by Coleen Kwan
“Hey, I’m not complaining. I’d love to have you writhing on top of me.”
So she was right! He did think she was some kind of sex-starved madwoman. His sureness inflamed her. She gripped his biceps, intent on shoving him away from her, but the feel of his hot, bare skin ambushed her senses. Desire whirled through her, spinning mayhem through her head.
“Now you are being arrogant,” she retorted.
“And you’re avoiding the truth.” His eyes glinted. “But I like what your hands are saying.”
Oh God! Was she going mad? Her hands stroked his arms and trailed across his chest. She tried to wrench them away, but they refused to obey her.
She gulped. “We have nothing in common.”
She caught the hem of his T-shirt; her fingers touched his bare stomach, and the feel of his sculpted muscle sent a lightning sizzle through her.
He inhaled deeply. “But we do. We can’t keep our hands off each other.”
His hands slipped under her own shirt and wrapped across her back. He bent his head and captured her mouth again. This time his kiss was more urgent, more masculine, more uncontrolled. The blaze he ignited in her took her by surprise. She arched her back, and he leaned in on her.
The back of the couch dug into her thighs, and then she lost her balance. Bodies twined, their mouths still clinging together, they toppled over the edge of the couch and landed onto the soft, wide cushions. In an instant Adam rolled his lower body over hers, trapping her with his legs. Not pausing for breath, he kissed her some more, long, greedy, blistering kisses, his tongue sliding over hers, his teeth grazing gently over her lower lip. Never had she experienced such an intense embrace. Her breaths came in quick gasps as she returned his kisses feverishly. She stopped thinking about the sheer unbelievable madness of it all. Her logical brain shut down as her body tingled and shuddered with pleasure.
She lifted his T-shirt and explored the terrain of his back, relishing the feel of his taut muscle beneath her fingers. She didn’t resist when his hands slid under her shirt. As he stroked her curves, her eyelids fluttered down, and she felt herself surrendering, turning into hot fudge. He cupped her breasts, and a soft moan escaped her lips. He buried his face in her neck, nipping at her throat, and nudged his knee between her legs. She heard herself whimper with excitement. She was floating away on a steamy, fast-running river.
The cold hard buckle of his belt bit into her belly. It smarted like a bee sting.
Heck! What was going on here? Was she about to become one of Adam’s conquests?
Yes, if his knee between her thighs and his hand on her breast was any guide.
Her brain snapped back into her head so hard it hurt. Her eyelids cracked open. She pushed her palms against the heaving wall of Adam’s chest. “Stop.”
His face was flushed and soft, his breathing ragged as he lifted his head. “Stop?”
She swallowed hard and strained against him. “Stop. Please.”
Confusion flickered through his eyes as he scanned her face. Her expression must have convinced him. He pushed himself off her and leaned against the cushions, his chest still rising and falling.
“Harriet, I—” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and she noticed his fingers weren’t completely steady. “I wasn’t going to…I wasn’t planning to… Shoot.” He ruffled his hair. “I wasn’t thinking much at all.”
She pulled herself upright. She wished she could rush away, but she doubted she could stand up without collapsing. She cupped her hot cheeks. “We shouldn’t have done this.”
He smiled slowly. “I thought it was very enjoyable.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. What the hell was that smile for? She hunched her shoulder against him. “Don’t get any ideas. I don’t want to end up as yet another easy chalk mark on your scorecard.”
His smile vanished. “What does that mean?”
“Don’t act all innocent. You were such a teenage Casanova at school.”
“You think I’m still the same after all these years?”
“I don’t know!” She yanked down the hem of her shirt. “Are you?”
His face darkened. “No. That guy…he’s long gone.”
“Huh! Is he?” She glared at him. “You used to change your girlfriends more often than you’d change your shirt.”
He stared at her, shook his head. “Why are you so angry with me?”
“I am not angry with you.” She fisted her hands in her lap. Her temples throbbed. She was madder than a cut snake, she realised.
“You look angry. Your left eyebrow is twitching.”
She jumped to her feet and searched wildly around for her handbag. “I’m angry with myself. I don’t want…” She clutched at her mussed-up hair. What did she want? She couldn’t think straight. “I don’t need complications.”
Adam stood up and reached for her, his serious face lightened with a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t go. This isn’t complicated.” He ran his fingers up the length of her arms and his breath fanned her cheeks. “This is very, very simple.”
His voice, his touch tugged at her, and she felt herself unravelling all over again. She gulped, trying to summon up all her remaining will. “No. I have this ball to worry about and my dad recuperating and my mum not coping. The last thing I need is to indulge in some twisted fling with you.”
His fingers stilled around her wrists. “Twisted? What do you mean by that?”
“Don’t you think it’s twisted to be kissing the woman who ruined your life? Who’s responsible for putting you in the caretaker’s cottage?”
His jaw grew rigid. “I’ve told you before I no longer hold you responsible.”
“You’ve just let it all go, have you? All those years of resentment and contempt just—poof!—gone like that.”
“I’m not a vindictive guy.”
“And I’m not just a curiosity to you?”
“Jesus.” He let go of her wrists. “You really must think I’m sick.”
She swallowed down her rising nausea. “No, I don’t think you’re sick, but you seem to think you can go from ignoring my existence, to hating me, to kissing me without a second thought.”
“You’re mad at me because my segue wasn’t smooth enough? You were kissing and touching me just as much!”
“And now I’m not!” She glared at him. “Put it down to a little sickness on my part too. I just had to find out what it was like to kiss that teenage Casanova, but this is where it ends.”
His eyes glinted with challenge. “Oh yeah? Scared to find out where it might lead you?”
Yes, terrified. She snatched up her handbag where it had fallen behind the couch and marched toward the door. “Don’t confuse me with all your girlfriends—past or present.”
Head held high, she sailed out of his cottage, hoping she’d had the last word. She should have known better. Adam followed her out onto the porch.
“Don’t worry,” he called out as she stalked down the driveway. “It’s hard to confuse you with any of my girlfriends—past or present.”
She gritted her teeth and kept on walking without a backward glance.
Chapter Seven
Adam leaned back in his chair at The Royal Oak. The bar was packed, and the committee meeting was running overtime. All the last minute complications relating to the Harvest Ball had to be dealt with. He glanced round the group, his expression calm. Inside, he was churning. He felt himself twitching and squirming—like he was wearing a hair shirt.
Not a hair shirt though. Harriet. Damn her. He pushed her image away, refusing to think about her. He couldn’t afford the time.
“Something bothering you?” Tristan piped up beside him.
Adam frowned at his cousin, who had shown up at the meeting with Portia. “Didn’t know you’d be up here two weekends in a row.”
“I’ll be here next weekend too, of course, for the ball.” Tristan took a swig of beer and relaxed in his seat. “I need a break from th
e city. Stockbroking can be so exhausting.”
Adam ran a critical eye over his cousin. Tristan was slim and sleek like a well-fed seal, with the satisfied look of a financially secure man and just a hint of an incipient jowl. Working for an investment bank would do that to a guy. If things had turned out differently and he’d finished that finance degree, he would have had a similar lifestyle, clocking up long hours in an air-conditioned office, raking in six-figure bonuses, playing golf with his colleagues, dating high-maintenance women, driving European sports cars. He rubbed the hardened calluses on his palms. Stuff all that. He couldn’t imagine leading that kind of life. He was glad he’d ended up here.
“Adam, we need to discuss the auction prizes.” Moira’s impatient voice broke through his musings.
He turned his attention back to business. Auction prizes and tickets and the band. Moira rattled on, and finally the meeting was over. Good, Adam thought. He could use a drink now.
Tristan poked him in the side. “Look who just walked into the beer garden.”
Adam glanced through the window to see Harriet entering the outdoor courtyard. His chest constricted at the sight of her. It took him a couple more seconds before he realised she was with her entire family—Ken, Sharon, Cindy, Jarrod and even Brett, Cindy’s husband. Ken relinquished his crutches and sank into a seat. He looked happy to be out, and his face brightened when he drew Harriet into the chair next to him. She wore a purple skirt and matching sweater, while Cindy had poured herself into tight white jeans and translucent silk shirt.
Tristan uttered a faint groan. He gazed out the window with a longing expression. “I think I’m in love.”
Adam decided to be deliberately obtuse and grimaced at his cousin. “Mate, she’s married with a three-year-old kid.”
“Not Cindy, you idiot.” Tristan chortled. “I’m talking about Harriet. She’s a sweetheart.”
A black fog descended on Adam. “You never looked twice at Harriet before.”
“I was an idiot,” Tristan sighed, his eyes still glued on Harriet. “There’s something about her that makes me feel all puppyish.”
Adam knew Tristan well. He fell in and out of love constantly and never let it bother him. But there was something about Harriet… Adam couldn’t take his eyes off her either. She wore the same purple skirt she’d had on when he’d bumped into her in the hospital parking grounds that very first night. In the bright sunshine her hair and skin glowed. His gaze roved over her shapely calves as his mind drifted back to yesterday afternoon in his cottage. How soft and warm and seductive she’d felt in his arms. She’d smelt of cinnamon and sugar, a scent that had melted all his defences. Her kisses had driven him crazy, pushing him to the very edge of his control. Now, all he could think about was how he wanted to kiss her again, to brush those full lips of hers with his.
His fingers tightened around his beer glass. He had to stop obsessing about Harriet. He’d never let any woman consume his thoughts like this. Especially a woman who thought he was a little twisted. Maybe she was right. He’d grabbed hold of Harriet and latched on to her lips without a second thought. He was lusting after the woman responsible for his father’s public humiliation. What would Dad have thought?
Adam chugged down his beer without tasting it. He studied the foam lacing his empty glass.
His dad had never said a bad word about Harriet, not to Adam, not to anyone. His dad had been a very forgiving man, except when it came to himself.
Ah, shucks. He didn’t know what to think anymore. He should just let it go.
But he couldn’t, because he couldn’t forget how Harriet had kissed him back. The physical attraction he’d felt definitely wasn’t one-sided. Then again, what was the point in pursuing a woman who never wanted to set foot in Wilmot again? Who was hell-bent on running back to Sydney as soon as the Harvest Ball was over?
“I’m thinking of asking her out,” Tristan said.
Adam rounded on his cousin with a heavy frown. “What?”
“When she’s back in Sydney, I mean. Do you think she’ll go out with me?”
“Who’re you asking out?” Portia slipped into the seat next to Adam, a wineglass dangling between her manicured fingers.
“Harriet.”
Portia made a moue, the corners of her lips pulling down in distaste. “You can’t get involved with her.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’d be nothing to her except a feather in her cap.” Portia flipped back her mane of blond hair and fixed her brother with a hard glare. “She’d be able to go around boasting that she’d landed Tristan Ellerston, the most eligible bachelor in Wilmot.”
“She wouldn’t do that,” Adam interrupted, unable to help himself. “Harriet’s not like that.”
“Oh, isn’t she?” Portia transferred her gimlet stare to Adam. “Seems to me you don’t understand women as much as you think you do. Women like to notch up trophies just as much as men do. And she’s no exception. She may be quiet, but the quiet ones are always the most dangerous.” She leaned toward Adam. “And you, my dear cousin, would be the ultimate bragging prize for her.”
“Portia, you’re exaggerating. And you’ve got Harriet all wrong.”
“She ruined your father ten years ago, and now you’re defending her?” Portia shrugged and tossed off the remnants of her wine. “Seems to me she’s already got you by the short and curlies.”
He felt the muscles in his neck knotting up as he struggled to remain civil. “Harriet is doing an outstanding job filling in for her father,” he said through clenched teeth. “That’s the only reason she’s hanging around here. As soon as the ball is over, she’ll be heading back to Sydney. So show some manners and stop bad-mouthing her.”
Portia opened her mouth to retort, but the expression on his face must have warned her off, because she shut her mouth and gave another shrug. Head throbbing, Adam swung away from his cousin and glanced out the window again.
The table where Harriet sat with her family had grown more crowded. Several friends of her father had joined them. Ken was basking in the company, but Harriet appeared less at ease. In fact, to Adam she looked like a woman desperately wishing she was anywhere but here.
The hallway outside the principal’s office at Brescia High held the timeless funk of dirty socks, rotting apples and rampaging teenage hormones. Harriet had smelled it all before. She stood waiting for the principal to emerge from his office and studied the class photos lining the walls. There was a photo of each graduating year, right back to the start of the seventies when the school had been built.
With morbid curiosity she searched out her own year photo. Yep, there she was, sitting in the front row as usual because of her lack of height. Her overgrown fringe and big glasses obscured most of her face, but you could still see she wasn’t smiling for the camera. Her face was glum, her arms like frankfurters, straining at the seams of her shirt, and her legs were planted in front of her like two giant marrows. Harriet shivered and rubbed her arms, as if she needed to reconfirm that the fat really had disappeared.
Someone stopped behind her. The prickling of her nape told her it was Adam.
“Seems like another lifetime ago, doesn’t it, these old photos?” he said over her shoulder.
“Sometimes.” She turned to him slowly. “Sometimes it seems like only yesterday.”
It was Monday, and they were meeting to brief the students who would be helping out at the Harvest Ball. Harriet schooled her facial expressions as she scanned Adam’s face, anxious for some clue as to how to behave after their last encounter. He looked back at her calmly enough, though there was a hint of tension in his jaw.
“I suppose you never thought you’d find yourself back here,” he said. “Thanks for coming.”
She’d been worried about seeing him again so soon after their aborted make-out session on his couch. Now she eased out a silent sigh of relief. It appeared wary politeness was what he was aiming for. Very well; she could do wary politeness too
.
“It doesn’t look as if much has changed around here.”
Apart from the hairstyles and the electronic gadgets, little had changed at Brescia High. The smells, the draughty corridors, the boys with their shirttails hanging out, the beautiful girls sauntering past eyeing Adam, all so familiar. Even the principal, Dr Frobisher, looked the same when he emerged from his office and led them down to the classrooms.
Twenty or so students waited for them, chattering and shrieking as only sixteen-year-olds could. They quietened down when Dr Frobisher introduced Harriet and Adam. Harriet addressed the class first, explaining about food handling safety and demonstrating the proper way of serving food, then it was Adam’s turn to give a rundown of the ball’s schedule. While he was still speaking, Dr Frobisher was called away and was still absent when Adam finished his talk.
“Any questions?” Adam asked, raising his voice as the class shifted restlessly. The students had been sitting and listening for well over twenty minutes, so it wasn’t surprising they were getting antsy.
A boy at the back flicked a wad of paper at the wall and leaned forward. “Hey, are you the Adam Blackstone who holds the school record for the most goals scored in one season since, like, forever?”
“I didn’t know that record was still around.” Adam looked nonplussed.
“Man, you’re a legend.” The boy nodded in approval, and the entire class stared at Adam with fresh interest.
“Did you used to live in Blackstone Hall?” a girl with braces piped up from the front. “You know, that fancy place just out of town?”
“I live there now.”
“No, get outta here! Aren’t you afraid of ghosts?”
“What ghosts?”
“They say some old man shut himself in there and refused to see anyone because of something or other. He died there all alone, and now his ghost wanders around the house. That’s why no one wants to live in it anymore.”
Adam stiffened. “There aren’t any ghosts,” he said, his voice clipped. “My father died in hospital, and he wasn’t alone.”