'How do you know me so well?' she gasped.
The corner of his mouth twitched. `I don't I'm learning all the time.'
He made that sound so nice that Yancie was near to crumbling as he slowed the car and steered it up the drive to his house. That, she felt, as he pulled up at his door, had to be the most terrific drive of her life. The trouble was that she didn't want to part from him-yet had absolutely no reason to linger.
Yancie quickly pulled herself together. Good grief, they'd just been talking of pridehad she none where he was concerned? Acting on the moment, as Thomson started to come round to the passenger's door, she quickly got out and pinned a bright smile on her face.
'Thanks for the loan of the jacket!' she said cheerfully, taking it off and handing it to him-at once feeling in danger of getting frostbite as the cold night air nipped.
Thomson looked at her-five feet eight, slender and totally feminine. 'You'll be all right driving on your own at this hour?'
She looked back at him and sorely needed some backbone-she was in danger of melting. `You'll have to watch that, Wakefield,' she jibed. `Your gentlemanly streak is showing!'
He studied her. `Are you always looking for trouble?' he asked good-humouredly.
'It always seems to find me without me having to look for it especially,' she laughed-and then, as the cold night bit, she shivered-and Thomson took decisive action.
'You can't go home like that. You'd better come in; I'll get you a sweater.'
'I wouldn't dream…' She was talking to herself. He was already unlocking the door to his house, and he still had the car keys. `You don't have to…' she protested anyway, following him in. `Once I'm inside the car's heater will… '
'You've next to nothing on.' He closed the door behind her, and was totally intransigent. `With those bitty shoulder straps you're all bare arms and bare chest.'
'Thanks,' she said sniffily.
And suddenly he seemed to relent. From being several paces away from her he all at once came back to her.
'Give way, Yancie,' he said softly, and at his tone she was melting again. 'I'm not happy about your driving through London, stopping at traffic lights, dressed as you are.'
Because I'm an employee and you don't want the responsibility of someone opening a car door and getting in beside me? Just because I'm an employee? 'I'll lock myself in,' she said.
'Of course you will,' he answered. But instructed, `Wait there.'
She didn't, of course. Though she didn't go far. She watched him go up the curving staircase and then, her mind on him more than what she was doing, she wandered off to the room she had been in before-his drawing room.
Thomson did not keep her waiting but returned in no time, carrying a blue cashmere sweater which he handed to her. 'I'll take the very best care of it,' she promised solemnly and again knew the greatest reluctance to leave-heaven alone knew when, if ever, she might see him again. `Goodnight, then,' she said.
'Put the sweater on,' he said.
'Oh! Right!' she answered, though instead of putting it on-and she just couldn't believe it-she actually heard herself say, `You realise, of course, that you've done me out of my goodnight kiss?' Had she said that? Had she actually said those words? Had she really invited Thomson to kiss her? Was she so starved of love that she had to beg?
She wanted to apologise, to run-oh, heaven help her, Thomson was looking at her as if he couldn't believe his hearing either! Yancie could have wept from the embarrassment of it. But Thomson was coming nearer and there was suddenly a glint in his eyes which she was a little unsure about.
And while she stood there staring, wanting her words back, he calmly took the sweater out of her hands and dropped it on the back of a chair, remarking, `I find it quite astounding, Yancie Dawkins, that you're still a virgin.'
'L…' she tried, but her voice died in her throat as he came that little bit closer-but she no longer wanted to run because, while giving her all the time in the world to do just that if she so wished, Thomson was reaching for her.
He looked down into her wide blue eyes and, when she had no other comment to make, he gently pulled her closer to him. As his head came down, Yancie closed her eyes, her heart giving a great quivering sigh of gladness when his sensational mouth touched hers.
It wasn't a brief touch of his lips to hers, but was firm as well as gentle, and her legs went weak. Involuntarily, her hands went to his waist, and she held onto him. He was warm and wonderful and he held her to him and, as gently as it had begun, his kiss ended.
Thomson pulled back, and Yancie stared up at him. `That was's-some goodnight kiss,' she murmured huskily, and knew she should let go of him and get out of there. But she didn't want to go and, since Thomson still had his arms around her, it didn't look as if he wanted her to go either.
In fact, he was still looking warmly down into her upturned face when he enquired softly, `I don't suppose you'd care for another?'
Yancie smiled dreamily up at him, and if that wasn't enough of an answer she moved her hands from merely holding his waist, and put her arms around him. And, as she had known, Thomson was quicker than most on the uptake. The next she knew was that his mouth was capturing hers, and he was kissing her again, only this time it was a little different.
And since she was fully cooperating, giving him kiss for kiss, his mouth ceased merely giving but sought and took, and Yancie held tightly onto him. She had been kissed before, but there had always been a shut-off point, a so far but no further point. But, as Thomson's kisses deepened, so that invisible barrier was reached, and as he took her with him to one of the sofas in the room, so as new and exciting emotions started to rock her, her shut-off point was sublimely passed with Yancie being completely unaware of it.
All she was aware of as Thomson trailed kisses down her throat and over her shoulders was that this was the salve she needed to the loneliness of spirit she had endured each day that she had not seen him.
Then somehow she was on the wide sofa with him, Thomson half lying over her. He raised his head and looked into her warm, inviting eyes. `You're so lovely, Yancie,' he murmured, `so beautiful,' and again he kissed her, his long, sensitive fingers caressing her shoulders, brushing aside the fine shoulder straps of her dress, and Yancie wanted to be beautiful-for him.
But, even while she knew that she was willing to go wherever he led, suddenly, when gently, sensitively his hand caressed down to her breast, and she felt his warmth as he teased the hard pink tip, and she became aware that his intimate touch was on the inside and not outside of her dress, some unwanted kind of hesitancy started to stir in her which she did not want to stir.
To defy it, she held onto him, and, when he raised his head again, she kissed him. And would deny him nothing when he lowered his head once more and kissed her naked breast, taking its aroused pink apex into his mouth, causing her to clutch him from the pure pleasure of it.
To say no was nowhere in her mind. How could she say no, when she didn't want to say no? Why should she say no? She loved him what else mattered?
But something did matter, and she hated that it did, be it her inner convictions grown over the years, or the knowledge that this love she bore for Thomson was so utterly one-sided; she was too emotionally involved to be able to sort out what.
All she knew just then was that, while she wanted to continue to be held by Thomson, while she was aching to continue to make love with him, she couldn't-something was holding her back.
She felt his hand on her thigh. `Thomson,' she cried, and she guessed he must have picked up that something in her cry that wasn't yes, yes, yes, because his hand stilled, moved from her thigh, and came up to her chin.
'Yancie?' he queried, propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at her.
'Oh, Thomson,' she lamented, `I know I'm giving you all the-er-f-full-speed-ahead's-signals, but…'
She had no need to go on; she knew that as soon as he began to straighten her shoulder straps-and that was before he to
ok up, `But you're not sure.'
He didn't add anything, but sat up, moving her to sit up. And, once sitting beside him, while with most of her she wanted to lie down with him again, to feel again the warmth of his embrace, there was that part of her that still said no.
'I'm sorry,' she said, starting to feel absolutely dreadful, particularly as Thomson was taking this halt to the proceedings so extremely well. `I d-don't suppose this has ever happened to you before.'
He smiled then, and she felt as if her heart would burst with the love she had for him when he gently tapped her on the nose, and dryly commented, `With you, Yancie, I'm learning it's wise to expect the unexpected.' And, while finding herself in such strange territory she had no clue to what she should do next, he stood up and went and collected the blue sweater from the chair. `Come on,' he instructed. `If you go now you might manage to get in a couple of hours' sleep before you have to get up again.'
Yancie left the sofa, and obediently pulled the sweater down over her head. 'I'm sorry,' she repeated as Thomson went with her to the front door.
'You're all right to drive?' he questioned.
'Yes, fine,' she answered, and as he unlocked the car and handed her the key she found that, away from the sofa, away from the drawing room, the house, the cold night air had some small sobering effect. She looked up at him, some tiny portion of her equilibrium restored. `Goodnight, Mr Wakefield, sir,' she managed lightly, and as he looked down at her she promptly had her equilibrium shattered when he bent and saluted her mouth with his own.
Then abruptly he stood back. `Go home,' he ordered her sternly-and Yancie went.
CHAPTER SIX
YANCIE recalled Thomson's sternly voiced `Go home' many times in the days that followed. And the more she thought about it, the more she began to wonder, rather lovingly, it had to be admitted, if his sternness had stemmed from him being more affected by their lovemaking, by that final kiss, than he was showing; more affected than he wanted her to see?
It was wishful thinking, she decided, when all days merged into one and she didn't so much as get a glimpse of him. If Thomson had been anywhere at all affected-perhaps more than was normal when male biological urges were let off the leash for a little while-then he had a peculiar way of showing it. She knew darn well he was in business, and that from time to time he'd call for a driver. But did he ever call on her to drive him? Did he blazes!
Unhappily, Yancie was discovering the very hard fact that being in love was painful. Being in love left her open to all manner of hurts and imagined slights. She had tried to deny that she had fallen in love with the brute, but that denial hadn't taken long to come and trip her up. She had known for sure how she felt about him on Saturday night. He'd taken off his jacket and wrapped it around her-and she'd known. It was just there, her love for him. And it was no good hoping it would just as swiftly go away again, because it just wouldn't, and no amount of wishing would make it.
She had fallen in love with Thomson, and she could do nothing to change that fact. Though, having fallen in love, she instinctively knew that he was the only man she wanted to be with. She just knew she would feel tremendously outraged should any other man attempt to kiss her in the way that he had done.
This self-knowledge brought her enormous relief. Because not only had she discovered that she had all the same natural wanting emotions of any other woman in love; Yancie now knew that she no longer had any need to fear she was like her flighty, fickle-hearted mother, or either of her aunts. Yancie realised that she had feared needlessly in those years of guarding against being like her mother. She was nothing like her in that fast and loose respect. Yancie knew then that she was not in the least permissive, nor ever likely to be. While she had truly wanted Thomson, her wanting was all part of her being so totally heart and soul in love with him.
But, while she was truly in love with him, she would not fully give of herself easily, but only when the time was right. And the time hadn't been right last Saturday, she now realised. She started to cringe at her intimation that, because he'd turned up at the party, she'd had to leave early, thereby depriving herself of a goodnight kiss from her escort. Oh, how could she have invited Thomson to do the honours instead?
It was that invitation that had instigated their lovemaking, and from which had come her recent awareness of her love for him-and her need for the solace of his arms.
Yes, even then she'd felt starved of lovehis love. Her love for him had been growing in her all the while. But-and that was the crux of the matter-Thomson did not love her.
Making love with him would mean everything to her-but absolutely nothing to him.
But, throughout her present despond, Yancie found that life went on. She had delivered Douglas Clements to the airport on time. Matthew Grant, obviously having obtained her address from Greville, had sent her `Thank You' flowers, so presumably all was well again with him and his ex. Fennia's mother wasn't any more friendly to her daughter, and Astra was working as hard as ever.
Like somebody else I know, Yancie sighed, wondering how much more of what she saw as being ostracised by Thomson Wakefield she could take. She didn't know what else she could call it but ostracism, she mused unhappily when she went into work on Friday morning. He hadn't asked for her to drive him anywhere-she might just not exist so far as he was concerned.
Pride at that moment came to her aid. Well, bubbles to him. She didn't care. If he asked her to drive him now she jolly well wouldn't. Ralph had phoned only last night practically begging her to go home-Estelle had upset the housekeeper and the housekeeper had walked out. Ralph had said if she was still too upset to accept her allowance then he would pay her to do his housekeeping, but, whether she took over that role or not, he wanted her home. So there, Mr lordly Thomson Wakefield-I can easily get another job if I want to.
She looked up from some paperwork she was completing-everybody had to fill in forms, apparently-to see Kevin Veasey heading her way. She pinned a smile on her face. `How do you feel about a trip to Manchester?' he asked.
'Love to,' she answered; she had intended to do a little household shopping in her lunch hour, but she could as easily do it tomorrow.
'You won't be back till late,' he warned.
'No problem,' she smiled. `Who's my passenger?"
'Mr Wakefield,' he replied, and while Yancie felt a roaring in her ears as her heart went into thunderous overdrive he added, if you'll explain to him that Frank's wife has started to have her baby a month early…'
'Frank was going to drive him?'
'Nothing personal,' Kevin smiled. `Frank was going to come in late because this trip means getting back late, but he's just phoned in. You'd better get off now, if you wouldn't mind.'
She should have minded. If her pride hadn't chosen that moment to go into hiding, what she should have done-knowing full well that all the other drivers were out on other assignments, and that she was the only one available-was to tell Kevin Veasey that she was leaving, as of now, to take up another job. But so much for her proud determination that she wouldn't jolly well drive Thomson Wakefield again, even if he asked her. What she did say to Kevin was, `May I take the Jag?'
It was another miserable, murky day, yet for Yancie, as she pulled up the Jaguar outside Thomson's house, the sun was shining. She'd missed him so much, and hadn't seen him since the very early hours of last Sunday morning when he'd stood on this same drive with her and told her to `Go home'.
Her heart was pounding against her ribs and she felt nervous suddenly, torn between a desire to stay exactly where she was in the car until he came out looking for his driver, and wanting to go and knock on his door the sooner to see him.
Be professional, she urged, and left the car to go and report that his driver was here. At his door she raised the heavy knocker and clouted the striking plate with it. She swallowed hard as she waited, issuing useless instructions to her brain not to make her face go crimson when she saw him again.
The door opened-but it wasn
't him. A tall, angular woman of about sixty who looked as if she'd been on a diet of vinegar and lemons-no prizes for guessing whose mother she was-looked her over. And, obviously recognising the brown suit and beige shirt for the uniform that it was, complete with the name badge identifying Yancie as working for the Addison Kirk group, she ordered arrogantly, `Wait in the car! My son will be with you presently.' And, with that, she closed the door.
Well! Even Thomson had had the manners to invite her in and to go and get a cup of coffee, Yancie fumed, in two minds about getting in the Jaguar and driving it straight back to the transport section again.
She didn't, however-her need to see Thomson overrode that-but some form of protest was needed. She took off her name badge and tossed it into a pyracantha shrub growing against a wall.
Perhaps the old trout improved with knowing, Yancie mused as she waited. She recalled how Thomson had seemed a sour individual too when she had first known him. And then she'd heard him laugh, seen him laugh, seen how laughter lightened him, made him…
Yancie snapped out of it. If she went on like this she'd be a drooling wreck by the time he appeared. She picked up the car phone and dialled. Astra was working from home that morning. `Hello, it's me,' she said when her cousin answered. `Just ringing to say I'll be late home tonight,' she went on, and Astra, for once giving work a rest for a few minutes, seemed ready for a chat.
Yancie was still on the phone when the door of the house opened, and briefcase in hand, Thomson came out. Hot colour seared her skin, she turned her head so he shouldn't see, and concentrated hard on keeping her voice even as she started to wind up her call.
Thomson was in the car, the door snapped to, before she'd finished. 'I'll see you when I get back,' she said down the phone, her eyes meeting his in the rear-view mirror-he didn't look as if he'd got out of bed on the sunny side, a glare of impatience her reward for dropping everything to come and get him-even if she was paid to do it! `Manchester beckons,' she said light-heartedly to her cousin-well, she'd be darned if she'd let him know how ridiculously out of sorts just one frown from him could make her. `Bye,' she smiled down the phone to Astra, and, replacing the phone, she kept her smile in place as, `Good morning,' she greeted her employer.
The Feisty Fiancée Page 10