Rachel knew the other girl must be completely bowled over, otherwise she would never have refused!
‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Rachel,’ Danny put in softly, obviously still out to cause trouble.
‘Probably,’ she answered coolly. ‘The college isn’t that big.’
‘Goodbye,’ Nick said generally, his hand firm on Rachel’s elbow, and guided her over to the Jaguar, opening the passenger door with a flourish.
She daren’t look in Danny’s direction as the car moved away from the kerbside, knowing she would see contempt in his face if she did.
‘I gather he’s a friend of yours?’ Nick spoke abruptly.
Her lashes fluttered nervously as she looked at him, the realisation of seeing him once again washing over her. His presence outside the college really had come as a surprise to her, so much so that it hadn’t occured to her to protest when he told her he was driving her home. It had almost been as if she had no mind of her own.
‘He was,’ she answered huskily.
‘Was?’ Nick prompted.
‘Yes,’ she almost snapped her reply.
‘He wouldn’t happen to be the boy you were kissing in the park yesterday, would he?’ Nick taunted.
Colour flooded her cheeks. She hadn’t realised Kay Lennox had seen her with Danny, but she was the only one who could have passed on such information to Nick St Clare. Had she also passed on her message to him?
‘I can see he was.’ Nick’s eyes mocked her as he glanced at her, the rush-hour traffic holding most of his attention. ‘Don’t you know there are more private places for making love?’
Rachel flushed, with anger this time. ‘We weren’t making love, we were kissing! And it’s none of your business where I do it.’
‘It might be if I were the man you were kissing,’ he said softly.
His words robbed her of speech, as they were supposed to, she felt sure. She had pushed the memory of the light kiss he had given her last night to the back of her mind, but now the thrill just that fleeting touch of his lips had given her came flooding back.
‘Did your sister give you my message?’ she asked to cover her embarrassment.
Nick glanced at her. ‘That you couldn’t make dinner tonight?’
‘Yes,’ she nodded.
‘Yes, she gave it to me.’
Rachel frowned her consternation. ‘Then why are you here?’
‘To take you home. Your mother said you usually finish about this time—’
‘When did you see my mother?’ she asked sharply.
‘About an hour ago.’
‘But—I—You—’
Nick chuckled softly. ‘Did you want to say something, Rachel?’
‘Yes, I did!’ she snapped. ‘What are you doing here?’
He sighed. ‘I just told you—’
‘You didn’t tell me anything,’ she flashed. ‘If your sister passed on my message that I couldn’t meet you tonight then why did you go to my home?’
‘To give you the flowers.’
‘What flowers?’ She was becoming really agitated now, and Nick’s annoying attitude did not help.
‘I don’t know,’ he shrugged. ‘I didn’t make a list of the different varieties.’
‘Nick!’
‘Hmm?’
‘Oh, I give up!’ She subsided into her seat. ‘You’re impossible!’ She contented herself with glaring at the perfection of his profile.
‘So I’ve often been told,’ he shrugged.
‘It’s true!’
‘Rachel,’ he was serious now, the teasing had left his eyes, his mouth was no longer smiling, ‘why did you call off our date?’
‘I—You—’
‘I don’t remember you stuttering like this last night,’ he frowned.
‘When we spoke last night I had no idea you were Nicholas St Clare!’ She fidgeted with her tee-shirt, pulling it down over her denims.
‘But now you do.’
‘Yes, now I do!’
‘And you no longer want to go out with me?’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
She had been hoping he wouldn’t ask that. ‘I—Well, because of who you are, I suppose. When I got home I saw you on the television—’
‘A bit of a shock for you,’ he said dryly.
‘Yes. Congratulations on the win, by the way,’ she mumbled.
‘Thanks,’ he drawled. ‘But I usually like to win with women too.’
She could imagine he did; she had often seen photographs of him in the newspapers with beautiful women—which made his wanting to take her out all the more unbelievable.
‘I’m not in any competition,’ she told him firmly. ‘If I’d known who you were yesterday I would never have accepted.’
‘But having accepted, it isn’t polite to back out now.’
‘I’m not backing out—’ she began.
‘You are.’
‘No, I—’
‘Rachel,’ he spoke her name softly, but he instantly had her attention. ‘I’m taking you out to dinner.’
‘But—’
‘No more arguments.’
‘Have you always been spoilt?’ she asked moodily.
‘No,’ he answered somewhat grimly. ‘Which is why I like my own way now.’
She frowned. ‘My parents—what did you say to them?’
‘Nothing outrageous, I can assure you,’ he mocked, pulling the car over to the side of the road, ignoring the ‘No parking’ sign as he turned to look at her. ‘Richard wanted to send you some flowers for helping bring his daughter safely into the world, so I told him I would deliver them in person, and when you weren’t home your mother gave me directions to the college. That’s all there was to it.’
Her mother was an ardent tennis fan, never missed any of Wimbledon, and Rachel doubted she had taken the arrival of Nicholas St Clare on her doorstep with the calm Nick thought she had. Her poor mother was probably in a complete panic by this time!
‘Rachel?’ Nick gently touched her cheek.
She looked up at him with wide grey eyes, her lashes long and thick, her face completely bare of make-up; she did not even wear lip-gloss to college. ‘Why did you decide to bring the flowers yourself?’ she asked huskily.
His eyes deepened in colour, fixed on the parted softness of her mouth. ‘I think we both know the answer to that,’ he murmured.
Her lashes fluttered nervously. ‘We do?’
Nick nodded, suddenly so close his warm breath stirred the hair at her temple. ‘Did you know that your mouth tastes like honey?’ he said throatily, his thumb-tip caressing her lips.
It was as if they were in a world of their own, the roar of the passing traffic, the rush and bustle of the pedestrians all ceasing to exist, all the world, all the reality she needed, right here in Nick’s eyes.
His head lowered and his mouth claimed hers, parting her lips with the tip of his tongue as he felt her complete surrender. That dizzy pleasure that she had felt only fleetingly the night before came back tenfold, and her hands clung weakly to his shirt-front as he plundered her mouth with deeper intensity.
At last he raised his head, his eyes the colour of a stormy ocean, his breathing as ragged as her own. ‘Pure nectar,’ he murmured huskily.
Rachel gazed up at him with stars in her eyes. ‘Nick…?’
‘Yes,’ he breathed deeply. ‘Explosive, aren’t we? Still refuse to have dinner with me?’
At that moment she could have denied him nothing, although luckily he was asking for nothing but dinner. She forgot to be frightened of who he was, forgot her apprehension as to how long he would want her in his life, remembering only that together they were explosive.
If her parents were at all surprised to have Nicholas St Clare sitting in their lounge waiting for their daughter to change to go out to dinner with him then they didn’t show it, her mother offering him a cup of tea, her father offering him the newspaper he hadn’t even read himself yet.
Rachel
floated up to her bedroom, having duly admired the beautiful bouquet her mother was arranging in vases for her. The accompanying card contained the sincere thanks of Richard Lennox.
She really didn’t have a lot in her wardrobe that was suitable for dinner with Nick, although he had warned her it would be a quiet and early dinner, as the semi-finals tomorrow meant he had to get plenty of sleep tonight. She had a silky shirtwaister dress that would be suitable for a quiet dinner for two, its muted shade of grey matching the colour of her eyes, and darkening her hair to ebony. She could see Nick approved of her appearance when she entered the lounge a few minutes later; he stood up as she entered the room, having eyes only for her.
She blushed at that look, breaking into speech about how beautiful the flowers looked in the three vases it had taken to hold them all. ‘I hope you’ll thank your brother-in-law for me,’ she said shyly.
His mouth quirked into a smile. ‘At this rate it could take a lifetime to pass your thanks backwards and forwards to each other!’
A lifetime? Yes, she would like that.
‘Do you mind if we go back to my apartment first?’ he asked once they had taken their leave of her parents. ‘I have to change.’
‘No, of course not,’ Rachel answered confidently enough, a wild fluttering sensation beginning in the pit of her stomach. ‘Go to his apartment,’ he said, so casually, when she had never even known a man who had his own apartment! All the boys she had been out with had lived either with their parents or two or three flatmates, although not for anything would she let Nick St Clare see how nervous the prospect of going to his apartment made her.
‘Help yourself to a drink,’ he invited once they were inside the luxurious apartment he called home while in England. In Wimbledon itself, conveniently near to the tennis courts, it was the top floor of a two-storey apartment building. ‘I’m just going through to shower.’
She ignored the extensive array of drinks, moving nervously about the room, a room only made personal by the magazines lying on the table, the books on the shelf in the Welsh dresser. Her parents’ home was comfortable, homely, but this apartment was something else, like one of the pictures in glossy magazines she often drooled over.
‘Like it?’
She turned at the sound of Nick’s voice, swallowing her shock as she saw he was dressed only in a black silk robe, the smoothness of the material telling her he wore nothing beneath.
She cleared her throat. ‘I—er—it’s lovely.’ She lowered her eyes to the carpet, the memory of his bare legs beneath the robe staying with her. He was more adequately dressed than he was on the tennis court, was more covered at least, and yet the intimacy of this situation unnerved her.
Nick seemed to feel none of her embarrassment, as he came over to drape his arm lightly about her shoulders. ‘Do you like Italian food?’
‘Er—yes.’ Her gaze wouldn’t be raised above the open neckline of his robe, the darkly tanned chest, and dark blond hair that grew there.
‘Good,’ he kissed her lightly, ‘because I’ve booked a table for us at this little Italian restaurant I know.’
‘That—that will be nice.’ Her mouth actually tingled from that kiss! What was it about this man, and only this man, that made her feel this way?
‘I hope so,’ he nodded. ‘Will you get my clothes out for me while I shower?’
Now she did raise her eyes, stormy grey meeting a more calm blue. ‘Get your clothes out?’ she gulped.
‘Mm, the cream suit and black shirt should do it. Okay?’
‘I—Okay,’ she nodded agreement, never having performed such an intimate task for a man before.
Nick went into the adjoining bathroom while she sorted through his vast wardrobe for the cream suit and black shirt, the sound of the shower water being turned off just as she found them both.
‘O.K.?’ Nick came through from the bathroom towelling his hair dry, a darker shade of blond now in its dampness, a towel draped about his waist, his torso completely bare.
Rachel just stared at him. He was like a bronzed god out of Greek mythology, his chest powerfully muscled, as were his legs. His hair was almost dry now, ruffled into disorder, almost returned to its former gold colour.
‘Rachel?’ he frowned at her silence.
‘Er—yes, here you are,’ and she thrust the suit and shirt at him before rushing from the room.
CHAPTER THREE
RACHEL was shaking by the time she reached the lounge, pacing the room in agitated movements. Nick might be used to having women in his bedroom, might even be used to women getting his clothes out for him, but she certainly wasn’t used to doing such things! He had made the request so naturally, and had thought nothing of appearing in front of her in just a robe or towel.
And she had acted like the scared schoolgirl he had first thought her. He was a sophisticated man, of course he had thought nothing of his near-nakedness!
He didn’t seem to realise her embarrassment when he came out of the bedroom a short time later either. ‘Let’s go, hmm?’ he suggested lightly.
She let him guide her out to the car, feeling on safer ground away from his home.
By the time they got to the restaurant she had regained her control, instantly liking the intimate atmosphere, the subdued lighting, the red tablecloths on the small tables set some distance apart from each other to allow for greater privacy.
Several heads turned in Nick’s direction as they were seated by the portly owner of this small but first class Italian restaurant, although Nick himself seemed immune to those looks of recognition.
‘Ignore them,’ he advised at her slightly flustered manner.
It was all right for him to say, but she wasn’t used to such attention, especially when she was eating. But the red wine Nick ordered with their meal did a lot to settle her nerves, and soon she was as impervious to those curious looks as he was.
‘I’ll have to take you straight home tonight, I’m afraid,’ he informed her as they lingered over their coffee. ‘I’m on court at two tomorrow, and Sam will have my hide if I blow that match because of a late night.’
‘Sam?’ she questioned interestedly.
‘Sam Freeman, my coach.’
Rachel nodded. ‘I’ve heard of him.’
‘I wouldn’t have got anywhere without him,’ Nick told her.
He had a genuine affection for the man, she could tell that. ‘Didn’t he used to play himself?’ she asked.
‘Years ago,’ Nick grinned. ‘More years than he would care to remember, I would think. He won quite a few titles in his time.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Then he must have been good.’
‘He was. Would you like to come and see the match tomorrow?’
She swallowed hard, taken aback. ‘Come and watch you play, you mean?’
Nick nodded. ‘Well, I’d be insulted if you came to watch anyone else,’ he teased. ‘You could sit with Sam and Suzy.’
In that special spectators’ box for coaches and family, on view to the media and crowd? No, she couldn’t do that. She shook her head, smiling to take the sting out of her refusal. ‘I don’t think so, thank you.’
Nick’s expression was suddenly intent, his hand clasping hers across the table. ‘Why not?’
‘I have college tomorrow—’
‘You can miss it for one day, surely?’
‘Not really, we have end of the year exams in a week or so.’
‘But I’d like you to be there.’ He gave her an encouraging smile. ‘You never know, you might become my good luck charm.’
‘Are you superstitious?’ she teased.
‘Grow a beard until the end of the championship like Bjorn, you mean?’ He shook his head. ‘Not really. Although it always upsets my game if I should happen to damage or break my racket in the middle of a match.’
‘I’d like to come and watch you,’ she said slowly. ‘But I really don’t think I can.’
‘It will only be for the afternoon, Rachel.’
>
‘I—All right,’ she nodded. After all, she could afford to miss one afternoon of college. ‘How will I get in?’
‘I’ll leave word with Sam.’ Nick was smiling broadly now that he had his own way.
‘And who is Suzy?’ she asked casually, not having missed the mention of the other girl.
He laughed softly, seeing through her casualness. ‘Why, Rachel, who do you think she is?’
She blushed. ‘I have no idea.’ And she was jealous! Two days of knowing this man and she was jealous of him even mentioning another girl!
‘Suzy is Sam’s daughter,’ he mocked her. ‘And I’ve known her since she wore braces on her teeth.’
He spoke of her with the affection of an older brother, so Rachel dismissed her from her mind. ‘Maybe we should be going now if you have to be alert for the match tomorrow,’ she suggested softly.
‘Yes,’ he sighed. ‘Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it.’ He signalled for the bill to be brought over.
‘Surely when you win—’
‘Ah, when you win,’ he nodded. ‘But when you lose…! Sometimes I’m out on court and I know there isn’t a damn thing I can do to win, that on that particular day my opponent is too good to beat, and I may have another two gruelling sets to play before it’s all over.’
‘It sounds like hard work,’ she grimaced.
‘Oh, it is,’ he gave a rueful smile. ‘And tomorrow Paul will make sure I run more miles than I want to.’
‘Paul Shepley?’ She found it really strange the way he referred to people she had only ever seen on the television by their first names, although from what she had read, although they were highly competitive on court, a lot of the tennis players were good friends off court.
‘That’s right.’ He stood up. ‘And I’m afraid we both have tempers, so it should be a volatile match.’
Until Paul Shepley came on the tennis scene Nick had been the bad boy of the game. Rachel had seen both men blow up at what they thought was a wrong call by officials, and of the two she thought Nick the more controlled. Maybe maturity had mellowed him.
Although he didn’t appear in the least controlled as he kissed her goodnight, the car parked outside her home, his lips fevered against hers, his hands seeming to burn where they touched.
Hidden Love Page 4