by Margaret Way
“Thank you.” The thrill of his presence was so keen it was like exquisite little pinpricks all over her skin. Plus there was the fear she would betray herself. “But you surely didn’t fly into London to say that?” She managed to make it sound as though she was well aware he hadn’t.
“Why not? You’re twenty-one only once in your life.” His dark eyes moved slowly, steadfastly over her. “You look well.” Marvellously pretty would have said it better. Not a skerrick of make-up on her heart-shaped face, her mouth a delectable rose, and the lovely blue-green of the silk kimono matching her eyes, turning them to jewels. The silver-gilt curls still clung to her head, but he thought they were a little longer and expertly styled. Zara would know all the right places to take her. “I’ve made coffee. Would you like a cup, or do you want to go back to sleep?”
“Won’t the coffee keep you awake?” She could only stand, staring at him. His white dress shirt was a wonderful foil for his deep tan.
“Who cares?” he said lightly, finding himself with a battle on his hands. He wanted to reach for her and draw her back into his arms. She fitted perfectly. At least take her hand. Frustrating, then, to have so many obstacles in the way. “I feel like one. Come along. You weren’t really going to hit me with that golf club, were you?”
“I was going to ring the police.”
“I’m so glad you didn’t.” He led the way into the large, beautifully designed kitchen. She and Zara had had many a meal here. Often she had done the cooking.
“You’re so much better than I am!” Zara had declared.
True. Only unlike Zara she’d had years of helping prepare meals, in the end taking over the job completely for her mother, who had morphed into her grandmother.
God rest her loving soul.
“They wouldn’t have been too happy, coming out this time of night—and for what?” Corin was saying, pulling her out of her thoughts. “It’s all my fault. I take full responsibility. It’s just that I remember you once told me you were out like a light as soon as your head hit the pillow.”
“That’s when I was studying hard,” she admitted with a faint smile. “These days I’m doing little but enjoying myself. I’ve got used to the sounds of the house as well, and Zara is in Berlin.”
“Yes, I know.”
“So she did know you were coming?”
“No, she didn’t.” He glanced across at her, a delicate figurine wrapped in turquoise silk. She had no idea how alluring she was. Which was just as well. “I told you. It had to be a surprise. I knew about the Berlin meetings, however. She’ll be back Tuesday anyway.”
“Yes.”
“So sit down.”
This was one of those kitchens that didn’t look like a kitchen. It looked more like an exceptionally inviting living area, big sparkling chandelier and all. The space was so large it could easily accommodate the marble-topped carved wood table, painted the same off-white as all the cabinetry and surrounded by six comfortable be-cushioned chairs.
She took one, conscious he was looking at her. She glanced up. Their eyes met. Married. Or was she imagining it?
“Hello!” he said, very gently.
Whatever it was, she could hardly speak for the force of her emotions. “And greetings to you.” Even her voice shook, as though she had lost much of her habitual control. There was something in his tone; in the depths of his brilliant dark eyes.
Eyes say more than words ever can.
What were hers saying? That she wanted to leap up, go to him, hug him, tell him she had missed him dreadfully, for all the wonderful times she’d been having.
Common sense won over. This was Corin Rylance. Dalton Rylance’s son and heir. A family worth billions. These were important people who mattered. Corin was way out of her league. For all she knew he could be about to tell her he was getting engaged when he went home. To the Atwood woman.
“What am I thinking of?” he asked himself with a quick frown. “Champagne is more in order than coffee. There’s a bottle of Dom in the fridge. I think we might crack it. What do you say?”
“I guess it should be champagne,” she agreed. She sounded so polite! No easy feat, when the level of excitement was rising at an alarming rate. She saw it as a flame that if only lightly fanned could turn into a dangerous blaze. Formality seemed as good as any defence mechanism.
Keep your deeper emotions out of it.
Sound advice.
“Twenty-one and don’t you forget it,” Corin said.
“So where have you been?” She inspected his tall elegant frame. “The evening clothes?” He looked so wonderful it made her feel strangely fretful, her legs restless.
“I spent the evening with old friends. I actually arrived in London from Rome late yesterday. Needed to catch up on my sleep. Had a business meeting this morning that lasted until lunch. I let Zara get away on her trip to Germany so I could move in.”
She thought of something to distract her attention away from him. “Let me get the glasses.” She rose swiftly on her small bare feet. “Zara and I often eat in here. In fact, we’ve had many an enjoyable late-night supper.”
“She tells me you get on wonderfully well together.” He lowered his handsome dark head to look into the well-stocked refrigerator.
“She’s my honorary big sister.”
He turned back, champagne bottle in hand, black eyes glittery. “Just don’t make me your big brother.”
She was surprised by his tone. “Why not?”
“I don’t feel like your big brother.”
His body language confirmed it. She felt a rush of emotion that was the equivalent to a huge jolt of adrenalin.
How can he possibly look at you like that if he doesn’t like you?
Get real! Don’t you mean he’s attracted?
In the past few months, with all the socialising she had been doing, she had been made aware men found her very attractive. Viscount Walton, the famous ladies’ man, for one. Now, for the first time, was there a tension and an intimacy between them? Maybe it was the lateness of the hour? The months of separation? All she knew was there was a star-bright, bursting sensation in her chest, as if sparkling, spinning, Catherine wheels were going off.
So what role does he want?
Don’t invite disaster.
She tried to ignore her voices, reaching up to grasp two beautiful crystal flutes. They were kept on the shelf above other crystal wine glasses of varying sizes. Sheer nerves and a surfeit of emotion made her fingers uncharacteristically clumsy. To her utter embarrassment, the flute she had just barely grasped fell from her hand onto the tiled floor. The long stem remained intact, but the bowl shattered into glittering fragments that covered a surprisingly wide area.
“Oh, no! Sorry, sorry—I’m so sorry.” She apologised over and over. Emotion was her undoing. “How could I have been so clumsy?”
Corin moved in very quickly. “Stand right where you are,” he instructed. “The glass has gone everywhere. Amazing how it can do that! You’d think the chandelier had fallen.”
“I’ll replace it.”
Corin sounded totally indifferent to the damage. “Forget it, Miranda. It’s only a glass.”
“A very expensive glass.” Her voice conveyed her distress and agitation.
“I said forget it,” he responded rather tersely, as though her evident upset was getting to him. “Rather a broken glass than you cut your pretty feet. No slippers?”
“Extra quiet on the stairs,” she explained shakily. “You could have been a burglar. Anyway, I’m fine. I’ll get the broom.” She unfroze, determined to sweep up the fragments, only Corin shocked her by reaching out for her and lifting her clean off her feet.
“I said stay put.”
Her breathing had escalated to such a pitch it was darn nearly a whistle. “No need to turn cranky.”
“I’m not cranky.” He laughed.
“All the same, I was clumsy.”
“You and clumsy don’t go together.”
“You can’t hold me.” Her nerves were coiled so tight they were about to snap.
“Does holding you change things, Miranda?” The amusement had gone out of his voice. It was oddly taut, as were the muscles in his lean, powerful body. Even his eyes were filled with a daunting yet exciting masculine intensity.
“I mean I must be h-heavy.”
“You’re a featherweight.” He hoisted her higher, to prove his point, carrying her back to the table. “There—you can relax now!” He set her atop it, with a big blue pottery bowl filled with fat, juicy lemons just to her right. “Stay there. That’s an order. I’ve opened the champagne. We’re going to have a glass or two each. It’s your birthday. I’m not going to allow anything to spoil it.”
With his height, he reached easily into the top shelf, taking down two exquisite flutes while glass crunched beneath his gleaming black dress shoes. “Right! I’d better sweep this little lot up.”
The odd tension between them resonated in the large room. She watched him sweep up the glass with a few swift, efficient movements, then push it into a pile, clearly sticking to his plan of pouring the champagne. That done, he handed her a frosted flute, his strong, elegant fingers closing momentarily around hers.
The pleasure was so sharp it was a wonder she didn’t cry out.
“Congratulations, Miranda, on your twenty-first!” He toasted her. “May you have a long, happy, healthy and fulfilled life.”
“And may I always know you and Zara,” she returned emotionally. “The two of you have come to mean the world to this orphan.”
“Listen to you!” he said gently. “Drink up. This is a great year.”
She savoured the fine vintage wine, first in her mouth, experiencing the burst of delicious bubbles, then in the flavour, letting the wine run down her throat in a cold rivulet until the flute was empty. “Beautiful!” she breathed, her tongue retaining the cold, crisp after-taste.
“Then how come there’s a little heartbreak in your voice?” he asked, finding her far more of an intoxicant than the most superb wine.
“I don’t know, Corin. The significance of the moment?”
So many unsaid things were suddenly between them.
And then his hand came out. He touched the satin texture of her cheek.
She couldn’t help it. She moaned. “I feel like I’ve known you all my life.”
“So look at me.”
She obeyed, looking directly into his brilliant eyes. Dark as they were, they couldn’t hide the gleaming sensuality.
No distance at all now divided them. Both seemed possessed by the moment. “It’s your birthday, so I believe I should be allowed to kiss you,” he murmured, already dipping his head. “One kiss. That’s all. On this very special occasion we might find it permissible to go out on a limb.” He managed to speak lightly, affectionately, even, but in reality he was driven by pure desire that had to find at least some degree of release. Time to confront the repressed knowledge that his desire for her had begun the moment he had first laid eyes on her years before.
He wanted to run an urgent hand down the column of her throat to her delicate breasts. To his captive eyes they resembled pink-tipped white roses, not long out of bud. He wanted to feel her heartbeat beneath his palm. If only she were older, more experienced, more along the way with her ambitions, he would kiss her and caress her before carrying her to bed.
But this was Miranda. He couldn’t allow his control to slip. He had vowed to look after her and her interests. She was young, when his experience of life and living had gone far beyond even his own age group.
From long practice Corin reined himself back to a pace he thought they both could handle. He set down his wine glass before taking hers out of her hand.
“Happy birthday, Miranda.” His voice was low, and to Miranda’s ears heart-stoppingly deep and romantic. Even before he touched her she felt as if she was being possessed. Gently he took her face between his hands, inhaling her sweet fragrance.
There can be no future in this.
Her warning voice tolled like a bell.
All you stand to gain is heartbreak.
At that moment she couldn’t bring herself to care. She had to seize this one breathless instant. One kiss, then everything would go back to normal. They would return to their respective roles.
It doesn’t work that way.
“Come here,” he whispered.
All there was was a deep hunger. She moved her upper body into him, her spine curved, while he held her face and kissed her as if he had never in his life known a woman he wanted to kiss more. He kissed her not like Corin her mentor. He kissed her like the most ardent lover. It was a brilliant, beautiful, incredibly real kiss, as if for those short moments out of time he was declaring love for her. This was no quick flare of pleasure-seeking. None of the male’s driving sex urge was on display. All control wasn’t lost. The kiss was contained. A decision acted upon. But deeply, deeply erotic for all that.
One of you will get hurt. It won’t be him. It will be you.
Corin found he had to pull his mouth away. Even with his exercising of strict control, the level of excitement had surged so high he thought it would take a long time to subside. “Has no one told you how beautiful you are, Miranda?” He gazed down on her face. It looked dreamy, almost somnolent, as though she had been transported to another place.
It took her long moments to answer. “If they have, I haven’t taken much notice.”
As an answer it was very revealing. Careful now, Corin thought. He would do nothing to threaten her well being. One kiss had proved more than enough to handle, luring him on while staying his hand. He moved his body back a little, deliberately lightening his tone. “Zara has mentioned many times how charming people find you. There’s some old roué—what’s his name? Walton?”
Her heart was racing so hard and fast it was moving the lace at her breast. “Eddie is quite a player.” With an effort she summoned up a smile. She had taken their kiss in her stride, hadn’t she? There was wisdom in caution. “There are many women in his life.”
“But he wants to spend time with you?”
“Maybe he does. But I’m not anyone’s passing fancy, Corin. I avoid danger and damage.”
“Good.” He turned away from temptation. “One more glass, then I must let you go back to bed. I need to turn in myself. We’re off to Venice in the morning.”
She was so startled she gave a little cry. “What did you say?”
Venice? Magic in the air.
She wished she was sitting in a chair, so she could ease back into it for support. As it was, she thought she might topple off the table.
“Venice. Probably the most fascinating city ever built by man,” he said, busy refilling their sparkling flutes. “I have us booked into a first-class hotel. Tons of atmosphere. It’s on the site of the orphanage church where Vivaldi probably dreamed up the Four Seasons. I think you’ll love it. It’s the quintessential Venetian luxury hotel and its position is superb. Our respective suites overlook the Lagoon, and it’s only a few minutes’ walk from the Piazza San Marco. It’ll be a great experience for you. You’re just the sort of young woman to fully appreciate it. The heart of a pure romantic beats beneath this Bachelor of Science.”
She was perilously close to bursting into tears. “Corin, you don’t have to do all this for me.”
“What have I done for you really?” He held her with his compelling eyes.
“What no one else has done! You overwhelm me.”
“What? Feisty little you?” he scoffed. “The teenager who launched herself into my lap? If that wasn’t initiative, what is? Risky too, as you very well knew. Here—drink this down,
then off to bed. A cab will be here at eight sharp to take us to the airport. Ninety minutes or so on we take off to Marco Polo International. We return to London Monday afternoon. I’ll wait to see Zara when she comes back, then I’ll be heading home for a few days before I head off to meet up with my father in China. Business, needless to say.”
“This is like a fairy tale,” Miranda breathed, accepting the crystal flute from him with visions of the legendary Serenissima she had seen only in books and films rising before her eyes.
“Well, your life hasn’t exactly been a fairy tale up to date. This is by way of balance. Besides, even if we’re not related by blood we do have a strong connection.”
A shadow crossed her small heart-shaped face. “I want to tell Zara,” she confessed. “We’ve become close. I don’t like keeping my true identity from her.”
“Only there might be quite a price to pay,” he offered rather tensely. “For the moment anyway. I know how you feel. I don’t keep secrets from my sister. I love her. After our mother was killed we were so alone, except for one another and our grandparents when we were allowed to see them. Dad did his best to isolate us, but he didn’t succeed. A life of wealth and privilege doesn’t guarantee happiness, that’s for sure. The occasion will present itself. You just have to be patient.”
“Until the timing fits in with your agenda, Corin?” There was just the tiniest hint of challenge in her tone.
“Trust me,” he urged. “Right at the moment I’m most concerned with protecting you from what could be a very unpleasant experience.”
“You feel contempt for Leila, don’t you?” she said, sadly aware this woman was her mother.
He gave a nonchalant shrug, but the expression on his handsome face had darkened. “Leila is a very destructive woman. My father can’t see it, but Leila’s whole being is centred on self. Valiant as you are, clever as you are, you’d be no match for her. You see life very differently from your mother, Miranda. You want to serve. Leila only wants to take.”