Undone by His Touch

by Annie West

  As morning-after etiquette, this was a killer. But then she had no experience of mornings after with any man but her husband. She shook her head, utterly bewildered, her stomach hollowing. This couldn’t be happening.

  Was she so easily dismissed? Had that tenderness, the closeness they’d slowly built, meant nothing? Was this how Declan behaved with all women once he’d had his fill?

  Distress and mortification churned her insides.

  At the last moment Declan paused and turned his head, almost as if he saw her. Chloe’s heart leapt, then catapulted down as he climbed into the helicopter. A moment later it lifted off.

  Chloe blinked, her hand pressed to her mouth. She couldn’t believe it. Even if there was an emergency there’d been no need to leave without a word.

  It had been Declan’s choice.

  His actions were a smack to the face, leaving her bereft, nursing shock and bewilderment.

  Chloe stared numbly long after the helicopter had disappeared. She had the awful feeling that if she moved she’d shatter like discarded glass.

  Some time later the phone rang. She jumped, pulled her robe tight and stumbled into Declan’s room to take the call.

  That meant confronting the wide, rumpled bed, the tray with the remains of their supper. The condom packet on the bedside table. The sight of it, empty and carelessly abandoned, jolted pain through her.

  Eventually the shrill ringing forced her to move.

  ‘Ms Daniels?’

  Her knees gave way and she collapsed on the bed. Had she hoped it would be Declan?

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Hi, this is Susie in Mr Carstairs’ Sydney office.’ She sounded young and bright, a millennium younger than Chloe felt.

  ‘Yes?’ Chloe’s voice was odd—faded and hoarse.

  ‘Mr Carstairs has instructed that Carinya be closed for the next few months. The gardener will act as caretaker. He wants you in Sydney tomorrow.’

  Chloe shoved the hair back from her face with a trembling hand. ‘Why Sydney?’

  ‘Mr Carstairs will base himself there for the next few months.’ Was that excitement Chloe heard in the other woman’s voice? She could just imagine the stir Declan made among female members of his staff.

  On a hiss of indrawn breath Chloe pressed a hand to her chest. Was that what last night had been? Convenient sex with a willing, available employee? Yet, try as she might, she couldn’t cast him as a sexual predator.

  There had been much more to it than convenient sex. In the long, dark hours of loving, through the gentle caresses, the fierce hunger and the tentative sharing of words, she’d believed Declan experienced some of the magic she felt. Surely she couldn’t have misunderstood?

  ‘Ms Daniels? Are you there?’

  ‘Sorry. I’m here.’

  ‘Oh, good. Mr Carstairs wants you to take care of his apartment. You’ll be based in Sydney till further notice.’

  Two days later bewilderment had given way to fury. Two days without a sighting, even a phone call from Declan. All his instructions had come via his staff.

  If well paid jobs weren’t so hard to find, if she wasn’t so desperate for the income to support Ted, Chloe might have handed in her notice.

  Except she needed to see Declan again. Needed to know what had happened. Was he all right? Had something terrible happened?

  He’d slammed into her quiet, contented life, torn it up by the roots and flung out of it again, leaving her seething yet bereft, hurting yet worried.

  She needed to talk with him but that wouldn’t happen any time soon.

  An eager, excited crowd filled the huge, vaulted living space of his penthouse. The glittering throng was backlit by a stupendous view of Sydney Harbour Bridge and the white crests of the Opera House.

  Glass doors to the landscaped roof-garden were open and guests spilled out to the lush, almost tropical haven. Tonight it was transformed into party central with a massive bar and candles floating in the long pool. The guests were glamorous and dressed to impress, wearing enough bling to sink a battleship.

  She’d spotted celebrities enough to keep a gossip magazine in print for a year and there’d been paparazzi outside snapping shots as they had entered.

  Thank goodness she’d changed. Instead of her usual skirt, blouse and sensible shoes, she wore a black dress and heels. Cheap jersey instead of silk. Simple rather than designer chic. Modest rather than sexy. But at least she didn’t look totally out of place now she was forced into the role of reluctant hostess.

  She smiled at the couple beside her who were extolling Declan Carstairs’ business acumen and bit down on her own pithy assessment of his character. Two hours into his own party and he still hadn’t showed.

  Maybe his cavalier treatment of her wasn’t unique.

  Her jaw tightened and fire skirled in her blood. Yet still his behaviour didn’t ring true with the man she’d come to know. That was the puzzle.

  ‘Ms Daniels.’ She found the manager of the catering team at her elbow, like herself dressed to blend with the guests. She read concern in his eyes.

  Excusing herself, she turned towards him.

  ‘We’ll be out of champagne soon and the food’s running low. There are at least fifty more guests than expected.’

  Chloe nodded. She too had been surprised when guests had kept streaming in. And they wouldn’t shift soon. Not when there was no host to call an end to what she knew from overheard conversation was a rare, must-attend event, a celebration in Declan Carstairs’ private home.

  Why had Declan decided to socialise on such a scale? It was unlike the man she’d known at Carinya. The reclusive man who’d treasured privacy.

  The man she’d thought she knew.

  The thought scoured a hollow ache inside.

  ‘Your chef, he can have anything from the pantry, or bring in his own supplies, even if you have to wake people to get them. Mr Carstairs will cover the cost. As for the wine, there should be more delivered soon.’

  At his questioning glance, she shrugged. ‘The guests look like they’re here for the duration. I ordered more a while ago.’

  ‘Good thinking.’ He smiled and she knew relief that she had an ally in this chattering mass of strangers. She’d kept herself busy these last days but she walked a knife edge, her nerves shot and her emotions a mess. Managing an A list party alone was the last thing she needed.

  ‘Check what’s delivered. If you think it’s not enough, let me know.’

  He nodded then looked over her shoulder. ‘I think our host has arrived.’

  Even as he spoke Chloe sensed it.

  The hairs on the back of her neck rose and the bare skin of her shoulders tingled. Excitement rippled through the room. Heads turned. Women lifted hands to their hair and necklines.

  Chloe swung around. There he was, devilishly charismatic in a dinner jacket and bow tie, dark hair cut ruthlessly short now. Heat suffused her and her heart hammered against her ribs.

  He was all right, then. How often had she feared some terrible relapse? Relief made her knees wobble even as anger surged.

  His formal clothes contrasted with the blatant masculine planes of his hard face and the disfiguring scar. Yet the latter accentuated rather than destroyed the character and compelling attraction of his features.

  Chloe’s breath disintegrated, her heartbeat accelerating to frantic. He looked debonair, powerful and innately dangerous, far beyond her league.

  Yet the secret heat swirling low in her abdomen, the tight budding of her nipples, were proof her body knew his. It had been no dream.

  ‘Declan!’ A platinum blonde in a strapless dress of silver sequins planted a kiss on his lips. She didn’t seem in a hurry to break contact. Nor did he.

  Chloe’s fingers curled into claws.

  ‘Vanessa.’ Chloe just caught the deep burr of his voice over the chatter of the crowd. ‘It’s good of you to come.’ His arm closed around the blonde’s waist and she snuggled up to him.

  On Declan’s
other arm a brunette with the face of a Latin siren and a curvaceous body in fitted scarlet pouted at him. As Chloe watched, Declan introduced the two women, both of whom remained cuddled close to him.

  The crowd pressed forward. Declan smiled and shook hands, chatting easily. Chloe watched, fascinated, seeing him so at home in this high octane environment that reeked of wealth, ambition and success.

  She was so absorbed it took a moment to process what she saw: Declan reaching out to shake hands. Declan greeting people by name as they approached.

  Declan could see.

  The realisation slammed into her with a force that punched the air from her lungs all over again.

  It was fantastic, so wonderful she could scarcely believe it, but there was no mistaking the way he interacted with his guests.

  She swayed and groped for support. Her hand clutched the sleeve of the catering manager.

  In the same moment Declan raised his head, looking beyond a plump little man with his model-tall trophy wife, to stare straight across the vast space at Chloe.

  As if he’d known she was watching.

  As if he’d known exactly where she was.

  Like those times before when he’d turned unerringly to her, sensing her presence though she hadn’t said a word.

  The reminder of that inexplicable link hit her anew. It weakened her knees and she staggered.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  Silently she nodded.

  Across the room eyes dark as jet meshed with hers. A pulse of connection, an unseen wave radiating from Declan and devastating everything in its path, pinioned her.

  His smile disappeared. His features tightened.

  He didn’t look like the man who’d cradled her in his arms.

  He looked like a stranger.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she whispered, releasing her grip on the catering manager and dragging her gaze away from Declan. Her skin prickled clammily and there was a buzzing in her ears. She swayed again but reminded herself she’d never fainted in her life. She wasn’t about to start.

  ‘You check those supplies. I’ll come to the kitchen soon to see how things are.’

  The caterer turned away and Chloe drew a shaky breath, trying to calm rioting nerves. She was torn between anger at Declan’s behaviour and a thrill of joy at his restored sight. But when? How? Why hadn’t he told her?

  The crash of shattering glass jerked her head around. Over near Declan people stepped back, looking down.

  In the ensuing hush she heard that low, familiar voice. ‘It’s all right, Sophia. The staff will deal with it. That’s what they’re here for.’

  Across the room Declan looked straight at Chloe, his gaze unreadable. Again she was caught, transfixed by the force of emotions tangling around her.

  Then Declan lifted one eyebrow. It rode high and challenging, a clear sign of impatience. It wasn’t a request for help, that look, but an imperious command.

  Cold drenched Chloe as she met his demanding gaze. His words circled in her brain. The staff will deal with it. That’s what they’re here for. Nothing more.

  Something inside her shut down. On auto-pilot, she grabbed some napkins and made her way through the crowd.

  So that was it? The sum total of Declan’s feelings for her? Valiantly she fought off nausea. Could she really have been so mistaken in him? So naïve?

  He’d had the hots for his housekeeper but it was over. He had his sight back and could choose from the loveliest women in Sydney. Chloe was merely an insignificant employee again.

  Anguish tore a gaping hole where her heart had been.

  All this time she’d known he was proud, even arrogant, but she’d never believed him to be a low life.

  Lips firm, she forced her head up, ignoring the slashing pain as she reached him. He couldn’t know her heart smashed against her ribs or that her self-possession hung by a thread.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ murmured the brunette at Declan’s side. ‘I knocked my glass and—’

  ‘No need to apologise, Sophia. If I don’t care about a broken glass, why should my staff?’

  His gaze met Chloe’s and heat blasted through her, that familiar burst of electricity. She saw Declan’s eyes widen, their expression waver. Then he turned abruptly, gathering Sophia’s hands in his.

  Shards of ice slid down Chloe’s spine. Bewilderment and denial rocked her back on her heels. He’d felt it too—she’d read the shock of sizzling awareness in his eyes. But he’d turned from her as if it, she, meant nothing.

  To have Declan treat her as if she didn’t warrant acknowledgement almost felled her. Declan, the man who’d made her feel again.

  Because of him she’d dared hope for something more than a life of routine and emotional seclusion. In her naiveté she’d once called that contentment, but Declan had made her see she’d been living a half life.

  It had taken her family years of love and patient understanding to convince Chloe she was worth caring about. She’d fought hard to overcome self-doubt and build her sense of worth through hard work and education.

  She was damned if she would let him dismiss her as nothing.

  The only saving grace was that no one here knew her humiliation. To them she was simply an employee doing her job.

  Declan had done nothing untoward. It was only he and she who knew how devastating his behaviour was.

  Last time they’d been together she’d been in his arms.

  Chloe dropped to her knees, her head spinning. Wine stained the hardwood floor and the edge of a fine cream rug. Her hands were quick as she gathered shards of glass. But her eyes prickled and she couldn’t stop blinking.

  She was all kinds of fool for caring.

  Before her, less than a metre away, were his polished, handcrafted shoes, the best money could buy. Above her his voice, deep and mesmerising, entertained his audience just as if she wasn’t crouched at his feet.

  Memory struck her of the day they’d met and she’d knelt before him, clearing another broken glass. She’d been annoyed by his arrogant attitude, not knowing it was blindness that made him so prickly.

  He wasn’t blind now.

  He had his life back.

  This was the real Declan.

  Chloe gritted her teeth on a purging wave of fury that for a moment blanked out pain. When finally she stood, heat stained her cheeks.

  ‘Oh, your dress! I’m so sorry.’

  It was the brunette, gesturing to what Chloe now realised was her damp skirt. She’d knelt in the stain and not noticed. She supposed she should be thankful she hadn’t cut herself into the bargain.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she murmured, casting a reassuring look at the other woman. ‘It’ll come out.’ In the meantime changing would give her a chance to escape Declan’s presence.

  By three a.m. everyone had gone. She was alone in the penthouse. Except she’d seen the light under the door of Declan’s study and knew he’d retired there.

  Was he alone?

  Chloe thought of the brunette plastered to his side as he’d said farewell to the other guests. She remembered the fine-grained leather sofa in the study, long enough even to accommodate Declan’s tall frame. She pursed her lips. It was none of her business who he spent his time with.

  It wasn’t as if she wanted it to be her.

  She wasn’t masochistic. Once bitten …

  Deftly she grabbed some glasses the caterers had missed and went to the kitchen. She didn’t need to finish cleaning tonight, but it was pointless going to bed. She’d never sleep.

  Chloe had her hands in warm water, cleaning crystal flutes, when her neck prickled. She paused, willing away the sensation of awareness and stirring excitement.

  Instead of abating, the sensation grew. Her nipples drew tight as if responding to cold, but it wasn’t cold she felt. It was heat, from the nape of her bent neck, over her bare arms and down.

  She swivelled.

  Declan lounged in the doorway, his shoulders almost filling the wide frame. The harsh kitchen l
ight showed his scar, more livid than she remembered, slashing his firm cheek. His jacket was gone and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a hint of tanned flesh.

  Chloe sagged against the sink, her hands sliding to the bench on either side for support. How could the sight of him still affect her? Faint hope stirred that he’d come to apologise. Yet what apology could he make?

  ‘Yes, Mr Carstairs?’ She was proud of her cool tone. She’d made a terrible mistake, but she told herself she’d get over it one day.

  ‘We need to talk.’ He straightened and entered the room. To Chloe’s horror he kept coming till the space shrank around him. ‘And what happened to “Declan”?’

  ‘Clearly that’s no longer appropriate.’

  That damnable eyebrow climbed up, accentuating the saturnine cast of his face.

  ‘Clearly?’ he purred in that rich, rumbling tone that played havoc with her composure. It enraged her that she still responded to it.

  Chloe straightened, her spine stiff as a steel girder. ‘Oh come on, D—!’ She heaved a deep breath and was disconcerted to see his gaze dip to the V of her wraparound dress. An instant later his jaw locked tight, his mouth grim.

  She wanted to ask about his returned vision. Reach out to the man she remembered behind the stern visage.

  Except now she realised that man had been a mirage. The real Declan was selfish and shallow. There was no other explanation for his behaviour.

  ‘You’ve made your position abundantly clear,’ she said. ‘I didn’t have to be Einstein to work it out. And you’re right.’ Pride supplied the words. ‘We’re employer and employee. Anything else was a mistake.’

  Yet a bewildered, grieving part of her wanted to demand he explain, even hoped these last days had been a terrible misunderstanding.

  He stopped so close she inhaled the spicy scent of his skin. A rolling tide of awareness washed through her, drawing her flesh tight.

  ‘A mistake?’ His brow puckered and for an instant he was all too familiar, the man who hid deep emotions and unspoken scars behind a brusque manner. She even thought she saw uncertainty flicker across his face.

  Then Chloe caught the direction of her thoughts. When had Declan ever been uncertain? He didn’t need an apologist. His actions spoke louder than words.