by Liz Fielding
That was it? Not even an attempt to join her in the huge double bed? She wasn’t sure whether she felt relieved or insulted. Or was this part of his game? She looked at the bed doubtfully. It was inviting and she was tired, but once under its soft covers she would be at Jack Drayton’s mercy. Just because he walked away now, it didn’t mean he might not come back.
She glanced at the door and confirmed that there was no lock but there was a small chair and she propped it under the handle. Feeling decidedly safer she went through to the bathroom. It was beautiful, richly panelled in pink and white marble. She did know the house but she was just too tired to think about it. Right now all she cared about was falling into bed and she stripped off her clothes, climbed beneath the duvet and was asleep in a minute.
* * *
It was the rattling of the door handle that woke her. For a minute she had no idea where she was. The light was coming in at the wrong angle. And that was wrong too. She was up before daylight at this time of year. She lay surrounded by strange things, in a strange bed.
‘Rosie?’
At the sound of his voice it all came flooding back to her. She was lying in Jack Drayton’s bed without a stitch of clothing on and he was trying to get in.
‘Go away!’
‘It’s half past eight. I’ve brought you some breakfast.’
She shot up, wrapped the quilt around her and pulled the chair away from the door. She half opened it. Jack was wearing a dark silk dressing and holding a tray. ‘Half past eight?’
‘You looked exhausted last night. I let you sleep on.’
‘You had no right to do that. Lord, what a mess!’ She made a grab for her clothes and he came in and set the tray down beside the bed.
‘I called the club. Your keys are there.’ He waited. ‘Thank you, Jack?’ he prompted.
She didn’t take the hint. She wasn’t ready to be friends with Jack Drayton. It caused too much trouble.
‘It was the least you could do under the circumstances.’
‘I didn’t lose your keys, Rosie,’ he reminded her. ‘Are you always this bad-tempered in the morning? Or have I done something to upset you?’
‘I’m not bad-tempered at any time of the day.’ Her voice rose dangerously. ‘But if you will leave now, I’d like to get dressed.’
He shrugged. ‘Then it must be me, although I can’t think why. Come and have a cup of tea.’
‘I have an appointment ten miles out of the city at nine o’clock this morning, Jack.’
‘Unless you plan to attend it dressed in the eye-catching outfit you were wearing last night,’ he replied, ‘you’re not going to make it.’ He indicated the phone. ‘I suggest you call your office and delegate.’
She glowered at him. ‘I don’t really have much choice, do I?’
‘Not really.’
She stared at the phone, then shrugged and trailed back to the bed, hugging the quilt around her. But it was the simple solution and she spoke to Julie who worked flexible hours to fit around arrangements for her children and often started early. She arranged for one of the negotiators to meet her prospective purchasers at the house in Wickham.
‘That wasn’t so difficult, was it? Now you can have your breakfast without a worry in the world.’ He handed her a cup of tea and she sipped it. ‘Toast? I couldn’t find any marmalade.’
‘I hate marmalade.’
‘Well, that’s a relief.’ He offered a smile and she found herself returning it. Apparently taking this as a truce he sat on the side of the bed and helped himself to a slice. She shrugged and followed suit. There was no point in starving. And there was no point in blaming Jack for a situation which, as he had taken pains to point out, was entirely her fault. Besides, she was still very much at his mercy. She was going to need a lift.
She glanced at her watch. ‘Will you take me to the club now, Jack? I really must go home and get some clothes.’
‘If you insist, although frankly I like you the way you are.’
‘Wrapped up in a quilt?’
‘Just like Christmas. Are you one of those careful unwrappers, Rosie? Or do you like to tear the paper off your parcels in a frenzy of excitement?’
Certain that this conversation had nothing to do with Christmas parcels she lifted her chin a little. ‘Christmas is over.’
‘There’s always next year. It’s as well to be prepared.’ He stood up. ‘Can you spare me the bathroom while you finish off the toast?’ He ran a hand over a bristle-dark chin. ‘I didn’t think to move my things from there last night.’
‘Help yourself.’
He looked at her for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I’m sure you don’t mean half the things you say.’
She hurled a pillow at him. He caught it and held it for a moment against his face. ‘It has your scent.’
Rose frowned. ‘I wasn’t wearing any scent.’
‘Not the kind you dab behind your ears, Rosie. You. Your skin. Your hair.’ He tossed the pillow back to her. ‘If you could bottle that you would be a millionaire.’
He didn’t wait for her answer. He closed the bathroom door and after a moment she heard the shower running. She lay back against the pillow. She turned her face to it and tried to catch a scent, then silently berated herself for being a fool.
She looked at her watch. It was nearly nine and she was anxious to get home and changed and into the office. She had already had to ask someone to take one of her appointments, something she considered unprofessional. The house in Wickham was a major property, Anthony had taken the instructions himself, and all viewings had to be accompanied because the owner was abroad. The way a house was shown could make all the difference to a possible sale.
It was very quiet and she wondered idly where they were. She had only caught a glimpse of the house in the headlights of the car last night and now listened intently, hoping for some sound that might give her a clue. The shower had stopped, but Jack apparently sang while he shaved and he must have left a radio on somewhere because she could hear voices.
She frowned. The voices appeared to be coming nearer. She sat up in bed, suddenly nervous. ‘Jack?’ she called, as loudly as she dared.
He opened the bathroom door and for a moment she forgot everything else. He was naked but for a white towel wrapped around his hips, his hair still wet from the shower, a smear of shaving foam clinging to his throat. A fine dark scattering of hair arrowed upward from his navel to spread across a broad tanned chest. Dressed, he was impressive. Like this, he was magnificent.
‘What is it, Rosie?’
His question and the sound of a door shutting nearby brought her back to earth with a bump. ‘There’s someone out there,’ she hissed.
There was a murmur of voices from beyond the door and as they both turned to stare at it, it began to open.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘JACK!’ she whispered urgently, heart in her mouth. He moved protectively towards her, taking her hand. It was an infinitely comforting gesture.
‘This is the master bedroom, beautifully fitted with an en-suite bathroom...’ Anthony swept the door open and gestured generally.
‘Get under the quilt,’ Jack hissed, but too late.
Anthony turned away from whoever he was talking to and as his eyes swept the room they met hers, her exposed shoulders proclaiming her nudity as she clutched the duvet protectively to her breast. The glowing description of the room stuttered to a halt. As if unable to believe the scene before him, his gaze shifted to Jack. Bare legged, bare chested, with only the towel wrapped around his hips between him and total exposure. Despite this disadvantage, he was the first to find his voice.
‘Good morning, Harlowe. Trifle early for social calls isn’t it?’
Anthony, his eyes riveted upon the scene before him, opened his mouth. Apparently unable to think of anything to say that would cover the situation, he closed it again and blinked, as if trying to clear a mist, unable to believe his own eyes. There was a movement behind him. ‘If
we could just see the room, Mr Harlowe?’
‘By all means,’ Jack invited, cordially. ‘Do come in. The more the merrier.’
A middle-aged couple squeezed past Anthony. ‘The bathroom is through there,’ Jack said, inviting them with a gesture to help themselves. ‘Panelled in Italian marble,’ he offered, in the favoured jargon of estate agents. ‘Bath with jacuzzi, shower stall — large enough for two — twin basins, fitted mirrors and bidet. There may be some water on the floor so be careful not to slip. The shower leaks,’ he added, confidentially.
‘Does it?’ The man glanced at his wife and they immediately seized upon this excuse. ‘Well the house isn’t quite...er...and leaky showers...difficult...I think we’ve seen enough, Mr Harlowe.’ The pair backed out rapidly, leaving Anthony to cope with the situation as best he could.
But this diversion had given Anthony time to locate his voice. ‘I want an explanation, Rosalind!’
Jack intervened. ‘Leave it, Harlowe. This is not the moment. You’d better go after your customers.’
‘I have nothing to say to you.’
‘I can explain,’ Rose began, desperately.
Jack squeezed her hand reassuringly. ‘You don’t have to, Rosie. Under the circumstances I think it might be better not to try. He won’t believe you. At least not until he’s had a chance to calm down.’
‘Damn you, Jack!’ she said, snatching her hand away. ‘You’re loving this aren’t you?’
Jack did not bother to deny it. Instead he moved across the room towards Anthony. ‘I think it’s time you left,’ he said, quietly. ‘If Miss Parry wants to dignify whatever you’re thinking with an explanation, she can do it later. Right now, you’re the third one who’s a crowd in my bedroom.’
‘This, sir, is not your bedroom,’ Anthony exploded. ‘You are trespassing and I will have the full force of the law on you. Rosalind, get dressed. I’m taking you home,’ he ordered.
Rose shuddered as she thought of the clothes she had worn to the jazz club the night before. They would probably shock Anthony almost as much as this situation. And however much she hated to agree with Jack at this moment, she sensed that he was probably right. Anthony needed time to cool down. Once he had time to think, he would realise that there must be a reasonable explanation. There had to be an explanation for behaviour so totally out of character. But she needed to gather her wits, put on a little armour before she faced him with it. ‘I’ll see you later, Anthony.’
His lips tightened. ‘Very well. But I warn you that our future together is now in serious doubt. And so, after this debacle, is your job.’
They waited silently, listening to Anthony’s murmur of apologies to the couple who had come to view the house. The front door banged. Two cars started up and drove away. Rosalind let out a long shuddering sigh.
Jack looked across at her, a touch of something like pity in his eyes. ‘Would he really sack you?’
‘For using a house entrusted to our care as a...as a...’ She couldn’t say the words. ‘I think he’d be entitled to, don’t you?’
‘It wasn’t your fault, Rosie. You had no idea.’
‘Not much of an excuse, Jack.’ Besides, the arrival of Anthony had stirred her memory. She knew exactly where she was now. There was a certain irony to the situation. She was exactly where she was supposed to be. Showing that couple over this house. ‘In this case, it’s no excuse at all. The owner is away and Anthony is right. You are trespassing; worse, you’ve made me your unwitting accomplice.’ She glared at him, furious with him, furious with herself for being so stupid. ‘Is the car stolen too, Jack?’ she said, bitterly. ‘Will we be stopped by the police on the way into Melchester?’
His face gave nothing away, but there was a diamond-hard edge to his voice. ‘Since there’s no other way of getting into the city, sweetheart, you’ll have to take that chance, won’t you?’
‘I’ll call a cab,’ she said, recklessly.
‘You could,’ he agreed. ‘But I don’t imagine Harlowe will waste much time in calling the police. Since I have no wish to involve you in that sort of scene I suggest we forget the recriminations and get a move on.’ He gathered some clothes from the closet. ‘Help yourself to the bathroom.’ He paused in the doorway on the way out and grinned. ‘By the way, I was lying about the shower.’ She reached out and hurled the first thing that came to hand. He fielded the alarm clock with ease and placed it out of harm’s way on the tallboy. It went off as he quietly closed the bedroom door.
For a moment she stared at it, then flew out of bed, turned it off and had the quickest shower in history. She pulled on the leggings, wincing at the gaudy shirt, at the girl who had worn it last night with such a careless disregard for the consequences.
‘Rosie? Are you ready?’
She gave up any attempt to do something with her hair. ‘I’m coming.’
Downstairs, dressed in last night’s clothes, hair tousled, watching Jack back the Ferrari out of the garage, she felt cheap. As if she had done all the things that Anthony undoubtedly imagined. She looked up at the golden facade of the house, the mellow stones reflecting the winter sunlight. What on earth had made Jack pick this place to squat in? A certain sense of style, perhaps. Natural good taste.
Jack opened the car door. ‘Come on, Rosie. Time to face the music.’
She turned away reluctantly. ‘I love this house,’ she said, with a sigh.
‘Better ask Harlowe to buy it for you, then.’
‘No. When we’re married...’ She paused, closed her eyes to blot out the expression in Anthony’s eyes when he had seen her in that enormous bed. ‘If we get married, we’ll live with his mother. She doesn’t want to move and the house is very big...’
Jack’s expression said it all. ‘Does he have any idea what you’re really like under that prim exterior you’ve gone to such pains to cultivate for him, Rosie?’ He shook his head. ‘I give it a month. And I’m being optimistic.’
It was probably academic, she thought, miserably. Anthony had rigid views on how his future wife should behave. A night trespassing with an irresponsible musician would be very high on his list of undesirable activities. Assuming she could convince him that was all she had done. She looked back at the house. ‘I hope whoever buys it will be happy here.’
‘So do I, Rosie,’ he said, with feeling. ‘So do I.’
She was unhappy about getting into the Ferrari. Last night it had seemed dark, sleek, beautiful, almost discreet. In broad daylight it was a vivid scarlet streak of danger. Everyone in the world would turn to look at it. But there was no alternative, she had to risk it. Something she seemed to be doing ever since Jack had erupted into her office, into her life. Well aware of her reluctance, Jack said, ‘I promise I’ll keep to the speed limit. Then they won’t have an excuse to stop me.’
‘Is that why you were so careful last night?’ she retaliated. She had actually thought highly of him for resisting the urge to speed on the ring road. Not too many drivers bothered about the limit.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I just enjoy being in your company and the slower I drive, the longer I have you all to myself.’
‘Will you stop! Haven’t you done enough damage already?’
He glanced at her. ‘I can but hope.’
Ten minutes later they passed a police car speeding in the direction of Wickham and Rose let out a wail of anguish.
‘Don’t fret, Rosie. Harlowe won’t have shopped you. I’m a big enough target to satisfy him.’
‘In his shoes I think I might have.’
‘No, Rosie, in his shoes you’d have punched me on the nose.’
She glared at him, furious with him for being so right. It was her nature to react without thinking. A dangerous nature and he was right when he suggested that she had taken every effort to tame it. But given the situation that faced Anthony this morning she knew she would have exploded. Jack glanced at her. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘You needn’t be so smug about it.’
/>
‘I’m not. But you’ve more spirit in your little finger than Harlowe has in his entire overstuffed frame.’
‘Lucky for you,’ she growled.
‘You’re assuming that I’d have let him hit me.’
‘The situation would never have arisen. He’s not like that, Jack. He’s a gentleman.’
‘Is he?’ He shrugged. ‘I didn’t see too much evidence of it this morning. But I’m sure you’re right in suggesting that he’s too careful to get involved in a brawl. Just as he’s too careful to do anything to get Nightingale & Drake bad publicity. I expect he’s already regretting his call to the local constabulary. I can see the headlines in the Melchester Chronicle. “Estate agent uses house for secret love tryst” wouldn’t do much for confidence, would it?’
She buried her face in her hands. ‘He’ll think I let you have the keys.’
‘Wouldn’t surprise me,’ he agreed, apparently unconcerned at the fate that awaited her. ‘He isn’t very bright is he?’
She ignored this, but frowned. ‘How did you get the keys?’
‘I wondered how long you would take to get around to that question.’ He turned to her briefly at the traffic lights. ‘Would you believe that I simply knocked next door and told them I was a friend of the owner? That he said I could stay for a few weeks while I was looking for a place in the area?’
She stared at him. The honest blue eyes, the firm mouth and chin. Yes. She could believe it. She hadn’t thought of herself as gullible yet just look at the mess she was in. ‘What did they say?’
‘Any friend of John’s is a friend of ours. If you need anything give us a shout and why don’t you drop by for a drink this evening?’ he said.
‘You mean they didn’t ask you to stay for dinner?’ There was a bitter edge to her voice.
‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact they did. After a few drinks. They’re really very nice people.’
‘And you took advantage of them. You are the most dreadful man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.’