She slid into the driver’s seat and started up the engine.
Time to go home.
CHAPTER FOUR
SHELLEY’S old house looked smaller than she remembered. And scruffier. Paint was peeling from the window panes and the windows themselves were so grubby that they looked like a ‘before’ shot on a detergent commercial. But the small lawn at the front of the house had been kept clipped and tidy, the borders all neat and weeded. Now who had been responsible for that? she wondered as she unloaded the small box of groceries from the car.
She let herself into the house, having to push the door hard to get it open past the small heap of yellowing circulars which had piled up. She shivered. It was cold—bitterly cold—with the smell of damp and disuse penetrating her nostrils with a dank, chilly odour.
She went through the hall and into the tiny sitting room, where the floral wallpaper was beginning to peel in parts, and looked around, nostalgia creeping into her soul like an old friend. On almost every surface stood a photograph—all of Shelley in various stages of growing up.
There she was as a chubby baby, peering out from beneath a cotton bonnet in her pram. There as a toddler on the beach, sucking her thumb and screwing her eyes up at the camera. Another showed her in a too big uniform, self-conscious and proud on her first day at school. And there—a shot of her as an adolescent—leggy and gawky—a child on the brink of womanhood.
But the photo she stared at longest showed her with Drew. It must have been taken around the time they’d become engaged—because there was no pretence or coyness about the way they really felt for one another. His arm was placed lightly around her shoulders but they weren’t looking at the camera—just staring into each other’s faces—giggling with happiness.
Biting her lip, she turned and abruptly left the room, and went upstairs to her old bedroom.
Nothing had changed there, either. Not a single thing. The frilly white cover dotted with pink rosebuds still lay flounced on the small, single bed. The boab nut that Drew had bought her still sat on the sill of the window where she used to watch him walk home from work. She had even kept the piece of tinsel he had tied around it, though it didn’t glitter as brightly any more.
She looked down at the small back garden which had been her mother’s pride and joy, and blinked in astonishment. Because, just like the front, it had obviously been well looked after, its tidiness contrasting with the general neglect inside the house.
Carefully clipped herb bushes lined the gravel path and two bay trees stood in white boxes on either side of the back door. While at the end, contrasting beautifully against the dark wooden fence, stood the misty mauve blur of Michaelmas daisies. For a moment it was like being transported back in time. Shelley swallowed and tore her over-bright eyes away—thinking that she might faint if she didn’t have a cup of tea soon.
She went into the kitchen, noting how old-fashioned the free-standing units looked, and how dingy the paint was. How dingy everything was, really—when she compared it to the homes she had shared with Marco. Then she turned the tap on.
Nothing.
Shelley blinked at it in consternation. Then tried the tap again.
Still nothing.
Horror at her own stupidity flared up inside her as she clicked on the light switch, knowing even as she did it that it would prove useless.
She stood there in silence, not noticing the dark shape which had loomed up outside the plastic insert of the front door until a loud rapping made her start.
The sheer height of the man registered on her subconscious as she pulled the door open. But that didn’t stop her heart from beating like crazy when she saw it was Drew—still in navy sweater and jeans, but with no sign of the dog.
She looked into his face. It wasn’t a friendly face, but it was a face she knew and had once loved. And when you were feeling as vulnerable as Shelley was, feeling that familiarity was a potent and dangerous quality.
‘Hello, Drew,’ she gulped. ‘I certainly wasn’t expecting you to be my first caller.’
His mouth flattened into a grim sort of smile. ‘Believe me, I wasn’t planning on being your first visitor.’
‘So why are you here?’
‘Curiosity, mainly,’ he answered slowly. ‘And a phone call from my sister. She insisted I come.’
‘Which sister?’
‘Jennie.’
‘Oh.’ Shelley wondered if the regret showed in her face. Because she and Jennie had been the best friends in the world. Until the Marco incident—when, naturally enough, she had taken her brother’s side. They hadn’t seen one another or spoken a word since. ‘How did she know I was here?’
‘She’s your neighbour. She lives in our old house. And that’s next door, in case you’ve forgotten.’
‘Jennie lives next door?’
Was this the same Jennie who had called Milmouth a fading seaside dump with no soul? Who had called their small houses rabbit hutches and couldn’t wait to get as far away as possible? Shelley’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘You mean, with your parents?’
‘No, no.’ He shook his head impatiently. ‘They retired to the Isle of Wight. And Cathy’s living in London.’
‘So how’s Jennie?’ she dared ask.
‘Well, probably more pleased than I am that you’ve come crawling back—’
‘No, not crawling, Drew. With my head held very high.’
‘If you say so.’ But his eyes glittered as though he didn’t quite believe her.
She took a deep breath. ‘Drew?’
He threw her a mocking look. ‘Shelley?’
‘Do you know who has been responsible for doing the garden?’
There was a pause. ‘My sister.’
‘Your sister?’ Shelley frowned. ‘Jennie must have changed quite a bit if she’s into gardening.’
He laughed. ‘She doesn’t do it herself. She gets someone in for a few hours a week and asked them to keep yours tidy at the same time.’ He turned the corners of his mouth down. ‘Otherwise it made the place look overgrown and derelict.’
‘It looks gorgeous,’ she said wistfully.
He didn’t respond to that, just fixed her with that dazzling blue stare. ‘So where’s lover-boy?’
‘I do wish you wouldn’t keep calling him names!’ she told him crossly, then sighed. There was no point in lying. Not to Drew. You only made that kind of mistake once in a lifetime. ‘He isn’t here.’
‘I know. Do you really think I would have come around if he was lurking around upstairs waiting for you?’
‘How could you possibly know that?’
‘My sister said there was only one person in the car.’
‘So Jennie couldn’t wait to bad-mouth my arrival?’
He shook his head. ‘Actually, no. She saw your car—only she didn’t realise that it was your car—and rang me, just in case—’
‘In case of what?’ Shelley interrupted angrily. ‘In case someone in a car happened to be visiting a house? Gosh, I’d forgotten all about how effective the Milmouth mafia could be!’
This seemed to amuse him. ‘It depends on how you look at it, surely? Either you find it a repressive, small-town mentality—in which case I wonder why you came back at all—or you appreciate the fact that someone is there looking out for you. If you were a woman, living on her own…as Jennie is…’ he paused thoughtfully ‘…and a car you didn’t recognise stopped outside a house which had been empty for the last two years—then you’d be pretty dumb not to investigate, wouldn’t you? Particularly if—’ and his eyes narrowed with something very like distaste as he half turned his head in the direction of the gleaming grey car which stood outside ‘—the car in question looked glaringly out of place.’
‘And what’s wrong with the car?’
‘Nothing’s wrong with it,’ he shrugged. ‘It’s just a bit of a cliché, isn’t it?’
She knitted her carefully plucked brows at him. ‘You’re calling one of the most aerodynamically su
perior vehicles in the world a cliché?’
‘It’s nothing but an executive toy,’ he said damningly. ‘It reeks of flash and cash, but without much substance. So what was it, Shelley? The pay-off?’
The most galling thing was that he had shrewdly hit on a nerve. ‘Mind your own business!’
‘Is it all over between you?’ he persisted softly. ‘Why isn’t he here with you?’
Well, she supposed that it was going to come out sooner or later. ‘He isn’t here because, yes, it’s over.’
‘You won’t be going back?’
‘No.’ The word fell heavily, like a stone into a pond.
‘So what happened?’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘I don’t have to answer that.’
‘No, you’re right.’ His eyes glittered. ‘You don’t. But you might want to answer this—which is whether you were intending to come back to a house that hadn’t been aired for years, with no running water or electricity. You can’t have a bath. You can’t flush the loo. You can’t even heat yourself a can of soup.’ He gave her a look of cool mockery. ‘That wasn’t very clever of you, was it, Shelley?’
‘I left Italy in a…hurry.’
‘So I see.’ His eyes flicked over the crumpled linen suit. ‘Kicked you out, did he?’
She turned away, but not before he had seen the tears well up in her eyes. Tears of fatigue which made her feel like some sad, foolish little cast-off. She swallowed them down. ‘Why are you here, Drew—just to insult me? To rile me? Because I can do without it at the moment, if you don’t mind.’
‘I’ll tell you exactly why I’m here,’ he told her quietly. ‘Because not only is it Sunday, it is also late October. Now, you may have pushed all memories of Milmouth away during your three-year absence, so allow me to remind you that the weather isn’t particularly welcoming by the sea at this time of year. There’s no way you can stay here tonight. You’ll freeze. And you won’t get water and electricity connected until tomorrow at the very earliest.’
His cool logic made her want to scream at him—mainly because he was right. ‘If you’re expecting me to fall to my knees in front of you and beg you for help then I’m sorry to disappoint you.’
His eyebrows disappeared into the honey-tipped hair. ‘Fall to your knees in front of me any time you like, kitten,’ he said deliberately. ‘You don’t even have to beg!’
Her cheeks flared at the sexual insinuation, but she still managed to meet his gaze with defiance. ‘I’ll find myself a hotel room for the night!’
‘Have you booked?’
‘Oh, yeah, sure!’ she smiled sarcastically. ‘I just came here first to go through the whole pantomime of pretending to turn the lights and the water on, while all the time I knew that I had a lovely, warm hotel room waiting for me!’
‘You sarcastic little bitch,’ he whispered softly. ‘I don’t know why I came over here with some outdated idea of responsibility. Maybe I should just leave you here on your own.’
‘Well, why don’t you?’ she challenged.
‘Because, Shelley—unlike your previous lover—I happen to have a few values, that’s why! And not only would I steer clear of muscling in on another man’s fiancé—I’d kind of have a problem sleeping easily if I knew that a woman was spending the night alone in a cold and inhospitable house. Even if that woman was you.’
Ouch! ‘Don’t tell me—you’re offering me a bed for the night?’
At her words he stilled, and his eyes glittered with dazzling blue light. ‘Oh,’ he murmured. ‘Is that what you’d like, then, Shelley? A little body warmth, huh? A little skin on skin? Maybe create a little friction together—though I wasn’t thinking of the boy scout version of rubbing sticks together—’
‘You’ve been reading too many pornographic magazines!’ she suggested tartly.
‘I don’t think so,’ he murmured, his eyes flickering over her in a way which appalled her. ‘I never got my kicks that way, kitten.’
‘Don’t look at me like that, Drew. I don’t like it.’
‘Liar!’ he taunted softly. ‘You love it.’
‘No, I don’t!’ But to her dismay her body seemed to agree with him. There was something irresistible about that ruthlessly sexual evaluation and her thoughts began to react to the hunger in his eyes. She tried to push them away, but the images which were being created in her mind were making her head pound and her pulses rocket.
And worse. Her breasts had begun to prickle and swell so that the acutely sensitive tips stung uncomfortably against the crisp lace of her bra. She shifted her weight, hoping that he hadn’t noticed.
‘No?’ He raised his eyebrows and the knowing glint in his eyes told her that he had noticed. ‘Oh, come, come, Shelley—let’s not play the hypocritical little prude! This is me you’re talking to, remember? I’m the guy who watched you making out in a total stranger’s car. Remember that?’ He shook his head from side to side. ‘If only I’d known you were that desperate to have sex, kitten—then I would have happily obliged myself.’
She flinched. ‘How many times do I have to tell you that I wasn’t “making out”? You know I wasn’t!’
‘Not technically, perhaps,’ he told her coldly. ‘If you mean that penetration hadn’t actually taken place at that point—’
‘Stop it!’ she howled, clapping her hands over her ears. ‘And please don’t be so coarse! I don’t have to stand here and listen to—’
‘The truth?’ he interrupted stonily. ‘That’s what incenses you so much, Shelley—because it is the truth, isn’t it?’
‘The truth is far more complex than you make out, Drew Glover! As for your offer of a bed—well, if you think I’m spending the night anywhere near you, then you’re highly mistaken!’
‘I don’t remember offering to spend the night anywhere near you. All I asked was whether you’d booked yourself a room.’
‘No, I haven’t booked,’ she said shortly. ‘Like I said, I left in a hurry.’
‘It’s the end of the season,’ he reminded her. ‘And the only place you stand a chance of getting a room now is at the Westward. But you’ll be lucky if you do.’
‘The Westward?’ Shelley thought of the faded grandeur of the Westward. It cost an arm and a leg and a little more besides to stay there. And whilst she had saved most of her salary during her time in Italy she hadn’t planned to register at luxurious hotels which would greedily eat into her capital.
‘I expect you’d love to go back there, wouldn’t you?’ he taunted softly. ‘It’ll bring all kinds of happy memories flooding back! After all, isn’t that where you had your date with the Italian?’ He clapped the palm of his hand against his forehead in mock-chastisement. ‘Oh, no—I forgot! It was just the one drink, wasn’t it? Such a cheap date, aren’t you, Shelley?’
It was the last straw. ‘I’ve had about as much as I can take from you, Drew Glover!’ She lifted her hand and aimed it at his cheek, but he actually had time to shake his head, before instinctively ducking to avoid it.
‘Temper, temper!’ he reprimanded softly. ‘Though I do like a woman who plays rough! Not a side of our relationship which we ever explored properly, is it, Shelley? More’s the pity.’
‘Oh!’ She unballed her fist to produce pink-painted talons as she scrabbled her fingers blindly and frantically towards him, but he was ready for her again.
‘Oh, no, pussy-cat!’ he murmured, and caught her hand easily, resting her palm against the rough rub of his cheek, so that the drawn fingers softened automatically, like a kitten unsheathing its claws. The pulse in her wrist began to rocket frantically against the curve of his jaw, and he must have felt it too—for he smiled a predatory kind of smile she had never seen before.
She felt a shiver tingling its way up her spine.
‘Still excited?’ he mocked.
‘Disappointed!’ she parried. ‘I’d like to hit you!’
But he shook his head. ‘No. I don’t think you would. I think you’d like to be do
ing something else with me instead. Something which can be equally physical, and just as violent as lashing out at me. Every pore of your body is screaming out for it, but it wouldn’t exactly be appropriate, now would it, Shelley? So you’ve sublimated your desire by attempting to hit me instead.’ His voice deepened. ‘But what the hell, baby? Why not give in to it? What say we go inside and get down on the floor and just do it?’
Perhaps the most terrible thing of all was that his words—instead of horrifying and shocking her—were filling her with the most powerful sense of desire she had ever experienced. Desire so intense that it incapacitated her, making her honey-moist and aching, gazing at him open-mouthed with surrender. ‘Stop it!’ she croaked.
‘Oh, yes, you’re turned on, aren’t you, Shelley?’ he whispered with soft triumph. ‘Very turned on. Those eyes are so wide and dark now, like a cat’s. And see how your cheeks burn up. And look here.’ He let his gaze drift down to fix with interest on her breasts. ‘Tight little buds thrusting towards her lover’s eyes—’
‘But you’re not my lover, Drew!’ she gasped out, her voice a kind of choked denial. ‘And you never were!’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘I’m not. But there’s plenty of time to remedy that.’
‘Never, never, never!’ she chanted. ‘So do me a favour and get out!’
‘Sure?’
‘As sure as—’
‘Drew! Drew, are you still in there?’
Disorientated and still caught up in the hypnotic throb of desire, Shelley stared at him. ‘Who’s that?’ she whispered.
‘My sister,’ he said, with a grim smile. And, letting go of Shelley’s hand, he pulled open the front door and Shelley found herself face to face with Jennie Glover.
It had been three years since she had last seen Drew’s sister, when she had left Milmouth under such a cloud—and Shelley mentally geared herself up for her disapproval.
But, outwardly at least, Jennie appeared to be quite composed—there was none of her brother’s lip-curling condemnation. In fact, Drew’s sister had changed quite radically and Shelley kept her face completely straight, hoping that her surprise at the other woman’s appearance didn’t show.
The Final Seduction Page 4