodnight kiss, unable to keep from wondering if Burns would leave it at that. He’d given her no time but ‘early’ for their morning departure and was more than capable, she knew only too well, of deciding to spend the night himself on her lounge sofa or even, should the fancy strike him, in bed with her.

  Colleen shivered deliciously at the thought, but the shiver quickly transformed itself to a yawn and the thought drifted into a vacuum that she snuggled into gratefully. Whatever Devon’s plan, she wasn’t going to be awake for it.

  That thought took her into a dreamless sleep; what brought her out of it to face the cold light of dawn was something quite different altogether.

  CHAPTER NINE

  His breath was warm against her cheek, and Colleen, less than half-awake, was content just to lie there, letting her imagination float on that softness, the warmth of it, the gentleness.

  He had promised a tucking-in, half threatened a goodnight kiss to go with it. Ridiculous, of course. He didn’t really care for her, certainly didn’t love her as she now realised she loved him. But did that matter ... just for now...?

  His warm breath paused, then resumed. Colleen snuggled closer into the covers, surreptitiously exposing more of her neck, already fancying that she could feel the first cool touch of his lips, her body warm, cosy, relaxed ... receptive.

  Her last waking thought had involved a sort of blind acceptance, a sureness that if this opportunity came she would just go with it, just take whatever she could of him for as long as she could — not much better than the nothing she’d come home with a week earlier, but better, a little bit better. And if that was all there was, all there could be...

  She had a moment’s hesitation then, wishing that she had put on her most seductive nightgown rather than the most sedate, and reached one hand up to the high , neckline in a reflexive gesture.

  Burns’ hot breath was like a summer wind now, moving along her neck, laying a track for his lips to follow. Colleen sighed heavily, soulfully, as she felt that wind along her forearm, felt his moist tongue licking at her fingers.

  She reached out to touch him, to run her fingers along the strong lines of his jaw, his cheek, heard his low growl of pleasure as her fingers felt—

  Fur! Her eyes opened, still half expecting to find Burns’ amber eyes only inches from her own. They were eyes, and they were amber — but they weren’t the eyes of a lover!

  Colleen’s shriek was half terror, half indignant outrage. Rooster flung himself away from her, his flailing tail knocking over the bedside clock-radio, his scrambling claws churning the bedside rug into a heap that tripped her as she leapt out of bed in pursuit. Somewhere in the kitchen she heard a pan drop with a metallic clatter, then Burns’ voice as he yelled at the astonished dog.

  ‘Rooster! You fool of a hound; get out of that!’

  Colleen had her hand on the doorknob when it was suddenly flung against her and she found herself — now! — meeting Devon Burns’ amber eyes — eyes alive with concern, surprise and just enough amusement that she couldn’t help but notice.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Strong hands reached out to catch her by the shoulders, steadying her and yet somehow managing to caress her at the same time.

  ‘All right?’ she cried. ‘What do you think? What is that dog doing in my bedroom? What are you doing?’

  ‘I was cooking breakfast," he replied, relaxing his lingers, allowing her to writhe free of his supporting grip.

  Colleen stumbled yet again on the crumpled rug, caught herself, flung out an arm against his reach to steady her yet again. She glared up at him, her fury enhanced by the stolid calm he projected.

  ‘Breakfast?’ She was shrieking; her voice echoed through the sudden closeness of the room, but she didn’t care, hardly even noticed.

  Burns shrugged. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ he said. ‘But my timing’s no hell; you’ll have to wait now while I have another go at the eggs — the ones I dropped when you screamed won’t be much chop now. Roostcr’ll like them th—’

  ‘I’ll kill him! What is that dog doing in here? What are you doing in here?’

  ‘Making breakfast, like I said,’ he replied, eyes truly laughing now, although his voice was unreasonably calm. ‘As for him — well, I guess it’s my fault. I looked in on you a few minutes ago and I guess I didn’t shut the door properly.’

  Colleen shook her head, totally confused, yet suddenly conscious of how she must look — hair a mess, no make-up, her eyes puffy from sleep. She looked down at her nightgown and now was glad of her choice; at least she was covered!

  ‘I ... you...’ She floundered, stammered, stopped. Burns’ mobile lips were forming into a subtle grin, his eyes shining as he looked at her, shaking his head.

  ‘You want to go and get dressed or something,’ he said gently. ‘I’ll just clean up my mess and get some more eggs going and we’ll eat. You’ll feel better then.’

  Already he was turning away, then, as suddenly, turned back to drop a totally unexpected kiss on her cheek before she could stop him, before she even knew what was happening.

  ‘Five minutes. OK?’

  Colleen was left standing there, trembling in her emotional confusion but able only to stare at the door he’d closed — firmly this time — behind him.

  She heard his voice faintly as he said, ‘You can help me clean up. you great fool of a dog, and then it’s outside with you. I don’t think either of us is very popular, but you, my lad, had best be outside and safe in the truck before she comes out, or it’ll be roast Rooster for brekkie and no mistake.’

  The soft whuffle of reply was only just audible, but it was enough!

  ‘Get that animal out of here!’ she screamed as she turned and fled to the bathroom, wishing that she hadn’t been able to hear Burns’ chuckle of amusement at the outburst.

  The dog was gone when she finally emerged into the living area of the flat, more flustered now than actually angry, but determined that she had endured quite enough of Devon Burns and his damned dog. The dog was gone, but the master remained. And the air was redolent with the scent of freshly perked coffee and breakfast cooking.

  At the very least she was halfway presentable now. She had put on a fleecy sweatshirt and tracksuit pants and taken some effort to tame her rowdy hair. Burns wore what he’d had on the night before, and if he’d slept in those clothes he must have done so very carefully, because he looked extremely fresh and tidy for this ludicrous hour of the morning.

  ‘Steak and eggs OK?’ Burns asked, turning from his post at the stove to greet her with a smile, with laughing amber eyes that swiftly roved over the landscape of her body from tousled hair to slippered toes. ‘I did just a bit of bacon too, if you fancy it, and there’s some not bad croissants.’

  Colleen could only stare at the sparkling kitchen, the table laid out for their breakfast even to the inclusion of a sprig of flowers in a jam-jar vase. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t honestly know if she wanted to say anything at all. The place looked as if he’d spent the entire night house-cleaning, but..
.

  ‘I made a midnight run for tucker,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Can’t go dog-trialling on an empty stomach, and you don’t exactly keep what anybody’d call a well- stocked larder, you know.’

  She numbly followed his gesture, allowed herself to be seated at the table, sat in silence as he quickly and competently forked steak, eggs, bacon and tomato onto a plate and set it before her, then poured coffee into the cup at her place.

  ‘Get going on that,’ he said. ‘I won’t be a minute.’ And he was turning away to begin filling a plate for himself, having poured his own coffee after that. Colleen looked at Burns, then at her plate, then gave in to the rumblings of her tummy and the delectable odours emanating from the food.

  Across from her Burns also ate in silence, though his eyes strayed across the table to rest upon her, and she fancied that he was hiding a niggling smile behind those eyes.

  It wasn’t until they’d finished eating and he’d poured them a second coffee that either of them spoke, and it was he who began, with a totally unexpected, hardly believable comment.

  ‘Of course, you realise you can’t expect this kind of service every day of the week.’

  It made no sense, but the gentle seriousness of the remark gave Colleen pause; she found herself poised with her coffee-cup in her hand halfway to her mouth, eyes locked with his and a feeling of illogical apprehension sitting on top of the food inside her.

  ‘I can’t imagine why I would,’ she finally managed to say. ‘But isn’t that sort of a.. .profound statement for this insane hour of the morning?’

  ‘Only five-thirty,’ he responded, but something had changed behind those amber eyes. She could feel rather than actually see that he was thinking, and thinking rather hard.

  The silence resumed, but now it was accompanied by an atmosphere of what could only be described as mutual suspicion, caution, as each of them sipped at their coffee and stared at each other.

  And again it was Burns who broke the silence, this time in a voice tinged with caution, a voice so soft as to be hardly audible, yet so vibrant, so alive that it reflected the inner tension she could see in his every gesture, every word.