by Anne Mather
‘What do you want me to say, Liv?’ he asked suddenly, his voice lower, deeper, disturbingly sensual. He put out his hand, his lips twisting when she flinched, and plucked a silvery hair from the shoulder of her jacket. ‘You and I know one another too well to indulge in this kind of lunacy. Does the fact that Louise and I got together annoy you? Is that why you’re behaving like a spoiled brat?’
‘You wish!’
But Olivia was panicking now. When he’d reached out, she’d been half afraid he was going to touch her cheek. And, conversely, now that he hadn’t, she felt cheated. She’d wanted him to touch her, she wanted to feel those strong fingers stroking her heated flesh.
Oh, God!
‘Just get out of my way, Joel,’ she said, controlling the quiver in her voice with an effort.
‘What if I don’t want to?’ he countered, and the breath she was taking caught somewhere in the back of her throat.
‘Now who’s being childish?’ she panted. ‘Be careful, Joel, I’ll begin to think you’re the one who’s got a problem. Why should I care who you chose to marry? I just hope you made her happier than you made me.’
Joel moved then. His hand grabbed her wrist, twisted it viciously behind her, forced her towards him whether she wanted it or not. ‘Take that back,’ he snarled, but Olivia was too stunned to do anything but gaze up at him with wide, startled eyes. ‘Go on,’ he persisted. ‘Do it, or I’ll break your bloody arm.’
Olivia blinked, and just like that the realisation that it was Joel who was holding her, Joel who was crushing her breasts against the rough lapels of his jacket, took all her fear away.
‘You wouldn’t do that, Joel,’ she said, with amazing confidence in the circumstances. And although there was a heart-stopping moment when she thought she was wrong, finally, with a muffled oath, he thrust her away from him.
‘No, I wouldn’t,’ he said hoarsely, stepping away from the door. ‘I have more self-respect than that. Now—get out of here!’
Olivia hesitated. She knew that was what she should do. But she also knew that in some strange way the tables had been turned. Seeing the grim look on Joel’s face as he waited for her to open the door, she sensed that, for all his harsh words, he wanted her out of there now just as much as she’d wanted to go a few minutes earlier.
But why?
It was an intriguing puzzle.
Was it only because he was angry with her for questioning his masculinity? Or had touching her disturbed him as much as it had disturbed her?
‘What are you waiting for?’
He would have reached past her and jerked the door open then, but now Olivia put herself in his way. ‘Joel,’ she said huskily, moving towards him and grasping his forearms. ‘We can’t leave it like this.’
‘Why not?’
He would have shaken himself free of her, but she was insistent, holding on to his arms, feeling the muscles bunch hard beneath her fingers. ‘I thought we were friends, Joel,’ she murmured, her thumb caressing the sleeve of his jacket. ‘I’m not your enemy, you know.’
‘This isn’t going to work, Liv,’ he warned, but she just gazed up at him with innocent green eyes.
‘What isn’t going to work?’ she queried softly, and he growled deep in his throat.
‘This,’ he said savagely, gripping the back of her neck, pushing the silky shoulder-length hair aside, his fingers digging into her flesh. ‘I should have known I couldn’t trust you.’
Olivia opened her mouth to deny his claim, but the words were never spoken. With a muffled oath, Joel fastened his lips to hers, silencing anything but the moan of pleasure she couldn’t quite restrain.
The kiss was deep and erotic, the sexual thrust of his tongue igniting all the raw, primitive emotions she’d suppressed for so long. She wanted him with an urgency that defied rhyme or reason, sinking into him completely, hazed by desire.
Without her hardly being aware of it, her arms were around his neck and he was moving her back against the door behind her, leaning into her sensually, his hands burning her hips. She only realised he’d rucked her skirt above her knees and parted her legs with his thigh when she felt the cool air upon her skin.
His mouth ate at hers, bruised the soft flesh, left her weak and trembling beneath the weight of his body as he leant against her. She could feel every part of him, feel every bone and angle. And every unguarded muscle, so that when the pressure against her stomach became unmistakable, she put down a hand and caressed his length through the taut fabric of his jeans.
She heard him say an oath thickly, and then he was tipping her jacket off her shoulders, tearing open her blouse so he could press open-mouthed kisses between her breasts. His palms pressed against the taut nipples swelling against her half-bra, his fingers rough against her soft skin.
He groaned and she felt an answering pain deep in her belly. There was a pulse throbbing between her legs and she knew she was already wet. When his hand dropped lower, cradled her thigh, before moving round to probe beneath the thin silk of her thong, she let out a moan of protest. But she didn’t try to stop him. She honestly didn’t think she had the strength.
‘Dear God, Joel,’ she whispered unsteadily, wondering if he intended to take her there against the door of his office. It was possible. She was certainly making it easy for him. Like some cheap tart, an inner voice taunted, and suddenly she felt sick. Had she really sunk that low?
Thankfully, it wasn’t a question she had to answer. Whether Joel would have unzipped his jeans and pushed himself into her hot, wet heat became a moot point when someone knocked at the door.
They both froze, and Joel at least was reminded of a similar occasion when they were both still at school. Then, they’d arranged to meet in her father’s loft and, like now, things had rapidly got out of hand. Until Ben Foley had come into the barn…
Predictably, it wasn’t something he wanted to remember at this moment. Dammit, he thought, he’d sworn Olivia would never get under his skin again. And now here he was, caught like some guilty schoolboy, the only difference being he was still wearing his trousers.
Olivia was the first to recover. Scrambling out from under him, she scooped her jacket off the floor and put it on. Dragging the two sides together over her unbuttoned blouse, she reached for her bag.
‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’ she hissed, checking that her skirt didn’t look too creased. It did, of course, and she was sure anyone with half an eye would know what they’d been doing. But there was nothing she could do about it. She was fairly sure she hadn’t a scrap of make-up left on her face.
Joel extended his arms and pushed himself away from the door with an effort. He’d sagged against the panels when she’d moved, reluctant to display the treacherous evidence of his need. God, he realised, feeling dazed, it was half-past two already. It would be Cheryl Brooks, ready and eager to discuss the finer points of binary calculus.
He was so screwed, he thought dully, or rather he wasn’t. He flexed his shoulders and straightened, turning to regard Olivia through narrowed eyes. He should be grateful for the interruption, so why was he feeling so frustrated? But heaven help him, he could feel Olivia’s essence on his fingers, was still breathing the potent scent of her arousal into his lungs.
She was getting agitated. He could see it. She arched her brows, nodding pointedly towards the door, showing him in every way she could without speaking again that he should see who it was. Joel felt his lips twitch in spite of himself. Would she still be as eager when she saw Cheryl was his visitor?
‘OK, OK,’ he mouthed, running slightly unsteady fingers through his hair, checking there were no tell-tale signs to betray him. Then, turning, he reached for the handle. Without further ado, he opened the door.
Olivia tensed. She couldn’t help it. Whoever it was, she had no desire to stay and be introduced. She wanted out of there, immediately. Her senses had cooled now and she was appalled at the way she’d behaved.
The girl waiting outside only
looked to be about eighteen, but she was probably older. It hadn’t occurred to Olivia before now that Joel would have female students as well as male and the knowledge disturbed her. The girl had long blonde hair, worn over one shoulder, her tight jeans and cropped top accentuating her youthful appearance.
‘Hi, Joel,’ she said, proving their relationship was fairly familiar. Then she saw Olivia and the smile she’d been wearing faded.
‘Cheryl,’ Joel said feebly, aware that he wasn’t quite up to this. He glanced at his watch. ‘You’re early.’
‘Just five minutes,’ Cheryl protested, and Olivia could tell she wasn’t suited either. She’d probably been looking forward to a cosy tête-à-tête with her professor, and now Olivia had spoiled the mood.
‘Yeah, right.’ Joel glanced briefly at Olivia and then back at his visitor. ‘Well, why don’t you come in? Um—Mrs Garvey was just leaving.’
CHAPTER FIVE
THE next couple of days passed without incident and, waking up one morning, Olivia realised it was almost a week since she’d arrived at Blades Farm. How long was she going to stay? she wondered. She had planned for this to be just a flying visit. But somehow now she was in no hurry to get back to London and Linda hadn’t mentioned anything about when she was going to leave.
There had been a little animosity when she’d arrived back from Newcastle driving a small Renault from the rental agency. But it had soon blown over and Olivia was finding the sense of freedom having her own transport gave her well worth any unpleasantness from her brother-in-law. Besides, it enabled her to get out and see something of the area she’d grown up in, and she had every intention of persuading her father to join her. Eventually.
The car had even helped to put her encounter with Joel to the back of her mind. She hadn’t forgotten what had happened. How could she? And sometimes, particularly at night, she’d wake up and find her breasts tingling and a moist place between her legs.
But she’d get over it. The pangs of frustration she was feeling were just her body reminding her that she was still a young woman with a young woman’s sexual needs. During her marriage to Bruce she’d had to stifle those needs, and it was unfortunate that it had been Joel who’d aroused them again.
But any attractive man would have done, she assured herself fiercely, flinging back the duvet and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. It was her misfortune that she’d let Joel get close enough to stir emotions she’d kept in check for the better part of six years.
And remembering how their encounter had ended, she felt again the surge of resentment that had filled her when he’d dismissed her. OK, she’d been planning to leave—desperate to get out of there, actually—but had he had to make her feel as if she’d been just another drain on his precious time?
She breathed deeply, refusing to let thoughts of Joel ruin her day. She’d seen him, they’d talked, and now she didn’t care if she didn’t see him again. Let him make eyes at his adoring students. The female ones, of course.
For once the bathroom was empty, and, aware that there were no guarantees that that state of affairs would continue, Olivia quickly washed and cleaned her teeth. Promising herself a more thorough inspection later, she returned to her room and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, her only concession to style the scarlet chiffon scarf she knotted about her neck.
Downstairs, she found her sister in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher, the crumbs and dirty dishes from breakfast still littering the table.
‘Let me do that,’ said Olivia at once, but Linda merely shook her head.
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, her glance saying that, even in the stone-washed jeans and cotton T-shirt, Olivia looked over-dressed. ‘There’s coffee on the stove. Help yourself.’
‘Has Dad had his breakfast?’ asked Olivia, doing as Linda had suggested. She took a sip of the coffee and stifled a grimace. ‘I’ll go and see how he is, shall I?’
‘He’s resting,’ said Linda, as she said every morning. So far, Olivia had been unable to repeat the occasion when she and her father had had a chance to talk alone together. ‘D’you want some toast?’
‘I’ll get it.’
Olivia refused to let her sister wait on her, and, taking the cut loaf out of the stone barrel, she extracted a slice and popped it in the toaster. Then, tucking the tips of her fingers into the back pockets of her jeans, she added, ‘Haven’t you ever thought of getting Dad a wheelchair?’
It was the first time she’d mentioned it to Linda, hoping against hope that she’d have another chance to speak to her father about it. But beggars couldn’t be choosers and she was determined to get him out of the house.
Linda stared at her now. ‘A wheelchair!’ she echoed disparagingly. ‘You can’t think Dad would ever use a wheelchair!’
‘Why not?’
‘You know why not.’ Linda returned to her task. ‘He’s far too independent.’
‘He’s not very independent, stuck in that room all the time,’ retorted Olivia steadily. ‘It would do him good to get some fresh air.’
Linda shook her head. ‘I suppose that’s why you insisted on hiring that car, is it?’
‘No—’
‘You didn’t think we might have tried to get him out in the Land Rover or his old Saab?’
Olivia could feel herself weakening, but she stood her ground. ‘And have you?’
Now it was Linda’s turn to look defensive. ‘What would be the point? I’ve told you, Dad will go out when he can do so under his own steam and not before.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘Who knows?’ Linda’s voice had sharpened. ‘Nurse Franklin comes in every week to help him with his physical therapy. Perhaps you ought to ask her. Though I have to tell you, you’re wasting your time.’
Olivia heard the bread pop out of the toaster and was grateful for the opportunity to have something else to do. Buttering the slice with a knife she found on the table, she helped herself to a smear of marmalade before taking a bite.
‘Anyway, I wanted to talk to you,’ said Linda with a distinct change of tone. She closed the dishwasher and switched it on. ‘Martin’s gone into Chevingham, but he’ll be back about half-past ten. Maybe we could all have coffee together?’
Olivia kept her eyes fixed on the slice of toast she was holding, wondering what had brought this on. In the week since her arrival, she and Martin had barely said more than a dozen words to one another. She couldn’t imagine him wanting to sit down and share morning coffee with someone he evidently despised.
Unless…
She recalled suddenly the silk camisole she’d given to Jayne. Had they found out about that? And if so was she to bear the brunt of their joint displeasure? Had Linda decided she needed her husband’s support on this occasion?
‘Um—well, I was thinking of going out,’ she murmured awkwardly, even though what she’d really been hoping to do was spend a little more time with her father. With or without Linda’s chaperonage.
‘I see.’ Linda stood at the other side of the scrubbed pine table, regarding her coldly. ‘Oh, well, don’t let us stop you. Not if you’d prefer to go out.’
Olivia sighed. Perversely now, she felt ashamed. They were trying to be friendly, and she was throwing their kindness back in their faces.
‘No,’ she declared firmly. ‘I can go out any time. What do you want to talk about, anyway? I hope I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘Heavens, no.’ Linda was all smiles now. ‘It’s just—well, you’ve been here a week now and you’ve got some idea of the way the farm works. Martin and I have come up with an idea that we’d like to put to you. But I’d rather wait until he’s here to explain it to you himself.’
In spite of her misgivings, Olivia was intrigued. Was this anything to do with what her father had started to tell her when Linda had burst in on them the other evening? He had definitely mentioned some idea his daughter and son-in-law had had. Was she to find out what it was from an entirely unexpected
source?
The time between her agreeing to listen to what they had to say and Martin’s return dragged. Having checked that her father was indeed sleeping and therefore unable to be disturbed, Olivia decided to go for a walk. She had over an hour before the half-past-ten deadline, and it was a pleasant morning. Collecting her boots and a jacket from upstairs, she let herself out of the front door and walked briskly away from the house.
She had no particular direction in mind. Just a need to escape Linda’s overpowering presence. Despite being a pushover where her husband was concerned, Linda certainly liked to throw her weight around with the other members of the household.
Avoiding the immediate environs of the house for fear Linda would see her, Olivia skirted the trees that screened the paddock and made her way across the stockyard to the barn. There were chickens running loose here and even a couple of geese that hissed alarmingly. But Olivia wasn’t troubled. It was amazing how the memories of childhood came flooding back.
She could see her nephew in the distance. Andy was up on a ladder, apparently painting one of the cottages that housed the families of the men who worked on the farm. Which was odd, she reflected, frowning. The tenants usually looked after the cottages themselves.
Perhaps he wasn’t painting, she thought, dodging into the barn so he wouldn’t think she was spying on him. He could just be repairing the guttering. Or cleaning the windows—but that wasn’t likely either.
The barn was familiar. Although she would have preferred not to think about it, this was where she and Joel had used to meet after school. There’d been a loft, fragrant with the heat of the sun on the hay her father had stored there. It had been their own private hideaway—though she guessed now that her father had known exactly what was going on.