by Marsh, Susan
The visit must have been a bit too exciting, because although Gran joked about her frailty, there was a bluish tinge around her mouth and she had to take a few puffs of her oxygen. And after they’d said goodbye, before Cate left she glanced back into the ward and saw with a fearful pang that her grandmother looked dreadfully tired and pale. The heart-stopping thought struck her that Gran was sinking.
She could die before her operation.
She managed to make it back to Tom’s in time for the concert. She sat beside him in the fifth row of the Recital Hall in Angel Place, thrilling to the music and the gorgeous man, enjoying the occasional brush of his sleeve on her arm. Afterwards he took her to a small Italian restaurant in Paddington, but they didn’t linger long. They wolfed their food and drove home, replete with their fill of music and drunk on the desire flowing between them. And, as though possessed with an insatiable hunger, Tom made passionate love to her until their lips were bruised and their bodies aching for sleep.
They didn’t go to the farm on Sunday. There wasn’t time. And she didn’t go back to her place. She stayed and made love with Tom. And when Monday rolled around, she walked down to the Quay and caught the bus to work, just as if she weren’t living with a billionaire.
Every day after that became a mad tightrope act between work, Gran and rushing home to Tom, sometimes twice in the day. Tom would call her at work, or wherever Harry had sent her, to meet him for a stolen, frantic hour of passion and she was always so excited, so energised by her romantic double life, she couldn’t resist.
‘I’m downstairs,’ he’d murmur from the car, ‘Quick. I want to touch you.’
She knew she was risking discovery by her colleagues, but the risk made the pleasure all the more exhilarating. She’d slip from her building and run to the nearby sidestreet where he waited, double-parked, to speed her back to the hotel for love.
And it was love, on her side. Once she’d half acknowledged it to herself she’d plunged deeply into that thrilling, treacherous sea. On Tom’s side she couldn’t be sure. She had a dim understanding that his passion for her was bound up with the extraordinary circumstances of that first night. A small, fearful part of her suspected it could evaporate as suddenly as it had appeared. Her heart was suspended in a joyous, tingling trance, and she had a battle to keep her battered old hopes and dreams locked in their cave.
‘Maybe we should stretch out the time between bouts,’ she said one lunch hour, lying naked in his powerful arms in the dreamy haze of afterglow. ‘Maybe we’ll burn ourselves out.’
‘I’ll never stop burning for you,’ he said instantly, his voice thick and fierce. ‘I’ll never have enough of you.’
Was that a promise? She wished she dared to ask. At work, she couldn’t wait for the evenings. She’d catch the train, fulfil her commitment to Gran, and rush back to Tom’s before he arrived home. The giddy days flew by so fast, her secret was so fantastic, she was afraid to stop and question where it was heading. His passion for her was real. Let that be enough.
When Tom was away from her, he felt as though his all-consuming desire had somehow liberated something in his brain. He found himself questioning just how much of his empire he really wanted to keep. Some of his father’s holdings he’d never personally liked, and he made some ruthless judgements about unloading them. He negotiated discreet sales of the yacht, several overseas properties and embarked on a deal to release the hotel chain. At the same time he put everything in train for the merger needed to grease the wheels of his media company. But always at the edge of his mind was the knowledge that Cate Summerfield was at home, her lusciousness his for the taking, waiting for him to bury himself in her silken warmth.
Well, usually she was.
Sometimes on week-nights she was delayed. She made no explanation, and it wasn’t his right to question her, but he wondered.
Late one Saturday afternoon he arrived back from some negotiations to find her on her way out.
‘Gran,’ she explained after a small hesitation.
‘I’ll drive you. Isn’t it time I meet the family?’ He was only half serious, but though she made a laughing refusal he thought he glimpsed in her eyes a fleeting alarm. He supposed she was visiting her grandmother. Where else would she be going?
He listened sometimes for news of that guy. She spoke of her other colleagues after her day’s work, but never mentioned him. He wondered why that was, because he knew she saw the guy. He’d seen them coming out of her building together one lunch time when he’d driven around there with the intention of snatching a stolen hour with her. They’d strolled along talking for a few minutes, then the guy had walked off in another direction.
Cate was thrilled when Tom casually suggested a trip up to his farm. She’d sensed how close the farm was to his heart. Surely it must mean something, that he was prepared to share this part of his life with her. They left very early on a Sunday morning, driving north along the Pacific Highway, then west to wend their way through the farms and vineyards of the Hunter Valley. Eventually Tom turned the car into a long avenue of tall poplars. Behind miles of wooden fencing, Cate saw horses grazing the green pastures.
Tom’s farm was no small holding. It was an extensive horse stud, nestled in a lush valley between the Hunter River and the foothills of the purple mountains.
Pancakes and coffee awaited them on the veranda of the rambling homestead, then Tom drove her all over in a big SUV, and showed her the thoroughbred mares waiting for their mates to be flown in from around the world. Wherever they stopped the Jeep, horses trotted over to the fence, jostling to push their noses in through her open window for a pat, their dark liquid eyes warm and inquisitive. In the home paddock newborn foals tottered after their mothers on spindly legs. Cate was enchanted.
She could see how Tom kept his lean, bronzed fitness. He looked at home there. In his jeans and tee-shirt, discussing farm business with his manager, or sitting easily astride his own big stallion on a ride to visit the head vet, while Cate clung nervously to the sweet-natured mare provided for her, it was clear he was in frequent residence at the farm.
Lunch was a picnic with Tom’s manager and his wife and children on the bank of a pebbly creek. Tom sent all the kids scouting for twigs and branches while he built a small campfire, and to Cate’s awestruck amazement he boiled the billy for tea. There were sandwiches packed by the cook, fruit cake and sweet juicy mandarins, washed down with the strong black bushman’s brew.
It was a pleasant, good-humoured event. After they’d eaten, conversing drowsily in the early afternoon heat, the last curls of blue smoke drifting around them, Tom leaned back against a log and pulled Cate against him. She could have stayed there for ever beside the creek, listening to the stories about Tom’s boyhood experiences at the farm, enjoying the lazy laughter, Tom’s jaw grazing her forehead, her hand relaxed on his muscular thigh. She imagined with pleasant torment how it might have been if they’d been alone there in the shade. Would his hand have strayed beneath the waistband of her jeans? Would they have made love on the leaf-strewn grass?
He murmured to her, his voice husky, and she knew he was thinking the same thing. ‘Did you know your hair smells of mandarin?’
When the shadows started to lengthen, they all strolled back to the house, Tom holding her hand. After the others had gone, he put his arms around her. ‘What a torture that was. They’re such great people, but all I ever want is to have you to myself.’
Her heart thrilled to the words. ‘Ditto.’
She’d never felt more at one with him. This was love. Surely it was love.
She pressed herself against him, her arms tight around him. ‘Oh, it’s been such a gorgeous day. I never want it to end. But it has to, I’m afraid.’ Her regret welled up in her voice. ‘What a shame we have to go home.’
He relaxed his hold and smiled down at her. ‘We don’t have to yet. Wouldn’t you like to stay tonight? It’s always so pleasant here. And it’s still chilly enough for a fire in the evenings.’ He dr
ew her close and murmured in her ear, his deep voice velvet and seductive. ‘I haven’t seen you by firelight yet. We’ll have some dinner, tell each other the stories of our lives—if we have time, of course—keep each other warm in that big old four-poster, and get up with the birds to drive back early in the morning. You haven’t experienced this place unless you’ve seen it at birdsong.’
Pressed into his hard body, imprisoned by his long muscled limbs, his masculine scent arousing her senses with its faint infusion of woodsmoke, she was sorely tempted. Imagining the night in his arms in that heavenly-looking bed made her veins flow with yearning. ‘I’d love to, honestly. But I can’t. I have to … there’s something I’ve promised to do.’
There was a sudden tension in the big frame holding her. But he spoke easily. ‘Ah. Someone you have to meet?’
She hesitated. ‘Well, yes. My grandmother.’
He held her away from him, scanning her face with a narrowed gaze. ‘But—didn’t you say you saw her yesterday? Wouldn’t she understand if you phoned to let her know?’
There was an inflection in his voice, and she knew she must sound like a bore. For a moment she even considered his suggestion. She supposed she could phone Autumn Leaves. Beg one of the busy staff to find the time for Gran. Except …
‘No. No, I promised.’ His frown deepened, and she drew away from him, adding in a small, remorseful voice, ‘Honestly. She isn’t very well. I do need to see her.’
‘I see.’ He gave a light shrug. ‘Well, then. In that case, we’d better be on our way.’
On the trip back, Tom tried to concentrate all his attention on the driving. But he was only human. He still had a brain, despite his insatiable, never-ending desire, and it would have been insane of him not to at least weigh up the evidence.
He asked her a few searching questions about her grandmother’s health, and her answers were plausible. Very plausible. It all fitted. A warm, generous woman like Cate would visit her ailing grandmother every day. And she’d already proven herself to be as straight as a die. Why else would she have come back that first Friday evening? And when he thought of the fantastic, intense connection, the transforming passion …
It had to mean as much to her. She couldn’t be faking it.
Although … women did.
He glanced at her. She turned her head and met his gaze with an anxiety that made his chest pang.
‘You’re disappointed. You’re not angry with me, are you?’
‘No, no. Not at all,’ he said warmly. And he wasn’t. Not angry, anyway. Disappointed …? Perhaps. He was loath to return to the harsh reality of the working week.
He had no right to doubt her, like some obsessed Othello. If she hadn’t been a reporter … If he hadn’t seen her that fateful night, talking to that little guy who went after stories like a fox terrier … the guy she’d been involved with.
A heaviness invaded his heart. In spite of himself, he had to ask the unaskable question. Had been involved with him, or still was?
He glanced at her profile. She was chewing her lower lip, her hands twisting in her lap. Worrying about her gran. Or …? His gut tightened. Was she in fact wondering how to get rid of him so she could safely meet her accomplice? Her—the word speared him—lover?
He pushed the thought away. It was pure paranoia. Just because once or twice …
Forget it. In a very short time she’d be proving him wrong and directing him to her grandmother’s front door. If she didn’t, if she evaded that, he’d have to really start wondering.
Almost without him noticing it, they reached the city. The machine purred through the outskirts with its legendary smoothness. As they cruised through the northern suburbs she said suddenly, ‘If you could just drop me off at my place, Tom, I’ll catch a taxi over to Gran’s from there.’
His insides clenched like a fist. Here it was. As far as he knew she hadn’t been home to her boarding house for weeks, so why would she need to go now?
Though his lungs were in a stranglehold, he kept his voice smooth enough. ‘Your place? Wouldn’t it be easier for me to drive you to your grandmother’s?’
She hesitated, then gave him one of those clear, straight glances. ‘There’s a few things I need to pick up. Then I might freshen up and change, and … Well, I—I need to see Gran on my own. You understand.’
‘Yes,’ he said drily. ‘I think I do.’ The words tasted like bile on his tongue.
He drew up at the Lady Musgrave, and turned his mocking gaze on her. Unaware of the vice gripping his chest, she leaned over and pressed her lips to his. Why did the kiss of betrayal always taste sweetest of all? Swiftly she opened her door and got out.
He gripped the wheel, anger and some other nameless emotion churning in his chest, then without another glance at her drove on up the street to the roundabout. He was forced to wait there several minutes, his fingers drumming the wheel as he pictured her running upstairs to wash off all traces of him before stepping into her lover’s arms. When he eventually drove back he was in time to see her climb into a cab.
Contrary to what she’d told him, she’d made no attempt to change her clothes. Too urgent to get there. A grim feeling of inevitability gripped him. One way or the other, he had to know.
He slowed to allow enough distance, then followed the taxi.
In her anxiety to see Gran, Cate nearly ran through Reception, down the hall and into the ward. Gran was sitting up doing a cryptic crossword, her earphones on so she didn’t have to listen to constant replays of mall music. When she saw Cate her face lit up, as always. Cate kissed her, then sat on the steel chair and examined her closely.
Gran had news. She’d been informed that her number had come up at last and her operation was slated for some time in the next month. Cate was listening to the details with mixed feelings when she noticed a tall shadow in the periphery of her gaze. She looked over at the ward entrance and her lungs nearly froze with shock. Tom was standing there, scanning the ward.
After a moment’s stunned immobility, she sprang up from her chair and flew across the room, threading her way around the beds and the small scattering of faithful Sunday visitors. Tom smiled when he saw her, but before he could speak she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the hall.
‘You can’t come here,’ she muttered urgently. ‘You mustn’t be here.’
His black brows shot up. Surprise registered in his eyes. ‘I mustn’t?’
‘No. Please leave, Tom. Now. Right now.’ She gave him a sharp little push, anything to get him out of Gran’s view.
Involuntarily, Tom fell back a few paces. He spread his hands. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to … but there’s something I want to …’
‘Just leave, will you?’ Cate glanced back to see if he was still in Gran’s line of vision. ‘I don’t think she saw you, but that doesn’t mean someone else won’t. Just go now. I’ll … we’ll talk later.’
He’d moved beyond the entrance to the ward, and she tried pushing him further, but met the implacable resistance of a body larger and more solid than hers. She gathered her strength for a greater effort, but he grabbed her arms and held her still.
‘Don’t push.’ His voice, though gentle, held steel. ‘It’s too late. She has seen me. I think now you’ll just have to introduce me.’
Alarmed, she just blurted what came into her head. ‘Absolutely not. Her health is fragile. I have to be very, very careful who I bring here.’
The stunned look in his eyes sent a rush of remorse to her heart, but in a matter of life and death she knew what she had to do.
She glanced about her as people came and went, aware she and Tom were attracting curious glances. Panic gripped her. ‘Please,’ she begged, gasping for breath as if she’d been in a race. ‘It would worry her if she thought I was with—’
His eyes glinted. ‘Me.’
He said it so quietly she flushed.
Realising at last that she was causing damage here, she caught his hand. ‘Tom,’ she said
, her voice strained with distress, ‘can we please go outside?’
Outside, they faced each other in the light from the windows. Tom’s lean face was serious and unsmiling. In desperation to explain before disaster became irrevocable, she scrabbled for the words.
‘I’m sorry, Tom, so—so sorry.’ She placed a hand on his arm in supplication. ‘You see, Gran’s heart is unable to sustain a shock. That’s why she has to stay here while she waits for her operation. And if she thought I was seeing you—’ A thought struck her. ‘How did you know I was here?’
He didn’t reply and she stared at him, uncomprehending for several seconds. Then she understood. ‘You followed me.’
A flush darkened his cheeks, but he met her gaze steadily. ‘I wanted to see where your grandmother lived.’
For a second she gazed at him in a haze of confusion, then the obvious burst upon her. ‘You thought I was lying.’ He didn’t reply, and as full comprehension dawned she opened her eyes wide. ‘You thought I was meeting someone.’
His grey gaze met hers and slid away. ‘I—it seemed a possibility.’
She stared at him in amazement. Barely aware of its origins, she felt pain slice through her. Her lips hardly seemed able to form the words. ‘But how could you, after—?’
Images crowded in on her. Their first night. All the times they’d made love, the things they’d said to each other, the tenderness, her passion for him. What had it all meant? She made a helpless, inarticulate gesture. ‘So what did you think?’ Her voice trembled. ‘That I run from your arms to someone else’s? I sleep with you so I must be a slut?’
He winced. ‘Of course I don’t think that.’
‘But that must be what you think.’ Tears sprang into her eyes. The unbearable implication seeped through her brain and solidified into an ice cold certainty. There was no way he could love her, if he thought about her in such a way.
Her voice grew hoarse. ‘Have you been thinking this all along? Is it because I’m a blonde? An easy screw?’
His eyes flared and he gripped her shoulders. ‘Don’t talk like that.’