by Penny Jordan
He paused as Heaven’s face clouded.
‘What is it?’ he asked gently.
‘I’m worried about Tiffany. If Harold discovers what she’s told me…’
‘Tiffany will be fine,’ Jon assured her.
Heaven bit her lip. ‘You can’t know that,’ she protested.
‘Oh, yes, I can,’ he argued, then went on quietly, ‘Right about now I suspect that Tiffany’s parents will be driving into London to collect their lamb and remove her from Harold’s presence—and his life. I sent them a fax warning them that Harold was not the man for their daughter and urging them to dig a little deeper into his background and past history. After all, how could a man who had already deserted two children be relied on to support their daughter and any children she might have?’
‘Harold could trace the fax back to you,’ Heaven responded fearfully.
‘Not a chance,’ he assured her. ‘When the occasion calls for it, I can be just as devious as him. By the time Harold has unravelled the tangled skein of communication I’ve knotted around my fax, it will all be too late.’
‘You make it all sound so simple and…easy, Jon, but I’m frightened,’ Heaven admitted. ‘If Harold’s prepared to go to the lengths of sending someone here to look for me…’
‘It’s simply his outraged male pride that’s caused him to do that,’ Jon soothed her. ‘After all, you did make him look very foolish in front of the Americans.
‘It could be that the men he’s sent here to check me out will keep tabs on me for the next day or so and then I expect they’ll get bored and give up and go home. It will mean, of course, that you’ve got to stick to the tower and its close environs for the next couple of days,’ he warned her, gently touching her arm as he added, ‘No clothes shopping, I’m afraid, although… Hang on a minute,’ he told her, releasing her and striding across the bedroom to open a door in the bank of wardrobes set against one wall.
‘Ah…I thought so,’ Heaven heard him announcing triumphantly as he pushed open the adjacent door and indicated the half dozen or so items of women’s clothing hanging there.
‘I don’t know if any of these will fit but you’re more than welcome to give them a try,’ he assured her, giving her a warm smile. But Heaven was already turning away from him, her body set like stone, her head down so that he wouldn’t see the wounded pain in her eyes.
How could she have been so foolish as to start weaving fanciful, happy daydreams around the pair of them when it was plain just what kind of light he viewed their intimacy in if he could so casually and carelessly offer her the use of clothes which quite patently must have belonged to a previous incumbent of this room—and no doubt of his bed?
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked with true male confusion when he saw the way she was responding to what he had imagined would be a very well-received suggestion.
‘I couldn’t possibly wear another woman’s clothes,’ Heaven told him freezingly.
‘Another woman…’ Jon began, puzzled, and then enlightenment dawned. ‘I’m sure Louisa won’t mind,’ he told Heaven gently.
‘Louisa…your sister? They’re Louisa’s clothes?’ Heaven asked him, not just her voice but her whole body reflecting her relief.
‘They’re Louisa’s,’ Jon confirmed. ‘And although I know she’s nothing like as petite as you there may be something you could wear. And, for your information,’ he added mock sternly, ‘apart from Louisa and the girls, you are the only woman I’ve… Damn,’ he cursed under his breath as the telephone started to ring down below them.
‘I’d better answer that. I’m expecting several calls in response to the proceedings I’ve set in motion…’
He was gone before Heaven could ask him what he had been about to say. Was it that she was the only woman apart from his sister and nieces whom he had invited to his border retreat, or was it that she was the only woman apart from them he’d wanted to invite?
‘Stop it,’ she warned herself firmly. ‘Stop trying to read more into things than there might be. More than Jon himself might want there to be.’ But not more than she knew she wanted there to be, she acknowledged.
The attraction she had felt for him when they had originally met might have gone to ground, suppressed by the sheer immediacy and shock of everything else that had overtaken her, but as last night—and this morning—had proved it had never really died and had in fact simply been waiting for the right moment to show its true strength.
All those slow, gentle weeks of gradually getting to know him, of talking with him, of seeing the loving way he reacted to his sister and his nieces, of gradually falling in love with him, had shown their true effect on her in his arms. What she felt for him wasn’t just something born of the urgent, adrenalin-fuelled trauma of the moment; her love for him wasn’t merely some kind of dangerous viral infection—a winter madness brought on by proximity and physical arousal. It was a forever, once-in-a-lifetime love, the kind of love that went with waking up with him every morning, bearing his children, sharing his whole life. But did he feel the same way about her?
* * *
‘I’m sorry about this,’ Jon apologised to Heaven as he walked into the living room where she was busily engaged looking for the final edge piece of a jigsaw she had discovered tucked away in a cupboard. The subject of the puzzle was a real Victorian family Christmas, complete with a dozen or so assorted aunts, uncles and elderly relatives, a mass of small, excited children, a tree, presents and even a small side table groaning with a mouthwatering selection of fruits and sweets. In effect the kind of Christmas that everyone, in a small corner of their heart, had a sentimental place for, whether or not they chose to acknowledge it.
‘Why, are you bored? Never mind, we’re nearly there. By this time tomorrow with any luck we’ll have Harold exactly where we want him.’
‘No, I’m not bored,’ Heaven assured him, giving him a warm smile and then crowing with triumph as she pounced on the final edge piece of the jigsaw. She grinned up at Jon as she told him, ‘This is definitely a figgy pudding sort of family, don’t you think?’ She made room on the sofa for him as he dutifully peered at the picture on the lid of the box.
‘Oh, definitely,’ he agreed, and then, unable to keep his face straight, teased her, ‘But minus your special extra ingredients, I trust…’
They were both still laughing when they heard the phone ring.
‘Keep your fingers crossed,’ Jon told her. ‘Hopefully this will be the call—the confirmation—that will prove incontrovertibly just what Harold’s been up to.’
CHAPTER SIX
FOUR days after their arrival in the Borders Jon walked into the living room in relief.
‘So everything is finally settled? You’ve got Harold’s written and witnessed legal agreement to a proper divorce settlement for Louisa and the girls?’
‘Yes, thanks in no small part to you,’ he agreed warmly. ’Louisa’s solicitor has just confirmed by fax that all the legal papers have been signed and Louisa’s bank is in receipt of a very large cheque from Harold. The threat of having his underhand business dealings made public and possibly having to face a full-scale fraud investigation were more than enough to make Harold agree that he could be far more generous than he had been to Louisa and the girls.’
‘And Tiffany…?’
‘Tiffany is safely at home with her parents,’ Jon assured her, adding wryly, ‘And before you ask, I suspect that Harold’s American buyers may very well be, if not having second thoughts about purchasing the business, then at least putting several more legal restraints on his future activities where they might affect their potential profits.’
‘So all’s well that ends well,’ Heaven said slightly hollowly, getting up from the sofa where she had been sitting to walk across to the window and look at the still snow-covered landscape. ‘And it’s safe for me to go home?’
‘Yes, it is,’ Jon agreed tersely. ‘It seems that Harold has decided to spend Christmas in the Caribbean—somewhe
re where I doubt that figgy pudding or anything like it will be on the menu.’
Heaven tried to smile but for some reason her facial muscles were refusing to co-operate. For some reason! She knew perfectly well what the reason was.
Although she and Jon had been living as closely together as any two people who were not true lovers could, not once in the four days which had elapsed since the morning he had made love to her had he shown any inclination, either physical or verbal, to repeat the intimacy.
Why? Because he regretted ever having made love to her? Because he was afraid that she might have read too much into what had happened…? Too damn right she had. Far too much.
‘If I left this afternoon, I could be home for Christmas Eve,’ she told Jon numbly.
‘I’ll make the arrangements for you if that’s what you want,’ he said abruptly.
What was she supposed to say? That what she wanted was to stay with him; that what she wanted was to be with him, to be loved by him?
She dipped her head.
‘Please, if you wouldn’t mind,’ she confirmed formally.
Jon had switched on the television to catch the morning news and suddenly the room was filled with the sweet sound of a youthful choir singing Christmas carols.
To Heaven’s consternation, she felt her eyes start to fill with tears in response to the emotional effect of the sound. She had always been a sucker for the sentimentality of Christmas and couldn’t so much as pass a high-street store decorated with a Christmas crib without being flooded with a warm feeling of goodwill towards her fellow men.
But right now, when she was feeling so emotionally vulnerable, so heart-achingly aware of all that she felt for Jon and all that it seemed he did not feel for her, the last thing she needed was any additional pressure on her frail emotional self-control. She tried to force back the tears, but it was too late—Jon had already seen them.
‘Heaven, what is it…what’s wrong?’
He was at her side, reaching for her, before she could push him away. The sleeves of the overlong sweater that she had ‘borrowed’ from Louisa unravelled, impeding her efforts to free herself from him as he took hold of her, one hand soothingly stroking her sweater-clad arm, whilst the other…
Heaven gulped as she felt him brush away her tears.
‘Why?’ he asked her quietly. ‘What is it? If you’re worrying about Harold…afraid…’
‘I’m not afraid of Harold; you’ve seen to it that he’ll not be suing me for my foolhardy revenge on him,’ Heaven replied. ‘It’s…’ She tried to lift her hand to her mouth to stem her betraying words, but the sweater sleeve got in the way and to her dismay she could only shake her head.
‘I should be the one doing this—not you,’ she heard Jon telling her huskily as he touched her tear-damp face.
‘You?’ Heaven stared up at him. ‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t want you to leave… I don’t want to lose you again, Heaven. Because I want to keep you here with me for ever…’
‘You want me to stay?’ Heaven couldn’t quite hide her disbelief. ‘How can you say that when for the last four days you’ve behaved as though…?’ She stopped and bit her lip.
‘Go on… When for the last four days I’ve behaved as though what?’ Jon pressed her.
‘As though you don’t want me,’ Heaven told him bleakly.
‘Not want you…?’
The raw passion in his voice made Heaven’s stomach muscles quiver. Urgently Jon cupped her face and forced her to look up at him.
‘Of course I want you… I more than merely want you, Heaven, I love you, and there’s nothing I’ve wanted more these last few days than to be in a position to tell you so, but first I had to get this whole sorry mess of Louisa’s divorce settlement out of the way, not just because the very nature of the information you gave me about Harold meant I had to act quickly, but, even more importantly, because I wanted you and I to have time together that nothing else, no one else, could intrude on.
‘Eighteen months ago when we first met I knew you were someone special, very special—that the way I felt about you was very, very real and permanent; but then…well, you disappeared and I felt that anyone connected with Harold, no matter how distantly, would be the last person you’d want in your life, to remind you of what he’d put you through. But then fate decreed that we should meet again and when we did…’
The look he gave her as he carefully brushed a stray strand of hair off her face made Heaven’s heart turn over with awed joy. Never even in her most vivid imaginings had she ever imagined she would have the power to make a man look at her the way Jon was looking at her right now—as though she was his whole world, his whole reason, his whole being.
‘Nothing’s changed, Heaven,’ Jon whispered passionately to her. ‘My love for you is very, very real and very, very permanent. I love you and if you want to make my Christmas wish come true you—’
‘You really love me?’ Heaven interrupted him, unable to keep silent any longer, her eyes starry with emotion.
‘I love you,’ Jon confirmed. ‘I really love you. I love you and my Christmas wish is for you to return my love…for you to be my wife…’
Behind them the TV choir launched into a triumphant burst of praise but Heaven barely heard them, her own heart singing too loudly with joy, and besides, Jon was kissing her so passionately that she was blind, deaf and dumb to everything, everyone but him.
‘Promise me one thing,’ he begged her when he finally, reluctantly released her mouth.
‘What?’ Heaven asked him, giddy with joy and love.
‘That you’ll never, ever make me your special version of figgy pudding,’ he told her fervently.
Heaven was still laughing as he swept her up into his arms and headed for the stairs, and the bedroom.
EPILOGUE
‘IS THAT it—the end?’
Jon looked lovingly at his wife.
‘No, not the end; this story will never end,’ he told his niece. ‘This is just the beginning, and like our love it will last for ever,’ he told Heaven in a voice low enough for only her to hear as he leaned across to kiss her.
‘Oh, grown-ups—yuck!’ Christabel exclaimed. ‘You’re just like Mum and Dad—they’re always hugging and kissing too. I’m never going to get married…’
‘You’ll change your mind, you wait and see,’ Jon warned her with a smile. ‘The proof of the pudding’s always in the eating—you ask Heaven.’
‘Oh, always,’ Heaven agreed, laughing.
Grown-ups, Christabel decided crossly, were a complete mystery to her. First of all that silly kissing and now they were laughing for absolutely no reason at all that she could see!
* * * * *
Now, read on for a tantalizing excerpt of Carol Marinelli’s next book,
THE SICILIAN’S SURPRISE LOVE-CHILD
Aurora Messina is everything cynical hotel tycoon Nico Caruso shouldn’t want. Impetuous and far too innocent, she’s trouble—and temptation!—personified. But even Nico’s famous control isn’t a match for their combustible chemistry… Then Nico discovers their encounter has left her pregnant! He’s never wanted a family—he still bears the scars of his own childhood. But will Aurora’s revelation give this proud Sicilian a reason to risk everything?
Read on for a glimpse of
THE SICILIAN’S SURPRISE LOVE-CHILD
CHAPTER ONE
‘AURORA WILL BE shadowing me today.’
NICO CARUSO DID not look up from his computer as Marianna, his PA, walked into his opulent Rome office. Instead he frowned.
‘Aurora Messina from the Sicilian hotel,’ Marianna elaborated, clearly assuming from Nico’s frown that Aurora’s was a name he did not know.
Oh, but he did.
Aurora Messina. Aged twenty-four—six years younger than him.
Aurora Eloise Messina, with her velvet brown eyes and thick dark hair that was not quite raven, though too dark to be called chestnut. Ah, yes…Aurora, with
her olive skin that went pink in the sun.
‘Don’t you remember me, Nico?’
There was a tease in that familiar rasp to her throaty voice, and she brought with her the scent of home. The white crochet dress that she wore must have been hung out on the washing line, for it had caught not just the hot Sicilian sun but also the breeze from the ocean and the sweet scent of jasmine from her parents’ garden.
‘How rude of you to forget me,’ Aurora continued, ‘given that you have slept in my bed so many times.’
Marianna sucked in her breath at Aurora’s cheeky implication, but Nico didn’t miss a beat with his dry reply, ‘Ah, but never with you in it.’
‘True…’ Aurora conceded with a smile.
She had trained herself not to blush when Nico was near, but it was a struggle not to now. The stunning view of Rome panning out behind him went almost unnoticed and the lavish, expensive surroundings barely registered, for Nico, on this Monday morning, was proving more than enough for her senses to take in.
His thick black hair had been cut with skill and his strong jaw, with that slight dent in the centre, was so clean-shaven that she was actually anticipating the brief brush that would come when they shared a light cheek-to-cheek kiss.
Aurora came around the desk to greet him properly.
Of course she did.
After all, the two of them went way back.
But when Nico raised his hand to halt her approach, when his black eyes warned her not to come any closer, Aurora stepped back as if she’d been slapped.
She knew she was bolshie, and often came across as too forward, but after a lot of soul-searching as to how best to face him, she had decided to greet him as she would any old friend.
But Nico had halted her and that had hurt Aurora.
She tried not to let it show.
‘Take a seat,’ he told her, and then turned to his PA. ‘Marianna, let’s get started. We have a lot to get through.’
‘First, though…’ Aurora said. And instead of taking a seat, as instructed, she removed a large leather bag from her shoulder, took out a bottle of tomato sauce, and placed it on his immaculate, highly polished walnut desk. And then she took out another bottle.