Her Tycoon Lover

by Sandra Field

  ‘Don’t go to sleep.’ He tapped her cheek with a none-too-gentle finger. ‘We need to be moving.’

  When the heavy lids lifted, he helped her to her feet once more.

  ‘Please, I—’

  ‘No more arguments.’ Putting an arm around her, he began to steer her towards the door. ‘It’s high time I got you back to the house.’

  ‘I’m not your res…res…’ She made another attempt. ‘Your responsibility.’

  Flatly, he said, ‘It’s my fault you’re tipsy.’

  But, while she was undeniably tipsy, one small part of her mind remained stone-cold sober, and, standing aloof, watched and judged with critical detachment.

  She had been stupid to let her stepmother’s comments throw her. If only she had ignored them, stayed cool and aloof, kept her dignity…

  But she hadn’t. And now it was too late. If anyone saw her obviously the worse for drink, she would look like a complete loser. Spineless and pathetic.

  She felt ashamed, totally humiliated in a way that even Helen’s spiteful remarks had been unable to make her feel.

  As, one arm supporting her, Gray reached for the latch, she begged, ‘Please stop…’

  ‘Feeling sick?’ he enquired.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thank the lord for that.’

  ‘But I don’t—’

  ‘If necessary I’ll carry you.’

  He opened the door and, holding it with his foot, said firmly, ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Oh, please, can’t we wait? I don’t want to risk meeting anyone.’

  ‘There’s no point in waiting any longer. If we go now, there’s a chance that most of the guests will still be congregating in the marquee.’

  Even in her panic-stricken state it made sense, and she let herself be chivvied outside and helped down the steps.

  The air was cool and fresh, the clear, dark-blue sky pricked with stars. A faint breeze carried the scent of honeysuckle.

  Thankfully that part of the garden appeared to be deserted, and only the faint sound of music drifted their way.

  ‘All ready?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  But when she tried to walk her sense of balance had totally deserted her, and even with Gray taking most of her weight her rubbery legs refused to work.

  ‘I can’t see us getting far at this rate,’ he remarked calmly, ‘so you’d better put your arms round my neck.’

  Lurching a little, she obeyed, linking her hands inside the sleeves of his jacket.

  A moment later he was lifting her effortlessly. His strength was as comforting as his warmth, and, her head against his shoulder, she gave up the struggle and let him take control.

  She couldn’t remember ever being carried before, and the feel of the powerful male body she was being held against, and the solid bone and muscle beneath her cheek, stirred her senses in a way she had simply never envisaged.

  Dimly she realised that it must be the champagne that was lowering her inhibitions and making her feel this way.

  His step brisk and his breathing even, carrying her as easily as if she were a child, he said, ‘I propose that we head for the rear of the house. If we go in the back way there should be less chance of us being seen.’

  Avoiding the floodlit areas, Gray skirted the old walled garden, and as they got nearer to the main lawn he began to move with even greater care.

  Though the sound of the orchestra playing and a buzz of conversation was still coming from the brightly lit marquee, thanks to the space-heaters and the beauty of the evening, some guests had elected to sit outside.

  As they got closer the pungent scent of cigar smoke, mingled with coffee, wafted towards them.

  They were just drawing level with the entrance to the marquee, when two couples came out and, laughing and talking, headed in their direction.

  Gray muttered something beneath his breath, and in one fluid movement set her down, her back against the nearest tree trunk, and, shielding her from the possibility of prying eyes, bent to kiss her.

  Rebecca hadn’t been kissed since the night her engagement had ended so disastrously, and, though it was a chaste kiss, meant merely for show, the feel of his mouth on hers had the strangest effect.

  She was vaguely aware that the little group were quite close, but, as her lips parted beneath the slight pressure of his, somehow it no longer seemed to matter.

  As she clung to him, dizzy and helpless, he continued to kiss her while the foursome passed by, still talking. Only when their voices had faded into the distance did he raise his head.

  Glancing around, he said softly, ‘The coast seems to be clear momentarily, so we’d better make tracks. If we keep to the far side of this yew hedge, we should be out of sight for most of the way.’

  Lifted high in his arms once more, she was carried through an archway of yew to another expanse of lawn.

  His footsteps made no sound on the grass, and with the faint scent of his aftershave in her nostrils, and the feel of his silk shirt beneath her cheek, she found herself experiencing a kind of drifting unreality, as if the whole thing was just a dream.

  ‘I take it there’s a way through near the house?’

  His question made her open her eyes, and rousing herself, she answered, ‘Yes, there’s another archway just before you get to the orangery.’

  ‘That’s useful. I’ve parked by the orangery.’

  As they approached the house, even through the sheltering yew, they could see it was ablaze with lights. ‘Where exactly is your room?’ he queried. ‘Is it easy to get to?’

  Struggling against an overwhelming desire to let go and sink into sleep, she made herself concentrate. ‘It’s the first door on the right at the top of the main staircase.’

  ‘Sounds comparatively simple.’

  As they reached the archway, he added wryly, ‘The only thing is, we appear to have left it a bit late for getting in and out unseen.’

  To Rebecca’s consternation she saw that the place was alive with people coming and going in ones and twos and small groups.

  ‘Which leaves our present situation open to all kinds of misinterpretation,’ he added grimly.

  ‘Whatever are we going to do?’ she moaned.

  ‘Would you prefer to simply get in the car and go?’

  ‘Yes…No…’

  ‘Which?’

  ‘I can’t. The key to my flat is in my handbag.’

  ‘Then perhaps you’d better wait in the car while I go and fetch it.’

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ she said fervently.

  ‘Luckily, what with arriving late, I’m parked a fair way from the house.’

  Moving with caution, he kept beyond the range of the lights until they reached the end of the line of parked cars.

  ‘Here we are.’ Setting her down carefully beside a silver Jaguar, he unlocked it and helped her into the front passenger seat.

  ‘Just in case anyone walks past, it might be as well to take off your headdress. Being light-coloured, it tends to be noticeable.’

  For a moment or two she fumbled ineffectually, hampered by nerveless fingers and the over-long jacket sleeves.

  ‘Let me.’ Stooping, he felt for the pins that held it in place and began to remove them one by one.

  ‘There.’ He lifted the circlet of fresh flowers free, letting the long, silky hair tumble around her shoulders. ‘Presumably you don’t want to keep it?’

  ‘No,’ she said emphatically.

  ‘If we were in Hawaii you could give it to Pele. As we’re not…’ He sent the circlet skimming like a Frisbee into the night.

  Though the whole thing seemed completely surreal, somehow the gesture lifted her spirits and made her giggle like a schoolgirl.

  Dropping the pins into the door pocket, he queried, ‘I imagine you have an overnight case or something I can put your things into?’

  The alcohol was taking even more of a hold, making her thoughts as sluggish as wasps in treacle, and it was a moment or two
before she was able to say, ‘Yes…But if you can bring my bag I don’t mind if you leave everything else. I mean, if someone sees you, won’t it look a bit odd if you come down carrying a case?’

  ‘Not half as odd as it’ll look if I come down carrying a lady’s handbag. But if I put everything into a case, I could simply be a guest who’s decided not to stay after all.’

  Her voice slurred, she asked, ‘What will you do if there are still a lot of people about?’

  ‘Walk in as if I owned the place,’ he answered cheerfully. ‘There must be plenty of house guests who won’t necessarily know one another, so I’m unlikely to be challenged unless I’m unlucky enough to run into your stepmother.

  ‘Now, are you warm enough? Or shall I leave the engine running?’

  ‘I’m warm enough, thank you.’

  He slammed the car door quietly, and she watched him walk away, only his white shirt visible until he got within range of the lights.

  This wedding couldn’t have been much fun for him, she thought. Not only had he missed the reception, but he was also going to drive back to London without even speaking to his friend.

  He was a strange, complex man, sardonic and abrasive, bordering on cruel at times, yet he’d gone out of his way to help and care for her…

  Resting her head against the leather upholstery, she closed her eyes with a sigh.

  A movement beside her, and the muted roar of the engine springing into life, made her lift her head and open bleary eyes.

  Reaching across to fasten her seat belt, Gray answered her unspoken question. ‘Everything’s fine. All your belongings are in the boot.’

  ‘Thank you…’ Almost before the words were out, she was fast asleep again.

  ‘Wake up, sleeping beauty.’

  Eyes still closed, she tried to brush away the intrusive fingers that were stroking her cheek.

  ‘We’re home.’ He’d found her address amongst her things and driven straight there.

  She didn’t care. All she wanted was to be left in peace. She tried to say so, but the voice was insisting, ‘Come on, wake up,’ and the fingers were no longer stroking, but slapping lightly.

  Feeling aggrieved, she opened heavy lids and realised dazedly that they were parked in front of Prince Albert’s Court, and that Gray was standing by her side with the car door open.

  ‘That’s better,’ he murmured. ‘Now, let’s see how you are on your feet.’

  He hauled her out, and, finding she was like a rag doll, half carried her across the pavement and through the main entrance into a bare hallway with doors on either side.

  It was an unprepossessing block in a drab neighbourhood, and, presumably in a half-hearted attempt to brighten the place, all the doors had been painted different colours.

  As her head began to droop, he said sharply, ‘Don’t go to sleep again until I know which is your flat.’

  ‘That one.’ She pointed an unsteady finger at a mustard-coloured door on their right.

  ‘Nice and close, which is just as well.’

  ‘The key…’ she began.

  ‘It’s all right, I’ve already found it.’ Supporting her with one arm, he unlocked the door.

  Having helped her inside, he lowered her onto the couch and, leaving the door a little ajar, went out again to bring in her belongings.

  When he returned her eyes flickered open momentarily, then closed once more.

  Coming to give her a little shake, he reminded her, ‘You really ought to have something to eat.’

  ‘Couldn’t eat…’

  ‘What about some coffee?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘In that case the best place for you is bed, and the sooner you’re tucked in the better.’

  He helped her into the bedroom and sat her down on the edge of the double bed.

  Catching a blurred glimpse of herself in the mirror, she felt a sudden revulsion at the sight of the gleaming necklace of cultured pearls that had been the bridegroom’s gift to the bridesmaids.

  Pearls for tears.

  Having tried, and failed, to unfasten it, desperate to be rid of the thing, she began to tug at it.

  ‘Whoa there,’ Gray cautioned. ‘Let me.’

  He unfastened the necklace and tossed it onto the dressing table, then, crouching to slip off her shoes, asked, ‘What about your clothes?’

  Gathering her dignity, she said, ‘I can manage.’

  Watching her struggle ineffectually with the small covered buttons that fastened the bodice of her dress, he suggested, ‘It might be a whole lot easier to sleep in it.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then you’d best let me help you.’

  He unfastened the buttons, and, easing the dress from beneath her, lifted it over her head. ‘There, you can always sleep in the rest.’

  ‘No. I couldn’t bear to.’ She wanted to be rid of all her wedding things right now, this minute.

  While she swam in and out of consciousness, he helped her off with the remainder of her clothes and settled her head on the pillow.

  Pulling up the duvet, he remarked, ‘It’s been a long day.’

  A long day…Lisa’s and Jason’s wedding day…The worst day of her life…

  And the worst night. Their wedding night and the start of their honeymoon.

  Would they be going to Paris? Jason had promised to take her to Paris. They had been going to do so much. But now she was all alone, with nothing and no one in her life.

  Unsure whether or not she’d spoken the words aloud or merely thought them, she found slow tears rolling down her face.

  ‘And it’s obviously been too much for you.’ Sitting on the edge of the bed, he brushed a strand of hair away from her wet cheek.

  His tenderness was her undoing, and she began to cry even harder.

  ‘Don’t cry, little one.’

  ‘Why not?’ she asked bitterly.

  ‘Because if you cry I’ll have to comfort you, and one thing can lead to another.’

  Big eyes on his face, she sniffed dolefully.

  ‘Don’t cry any more now. By tomorrow things may not seem quite so bad.’

  He sounded kind and caring, and, knowing that Jason didn’t care a fig about her, she was pathetically grateful that someone did.

  As his dark face swam in and out of focus, she caught hold of his hand. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Goodnight and sweet dreams.’ He rose to his feet.

  Still clinging to his hand, she begged hoarsely, ‘Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to be on my own tonight…’

  CHAPTER THREE

  WHEN Rebecca first stirred and began to slowly surface, her mind was a complete and utter blank. She hadn’t the faintest idea how she had got to bed, or what had happened the previous day.

  After a while, insubstantial images began to swirl and eddy in her consciousness, appearing and disappearing like wraiths in a mist.

  Lisa and Jason standing in church together and being declared man and wife.

  Helen, wearing a peacock-blue hat trimmed with iridescent feathers, saying, so everyone could hear, ‘Of course poor Rebecca’s terribly disappointed…’

  Herself fleeing to her childhood sanctuary to lick her wounds in private.

  Then a tall dark-haired stranger appearing with a bottle of champagne and saying drily, ‘I’ve been told that women always cry at weddings, but don’t you think this is overdoing it a bit?’

  Squeezing her eyes tightly closed, as if that would stop the images appearing, she groaned as she remembered how, the champagne loosening her tongue, she had told him things she wouldn’t normally have told a living soul.

  Oh, how could she have been stupid enough to get tipsy? She had made a complete fool of herself, and if it hadn’t been for…Gray Gallagher…yes, that was his name, everyone would have known it.

  Though it was like looking through a glass darkly, she half remembered him carrying her back up the garden…kissing her…helping her into his car…then t
aking off her headdress and sending it skimming into the night, before going back to the house to fetch her things.

  She could recall nothing after that.

  But he must have seen her safely home, as she was in her own bed and her overnight case and bag were on the chest.

  There was a lot to thank him for.

  If she ever saw him again.

  Knowing what he must think of her, she found herself hoping fervently that she wouldn’t see him again. Such a meeting was bound to be desperately uncomfortable, to say the least.

  But there should be no problem, she realised belatedly. He lived and worked in the States, so presumably, having flown in especially for the wedding, he’d go back now it was over.

  Her thoughts growing muzzy, she closed her eyes again and lay drifting on the edge of sleep, until the sound of breakfast television from the next-door flat roused her.

  What time was it? she wondered.

  Peering blearily at her watch, she found it was gone eight o’clock.

  Normally she was up and about well before seven. But, as though the past weeks of eating little and sleeping less had finally caught up with her, she felt mentally and physically exhausted, all her normal drive and energy missing.

  Even so, she should make a move.

  But what was there to get up for? It wasn’t as though she had a job to go to.

  In that case she should be out looking for one, her conscience responded promptly. It wouldn’t be too long before she ran out of money.

  The grim reality of the thought shocked her into action, and, her ash-brown hair tumbling round her shoulders, she struggled to sit up.

  It wasn’t until her head stopped spinning that she realised she was naked. She had no recollection of taking off her clothes, but her bridesmaid’s dress and undies were folded over a chair.

  If she had been compos mentis enough to fold her things so neatly, why hadn’t she put on a nightie? She always wore a nightie…

  Her head throbbing dully and her mouth desert-dry, she gave up the puzzle and, throwing back the duvet, swung her feet to the floor.

  She was heading for the bathroom, when she noticed something that stopped her in her tracks.

  A creature of habit, she invariably slept with a single pillow, and on the right-hand side of the bed. Now the left-hand side was rumpled, and there was an extra pillow.