‘No!’
‘I don’t—’
Both women began talking at once, May emphatically in the negative, April a little more ambiguous.
‘I don’t think I’m invited,’ April finished ruefully.
‘Pity,’ Jude murmured after a brief glance at May’s stubbornly set expression.
It would have been interesting watching the interplay between these two such different women—he might even have learnt some of the reason for the antipathy between them, on May’s part, at least. April, he realised, was more unsettled than angry.
‘I’ll leave you two to your dinner, then,’ April dismissed lightly, seeming to take some effort to gather her usual equilibrium, her smile bright and meaningless, certainly not accompanied by the usual warmth of her eyes.
Jude eyed May mockingly. ‘I’m not sure May has remembered that she invited me, either!’ he drawled derisively, the fact that she was obviously dressed for working on the farm not looking too promising.
No doubt after their fraught conversation at lunchtime May had decided that he wouldn’t be coming for dinner this evening after all; it afforded him a certain amount of satisfaction to know that he had disconcerted her by arriving, after all. But not too much—he still had no idea what the tension was between May and April.
‘I remembered the invitation,’ May assured him dryly. ‘The chicken casserole has been in the oven for several hours.’
It might have been, but Jude still doubted that May had ever thought he would be joining her this evening to eat it!
‘Enough for three?’ he prompted pointedly.
May’s expression darkened. ‘I—’
‘I’m sorry, but I already have a dinner engagement for this evening,’ April cut in smoothly. ‘In fact—’ she glanced at her gold wrist-watch ‘—I had better be going, or I shall be late.’ She turned to May. ‘I hope I shall see you again before I leave,’ she said huskily.
‘How long are you staying in the area?’ May looked at her coldly.
April shrugged narrow shoulders. ‘I’m not sure yet…’
May nodded abruptly. ‘Well, in case I don’t see you again, have a safe journey home.’
In other words, Jude easily interpreted, however long you happen to be staying in the area, don’t come back here to see me!
This really was a very strange situation, an even stranger conversation—one that Jude, for one, found completely puzzling.
‘Thank you,’ April accepted heavily, her smile even more strained as she turned to Jude. ‘I’ll probably see you later.’
He nodded abruptly. ‘You can count on it.’
She gave a rueful smile. ‘I thought I might! I-it really was lovely to meet you, May,’ she added huskily.
A sentiment that May, Jude noted frowningly, had no intention of echoing. In fact, she looked so cold and unapproachable she might have been carved from ice.
What was this?
What possible reason could May have for feeling so antagonistic towards April? An antagonism, he now realised, despite April’s apparent calm at lunchtime, that her presence here this evening meant she was equally aware of.
As he watched April walk over to her car, her face deathly pale as she drove out of the farmyard, Jude vowed that he would get an answer to those questions, either from May or April, he didn’t really care which.
CHAPTER SIX
MAY eyed Jude surreptitiously as the red car turned out of the farmyard, taking April Robine with it, knowing that Jude must be completely confused at finding the actress here when he arrived after the way the meeting had gone between the two women at lunchtime, that he must be completely puzzled about the whole situation.
Well, she for one had no intention of enlightening him. And, after her brief conversation with April Robine as Jude had arrived, she knew that the other woman wasn’t about to do so, either.
April Robine…
Strange that was the only way that May could think of the other woman, but also knowing the reason for that was probably that she refused to recognise her as the mother who had deserted her when she was only a child of five.
What sort of woman did that? Walked out, not only on her husband, but on her three young daughters, aged only five, four, and three? Not one that May wanted to know, or be associated with, that was for sure!
She drew in a harsh breath, her gaze deliberately noncommittal as she looked at Jude. ‘If you would like to go into the kitchen and get warm, I’ll join you in a few minutes,’ she dismissed, knowing a few minutes wouldn’t be near long enough to her to compose herself after speaking to April Robine, but at the same time recognising that was all the time she had.
‘I’m not cold,’ Jude dismissed evenly, despite the icy wind whistling through the farmyard. ‘In fact, I think the air in the kitchen might be even more chilly than it is out here!’ he added pointedly.
‘Really? The Aga keeps it very warm in there, I can assure you.’ May was deliberately obtuse.
‘I wasn’t referring to the heating system, and you know it!’ Jude rasped, gaze narrowed to silver slits as he looked down at her probingly.
‘Do I?’ She shrugged, turning away. ‘I just have to check on the— What do you think you’re doing?’ She gasped as Jude grasped her arm and swung her roughly back to face him.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to find out for myself?’ he prompted harshly.
May stared up at him frowningly. This man was probably her mother’s lover, had probably been so for some time; if anyone owed him any explanations it certainly wasn’t her!
Her mouth firmed determinedly. ‘Why don’t you ask April Robine?’ she snapped. ‘Although the two of you seem to have a very—relaxed relationship, considering you’re here having dinner with me and she’s off to have dinner with someone else!’ she added insultingly.
Jude’s gaze narrowed even more. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
May shrugged. ‘Whatever you want it to mean.’ She sighed, suddenly realising she was too weary to get involved in another situation of conflict. ‘It’s been a long day already, Jude, and I’m tired and I’m hungry, so do you think we could postpone this—whatever this is—until after we’ve eaten?’
He looked down at her for several tension-filled minutes, before slowly releasing her arm, a mocking smile curving his lips now. ‘You weren’t expecting me to turn up for dinner this evening as arranged, were you?’ he murmured with amusement.
‘In all honesty? No,’ she confirmed dryly. ‘But then, you’re a man that likes to do the unexpected, aren’t you?’ She shrugged. ‘Probably as another means of putting people off their guard,’ she guessed shrewdly, knowing by the way his mouth tightened that she was right in her assessment. Well, he needn’t have bothered on her account this evening—she had already been well and truly ‘put off her guard’ before he’d even arrived!
‘And you’re a woman who likes to analyse too much,’ he dismissed. ‘I’ll go and get the wine from the car.’
May watched him as he strode away, his movements fluid, the icy wind stirring the darkness of his hair, his masculine vitality unmistakable.
What was his relationship to April Robine? Lover? Friend? What? May had no idea, but until she did it would be foolish of her to allow her own attraction to him to go any further than it already had.
Which wasn’t all that easy to do when he deliberately set himself out to be charming as they ate their meal together later, telling her several amusing stories about Max, Will and himself when they were at school together, the earlier tension seemingly forgotten. And yet May knew that it wasn’t. Not really. By either of them…
‘Do you have any other family beside your parents, Jude?’ she prompted curiously as they lingered over coffee and an orange-based liqueur she had found at the back of the cupboard, given to them a couple of years ago as a Christmas present and never opened.
He grimaced. ‘Siblings, that sort of thing, do you mean?’
‘That sort of thing,’ she confirmed dryly; since the death of her father the previous year, her sisters were the two most important people in her life, and not to be so easily dismissed.
‘I’m an only child, I’m afraid.’ Jude shrugged. ‘Probably just as well, considering the amount of toing and froing I had to do between America and England during my childhood.’ He grimaced. ‘I don’t think we ever lived in the same house for more than a couple of years.’
Which probably also accounted for his seeming lack of roots now. It would also explain his complete lack of understanding where her attachment to this family farm was concerned…
‘I know where you’re going with this, May.’ He sat back, smiling.
She sighed. ‘Do you?’
‘I think so.’ He nodded. ‘But it doesn’t change the fact that this farm is too much for you to manage alone.’
She bristled resentfully, still not completely over April Robine’s visit here earlier. ‘No doubt April Robine echoes your sentiments,’ she snapped, having no doubts the other woman was completely mystified concerning May’s stubbornness about selling this farm to Jude; twenty-two years ago she hadn’t been able to get away fast enough!
‘April?’ Jude echoed frowningly. ‘What on earth does she have to do with any of this?’
May blinked, realising—too late—that she had allowed her personal resentment towards the other woman to show once again. And in a way Jude couldn’t possibly understand. ‘Well—’
‘I don’t discuss my business dealings with April, if that’s what you’re implying, May,’ he assured her hardly.
Her eyes widened. ‘Why don’t you?’
‘Because I— May, exactly what sort of relationship is it you think I have with April?’ he prompted slowly.
She shrugged. ‘The two of you obviously arrived here together, are staying at the hotel together—’
‘We arrived together because I was coming over on business anyway, and it turned out April had some business of her own to take care of in the area, too,’ he said with a pointed look in May’s direction. ‘And although we’re both staying at the same hotel—’
‘You really don’t owe me any explanations, Jude,’ May cut in, standing up abruptly, deciding she really didn’t want to know what this man’s relationship was to her mother.
Because in spite of everything, his increasingly pressurised efforts to buy the farm by his sheer presence every time she turned around, his friendship with April, she was attracted to him herself.
Jude turned to look at her. ‘Don’t I, May?’ he said softly, standing up himself now.
May looked across at him with widely apprehensive eyes. Too much had already happened today; she simply couldn’t cope if Jude were to kiss her again.
Which, it seemed, he had every intention of doing!
She fitted so well against him as he took her in his arms, the curves of her body fitting perfectly into his, her mouth responding to the touch of his like a flower to the sun.
It was all so simple when Jude held her like this, kissed her like this; nothing else mattered. It was only—
She couldn’t think any more, could only feel, her arms moving up about his neck as the kissed deepened, became more demanding, Jude’s hands moving restlessly up and down her spine, quivers of warmth moving through her wherever he touched.
‘You’re so beautiful, May,’ Jude breathed huskily as his lips travelled the length of her creamy throat, his tongue seeking the hollows he found there, teeth gently biting her earlobe.
May shivered with desire, feeling engulfed by a warmth she had never known before, knowing that she wanted this man, wanted him as she had never wanted any other, that she longed for the hard nakedness of him against her own heated flesh.
How could she feel any other way with Jude kissing her like this, touching her like this, one of his hands moving to cup her breast now, the silk of the blouse she had changed into earlier no barrier to his caress as his thumb moved rhythmically against her hardened nipple?
He drew in a deeply controlling breath, his hands now moving up to frame the warmth of her face, his forehead resting on hers as he looked into her eyes. ‘I want to make love with you, May,’ he groaned huskily. ‘And I think you want to make love with me, too,’ he added softly.
She drew in a quivering breath, knowing it was what she wanted, too, wanted more than she had ever wanted anything in her life before, felt as if she might wilt and die if Jude didn’t make love to her. Now!
Which was ridiculous when they were in the kitchen, the only place for them to make love on the coldness of the flagstones beneath their feet…
‘But I don’t want any regrets, May,’ Jude continued gently, his thumbs lightly caressing her creamy cheeks, his silver gaze easily holding hers.
May couldn’t break that gaze, trapped in the emotions coursing through her, feeling on fire with need of him. She wanted him—how she wanted him.
‘Will it help if I assure you that there is nothing between April and myself?’ he prompted at her continued silence.
May stiffened as if he had struck her, suddenly cold as ice in Jude’s arms, her eyes wide with shock.
April!
April Robine!
The woman who had once been her mother.
Jude inwardly cursed himself as he saw the change come over May at the mere mention of the other woman, the way her eyes had widened, lost their dreamy arousal to focus sharply, her body suddenly stiff as a board even as she began to push him away from her.
She turned away. ‘I think you had better go,’ she choked, her face buried in her hands.
‘May—’
‘No, Jude!’ She moved sharply away from his reaching hands, turning fully to face him, green eyes dark with an emotion it was impossible to read. ‘I invited you here for dinner, Jude, not to—’
‘Don’t be any more insulting than you need to be, May,’ he cut in raspingly. ‘I kissed you. You responded.’ He gave an impatient shake of his head. ‘Don’t try and make it less—or more, than it was.’ He looked at her with narrowed eyes.
She gathered herself together with effort, standing tall, straightening her shoulders determinedly. ‘Yes, by all means, let’s be adult about this, Jude,’ she bit out. ‘After all, that’s what we both are, isn’t it?’ she dismissed with forced brightness.
He didn’t want to be adult about this, wanted to grasp her by the shoulders and give her a thorough shaking.
Which would achieve precisely what? he prompted self-derisively.
Not a hell of a lot, he acknowledged, but it might make him feel a temporary respite from the sheer frustration he felt at this whole situation.
He wanted May, he admitted it. Wanted her pretty badly. But so many things stood between them, it seemed, not least his friendship with April.
Which was something he definitely didn’t understand.
And May had no intention of confiding in him…
He gave her a searching look. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that you’re an actress, that the reason David Melton is being so persistent is because he wants you to take a part in one of his films?’
He saw May’s eyes widen at the fact that he even knew that much about her. Well, damn it, he had certainly wanted some sort of explanation from David and April for what had happened at lunchtime. Besides, what was wrong with David Melton having told him that much, at least? It had certainly put his own mind at rest concerning the other man’s intentions towards May.
He only wondered at May’s complete determination that she would never appear in that film…
‘Wanting and getting are two different things,’ May answered him tautly. ‘I’m sure David must also have told you that I’ve turned down his offer? Several times.’
His mouth twisted. Yes, the other man had been most emphatic concerning his interest in May. ‘He told me.’ He nodded. ‘He was a little hazy as to why, though,’ Jude added slowly.
‘Was he?’ May
gave a humourless smile.
Jude looked at her searchingly. ‘Is it because of your determination to hang onto this farm?’
Something flickered in those normally candid green eyes, something that was masked before he had time to even begin to analyse it—giving him the distinct impression that whatever May was about to say in answer to his question, it was far from the truth.
He also knew that, until this moment, the one thing May had given him had been honesty—no matter how insulting or rude it might have been!
‘Yes, that’s it,’ she dismissed easily.
Too easily, too smoothly, Jude knew, his frustration with this situation deepening. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he bit out hardly.
Her eyes widened mockingly. ‘And is that supposed to bother me?’ She gave a rueful shake of her head. ‘Jude, I think you have an overinflated opinion of your own importance. Especially where I’m concerned!’ Her eyes flashed warningly.
‘May…!’ he snapped impatiently, knowing she was back to being deliberately insulting.
Her brows rose tauntingly. ‘Jude?’
His mouth thinned angrily. She was the most difficult woman it had ever been his misfortune to meet. Seconds ago she had been responsive and pliant in his arms, on the brink, it seemed to him, of the two of them making love together, and now she was back to being that mockingly defensive woman that just made him want to shake her until her teeth rattled.
Which action would get them about as far as her deliberate antagonism.
‘May, you—’ He broke off as she suddenly looked startled before moving quickly to the kitchen window. ‘May, what is it?’ He frowned his irritation.
‘I’m not sure—oh, no…!’ she groaned achingly, her face white as she turned from looking out of the window. ‘I—it’s—what have you done, Jude?’ she groaned accusingly.
He looked startled. ‘Me? But—’
‘You knew I didn’t want— How could you—? What am I going to do now?’ she wailed emotionally.
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Jude demanded impatiently even as he strode purposefully over to look out of the window, easily recognising at least two of the people getting out of the car that was now parked in the yard. And having recognised Max and Will, it wasn’t too difficult to work out that the two beautiful dark-haired women with them, their likeness to May apart, had to be their fiancées, January and March.
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