by Pia Tremayne
“I had an excellent ride,” she said. “And, I met our new neighbor. In fact, we rode together.” She watched Emma’s face closely, looking for some telltale sign of something that might indicate she had given Antonio more than a passing thought, but Emma only seemed genuinely pleased.
“He seems very nice, as far as I can tell.”
“You know, Em, I have an idea,” she said. “I think he’s going to be spending Christmas alone. He’ll be calling any minute now to make sure I got home safely. Why don’t we invite him to have Christmas dinner with us?”
“What a nice idea. I should have thought of it myself. It can’t be much fun for him, alone in that big place all the time.”
“Well, so are you,” Nicola pointed out.
“Touché.” Emma laughed. “But somehow, with all there is to do around here and getting on with my writing in my spare time, most of the time I’m just happy I don’t have any other distractions.”
“Well, while you’re becoming a famous novelist, there’s no harm in a little fun,” Nicola said wisely. “You know what they say about all work…” She broke off as the telephone shrilled.
“That’ll be him. You get it, Em. And ask him over for dinner tomorrow. Tell him it’ll only be us three so we’re not doing anything fancy. Go on,” she urged.
She eavesdropped shamelessly, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, listening to Em reassure Antonio that yes, Nicola had arrived home without mishap. She held her breath when Emma tendered the invitation to Christmas dinner and was relieved when it became obvious that Antonio had accepted.
“Well, it looks as though there’ll be three of us for Christmas dinner,” Emma remarked as she hung up the phone.
“I’ll help you,” Nicola offered quickly.
“Oh pooh,” Emma said. “It’s just as easy to cook for two as for three, four or five. Just do what you always do,” she said smiling. “Perch yourself on the counter and help yourself to everything while you engage me in conversation so I don’t notice what you’re up to.”
Both girls laughed aloud.
“Was I so obvious?” Nicola said, still grinning.
“Not to Mum and Dad,” Em said, smiling. She gave Nicola a hug, seeing her smile falter for a minute. “No sad thoughts, Nicki,” she said softly. “Mum and Dad wouldn’t have wanted it. Now go take your shower and get changed. Dinner’s waiting, and after that, we’ll put the tree up.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
They spent Christmas Eve quietly. There really wasn’t that much to do. Their faithful servant Alberta had left the house spotlessly clean before departing to spend Christmas with her family. Alberta depended on that job to make ends meet so despite their own very precarious financial situation, Emma had decided to keep her on.
By the time Christmas Day rolled around, both of them were genuinely looking forward to Antonio’s company. He arrived almost hidden behind a massive bouquet of flowers and an enormous box of chocolates, apologizing profusely for being so unoriginal.
“Don’t be silly,” Emma said. “The flowers are beautiful and both of us love chocolate. I wish we had something for you,” she ended, somewhat wistfully.
“But you have. You have given me the pleasure of your company and saved me from being completely alone on Christmas Day,” he said with a charming smile.
After dinner, which was quite a success, the three of them pitched in to tidy up the kitchen and went to sit on the veranda, watching the mountains fade from dark green to indigo to black as night descended with its customary tropical abruptness. Antonio, sitting across from her, scrutinized Nicola’s face covertly, noting the unmistakable sadness that seemed to linger in the depths of her eyes. His intuition told him she had a lover, and he wondered if that was what was making her sad. The man must be a complete idiot. She was so gorgeous.
“A penny for your thoughts, Nicola,” he said.
“Oh, I wish they were worth even that,” she replied. Something caught in her voice and made him look at her even more attentively.
“Don’t, Nicola,” Emma said. “Let’s just enjoy Christmas Day.”
She couldn’t help it. She felt so responsible, and so helpless to prevent what might happen. In two days she would be visiting the loan officer at the finance company again, and unless she could pull some rabbit out of a hat, they were finished. This might be their last Christmas Day in this house, on this land, unless she slept with him. Just the thought of it made her shudder. Even if she had never met Anthony, that was never going to happen. As if she could even bear the touch of anyone after Anthony. There had to be another way to save her inheritance. She propped her elbow on the arm of the rocker and rested her forehead against the palm of her hand. Emma looked distressed.
“There is something wrong,” Antonio blurted out. “Please tell me what it is.”
Nicola shook her head and Emma remained silent.
“Nicola, Emma,” said Antonio. “Forgive me for being so presumptuous, but I so desperately want to be your friend. If there is a problem nothing would make me happier than to try to help you to find a solution.”
Nicola raised her head and looked at him, and he knew the suspicious brightness in her eyes wasn’t moonshine.
“Thanks, Antonio,” she said gently. “We appreciate that, we really do. But this is something we have to work out for ourselves.”
He found her use of the word we significant. It signaled to him that whatever the problem was, it concerned both of them, not just Nicola. Ergo, not a lovers’ quarrel. He felt relieved. It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be sickness. Both girls looked extraordinarily healthy. There was only one other problem that had the capacity to create so much worry, so much fear—money, the lack of it. Rumor had it that Edgertons would soon go under. Most of their workers were now his employees. It wasn’t too hard to figure out.
“Nicola, Emma,” he said again. “You will want to throw me out of your house for my presumptions about your affairs, but before you do, I want you to know that if it is a question of money, I would be very glad to help.”
Both girls jumped as though they had been shot at, looking at him with mortified expressions.
“No, no,” Emma said hastily. “We wouldn’t think of it. It’s very kind of you to offer, but no.” But Nicola was now regarding him attentively.
“But why not?’ he asked, sounding baffled. “It is the way of life. I am not speaking of a gift, or of charity. It can simply be a business matter between ourselves. A private note. It is no different from approaching the bank when you need money. Think of it in this way. One way or the other, I assume you will owe money to someone, somewhere. Why not to me?”
“I’m afraid we are talking about quite a lot of money, Antonio,” Nicola said in a small voice. Her eyes went to Emma’s troubled face and then returned to Antonio.
“Just tell me the amount and I will draw up the note and deliver it to you tomorrow,” he replied.
“It’s almost seven million Jamaica dollars,” Nicola said.
“You will have the check and the note tomorrow. I will bring it to you myself,” he said instantly. “The matter is closed.”
Nicola went to bed that night feeling as though a giant weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Unfortunately, it didn’t have the same effect on her heart, and in spite of her resolution to bury her feelings for Anthony in the deepest recesses of her soul, she lay awake, thinking of him, wondering what he was doing. Had he spent Christmas alone or with someone? Was he in bed right now, with that person? The thought knotted her stomach, and she curled over, hugging her pillow, feeling something leaking in her chest, as though her heart had just been nicked with a razor and the blood was dripping out of it, drop by tortured drop.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Just around that time, but in a different time zone, Anthony was lying in bed in his Hampshire manor, staring at the ceiling. It was almost six in the morning on Boxing Day. Christmas Day had come and gone. He had spent it with the Brankso
mes, as he had done since both his parents had passed on. Marcus Branksome was an old college chum from Oxford and the two of them had sown some very wild oats before Marco had met and fallen in love with Clara. Now he was a settled and very happily married man with two kids, and seeing him like that, Anthony had been intensely aware of how empty his own life had become. He hadn’t much felt like socializing, but being alone in the house on Christmas Day, with nothing to do but think of Nicola, would have driven him mad, just as it was doing now.
On Christmas Eve he had received a preliminary report from the agency he had hired to check out Nicola Edgerton. He knew now that her parents had been killed in a plane crash in Jamaica earlier in year and that she was there now, having left London three days ago. But the most surprising piece of information was that her London address was one he knew very well indeed—Henrietta Colefax’s. She lived with Henrietta Colefax! How had that come about? He couldn’t ask Henrietta, because she would know he had been checking up on Nicola. The only person who could tell him that was Nicola herself, when or if she came back from Jamaica. But he had driven her away. There was no reason why she would want to see him even if she did come back. He had severed their connection, so he would have to be the one to reestablish it, even if it meant going to Jamaica to find her.
But first, he would wait for another report. He had instructed the agency to track her down, authorizing it to send agents to Jamaica to find out as much about her as possible. At least he knew where she was. But not knowing what she was doing there, or with whom, was torture.
Last night when he came back from the Branksomes he had drunk two double scotches to ensure he would be incapable of thinking too much and had fallen asleep heavily. But now he was wide awake. He breathed deeply, giving in to the thoughts of her that he had been holding at bay for what seemed like forever. He could taste her on his tongue, smell the intimate scent of her as clearly as if she were lying next to him. His cock was suddenly rock hard, and he reached down to massage the ache. The image of her face, contorted with passion as she approached her orgasm, and of him thrusting, hot and hard, until his seed spurted into her, blotted out everything else from his mind. He wanted her, needed her, needed to fuck her until she cried out his name. His massaging changed to quick, urgent strokes, and suddenly with a loud expletive, he got up and headed for the bathroom. He leaned over the tank against the wall, supporting himself with one hand, his legs becoming limp noodles as he induced a mind-numbing climax that made his hair stand on end.
He remained leaning against the wall, breathing heavily and feeling incredibly empty and dissatisfied. A hand job didn’t do it. Nothing, save being deep inside her or warm in the delicious cave of her mouth, would ever do it for him again. He turned on the shower and stood under the hot punishing spray, wondering how he was going to make it through the rest of the day, much less the next two weeks.
Chapter Twenty-Four
All things considered, the trip home to Jamaica which Nicola had both dreaded and anticipated, had turned out very well. True to his word, Antonio had come over on Boxing Day with a check made out to her for seven million Jamaica dollars and a promissory note for her to sign on extremely favorable terms.
“This is extraordinarily generous,” she told him, feeling slightly troubled. “We were prepared to pay a much higher rate of interest.”
“Nicola, please,” he begged. “Do not bore me any further with details. Although I do not share it, I admire your ambition to become a serious planter and am pleased that I am in a position to assist. Now, let us hear no more about this.”
The loan officer had been astonished and had stamped the loan document “Paid” with a slightly regretful expression.
“I would have been pleased to extend the loan further,” he told her, “but unfortunately, my superiors dictated otherwise. If there is anything I can help you with in the future, please do not hesitate to ask.” He stood and stretched out his hand across the desk.
“Thank you,” she said and freed her hand from the very firm grasp in which he had imprisoned it.
The last few days of her vacation passed quickly and pleasantly. She rode Sailor just about every day and was quite happy to accept Antonio’s offer to accompany her. They went to visit some old friends, the Seabournes, who owned a very secluded and private stretch of beach they used for nude sunbathing. On her last full day in Jamaica, Emma declined to accompany them. She wanted to write, she said, and they couldn’t persuade her to change her mind.
“So what is it that you do in London,” Antonio asked, as he and Nicola lay side by side in the sun on their beach towels.
She sat up, her eyes on the horizon. “I’m a personal assistant to a businesswoman. She’s an events coordinator,” she said carefully.
“Forgive me, but it does not sound very exciting, coordinating events,” he said.
She smiled. “Oh, it has its moments,” she replied. She lay back again on her beach towel, the smile still on her face.
He raised himself up on one elbow and regarded her attentively. “A woman as beautiful as you deserves more than a few exciting moments,” he said shrewdly. “All your moments should be exciting. Why do you not come back to Jamaica, for good?”
“I plan to.” She laughed. “But unfortunately, I have a loan to repay, and London is the only place that seems to offer opportunities to make real money quickly.”
He was silent for a few moments, then he gave a small nod, as though he had just completed a conversation with himself, and sat up, “Sit up, Nicola,” he said. “I have to talk to you.”
She sat up obediently, looking at him warily. She had an uncanny feeling she was about to get into what Mum used to call “a situation.”
“You do not have to repay the loan,” he told her, his eyes holding hers, “because I would like you to be my wife.”
She stared at him incredulously, almost ready to laugh because surely he was joking. Then she discerned he was completely serious. “Antonio,” she said gently “I think you are letting yourself get carried away. You really shouldn’t go around proposing to women you barely know.”
“I know what I need to know,” he said.
“I’m sorry, Antonio. I just can’t.”
“You must go back to London, to sort out things there,” he said, watching her closely.
Once again, his intuitiveness surprised her. “Yes,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”
He looked out over the ocean, then back at her. “If things do not sort the way you want them to, will you come back here to live?”
“Most definitely, yes.”
“In that case, I will wait. And when you return, I will ask you again. That is a promise.”
She looked troubled. “Don’t put your life on hold for me, Antonio. I can’t make any promises.”
“I am the one who is making the promise,” he told her. “And I will wait. All will not be lost until you are married.”
She laid her hand briefly on his forearm. “You’re a nice man, Antonio. You’ll find somebody who deserves you. Now come,” she said, getting up briskly. “Last one in the water buys jerk chicken on the way home.”
Later that night, she confided in Emma about Antonio’s proposal. As far as she could tell, Em didn’t have the faintest interest in Antonio as a potential husband.
“Well, I would have had to be blind not to see that he was pretty taken with you,” Emma said. “And that you were in love with somebody else,” she added perceptively.
Nicola looked at her in surprise. She thought she had hidden everything so well.
“I know you,” Emma said. “You’ve never been in love in your life until now. Is he in love with you?”
She shook her head miserably.
Emma gave her an impulsive hug. “It will pass, Nicki, even if you don’t think so now. Just give it some time.”
She shook her head again, feeling even more miserable, if that was possible. She had tried so hard to forget about Anthony, but how
could she, when every warm breeze whispered his name in her ear, caressed her skin like the touch of his mouth, making her curl up and die inside with longing. She couldn’t go on this way, feeling torn apart all the time. She didn’t need all the king’s horses and all the king’s men to put her back together again. Only one man could do that. He had awakened this need in her and she had to seek him out to find the cure for what ailed her in the touch of his mouth, his hands, in the feel of his powerful erection pulsing hotly inside her. But this time, she wouldn’t let him dictate how it would end. She had to rewrite the script and be the one to walk away because that was the only way she would ever find closure.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Anthony replaced the receiver in its cradle, sat for a few minutes at his desk, and looked out the window of his Mayfair town house. The agency had just called to inform him that Nicola had returned to London yesterday. It would be forwarding a full report to him in the next couple of days. Already he could feel the impatience that had dogged him for so long slowly begin to subside. The days had dragged by endlessly, but the nights had been a black sleepless void, lying there in his personal limbo, struggling with the impulse to just get on a plane to Jamaica to find her. Now she was back, and oh so close. He picked up the telephone and dialed Henrietta’s private number.
“So what can I do for you, Anthony?” she asked, after the initial pleasantries.
He cleared his throat, which had developed a sudden huskiness, and took the plunge. “I was wondering if you could arrange to have Nicola Edgerton spend the weekend with me, from tomorrow night to Monday. I’m in Mayfair.” He knew he didn’t have to bother giving her his address. She was well acquainted with it.
“I can try, Anthony,” she replied carefully, “but I understood from Nicola that you had terminated the game.”