by Penny Jordan
CHAPTER THREE
'WOULD you like to dance?'
Miranda tensed. How could she refuse?
'Er—thank you.'
Unsteadily she stood up and allowed Ben Frobisher to guide her towards the dance floor.
'I'm sorry if this evening has rather lumbered you with me,' he apologised to her. 'When your father asked me to join him this evening, I thought it might be a good way of getting to know a few people.'
Miranda tried not to think about the effect his proximity was having on her. Treat him just like any other client you've had to entertain, she exhorted herself, but she knew already that that was impossible.
The band was playing a waltz, and her body tensed involuntarily as Ben took her in his arms.
'It's hard to believe that the waltz was once banned for being decadent, isn't it?' she said breathlessly as she fought to dismiss the sensations invoked by his touch, sensations which were making her feel as nervous and ill at ease as a teenager. Thank goodness it was impossible for him to know just how he was affecting her!
'Oh, I don't know,' he responded thoughtfully, 'when you bear in mind that it was the first time that men and women had actually danced exclusively with one partner and the opportunities it affords for body contact. And even these days it isn't exactly unknown for couples to take advantage of the intimacy allowed in dancing together to reinforce their desire for one another.'
She couldn't help it—her skin went hot as her mind treacherously conjured up a mental image of the two of them swaying intimately together, dancing body to body, his arms wrapped around her so that she was aware of every movement of his muscles, every breath he took, every small reaction of his flesh to hers... She trembled uncontrollably, causing him to frown down at her and enquire in concern, 'Are you cold?'
'Yes. Just a little,' she lied. It wasn't true; if anything she was too hot, but she could hardly admit to him just what had caused that sensual frisson of sensation to galvanise her body.
As she matched her steps to his she had an appalling urge to move nearer to him, to close the gap between their bodies and to...
Desperately she shut her eyes, trying to suppress the illicit wash of sensation that rushed through her, but the darkness only made things worse, only increased her sensual awareness of him to the pitch where she was as intimately aware of the heat and scent of him as though they were in fact established lovers.
That shook her more than anything else—that ready acceptance of her senses to acknowledge her physical responsiveness to him. That was the trouble with being a daydreamer, with having a far too vivid imagination, she told herself bitterly. It led you into all sorts of dangerous assumptions.
For example, if she hadn't given in this afternoon to her own idiotic and wanton impulse to tamper with the actual reality of her earlier brief meeting with him, transforming it into some kind of impossible erotic encounter, she would not be suffering the humiliation and discomfort of trying to subdue her body's physical response to him right now.
Thank God that as yet no one had developed any means of correctly reading the human mind. The very last thing she could have endured would have been the ignominy of knowing that he had guessed what was happening to her.
She tried to convince herself that in these days of equality it was no more shameful to her as a woman that she should be so physically affected by a man she hardly knew, and who had definitely not given her any encouragement to feel that desire, than had their positions been reversed, but it didn't work.
She was obviously a good deal more gender-orientated than she had supposed, she reflected wryly.
'Your father was telling me that you live out at Gallows Reach.'
The soft-voiced comment made her stiffen slightly before admitting, 'Yes, I have a cottage out there.'
'You don't find it too remote?'
'Not really. Perhaps if I weren't mixing with so many people during the day I might find it too isolated, but as it is...'
'Mmm. I know what you mean. I must say, I'm enjoying the solitude of the place I'm renting. I thought it would be a good idea to see how I took to living somewhere so remote before I actually took the plunge and bought a property.'
'And how are you finding it?' Miranda asked him curiously.
'Interesting,' he told her promptly. 'Something of a voyage of self-discovery, in fact. It's rather a long time since I've spent so much time on my own.'
Miranda tensed again. Did that mean that, despite the fact that he wasn't married, there was or had been someone important in his life? But his next words disproved this theory, as he added, 'In London I had an apartment at the top of the building which housed our office. Not an ideal situation because it meant that I was virtually spending twenty-four hours a day with my work. In the beginning when we first set up in business that was necessary, but recently I've began to find that my whole life seems to revolve around the company.'
Miranda gave a tiny shrug. 'If you want to succeed these days, you have to be prepared to devote the major part of your time to your career.'
'And is that what you want? To put your career before everything else in your life?'
'No, it isn't. If it was I'd be working in London, not here. I like my work. I enjoy the independence it gives me, but I enjoy other things as well.'
'Such as?'
His question surprised her into focusing on him. He was watching her closely, the grey eyes alert and thoughtful, the mouth... She gulped and swallowed hard as her gaze slipped inadvertently to his mouth and stayed there as though hypnotised.
'I...I...I enjoy all sorts of things,' she told him huskily, adding mentally to herself, yes, dangerous things such as cuddling friends' babies and daydreaming about strangers.
'Your father was telling me that you're actively involved in several local committees.'
'Er—yes.'
'Including a newly formed one to protect the town's historic buildings,' he probed.
'That's right,' Miranda agreed, wondering where his questions were leading.
'Charlesworth seems to think that your committee is trying to stir up local opposition to the expansion and redevelopment of the town, even when that expansion would quite clearly be to the benefit of the local inhabitants.'
'Like your new offices?' Miranda queried drily, her desire for him thankfully subdued by her anger at what was being allowed to happen to the town.
'Surely it would have been possible to site your offices outside the town, in a purpose-built unit designed to house all the modern hi-tech equipment you might need, rather than despoiling what was a perfect example of small-town Georgian architecture? Too many of our towns are losing their character, their links with the past, to provide anonymous ugly homes for businesses which demand that their environment be destroyed ... an environment which could have existed quite happily for several hundred years, and for what? To provide space for a business or a shop which might be in existence for less than a couple of years. It's insane and--'
'I quite agree, which is why...'
He stopped speaking as the band stopped playing, leaving Miranda to flush uncomfortably and guiltily as she realised how carried away she had been by her own principles and beliefs.
'I'm sorry, but it's a subject I feel very strongly about,' she apologised stiffly, ail too conscious of the amused look he was giving her.
'So I perceive,' he agreed, adding softly, 'Tell me, what else arouses those strong emotions of yours?'
Miranda gave him a suspicious look. If she had received that kind of comment from anyone else, she might have suspected them of trying to flirt with her, but there was nothing flirtatious in the way he was looking at her.
'I ask simply so that I can avoid treading on any dangerous ground,' he told her calmly.
'I feel strongly about a good many issues,' she told him coldly. 'But, since they can hardly be of any interest to you, I don't see much point in discussing them.'
Without waiting for him to follow her, she s
tarted to walk back towards their table, but he caught up with her almost immediately, and as he slipped his hand beneath her elbow to escort her off the floor she thought she heard him saying under his breath, 'You'd be surprised.'
* * *
He was probably only probing into her work with the committee to preserve the town's historic buildings because of the work he was having done on the house he had bought, Miranda decided ten minutes later when she was still mentally mulling over their conversation. She was alone at the table, her father having gone over to chat to the president and his wife, and Ben having asked Helen to dance.
It was hot in the ballroom, and she decided to take advantage of the fact that she was alone by slipping out of the room to get some fresh air. It was possible to walk from the club-house around the building and re-enter it through the conservatory, which had been added to the rear to provide somewhere for the ladies to enjoy their afternoon tea undisturbed by the men.
It was that kind of golf club, and so far none of the members seemed inclined to object to this segregation of the sexes.
It was cool outside, cooler in fact than she had thought, and she shivered a little, walking more quickly. Although the front of the club-house was illuminated, the side was shadowed, the darkness somehow vaguely threatening. Ahead of her she could see the lights of the conservatory. The door was open as though others had had the same idea as herself and used it to seek some fresh air.
Perhaps because she was concentrating on other things, she had no awareness of anyone coming up behind her until she was grabbed from behind and a leering and unwelcome familiar voice was saying in her ear,
'Well, now, isn't this just a piece of luck? It isn't often I get the chance to get you all to myself.'
Ralph Charlesworth. Miranda stiffened immediately, trying to quell the panicky disgust that threatened to overwhelm her at being touched by him.
'Let me go, Ralph,' she demanded through gritted teeth.
'Well, now, you're going to have to ask me a good deal more nicely than that,' he taunted her.
He was standing far too close to her, dragging her back against his body, and holding her there with one hand while the other stroked through her hair and down the side of her throat, causing her to shudder in revulsion.
'You know I've wanted you for one hell of a long time, Miranda. Why don't you stop fighting it and try being nice to me? I'm a generous man... both as a lover and as a man, if you know what I mean.'
Sickness boiled in her stomach, but she fought it down. If she panicked now... She cringed inwardly, knowing how much he would enjoy her terror. Men like him always did...they enjoyed hurting women ... bullying them. She prayed that someone else would come along the path and afford her an opportunity to escape. The hand which had been caressing her throat had now reached her shoulder and she realised in horror that within another few seconds he would probably be touching her breast.
She could feel the sweat breaking out on her body at the thought and repeated angrily, 'Ralph, let me go. You're a married man...remember?' she added desperately.
'Is that all that's stopping you?' He almost crooned the words as though scenting victory. 'Susie won't mind. In fact, she'll be grateful to you,' he told her, trying to turn her in his arms. 'She doesn't like sex, my wife doesn't. She's only too glad if someone else keeps me out of her bed. I should never have married her. I wouldn't have married her if she hadn't damn well gone and got herself pregnant.'
Anger and revulsion burned nauseously in Miranda's throat.
'I didn't think that was possible, Ralph,' she challenged him acidly. 'For a woman to get herself pregnant, I mean.'
He laughed. 'Well, don't go worrying about it. By the time a man gets to my age he knows a thing or two. You won't have any worries in that direction. Anyway, I expect you're on the Pill, aren't you? All you modern women--'
'Ralph, let me go!' she demanded for the third time.
'Oh, come on, you can't fool me,' he interrupted her. 'You might have given me the cold shoulder, but underneath... Well, why don't you admit it? You want it as much as I do.'
He added something so degrading and coarse that Miranda could actually feel the blood draining out of her face.
Quite what would have happened if they hadn't heard someone coming down the path behind them and Ralph hadn't momentarily released her, she dreaded to think.
As luck would have it, the other couple were close friends of her father's and she was able to escape from Ralph by firmly attaching herself to them. To her relief, Ralph made no attempt to follow her, and it was only when she was safely back inside that she was able to admit to herself how truly frightened she had been. It seemed almost hysterical to frame the word 'rape'
even in her own mind, but she had no doubt as to what Ralph had had in mind, and it most certainly would not have happened with her consent. She went into the Ladies more to gain time to calm down a little than for any other reason. In the mirror she saw that her face was pale, her eyes wide and dark with fear.
She combed her hair and retouched her lipstick, and then squared her shoulders and stepped back out into the corridor.
She was halfway down it when she became aware that someone was behind, following her. A hand touched her arm, and immediately she panicked, turning round abruptly and hissing fiercely, 'Look, I've already told you, Ralph. I'm not interested. In fact you--' She stopped abruptly as she realised that it wasn't Ralph behind her but Ben, her face going scarlet with mortification.
She saw that he was frowning, his expression almost harsh as he took hold of her arm and drew her firmly into a shadowy alcove.
'What's wrong?' he asked her curtly. 'Is Charlesworth bothering you?'Miranda bit her lip. She had never felt so mortified in all her life. Of all the people to discover...
'This doesn't concern you,' she told him huskily. 'And if you'd just let go of my arm, I'd like to rejoin my father...'
'In a minute, and as for it not concerning me... was it Charlesworth you were running away from earlier today when you bumped into me?'
His perception dismayed her. She tried to frame a convincing lie and found that instead she was saying shakily and wretchedly, 'What if it was? Look, I'm an adult, not a child, and I'm perfectly capable of making clear to a man that his... his interest isn't wanted.'
'Are you?' The dry disbelief in his voice made her wince. 'It doesn't look like it from where I stand.' He paused for a moment, and Miranda was conscious of him watching her, assessing her almost, she suspected, and then he said quietly, 'Look, let's forget that you've decided that you and I are on opposite sides of an uncrossable chasm for the moment, shall we? All right, so this is none of my business, but if you genuinely don't want Charlesworth '
Miranda's outraged gasp silenced him.
'I'm not sure what you're insinuating,' she hissed angrily, 'but I can assure you that I have absolutely no interest whatsoever in Ralph. Apart from the fact that he's married, I think he's the most... the most revolting example of the male sex I've ever met!'
'Well, that seems definite enough.'
Was he actually daring to laugh at her? Miranda stared up at him. There was humour in his voice, but it wasn't mirrored in his eyes.
'Look,' he said almost gently, 'there is a type of man, personified by the Charlesworths of this world, who seem to believe that when a woman says
"no", no matter how determinedly she says it, what she's really doing is encouraging them to prove her wrong. I'm afraid that your rejection of him is only going to make him all the more determined in his pursuit of you.'
Miranda's heart sank. Ben Frobisher was only telling her what she had already come to believe herself, but it was a confirmation she would rather not have had.
'So, what am I supposed to do?' she demanded warily. 'Tell him "yes", in the hope that he'll lose interest?'
'No. But there is a third solution. I suspect that if Charlesworth thought you weren't interested in him because you were involved with someone
else, he'd soon back off. Men like him enjoy bullying women, but when it comes to their own sex they tend to be a little more wary.'
'Yes.. .you're probably right,' Miranda agreed, 'but since I'm not involved with anyone else...'
The shock of what had happened was just beginning to sink in, making her snappy and edgy. Her tension showed in her voice, but she didn't care. All she wanted to do right now was to go home where she could be safe and alone.
'I think possibly you mean that you weren't,' Ben Frobisher informed her thoughtfully.
He was standing facing her, looking down the corridor, and as he spoke she sensed that he was focusing on something or someone behind her, but only a small part of her brain registered this fact, the rest of it being busy getting ready to refute his extraordinary statement.
However, before she could do so, to her utter disbelief, for the second time that evening she found herself held hard by a pair of male arms as Ben took hold of her, not roughly as Ralph had done, but gently, tenderly almost, she realised as she grappled with her shock; more as a lover would have done than an aggressor. And it seemed that her body too sensed that difference, so that when Ben drew her firmly against him it had no compulsion to resist the pressure of the hands which lingeringly moulded her body to his before one of them settled in the small of her back while the other slid beneath her hair to caress her nape and then her jaw, sliding against her skin, tilting her head, bending his own, his face completely in the shadows, so that she could see nothing of his expression, only the brief gleam of his eyes catching her gaze and holding it transfixed, in much the same way as the total unexpectedness of his actions had transfixed her brain, paralysing her ability to think or reason.
When he brushed her lips slowly with his own, once, twice and then a third time, she couldn't fight the compulsion to close her eyes, to move closer to him, to cling to the soft pressure of his mouth, stilling its tormenting movements. She made a soft sound of pleasure when his mouth remained on her own, and then quivered slightly as he framed her face with both his hands, and then kissed her slowly and deliberately, taking his time over the exercise, lingering over it, as though the softness of her mouth beneath his own was a sensation, a warmth, a pleasure he couldn't bear to relinquish. The simple sensual pleasure of being kissed so gently and yet so erotically was so shockingly intense and unexpected that Miranda completely forgot that this was a stranger kissing her; a man who while she might initially have found him physically attractive, was someone with whom, not so very long ago, she had felt completely at odds.