by Sara Craven
‘I always believed that gin and tonic was the lifeblood flowing through publishers’ veins.’
Maggie smiled sweetly. ‘We’re a new company. We stick to mineral water. Anyway, gin gives me a headache.’
‘And that’s the last thing we want to happen,’ Jay said silkily. ‘Take a seat, Ms Carlyle. Your dinner is served.’
The pie was one of Mrs Grice’s triumphs, Maggie had to acknowledge, and the vegetables were slightly crisp, as she liked them. There was cheese and fruit to follow, and Maggie lingered over it, eating rather more than she really wanted, trying to spin out the time.
I’ll have to take ages over the washing up, she thought ruefully, but that still leaves a hell of a lot of evening to get through.
Eventually, she had to push her plate away.
‘Coffee?’ She half rose to her feet, but Jay gestured to her to stay put.
‘I’ll make it.’
‘Then I’ll start the washing up.’
‘There’s no hurry.’ He pointed to the rocker beside the Aga. ‘Relax for a while.’
She sat, watching him. His movements were deft and economical as he cleared the table and stacked the used dishes beside the sink, and his lean body had an instinctive animal-like grace which wasn’t lost on her. For the first time, she wished the cottage was equipped with television, so that she could have another focus for her attention. As it was, there wasn’t even a newspaper or a magazine she could bury herself behind.
When the coffee was brewing, Jay came to stand in front of her.
‘The lack of seating round here is a distinct obstacle to the cosy domestic evening I have in mind,’ he remarked. ‘However, there is a simple solution.’
Before Maggie could fathom what he meant, or, indeed, take evasive action, he bent, scooped her effortlessly out of the rocking chair into his arms, then sat down in her place, depositing her on his knee.
‘How dare you?’ Maggie found herself struggling in vain against the imprisoning arm which held her like a band of steel. ‘Let me up this instant, damn you. I should have known you couldn’t be trusted …’
‘I’ll be perfectly trustworthy,’ Jay retorted. ‘Just as long as you sit still. Did your mother never warn you, Maggie Carlyle, that wriggling round on a man’s lap can give him ideas?’
‘No.’ Her throat seemed to close over. ‘Let go of me—please.’
‘Why so uptight?’ He showed no sign of relinquishing his grip even fractionally.
‘Because I can’t stand it,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I can’t bear to be—forced.’
‘And I dislike being treated as if I were unclean in some way.’ He gave her a measured look. ‘Face it, Maggie. There’s no guarantee that this is all going to be over tomorrow. We have to learn to accept each other’s presence, maybe for some time to come,’ he added grimly.
‘And is this how you plan to do it—by harassing me?’
He sighed. ‘There’s no harassment,’ he said wearily. ‘Good lord, even the slightest physical contact with a man seems to have you climbing the walls. I begin to feel almost sorry for the boyfriend. I’m not surprised he chickened out. What’s your idea of foreplay, Maggie—six hours of grovelling?’
‘You’re disgusting,’ she said. ‘And of course your immense ego wouldn’t credit that it’s you I can’t stand—your touch—contact with you.’
‘You’ve made your point.’ His arm tightened round her. ‘But it’s an allergy you’re going to have to overcome, unless you want to emerge from this idyll as a gibbering wreck. Take the ramrod out of your backbone, Maggie. So, you’ve had a trying twenty-four hours. It hasn’t been undiluted bliss for me either. Lean against me. Use my shoulder. If nothing else works, pretend I’m the boyfriend.’
If she hadn’t been so upset, that could almost have been laughable. Physically, Jay and Robin were at opposite ends of the spectrum. Robin wasn’t overweight particularly, but his frame was cushioned, comfortable. Jay’s body, by contrast, was tough and spare, all bone and lithe muscle.
Even the scent of their skins was totally different. Robin had used the same brand of toiletries for years. The fragrance was familiar to her—all part of the man she was accustomed to. The man she loved, she thought defensively.
Whereas Jay’s scent was alien—clean, warm and totally male. And in some indefinable way, dangerous.
Or was that simply because she was afraid of him? Or afraid of herself where he was concerned, she thought with sudden, terrifying insight. No that couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be …
As if trying to convince herself, Maggie made herself relax, leaning against his supporting arm, resting her shoulder against his.
‘Is that better?’ she enquired stiltedly.
‘Marginally.’ His tone was terse. ‘But you could loosen up still more—starting here.’ He lifted a hand and unpinned her braids.
‘Don’t do that.’ Instantly she tensed.
‘I’m sick of seeing your hair dragged back and tortured out of existence. It deserves to breathe, Maggie.’ He began to unfasten her plaits running his fingers through the waving red tresses to free them completely on to her shoulders. ‘That’s a beginning, at least.’
She found the touch of his fingers against her scalp intensely disturbing. When she spoke, her voice was slightly breathless. ‘You—you expect a great deal.’
‘Actually, I expect very little. Having you treat me as a human being would be a bonus.’
‘And what about the way you’ve behaved?’ Colour rose in her face. ‘Ever since I arrived, you’ve been impossible, and worse.’
‘But my conduct is impeccable now. Why don’t we consider the past buried, and get to know each other a little.’
There was beguilement in his voice. The words seemed to contain a hundred hidden promises. Maggie realised that she was weakening—warming to him—and self-contempt lanced through her.
This, she realised, must be the ‘friendly persuasion’ he had threatened her with. What kind of a pushover did he think she was?
She made herself shrug. ‘Because there’s no reason to further our acquaintance,’ she said coolly. ‘We’re—ships that pass in the night. When we leave here, we probably won’t spare each other a second thought.’
‘Are you so sure of that?’
‘Absolutely convinced,’ Maggie said airily. ‘I have my work, and you have your problems.’
‘But my problems will be resolved soon. And you can’t work all the time.’
‘I’ve been giving a good imitation of it lately,’ Maggie admitted ruefully.
‘Then you should learn to play a little too.’
‘I intended to,’ she said. ‘That was what Mauritius was all about.’
‘Then I’m sorry it didn’t happen for you. Although I still doubt whether this Robin was the right man for it to happen with.’
‘I don’t think much of your grammar.’
‘I could say the same about your taste in men.’
‘You’re being unfair.’
‘Let me be the judge of that.’ He paused. ‘But we’ll change the subject, if you prefer. Tell me about yourself.’
She was taken aback. ‘There—isn’t much to tell.’
‘That’s rarely true. Are your parents still alive?’
‘My mother is. She lives in Australia now, with her second husband,’ said Maggie haltingly. ‘I—I don’t hear from her much.’
‘Your choice, or hers?’
‘Mutual, I suppose.’ Her mouth was dry suddenly. ‘My stepfather and I—didn’t get along too well. It caused some—problems.’
‘It’s never an easy relationship.’ His tone was light, almost dismissive, and she had to suppress a sigh of relief. ‘Is Sebastian’s wife your only sister?’
‘Yes—and I have a niece as well now. She’s adorable.’
Jay’s brows lifted. ‘Is this the feminist career woman speaking?’
‘No, just a proud aunt.’
‘So marriage and babies
don’t figure in any scenario of your own devising?’
She bit her lip. ‘They might have done—once.’
‘After Mauritius, you mean.’ Jay whistled softly. ‘You had a hell of a lot riding on that trip, Maggie Carlyle. You were actually planning on being happy ever after with this guy, without any idea if you were even sexually compatible.’
Maggie flushed. ‘These things—work themselves out,’ she protested. ‘And—sex isn’t the be-all and endall in a relationship anyway.’
He gave her a sardonic look. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘I think I’ve told you enough.’ Maggie straightened, acutely aware that she was beginning to find Jay’s lap, and the shelter of his arm, only too comfortable, and comforting. ‘The coffee must be ready by now.’
Jay shrugged. ‘It’s as good an excuse as any for running away.’
‘I’m not running away.’
‘But I think you are,’ he said. ‘And I think you have been for a very long time.’
Maggie stayed silent for a moment, her breasts rising and falling unevenly. ‘Stick to McGuire,’ she said curtly at last. ‘The role of psychotherapist doesn’t suit you. And anyway, you have no room to talk. You’re running away yourself.’
‘I’m gaining a breathing space. I never intended it to be a life’s work.’ He lifted a hand and stroked an errant lock of hair back from her cheek. The fleeting brush of his fingers on her skin nearly made her cry out aloud. ‘So here we are, Maggie, two refugees in the middle of nowhere. Surely we have something to give each other?’
‘I’ve given you a temporary roof over your head.’ Her heart was hammering so hard and so fast, it was almost painful. ‘There’s nothing more. Now let me up, please. I—I don’t want coffee. and I’d like to go to my room. This—this nonsense has gone far enough.’
He released her so promptly it was almost an insult.
‘You see,’ he said quietly. ‘There’s no need to panic.’
‘I am—not panicking.’ Her voice was a muted scream, as she got somewhat unsteadily to her feet. ‘Nor am I a suitable case for treatment. Sort out your own mess, Mr Delaney.’
‘I intend to. And then, Maggie Carlyle, I’m going to halt your headlong flight to very little.’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No, you won’t. When we get out of here, you won’t see me—you won’t come anywhere near me again. And that’s a promise.’
‘But that’s where you’re wrong, Maggie. Because you’re going to come into my arms again, very soon, and when you do I’m not going to let you go. Take that thought to bed with you.’
He smiled at her, his eyes holding hers for an endless moment. She felt her lips part helplessly and her whole inner being clench with a yearning she did not know how to control. She wanted with sudden desperation to be close to him, to feel the warmth of his body against hers, to spread her hands across the muscled sweep of his shoulders, and press her mouth against the tanned column of his throat. It terrified her to know how much she wanted these things.
And it tore her apart to realise how impossible it was that she should ever have any of them.
She took a step backwards from him, and then another, walking away from him very carefully until she felt the stability of the newel post under her shaking fingers.
Jay stood, hands on hips, watching her, still smiling. He said quite gently, ‘You will come to me, Maggie, and we both know it.’
Her lips shaped the word ‘no’ but without sound.
His mouth twisted, then, with a shrug, he walked to the table and began to pour himself some coffee.
It was as if he had deliberately snapped some chain binding them together. Suddenly, she was free to go. Free to walk up the stairs into the darkness waiting for her.
And yet, at the same time, she knew without question that she had forfeited freedom forever.
CHAPTER FIVE
IT WAS A long time before Maggie slept that night. She lay, staring into the darkness, listening to the lash of the rain on the window and the muted bluster of the wind in the chimney.
She could rationalise what was happening to her, of course. She could tell herself over and over again that Jay Delaney was a highly paid and successful actor. A sex symbol, no less. He brought a stinging, charismatic power to his television performances, so it was inevitable that, off-screen, he would pack an even more formidable punch.
But, knowing all this as she did, despising him and everything he stood for as she did, how could she let him get to her as he did?
That was the question for which she could find no answer.
She was aware of his presence all the time. She was so accustomed to solitude that every sound, every movement seemed to reverberate through the cottage. She had heard the clink of dishes as he had washed up, then, much later, his quiet footsteps on the stairs.
After that, she’d been conscious of him moving about for what seemed hours. Surely it couldn’t take him that long to get ready for bed, she thought fretfully. He wore few enough clothes, for heaven’s sake. Sudden warmth suffused her body at the thought. And on its heels came an unwanted image of him as she had first encountered him, sprawled tanned and naked across her bed. She could remember, she realised with shock, every lean golden line of him.
Oh, this is ridiculous, she scolded herself, turning on to her stomach, and giving the pillow a resounding blow with her fist. She had to fill her mind, her memory banks with other things.
Work, for instance. She wondered how Philip was coping with Kylie St John, and grimaced. If she had submitted to fate and gone tamely back to work, once her vacation had been cancelled, she and Jay Delaney would never have met, and she would still have her peace of mind.
As soon as I get out of here, I’ll go straight back to the office, she hastily placated the unseen lords of karma. I’ll nurse Kylie St John through her re-write, line by line if that’s what she wants. Only please don’t make me stay here for much longer.
She found herself repeating the words like a mantra until, at last, sleep overtook her …
The sun was baking hot, and there was a smell of newly cut grass in her nostrils. She breathed it deeply and happily. Her French textbook was open in front of her, and she should have been revising, but she felt too relaxed, too somnolent. The distant sound of a lawnmower provided the perfect counterpoint.
This secluded corner of the garden had always been a suntrap, and it wasn’t overlooked either, so Maggie had taken advantage of being completely alone to sunbathe with her bikini top unfastened.
She loved the sun, she thought, wriggling luxuriously on her rug.
She remembered Louie grumbling about important exams always taking place in the summer, and generally in a heatwave. Her sister would probably be preparing for end-of-year exams herself at university.
Maggie sighed soundlessly, the brightness of the day dimming for her momentarily. She wished Louie wasn’t so far away, and so busy with her new life and new friends. She needed to talk to her—to confide in her. There was no one else, because it was impossible to tell Mother …
She had tried to hint about her growing fears and anxieties in letters but obviously she hadn’t expressed herself clearly enough, because Louie had misunderstood, and written back bracingly.
‘I know it isn’t easy for you, Mags,’ she had said. ‘And no one can ever take Dad’s place for either of us. But Mum is happy now, and we’ve got to be glad for her, and try and make allowances. Anyway, you’ll soon be at college yourself.’
Not soon enough, Maggie thought, a shiver running through her in spite of the day’s warmth.
She had wondered time and time again whether she wasn’t being over-imaginative. Whether, perhaps, Leslie Forester was uncertain himself how to play his forthcoming role as stepfather, and was being simply over-effusive in his efforts to deal with an awkward situation.
But he wasn’t like that when her mother was there, Maggie thought, her nails curling into the palms of her hands. It was only w
hen he found her on her own—and that was happening more often than she wanted, making her think that he was deliberately seeking her out.
She disliked the way he watched her all the time, the pale grey eyes staring unwinkingly at her budding breasts and slender flanks. She hated the way he took every opportunity to touch her, brushing past her in the cramped confines of the kitchen, putting his hand on her shoulder or her back as he passed her in other parts of the house. Small avuncular pats, usually, but sometimes the pressure of his fingers lingered.
Most of all she loathed his moist, full-lipped kisses, and the way they were being aimed more and more at her mouth instead of her cheek or her forehead as they had been at first.
Perhaps I’m being unfair, she thought unhappily. After all, I’ve never liked Leslie, not from the first time Mother brought him home and said they were getting engaged. I ought to be happy for her, and I want to be. It’s not the idea of having a stepfather that repels me. It’s—Leslie himself.
She picked up her textbook and stared at the printed page, but the words danced drowsily before her eyes, and after a minute or two she sighed, and pillowed her head on her folded arms. She would work doubly hard that evening to make up for this, she decided, closing her eyes.
She awoke with a start some time later, not really knowing what had disturbed her. Sleepily she turned her head, and saw a pair of plump male legs, covered in fine golden hair, standing over her. Instantly she tensed.
‘So this is what young Margaret does when she’s supposed to be working,’ Leslie said, too jovially. ‘Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes, I must say.’
She made herself say evenly, ‘What are you doing here? Aren’t you working today, Mr Forester?’
‘I had a couple of appointments cancelled, so I thought I’d take the afternoon off. I came round to see if your mother fancied a spin to the coast.’
That was a lie, Maggie thought immediately. He knew quite well that her mother had gone to London shopping. She had heard them discussing it.
She said shortly, ‘Mother won’t be back until teatime, in case you’ve forgotten. I’ll tell her you called.’ She wanted desperately to fasten the top of her bikini, but it was trapped under her body, and she wasn’t sure whether she could free it discreetly enough.