by Liz Fielding
‘I’m not hungry. Besides, this place is far too expensive for...’ She stopped, suddenly embarrassed.
‘For what?’ he asked, then grinned. ‘For a kiss-o-gram man?’ he suggested.
She shifted uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Not out loud.’ He regarded her steadily and for a moment she thought he was going to say something important. Instead he returned to the menu. ‘The lamb with rosemary is very good.’
‘You come here regularly, of course.’
‘No. I haven’t been in Melchester long enough to be a regular anywhere.’ The corners of his mouth lifted in a teasing smile. ‘Perhaps you could recommend a good spot to do a little busking…’
Rose half rose. ‘This is ridiculous-’
He caught her hand. ‘Gently, Rosie. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself, do you?’
For a moment their eyes locked until slowly, reluctantly she lowered her lashes before his insistent will. ‘You should save your money,’ she muttered, obstinately, subsiding into her seat.
Certain that he had finally won her obedience he allowed the smile to return to his lips, her concern about his financial state apparently amusing him. ‘Should I? Whatever for?’
‘Rent, perhaps?’ she suggested ‘You can’t just live from hand to mouth.’
‘Is that so?’ He seemed genuinely interested. ‘I look forward to you telling me why not. I’m sure you’re going to.’
‘You’re irresponsible, Jack Drayton. Did anybody ever tell you that?’
‘Ah, Rosie, my irresponsibility is half my charm,’ he said with an air of injured innocence, ‘and since I don’t have to pay rent you may eat with a clear conscience. Now, what will you have?’
‘Don’t pay...’ She sat back. ‘Do you mean you squat somewhere?’ she demanded, horrified.
For a moment the blue eyes flashed with something between humour and exasperation. Humour won and he reached across the table and took her hand in his. ‘Would that bother you?’ This time she tried to pull free, but his long fingers held hers firmly, drawing her nearer to him so that she had no choice but to fight him or follow where he led.
When he had her as close as he desired, close enough to see the tiny flecks that darkened the green of her irises, to see how the pupils dilated at his touch, close enough to whisper so that only the two of them could hear, he spoke again. Urgently, now. A little fiercely.
‘If I were to tell you that I slept out under the cold winter stars, my darling Rosie, would you take me home and tuck me up under your own downy quilt?’
Rosalind felt the dangerous tug of his charm, the spark of something in his eyes that she responded to quite mindlessly and knew just how easy it would be to say yes. How imperative it was that she say no. Convincingly.
Protesting hadn’t worked and her feeble attempts to ignore him had been simply brushed aside. It was time to try a different tack.
She made her answering smile slow, tentative, lowered her lashes suddenly, copying a technique that she and Sarah used to practise in the mirror for hours when they were teenagers and she had seen her friend use time without number to turn men to putty in her hands. Rosalind had never tried it in earnest until now and if her lips trembled a little and if maybe it wasn’t quite all an act, there was still an almost giddying sense of exhilaration when she heard the sharply indrawn breath that told her she had hit her mark.
‘Well now, my darling Jack,’ she said, imitating the faintest touch of an Irish lilt that warmed his voice when it was low. ‘I’m afraid in those circumstances I’d have to direct you to the nearest branch of the Salvation Army and suggest you throw yourself on their mercy.’
For a moment they were suspended in some place a million miles in space and time from the wine bar. Then Jack broke the spell. ‘Is that a fact?’ he asked and softly laughed. ‘We’ll see, sweet Rosie. We’ll see.’
Her breath caught in her throat as his eyes held her captive. She tried to speak but no words would come to tell him how wrong he was. Instead the two of them were locked together, their heads inches apart, in a silent battle of wills in which she found herself fighting desperately to control senses racketing wildly out of control.
Then, as if he had seen all he wanted, he released her and sat back. If she could have stood up, she would have walked away but her bones had turned to marshmallow. Instead she moistened her dry mouth with a sip of the orange juice and made no further protest when Jack ordered for her.
When the waiter had departed, he returned his attention to the holiday brochure on the table in front of him. ‘Now, down to business. Where do you want to go for your honeymoon?’
‘We haven’t decided yet,’ she said, finding the subject embarrassing.
‘I’m not interested in “we”. Where do you want to go?’
She swallowed. ‘I thought...Italy.’
‘Italy.’ He searched among the brochures. ‘A visit to ancient Rome?’ he suggested, flicking through the tantalising views of Rome and Pompeii. ‘The great art galleries of Florence? The treasures of Venice?’ He looked up then. ‘Funny sort of honeymoon traipsing around ruins. Or perhaps that’s the plan,’ he said. ‘Are you hoping to wear the poor old soul out sight-seeing?’
‘He’s not old!’ She wished the floor would simply open and swallow her up. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’ she asked, hoarsely.
‘Anthony Harlowe was born middle-aged. And I’m not doing anything to you. You’re doing it to yourself. Why don’t you just admit that you’ve made a mistake before it’s too late?’
She lifted her head. ‘You’re wrong, Jack. I haven’t made a mistake. I’m going to marry Anthony because he’s the man I’ve chosen to spent my life with.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ he replied, his eyes suddenly flinty. ‘In fact I’m sure he’s a very good catch. You could put your feet up and never do another day’s work in your life but you’re not in love with him,’ he said. ‘And he’s certainly not in love with you.’
‘Love?’ She stared ahead, not seeing anything in the room. Her mother had been in love with her father. She had never complained, never shown by one flicker of her eyelid how much his desertion had hurt, but Rose had suffered pain enough herself to have a very good idea. ‘I think you’re confusing the emotion with sex.’
‘Am I?’ His fingers curled under her chin and turned her face towards his. ‘Frankly, Rosie, I don’t think I’m the one who’s confused.’ Their food arrived, forcing them apart and she took refuge in giving her full attention to her lunch and Jack changed the subject. ‘Tell me about yourself. Your family.’
She glanced up from the lamb he had ordered for her and found him oddly watchful. ‘Not much family. There’s just me and my mother.’
‘What happened to your father?’ he asked, idly.
‘He got fed up with being grown up and left home,’ she said, the flippancy of her remark an attempt to disguise the bitterness she felt. But seeing Jack’s bemused expression, she tried to explain. ‘He was a teacher. A music teacher. In his spare time he played a hot jazz piano.’ She shrugged. ‘He decided that married life, being a husband, a…’ she closed her eyes briefly and took a breath ‘…a father, was just not as much fun as playing the clubs, the festivals.’ She shrugged, unable to go on. There was a touch of concern in his eyes, but at least he didn’t say that he was sorry, for which she was grateful. She had come close to exposing the rawness of her father’s desertion and she grabbed the chance to change the subject. ‘I was wondering...if you need work...’ He said nothing, waited politely for her suggestion. ‘I could speak to Mike Noble. He owns the jazz club; he’s an old friend of Dad’s. I’m sure he listen to you play if I asked.’
‘And why would you do that for me, Rosie?’
At last a question that was easy. ‘Because I hate to see all that talent wasted.’
‘It’s not wasted. I play for my own pleasure, Rosie, and for my friends. I’d play for you any time you asked.
<
br /> ‘Then go and see Mike,’ she urged.
He seemed amused by her concern. ‘Do I really look as if I need a job?’
No. The truth was that he didn’t look as if he needed anything. She dropped her lashes to hide the sharp bittersweet flare of desire as her gaze swept over his broad shoulders and chest, the jeans stretched tightly over his thighs. ‘You’re too good to be wasting your time on…’ she blushed furiously ‘…on your present occupation.’
‘Am I?’ Jack Drayton looked thoughtful for a moment, then he nodded as if he had come to a decision. ‘Very well, but I’ll only play if you promise to come and listen.’ She began to protest, but he put his hand over hers and stopped her. ‘It’s my only condition and it’s not open to negotiation.’ She looked at him then. Braved the clear blue eyes. ‘Promise,’ he insisted.
Finally she gave way. ‘I promise. It won’t be a hardship. I’ll ring Mike this afternoon. Have you got a number where you can be reached?’
‘Since when have they had telephones in squats?’ he teased. ‘I’ll meet you here for lunch again tomorrow.’
‘No.’ She’d already conceded more than enough and from somewhere found the strength to be firm. ‘I’m not having lunch with you again.’
‘Because of Anthony?’
‘If the circumstances were reversed you wouldn’t be very happy.’
‘If the circumstances were reversed, my lovely Rosie, I wouldn’t hesitate to rip his head off.’
She gasped and, too late, saw him smile. He was teasing her, but this had gone far enough. ‘Then we must make sure that never happens to you. You’d find it difficult to play a saxophone without your head,’ she said, with forced brightness. ‘Ring me at the office in the morning and I’ll let you know if I’ve been able to fix anything.’ She wrote the number on the corner of the holiday brochure and handed it to him. ‘Thank you for lunch.’ She stood up and held out her hand in a gesture that clearly meant goodbye.
He rose to his feet and took the hand she offered and held it. ‘I’ll walk you back to your office.’
She snatched back her hand. ‘No, Jack. Please, stay here until I’ve gone.’ She didn’t wait for his answer, but turned and walked quickly away, refusing to look back, even though she found that she wanted to very much indeed.
She phoned the jazz club as soon as she was back at her desk. She wanted Jack Drayton out of her mind, she told herself and the sooner she kept her promise the sooner she could forget all about him. Mike was surprised, but pleased to hear from her and when Rose explained why she had rung and he laughed, asked if her protégé was her latest boyfriend and not waiting for her answer, said it would be a pleasure to see Jack anytime he called round. Glad that it had been so easy, but relieved, she buried herself in her work.
It was late when she came out of the office. Outside it was cold and dark and she found the car park slightly alarming when it was so empty, all those dark, echoing spaces.
She hurried up to her car and took the keys from her bag, but before she could insert them in the lock a dark figure detached itself from the shadows and moved towards her. She tried to scream but found she couldn’t, her throat constricted, her tongue like wood in her mouth.
‘Late tonight, Rosie. Making up for your long lunch?’ Jack took the keys from her lifeless fingers and opened the car door for her.
‘Damn you, Jack Drayton!’ she cried out, when she finally found her voice. ‘You frightened the life out of me!’
‘Good. You shouldn’t be wandering about the car park by yourself at this time of night and you can tell your precious Mr Harlowe I said so.’ He was actually angry, she realised with something of a shock.
‘I don’t have much choice. I’m a working girl, Jack.’
‘It’s past eight o’clock, for God’s sake! What is the man, a slave-driver?’
‘I’m the branch manager. I don’t need anyone to drive me, I simply put in the hours I have to. We’re short-staffed because of illness and I had a lot to catch up on today. And you’re right,’ she added, somewhat shortly, ‘the long lunch hour didn’t help.’ The fact that she hadn’t realised how late it was, was none of his business and she told him so. ‘Why are you here, anyway,’ she demanded, reaching for her keys.
‘Two reasons,’ he said, slipping them into his pocket. ‘This is the first.’ His hands reached for her and caught her shoulders and before she could think what was happening, before she could offer the slightest protest, his mouth had descended to hers.
For a moment she was rigid with shock. But his lips were warm, sweet and arousing and as they moved over hers and she found herself responding to him, her lips parting beneath the gentle probing of his tongue.
She had no idea how long they stood locked together, but when finally he raised his head and looked down at her, his eyes black with a desire for the moment held in check, she felt a chill of unease somewhere in her chest. They were alone in an isolated place. She had allowed herself to be lulled by his careless charm, but here, in the almost empty car park, long since abandoned by the city’s workers, she was at his mercy. There would be no one to hear her if she called for help and a soft cry escaped her lips.
‘What’s the matter, Rosie? Suddenly remembered Anthony?’
‘I...no...please, just let me go.’
He seemed to recognise the edge of panic in her voice and immediately released her, opening the car door with one smooth movement, his expression a little scornful of her sudden nervousness. She reached for the car door, but he held it, preventing her escape, his face grave.
‘You left it rather late to consider the wisdom of trusting a stranger, Rosie. First impressions are sometimes misleading. Not everyone is precisely what he seems to be.’
‘Are you speaking personally?’ she asked, her voice a little shaky.
‘It’s the only way I know.’ She was unable to see his expression in the shadowy light, but the light teasing note was back in his voice and oddly reassuring. She found Jack Drayton in a flirtatious mood a great deal easier to deal with.
‘You had a second reason for waiting for me?’ she prompted.
‘Come to dinner with me first?’
‘No, Jack,’ she said, with genuine regret. ‘I think once is as near the flame as this moth wants to fly.’
The shadows threw his features into hard angles, giving his face an unexpectedly dangerous edge and the sudden sharpness of his voice rattled against her. ‘You must know that once attracted to the light, sweet Rosie, a moth can never escape.’
Her wings had already been singed by the heat of this man’s passion and he was right; with the taste of his mouth was still nectar on her tongue, she was in mortal danger of being trapped.
‘In this case,’ she said, a little breathlessly, ‘I’m forced to prove you wrong.’
‘Only because I choose to let you go.’ He opened the rear door and retrieved his saxophone from the back seat. ‘Meanwhile, this is what I came for.’
‘Oh,’ she said, feeling a little stupid. ‘You should have come across to the office earlier. I would have given you the keys.’
‘My afternoon was already spoken for,’ he said, smiling a little at the dangerous flash in her eyes. ‘When I went to your flat this evening the girl you share with suggested you would probably still be working. I did ring the office bell but there was no response.’
‘People are always ringing the bell if they see a light. It seems to amuse them. I’m sorry if I’ve put you to a lot of bother,’ she said tightly, then relented. ‘Look, I phoned Mike at the club. You can go there any time for an audition.’
‘Why don’t we go now?’ he suggested. ‘Then we could—’
‘I said I’d come and listen to you play, once you’ve got a job. I think we’d better leave it at that.’ He finally allowed her to shut the car door and she felt a great deal safer.
Jack waited for her to move away, a smile curving his generous mouth. She felt in her pocket for her keys and realised why h
e was smiling. He swung them on the end of his finger and she wound down the window and held out her hand.
‘Very funny.’
He made no move to return them to her. ‘I really would like you to come with me now.’
‘This isn’t funny, Jack. My keys if you please.’
‘Sorry.’
‘That’s not fair,’ she protested.
‘I know. But then I’ve no intention of playing fair,’ he replied, evenly. ‘So what are you going to do about it, Miss Parry?’
CHAPTER FOUR
ROSALIND stared at Jack for a moment and then turned and opened her glove compartment to retrieve her spare set of keys. She started the car and swung it out of the parking bay, then pulled up alongside him. ‘That’s what I’ll do about it, Jack. Perhaps you’ll give me back my keys now?’
He laughed. He threw back his head and laughed. It was an infectious sound and despite everything Rose found the corners of her lips lifting in response. Jack tossed the keys in the air and handed them over with a slight bow. ‘Do you know, Rosie,’ he said. ‘I think I’m going to really enjoy this game.’
‘What game?’ she demanded.
‘Let’s call it hot pursuit. I think you’ll enjoy it.’
‘I very much doubt it,’ she snapped back, furious with herself for asking such a stupid question.
‘Just you wait and see.’ With that he turned and walked away into the shadows.
As soon as she got home, Sarah pounced. ‘All right, Rose. Who is he?’
Rosalind looked at her flatmate and knew she would get no peace until she filled her in, at least with the bare facts. ‘He’s a pest, Sarah. An arrogant, over-sized, saxophone-playing pest.’
‘Tell me more!’
‘I don’t know more. He does those kiss-o-gram things. He came into the office yesterday and played Happy Birthday to me and I haven’t been able to shake him off since.’