She wanted to throw her arms in the air with joy, but she managed a polite smile. 'And if you'd let me spend more time with him... put him back into my room, for instance...'
His eyes turned to stones. 'Don't push,' he said softly.
So much for feeling victorious, she thought. 'But he needs me...'
'There's nothing further to discuss,' he said, turning away from her.
'There is,' she insisted. 'There are things you don't understand...' Her voice rose as he stalked away from her, his long strides carrying him quickly across the lawn. Rachel had to half run to keep up with him. 'Can't you wait a minute?' she gasped.
'I have work to do,' he said curtly.
Work, she thought, looking from the tips of his scuffed leather boots to his wool shirt, faded and soft with age— work? David Griffin was the kind of financial genius who made his own rules on Wall Street, but she doubted that even he showed up in those granite canyons dressed like this. They had reached a small building made of the same grey stone as the house. David pulled open the door and stepped aside. A garage? Yes, of course. He liked cars, or at least that was how it had sounded yesterday when he'd said something to the butler or the chauffeur or whoever in God's name Barton was...
She grabbed at the door as it began to swing shut. 'Let me talk to you while you do whatever it is you're going to... It's dark in here,' she said, uncertainty creeping into her voice. 'Can't you turn on a lamp or something?'
'Your eyes will get accustomed to the light in a few minutes,' he said, moving past her towards the centre of the room.
'This isn't a garage,' she said slowly.
David's laughter was sharp. 'No, it certainly isn't.'
'Is it a tool shed? A gardening shed?' Rachel's nose wrinkled and she stepped backwards. 'That smell,' she whispered. 'It's like yesterday...' Her eyes widened in the grey half-light of the room as they focused on something near David. 'The goshawk...'
The bird was sitting on a wooden perch, its great yellow eyes trained on her. Rachel took another step back as her glance raced around the room. There were other perches in the room, most of them empty, but there were two other birds near Isis, both smaller than she, both wearing elaborate leather helmets that somehow made them look even more deadly than the larger goshawk. Isis lifted herself and stretched her wings and tail outward. It made her look twice as large and a hundred times as frightening. Heart racing, Rachel took another stumbling step backwards.
'Stand still,' ordered David, and suddenly he was beside her, his hands biting into her shoulders. 'Just don't move. Isis is remembering yesterday. She's trying to impress you.'
'I'm impressed,' Rachel murmured. 'Can't she tell?'
'Give her a chance to see that you're not a threat. And give the other birds a chance to get used to you.'
'Give them a... Shouldn't that be the other way around?' she whispered. 'I'm the one who needs to get used to them. Anyway, they have hoods on. They can't see me...'
'They can hear you, Rachel. And believe me, they can sense fear.' His fingers spread on her shoulders, kneading her flesh. 'Just breathe normally—that's it. Now move forward a bit—come on. Nothing is going to happen.'
She ran her tongue over dry lips. 'What... what is this place?'
'It's a mews,' he said softly. 'It's where I keep my hawks.' A tremor ran through her, and she drew back until she was leaning against him. Some part of her brain registered the fact that she was pressed against David's body, that she could feel the hard, muscled planes of his chest and thighs against her, but all that seemed important was the comfort her trembling body took from the strength of his. 'There's nothing to be afraid of,' he murmured, his breath fanning her hair. 'The birds are more afraid of you than you could ever be of them.'
Nervous laughter bubbled in her throat. 'Don't I wish!' she said drily. 'Look, I'll wait outside.'
'I thought you wanted to talk to me.'
'I do, yes, but...'
'You'd better get used to the mews, Rachel. I spend a lot of time here, and Jamie will too.'
'Jamie? But he's just a baby!'
David laughed softly. 'He's my son,' he said. 'He'll learn to love these hawks as I do.'
Rachel shook her head. 'Not Jamie,' she said positively. 'He couldn't love these... these things. What are you doing?' she hissed as he urged her forward. 'Mr Griffin...' She dug her feet into the earth floor. 'I'm not going another step!'
'Yes, you will, Rachel,' he said in a low whisper, then he laughed softly. 'And considering how close we've just become, don't you think it's time you stopped calling me Mr Griffin?'
She closed her eyes at the insinuating sound of his laughter and the heated pressure of his body against hers. Quickly she moved forward, letting his hands on her shoulders guide her towards the first perch.
'That's it,' he said softly. 'Another few inches...' His grip tightened, the pressure of his hands strangely comforting. 'There's nothing to fear, Rachel. Have you ever watched a hawk or a falcon soaring against the clouds, catching a thermal beneath its wings and sailing overhead?' His voice was soft, almost hypnotic. She nodded and he bent his head towards hers until his breath was warm against her ear. 'Have you ever wondered how the world must look from five hundred feet up? They're beautiful creatures, Rachel. And to gain the trust of one of them is very special. Come,' he said quietly, urging her forward again, 'let me introduce you.'
'It's OK, I...'
'This is Horus,' David said quietly, pausing before a grey bird slightly larger than a crow. 'He's a tercel—a male goshawk.'
'A goshawk? Like Isis? But he's smaller...'
David nodded. 'Yes, he is. Male hawks always are. Horus has had a hard life. He was taken from his nest by a kid out hunting birds' eggs. By the time I got him, he was half starved. The kid had been trying to feed him worms and beetles.' He reached out and stroked the tercel's breast. 'It was touch and go there for a while, wasn't it, boy?' The tercel cocked his head to one side at the touch and David smiled. 'Horus and I have made real progress.' His hands pressed into her shoulders and Rachel moved forward again.
'This is a hawk?' she asked softly, pausing before the next perch. 'It's even smaller than the other.'
David chuckled softly. 'But tough as nails. This is a kestrel. He flew into a window during migration and hurt his wing. He'll never be much of a flyer again, but he still enjoys getting up in the air on a good day, don't you, Fred?'
Nervous laughter bubbled in her throat again. 'Fred?' she repeated in disbelief. 'Fred the Hawk?'
David grinned. 'Terrible, isn't it? But kestrels are pretty common in these parts, and the game warden who found him had a weird sense of humour. He dubbed this little guy "Fred" and I'm afraid the name stuck.'
The kestrel was barely larger than a blue jay. Rachel stepped closer, watching the rapid rise and fall of its chest. The bird seemed to know she was there; its head, inside the leather hood, cocked to one side as she approached.
'Why are they hooded?' she whispered.
'They aren't always. Not being able to see calms them. They were a little upset this morning—the gardener was cleaning out the mews—and I hooded these two guys to get them to relax.' He reached past her and stroked the kestrel's breast. 'Would you like to see him?'
Rachel nodded. Slowly David opened the leather laces that kept the hood closed and drew it from the bird's head. The kestrel shook itself and stretched its wings. Rachel gasped and stumbled back.
'Easy,' said David, slipping his arm around her waist. 'He's just getting comfortable.' His fingers splayed across her hip, urging her forward again. 'Would you like to meet him?' She nodded again. 'Say hello to the lady, Fred,' he said softly. 'Touch him lightly with your finger, Rachel.'
She swallowed and then extended her index finger towards the kestrel. Hesitantly she ran the tip of her finger along the bird's breast.
'He's beautiful,' she whispered. 'And he's so warm— I knew he'd be soft, but I didn't expect him to be hot...'
&nb
sp; 'Their temperatures are much higher than ours,' David said quietly. 'He likes you, Rachel.'
'How can you tell?'
'See how he's fluffing his feathers out? That's called rousing. It means he's content.'
A smile flickered across her face. 'I've never touched a wild creature before,' she said softly.
David's fingers tightened on her waist. 'You have a gentle touch, Rachel. That can tame any wild heart.'
Suddenly she was aware of his closeness. She could feel the length of his body pressing against her back, feel the taut leanness of him against her thighs. Her head was against his chest; there was a soft thudding beneath her ear that she recognised as his heartbeat. A tingling sensation raced upwards from her fingertips. Was this the David Griffin Cassie had fallen for, the David Griffin who could charm any woman he wanted? The heat of his body seemed to engulf her, coaxing an answering response from hers. She closed her eyes, stunned at the way her senses were betraying her. Say something, she thought desperately, do something...
'Did Cassie like your hawks?' she asked.
She heard the intake of his breath. 'Cassie never met them,' he said. 'But then you'd know that, wouldn't you? You said you and she were very close—that she told you everything.'
Caught by your own glib tongue, Rachel thought. 'We were,' she said quickly, 'at least, we were when we were growing up. But during the last few years... she was busy,' she said, hating the defensive tone of her own voice. 'Modelling is a very demanding career. She had to devote all her time to it.'
'More demanding than your career? Didn't the Golden Rooster take a lot of your time too?'
His voice was silky with arrogant amusement. Rachel stiffened and tried to draw away from him, but his hands held her fast.
'Look, I'm tired of your insinuations, Mr Griffin...'
'David,' he said softly, pulling her more back against his body. 'Surely we're on a first-name basis now?'
She felt her face flood with colour. 'I put in eight hours a night, six days a week, at the Rooster. I was a waitress, that's all. It's... it was hardly a career.'
'Then why such dedication, Rachel?'
'Because it was a way to make good money,' she said, her voice rough with irritation.
'Ah, yes, I can imagine. The tips must have been excellent.'
There was an edge to the simple words that filled her with rage. She pulled free of his restraining hands and turned to face him.
'I was a waitress,' she said harshly. 'Nothing more. I used to be a secretary in an insurance company, but then Cassie died. I needed money for Jamie. And I needed to be with him during the day. I couldn't afford to pay for someone to care for him. That's when I became a cocktail waitress. Have we got that all straightened out now?'
She raised her chin defiantly and stared upwards into his face. His eyes met hers, the strange golden colour somehow softer than she remembered. His hands slid to her arms and he stepped backwards, holding her out before him as if she were an object to inspect, his glance travelling slowly from her face down her body. Finally he shook his head.
'You aren't much like Cassie at all, are you?'
Some things never changed, Rachel thought. She had lived with that kind of comment most of her life. It was years since it had hurt to be compared to Cassie—but a sudden pain knifed through her, although why this man's opinion should mean anything, one way or the other...
She squared her shoulders and shook her head. 'No, not in the least. She was always beautiful.'
'We'll have to see about having the rest of your clothes brought from your apartment,' he said. 'You do own something besides that sweater and those pants, don't you?'
Damn the man! she thought. It was bad enough that he'd reminded her of how much prettier Cassie had always been. Now he was making her feel not just plain but homely. Anger m#de her reckless.
'Of course,' she said evenly. 'I have my costume from the Golden Rooster.'
A sensual smile lifted the corners of his mouth. 'Yes,' he murmured, 'I remember.' His glance flickered across her again. 'I remember very well.'
Rachel swallowed drily. 'Mr Griffin...'
'David,' he corrected.
'Mr Griffin, I...'
He shook his head. 'David,' he repeated, in that voice she knew so well, a voice that was accustomed to giving orders. 'We don't want to confuse Jamie, do we? The servants call me Mr Griffin, Rachel. Jamie has to learn the difference.'
There was something wrong with his logic, she thought, but it was impossible to argue with him. He was too overpowering, too used to being obeyed. And he was too close to her, his hands holding her too tightly...
'David,' she said at last, 'I think we should talk about Jamie. He...'
'You really love the boy, don't you?'
She looked at him in amazement. 'Yes, of course I do. Why wouldn't I?'
'What did Cassie tell you about me, Rachel?'
'I told you—everything.'
His eyes locked with hers. 'Everything,' he repeated, and she nodded. 'Are you sure?'
'Of course I'm sure. She always told me...' A knowing smile flickered across his face and Rachel tossed her head. 'All right, not always. But she told me all about... about you, and how you... you...'
'How I seduced her?' he prompted, his voice soft and insinuating. Rachel nodded again and he smiled. 'And how did I do that? Did she tell you all the details?'
A swift rush of heat washed over her. 'Yes,' she said abruptly, then shook her head. 'Well, no, of course not the details.'
'Cassie lied to you,' he said roughly.
'No—she wouldn't. She...'
His fingers were kneading her shoulders. She wanted to move away from him, from the dark shadows in the mews, but all the strength seemed to have left her.
'Yes,' he murmured, 'she lied. Maybe she lied about everything.'
Hope surged within her breast. 'About Jamie, you mean?'
He shook his head. 'Jamie's mine—you know that.'
Rachel wanted to deny it, but she couldn't, not after seeing those two dark heads together, not after seeing the baby's face reflected in the man's. She drew a breath and shook her head.
'I don't understand,' she whispered. 'I don't...'
'Yes, you do,' he said hoarsely, 'you understand this.'
And his mouth slanted down hungrily across hers, warm and hard. His hands slid to her waist, his fingers curving around her hips, bringing her tightly against him. For a heart-stopping second she fought against him, against the intrusion of his lips on hers, against his tongue forcing her lips apart, and then a glow seemed to infuse her and her mouth opened to his. His arms drew her closer as his mouth moved hungrily over hers. Suddenly there was a shrill, piercing cry from across the room. The hair rose on the back of Rachel's neck and she pushed free of David's arms.
'What was that?' she whispered.
He laughed softly. 'That was Isis. I think she was telling us she doesn't like what we were doing.'
Rachel breathed a silent prayer of thanks. 'She's a smart bird,' she said in a voice that amazed her with its steadiness. 'Neither did I.'
She brushed past him and flung the door open. As she hurried out into the bright sunlight, she wondered whether her lie had sounded more convincing to him than it had to her.
CHAPTER FOUR
'SUCH a lovely day, miss... There won't be many more before winter.'
Startled, Rachel looked lip from her book. The housekeeper's friendly face smiled at her from the open nursery doorway.
'Emma, I... I didn't hear you come in. I was sitting here while Jamie napped.'
Damn! she thought angrily. She hadn't meant to sound like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
'Barton just brought in some apples,' the housekeeper told her, putting a bowl of shining red fruit on the dressing table. 'From our own orchard. Aren't they lovely? Won't you try one?'
'No, thank you, I...' The woman's homely face was filled with mute appeal. After a moment Rachel nodde
d and took an apple from the bowl. 'Thank you, Emma. It's very thoughtful of you.'
'You don't eat enough to keep a bird alive, Miss Cooper. It's not healthy.'
'I don't have much appetite lately. I guess I'm just not used to having so little to do.' Rachel glanced at her watch and closed her book. 'I'll go check on Jamie. He's probably...'
'I just looked, miss. The boy's sound asleep.' Emma looked at Rachel and her expression softened. 'You can check for yourself, if you like.'
Rachel shook her head. 'No, that's all right, Emma. I...' Suddenly the house seemed stifling. 'Maybe I'll go for a walk. You're right—it's a beautiful day.'
'Good idea, Miss Cooper. I'll be here to care for the baby when he awakens.'
There was nothing new in that, Rachel thought as she shrugged into her jacket. Only a few days had passed, but she could feel Jamie slipping away from her. She looked at the apple she held in her hands and sighed. Emma meant well, she thought, dropping the apple into her pocket. If the woman found Rachel's presence a mystery, she hid it carefully. And she tried to let Rachel spend time with the child, but it was Emma who dressed him in the mornings, Emma who took him downstairs, Emma who fed him breakfast and lunch and never questioned Rachel's constant presence. And it was Emma who had seen to it that Jamie was all Rachel's in the evenings.
'I can't get the boy to sleep, sir,' she had told David the first night, a worried expression on her plump features. 'He keeps asking for...for his mother.'
The look David had given Rachel had turned her blood to ice. Then, after a moment, he'd nodded.
'Very well, Emma. Miss Cooper will attend to the child this evening.'
That one evening had stretched into three. David left the house early in the mornings and returned after dark, which meant he wasn't there to change what had become a nightly routine, and Emma seemed willing to let the arrangement stand. There were times Rachel wondered if he'd forgotten she was there. He'd certainly forgotten about having her clothing packed and sent to her, she thought, glancing down at her shiny corduroys as she opened the front door. Jamie's things had arrived, along with endless boxes of expensive clothing for the child, but not hers. Was David waiting for her to ask? Yes, she thought grimly, that would be just like him. She'd had to beg to stay with Jamie, beg to be allowed to spend time with him... Humiliating her seemed to be the man's pleasure, she thought, forcing back an unbidden image of what had happened in the mews. That was all that kiss had'been.
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