CHAPTER FOUR
SHE dressed carelessly for dinner, her mind running over and over the day's events. Luke Baroda had only arrived that morning—incredible! It seemed as though he had been at the house for years.
The day ran back for ever—Dean's phone call, finding out from Wayne that the house did not belong to Carina, the incident on the beach. And she still had dinner to face. Heaven only knew what new surprises were waiting.
Emotionally, she felt exhausted, as she slid into a dress of pale blue cashmere. Whatever Carina said about the weather, Stephanie was finding it rather cold. She checked her make-up, brushed her newly-washed hair, then sat down on the bed, unwilling to go downstairs.
She didn't feel at all hungry and she felt no inclination to face Luke Baroda after this afternoon. She rested her head in her hands and sighed. A week ago she had been so happy in the pattern of her life. Everything had been so simple.
Her eye caught the clock on the bedside table. It was time to go downstairs. At least Carina and Wayne would be at dinner; that was some consolation. She left her room and strolled down the richly-carpeted stairs, viewing her surroundings with more interest, now she knew who they belonged to. The house was very old, filled with charm, yet it had been extensively modernised. The rooms were filled with lovingly cared for wood—nothing of the old house had been destroyed, it was filled with paintings and carvings and beautiful fabrics from around the world.
Two huge modern abstract paintings lined the wall behind the stairs, their violent colours reflected serenely in the surrounding decor. All around the house she could see rare examples of fine art, priceless antiques, beautiful furniture. Luke was a man of perfect taste and wide knowledge.
The telephone was ringing as she reached the hall, and she hovered, unsure whether to answer it. Nobody appeared, and she finally picked up the receiver.
It was Carina. 'Stephanie?' Her cool voice sounded impatient.
'Yes, where are. . . ?' She didn't get time to finish
the question.
'I shan't be back tonight, I'm staying in London. Tell Wayne, will you, darling?'
'Yes, of course. Carina ' Stephanie wanted to
ask about the solicitors. As soon as her father's estate was sorted out, she would be able to leave here and, she hoped, never see Luke Baroda again.
'I don't have time to talk now,' Carina cut in. 'I'll see you tomorrow.' And before Stephanie could say another word, before she could even tell Carina that Luke Baroda was back, the phone was hung up.
Stephanie stared at the receiver in her hand for a moment, then replaced it. She would have to wait until tomorrow for news from the solicitors. She walked into the lounge, hoping Wayne would be there. He wasn't. Luke sat alone by the open fire, reading a newspaper. Angrily, Stephanie felt her heart beating faster as she looked at him. He was wearing a black velvet dinner jacket that emphasised the width of his shoulders, his white shirt startling against the tanned skin at his throat and wrists. His hair was neatly brushed and still faintly damp.
He looked up as she entered and put aside the newspaper. His dark eyes slid over her as she stood so tense and slender in pale blue wool, the soft light turning her hair into a halo of spun gold.
He moved indolently to his feet. 'Can I get you a drink?' he asked with urbane politeness.
'Martini, please, with ice.' Her voice sounded shaky even though she strove to keep it normal. She watched him pour two drinks, watched his strong brown hands curling around the crystal glasses. He had beautiful hands, she thought with wonder.
He carried the glasses back to the fire. 'Sit down,' he said, smiling. Stephanie moved nervously across the room and sank into a huge leather chair. Luke handed her the Martini and she jumped as their fingers accidentally brushed. He saw her reaction, and his green eyes became faintly mocking as he sat down opposite to her.
'Carina telephoned,' she told him, staring down into her glass and absently noticing that her hand was trembling. 'She's staying in London tonight.'
Luke smiled, unsurprised. 'Wayne won't be in until late either, so there'll just be the two of us for dinner,' he drawled softly.
Stephanie's heart sank deep into her stomach. The very thought horrified her. How could she cope with this powerful, disturbing man? She couldn't think of a word to say to him. Usually she could chat lightly to people she hardly knew, even people she did not particularly like, but Luke Baroda was in a class of his own. He mocked her attempts at small talk, he watched her in a way that made her very uneasy.
He did not seem to care that Carina would not be back. Was her half-sister in love with him? Would she have come back from London had she known he was here? Somehow Stephanie thought she would. And how did Luke feel about Carina? He gave absolutely nothing away. Wayne had said that Carina's feelings were not reciprocated.
It was none of her business anyway, she decided, and sipped her Martini.
'Is . . . is Wayne out on business?' she asked, after a few moments of unbearable silence.
'I don't think so,' Luke replied with a faint smile. 'I believe he's gone out to dinner with a friend.'
'Oh, I see.' Stephanie finished her drink and placed her glass carefully on a small table. The atmosphere was tense, almost threatening. There must be some way I can get out of this, she thought desperately. But at that moment Rose appeared and announced that dinner was ready. Stephanie watched her smiling at Luke and almost laughed. Carina was in for a tough time if she married him. Rose definitely knew who she liked, and Carina wasn't one of that number!
She walked slowly into the dining room, Luke right behind her. The table was set for three.
'Carina won't be eating,' Luke told Rose.
The housekeeper raised her eyebrows, looked at Stephanie and smiled thinly. Without knowing why, Stephanie felt herself flushing and was irritated by the satisfied look in Rose's eyes. What a rude old woman! she thought furiously, as she sat down.
The meal, though, was delicious. Whatever else Rose was, she was a superb cook, and although Stephanie's appetite was small, she found herself tasting the food with delight.
Watching Luke between mouthfuls, she suddenly wondered what sort of man he was, and suddenly knew a deep curiosity about him. She actually knew very little about him. He was a property tycoon, he always won when he gambled. He was devastatingly attractive, rich, cynical, gentle, strong—so many things. She wondered if she had the courage to ask him about himself. She lifted a forkful of tender beef to her mouth and decided that she probably didn't.
He was watching her too, she realised, his eyes coolly assessing. She lowered her head, her cheeks hot, aware of the soft intimacy of this dinner for two.
'You're related to Sangster, I believe,' he remarked suddenly in an expressionless voice.
Stephanie wondered how on earth he knew, and as -always when Dean's name was mentioned, she felt herself prickling defensively. Guilt, perhaps, she thought cynically.
'We are distantly related,' she replied stiffly.
'Oh?' He was obviously going to push the point, she thought irritably.
'Yes, he's part of my mother's family.'
'You've known him for years, then?' he probed coolly.
'I met him when we first moved—after the divorce.' She had been lonely when they had first left England. Dean had befriended her, looked after her. It had always been like that, and Luke read as much in her faraway blue eyes.
'And what about you, Mr Baroda?' she put in quickly, anxious to divert the conversation from herself. 'Are you married?'
'You know very well that I'm not,' he replied, his eyes telling her that he knew what she was trying to do.
'No plans to?' She glanced at him from beneath her lashes.
'Maybe.' He was mocking, deliberately noncommittal.
Silenced, Stephanie ate a little more food, drank more of the light, strong wine and thought about his answer. Was he thinking of marrying Carina. For some reason, the thought jarred.
Rose bustle
d in and out, clearing the table after each course, tutting at Stephanie's half-clean plates.
'I think she's annoyed with me,' Stephanie said to Luke, as Rose closed the door with a snap.
He smiled. 'It's nothing personal. Rose dislikes food going to waste, she mistrusts anybody who doesn't have a hearty appetite.'
Stephanie laughed. 'I suppose that explains it. Carina said she's been here for years.'
'I inherited her from the previous owners of the house,' Luke told her drily, as he refilled her glass.
'Oh, this isn't a family house, then?' Her curiosity about him was growing. His charm pulled her strongly, even against her will.
'I have no close family, my parents died when I was young. I bought this house about ten years ago.'
Which would have been when he was in his mid- twenties, Stephanie estimated.
'Why don't you live in London?' She asked next.
Luke shrugged, drawing her eyes to the powerful strength of his shoulders. 'I have a flat in London, but I prefer to live here when I'm in England. It's almost as convenient and very much more pleasant.' There was a gently mocking amusement in his eyes as he answered her questions, and she blushed as she saw it. She was being rather nosy.
'I'm sorry, I'm being rather rude.'
'Not at all, I'm flattered by your interest—but I think it must be my turn now. Tell me about yourself.' It was an order, softened only by the charm in his eyes, the indulgence in the line of his mouth.
'You seem to know everything about me already,' she complained with an innocent smile.
Luke's brows rose, his mouth suddenly hard. 'I don't know why you're engaged to Sangster,' he said harshly.
'I love Dean,' she replied, hurt by his flaring answer.
'Love?' His voice was unbearably cynical. 'What the hell can you know of love?'
'I know enough!' she cried, that awful insidious doubt creeping over her again. 'I love him.'
'As a brother, perhaps, not as a husband.' His voice was level again, calm, certain.
Stephanie's eyes flashed anger at him. 'Why do you persist in this?' she demanded fiercely. 'Why do you keep on asking about Dean? Why do you involve yourself in something that has nothing to do with you?'
'You know why.' He smiled mockingly, his eyes holding hers so easily across the table. 'I want you, Stephanie, and I intend to have you.'
'Even though I'm engaged to somebody else? You would take me from him?' she asked in defiance.
'I'd take you from my own flesh and blood, from my closest friend—make no mistake about that,' Luke replied expressionlessly.
She was frightened by his certainty, by the toneless desire for possession in his voice.
'You're mad!' she whispered, knocking over her glass in her agitation. With horror, she watched the vivid red stain seeping into the pure white linen of the tablecloth. It seemed symbolic, and she was suddenly close to tears as the accident assumed gigantic proportions.
'Oh no!' she moaned, feverishly trying to mop up the spilled wine but only making it worse.
'Leave it,' Luke advised, his eyes softening as he watched her obvious distress. 'Rose will see to it.'
'I can't ... I must try . . .' All at once, something seemed to snap inside her, and to her total embarrassment she found herself with her head in her hands, crying her eyes out. Everything was too much to cope with, and the spilled wine was the final straw. Loneliness engulfed her, swallowing her whole.
She didn't hear Luke move, but she was too weak to resist as he gently pulled her hands from her face, lifting her to her feet and taking her into his arms. Briefly she fought him, angry at her own vulnerability, at her pathetic weakness in breaking down, but he was too strong for her.
She looked up into his face and saw that the possessive, tenacious hardness that had frightened her so much had gone. His eyes were warm, gentle, and for some reason that made her cry even more. His arms were powerfully strong and she buried her face against his chest, feeling the soothing stroke of his hand through her hair.
'Oh, Stephanie,' he murmured her name quietly. 'Don't cry, nothing can be as bad as all that. I'm sorry I was so hard on you—I don't know what drives me ...'
She leant against the hard warmth of his body. She could smell the clean male scent of his skin, she could feel the heavy muscles in the arms that held her so tightly, and her loneliness disappeared, her tears finally drying. When she was quiet, Luke tilted up her face and wiped away the last tears with his thumb.
She stared up at him blindly, reading something in his eyes that could not be translated into words or thoughts. It suffused her whole body with warmth. He slowly bent his black head and touched his mouth to her forehead, his lips brushing her skin.
A violent tremor ran through her and she pulled away from him in panic.
'You need a stiff drink,' he told her drily, so back in the lounge, they drank coffee and brandy. Luke switched on some music. A haunting piano filled the room, drifting up to the high ceiling and Stephanie settled back in her chair, her mouth curved in a satisfied smile, the brandy warming her body, mingling with the wine to produce a pleasant drowsiness. She never drank much, but tonight Luke had made her so nervous, she had needed something to calm the fluttering in her stomach.
She accepted a cigarette from him, watching as he leant over to light it for her. The dim glow of the lights shadowed the harsh planes of his face, disguising the hardness of his mouth, hiding the expression in his eyes. He was so good-looking, she thought with defeated wonder, and quickly lowered her lashes in case he read that thought. Her heart jolted painfully as she looked at the tanned sheen of his cheekbones. Why did he have such an effect on her? she wondered. He could frighten her, make her laugh, comfort her and . . .
She thought of the kiss on the beach, remembered the demanding warmth of his mouth. She looked at his mouth now, firm and beautifully moulded, and almost shuddered. How could she be thinking of another man like this, when she was engaged to Dean? She closed her eyes and drew deeply on her cigarette.
It was wrong, all wrong. She had to fight the violently confused feelings that were growing inside her for Luke Baroda. She had seen how ruthless -he was, had heard him talk with possessive cruelty.
He wanted her—that shocked her speechless. She had no idea why he wanted her. Perhaps because she belonged to someone else? Perhaps because he could not have her?
Instinct told her that an affair with Luke Baroda would leave her with a broken heart. He was an expert lover, his eyes spoke with lazy sureness of his knowledge of women. He could teach her things about life and about love, wild beautiful things, that she could not even imagine now.. ..
She stopped her thoughts short. She was crazy, thinking like that! The smile faded from her lips and she quickly finished her coffee, eager to get away. She got awkwardly to her feet as the piece of music finished.
'If. . . If you'll excuse me . . .' she began falteringly, unable to look at him. 'I think I'll get to bed.'
His eyes met hers, dark with lazy amusement. 'I won't take that as an invitation,' he murmured, and smiled as the hot colour washed up her pointed face.
Stephanie longed to be able to think of something witty and cutting to fling back at him, but her mouth was dry, her mind blank. 'Well . . . goodnight.'
'Goodnight, Stephanie.' The words were soft and deep and she had to stop herself from bolting from the room as fast as she could. She walked stiffly and slowly, not looking round, immeasurably glad when she was out of his vision.
Once in her room, though, she was restless, not tired at all, perversely wishing she had stayed in the lounge near the fire, listening to that gentle music. She showered quickly, then slid into bed, where she lay on the cool silky sheets, staring blindly into the darkness. She listened to the soothing roar of the sea, determined not to think about Luke.
Her whole life seemed to be changing. The veils were dropping from her eyes. This trip to England had awakened her. Back home, she had still been a child w
ith a child's dreams. But something had happened here; she was not sure what it was. Still thinking hard, she drifted slowly into sleep, only to wake hours later in a cold shaking sweat. She reached for the light switch, her fingers fumbling, trembling. She pushed herself up on the pillows, not even remembering where she was for a moment, only remembering the terrifying dreams that had jolted her into wakefulness.
She stared warily round the room, half expecting to see some horrible monster crouching behind the furniture, ready to pounce. The nightmares wouldn't be expelled from her mind, and in her half-wakeful state she was still reliving them.
Struggling out of bed, she walked to the window. Outside, she could see nothing at all, the moon was hidden behind heavy clouds. The darkness alarmed her, and she ran an anxious hand through her hair and turned away.
She felt so thirsty. Looking at the clock, she saw that it was only one-thirty. Everyone would be in bed by now; she would go and make herself some tea.
She left her room cautiously and tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen, switching on the lights only when the door was closed. She crept around opening cupboards, finding what she needed, filling the kettle, then sat down at the old scrubbed table, lifting her feet off the cold tiled floor, wishing she had thought to put on some shoes. When the tea was ready, she carried it into the lounge where the embers of the fire still glowed red and warm in the darkness. She sat on the floor, knees under her chin and felt curiously happy and content. Everything would work out, she thought. She was in control of her own life.
The tea was hot and sweet. She sipped it slowly, wondering when Dean would arrive. She heard the slight noise behind her and her head whipped round in an instant. Luke stood in the doorway, the light from the hall outlining his lean body.
'Oh!' Stephanie gasped. 'I didn't realise anybody was up.'
'I had some long-distance phone calls to make,' he replied with a slow smile, and moved into the room. She watched him with wide eyes.
'I thought you were tired,' he said, towering over her, his eyes narrowing on her lace-clad body and the wild softness of her hair.
Illusion of Love Page 6