by Penny Jordan
Damn the man. Why should he have to keep intruding on her thoughts so much?
Half-way through getting changed, the timer which she always set when she was watering went off. Her hair, still slightly damp, curled on to her shoulders and round her face in tiny tendrils, as though glorying in being freed from its normally constraining ponytail. When she was going out, she usually looped it back in a neat twist, considering that long hair left flowing free was for girls under twenty-one, not women of twenty-five, a view she had grimly held on to despite Hannah’s astonished laughter when she had passed it on to her.
‘You’ve only got to look at the television to see how many women of over thirty—and over forty—wear their hair long and loose,’ Hannah had chided her. ‘And yours is so very lovely. You don’t know how lucky you are to be so naturally fair.’
Grimly Rue had reiterated that if she had any sense she would have it cut, but at least when it was long it was easy to tie back and keep out of the way.
The evening breeze caught it as she stepped out into the garden, and hurried towards the tap. She didn’t see Neil until she had virtually run into him; his hands coming out to steady her made her gasp in shock, her eyes huge and brilliant in the suddenly pale oval of her face. As though her shock was transmitted to him by her flesh, his fingers moved gently on her shoulders, almost as though he was stroking her in reassurance.
‘I startled you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,’ he apologised.
‘What are you doing here?’ Rue asked him, stepping back from him unwillingly aware of the tiny tremors of sensation racing through her body.
She realised that he was wearing his dinner suit and snapped, ‘And if you’ve come here to try to persuade me to have dinner with you, you’re wasting your time. I’ve got another engagement.’
‘I know,’ he told her mildly, but Rue could have sworn there was laughter dancing in his eyes. Laughter, and at her expense. Her body felt hot, her anger growing. She had as little liking for being laughed at as the next person, especially when it was Neil Saxton who was doing the laughing. ‘That’s why I’m here,’ he added before she could say anything. ‘I’ve come to escort you.’
‘What?’
‘Your friend, Hannah, the interior designer, whose telephone number you gave me,’ he explained helpfully. ‘She’s invited me round for dinner, and she asked me if I wouldn’t mind collecting you and driving you there.’
Rue was seething. Half a dozen acid retorts sprang to her lips, furious denials that she had any need of him to do anything for her, but she realised at once that her anger would simply increase his lazy amusement.
‘I’m afraid I’m not quite ready yet,’ she told him stiffly, taking refuge in the first excuse that sprang to her mind. ‘Why don’t you go on without me?’
‘And have Hannah and her husband think me ungentlemanly?’ One dark eyebrow rose.
The breeze caught her hair, tangling it with warm fingers, ruffling strands of it forward so that it brushed against Neil’s shoulder. He reached out and touched it, smiling an odd smile.
‘You have lovely hair,’ he told her quietly, and when she would have jerked away form him he reached out and curled his finger through the loose strands. It was an oddly intimate gesture, one that made Rue’s stomach somersault.
As he released the curl that had wound almost lovingly round his finger, he told her softly, ‘I don’t mind waiting.’
Rue stepped back from him, torn between fury and fear. He had no right to barge into her life like this, to force his unwanted presence on her—and what on earth did Hannah think she was playing at? She would have something to say to her friend when she got her alone.
Knowing there was not a single thing she could do about it, other than refusing to go to the dinner party at all like a sulky child, Rue retreated into the house. The good manners instilled into her by her old-fashioned upbringing would not allow her to deliberately dawdle until the man waiting downstairs for her got so fed up that he left. That wouldn’t be fair to Hannah, and no matter how angry she might be with her friend Rue could not bring herself to ruin Hannah’s dinner by arriving late.
All that she could do, when she slid into the passenger seat of Neil’s car and waited for him to join her, was to say frostily, ‘I hope you realise that none of this was my idea.’
CHAPTER FIVE
HANNAH greeted them in a slightly flustered manner, and no wonder, Rue reflected, looking meaningfully at her friend as she told her how surprised she had been to be offered an escort.
‘When you told me this was a business dinner, I had no idea that Neil was your potential client.’
Hannah gave her a sweetly vague smile. ‘No, well, I don’t suppose you would,’ she agreed mildly. ‘Oh, and I haven’t thanked you yet for passing my name on to him. He’s invited me to go round to the house as soon as I’ve got a free afternoon. Apparently he wants me to organise a suite of rooms for his mother. She lives in Brighton, but she comes to visit him several times a year. He was telling me that this is the first proper home he’s owned,’ she added conversationally as her husband drew Neil out into the garden to show him the progress they were making with their plans to install a swimming pool.
The small Georgian rectory Hannah and her husband had bought several miles outside the local market town had been very dilapidated when they took it over. Now every single one of its rooms was a charming testament to Hannah’s skill and homemaking qualities.
‘It was such short notice that I’ve only been able to throw together a rather scratch meal,’ Hannah apologised as Rue followed her into the kitchen.
‘Why go to the bother of having a dinner party at all?’ Rue asked her. ‘Obviously Neil intends to give you the business.’
‘Well, yes, but when he said that he was living on his own and hadn’t had time to find a housekeeper yet, I thought how lonely it must be for him. He told me that he hasn’t been here long enough to get to know many people, although I must say that I’m rather surprised at you,’ she added, arching her eyebrows. ‘You never said a word to me about having a new neighbour.’
Rue shrugged and turned her back on her friend so that Hannah couldn’t look at her too closely. ‘You know how it is for me at this time of the year. The last thing I want at the moment is to be constantly pestered…’
‘Pestered?’ Hannah interrupted her laughing. ‘By a man like Neil? My dear, I know at least twenty women who would give their eye-teeth to have a man as eligible as he is move in next door to them.’
She saw the way her friend’s mouth tightened and apologised instantly. ‘I’m sorry, Rue. I forget sometimes what a hard time you’ve had, but all men aren’t like your husband, my dear.’
‘Aren’t they?’ Rue asked her bitterly. ‘Why exactly do you think Neil Saxton agreed to bring me here tonight, Hannah?’
Hannah looked flustered and turned her attentions to the watercress soup she was ladling out into bowls. ‘Oh, I…’
‘Not because he’s attracted to me, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ Rue told her brutally. ‘It’s my land he wants, not my body, although I suspect he’s quite capable of pretending that there’s nothing he wants more than to take me to bed, if he thought that would make me sell the land to him.’
‘Oh, Rue, no, I’m sure you’re wrong!’ Hannah exclaimed in shocked accents. ‘He doesn’t strike me as that kind of man at all.’
Rue gave her a mocking look and said caustically, ‘They’re all that kind of man.’
Suppressing a faint sigh, Hannah acknowledged that it was pointless to argue with Rue. She, personally, had found Neil Saxton charming, and, very much in love with her husband though she was, she had been pleasurably aware of Neil’s very vibrant maleness.
Poor Rue, she reflected sadly as she allowed her friend to help her carry in the bowls of soup. She had no idea what she was missing. Hannah herself had been so lucky in her marriage, in her husband, in virtually everything in her life, she acknowledged a
s she went to call the men in from the garden.
Surprisingly, the evening passed very quickly, Rue discovered when the plates had all been cleared and stacked in the dishwasher by Neil and Tom Ford, while she and Hannah prepared the coffee and carried it into the conservatory.
‘I’d like to do something like this with mine,’ Neil commented, looking approvingly round the lacy Victorian edifice which Hannah had decorated so simply and so attractively. ‘Something like this would look much better in my conservatory than the furniture which is already there. Don’t you agree, Rue?’ he questioned, looking across at her.
Rue gritted her teeth as she caught Hannah’s surprised glance, her irritation growing as Neil continued blithely, ‘I invited Rue round for dinner last night. I wanted her advice on what I could do to improve the rooms I’m putting on one side for my mother, but she very properly directed me to you.’
Rue could have killed him. She could see the speculation and curiosity brightening Hannah’s eyes. Her friend was an incurable romantic and refused to believe that Rue would not be far happier married than she was on her own. Unable to stop herself from scowling Rue put down her coffee-cup.
‘I really ought to go,’ she said abruptly. ‘I have to be up early in the morning. The weather forecast isn’t too good. They’re predicting thunderstorms within the next couple of days.’
‘Oh, Rue, just when you don’t want them!’ Hannah exclaimed, instantly sympathetic. ‘What will you do? Will you be able to get your crop in in time?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ Rue assured her, ‘although the flowers could have done with another two or three days.’
She was unaware of how much her voice revealed, her shoulders hunching slightly as she acknowledged how very hard she was going to have to work.
‘What exactly is involved?’ Neil questioned sharply, breaking the silence that had fallen. ‘Do you employ anyone to help you gather the blossoms?’
‘I was going to,’ Rue admitted, ‘but there isn’t time now. I normally ask Mrs Dawson at the post office to find out if any of the local teenagers want to earn some extra pocket money, but by the time I’ve got something organised it would be too late. I was hoping for another week of this good weather.’
‘I’d offer to come and help you,’ Hannah told her, ‘but I just can’t at the moment.’
Rue shook her head tiredly. ‘If I could use your telephone to ring for a taxi…’
Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Neil was frowning. ‘There’s no need for that,’ he told her grimly. ‘I’m taking you home.’
Rue turned to him, trying to keep her voice and her eyes cool, desperately conscious of Hannah’s interested concentration on what they were saying.
‘You and Hannah will have things you will want to discuss,’ she told him formally.
Over her head, Hannah and Neil exchanged a mutually understanding look. ‘Oh, no,’ Hannah assured her cheerfully. ‘We can discuss everything I need to talk about when I go to see the house. There isn’t really much point in saying anything until I know exactly what Neil has in mind—and how much he wants to spend,’ she added with a chuckle.
Knowing that she was defeated, Rue gave in.
It was just gone eleven o’clock, and still very hot outside. As they said their goodnights, she felt Neil move close to her side and determinedly moved away from him. Now that the evening was over, she suddenly felt desperately tired. Too tired to reprimand him about the impression he had quite deliberately given Hannah by telling her they had spent the previous evening together; so tired that when the car slid silently out of the drive its comfortable soothing motion encouraged her to lean back in her seat and close her eyes.
She fell asleep as quickly and deeply as a child, causing Neil to glance at her in a mixture of compassion and rueful amusement. As she slept, she turned towards him, frowning slightly in her sleep.
When he eventually reached the cottage he parked outside it and watched her silently. After several minutes he reached towards her and unclipped her seat-belt and then, without disturbing her, went round to the passenger door and opened it, bending into the car and lifting her out as easily as though her weight made no impression on him at all.
She woke briefly once, struggling against the mists of sleep which threatened to hold her prisoner, alarm racing through her veins, but the hands that touched her were so knowing and gentle that her fears eased. Theirs was not the touch she remembered with fear and loathing, and under their soothing hold her panic subsided and she drifted back into sleep.
Neil, who had found her keys, unlocked the door, silenced the ecstatic Horatio and carried her upstairs to her bedroom. He paused in his self-appointed task of removing her dress and looked down at her. Such a very tiny, fragile body and such a fiery, indomitable spirit. He touched her face lightly with his fingers. She would be furious with him in the morning.
He eased the dress away from her body and then paused, looking down at her. Her underwear did little to conceal the soft curves of her body. Heat flared in him and was quickly controlled as he eased her gently beneath the duvet.
Irritated with himself, he went downstairs. He couldn’t remember a time when he had been so aroused merely by the sight of a woman’s body. He had carried her upstairs in all good faith, and self-disgust bit into his composure as he acknowledged how very tempted he had been to reach out and slowly caress those feminine curves.
Back downstairs, he let Horatio out and waited until the dog had ambled round the walled garden and returned to the back door. Having let Horatio in and made sure the locks were secure, he was just about to go round to the front door and slide the keys through the letterbox when instead he pocketed them, a wry smile curling his mouth as he made his way back to his car.
Rue woke up feeling more refreshed than she had felt in a long time. Her body felt lazy and relaxed, sleepy and supine, and somehow oddly different, as though it possessed a secret and sensuous knowledge that was forbidden to her mind. As she stretched out beneath the duvet, she suddenly became aware that she was wearing her bra and briefs.
A frown touched her forehead, and in the predawn light she saw her velvet dress draped carefully over the back of the bedroom chair. A tiny, niggling suspicion began to worm its way into her mind. Why had she gone to bed half-dressed? She frowned and tried to remember what had happened.
She had barely touched her wine over dinner. She had been tired, it was true, very tired, in fact. She could remember how sleepy she had felt in the car on the way back. Suddenly she jerked upright in bed and stared fixedly at the window, as dim and very unwanted memories started to surface. One in particular refused to be subdued.
Someone had been touching her, stroking her skin gently, or so it had seemed. She remembered that she had felt panic and that then the panic had gone when she’d realised the hands on her body were not those of her late husband—but they had been a man’s hands. She knew that irrevocably.
As she sat there, her mind turning slowly, focusing her disjointed thoughts, she realised that it was Neil that had touched her, Neil who had carried her upstairs and undressed her. A tiny betraying tremor ran through her body like fire.
Outside it was almost light. She had work to do. She had no time to waste on thinking about Neil Saxton. Knowing how hard she was going to have to work, she forced herself to eat some breakfast, switching on the radio so that she could listen to the weather forecast while she ate. It was worse than she had expected.
Storms were being forecast for the early evening. At best it would take her two full days to get the flowers picked and safely stored away inside. Even if she worked right through from dawn until dusk, she would still not be able to harvest them all.
Her shoulders sagged slightly and she immediately stiffened her spine, telling herself fiercely how well off she was in comparison to thousands of other women. All right, so she was now facing a crisis, which could result in her losing almost a whole year’s profit if she did not succeed in
rescuing her crop, but sitting here worrying about the financial implications of the forecast storm was not going to help.
Outside the air felt thick with heat and oppression. By the time she and Horatio had walked as far as the first field, her thin T-shirt was clinging clammily to her body, and the sun was still barely over the horizon. At least there was no dew, she acknowledged thankfully. To pick the flowers while damp would mean that they would rot before she had a chance of drying them out. She opened the gate into the field and stood there, surveying the task ahead of her, and then she blinked in disbelief as she saw someone moving determinedly towards her.
‘Neil,’ she said stupidly, ‘what are you doing here?’
Like herself, he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Like hers, his jeans were old and faded. Like hers, his T-shirt was shrunken with age, clinging firmly to his body. Her mouth went dry as he moved and she saw the unmistakable ripple of muscle beneath the thin fabric.
‘I’ve brought your keys back,’ he told her, watching the colour run up under her skin as she remembered how he had carried her to bed. And then, before she could argue, he added, ‘I thought you might be able to do with some help.’
‘Help?’ She almost stammered the word, as though its meaning was unfamiliar to her, raising bemused eyes to his, as she said painfully, ‘From you? But…’
‘I know what you’re going to say,’ he interrupted her. ‘All right, so I don’t know the first thing about flowers, but if you tell me where to start and what to do…’
He saw the look on her face and added roughly, ‘This is no time for pride, Rue. Surely an extra pair of hands, even my hands, are better than nothing? I heard the forecast this morning,’ he added, seeing the doubt and confusion shadow her eyes. ‘Independence is all very well, but will you really risk losing this,’ his arms swept a curve over the field in front of him, ‘simply because of the way you feel about me?’