Kelly's Man

by Rosemary Carter

  Without waiting for an answer Nicholas strode away through the trees. Kelly stood for a moment and watched him. As before she was struck by the litheness and power of his movements. Arrogant and hateful he might be, but there was no denying that Nicholas Van Mijden was quite a man.

  She was trembling as she went into the first rondavel and cast an expert eye around the room. She was at the door when she caught sight of her face in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed beneath a honey-coloured tan. On her forehead was a fine sheen of moisture, and her hair had escaped its neat style and was an untidy tumble of curls. But it was her eyes which caught her attention. They were very bright, sparkling with unaccustomed excitement. She was not so naive that she did not know what had put that look there. But the reason she could not accept, never would.

  It was unthinkable that Kelly Stanwick, the girl who could have any man she wanted, should find herself unendurably stirred by an uncouth man of the mountains who neither liked her nor made any secret of his disapproval. Nicholas Van Mijden's physical attraction would be hard for any woman to resist, Kelly acknowledged that now, but she was letting him get to her emotions in a way that was absurd. More than absurd, it was dangerous, for she could not let the memory of the man haunt her long after she had left the Drakensberg and was married to Gary.

  She glanced at her watch. Just a few more hours and Mary would be back. Until then she would keep out of his way, and after that she would not think of him again. No matter if it was difficult at first, she surely had enough discipline to exclude him from her thoughts. After a day or two even discipline would no longer be necessary. Once she was with Gary, Nicholas and the time at Great Peaks Lodge would fade from her conscious mind.

  She glanced at her watch. At most a few more hours until Mary returned. Until then she would try to keep out of Nicholas's way.

  It took some time to inspect the rondavels, and by the time she had finished it was time to go to the kitchens. It was the third meal she had supervised, and by now the staff seemed to accept her quite naturally.

  Once some instinct caused her to turn her head. Nicholas was standing in the doorway. He was looking straight at her, his expression inscrutable. She did not need to see his eyes to know that they would be mocking. Her body tensed at the sight of him, and she wondered if he had come with the sole purpose of checking on her. She forced herself to meet the hard gaze for a full second, and then, very deliberately, she turned her back to speak to one of the chefs. When she looked round again Nicholas had gone.

  She managed to avoid having lunch with him. Instead of going to the dining-room, Kelly asked one of the waiters to bring a tray to the cottage. And let Nicholas make of that what he wanted! she thought,defiantly.

  When she had eaten she looked aimlessly around the living-room which belonged to the Andersons and wondered how she could pass the hours until Mary's return. In a while she would have to go to the verandah and preside over the tea. Until then, unless Nicholas came in search of her to unload further tasks, she had nothing to do. She could lie down on the bed and relax, but she felt oddly wound up.

  Restlessly she looked out of the window. On a sudden impulse she walked back to the hotel, asked the desk clerk where she could find gardening gloves and clippers, and made her way to the rose garden beside the swimming-pool. She had noticed that the bushes were in need of attention—perhaps the Andersons had had to save on gardening staff—and since the cultivation of roses was her mother's hobby, Kelly knew enough about cutting and pruning and trimming to get by.

  The midday sun was very hot. Now and then Kelly paused to rest a few moments. The mist had vanished from the mountains and the granite peaks were sharply etched against the metallic blue of the cloudless African sky.

  It was quiet in the garden. The engineers were in the convention room, and the other hotel guests were either out on whole-day walks or in their rondavels resting. The air rang with the incessant drone of the bees which hovered over the ripe pollen of over-bloomed roses, and once two birds soared suddenly from a tree, their plumage exotic in the sunlight, loud cries emerging from slender throats as they soared skywards. A breeze came from the mountains, ruffling the roses and rippling the calm surface of the pool. Kelly, whose body was moist from the intense heat, revelled in the momentary coolness.

  It was only when she was alone that she could fully enjoy the serenity of the mountains and the garden, and appreciate the sheer beauty of the setting. There was a sense of space and loneliness, a feeling of infinity and strength, which could not fail to make its impact on those who made their homes in the foothills and the valleys and the forests of the great escarpment.

  Despite Mary's problems, and they were ones which Kelly in no way sought to minimise, she wondered if the loveliness all around her did not give the woman a strength which she might otherwise not have had in quite the same measure.

  The Drakensberg was also Nicholas's home. Thoughtfully Kelly's eyes searched the furthest reaches of the valley. Somewhere not far away was a place which belonged to Nicholas. She did not even know what he farmed; in the tension which crackled constantly between them, there had been no occasion for normal conversation. It occurred to her now that she might leave here and never know what he did. And while she had resolved not to think about him, she knew that there was a part of her which would always wonder about the things she had failed to ask.

  The dull peal of a gong startled her from her reverie. Tea-time already! She had not realised it was quite so late. There was just enough time to go to the cottage to wash her hands and her face and run a comb through her hair, and then she would be expected on the verandah.

  Many of the guests stopped for a friendly word as they took their cups. Yesterday she had been a stranger to them, but today they accepted her as part of the management. Kelly was aware of an odd pleasure as she laughed at a small joke or answered a question. Apart from Nicholas and Andrew Lang, she doubted that anybody knew her name and thus who she was. It was gratifying to be treated with an unaffected friendliness that was meant purely for her, and not for Robert Stanwick's daughter.

  Andrew took his cup with a smile. She thought he would ask her to join him when she was finished at the table, but it seemed the tea-break had come at an awkward moment in the convention and the engineers had just paused for a few minutes before going straight back to work.

  'Mary's not back?' Andrew asked.

  'No.' Kelly glanced at her watch, and frowned. If the other woman did not come soon, it would be difficult to leave Great Peaks Lodge before dark.

  'You won't leave here without telling me?'

  'Of course not,' she promised.

  When all the guests had been served, Kelly poured a cup for herself. She looked around her, feeling a little lost. Andrew had gone back inside, and though everyone had been friendly she was uncertain about joining one of the groups on the verandah.

  'Mary will be glad you did her roses,' drawled a familiar voice at her shoulder.

  It was odd how quickly her muscles could tense. Kelly turned with deliberate slowness. 'I hope so,' she said, and wished that she could keep the shakiness from her tone. She had been so certain she was alone and unobserved during her stint in the garden.

  'You've cleaned your arm, I suppose?'She looked up cautiously. She could not guess the drift of the question, but she was ready for the sarcasm which seemed inevitable from her conversations with Nicholas.

  'Don't tell me,' she said saucily. 'There's a spot of mud I forgot to clean off.'

  'Not mud. You've scratched yourself.' For once there was no mockery in his tone. His eyes were hooded and impenetrable, making it hard to read his expression.

  After a moment she shifted her gaze to her arm. There was indeed a scratch a little below her shoulder. It looked as if there had been some bleeding. It was the first time she had noticed it.

  She made a small gesture. 'It's nothing.'

  'Mary has some disinfectant. You'd best come with me to the cottage.'


  A man like Nicholas worry about a tiny scratch? Kelly regarded him warily. What new trick was he up to? 'There's no need to fuss,' she said dismissively.

  'Fuss?' His eyebrows rose, and he sounded impatient. 'Mary sprays her roses.' His eyes narrowed sardonically. 'Of course, if you'd rather chance blood-poisoning than trust yourself to my care, that's entirely up to you.'

  'Your concern for me is touching.' She did not know what made her say it, except perhaps that the idea of being alone with him again made her so light-headed that she had to say something.

  He laughed shortly. 'My concern for you is only in as far as it would be inconvenient if your arm flared up and I had to take you to hospital.'

  Kelly's fingers bit into the palms of clenched fists. Darn the man! He was more arrogant than anyone she had ever met.

  'Save your concern,' she advised bitingly. 'Mary will be back long before anything like that can happen. After that I won't be your responsibility anyway.'

  He did not answer, but his steady gaze was enigmatic. Disconcerted all at once, Kelly stammered, 'Mary will be back this afternoon, won't she?'

  He shrugged. 'Come along, Kelly.'

  The words were in the nature of a command, and Kelly had learned already that Nicholas was a man who assumed he would be obeyed. She was trembling as she walked with him through the garden in the direction of the cottage. She had been counting on Mary's return; it was not possible that she was not coming. Yet Nicholas's evasiveness had seemed to indicate just that.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SHE followed him into the cottage. Mary was methodical, and it seemed that Nicholas knew where to find what he needed.

  When he had cleaned the area surrounding the scratch he opened the tube of disinfectant ointment. He began to stroke on the ointment, his fingers moving in slow movements that were so unbearably sensual that Kelly felt her pulses racing. She pressed her lips in a tight line to prevent them trembling, and dropped her eyes so that he would not read her emotion. At his low chuckle, unnervingly near her ear, she shivered.

  'It's that bad?' His voice was a husky tease.

  She nodded. 'Yes.' Ostensibly they were talking of the scratch, but Kelly had the appalling feeling that Nicholas guessed at the true reason for her tension.

  'You're a funny mixture, aren't you?' He studied her speculatively, taking in the wide green eyes that were frighteningly easy to read, the two spots of colour in the soft cheeks, the little pulse that throbbed at the base of her throat.

  'Wh-what do you mean?' It was becoming harder and harder to speak through the tightness in her chest.

  'All spoiled and sophisticated worldliness on the outside, yet a little naive on the inside.'

  He was so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. 'I don't know what you're trying to say,' Kelly countered jerkily. 'If you're talking about the work I've done I'm not Mary, but I've tried my best.'

  'I'm not talking about Mary or your work, and you know it.' The low voice held a seductive throb. 'Though I don't deny that you've done a good job.'

  'I never thought you'd say it.' His fingers were continuing in the same stroking movement, and she wondered, a little wildly, how much ointment Nicholas thought was necessary, also why he should see fit to rub the skin that was not torn by the thorns. 'Nicholas—do you think you could stop now?'

  For a moment that seemed never-ending the movements of his fingers were, if anything, even more tantalising. Just when she thought she would stop breathing, the hand left her arm. She was relieved—and at the same time she felt stupidly bereft.

  Without a word Nicholas stood up and walked through to the living-room. Kelly followed him.

  'Nicholas ..." Her throat was dry. 'You didn't answer my question.' And as he turned to look at her, 'About Mary ... She is coming back this afternoon, isn't she?'

  His eyes studied her. 'No.'

  Kelly turned pale. 'That was the arrangement.'

  'She can't make it. She'll be here tomorrow morning.'

  'No!' Colour returned to Kelly's cheeks, as the protest jerked from her lips. 'I won't stay here tonight.'

  'You have little alternative.' His tone was without expression.

  'Will you be here too?'

  'My dear Kelly,' white teeth flashed wickedly against the bronzed skin, 'what an unnecessary question!'

  She looked at him quite silently for a few moments before she spoke again. He was enjoying this, she thought. He knew just how she felt—the turmoil coupled with an almost pleasurable apprehension—and it gave him satisfaction.

  'If the hotel is full you could sleep at your farm.'

  'You know the answer to that one too.'

  'You don't understand, Nicholas.' A note of quiet despair. 'I don't want to spend another night in the same cottage with you.'

  'I do understand,' he countered in measured tones. 'And if you're honest with yourself, Kelly, you'll admit that we both want the same thing.'

  She stared at him wide-eyed. Her mouth opened, but no words came. As a wave of desire swamped her senses she could only shake her head in horrified disbelief. At last one word burst from her parched throat. 'No!'

  Then she was pushing past him, intent only on getting out of the cottage, away from Nicholas, away from a truth which she could under no circumstances accept. A strong hand seized her wrist, jerking her back from the door, and then he was pulling her roughly against the hardness of his body.

  He had kissed her before, in punishment or to prove a point, and each time she had been stirred against her will. This kiss was different. It was deliberately sensual, the expertise of the probing lips raising her to heights she had not dreamed of. Once, when he paused for breath, she managed to twist her head and utter a protest. She caught sight of his eyes, filled with an expression she had never seen before, not even in Gary, and she was frightened and wildly excited at one and the same time.

  'Nicholas,' she pleaded, 'please ... let me go...'

  'You want it, Kelly.' There was seductiveness in the husky throb of his voice.

  And then his mouth was descending again, and his hands were on her body, moulding it between them, sliding from her shoulders to her back and then to her hips. She could feel the hard length of his body against hers and through her own desire she could feel that he wanted her. She did not know that she arched instinctively towards him, all rational thought gone now, filled only with the need to be closer to him, and closer--

  At some stage he must have opened the buttons of her blouse, and now she felt his lips pressing against the hollow between her breasts. New flames were ignited, and involuntarily she shuddered.

  It was only as he lifted her in his arms to carry her to the bed that she saw his face. It was the face of Nicholas Van Mijden, the man who could rouse her to an ecstasy she had never imagined possible, and who would despise her later for having been too susceptible. It was the face of her enemy, the man who had despised and ridiculed her since the moment he had set eyes on her. With the last vestiges of her resistance crumbling, and with every nerve and fibre of her body clamouring to be part of this man, reason came to her rescue.

  This time when she protested, she did so with anger tinged with despair. For once she was quicker than he was. It was the despair which lent urgency to her movements, so that she managed to wrest herself from him before he could put her down.

  It was only later that she realised that if Nicholas had really wanted her, the movement would not have succeeded. She knew too that if he had resumed his lovemaking, she might have surrendered completely and risked the consequences.

  He made no move to stop her as she ran from the bedroom and out of the cottage. She was already outside when she remembered that her blouse was undone, her hair dishevelled. With fingers that shook she stood beneath the trees and did up her buttons and tucked her blouse into her slacks. Ideally she should have gone back inside to do her hair. But nothing would induce her to face Nicholas again so soon. Roughly she raked he
r fingers through her hair, and hoped she was in some measure successful.

  Nicholas did not seek her out again that afternoon, and Mary's list mentioned nothing specific to be done at the hotel. If Andrew had been around Kelly might have suggested a walk, but except for the few moments at tea-time she had not seen him. She was in no state to go to the verandah and order herself something to drink. In any event she was far too restless to sit and gaze into the mountains.

  Sitting would mean thinking, and her thoughts would inevitably turn to Nicholas.

  Sooner or later she would have to think about him, and about the feelings he had awakened in her. But not now. Not until she had left Great Peaks Lodge. For she knew that the thoughts would be painful, that only the finality of a parting and the knowledge that there was no possibility of seeing Nicholas again could create some kind of peace out of turmoil. The fact that it would be a peace born of resignation, was something she would have to accept.

  But she could not, would not, think about him now!

  Only one way not to think, and that was to keep busy. Even without Nicholas to delegate chores, it was not hard to find things to do. On the surface the hotel was neat and well kept. Although they could not afford as much staff as they needed, the Andersons had been clever at making the best of things and at preserving an outward image that was eminently pleasing. Yet now that Kelly was beginning to know the hotel more intimately, she recognised tasks that had been shelved to await a day when time and money were more plentiful. For one who was looking for work, it was not hard to find.

  She was polishing a pair of copper vases which would look just right on the mantelpiece of the lounge when she glanced at her watch and saw that it was time to go to the kitchens. The sun was beginning to set behind the high peaks. Soon it would be dark. Despite what Nicholas had said, she had continued to hope that Mary would return. Now she knew that the hope had been futile.

  For once Nicholas did not come to the kitchens and Kelly was glad. She did not want to face him. Later, when most of the guests had eaten and it was almost time for her own dinner, a waiter came to her with a message. Miss de Jager was dining with Mr Van Mijden and they would be glad if she would come through and join them. Kelly hesitated a few moments, searching for a believable excuse, before it came to her that no excuses were necessary. She sent a polite message back, declining the invitation.