Passionate Awakening

by Diana Hamilton

  But lithely he was on his feet, too, right beside her, 'You don't mean that,' he bit out tersely, ice-cold lights glinting in the depths of his clever eyes. 'You know damned well exactly how it's been between us ever since we met.'

  So she did, she acknowledged hollowly, the uncomfortable thought drilling away at her mind. She had recognised the instantaneous reaction, one to the other, the dark, primeval force of feeling that electrified the very air surrounding them, need calling to need in a cry as old and pagan as time.

  She might hear that call, loud and clear, but she wasn't answering, not when it came from the type of man who would seduce his own cousin's fiancée without one single qualm! Seduce her, and then, as was his custom, move on to the next easy conquest. No way—she had too much respect for herself to allow that to happen!

  Grimly, she brushed clinging particles of grass from her apple-green pants, her features set in lines as cold and precise as any created by a mason from a block of stone.

  Luke said rawly, 'I want to take you to bed,' and her heart kicked beneath her breastbone, her thighs turning to liquid fire at the mind-pictures that statement presented.

  But, above the thundering of her blood she heard her own voice clipping thinly, 'Why? So that you can scurry back to Norman, boasting of how you seduced me?'

  'Why should I do that?' There was a strange glitter in his eyes and his mouth was hard, cynical.

  'Because you'd hardly known me for five minutes before you were accusing me of marrying him for financial security,' she reminded him acidly. 'They say blood's thicker than water, so it might make you feel good to protect your cousin from a gold-digger!'

  She picked up the hamper and was walking away from him, her sneaker-clad feet slapping the ground as if she would imprint the flinty subsoil with her determination.

  'Not financial security,' he corrected, following her, his big body a handspan away, making her want to scream. 'Norman already told me you'd inherited a packet from your father.'

  They had reached the car now and she faced him. There was nowhere else to go.

  'And what else has he told you about me?' she growled, stung by the revelation. How much more of her personal affairs had Norman divulged to Luke? She hadn't imagined him as being disloyal, a tattler; she was beginning to feel she didn't know him at all.

  'Enough.' He took the hamper from her and tossed it carelessly into the back of the car. 'Enough to tell me that he's no more in love with you than you are with him.' His eyes narrowed, impaling her with glittering intensity, the soft huskiness of his voice a devilish contrast that totally unnerved her. 'There are other kinds of security, Annie. With Norman it's a need to be pampered and comfortable, to know that the best research assistant he's ever likely to have—and one, moreover, who won't be a financial or emotional drain on him— is willing to stick around and make him nice and cosy until death do you part. And you, Annie, what is it with you?'

  He moved closer, slowly, and the fierce chemical reaction there was between them kept her where she was, her eyes riveted on the tangle of dark body hair against the bronzed satin skin revealed by the open-necked shirt he wore.

  'You use Norman like a security blanket because you're afraid of something. Not of financial hardship—we've proved that. And not because you're afraid of being left on the shelf—you're too damned attractive for that prospect to worry you. So what is it?'

  His voice had deepened, the lines of his mouth softening as he lifted her small rounded chin with the tip of one finger, probing blue irises meeting wary brown.

  'Not telling, hmm?' The slow, easy huskiness of his voice raised goosebumps on her burning flesh.

  'Not to worry.' His lips brushed hers lightly, teasingly, before he turned away to unlock the car door. 'I fully intend to find out—and that's something I'm going to enjoy.'

  CHAPTER FIVE

  With the sounds of that threat echoing through her brain Annie retained a stiff, ungiving silence for the remainder of the journey, and Luke, thankfully, seemed lost in thoughts of his own.

  He had arbitrarily decided that she and Norman didn't love each other, had openly admitted he wanted her in his bed, and had talked about getting to know what made her tick as if the exercise would be an amusing game. Well, she was a person in her own right, wasn't she? Not some pliable, doll-brained creature fashioned for his temporary sexual gratification. Her body, her emotions, were not his to be used simply because, for the moment, he fancied her! And the sooner she made him understand she wasn't about to fall into his arms and into his bed, the better!

  She gave a sudden, decisive snort and turned her attention to the view. The afternoon sky had become overcast and the mountains brooded, stark and ancient on either side of the narrow track they had taken, the cloud shapes, gathering and thickening, darkened the wild landscape.

  It had begun to rain as they'd passed through the huddled village of Bryn-y-draig, and it had turned into a deluge by the time they turned off the narrow mountain road between two stone pillars, both of which had the name Plas-y-draig carved into their sides.

  Thank heavens, Annie thought. She couldn't stand much more of this stinging silence. The shaming memory of the way he'd kissed her, of the things he'd said, made her brain ache.

  The grey stone house itself was of such dour and Gothic proportions—complete with turrets and mock battlements—that under any other circumstances Annie would have laughed aloud. As it was, she could only think of getting herself inside the monstrosity and sticking to Professor Rhys for protection!

  Protection more from herself than from the silent man at her side, she admitted in a mood of self-disgust. He had said, with an audacity only he was capable of, that he wanted her in his bed but, whatever his faults—and they were legion as far as she was concerned—he wouldn't stoop to rape. If she found herself in his bed it would be because she had gone there willingly. And with the memories of how it had felt to be in his arms still making her skin quiver she knew she could easily find herself in that humiliating and degrading situation if she weren't very careful!

  'Go wake the Professor up,' Luke instructed as he switched off the ignition. 'I'll bring the bags. There's no sense in both of us getting soaked.'

  He had drawn the Ferrari up behind a rusty Mini and the rain was coming down in thick silver sheets now, shrouding everything but the facade of the wet grey house and the encroaching giant rhododendrons from view. Annie nodded, her smile grim, wondering if a thorough soaking would dampen his damned ardour, then scuttled through the deluge to the relative shelter of the massive porch.

  The heavy door was dragged open before she had time to knock and a wiry, elderly woman, who was holding a sleepy-eyed small boy in her arms, said, 'Thank heaven you've come. Miss Ross, isn't it?'

  Annie nodded, stepping inside as the woman held the door wider. She had button-black eyes in a monkeyish face and looked about at the end of her tether.

  Luke had come in by now, carrying the gear and shaking his head like a big dog coming out of water. The monkey-faced woman tutted. 'Such weather! It's all we need on top of everything else! I'm so sorry—'

  'Sorry about what, Mrs…?' Luke's gravelly voice was warm, assured, and the elderly woman visibly relaxed. She stopped twittering and shifted the child from one bony hip to the other, smiling now as if encountering Luke had made her day.

  'Morgan,' she supplied. 'I come in to do for the Professor once a week. Today's my day, and that's a blessing if ever there was one. I found him collapsed—' She lowered her voice, glancing down at the child, aged about three, who was now sucking his thumb as dark lashes fanned his tear-streaked cheeks. 'I thought the old man had snuffed it—and this poor mite was sobbing his heart out.'

  She seemed set to continue in this macabre vein for hours and Annie gave Luke an instinctive glance of sheer gratitude as he took over the situation with gentle but firm authority.

  'What has happened, precisely, Mrs Morgan? Where is Professor Rhys now?'

  'In hos
pital, in Aber,' Mrs Morgan told him. 'He's in intensive care. And I don't know what to do for the best. What with you and Miss Ross due to arrive and my Bethan expecting her third any minute, and me having to get over to Llangurig because I promised to look after the other two and Davy—he's her husband—and them with no way of knowing what's held me up…' She shifted the sleepy child again as if he had become an intolerable burden, and Luke wordlessly held out his arms, taking the child, tucking the dark curly head comfortably against his shoulder.

  Annie said weakly, concern for the Professor creasing her brow, 'Where are the child's parents?'

  'In Canada,' came the doleful reply. 'And his name's Jamie, poor little scrap, and I can't think who will see to him, or what my Bethan will be thinking with me being already two hours late, and her not on the phone, and—'

  'Mrs Morgan.' Luke's voice was deeply authoritative, despite its soothing tone, and Annie could only admire the way he went on to elicit the necessary facts: that Jamie's parents, on a short visit to his father's people in Toronto, had already been contacted by the local doctor, and that Jamie's mother, the Professor's daughter, was on standby, waiting for a flight to Birmingham International.

  The trouble was, Annie realised, she didn't want to have to admire anything about him, and she was certainly deeply suspicious of a dangerous softening in her which had been brought about by the way he cradled the now sleeping child so protectively in his strong, comforting arms.

  Suddenly, she felt achingly cold. The lofty hall was gloomy in the dull half-light, the pelting rain a violent onslaught against the high, rather lurid stained-glass windows.

  The news that had greeted them couldn't have been much worse, and her heart went out to the lonely old man who, even now, was fighting for his life.

  As if sensing the bleakness of her thoughts, Luke moved closer, his body heat warming her even as it warmed and comforted the sleeping child, the power of his vibrant personality calming her, enfolding her. Briefly, almost gratefully, Annie relinquished herself to his sheer male dominance, listening mutely as he spoke again to Mrs Morgan.

  'You've handled everything wonderfully, but there's nothing more you can do here now. You have enough on your plate as it is, so why don't you get over to your daughter's home before they send out a search party? Miss Ross and I will look after Jamie until his mother gets here.'

  Mrs Morgan was already pulling on a shabby green raincoat, needing no second telling. 'If you're sure you can manage?' She knotted a headscarf under her chin. 'I feel bad about leaving the little boy, he's bound to be upset when he finds himself with strangers, but what else can I do?'

  'Nothing, nothing at all. You've done all you could,' Luke told her, handing Jamie over to Annie before ushering Mrs Morgan out as she began hurriedly trying to tell him where everything was kept, what Jamie was to have for his tea.

  Annie, the child's chubby legs clasped around her slender body, the weight of his head pressed into her shoulder, felt her heart contract with an almost painful surge of protectiveness. She had never held a child before, and the depth of feeling that simple, natural act produced astounded her.

  Above the lash of the rain she heard the Mini's engine splutter to life and Luke closed the door, leaning against it, his face wry.

  'There goes one very relieved lady—even if she does have a conscience about leaving without showing us where every last cup and saucer can be found!'

  Annie stared at him, her eyes wide. She wanted to say something innocuous, to defuse the situation but her throat felt thick, constricted. In closing the door on the departing Mrs Morgan, on the inclement weather, he had isolated them here together, making the house a prison, forcing them into a proximity she suddenly feared more than she had ever feared anything before.

  He moved slowly away from the door, his expression unreadable as he walked over to a large, heavy table which carried a telephone, with a couple of directories.

  'Why don't you scout around and find the kitchen, make a pot of tea? I'll contact the hospital. Then we'll decide where we are to sleep.'

  The way he said that, the husky, intimate quality of his voice, brought a flush to her face and she turned quickly, hiding it, pattering away down a dim corridor, trying doors until she found the kitchen.

  It was warmer in here but she was still shuddering with reaction. If he thought she was sleeping with him then he'd have to think again! She hadn't forgotten the way he'd stated, so matter-of-factly, 'I want to take you to bed', and she could still feel the strange inner trembling sensation those terrifying words had produced, still hear his lazily confident voice rattling around inside her head.

  Her agitation must have transmitted itself to Jamie because she felt him stir and waken, beginning to wriggle in her arms. Feeling for the switch, she flicked the light on and, immediately, shadowy shapes became solid everyday objects, comfortable and reassuring. A large Aga range was the source of heat and there were pine dressers, a fridge, rocking-chairs with bright patchwork cushions.

  Sitting the squirming child on the central scrubbed-pine table she said calmly, smiling, 'Hello, Jamie—I'm Annie and I'm here to look after you until your mother comes home.' She held her breath as he subjected her to a wary stare.

  'Grandad,' he uttered, his voice surprisingly gruff, wriggling to get down from the table. But Annie held him firmly, a hand on either side of his solid body, clad in shorts and sweater.

  'Grandad didn't feel too well, you remember? So the doctor sent him to hospital where they'll make him better. He'll soon be home, as good as new,' she told him simplistically, mentally touching wood. 'But Mummy will come for you very soon, and until she does you and I will have lots of fun. Now,' she lifted him down from the table, 'I'm going to make a pot of tea. Perhaps you could show me where the cups are kept? And would you like a drink of milk?'

  'Juice,' he stated firmly. 'An' biskits. An' where's the man?'

  He must have strong recall of the way Luke had taken him in his arms, holding him, comforting him, and Annie repressed a wry grimace. Was no one immune to the odious man's spurious charm? But his concern for the child hadn't been spurious, she reminded herself honestly, as she poured orange juice and rummaged through cupboards until she found the biscuit tin. It worried her, the way part of her wouldn't allow herself to dislike and distrust him as much as she knew she should. She didn't like the civil war that was going on inside her head.

  And even before he spoke she knew he'd entered the room because the whole atmosphere altered subtly, enfolding her, wrapping her in a heated awareness. And that was something only Luke Derringer could do to her. A frisson of half-fearful excitement tingled its alarming way through her body and she stiffened, staring fixedly at the kettle she'd just slid on to the Aga hotplate.

  'It seems he's "as well as can be expected",' Luke said drily. 'But I managed to get them to admit he's holding his own. And that's some consolation. Or don't you think so?' he added when she made no reply but continued to stare at the kettle as if she'd never seen such an interesting object before.

  'Yes, I suppose so.' She forced herself to speak, then turned reluctantly to face him, to see his face lighten with the smile that had the power to melt bones as Jamie scampered towards him, holding out his chubby arms to be lifted, chortling as he was caught and tossed up against the big man's shoulder.

  'I could do with that tea,' Luke told her affably as he sat at the table, bouncing the gurgling child on his knees, and Annie turned back to the chore in hand, foolish and unfathomable tears stinging at the back of her eyes. He was doing his utmost to make the best of a difficult situation, acting as though he found it perfectly normal to be isolated here with a woman who'd made it plain she despised him, wanted nothing to do with him.

  The equable front was, of course, solely for the child's benefit. And when Jamie was safely tucked up in bed for the night Luke would turn his unwanted attentions to her! It was a terrifying thought. She couldn't hide behind the Professor because he, poor man, w
asn't here, and Jamie would cease to be a barrier when he'd been put to bed. Something would have to be done about it. Despite despising Luke for his patently dishonourable intentions she knew, to her shame, that he would only have to touch her to have her craving for the magic she would find in his arms.

  Her face paler than normal, she took two mugs of tea over to the table, putting his down at his elbow, cradling her own in hands which annoyingly and persistently shook. Keeping her voice light, her tone friendly because she didn't want Jamie to pick up bad vibes, she told him, 'You may as well leave as soon as you've had your tea.' She sipped at her own, ignoring the slow, knowing smile, the almost imperceptible shake of his head. 'We don't both need to be here to look after one small boy,' she tacked on firmly, 'and I'm sure there are plenty of business matters crying out for your attention.'

  Now talk yourself round that, she thought, then listened, flattened, as he did just that.

  'There's nothing that can't wait for a couple more days, and I wouldn't dream of leaving you to cope on your own. And in any case—' he ruffled Jamie's glossy dark curls '—two heads will be better than one. What I know about looking after children could be engraved on the head of a pin, and I dare say you don't know much more.'

  It was almost a question and, carefully, she didn't answer it. She drained her mug instead and carried it over to the sink. She was about as knowledgeable on the needs of a three-year-old child as she was on the internal workings of a spacecraft! She had had a peculiar childhood, never staying in one place long enough to make friends, to be absorbed into another's family life and to come into contact with younger members of any family.

  But she wasn't going to explain that, or anything else about herself to him, and it was apparent that he wasn't going to budge on his stated intention to stay put, so she would be wasting her breath if she tried to make him change his mind.