Jordan, Penny

by Second Time Loving2

  'Look-what happened last night ... It wasn't important. I-I don't think we need to talk about it. I'm leaving this morning anyway.'

  She was starting to gabble with panic and pain, knowing that the only thing that could drive away the agonising ache burning inside her now was for him to come towards her and take her in his arms, to kiss her as he had done last night with tenderness and passion, to assure her that her intense reaction to him was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him. That he wanted her, that he ...

  Her thoughts, that kaleidoscope of mad, whirling, half-formed realisations, suddenly stilled, coalescing into one shimmering, impossible truth. She wanted him to love her.

  'No.'

  The protest came automatically from a throat suddenly raw with tension, past stiff, clumsy lips from which the blood seemed to have drained leaving them oddly numb. Her head was spinning, her heart hammering with panic and shock as she tried to deny the message her emotions were so shockingly giving her. But it wouldn't be denied.

  She wanted Daniel to love her. Like a swimmer swept away in a dangerous current, she searched instinctively for something safe to cling to, some reason to logically explain away the impossibility of her thoughts.

  It was because of her illness, she told herself hastily and with relief. Yes, that was it, her physical dependence on Daniel during the time of her sickness had fostered a ridiculous and totally unnecessary emotional dependence on him as well and the sooner she was away from him and living on her own again, the faster she would return to normal.

  Yes, of course that was it. Once she was no longer living in such a dangerously close proximity to him, things would get back to normal. There was really nothing for her to worry about, for her to panic about. That idiotic surge of agonised fear she had experienced just then ... it was just as fictitious as her ridiculous momentary belief that she wanted Daniel to love her. She was behaving like a child-worse than a child.

  'Angelica, are you all right?'

  The crisp demand made her focus on Daniel's face.

  'Yes. Yes, I'm fine,' she assured him, avoiding looking at him. She knew of course that it was impossible for her to have actually fallen in love with him. Things like that didn't happen. At least, not to people like her, people who had learned the hard way the folly of allowing their emotions free rein, of allowing them to rule over more practical and necessary considerations; but even so, it might be wise if she did not actually put her emotions to too stringent a test by looking at him. Not yet at least. In a few days, a week or so, when she had had time to get back to normal, when he had ceased to be a man whom she felt closer to than she had ever felt to any human being, when he had ceased to be a man who turned her bones to liquid and set her body on fire, simply by being in the same room with her, when he had become simply a man who occupied the cottage next to Tom's, a man who had been generous with his time and his care when she had been in need of them both-then she would be able to look him directly in the eye. But not now. No-most definitely not now.

  'I think I'll go upstairs and pack up my things,' she told him shakily, ignoring the fact that she had already completed this task. 'The sooner I move in next door and out of your way, the sooner both our lives can get back to normal.'

  She said it with forced cheerfulness, determined not to allow herself to give way to the despair she could feel waiting to engulf her if she was foolish enough to allow it to do so. If she was foolish enough to listen to the agonised, tight little voice inside her which whispered that it didn't want to leave Daniel, that it wanted to stay here with him forever.

  As she hurried out of the kitchen, Daniel watched her go and muttered grimly under his breath, 'Well, your life might return to normal, but I'm damn sure mine won't. You've turned it upside-down with a vengeance. And to think .. .'

  He grimaced to himself, warning himself mentally that the worst possible thing he could do now was to rush her. She was plainly panic-stricken about what had happened between them last night, and it was obvious to him that there was no way she was anything like ready to contemplate the kind of commitment he wanted to make with her.

  He had come here because he needed space, time to be alone. The last thing on his mind then had been romance, the last desire in his life to fall in love. He shook his head a little at his own folly and tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that there was after all no need to rush things, that he had the rest of the summer here with her. Even so, it was hard to stop himself from going upstairs after her, from taking her in his arms, and letting his emotions, his needs speak for him.

  Upstairs Angelica subsided shakily on to the bed. Of course she didn't want Daniel's love, the very idea was ludicrous; so why wasn't she laughing? Why in fact did she feel much closer to tears than laughter? Why did she have this horrible conviction that last night Daniel had been relieved to have an excuse for bringing their lovemaking to an end, if it wasn't because she knew she had totally over-reacted to him? The reason he hadn't stopped her sooner could only be-awful thought-because he had felt sorry for her.

  The thought of a man, any man, but especially Daniel making love to her out of pity was so galling, so painful that that pain was actually a physically stabbing sensation within her body, causing her to hug her arms around herself and rock her body slightly as though she was in some way trying to comfort it in its anguish.

  She had never felt more confused; her body ached still at its memories of Daniel's touch while her mind ached with the agony of her own folly and her subsequent loss of self-respect, and her heart ...

  Her heart felt nothing, she told herself stubbornly. Nor was she going to allow it to do so.

  'Angelica, are you OK?'

  The sound of Daniel's voice calling to her from downstairs galvanised her into a flurry of action as she called back breathlessly but determinedly, 'I'm fine-nearly finished.'

  She was determined that once she was safely removed to Tom's cottage she would do everything she could do to establish the kind of distance between herself and Daniel which would ensure that he knew that, far from taking his kiss too seriously, she was well aware that it had meant nothing. From now on she would be so cool and indifferent towards him that he would never suspect.

  Suspect what?

  What was there to suspect, after all, other than that for one weak split second of madness she had actually broken all the rules she had made for herself and allowed herself to yearn for something she could never have? Should never even have wanted. What was the matter with her? She was a modern, independent woman, with a successful business to run, a small circle of good friends, a widowed mother to support and the kind of lifestyle which she knew would probably make her the envy of many a harassed, hardup young mother with a clutch of children, and a husband who worked so hard that she rarely saw him.

  So why had these last few days with Daniel made her feel so aware of a hollowness about her life, a lack of something on which to focus it?

  It was the fault of the media, she told herself resentfully, forever pushing on her sex a fictional image of that that was impossible for reality to match. Having it all-career, success, love, children, fulfilment. So many high goals and all of them attainable if only one had the abilities to claim them. Not having it all was a fault, a flaw that lay within the woman herself and must therefore be something she could rectify.

  Angry with herself now, Angelica acknowledged that such articles merely fed on her sex's notorious lack of self-worth and that she was surely far too sensible and intelligent to fall for such hype.

  And yet she was aware of a lack within her life, of a need, call it biological, call it anything you liked. It was there. Wasn't that what had led her into such folly with Giles?

  That half-acknowledged desire for a husband, a family.

  But she was over that kind of foolishness now. She had learned her lesson. Hadn't she?

  CHAPTER SIX

  'I THINK that's everything now, thank you.' They were standing in Tom's
kitchen, which was by no means as warm and welcoming as Daniel's.

  There was no warm, welcoming Aga here, cosily oozing out its warmth; no comfortable fireside chair, no clean, scrubbed pine table. The room, although it must obviously be the same size as Daniel's, looked smaller, colder, barer, despite the fact that a good deal of its floor space was taken up with a huge, unwieldy dresser filled with a collection of grimy pottery, and what looked like very clumsily put together self-assembly kitchen units with glaringly inappropriate melamine fronts.

  Despite her protests, Daniel had insisted on helping Angelica to carry her stuff into Tom's cottage, and now, feeling far more tired than she wanted to admit, she could feel the tension stiffening her spine as she waited for him to go. She suspected that if he stayed much longer she would be in danger of disgracing herself completely and bursting into tears, but for once he seemed immune to her feelings, prowling critically round the kitchen, while she stood by the back door which she was purposefully holding open.

  'It seems damp in here. The old boy obviously never got round to having central heating installed. I think we'd better check the bedrooms. The last thing you want right now is a dose of pneumonia.'

  The thought of even half a second more in such close intimacy with him provoked such a surge of panic inside her that she snapped back immediately, 'I'm not a child, Daniel, and as for catching pneumonia, that's hardly likely.. .'

  He was looking at her now, frowning with a mixture of surprise and query as he studied her over-flushed face and too bright eyes.

  'Are you sure you're up to this?' he asked her quietly. 'There's no disgrace in admitting that you overestimated the extent of your recovery. You could always stay on at my place for a couple more days.'

  Her sharp, 'No, I couldn't do that,' caused his frown to deepen, and instinctively Angelica found herself softening her denial by saying jerkily, 'I've imposed on you for long enough... Intruding on your privacy.'

  'That's hardly your fault. You couldn't help being ill.'

  'Well, it's kind of you, but now that I'm here I might as well stay. The place probably just needs airing.'

  'Mm. Well, if you're sure. I'll just carry your case upstairs for you, shall I?'

  'No-no, it's all right. I can manage.'

  She was still holding the door open, and she could tell from the way he looked from her tight face to the open door that he knew of her anxiety for him to go.

  He confirmed it by saying unexpectedly, 'It's all right, Angelica. I'm going, but remember, if you do need me for anything, anything at all .. .'

  Was it her imagination or did his gaze really linger for a second on her mouth, causing her to remember how eagerly she had pleaded with him last night for his possession of it? That fear was enough to make her say fiercely, 'Thank you. I'm sure there won't be.'

  He was almost level with her now. Another few seconds and he would be gone and she would be able to breathe properly again, but just as he started to walk past her he stopped, looking down at her, so that she was virtually imprisoned between his body and the door.

  As he bent his head, she had a startled second in which to recognise that he actually intended to kiss her.

  Automatically she stepped back, panic-stricken at the thought of having his mouth touching her skin, terrified of what that contact might do to her fragile self-control. After last night her belief in her own ability to control her physical responsiveness to him was completely shattered.

  She saw surprise and then something that might have been pain or which might have been anger cloud his eyes, before he put up his hand. Jerking back from it, she banged her head painfully against the door, wincing as her eyes stung with tears. She closed them quickly, so that she didn't see the concern in Daniel's as he took hold of her, his long fingers expertly probing beneath the softness of her hair to investigate the damage to her scalp. Roughly he told her, 'You little fool! What did you think I was going to do to you?'

  'Nothing.'

  The lie was muffled and indistinct, primarily because, as he searched to make sure she hadn't broken the skin, Daniel had closed the gap between them and pushed her head against his shoulder so that she now couldn't move, couldn't even breathe without becoming affected by the warm male scent of him, so powerfully familiar to her senses now that her whole body was already reacting to it as though it were a familiar and intensely powerful aphrodisiac.

  She tried to breathe in deeply to calm her agitated senses and then realised unsteadily that she had done exactly the wrong thing, just as Daniel contradicted curtly, 'Liar. You thought I was going to kiss you, didn't you?'

  Why did he have this penchant for asking questions which would have far better been left unraised? Another man, a more tactful man, a more cowardly man perhaps, would have known why she had ducked out of the way, but would not have asked her why.

  'Certainly not,' she denied untruthfully.

  'And if I had been?'

  Her heart was fluttering frantically. The need to flick her tongue over her dry lips was unbearable, but a wisdom she hadn't known she possessed screamed at her to resist the temptation.

  What was he trying to do? Find out perhaps just how vulnerable she was to him, so that he could firmly make it clear that her desire was not reciprocated? He was honest enough and strong-willed enough to do so, but her pride wouldn't allow her to be manipulated in that kind of way, especially when she was very much afraid that if he did kiss her she was just as capable this morning of acting as idiotically uncontrollably as she had done last night.

  'But you hadn't been,' she insisted shakily and stubbornly. 'After all, why should you? We don't have that kind of-of relationship.'

  He was still holding on to her but she had managed to lift her face away from his body and focus on a point over his left shoulder.

  'Well, you're going to have a nasty bruise under your hair,' he told her rather more grimly than she thought necessary. 'But the skin isn't broken. I suppose there isn't much point in reiterating that if you do discover that you aren't as fully recovered as you believe your bed is still there. You're far too independent to admit it, even if you did.'

  Independent? Her? She grimaced mirthlessly to herself. If only he knew it, she would give almost anything to have him sweep her off her feet and tell her passionately and firmly that he wasn't going to let her go and that her place was by his side.

  That knowledge made her want to weep inside for her own vulnerability and folly. That kind of behaviour belonged to a Georgette Heyer romance, not real life. She tried mentally to equate her belief that men and women should coexist on equal terms with this hitherto unsuspected streak of blatant weakness which suggested treacherously to her that there might on occasion be something to be said for a man who, while acknowledging a woman's right to determine her own life and make her own decisions, also knew that there were times when, while 'no' most certainly did not mean 'yes', and that on no account did any woman want to be forced to accept something that was unacceptable to her, she might not be totally averse to being taken in a man's arms and told that he loved and wanted her, no matter how much she might seem not to want to hear those words. But then that of course presupposed that the man concerned did love her in the first place. That he was not simply conducting a cold-blooded experiment, designed to show him how vulnerable she might be to him.

  'If you're sure you can manage on your own,' Daniel was saying now as he stepped slowly back from her, almost as though he was actually reluctant to leave, a traitorous thought suggested.

  She ignored it determinedly and said firmly, 'Of course I can ... I'm an adult, Daniel, not a child.'

  And yet the moment he had gone, she had an insane desire to call him back to tell him she had changed her mind, to tell him that she didn't want to live alone here in Tom's cottage when she could be sharing his roof, his company, his bed.

  Angry with herself, she closed the door firmly behind her and then turned around to survey her new domain.

  She w
rinkled her nose as she smelled the stale, damp air of the kitchen, and glanced around the uninspiring room without enthusiasm. She'd better explore the rest of the house. Normally her surroundings were not something which particularly bothered her. Her house in London, which she had bought fully furnished, was convenient and small and she was not particularly attached to it. After all, she spent more time at her office than she did at horne.

  She supposed if she had an ideal of what a horne should be it would be something comfortable and slightly rambling with a huge garden. The kind of house that needed a large family to bring it to life.

  'Stop it,' she warned herself grimly.

  The house proved to be depressingly unappealing. The sitting-room was furnished with a worn square of carpet and the kind of heavy, old-fashioned furniture that always looked ugly. There was a small fireplace, clumsily boarded up with a two-bar electric fire set in front of it. Thin curtains hung at the window.

  Upstairs was very much the same. The cottage was depressing, Angelica recognised, all the more so because Tom had confided in her that his uncle had not been a poor man, but had for some reason been obsessed with being very careful with his money. To such an extent obviously that he had refused to allow himself any kind of material comfort.

  She chose the smaller of the two bedrooms simply because it was furthest away from the party-wall with Daniel's cottage. The cottages were stone-built and the walls far too solid for any sound to travel through from one to the other, but even so she felt she would sleep a little better without the knowledge that Daniel was sleeping only feet away from her.

  Fortunately the cottage had an immersion heater which she immediately switched on before grimly removing what would be her bedding from the cupboard. The only way she was going to sleep in these cold, damp sheets was after she had taken them to the nearest launderette and washed and aired them. That meant a drive to Aberystwyth, but perhaps that was just as well. At least it would take her away from Daniel for several hours.