Then he became aware of Gaye's continued silence, but as he turned to look at her he could see the reason for it. She looked absolutely stricken, her eyes haunt-ingly green now in her otherwise pale face. This man, whoever he was, was not someone Gaye was pleased to see.
The man began to look uncomfortable as both Gaye and Jonathan looked up at him without speaking. 'My mistake,' he finally said. 'Sorry.' He grinned at Gaye. 'I must have you confused with someone else. It's been a while—people change,' he added, although his gaze remained fixed on Gaye.
Because he knew, as both Jonathan and Gaye knew too, that he hadn't made a mistake. But Gaye continued to look at him coldly, and it became obvious she wasn't going to admit he hadn't made a mistake, after all.
'Sorry I interrupted your evening,' the man drawled before going off to rejoin his group of friends who stood at the bar.
He left a tense silence behind him, Gaye sitting un-moving beside Jonathan now, so tense she looked as if she might break if he attempted to touch her. Once again, he was grateful for having been let off explaining why he wanted to see her tonight, but at the same time he could have wished he had been prevented from answering some other way.
'Shall I take you out of here?' Jonathan offered softly.
She blinked, focusing on him with effort—almost as if she had forgotten he was sitting at her side. 'What?' Her voice was agitated.
Jonathan couldn't stop himself any longer; he had to reach out to her, his hand light on her arm, although for a brief moment he felt her flinch away from even so impersonal a contact. Then she relaxed, her breath leaving her in a shaky sigh, turning visibly away from the group of people crowded noisily around the bar.
Away from the man who had spoken to her. . . He was still glancing in their direction, a satisfied smile quirking his lips as his gaze rested on Gaye, as if he knew he hadn't made a mistake!
'Would you like to leave?' Jonathan asked Gaye once again, instinctively knowing the other man's interruption had put an end to their evening.
Gaye had been totally thrown by the encounter, was obviously deeply disturbed. And Jonathan didn't want her disturbed, much preferred it when she teased and laughed. Although he accepted that wasn't likely to happen again this evening.
'Yes—I would like to leave,' Gaye finally answered him stiltedly, her hand shaking slightly as she put down the glass of wine she had been clutching to her the last few minutes. 'Now,' she added with a shudder, keeping her eyes averted from the direction of the bar. More importantly, from the tall good-looking man who had spoken to them. . .
Jonathan's hand rested protectively on her spine as they made their way to the door, and he could feel the tension in her back, knew that she was holding herself under tight control. He already knew her well enough to realise she would be furious with herself if she lost that control before they got outside.
She drew in deep breaths of air once they were outside, while at the same time avoiding looking at Jonathan.
'My car is just over here,' he told her quietly, walking the short distance to his vehicle and unlocking the door.
Gaye got into the passenger seat without protest, although, once inside, she just sat woodenly, staring straight ahead in the semi-darkness.
Jonathan closed the door softly behind her before moving round to the driver's side and getting in beside her. He made no effort to start the car engine, unsure of what Gaye wanted him to do.
Unsure, too, of what he wanted to do!
He was attracted to Gaye, and part of that attraction, he freely admitted, was that air of elusive mystery she carried around with her. But, by the same token, his relationships to date had been without complications, carefree affairs that didn't put too much strain on his emotions. If he became any deeper involved with Gaye he knew that wasn't going to be the case. . .
He turned to her sharply as he heard her give a shuddering gasp, and in the rapidly fading light he could see the fall of tears on her cheeks, the faint quiver of her body as she tried to contain herself—and failed.
It was too late for him to back off, Jonathan realised in that moment; he already cared too much; the sight of Gaye crying was almost too much to bear.
'Gaye!' He reached out and pulled her effortlessly into his arms, holding her there even when she would have pulled away, that initial resistance all that she gave as she finally succumbed to deep, heart-wrenching tears.
She wept in his arms until it seemed she had no more tears left inside her to cry, finally moving back slightly to give an embarrassed smile. 'I've made your shirt all wet,' she pointed out shakily.
'It will soon dry,' he soothed, still slightly shaken himself by the realisation that he more than just wanted this woman.
Gaye looked up at him, her head tilted to one side. 'Is it always that easy for you?' she asked. 'Fix it? Or if it isn't fixable just throw it away and replace it?' she explained at his questioning look.
'It's only a shirt, Gaye,' he dismissed—although he knew only too well that wasn't what she had meant at all. That was usually his way, yes; if something didn't work, or it was too much effort, then he got it out of his life.
It was the way he had dealt with all his relationships in the past. . .
But for the moment his gaze was fixed on the vulnerability of Gaye's mouth. A mouth bare of lip-gloss. That was probably on his shirt-front too! But, with or without lip-gloss, her mouth was so inviting. Too inviting!
He firmly pushed to the back of his mind his uneasiness at becoming involved with this woman. He wanted to kiss her.
And kiss her he did. . .
Whether she had expected it or not, she didn't resist. And that lack of resistance was all the encouragement Jonathan needed. If he needed any at all!
She felt as light as gossamer in his arms, her lips trembling slightly against his initially, but then she seemed as lost in the wonder of their kiss as he was, her arms curved about his neck, her mouth moving erotically against his, open to his more intimate caress, his hand entangled in the thick golden hair at her nape as he held her to him.
Unbelievable. Mindless. There was only Gaye. The feel of her. The smell of her. The touch of her fingers as they became entwined in the thickness of his hair resting on his collar.
How long he went on sipping the nectar from her lips, feeling the press of her breasts against his chest, the restless roaming of her hands on his back, he had no idea. He was simply lost in the mind-drugging scent and feel of her.
It was dark outside the car when Jonathan finally lifted his head, the only illumination now coming from the overhead lights of the car park; Gaye's face was in shadow, only her hair continuing to glow like gold, her breathing a mere shallow gasp compared with the laboured sounds that came from his own throat.
'Take me home with you.'
Jonathan's breathing seemed to stop altogether as her words sank through the fog that had enveloped his brain. Take her home with him. . .? 'Gaye. . .?'
'No! Forget I said that!' she hastily dismissed, pulling away from him, covering her face with her hands. 'I don't know—I wasn't—'
'Who was that man in there, Gaye?' Jonathan rasped, reaching out to grasp her wrists and take her hands away from her face.
She looked up at him with widely startled eyes, then-greenness almost luminous in the light given off outside. 'I—' She moistened dry lips. 'I don't know what you're talking about.' The coolness was back in her voice, the need to distance herself.
Especially from Jonathan!
But it was too late for that. She knew exactly what he was talking about; she just didn't want to answer him.
'The man a few moments ago,' Jonathan persisted. 'He obviously knew you—'
'And you obviously knew him,' Jonathan concluded, his gaze steadily meeting hers. That wasn't easy to do; those green eyes looked full of pain. A pain she wasn't going to talk about. . .?
'He isn't important,' Gaye told him stubbornly.
'I happen to think he is,' Jonathan answered
just as firmly.
'I'm not responsible for what you choose to think, Jonathan,' she said stiltedly. 'It was obviously a mistake to meet you at all this evening. I only did so because you told me you had something you needed to talk to me about,' she went on accusingly. 'But you obviously didn't—'
'I do now,' Jonathan cut in harshly. 'And if you don't tell me who that man is, Gaye, then I'll have no choice but to walk back into the pub and damn well ask him!' This was too important, he felt, to be simply pushed to one side and forgotten. That chance meeting had prompted Gaye to ask to go home with him, for goodness' sake!
From the accusing glitter of Gaye's eyes, she knew he meant exactly what he said!
She shook her head. 'You have no right—'
'You gave me that right a few minutes ago when you
asked to come home with me,' he responded.
She drew in a ragged breath. "That was a mistake—'
'Some mistakes can't be undone.' He refused to back off from this, was sure the other man was relevant—no matter what Gaye might try to claim to the contrary.
Her eyes flashed angrily. 'You have no place in my life,' she stated flatly. "Therefore, I have no intention of
answering your questions—'
'Again, what happened between us a few minutes ago gives me that right.' Jonathan refused to be diverted.
Gaye's mouth twisted slightly. 'I find it very hard to believe you take this much interest in the lives of all the women you've kissed!' She knew she was being deliberately insulting.
Jonathan knew it too! 'I know exactly what you're trying to do, Gaye—and it isn't going to work,' he grated. 'You're dealing here with the champion of divisive tactics. Where business is concerned, I hasten to add,' he put in at her knowing look. 'I can divert, Gaye, but I'm very rarely diverted from a course myself,' he warned.
She gave a weary sigh. 'What possible purpose will it serve for you to know about Richard?'
'Richard? Is that his name?' Jonathan frowned thoughtfully. 'Hell, yes—of course it is!' He slapped the steering-wheel impatiently. 'I wondered why he looked so familiar. He's Richard Craven, isn't he? The actor.' He knew the other man now, had seen him rise from television star to international film star. And he knew Gaye.
More to the point, Gaye knew him. . .
She swallowed hard. 'Yes,' she confirmed abruptly. 'I simply can't believe that the first time in months that I actually go out I have to accidentally bump into him!' She shuddered.
'Life is a series of accidental meetings,' Jonathan muttered, still occupied with thoughts of Gaye knowing Richard Craven; it had recently been rumoured in the newspapers that he would shortly be moving to Hollywood. Jonathan couldn't help but wish, in the circumstances, that the other man had already gone!
'As our own was,' Gaye put in quietly.
'Exactly,' Jonathan nodded. 'So how is it that you're acquainted with Richard Craven?'
She gave a humourless smile. 'Does it seem so incredible that I could know such a man?'
'Not incredible, no.' An obstacle he didn't need, was what it seemed! He was also curious as to how Gaye and Richard Craven could possibly have met at all, considering the differences in their careers. As far as he was aware, Richard Craven didn't have any children, so the possibility of meeting through the clinic appeared to be a non-starter. Although it could explain Gaye's reluctance to go out with another man—himself!—because she had met him at the clinic. . .?
'I don't know him, Jonathan,' Gaye finally answered. 'I knew him.'
'The context is unimportant—'
'Not to me it isn't,' she interrupted forcefully. 'Richard and I— Two years ago we were engaged to be married!'
Jonathan stared at her. Gaye—and Richard Craven. . .? Aloof and elusive Gaye, and that too handsome man, whose star was rapidly ascending, didn't just know each other as past acquaintances; they had been engaged to be married!
A stream of questions hurtled haphazardly into Jonathan's brain, falling over themselves in a need to be asked. . .
CHAPTER FIVE
Gaye sat with her eyes firmly closed, her hands clenched at her sides. She wouldn't cry. Not again. Because it would look as if she was crying for Richard. And she wouldn't be. She had got over his betrayal a long time ago.
She wanted to cry for something else completely.
But her sorrow was spent now. Had been long overdue. She suddenly felt lighter for the release, somehow, she realised, more able to bear the responsibility that had been hers for so long.
She turned to smile at Jonathan, that smile fading as she saw the harsh anger in his face, bringing her back to a sudden awareness of what he must be imagining. She bad just seen her ex-fiancé, she had reacted all too emotionally—and completely out of character when she'd asked to go back to Jonathan's home with him!— and Jonathan had to be thinking she had behaved in this way because she had just seen Richard. But that was only half the truth, it was all so much deeper than that.
'Why didn't you marry him?' Jonathan pressed, the question seemed to be forced out of him.
Whereas, in contrast, Gaye felt relaxed, somehow more relaxed than she had for a long time. 'Basically because I've always believed marriage is something to be shared between two people only,' she replied.
'Well, of course it— Craven had someone else in his life at the same time he was engaged to you!' Jonathan realised angrily.
'Several someones, as it turned out,' she said dryly. 'As the lovingly trusting fiancée, I was the last to find out! As seems to be usual in these cases.' She grimaced ruefully.
Jonathan looked furious. 'I trust someone punched him on the nose for you?'
Gaye laughed softly, shaking her head, relieved to be able to laugh about it at last. 'No—but I believe the diamond in our engagement ring did leave an interesting cut on his cheek for several weeks after I threw it at him!'
Jonathan looked astounded at the image she'd created for him with her words. Causing Gaye to chuckle again. She really did feel lighter in her heart. She had seen Richard again, and although it had been hard to do she had faced him down with her silent refusal even to acknowledge she knew him, and she had done it all with the marvellously handsome Jonathan Hunter at her side. That was what had made the difference, she inwardly acknowledged.
Richard's duplicity, at a time when she had badly needed his support and strength, had been more than she could bear. But now, two years later, with Jonathan at her side, she had been able to face Richard without any hesitation or embarrassment on her part. The fact that Richard had felt no awkwardness in approaching her just confirmed what she had learnt only too forcibly two years ago: Richard Craven was a man without principles or honour. A self-orientated—
'Good for you.' Jonathan spoke warmly. 'But it isn't too late to administer the punch on the nose too. Just say the word,' he offered.
'He isn't important enough to merit the attention,' Gaye responded, meaning every word. Richard was no longer important. For two years their broken engagement had been yet another open wound for her to deal with, but after seeing him again she realised he meant nothing to her. 'But thank you for the offer, anyway.' She smiled across at Jonathan again, feeling somehow as if she was looking at him for the first time.
What an absolutely gorgeous man he was! Not just good-looking—Richard was good-looking!—Jonathan was breathtaking! Tall, blond, with those amazing golden-coloured eyes, he had to be the most handsome man Gaye had ever seen.
Somehow he had become the key to releasing all her pain. She had held the tears in for so long, but almost from the first time she'd met Jonathan she had felt those tears threatening to fall, finally culminating in that outburst minutes ago. Why Jonathan Hunter, a man so out of her reach, in so many ways. . .?
'Is he the one?' Jonathan asked gruffly at her side. "The one who told you you're an infuriating woman?' he explained as she frowned her puzzlement.
Her frown disappeared, her smile poignant now. 'No,' she assured him huskily. '
That was my father.'
Jonathan stared at her. 'Your father. . .?'
She gave a half-smile. 'My father,' she nodded. 'Nursing, with all its hardships, was the last thing he had in mind for me as a career.'
'But I'm sure he's proud of you now,' Jonathan said assuredly.
She drew in a ragged breath. 'He was,' she told him chokily. 'He died two years ago,' she supplied at his questioning look.
'I'm sorry. I didn't— Oh, hell,' Jonathan muttered uncomfortably. 'But he must have been very young?'
'Probably not as young as you might imagine,' she said, her voice thick with emotion. 'As he was fond of telling me, I was rather an afterthought to a marriage that had already been successful for almost twenty years!'
Jonathan whistled through his teeth. 'That was some afterthought!'
'Yes,' Gaye agreed. 'I had the most marvellous childhood, was thoroughly spoilt by over-indulgent parents.' She blinked back the tears at the thought of those happy memories. 'My parents were wonderful.'
'Were? Is your mother dead, too?' Jonathan rejoined with feeling.
She gave a pained look. No, her mother wasn't dead, but the true essence of her, Terence's wife, Gaye's mother—that person was no longer there. . .
'No,' Gaye assured him distantly, realising that perhaps, in those initial feelings of relief at having got through seeing Richard again, she had said too much. It had been so long since she had spoken to anyone about these things. . . 'I— Do you have parents?' She changed the subject, realising by the way he was suddenly the one filled with tension that she had touched upon a difficult subject for him now.
Why did things have to be so complicated? Maybe that was why, although she now deeply regretted that lapse, she had asked to go home with him a short time ago, not to talk, but simply to feel. It seemed that conversation very often only confused things. . .
When she was a child her world had seemed so full of sunshine, her parents at the centre of her golden universe. Oh, there had been the usual ups and downs of puberty, the tears as well as the laughter, persuading her father to accept the career she had chosen for herself: he had wanted her to do something else completely. But he had been so proud of her on the day she qualified, thrilled with her subsequent specialisation of midwifery, teasing her endlessly about her love of babies, sure that it wouldn't be too long before she provided him with grandchildren. But, like most fathers, he had considered her choice of future husband not good enough for her— and in Richard he had, if posthumously, been proven correct! He never had become a grandfather. . .!
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