by Penny Jordan
CHAPTER TWO
they had eaten both the casserole and the apple pie before Gray broached the subject of Stephanie's visit.
'I'll wash up if you make the coffee,' he suggested, bending to take the tray from her lap. 'No one else makes it quite the way you do.'
'Oh, no? I'll bet you say that to all the girls.'
Instead of making him smile, her flip answer drew a sharp frown. Now what had she done to offend him? she wondered unhappily as she followed him to the kitchen. Something was different; something had changed between them. She felt different than she had ever felt before, buoyed up and excited one moment, and miserable and on edge the next.
Amazingly, Gray managed to unfasten his cuff-links much more easily than she had put them in. Watching him as he rolled up his shirt-sleeves and started washing up their dishes, Stephanie felt a burning tide of awareness sweep over her body. His forearms were tanned and strongly muscled. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to stroke her fingertips through those thick, dark hairs.
'I asked you to come down here because I need a favour.' The abrupt words cut-through the hazy sensuality of her private thoughts, jerking her back to reality. What on earth had come over her?
'I'm having some problems with the boat-yard.
Business has fallen off quite sharply lately. I'm working on the design for a new boat which I'm hoping will be successful. If all goes well I plan to show it at next year's Boat Show, but launching a new boat is a pretty risky business, especially for a yard like ours.'
For no reason at all, a cold spiral of fear had invaded the pit of her stomach. Gray had stopped washing the dishes and had turned round to face her. The atmosphere in the kitchen was tense, almost stiflingly so.
'I'm entering this year's Fastnet, Steph,' Gray told her quietly. 'If I can win, and I think I can, the publicity would give the new boat a boost that nothing else could match. Winning the Fastnet will give us more publicity, more credibility than we could get from any amount of advertising.'
Stephanie knew that every word he said was true. A boat designed and made by an acknowledged winner of a race as prestigious as the Fastnet would sell better than a tennis racquet endorsed by a Davis Cup champion, but nothing could silence the words of protest from tumbling from her lips. Since Paul's death she had been left with a morbid fear of the sea She knew that he was himself to blame for the accident by his rash disregard of the safety rules, that did not quell her fear, there was more to it than that.
She could hardly bear to look at the sea, even on a calm day and, as Gray well knew, coming down here to the estuary was purgatory for her.
She had once loved sailing. It was her father's hobby and, like him, she had been thrilled about his transfer to this part of the coast which had a reputation of being an idyllic spot for small boat enthusiasts.
She had been more grateful than she could say when her father had been transferred to an inland posting shortly after Paul's death, and never once since that time had she set foot in a boat herself, even though she had once crewed enthusiastically and knowledgeably both for her father, and for Paul.
Now Gray was telling her that he intended to enter one of the most dangerous races of all, and she shook with fear for him.
'Gray ... please don't,' she pleaded huskily.
'Stephanie, I have to. Don't you understand?' he demanded harshly. 'If l don't, I stand to lose the boatyard ... I have no other choice.'
She could see that, but she still longed to beg him to change his mind. Instead, she said shakily, 'Gray, please ... I don't want to lose you as well.'
'You won't, I promise you you won't.' She felt him move as he gathered her against his body, bracing himself against the unit as he rocked her gently in his arms.
Tense with fear, Stephanie buried her face against his chest, soothed by the heavy thud of his heart.
'If I'm to go ahead I'm going to need your help, Steph.' His voice was muffled slightly by her hair, and slightly unsteady, as though he was under a tremendous strain. 'I want you to move into the cottage, and take over the day-to-day running of the boat-yard for me until after the race. You could work from here on your illustrations, just as easily as you do in London ...'
'Run the yard!' She jerked away from him, horrified. 'I couldn't do that.'
'Yes, you could. You did it when you and Paul were married.'
It was true that she had helped out at the yard all those years ago, organising the office along more practical lines.
'Stephanie, when have I ever asked you for anything?' His voice was rough, grating against her tense nerves. It was true, in their relationship he had always been the giver, she the taker. Although he didn't say it, she felt that he was reminding her that she owed him a debt—a debt he was now calling in. How could she explain to him how much she feared and loathed everything that reminded her of Paul? He thought she was still grieving for a husband she had loved and adored. How could she tell him that what she felt was guilt—that there was no love . .. that the reality of marriage had woken her from what had only been an adolescent's dream?
'I. . . I need time to think .. .'Implicit in her husky words was an acknowledgement of all that she owed him.
He had stood by her when she felt everyone else was against her, accusing her of pushing Paul to his death, because of their quarrel. How could she deny his request for help? She knew how much the boat-yard meant to him.
Almost on a sigh she heard herself saying, 'I... I've made up my mind. I'll do it ... I—'
She didn't get the opportunity to say any more. She was in Gray's arms, held tight in a crushing grip that drove the breath from her lungs and brought a surge of blind panic as her body remembered how often it had
been imprisoned with similar force by Paul.
She fought frantically against his constraining hold, until she felt him releasing her. Breathing deeply, she staggered back against the wall, her eyes dark with fear.
'For God's sake! What the hell did you think I was going to do ... Rape you?'
As she raised her shocked eyes to his, Stephanie saw him rake angry fingers through his hair.
'I know how you feel about Paul, Stephanie, but you can't cling to those memories for ever. Christ, if that's how you react when someone else touches you, I'm not surprised there hasn't been anyone else.'
The look in his eyes chilled her, she felt like a child abandoned by its parents, and longed to cry out to him to understand.
Instead she moved away from the wall, and turned away, shivering with the inner bleakness possessing her.
'Stephanie . ..' She felt his fingers touch her arm and this time she didn't move away.
'Look, I'm sorry. We're both wound up. I should have remembered how much you hate being touched.'
Her expression gave her away and he grimaced wryly.
'Did you think I didn't know? You freeze every time I come near you.'
Did she?
'Has it ever occurred to you that there's something dangerously obsessive about your determination to remain faithful to Paul's memory? Do you think he would have done the same if the positions had been reversed?' he demanded harshly. 'It's time to put the past behind you, Steph. Nothing's going to bring Paul back. You've gott o start learning to live again. You told me not long ago that you were frigid.' His hand slid to her face cupping it, lifting it so that he could look down into her eyes.
'I don't think you are, but I think you've convinced yourself of it because it makes it easier for you to escape from the pain of loving anyone else. It's easier to tell yourself you're frigid than to risk loving someone whom you might ultimately lose.'
She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that she was frigid, that Paul himself had told her so; but somehow she was mesmerised by the magnetic glitter of his eyes as his head bent slowly towards her own.
Slowly, shockingly she realised what he meant to do, and by the time that knowledge had infiltrated her brain it was too late to move away. His lips were movi
ng gently and softly over her own, their commanding impact making hers cling bemusedly to his warmth. Shock held her unmoving within his embrace, her breath obstructed by what was happening to her. She could feel her heart racing.
'Stay with me, Stephanie. Stay with me and help me · · -'Gray whispered the words against her mouth, and they brought her back to reality, releasing her from the trance imposed by his totally unexpected kiss. She drew away shakily and he let her, watching her through half- closed eyes.
'Yes.. . Yes, I will.' Her lips framed the words slowly, still quivering from the silken pressure of Gray's kiss. Thoroughly bemused, she was barely aware of what she was saying. She heard him laugh softly, deep in his throat, as he stepped back from her.
'You kiss like a little girl, do you know that?'
Pain pierced her. What on earth was she thinking of? To let Gray kiss her? And as for Gray himself... Her claim that she was frigid must have piqued his male curiosity, but now he knew the truth for himself he was hardly likely to kiss her again, she reflected flatly, still trying to recover from the blow of his soft-voiced taunt.
Her pride demanded some recompense and so, turning her back on him and busying herself with the coffee, she said coolly, 'We're friends, Gray, not lovers, and that's how I kissed you—as a friend.'
She was a little surprised by the anger in his eyes when he reached past her to relieve her of the heavy coffee jug. She and Gray had often had arguments in the past and he had never seemed to harbour any resentment on those occasions when she won. In fact, Gray had always encouraged her to think for herself and to form her own views. He had never been the sort of man who preferred women to be obedient, quiet echoes of their men's views.
'If I'm going to stay on to look after the yard I'll need to go back to London to collect my paints and some extra clothes.'
'I'll run you back on Monday morning. I've got some business to deal with, so I'll stay at your place Monday night and then we'll come back together on Tuesday. I'm not going to give you any opportunity to back out of this, Steph,' he warned her, before she could speak. 'I need your help too much for that.'
He wasn't saying so but Stephanie also knew that he had every right to ask for and expect her help. He had, after all, given her his in those dark months after the
accident. Without his support ... She shuddered slightly, remembering the accusations she had flung at him then; the demand that he leave her to simply die. There had been plenty of times when she hadn't wanted to go on living, when she had thought that there was no longer any point to life, but Gray had refused to let her go, to let her abandon herself to that sort of self- destruction.
Yes, she owed him a lot, but how on earth was she going to cope with living so close to the sea; with knowing that every day Gray himself was out there, sailing on it; that Gray was going to enter one of the most dangerous sailing races in the world? The cup she was holding slid from her fingers to crash down on to the stone floor, her hands going up to cover her face.
In a tortured voice she pleaded, 'Gray, please don't do it! There must be another way.'
Tough, work-scarred fingers pulled her hands away from her eyes so that he could look at her.
'I have to do it,' he told her grimly. ' Can't you understand that? The yard's been losing money steadily over the last few years—you know that ...'
She had, of course, but she had not realised how intensely Gray was worrying about it.
'There's still money coming in from the moorings you let out to summer visitors.'
'Yes, they're just about keeping us afloat, but it's not enough. I want this yard to be again what it once was. There's no cash available for development and investment... to do the things I want to do. You know that the design and production of small craft has always been more important to me than the day-to-day running of the yard.'
'But the Fastnet ...' she protested weakly. 'Gray ... What ... what does Carla think about it ?'
The words were out before she could stop them. A curious expression, half-pain, half-pride, crossed Gray's face.
'She knows that it's something I have to do,' he told her quietly, and she was pierced with a poignant sense of loss, so totally did his voice and expression exclude her.
In those few words Gray had condemned her to the periphery of his life; had shown her that there was someone else in his life far more important to him than she could ever be.
She swallowed hard against the pain.
'You love her a great deal.' Her voice trembled and she saw Gray's brief smile.
'Can one quantify love? I don't think so.'
'Did you know the moment you met her that ...?'
'That I had found the woman I was going to love for the rest of my life?' he submitted for her.
Something quivered and hurt inside her, some deep- lodged pain that, like a tiny splinter buried deep in one's flesh, festered and irritated. Why had she never known before how possessive she felt about Gray? Why had it taken another woman to open her eyes to how desirable a man he was?
'You're looking very pale. What's wrong?'
'I just don't like the thought of you entering the Fastnet.' It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the entire truth either. It was the thought of losing him to Carla that had driven the blood from her face, just as much as the thought of losing him to the sea had frozen her heart in ice.
'Come and have a look at the plans, I've got them here in my study.'
Something in the firm purposefulness of his voice calmed her a little. Gray knew the sea... he did not take risks... he never had. She remembered how thrilled she had been on the rare occasions she had sailed with him. Even then he had been fascinated by the problems of designing safe racing craft. His uncle had called it time- wasting. He preferred the more mundane side of the business. He had wanted to sell off part of the boat-yard to form a huge marina, but Gray and the local council had opposed him, and rightly so. It would have completely spoiled the atmosphere of the small village.
Somehow she found herself being guided into the study and sitting down alongside Gray while he unrolled plans for the hull of the new racing craft.
Soon he was lost in enthusiasm for what he was doing, pointing out to her how the design could be modified to fit into a family market; how the utilitarian interior of the prototype racing craft could be turned into comfortably luxurious accommodation for a small family.
At the moment, Stephanie was working on the book cover for a novel set in the Caribbean, and in her mind's eye she saw Gray's sleek new craft swinging gently at anchor in the background.
For ten years she had turned her back completely on sailing but now, poring over the plans Gray had spread out on the large partners' desk in the study, she felt all the old enthusiasm and excitement of her teenage years come rushing back. A single glance had been enough to show her the grace and potential of Gray's new boat. Without even having to strain her imagination to the slightest degree, she could already see the boat's sleek lines as she sped over the water; she could almost feel the old thrill of racing against other small craft, the salt- laden breeze stinging her skin and lifting her hair. Those had been good days . . , happy, carefree days, before .,.
'These new compounds mean that we can make the
hull lighter than ever before, and these sails—' Gray's
finger indicated one of the sketches, and Stephanie pushed aside the past to concentrate on what he was showing her.
Unlike many of the entrants in the Fastnet Race, Gray's yacht would only be sailed by him. Apparently, the fact that it could be handled by one man alone was one of its potential selling points in its racier form.
'The sails will certainly give it plenty of speed,' Stephanie remarked.
Her fear must have shown in her voice, because Gray said lightly, 'Yes, and the special buoyancy tanks we've fitted will make it virtually unsinkable. The beauty of this design is that it can be fitted out as anything from a racing yacht to a sea-going cruiser, depending on what the customer wan
ts. More and more people are sailing these days, and they're demanding a wider and better equipped range of craft at the right price. I need that business, Stephanie, and I'm determined to get it.' He rolled up the plans. 'So far we're very pleased with the way she's tested out. I'm hoping to do the final sea trials in the next couple of weeks.'
She shivered slightly, unaware of the way the light from the lamp highlighted the rich copper tone of her hair. In the last ten years she had changed from a pretty girl into a beautiful, although somewhat haunted woman, Gray thought, watching her. He had a momentary impulse to reach out and watch her hair glide through his fingers, to see if it felt as warm and vibrant as it looked. Her mouth curved as she smiled uncertainly at him, and he got up abruptly.
'You stay there, I'll go and make us both some coffee.'
The clipped way he spoke broke the mood of relaxed friendship between them. It was almost as though he didn't want her company ...
Stephanie turned her head to one side automatically, hiding her expression from him. It was idiotic to feel hurt, but they had been getting on so well, and then for no reason at all, or so it seemed, Gray had suddenly retreated from her.
After he had gone into the kitchen for their coffee, Stephanie hunched her arms round her knees. The light from the lamp illuminated the haunting pensiveness of her face. Gray was right, it was time she learned to come to terms with the past, but every time she thought about Paul, every time she remembered his cruel words, every time she remembered how quickly their love had died, pain engulfed her.