by Helen Brooks
Whipping the jacket from her shoulders, Marianne handed it to him and turned on her heel. She had only gone a yard or two when he caught at her arm, swinging her to face him. ‘I’m sorry, OK?’ he said, his voice gentler. ‘Look, for what it’s worth, I know you’re the sort of woman who wouldn’t be satisfied with a short affair, or even a long one, come to that. But the women I date—it suits them, Marianne. It’s a two-way thing, believe me. I told you how I feel because I wanted to make it clear. That’s all.’
‘Well, you have.’
He could see she wasn’t going to be mollified and in truth he couldn’t blame her. Even a lad still wet behind the ears would have made a better job of this evening than him. The trouble was, she was like a drug and he couldn’t get enough of her. He had never wanted a woman so badly without bedding her. Correction. He had never wanted a woman so badly full stop, he told himself grimly, and he was sick of cold showers at three and four in the morning. The best thing he could do was to get his butt back to the States and put an ocean between them. He knew of more than one woman who would appreciate his candour about his intentions, even if he wasn’t a man who made promises.
‘I shall be leaving the day after tomorrow. Is there any chance I can leave knowing we’re still friends or have I blown it?’ he asked, deliberately adopting a meekness he hoped would defuse the situation.
He saw the deep brown eyes weigh him up. ‘You can’t charm your way out of this,’ she said reprovingly.
Detecting a slight softening in her manner, he took a chance and kissed her lightly on her delectable nose. She would never know the control it took when every nerve and sinew was aching to feel her body against his and her mouth open beneath his lips. ‘Business all the way from here. How does that sound? And don’t forget there are two other people in this equation. Crystal and my father would find it uncomfortable if we’re at each other’s throats, don’t you think?’ he asked with unrepentant persuasion.
‘Believe me, you wouldn’t want to know exactly what I’m thinking right now.’
He did not allow himself to question why it was so important this woman remained in his life, even if it was on the perimeter. Ruthlessly he called upon the charm she had mentioned and which had rarely let him down in the past. ‘Harmony for Seacrest’s sake, then? How about that?’
She stared at him a little longer and then nodded once.
CHAPTER NINE
THE next few weeks were hectic and messy with umpteen minor panics as the builders moved in but, although she only averaged four or five hours’ sleep a night, Marianne welcomed the frantic pace. The knowledge that she was responsible to oversee the alterations to Seacrest virtually on her own was heavy at times, but it did mean her mind was fully concentrated on the job in hand. During the day, that was. Her dreams—which regularly featured a tall dark man with riveting blue eyes—she could do nothing about.
Andrew seemed surprisingly content to leave everything to her and Marianne had not expected this. Apart from the odd hour or two once or twice a week when he visited Seacrest with Crystal in tow, she only saw the pair of them when she called in Andrew’s house for her evening meal. Although Marianne had been determined to make no regular arrangement, this had gone by the board in the first week. After chatting with Andrew one evening shortly after Rafe had left, she had come to understand he had been confined to bed after a car accident for some months before the onset of his present illness. Consequently, when the leukaemia had reared its ugly head just as he had had some hope of becoming mobile again it had struck him doubly hard. It had also meant his limbs were weak and his mental attitude low. He had apparently refused to consider any therapy, which explained a lot to Marianne.
After some diplomatic persuasion, it had been agreed she would work with Rafe’s father for an hour before dinner each night, showing him how to encourage his joints to become flexible and mobile, improve his circulation and generally regain his independence. After gaining his trust, they’d gone on in leaps and bounds. She had worked out a plan of controlled activity for him during the day which Crystal oversaw, and then in the evening she completed the programme. From the beginning she had realised that Andrew’s psychological battle was greater than his physical limitations, but as the weeks had flown by he had made startling progress. She knew from experience that no two patients reacted to illness or disability in the same way, and with Rafe’s father the emphasis had to be always that he was in control. Once she had convinced him she did not see him as an invalid he had been putty in her hands.
Marianne had found—somewhat to her consternation—that the more she got to know Andrew, the more she liked him. For all his shouting and blustering he was a gentle man, and kind.
At the beginning of the fifth week, and two days before Rafe was due to return to England, the two of them finally had the talk Marianne had been both dreading and wishing for. After an hour’s therapy they were seated at the dining-room table waiting for Crystal to serve the soup when Andrew said, ‘Your parents would be proud of the way you’re coping, Annie. You know that, don’t you?’ He had taken to calling her Annie naturally, probably because Crystal did so.
‘Thank you.’
‘But then they were both strong people so I’m not surprised.’
She could hear Crystal in the kitchen and, knowing she would be bringing the soup tureen any moment, Marianne gathered her courage. ‘I know my mother was seeing you before she met my father,’ she said in a rush before she lost her nerve. ‘Rafe told me and I asked Crystal about it. They…well, they gave different versions about it and I wanted to know…’ Her voice petered out. Whenever she had rehearsed this moment it had been without Andrew’s calm steady gaze on her face.
‘You want to know how it really was,’ Andrew finished for her.
Marianne flushed. ‘My mother was a good person.’
‘Yes, she was, m’dear.’
‘But Rafe seems to think differently.’
‘Can I be frank with you?’ Andrew leant forward, his lined handsome face under its shock of white hair tender. ‘My son suffered quite a knock when he found out his wife was not what she seemed. He was idealistic in those days, even romantic. Nevertheless, he dusted himself off and got on with life on his own terms. I regret very much mentioning your mother to him because he misunderstood how things were. He loved his mother greatly, and for quite a while he felt I had slighted her in some way. This was not the case. I did care for your mother as a youth, Annie, but I loved my wife when I was a man. Your mother will always be a sweet memory, my first love. But Rafe’s mother was my life partner, the woman who had my name and my son. When I tried to explain this to Rafe he was not in the mood to listen. Because of his experience with Fiona he had become more cynical than I had imagined.’
‘So you didn’t feel she chose my father because he was wealthy and you weren’t?’ she asked baldly, needing to bring it out into the open. ‘Because of what he would give her materially?’
‘Your mother was one of the most unworldly people I’ve ever met. I can’t say I wasn’t bitterly disappointed and upset at the time but I never imagined money had anything to do with her decision. She simply fell in love. Unfortunately, we can’t always choose where we love. It happens like a spear sometimes, straight into the heart. Looking back, I know I knew how things were the moment I introduced them. It was as sudden as that for them both. Their faces gave them away.’
Marianne nodded, a great weight lifting. She had never doubted her mother for an instant but she had hated to think that Andrew had harboured a grudge against her parents all these years. ‘Rafe hates her,’ she murmured painfully.
‘No. He only thinks he does.’
‘That sounds very wise but isn’t it the same thing?’
Andrew gave a little grunt of amusement. ‘Now that could have been Gerald talking. No, I don’t think it’s the same thing at all. Would you like me to speak to him?’
She considered this for a moment. ‘No.’ Her chin
lifted. ‘I don’t think it would make any difference, not with Rafe. He has to come to his own decision about things.’
Andrew’s eyes narrowed. ‘Very perceptive of you.’
Crystal chose that moment to make an appearance and Marianne wasn’t sorry. She had the feeling that Andrew was pretty perceptive, too, and the last thing she wanted was to betray herself. It disturbed her more than she would admit that Rafe forced himself into her mind the minute her subconscious took over but every night it was the same, and the eroticism of her dreams were something else. Suddenly she didn’t recognise herself any more. She knew Rafe associated love with weakness and loss. He had made that abundantly plain. So why did the thought of seeing him again in the flesh cause her heart to slam like a sledgehammer?
Each night his lips met hers, each night he kissed her deeply and without reserve, leading her into an intimate place where she could taste him, feel his warmth and scent, the hard thrust of his body. And then, just when she felt she would explode from the force of pleasure welling inside her, she would wake up—alone. And sleep would be a million miles away with sexual frustration gnawing at her. Down she would pad to the kitchen, but the hot sweet milk and packet of chocolate digestives couldn’t completely dispel the lingering enchantment of that phantom lovemaking. She was going to be as round as she was tall if she didn’t get herself sorted.
They had all begun on their soup when the sound of a key in the lock of the front door caused them to pause. The next moment measured footsteps crossed the hall and then Rafe appeared in the doorway, tall and bronzed and smiling quietly. ‘This looks very cosy,’ he said evenly. ‘Room for one more at the table?’
‘Of course.’ Crystal jumped up and for a few moments all was bustle and questions and answers as to why he was two days early.
‘The Texas problem was sorted quicker than I’d envisaged,’ Rafe said shortly to his father, before turning to Marianne, who had had time to compose herself after the shock of seeing him so unexpectedly. ‘I hear you’ve been working with Dad in your role of therapist? That’s kind of you, Marianne. I appreciate it.’
His gaze caught hers and she couldn’t look away. The piercing blue eyes she had seen so often in her dreams were studying her face, assessing her motives. She could feel it. She nodded. ‘He’s doing fine.’
‘Of course I am,’ Andrew put in. ‘I’m as strong as a horse. I’ve been telling you that for months, Rafe.’
‘So you have.’
Marianne felt enormous relief when the sapphire gaze was directed at the older man. She knew Rafe was an expert at searching people’s faces to discover their emotions because Andrew had told her so. It was one of Rafe’s greatest strengths in business, his father had said proudly, and worth its weight in gold. She didn’t share Andrew’s enthusiasm.
The meal continued amid conversation about the business in America and how the alterations to Seacrest were progressing. To an outsider everyone would have appeared relaxed and insouciant but that couldn’t have been more at odds with the way Marianne felt inside. She had expected to have time to get herself primed for Rafe’s return, to bring to the fore the armour she knew it was vital to have in place with this man. And here she was in the same grubby clothes she’d been wearing all day when she had been clearing the old kitchen ready for the builders to begin knocking it about the next day, as well as keeping an eye on the work in progress, which involved walking through clouds of dust and debris. Normally she bathed and changed before coming to Andrew’s, but lack of time had meant that wasn’t possible today, not if she was going to fit in Andrew’s hour of therapy.
It hadn’t helped that her little car had refused to start and she had had to gallop the couple of miles to the village. Whenever she did walk to the cottage—and that was more often than not—she usually enjoyed the peaceful walk through high-hedged lanes, but tonight she’d arrived feeling hot and sticky.
Once the meal was finished she helped Crystal carry the dishes through to the kitchen and load the dishwasher, before popping her head round the dining-room door where the two men were sitting enjoying a brandy with their coffee. ‘I’m off,’ she said brightly, letting her gaze wash over both faces. ‘See you tomorrow.’
‘I’ll walk back with you.’ Rafe stood up as he spoke.
‘No, you must be tired.’ Even as she voiced the words she knew he wouldn’t take any notice. One thing she had learnt about Rafe in the last few months was that he always did exactly what he determined to do.
‘Not at all,’ he said smoothly, right on cue. ‘An evening walk in the fresh air is just what I need after all that travelling. I’m tired of sitting.’
As they stepped out of the front door the scents and sounds of a late summer evening surrounded them. Rafe took her arm in the familiar gesture she remembered, tucking it through his as they walked out of the drive and into the village street. ‘Did Dad tell you I’d been trying to persuade him to have some therapy on his legs for months after the accident?’ he asked softly. When she shook her head, he continued, ‘But he dug his heels in and said he’d do it his way. By the time he realised he was making no progress the leukaemia was diagnosed.’
‘He can be stubborn.’ Like father, like son.
‘Anyway, you’re a miracle-worker and I’m grateful,’ the deep masculine voice murmured before becoming silent.
Her hair was loose and a warm, salt-scented breeze caused one or two strands to drift across her cheeks as they left the village behind and continued along a lane which climbed away from the sea. The violet shadows of dusk were beginning to creep across the road as they walked, still in silence, and several times Marianne had to swallow against the tightness in her throat.
It was when they branched off into the narrower lane which bordered the cliffs and led to Seacrest that Rafe spoke again. ‘How have you been?’
‘Me? Busy,’ she said lightly. ‘How about you?’
‘The same.’ He paused. ‘Marianne, you aren’t afraid of me, are you?’ There was a strange quality to his voice and she couldn’t quite define it.
‘Of course I’m not.’ It wasn’t the truth. Physically, she knew he would do nothing to hurt her. Emotionally…
‘Good.’ He sniffed the air appreciatively. ‘I’d forgotten how good it smells here. I don’t think I’ve ever smelt this mixture of sea and flowers and fields in the same way anywhere else. I thought my father was crazy to come back but I’m beginning to see why his birthplace could exert a pull.’
They had reached a bend in the lane where the hedgerow was low enough to see over the top of it. Below the field to their left, which sloped dramatically down to the cliffs, a panoramic view of sea and sky could be seen, the water glittering in the dying sun. ‘It’s the most beautiful place in the world,’ she said throatily, the lovely night and the fact that Rafe was here at the side of her causing a weakness she could well have done without.
‘You’re beautiful.’ She tensed as his hands gently pulled her to face him, enclosing her in the circle of his arms. ‘I haven’t been able to get you out of my head while I’ve been away.’
She forced a casualness she didn’t feel. ‘With all those gorgeous American women on hand? I can’t believe that.’
‘Neither could I, to be truthful, but it’s a fact.’ He was deadly serious now. His eyes darkened as he added, ‘I took someone out to dinner when I’d been back a few days but halfway through the evening I realised I was using her as a substitute for you. It wasn’t my finest moment.’
She didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m sorry,’ she managed after a moment or two.
‘You’ve bewitched me, do you know that?’ His voice emerged husky and his eyes were a deeper blue than usual.
‘Rafe—’
‘I know, I know. We’re different people and we want different things, but right at this moment all I want is you. Tell me you don’t feel it, this primal attraction between us. Tell me your blood isn’t sizzling right now.’
She made a smal
l, ineffectual effort to shake her head but he pulled her closer against his hard body. ‘We’re two free agents, Marianne. There’s no reason on earth why we shouldn’t enjoy each other’s company.’
She opened her mouth to tell him there were a hundred reasons but his head lowered and his lips traced the outline of her mouth. ‘I keep remembering the times I’ve kissed you,’ he said against the softness of her flesh. ‘And every time I get as hard as a rock and want more—much more.’ He nipped at her lower lip, tasting the sweetness that was her. ‘Damn it, I haven’t been able to sleep, to think. For the first time in my life I’ve taken short cuts in an effort to get back over here to see you. What have you done to me, woman?’
He placed a hand on the small of her back to steady her as she swayed against him, using the other to lightly cup her breast.
‘Rafe.’ The word was a breathless whisper and she knew it wasn’t the way to deal with a man like Rafe. She had to be strong, cool; she had to show him she didn’t want this. But she did—so much. Desire was racing through her bloodstream, igniting nerve-endings. His hand began to move on her breast in a slow languorous rhythm that sent tremors coursing through her body and the assault on her mouth deepened, his lips and tongue creating an unbearable need.
She was vitally aware of the power in the male frame, the warmth of his body, the clean scent of his aftershave as the deliberate eroticism continued, and at the same time Marianne could feel his heart pounding like a sledgehammer against the solid wall of his chest. He was hugely aroused and there arose in her a primitive exultation that she could cause such desire.
It was the sound of an approaching car that caused him to release her and step back a pace a few moments before the vehicle came round the bend in the road. They stood staring at each other, both breathing hard and his body trembling almost as much as hers. ‘You see,’ he said in a ragged voice. ‘You see how it is? We only have to touch each other for fireworks to go off. Think how it would be if—’