‘And you could do with falling asleep to my boring conversation?’ But she wasn’t waspish when she said that and he laughed under his breath.
‘No,’ he said slowly, pushing himself away from the counter and walking into the sitting room, while she followed him, ‘I wouldn’t say that there was anything about you that is boring. Tempestuous, maybe, but not boring.’
He sat down on the sofa with his arm outstretched along the back, and she sat down on one of the chairs facing him, tucking her legs up under her. She had tied her hair back into a pony-tail, but it was spilling about everywhere, and she reached back and unclasped it, shaking her head so that it fell in its usual disorderly mass over her shoulders.
‘Why has it been a bad week?’ she asked politely, and he rested his head on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. Like that, she could see that he was tired.
‘I’m in the middle of investigating a possible acquisition,’ he said, without opening his eyes, ‘and it’s a very delicate one. Every step has to be made carefully. Very wearying.’
‘You mean you prefer to charge in there, blowing horns and making your presence felt.’
‘If I’m taking over a company, I like it to be a direct manoeuvre. Right now, I’m conducting a sort of dance, having to make sure that everything goes very slowly.’ He opened his eyes and looked at her. ‘Did you see much of Martha when you were still living at home?’ he asked, and she frowned, puzzled at the question.
‘Only if it was unavoidable,’ Suzanne told him bluntly. ‘I realise that she’s a part of your family, even if you aren’t blood-related, but I had nothing in common with her.’
If they had been the same age and had met, she thought, as teenagers, she still wouldn’t have had anything in common with her. Suzanne had been a tomboy as a child, had always preferred the freedom of casual clothes, rarely wore anything that matched. She would start off with good intentions, but somewhere along the line, usually by the time she got to her feet, she would find herself running late and would spoil whatever effect she had created by wearing the wrong shoes. Martha had been an impeccable dresser. That seemed, to her, to sum up the essential difference between them.
‘Apart from what was going on at the house,’ Dane said, his voice still easy and offhand, ‘what else was happening there?’
‘In the village, you mean?’ Suzanne was becoming more bewildered. She felt that underneath the bland, general questions he was asking her something very directly, but what that something was she had no idea.
‘The usual,’ she said. Was he really interested in little local scandals? If he was, he would have returned back at least once, wouldn’t he? ‘A few births, a few deaths, a few rows between neighbours. Stanley Cooper’s wife ran off with his neighbour. Mary Deacon’s daughter had a baby and no one ever found out who the father was.’ Suzanne grinned at that because Mary Deacon had always been very self-righteous when it had come to other people’s morals. There had been a good deal of sniggering when the unthinkable had happened to her daughter.
‘Nothing else?’ he asked, and she shook her head. ‘And don’t you miss all that? The peace and tranquillity? Village life where a little local scandal keeps everyone happy?’
She felt her hackles rise a little at what she interpreted as criticism.
‘London is a good experience,’ she said defensively. ‘It was different when my father was alive. All that meant a lot more then.’ She realised, with a start of surprise, that she didn’t feel the pain and anger that had plagued her for months at the mention of her father.
‘And are the bright lights going to keep you here or are you going to get fed up?’
‘Are you worried that I might run out on the job you very kindly provided for me?’ Suzanne asked, wondering how she could ever have been lulled into feeling any kind of companionship with this man.
‘Did I say that?’
‘You didn’t have to. I can read between the lines as well as anybody else. And you can rest assured that I have no plans for returning home. Not,’ she laughed bitterly, ‘that there’s any home left to return to.’
‘So we’re back to this, are we?’ His voice was sharp, impatient, and she realised with a little dismay that they had resumed their fighting stances once again. It was hard to think that there had been a time when there was no animosity between them. But then everything had been different then and there was no point in making comparisons between the past and the present. The present was all that mattered.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said insincerely. ‘I forgot that I was under orders not to mention that again.’ Which only made his eyes narrow further. ‘In a minute I suppose you’ll tell me that I’m acting like a child.’ Which would only be echoing, she thought, what Angela implied at every given opportunity. ‘Do you think that big, bad London is a little too grown-up for me?’ she pressed, feeling as though she was back on the steamroller and unable to get off now that she had started.
‘Maybe that’s what you think,’ he answered smoothly. ‘Although, you did look like a lost, abandoned little girl when I saw you for the first time in that bedsit.’
He wasn’t being unkind when he said it but she didn’t appreciate the sentiment any the more for that.
‘There’s no need to scowl.’ He laughed. ‘If it’s any consolation, you look considerably less lost and abandoned now. You just look permanently angry.’
She wished that he wouldn’t use that tone of voice with her. That very slightly patronising voice which made her feel as though she was still back in school.
‘Only when I’m with you,’ she said with disdain, which made him look even more amused. ‘When I’m at work I’m perfectly normal, and I’m not at all angry with Robert.’
‘Robert?’ He frowned and tried to sort through his memory bank to come up with a face that might fit the name.
‘He works with me,’ she clarified, thinking of the good-natured face and the red hair.
‘And you get along well with him, do you?’
She smiled. ‘Like a house on fire. He’s very sweet tempered and great fun.’
‘Should I be warned of the start of boyfriends pounding at the front door so that they can get in to see you?’
‘There’s no need to be sarcastic,’ Suzanne said, irritated. She had never had a line of boyfriends trying to break down the front door so that they could get in to see her, and he knew that. She just wasn’t the type that attracted flocks of men and she never had been. There was nothing provocative about her. She never swayed on high heels, or wore tight clothes, or did elaborate things to her hair. He must have known that very well.
‘Anyway,’ she added, ‘Robert has a girlfriend.’
‘Oh, dear. Was that a great disappointment for you?’
‘If I was desperate for a boyfriend, which I assure you I’m not, then I would go out and find one,’ Suzanne snapped. She made that sound as though finding a compatible male was just a question of supermarket shopping. ‘Would you like that? Would it set your mind at rest? You wouldn’t have to fear that I might start getting ideas above my station.’
‘Now,’ he drawled, giving her the full blast of that dry charm of his, ‘is there any reason for me to fear that?’
‘None at all.’
‘What a relief. Does that mean that I needn’t lock my bedroom door at night?’
Suzanne tried not to let her teeth snap together. She tried to hold onto an even temper. She even tried to smile, although she was afraid that what emerged bore closer resemblance to a kind of demented baring of the teeth.
‘That’s right.’
‘And I take it that you’re not afraid of my breaking down your bedroom door?’
Very amusing, she wanted to say. You were tired, and how well I’ve done my job in cheering you up by providing some light comic relief.
‘That’s right.’
‘Why are you so sure?’
‘Because,’ she said tightly, ‘as we’ve already established, I’
m not your cup of tea any more than you are mine.’ She stood up because that was the only way she felt that the conversation could be brought to an end. If she kept sitting where she was, half hanging off the edge of the chair with her fingernails grimly biting into the cushion, then he would simply continue baiting her until the cows came home, because it was entertaining him.
‘Not going already?’ he asked, standing up and walking towards her with a half-grin on his face. ‘And you were doing such a good job of getting rid of my weariness.’
‘So I noticed,’ she said coldly. ‘When feeling stressed, just take two spoonfuls of my infantile company and you’ll have a good night’s sleep.’
‘Don’t be foolish.’ The grin vanished from his face and he was looking at her seriously, which was almost as bad because her nerves began to jump. ‘When you’re not feeling sorry for yourself, you’re very light-hearted. Your naïvety is refreshing.’
But never stimulating, she thought. For a man like him, stimulating came in small, sexy packages like Angela Street, whom she found as hard as ice but who was probably very compliant when it came to her lover. She was the sort of woman who would attract him. No refreshing naïvety there, that was for sure. Just hard intelligence and the sort of looks that turned heads. Whatever he said, how could she not believe that there was more to that relationship than he was telling?
‘You should thank your upbringing for that,’ he was saying, standing right in front of her, so that she could almost breathe in his masculinity. ‘Your father did a good job, Suzie.’
The breath caught in her throat, and she looked down, away from that disturbing, aggressive face. ‘I know that,’ she said. ‘I never missed not having a mother. He was more than enough, and I can’t believe that he’s gone out of my life for ever. There was so much I had left to say to him.’
One hot tear trickled down her face. She hated being vulnerable and exposed like this in front of him, but she couldn’t resist the need to talk.
‘I know,’ Dane said gently. ‘But he’s not gone, you know. You have a lifetime’s worth of memories.’
The single tear was joined by another one, and she muttered unsteadily, ‘I’m very sorry.’
‘What for?’ his voice was surprised, but even so she hurriedly wiped her face with her arm and sniffed.
‘For being so maudlin.’
He didn’t say anything. He reached out and put both his arms around her and pulled her towards him in an embrace that seemed to enfold every part of her. Her cheek pressed against his chest. She could hear the steady beating of his heart underneath the shirt. His hands stroked her hair—a soothing gesture—and he murmured, ‘Shh,’ as though she had said something, although she hadn’t.
She laughed nervously and pulled back, looking up at him. Some flippant remark would have been just the thing right now, because suddenly the atmosphere had thickened, and even if that was just in her imagination it still made her feel jumpy and unsettled.
‘Silly Suzie,’ was the only thing she could think of saying, and a ghost of a smile lightened his face.
The arms which had been around her were now less tight, and she could feel his palms splayed out against her back. His thumb was on her ribcage. Could he feel her rapidly beating heart?
‘Stop crying yourself down,’ he said softly, and she gave him a watery smile. Her mouth, she thought idiotically, was only inches away from his own. He had a very nice mouth—firm but sensual at the same time. She could imagine what it might feel to have it cover hers, and the thought made her feel hot and agitated.
His hands shifted slightly, under her breasts. He inclined his head, down, towards her, and kissed her on the forehead, which wasn’t alarming at all, was it? The local vicar had done exactly the same thing at the funeral. She tried to replace the lean, hard-boned man against her with the safe, plump image of the vicar, and for a while she succeeded. For about two seconds, then her senses went haywire again and all she could think was that she was being held by Dane Sutherland. Even if it was a thoroughly comforting caress.
‘Feeling better?’ he asked and his voice came to her as from miles away.
‘Yes. Thank you. Much better.’ She could hardly get the words out. Her mouth felt as though it was stuffed with cotton wool. She shifted a bit, but he didn’t remove his arms. Did he think that she might fall down without his support? In point of fact, her legs did feel a bit on the wobbly side and she put that down to the unexpected onslaught of unhappiness that had overtaken her a short while ago. Emotional upsets tended to make you feel weak and unstable. She was quite sure that that was a documented medical fact.
‘Good.’ He paused. ‘Whatever you may think of me, however much you may dislike and blame me for what happened to your father, and,’ he couldn’t help adding, ‘however ridiculous and unfounded your accusations may be, it’s far better for you to release your emotions than bottle them up inside you.’ Their eyes met and she blinked. What was he telling her? That he was willing to fit the bill of the handy shoulder to cry on?
It occurred to her that she would have liked rather more than that and she quickly shoved the thought aside.
‘Yes, you’re right,’ she agreed, and gave him a watery smile.
He didn’t propose to have a long conversation with her in this position, did he? She hoped not, because every nerve in her body was agonisingly aware of him.
‘You mean you agree with me?’ He gave a low, sexy laugh under his breath. ‘I must put that in my diary.’
He kissed her again on her forehead, and then, while her face was still tilted up to his, he bent lower and kissed her on her mouth—a light, undemanding kiss.
Anyone with an ounce of sympathy for a girl in distress would have kissed in a similar manner. She attempted to pin down the image of the vicar again and failed utterly. She couldn’t visualise the vicar kissing anyone on the mouth, not even his wife, and she certainly couldn’t visualise anyone responding to an innocent kiss from him with such shameful longing—not even his wife.
He kissed her again on her mouth, but this time his lips stayed on hers.
Suzanne felt her body tremble in his arms and his kiss deepened. With a gasp of shock she felt the pressure of his mouth on hers increase and the feel of his tongue in her mouth sent waves of forbidden pleasure rushing through her. Her fingers tightened on the collar of his shirt, and her breasts, pressed against his chest, were aching with desire.
His hands moved slightly. She wished that he would move them up and over her breasts; she wished that he would ease the hardened nipples, caress them. She closed her eyes and shuddered, torn between knowing that this was all wrong, however wonderful it might feel, and a craving to let him continue.
The choice was taken out of her hands, because he stepped back from her and looked at her with darkened eyes. His breathing was as erratic as hers was.
‘I think,’ he said with a shuttered expression, ‘that it’s time you went to bed, don’t you?’
He turned his back and walked across to the window and stood there, staring out, waiting for her to leave.
Suzanne watched him and couldn’t, for the life of her, think of a single thing to say that might rescue the situation. She had never felt so humiliated in her entire existence.
She remained where she was for a few seconds, hesitant, and then left the room quietly and slowly. She wasn’t going to run. She walked with carefully measured steps out of the room and along to her bedroom, and once she was inside she shut the door, quietly and carefully as well.
But she didn’t switch on the light. Instead she went across to her bed and sat on it and replayed with deliberate slowness what had happened a few moments ago.
The most consoling thought was that maybe he would blame himself, maybe he would think that he had taken advantage of a poor, innocent young girl who had been in a state of stress.
Unfortunately he would, she acknowledged miserably to herself, have to be a certified idiot not to have realised that her
response to him had been anything but unwilling.
She hadn’t tried to stop him, had she? She had clung—clung and returned his kiss because even if her mind had told her not to her body had gone beyond listening to what her mind had to say.
He wasn’t attracted to her, and she groaned when she thought how eagerly she had pressed herself against him.
What must he have been thinking when he had been holding her substantial frame?
She got undressed in darkness, not really relishing the thought of seeing naked proof of her unfashionable curves. She very nearly, in fact, felt the urge to have a little taste of chocolate, but it was a passing thought. She had lost the taste for it as quickly as she had found it. Indeed, she hadn’t had any chocolate for a while, ever since he had stormed into her life and filled it with something other than her continuous, never-ending misery.
Without trying, she had lost weight. Never enough to reduce her to Angela’s size, she knew. For that she would have needed to lop a few inches off here, there and just about everywhere, but her clothes no longer sat snugly on her, and a couple of things had been relegated to the back of the cupboard. She would have to do some alterations on them in time. She would have to learn how to manipulate a needle and thread—another ladylike trait which she had never been able to grasp with any degree of proficiency.
Suzanne stayed in bed longer than usual the following morning, giving Dane plenty of time to leave the house, and when she decided that the coast was clear she finally emerged.
She didn’t want to bump into him. She didn’t want to have to witness that glinting smile on his lips as his thoughts flew back to that brief lapse on his part. Nor did she wish to hear any tedious remarks along the lines of ‘My, but I hadn’t realised what a big girl you had become’.
She hesitantly entered the kitchen and, of course, there he was sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee-cup in his hand, in front of the Financial Times, and her heart plummeted to somewhere close to her ankles.
A Suitable Mistress Page 7