by Helen Brooks
No way, no how. If ever she’d needed proof she’d inadvertently caught a tiger by the tail, it was in that grin. The word charm had obviously been invented with Nick Morgan in mind. She tried very hard to ignore her racing heart. ‘Surely your model—Miranda, isn’t it?—is back from the States soon?’
They had just reached the car and he brought her round to face him with both hands on her shoulders. He gave her a hard look. ‘One, Miranda isn’t my anything. Two, I’ve no idea when she returns because she’s not obliged to report her whereabouts to me. Three…’ His frown changed to a quizzical ruffle. ‘Three, have you any idea what the feel of your bare shoulders is doing to me?’
Possibly. His shirt was thin and the dark shadow beneath it suggested his powerful chest was thickly covered with hair.
Cory took the coward’s way out. ‘No Mercedes today?’ she said brightly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the slight croakiness to her voice as she turned and pretended an interest in the car. ‘Is this yours too?’
‘Weekend runabout.’ He opened the passenger door. ‘Purely to impress my legion of women, of course.’
She decided to ignore the sarcasm. After sliding into the car, which gave the sensation that one was sitting at a level with the road, she straightened her back and folded her hands in her lap so she wouldn’t make the mistake of bunching them again and betraying her tenseness as she’d done the night before.
When Nick joined her, it took all of Cory’s control to maintain the pose. The close confines within the car was the ultimate in travelling intimacy and wildly seductive.
As he started the engine she glanced at him. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked with careful steadiness.
‘Surprise.’
‘I don’t like surprises.’
‘Tough.’ The blue eyes did a laser sweep of her face. ‘But don’t worry, I’m not into spiriting women away and forcing my wicked will on them. Not on a Sunday lunchtime anyway,’ he added lazily.
‘I never thought you were.’ She hoped the haughty note had come through in her voice.
‘No?’ He swung the streamlined panther of a car smoothly into the Sunday traffic, his gaze on the road. ‘You could have fooled me. I’m getting the distinct impression you view me as the original Don Juan.’
‘Not at all,’ she said stiffly, refusing to dwell on how large and capable his hands looked on the leather-clad steering wheel, or how those same hands had caressed her last night in the back of the Mercedes.
‘Good.’ It was casual, as though he didn’t care much one way or the other, and as she glanced at him again she saw a small smile was playing about the firm mouth. ‘So, tell me a bit about yourself,’ he went on. ‘I gather you have an aunt living around here with a broken leg. Any more family? And what about siblings to take turns with Rufus the terrible?’
Cory’s heart plummeted. She didn’t want to talk about herself, not to him. She had the feeling that the less Nick knew about her, the better. Still, she could hardly refuse to tell him the basics. ‘My parents died some years ago,’ she said flatly, ‘and I don’t have any brothers or sisters. My Aunt Joan is my closest relative.’
‘And you get on well with her?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She was unaware of the sudden warmth in her voice but the big man at the side of her noted it. ‘She’s always been more than an aunt to me. My parents…well, they were busy people. They didn’t have a lot of time…’ Her voice trailed away as she became aware she was in danger of revealing too much.
‘A peaceful childhood then? With lots of friends to make up for the lack of brothers and sisters?’ he asked casually.
Lots of friends? She had never been allowed to bring friends home or invite anyone round for tea, neither had she been permitted to go to other children’s houses when they had invited her. It had been too much trouble for her parents, interfering with their plans. The string of au pairs her parents had had all through her childhood had been instructed to make sure that, once she had been given her tea, she was despatched up to her room to do her homework. After that she had been allowed to read or watch TV, but never encouraged downstairs except to say goodnight. Her room had been spacious with its own en suite bathroom, and the TV and all her things had been of the best, but it had still felt like a prison.
Cory’s stomach clenched. She looked away through the side window so he had no chance of seeing her face if he glanced at her, the silky curtain of her hair swinging forward. ‘It was quite peaceful at home,’ she agreed evenly.
If he noticed that she had only answered half his question he didn’t comment on it. ‘Any pets?’
In her mother’s immaculate surroundings? ‘No, no pets,’ she said quietly. ‘What about you? Do you have family living near?’
‘Depends whether you think Barnstaple is near. I was brought up there and my mother still lives there although my father died five years ago.’
There was a note in his voice which prompted her to say, ‘I’m sorry. Were you close?’
‘Very. He was a great guy. But my mother has my two sisters and their families to keep her busy; they both live within walking distance from the old house. I have a property in the area too, but due to the business I’m away more than I’m at home. Hence the flat in London.’
‘So you had a happy childhood?’ she asked curiously, drawn by the affection in his deep voice as he’d spoken about his family.
‘The best.’ They had just drawn up at some traffic lights and again the blue gaze raked her face. ‘Hence the nicely rounded, well-adjusted individual you see in front of you,’ he said quietly.
The lights changed in the next instant but, as the car purred on, the content of his last words stayed with Cory. Had he been hinting that she wasn’t those things or was she being over-sensitive here? she asked herself silently, her mouth unconsciously tightening. If it was the former then he’d got a right cheek because she was fine, just fine. But it could be the latter…
She risked another sideways glance through her eyelashes. It probably wasn’t the moment to notice the way his dark hair curled ever so slightly into the base of his neck. It wasn’t short and it wasn’t long but it suited him perfectly. She wondered how it would feel if she sifted her fingers through the soft strands. And then she caught the errant thought quickly and looked straight ahead before he caught her observing him.
She was going loopy here. What on earth was she doing fantasising about this man? In fact, how come she was with him in the first place? She wanted her head examined!
By the time they reached the pub, which was close to Hampstead Heath, Cory just wanted out of the car. She couldn’t ever remember being so aware of every little movement or action by another human being. Nick, on the other hand, appeared perfectly relaxed and at ease, chatting about this and that and keeping the conversation strictly impersonal now.
Once inside the pub, which was all brass and copper and leaded windows, he led her straight through and out into the small, flower-bedecked garden at the rear. ‘This is our table.’ He pointed to a table for two set next to a lattice of climbing roses which were scenting the air with their rich sweetness.
‘How do you know?’ The pub had been packed inside and out here the few tables there were were full.
Nick reached out and removed a reserved sign from the table. ‘Trust me,’ he said, smiling. ‘I know the owner.’
‘Not another university friend?’
‘Boyhood friend this time. John and I grew up together.’
‘And he always keeps this table for you?’
‘If I ring up and request it, yes. Which I did first thing this morning.’ He pulled out a sun-warmed seat and she sank down, the perfume of the flowers and the caress of the sun on her skin blissful.
‘They do a great Brunello here,’ Nick said, still standing. ‘Do you like red wine?’
‘Love it.’
‘I’ll get a bottle. I shall limit myself to one glass as I’m driving but I guarantee once you taste it, you’ll
be unable to resist another. Shall I order two roast dinners while I’m at it?’
Cory nodded. This was nice, too nice.
So was the wine when it came. The intense chocolate and nutty aroma was a ripe explosion of taste in the mouth, and she closed her eyes and just breathed in the aroma made all the more potent by the hot air. ‘This is gorgeous,’ she murmured, taking another long sip.
‘Don’t tell me I’ve found the way to your heart?’ Nick had sat down opposite her, his eyes slightly closed against the sun and his long legs stretched out in front of him.
Forget about the roast dinner, Cory thought wryly. He looked good enough to eat. She raised an eyebrow. ‘With one glass of wine?’ she said severely. ‘I think not.’
‘The bottle’s there, feel free.’
She smiled. ‘I’ve always believed in moderation in all things.’
‘All things?’ The blue eyes were wicked.
‘All things,’ she insisted firmly, refusing to acknowledge the innuendo.
‘Then it’s as I thought,’ Nick said with obvious complacency. ‘Your education in certain areas has been sadly neglected and I look upon it as my duty to set things right. What you need to do from this point, Cory, is to look upon me as your teacher and guide into the ways of the flesh. OK?’ And he took a long, satisfying drink of wine.
She laughed. Well, there was nothing else she could do really, because she couldn’t take him seriously. In spite of the bolt of lightning that had shot through her.
‘I’m more than up to the task,’ he assured her softly, putting down the glass and taking one of her hands in his. He turned her fingers over so that the soft, vulnerable underside of her wrist was exposed, stroking it with first one finger and then—shockingly—as he raised her hand to his mouth, his warm lips.
‘Don’t!’ She snatched her hand away, almost knocking the wine over. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘Why not?’ He sat back in his chair, his eyes on hers. ‘It’s nothing.’ His smile was lazy.
It was nothing and yet it suggested everything—all the forbidden delights of her dream were in those warm, knowing lips. She knew exactly what he was trying to do and she was determined not to acknowledge her own desire and need. She shrugged. ‘I don’t play those sort of games,’ she said shortly.
There wasn’t even a hint of a smile on his lips when he said, ‘Who’s playing games?’
CHAPTER FOUR
CORY could have kissed the little barmaid who arrived at the table with their food just after Nick had spoken. In the ensuing activity the moment for her to respond to him came and went, and she made sure she tucked into her meal without further ado. The Sunday roast with all the trimmings was delicious, as was the hazelnut and cherry pie which followed, all washed down with another large glass of wine by Cory and sparkling mineral water for Nick.
Nick’s friend brought their coffee, pulling up a chair from a table which had been vacated when Nick invited him to join them for a glass of wine. ‘Here.’ Nick poured the last of the wine into his empty glass and passed it to John. ‘Cory insists she’s had enough.’
‘Potent stuff, isn’t it?’ John was a slight blond man and he grinned at Cory as he spoke. ‘My favourite ever since Nick introduced me to it years ago. Bit expensive for the pub trade but I always make sure a bottle’s in for when this guy turns up.’ He punched Nick lightly on the shoulder. ‘I can only stay a minute or two, though. Lucinda—the wife,’ he added in an aside to Cory, ‘will be on the warpath if she catches me slacking.’
‘Are you man or mouse?’ Nick put in.
‘Where Lucinda’s concerned? Definitely rodent.’
He was only halfway through the glass and in the middle of relating an incident from their childhood—about the time when he and Nick had been caught scrumping from a farmer’s orchard—when the said Lucinda appeared. Big, buxom and definitely Italian, she bustled over to their table, throwing her arms round Nick and then scolding him for staying away for too long, before she clipped her husband round the ear. ‘You creep out here without telling me and then you drink the last of Nick’s wine,’ she remonstrated in a heavy accent. ‘You are the impossible man. You see what I have to put up with?’ she appealed to Nick. ‘And who is your beautiful lady?’ she added, turning a beaming smile on a bemused Cory.
‘Cory James meet Lucinda Robinson,’ Nick said, laughter in his voice. ‘And her bark’s worse than her bite.’
‘Says who?’ said John, rubbing his ear. ‘She used to do that when she was a little thing the size of Cory but I could keep her in her place then. She packs a fair wallop now.’
‘Oh, you.’ Lucinda planted a smacking kiss on John’s lips, pinching his bottom as she added, ‘I keep you warm at night though, yes?’
‘That you do, wench.’ John smiled at his wife and for a moment the look the two exchanged brought a lump to Cory’s throat. This was love, true love. It was shining out of their faces. For a second she envied the other woman from the bottom of her heart.
After a few more minutes, during which time Lucinda had extracted a promise from Nick that he would attend her thirty-fifth birthday party in the middle of July—Cory having ducked her invitation by saying she would have to check her diary—the two disappeared back into the pub, leaving them alone. They were the last ones in the garden now, apart from a cheeky robin who was busy pecking a morsel of gateau under a nearby table and chasing off a horde of hopeful sparrows when they got too near his plunder.
‘How long have they been married?’ she asked Nick as they finished the last of their now cool coffee.
‘Ten years.’
‘Have they any children?’
He shifted in his seat. ‘Lucinda can’t have any. They tried everything but…’ He shrugged. His eyes lifted to hers as he continued, ‘It was a bad time. She comes from one of those huge Italian families where every daughter pops one out a year. They were living in Italy then but when she had a nervous breakdown John brought her over here for a change of scene for a while. That was five years ago and they haven’t looked back since.’
‘And John doesn’t mind? About not having children?’
Nick looked at her levelly. ‘He minds like hell, but the way he sees it he didn’t fall in love with Lucinda because she was some sort of baby-making machine. He loves her, he always has from the day he first set eyes on her.’
Cory stared at him. She wanted to cry but he would think she was mad. Nevertheless her voice was thick when she said, ‘They’re lucky, the way they feel about each other, I mean.’
‘Yes, they are, but they’re not unique.’ His eyes were holding hers now and although she wanted to break the contact she found she couldn’t. ‘That’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it,’ he said softly, and it was a statement not a question. ‘That they’re unique. I could read it in your face.’
She wanted to deny it but he would know she was lying. ‘Not unique,’ she prevaricated. ‘More…unusual.’
‘Why do you think that way?’
It was straight for the jugular but she was recognising he was that sort of man. She couldn’t answer him. She let her hair fall to cover her face. ‘I don’t want to continue this conversation.’
‘OK.’
It was immediate and almost nonchalant and the tone shocked her. Which was ridiculous, she told herself angrily. She hadn’t wanted him to pursue the matter so why should she feel so let down that he didn’t seem to care?
‘Let’s go for a stroll on the Heath to walk the lunch off and get ready for dinner,’ Nick said easily as she raised her head again.
Dinner? Who had said anything about dinner? ‘I don’t think—’
‘Good. Don’t think. I like you better that way.’
‘Now look—’ And then she noticed his smile. Weakly, she said, ‘You’re trying to wind me up.’
‘Me?’ He leant forward as he stood to his feet and kissed her on the top of her nose. ‘As if. Finish your wine while I go and settle with John. We’ll lea
ve the car in the pub car park for now.’
He was gone before she could object.
Cory had wanted to stay remote and detached on the Heath but she found she couldn’t. The beautiful day had brought many Londoners out into the fresh air, the fathomless blue sky above too perfect to waste time indoors.
They walked hand in hand, talking now and again, and unlike in the pub garden she found herself relaxing, waves of contentment flowing over her like a balmy breeze.
‘You’re beginning to burn.’ Nick pulled her into the shade of an old tree, the bottom of its trunk splotched with lichens and velvety moss. The grass was thick and warm as they sat down, and in the distance two young boys were throwing a Frisbee for a shaggy mutt of a dog who was barking enthusiastically as he ran.
Cory turned her head. Nick was stretched out beside her, hands clasped under his head and his eyes shut. He opened one eye. ‘We’ve had the walk, now it’s time for a nap.’
This was far too beguiling. ‘You make us sound like a couple of old-age pensioners,’ she said flatly, aiming to break the mood. ‘And I don’t nap during the day.’
‘Try.’ He reached out one arm and pulled her down beside him, settling her head on his chest. ‘Even a pillow provided,’ he drawled lazily, idly stroking her hair. ‘Now shut your eyes like a good girl.’
She was as tense as piano wire for a few minutes but then, as he made no move to kiss her or do anything except slowly stroke her hair, she found herself relaxing. The heat of the day, the dappled shade through the leaves of the tree, the muted sounds in the background all combined to unknot her nerves and make her drowsy. At the most she had only managed two or three hours’ sleep the night before and the Sunday lunch had left her comfortably full, not to mention the soporific effect of the wine. She slept.
When she next opened her eyes, Nick was looking down at her. He was propped on one elbow and her head was now resting on his middle. ‘Hello,’ he said, very softly.
Still dazed with sleep, she murmured, ‘Hallo yourself.’
When he bent and kissed her it seemed the most natural thing in the world to lift her arms about his neck. She still wasn’t awake enough to fight the realisation that she had been waiting for this moment all day, the moment when he would really kiss her again.