by Natalie Fox
He was being very considerate. No more dirty dishes left lying around; no more sexual overtures; in fact, no contact whatsoever. It it weren’t for the diminishing pile of tins in the larder Verity would swear she was the only person occupying El Molino.
For that she should be grateful, but she wasn’t. Trying to keep out of his way was getting her down and she was going to have it out with him—that and what Stuart had just told her on the phone.
He was in the kitchen making himself a coffee when she returned from the village, and for that she was grateful. He would undoubtedly take it the wrong way if she’d burst into his bedroom.
She plonked the shopping on the table and faced him. ‘I’ve just been to the village and spoken to Stuart on the phone.’
‘Was that the first time?’ he asked, taking another mug from the cupboard. ‘Coffee?’
She nodded. He looked drained and she wondered what he was working on that had kept him locked away for so long. ‘Yes. To be honest, I was afraid too call sooner but...well, my work’s not going very well and I think I was too preoccupied with wondering at all you had hinted at. Now I know and... and I’m begging you to reconsider, Rupert...’
His eyes blazed suddenly. ‘Did he put you up to this?’
‘No, he didn’t, and after I’d finished with him he wouldn’t have dared.’ She hadn’t gone for the jugular straight away but it was a measure of her cousin’s despair when he had broken down almost as soon as she had mentioned Rupert Scott. Then she had let rip.
‘He’s going broke, Rupert, as well you know. His agency is struggling and the banks are calling in his loans and he’ll lose his house—’
‘Tell his wife to cut down on her silk stockings, then!’ he interrupted brutally.
Verity slumped down into a chair and took the coffee he offered. She knew he was right. Angie and her extravagances were bleeding Stuart dry.
‘It’s not as simple as that,’ she murmured. ‘He’s heavily in debt and your advertising would—’ His grip on her shoulder stilled her.
‘Listen to me, Verity, because I’m not going to repeat myself.’ His voice was low and deliberately pitched so sternly that she knew he meant every word. ‘I’m not responsible for your cousin’s debts or for the high standard of living that’s led him into so much trouble. I’ve already told you he’s not capable of handling my work and nothing you say will change my mind. I don’t want him. I don’t want Alan Sargeant and I don’t want you here if you are going to hassle me every five minutes!’
‘I haven’t seen you for a week!’ she blurted, tempted to sink her teeth into his hand, which was brushing her neck. ‘I’ve only just found out about it and I’m just asking you to give him a chance. Let him do a projection for you... What the hell are you doing?’ Suddenly she was being hauled to her feet.
‘I’m projecting you up to your bedroom, and don’t get any fancy ideas that I’m going to bed you. You’re going to pack—’
‘All right! All right!’ Verity cried, twisting so violently in his grip that he let go. ‘I won’t mention it again!’
He waved a threatening forefinger at her. ‘If you do, beware! Remember what happened last time I nearly lost my temper.’
‘Kiss or kill,’ she murmured, watching him through thick lashes, hating herself for the heat that pulsed through her at the reminder. She rubbed her shoulders where he had gripped them so ferociously.
‘Did I hurt you?’
‘Some chance! But, seeing as you think you’re some sort of commando, do something about this.’ She pulled a chicken out from the bag on the table. A whole chicken. ‘I didn’t know how to ask them to top and tail it, and for all I know its insides are still intact.’
He stared at it, lying white and lifeless on the kitchen table, its head to one side, its feet stiff and pointing skyward. ‘You want me to disembowel it?’ He was so aghast that she thought he might have a phobia about such things, but it was more than likely that it was because he thought it beneath him.
‘I...I can’t,’ she murmured. She did have a phobia.
‘Why buy the damned thing, then?’ he shot back.
‘I...’ Verity shrugged and sat down to drink her coffee. ‘I thought I’d cook it—for us,’ she added tentatively. ‘And don’t take that the wrong way,’ she blurted quickly as his brow furrowed. ‘It isn’t an attempt to win you over, it’s just that...’
‘What?’ he urged when she didn’t go on.
She stared into her coffee, wishing she hadn’t started this. Then she braved herself to look up at him. ‘It’s just that... I think this is all ridiculous. Us, living like this, avoiding each other. You’ve been very good this week, clearing up after yourself, making an effort for me. I thought... I thought I’d make an effort too. Cook us a meal—’
‘Very dangerous,’ he breathed raggedly.
‘I’m not that bad a cook,’ she tried to joke, and he actually smiled, if thinly.
‘You know what I mean,’ he said before going to the kitchen drawer and taking out a lethal-looking knife. Verity closed her eyes as he tackled the head and feet of the chicken. She opened them when it was all over.
‘Yes, I do know what you mean,’ she murmured, ‘and I’ve given it a lot of thought.’
‘Have you, now?’ he drawled sarcastically, and plunged his hand into the dark interior of the corpse on the table.
‘Yes, and I think that we’re both being very silly about the whole thing.’
‘And what exactly is “the whole thing”?’
‘You’re not making it very easy for me,’ she bleated, studying her coffee once again as he cleaned out the chicken and deposited it into a roasting dish. She waited till he’d washed his hands before going on. ‘You’ve been avoiding me all week.’
‘That was the original plan,’ he told her drily, leaning back against the work-surface to drink his coffee.
‘Well, I think it’s silly and childish. We are adults—’
‘Precisely.’
Verity let out a long sigh. She wasn’t making much headway. She was trying to clear the air and he wasn’t helping one bit. ‘I didn’t like the way you said that,’ she told him, ‘as if you thought being adults was the whole problem.’
‘Isn’t it? If we were both children we could handle this situation quite easily. Children don’t have the sort of needs we’ve already displayed to each other. What exactly do you want of me, Verity?’
‘Nothing!’ Her eyes widened plaintively. ‘It’s just that I’m not working very well and... and I think it’s because...’
‘Because you want me?’ he suggested with such devastating honesty that Verity recoiled with the shock of it.
‘No!’ she cried, gripping the mug of coffee so tightly that she nearly crushed it. ‘I don’t want you! I’m just finding avoiding you a bloody nuisance!’ she flamed. ‘If I want a cup of coffee or something to eat I’m having to creep around like some damned fugitive. Oh, to hell with you!’ She stood up and went to leave the kitchen, but he caught her arm and swung her back.
He held her at arm’s length but not far enough for her not to be shaken by every frisson of awareness that sizzled between them. She had made a mistake, a terrible mistake in bringing this up, because he was misinterpreting her motives.
‘You’re taking this all the wrong way,’ she told him stiffly. ‘I just wanted to make my life easier. I can’t work with this tension between us and it has nothing to do with what you’re thinking.’
‘Funny that it took you a week to come to that conclusion,’ he bit out. ‘Funny that you should bring it up after talking to your cousin.’
Verity wrenched her arms from his grasp. ‘I could have put money on you thinking that!’ she cried furiously. ‘Let’s get one thing straight: I’m looking after number one, my needs, my feelings. Yes, I’m concerned about my cousin’s well-being, but whatever you think I’m not trying to soften you up for his sake. I’m doing it for me! I can’t work because I’m terrified of bu
mping in to you and rubbing you up the wrong way. I bought that chicken for us because I’m fed up with eating alone... not having anyone to talk to...’
He gripped her arms again but not half so fiercely. ‘When you first came here you expected to be alone.’
‘But I’m not!’ she sparked back. ‘It’s different now. I could have coped with being alone somehow but the fact is, you are here!’
‘That doesn’t make sense.’
‘Nothing makes sense,’ she breathed dramatically. ‘I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation.’
‘And your best is cooking chicken for me tonight, knowing what that might lead to?’ The depth of meaning in his eyes said it all but she made out that she didn’t know anyway.
‘Like what?’
‘Don’t sound so damned naive. Any enforced intimacy, even over a meal, is very dangerous, Verity, as well you know.’
‘No, no, I didn’t mean—’
‘Like hell you didn’t mean,’ he grated angrily, his grip tightening. ‘Don’t be so damned selfish, Verity. All I’ve heard from you so far is your needs, your feelings. What about mine?’
‘Yours?’ she uttered in a hushed whisper.
‘Yes, mine!’
He suddenly lowered his head and took her mouth, pulling her so firmly against him that escape was impossible. The pressure of his mouth was crushing, so fierce that her heart leapt with fear, and then slowly, slowly the fear evaporated, exposing all her raw nerve-endings, exposing them to that pressing need deep inside her. The need for someone to hold her and make her forget, someone to love her and make her feel whole again.
The kiss softened into a tempting caress of her sensitive lips, easing away her resistance till she wanted more and more. His arms eased around her, drawing her into his power, running down her body and then crushing her into his sexuality. There was no doubt in her mind of his need at that moment, and how easy to admit to her own. How easy to make love with him, here, now, for the duration of their stay together. And then, after, to return to her empty life and him to return to his lady.
She pulled out from his arms, turned her face up to his and was shocked at the smoky depths of desire in his eyes.
‘I don’t... don’t understand,’ she breathed raggedly. ‘You want me—’
‘Yes, I want you. Why is that so difficult to understand?’ he husked, letting his hands drop to his sides.
‘You call me selfish,’ she whispered defensively, ‘but what you are doing is doubly selfish and cruel. Not to me—I’m nothing in your life but a prospective fill-in while you’re away from your lady—’
‘You object to that?’
Verity’s eyes narrowed angrily. ‘With every defence in my body,’ she breathed heatedly. ‘You’re despicable, a user—’
‘So we’re two of a kind!’ His voice was terse and punishing.
Verity’s mouth dropped open with shock and then snapped shut, only long enough for her wits to rampage wildly. ‘Back to Stuart again, eh? You just don’t give up, do you?’
‘That’s where you’re very wrong, treasure. You’re the one to keep ramming your damned cousin down my throat. At this moment in time Stuart doesn’t warrant a mention, because this is between us from now on. Don’t accuse me of being a user when you’re doing the same thing.’
‘Oh, yeah, and how do you make that out?’
‘Quite simply!’ That damned accusing finger of his came up again and Verity wanted to snap it off in fury. ‘You have needs, as you so rightly stated, and for God’s sake don’t come on with that lonely tack again. A cosy dinner for two and a cosy chat, like hell, Verity. Be honest and admit you want the same as me, some warmth, some human contact, some bloody body-bonding!’
‘No—’
‘Yes!’ Rupert insisted so decisively that Verity shuddered with the force of it. She couldn’t take his blatant honesty and turned her back on it.
‘And that’s no way out,’ he grated impatiently. ‘Face me, Verity, and be honest with me and yourself.’
She swung back at that, her eyes wide with defiance. ‘I was being honest with you. I admitted that I’m fed up with having no one to talk to and eating alone, but that isn’t enough for you, is it? You want the whole package, my body!’
‘What did you expect? Do you really believe it possible that we could live together this way and not end up making love to each other?’
‘You said we could.’
‘I thought we might, but circumstances change.’
‘Nothing’s changed!’
‘Everything’s changed. We want each other—’
Verity shook her head. ‘No, you want me! That’s the difference!’
‘Hypocrite!’
Her anger welled inside her. ‘You’re being the damned hypocrite. You’re the one with someone in your life and you’re willing to risk that relationship with a bit on the side—me!’
‘And you’re trying to lay ghosts. Don’t think you fool me with all that rubbish about wanting someone to talk to and being civilised enough to cope with this situation. We want the same thing, Verity: each other. I don’t know what you went through with your former boyfriend but whatever it is it’s left you with a yawning gap in your life—’
‘A gap you think you can fill by making love to me?’ she exploded. ‘Don’t kid yourself, Rupert Scott, you can’t do anything for me that another man couldn’t!’
‘But there isn’t any other man available at the moment,’ he told her drily.
‘And there isn’t another woman available for you at the moment either,’ she retorted venomously. ‘That’s why you’re so despicable and such a user. I don’t have anyone in my life but you have and she isn’t here, and you only want me because you miss her!’
Tears burned feverishly in her eyes, tears of anger and dismay at his brutality. But why shed tears over him? And then it hit her why she so desperately wanted to cry: that old vulnerability again, the feeling of loss and failure and insecurity that Mike had endowed her with. He had always made her feel that it was all her fault, undermined her till she had begun to believe that he was right and the reason their relationship had foundered was because she hadn’t tried hard enough. This man standing so powerful and strong in front of her was of the same ilk. Well, Mike had nearly destroyed her, but this man wouldn’t.
‘If you had an ounce of decency in you you’d pack up and get out of here,’ she told him flintily.
‘And so would you!’ he slammed back. ‘The fact that you have put up with this all week is a fair indication that you’re hanging around waiting for the inevitable to happen!’
Her hand came up to give him that sock in the jaw she had promised, but he caught her wrist and deflected the blow.
‘Don’t make me mad again, Verity; you know what will happen, or is that the intention? To make me so bloody furious that I’ll whip you upstairs and do what we both ache for!’
She twisted her wrist out of his hand and her eyes shot pure poison right between his.
‘Go stuff that chicken, because that’s the nearest you’ll get to any body-bonding while we share this house!’
Verity slammed her bedroom door hard after her and leaned back against it, taking deep breaths to cool herself. She had tried, God only knew how she had tried. All she wanted was some cool, civilised living between them and all he wanted was his own satisfaction! And he had had the audacity to accuse of her of wanting likewise!
She tried to work, stared helplessly at the mountain of sickening diets and boring exercise regimes Candice had prepared for her. Did the bride-to-be really need all this rubbish to make the biggest day of her life worthwhile? Surely the sheer joy of marrying the man she truly loved was enough to bring a glow of radiance to her cheeks, a tingle of sweet anticipation of the wedding-night to hone her body to perfection?
Verity stared at the blank screen of the computer, hugging her shoulders for strength and warmth. She needed something to fire her, needed something to giv
e her inspiration to get on with a job she had no heart for. She tried to project herself as that bride-to-be, to imagine she was preparing to marry, to marry Rupert Scott maybe. Impossible! She didn’t even like him, but... there was something there. What on earth was it? A sexual attraction? She wasn’t even sure of that. So his kisses turned her on, but his openness shocked her, or maybe it excited her. Maybe he was right and she was still here, hanging around waiting for the inevitable to happen. Oh, God, she didn’t know anything any more!
Hunger and cold drove her downstairs when it was dark. She was exhausted but too hungry to take advantage of an early night. She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since she had come to El Molino, and those restless nights were taking their toll.
A huge fire blazed in the grate of the sitting-room and there was a delicious smell of roasting chicken coming from the kitchen.
‘So you do cook after all,’ she said as she stepped into the kitchen. Rupert had just taken the chicken out of the oven, golden roasted chicken surrounded by crispy golden potatoes.
‘When I have to,’ he murmured, turning to attend to the vegetables bubbling on the hob.
Verity watched him and something inside her softened. He was clumsy and unused to this sort of thing, but he had made an effort and she appreciated that. He’d made an effort with his appearance too. He was dressed in clean jeans and a black roll-necked sweater, and his hair was well groomed. She almost felt guilty for not changing from her warm leggings and purple sweat-shirt to something more soft and feminine. But that would have been dangerous.
‘Move over,’ she murmured and took the pan from his hands. He didn’t object and moved to the cupboard for plates. He’d already set the kitchen table with cutlery. She was glad he’d only done that—a candle, with its soft intimate glow, would have meant trouble.
She jumped when she heard the squeak of a wine cork being drawn and bit her lip.
‘Don’t panic, this is for me, not you.’
Defiantly she took another wine glass from the shelf and held it out to him. ‘I believe in a fair distribution of wealth,’ she told him; ‘my chicken, your wine, share and share alike.’