by Anne Mather
‘Tell you? Tell you what?’ Stella was playing for time and Laura knew it. ‘What can I tell you? I thought you were in bed.’
‘Don’t you mean hoped?’ Oliver wasn’t fooled for a moment, but with every passing second Stella was regaining her composure.
‘Are you spying on me?’ she demanded. ‘How long have you been skulking about out there in the hall?’
‘Not long.’ Oliver regarded her steadily. ‘Who were you phoning at this time of night?’
‘That’s my business.’
‘Is it?’ He pushed his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘So why didn’t you make the call upstairs?’
Stella heaved a sigh. ‘My phone’s crackly, if you must know.’ Which wasn’t true. ‘Might I remind you that until the contents of the will are made public this is still my house? If I choose to phone a friend downstairs, so I don’t disturb anybody, it’s nothing to do with you.’
So it was the will she had been talking about on the phone. Laura frowned. But what did she mean, ‘until the contents of the will are made public’? Surely she didn’t suspect that Laura’s father had left Penmadoc to someone else?
‘I’d still like to know who it was you were calling,’ Oliver persisted. ‘For someone who only hours ago couldn’t leave her bed, you’ve certainly made a swift recovery.’
Stella caught her breath. ‘That’s not true.’ She pulled a tissue out of her sleeve and blew her nose noisily. ‘It’s a pity if you can’t trust your own mother.’
‘Yeah, isn’t it?’
Oliver’s dark eyes moved assessingly round the room and Laura wanted to curl up and die. Surely there was no way he could fail to notice her and she waited with baited breath for his denunciation.
But it didn’t come and Stella was too eager now to escape further questioning to pay attention to anything else. Holding herself stiffly, she moved purposefully towards him. ‘May I go now?’
Oliver shrugged without removing his hands from his pockets. He’d apparently shed the jacket of the charcoal suit he’d been wearing elsewhere and the darkness of his skin showed through the thin fabric of his white shirt. Laura was afraid he might not let his mother go until she’d answered his questions, but, as if deciding there was no point in pursuing it, he moved aside.
‘Why not?’ he said flatly. ‘I can always press redial and find out who you were calling for myself.’
Stella’s jaw dropped. ‘You wouldn’t do that!’
‘Why? Is it a secret?’
Stella’s face contorted. ‘You’re a beast, Oliver. I don’t know why I put up with you.’
‘You don’t often,’ he reminded her drily. Then, shaking his head, he said heavily, ‘No, I won’t do that.’ But when her face lightened considerably he added, ‘I’ll find out some other way.’
‘What other way?’ Stella exclaimed warily, and Laura was again assailed with the fear that Oliver was about to expose her.
But all he said was, ‘It will come out. These things usually do.’ His lips twitched. ‘You’re not very good at keeping secrets, are you?’
Better than he thought, mused Laura bitterly, but Stella was speaking again.
‘All right, all right,’ she said, forcing a resigned tone. ‘I was talking to Dilys, if you must know. You remember Dilys—Dilys James?’
‘I know who Dilys is,’ said Oliver, as Laura wished herself any place else but here. But James, she wondered tensely. Could that conceivably be the Jaz Stella had identified before?
‘There you are, then,’ Stella declared, brushing past her son. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to bed. I suggest you do the same.’
Oliver inclined his head, but he didn’t answer her, and Laura guessed that, whoever she’d been phoning, Stella wouldn’t risk making another call tonight. Not with Oliver on the prowl, she thought ruefully. Even Stella had her limitations. She just wished she knew how she was going to get out of the library without him seeing her.
The door closed behind her stepmother and then Oliver said softly, ‘Okay. She’s gone. Do you want to tell me what you’re doing there?’
Laura’s breath escaped on a shocked gasp as she uncoiled her legs. ‘You—you knew I was here?’
‘Not initially,’ he admitted honestly, pulling his hands out of his pockets and raking them through his hair. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it was your scene.’
‘My scene?’
‘Eavesdropping,’ said Oliver carelessly, and Laura swung her feet to the floor and stood up.
‘You don’t imagine I arranged—that?’ she asked, flinging a hand towards the phone, and his brows quirked.
‘You didn’t?’
‘No.’ Laura was infuriated. ‘I was just sitting here, quietly, minding my own business, when your mother came in.’
‘In the dark?’ he queried sardonically, and she gave him an indignant look.
‘Yes, in the dark,’ she agreed. ‘I was thinking. I didn’t know anyone else was up.’
‘What were you thinking about?’
‘I don’t believe that’s anything to do with you.’ She paused, and then added unwillingly, ‘I was reflecting about the funeral if you must know.’ She straightened her shoulders. ‘I wanted to thank you for your support today. I was grateful you were there.’
‘Where else would I be?’ Oliver’s tone was rueful. ‘He was my stepfather, you know.’
‘He was your mother’s husband, but she wasn’t there,’ pointed out Laura stiffly. And then, making to step past him, she said, ‘I’m going to bed now.’
‘Wait.’ Oliver blocked her exit without effort. Then, as she gazed up at him with resentful eyes, he asked, ‘Do you know who my mother was talking to?’
Laura stared at him. ‘She told you.’ She waited for him to acknowledge it and when he didn’t she added shortly, ‘Someone called Dilys, wasn’t it? Dilys—James.’
‘I know what she said,’ said Oliver, scowling. ‘I just wonder why she’d feel the need to ring a girlfriend at this time of night.’
Laura’s lips parted. ‘You don’t believe her?’
‘Let’s say I’m open to suggestions.’
‘Well, not from me.’ Laura shook her head. She would have stepped past him then, but this time he put out a hand to stop her and she recoiled from the strength of his cool fingers on her wrist. ‘Don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
His eyes were narrowed, but she was disturbed by the dark emotions glittering in their depths. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she said, despising the panic in her voice. ‘I can’t help you.’
‘Perhaps you can; perhaps you can’t.’ His thumb moved over the sensitive veins that throbbed with the pressure of the blood that was surging through them. ‘You’re not afraid of me, are you, Laura?’
‘Afraid of you?’ A squeak of outrage escaped her. ‘We’re not talking about me, remember?’
‘Oh, yeah, I remember,’ he told her huskily. ‘I remember everything. Like you, I wish I didn’t.’
‘I think you’re giving me too much credit,’ she got out nervously, fighting the urge to tear her arm out of his grasp. ‘As a matter of fact, I think coming here, meeting you again, has done me some good.’ She swallowed a little convulsively. ‘It’s helped me to get things into perspective. Do you know what I mean?’
‘I know what you’re saying,’ he said huskily. ‘But perhaps I don’t believe it.’ His mouth quirked. ‘Do you know what I mean?’
Laura winced. He was making fun of her. Having got no joy out of his mother, he’d turned his attention on her instead and she was a fool to let him get away with it.
‘Why aren’t you in bed?’ she asked, desperately trying to maintain her composure in spite of his provocation. ‘Have you—have you been out?’
‘Out?’ His tone was softly jeering. ‘Oh, right. And where would I go?’
‘You could have gone down to the village,’ she retorted defensively. ‘The pub’s still there. You used to be quite a regular. And if you we
re bored—’
‘Bored?’ He moved closer and it was an effort to simply stand her ground. ‘Who said I was bored?’
‘You must be if you’re reduced to tormenting me,’ she replied tartly. ‘What’s the matter? Are you missing—what was her name?—Natalie?’
Oliver’s mouth took on a palm-moistening sensuality. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if there wasn’t just a grain of jealousy in those words.’
‘But you do know better, right?’ exclaimed Laura flatly. ‘My God, I sometimes wonder what I ever saw in you.’
It wasn’t what she’d intended to say, but his arrogance had caught her on the raw and she was alarmed when he narrowed the space between them. ‘Do you want me to remind you?’ he asked, his breath fanning her cheek, and she smelt the faint aroma of malt whisky on his breath. ‘No!’
He’d been drinking, she realised dully. That was what all this was about. He’d been drinking and, anticipating that she’d be leaving in the morning, he’d decided to amuse himself at her expense. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure.’ She brought her other hand up to try and prise his fingers from her wrist, catching her breath when he captured that hand as well. ‘I think you’d better let me go.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘I could call for help. I’m sure your mother would be only too eager to come to my rescue.’
‘Yeah.’ His lips twisted. ‘Yeah, I guess she might, at that.’
‘And you don’t want to fall out with her, do you?’ Laura persisted, not sure why she was provoking him. ‘Particularly now.’
‘Particularly now?’ he echoed, and she steeled herself to meet his puzzled eyes.
‘Now that she’s going to be a wealthy woman at last,’ she retorted maliciously, and saw the look of shock that crossed his face.
It had been an unforgivable thing to say and totally unjustified. As far as she knew, Oliver had never profited from his mother’s marriage. Oh, he’d gained in small ways, of course. He’d always had plenty to eat, clothes to wear, a decent place to sleep, but any success he’d had he’d achieved through his own efforts and she knew it.
‘I—I didn’t mean that the way it came out,’ she mumbled as he continued to stare at her, but instead of releasing her his fingers slid possessively up her arms.
‘Which way did you mean it?’ he demanded harshly. ‘You as good as accuse me of only being here so that I can benefit from—what would you call it?—my mother’s good fortune, perhaps, and I’m supposed to believe you didn’t mean it?’
‘No—’
‘It sounded that way to me.’ His lips twisted. ‘It’s good to know you’ve got such a great opinion of me. And as you have...’ he jerked her towards him ‘...I might as well take advantage of the fact.’
Her breasts were crushed against his chest. The strong muscles of his thighs pressed against her legs. She wanted to resist him but the memories his hard body evoked were taking over, and she was left with only words to resist his appeal.
‘Don’t do this,’ she pleaded as his hand cupped her nape, turning her face up to his. But resentment, anger—frustration!—was driving him on, and she was no match for his grim determination.
His mouth was hard at first, angry, almost bruising in the way it forced her lips to part to allow the hungry passage of his tongue. It was not the way he’d kissed her all those years ago, but he’d had less experience then, and he hadn’t wanted to hurt her as he did now.
Yet, for all that, she could feel his resentment weakening. He’d bound her hands behind her back with one of his, but now, as he sensed her unwilling response, he let them go. His hands shaped the yielding curve of her spine instead, before sliding over her buttocks, pausing to caress the sensitive cleft that was tangible through her clothes. Those caressing fingers tormented her, turning her bones to water, while a feverish heat swept up her thighs to pool wetly between her legs.
He must know how she was feeling, she thought unsteadily as he brought her fully against him. That was why he was letting her know how aroused he was. Despite his anger, he couldn’t hide his body’s reactions either and his shaft pressed intimately against her stomach.
Laura’s body was burning. She’d forgotten what it was like to feel such an abandonment of self. Despite a couple of abortive affairs and a marriage that had been more of a business partnership than a love match, she’d had very little sexual experience. Only with Oliver had she ever lost control of her emotions, and although her head was spinning she knew she mustn’t let it happen again.
Yet it was hard, so hard, to hang on to her reason. His mouth was gentler now, softer, his tongue caressing her lips, playing with her tongue, drawing the tip into his mouth and suckling greedily on it. His hand moved from her nape to the waistband of her trousers, lifting the hem of her sweater and exposing her bare skin. His hand spread on her midriff, his palm hot and slick against her ribs.
Laura’s stomach plunged. Her heart was racing wildly, trying to restrain the mad rush of blood that filled her veins without success. Every muscle, every sinew in her body was alert to the sensuous brush of his thumb on the underside of her breast, and she had to steel herself not to rub her pelvis against his. But she wanted to; how she wanted to! And although she knew she was playing with fire she couldn’t prevent her hands from sliding up his chest and tangling in the damp hair at the back of his neck.
He shuddered then, releasing her mouth to slide his lips along her jawline. ‘God help me,’ he muttered, pressing hot, hungry kisses against the curve of her throat, and it was the raw anguish in his voice that brought Laura to her senses.
‘God won’t help you now,’ she taunted, somehow injecting a note of mockery into her tone. ‘You’d better let me go, Oliver, before we both do something we’ll regret.’
‘Who says I’ll regret it?’ he demanded thickly, his strong fingers cupping her breast now, his thumb probing the taut nipple. ‘This doesn’t feel as if you object.’
‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ said Laura in a strangled voice. ‘As—as you should know very well.’ She swallowed on a convulsive sob. ‘How about—how about—Natalie? Don’t you think you owe any loyalty to her?’
Oliver scowled. ‘Don’t bring Natalie into this.’
‘I didn’t.’ Laura’s voice hardened. ‘You did. Or are you as indifferent to her feelings as you were to mine?’
Oliver’s fingers dug into her waist for a moment, but to her relief—or so she told herself—she could feel him withdrawing from her, physically as well as mentally. ‘Why do you care how Natalie feels?’
‘I don’t.’ To her shame, Laura knew that was true. ‘But I hoped it was a way to stifle your libido. Nothing else seems to do it. Not even the fact that I don’t want you to touch me. Not now. Not ever.’
And, because he let her, she was able to push him away and walk out of the room with just a semblance of dignity. But it had been a close call. On her part just as much as on his.
CHAPTER NINE
Oliver slept badly; again. It was getting to be par for the course, he thought bitterly. And the headache he had when he awoke couldn’t be blamed on the amount of alcohol he’d drunk either. He’d had a couple of drinks, sure, but he felt he’d deserved them after the day he’d had. And two drinks were not enough to account for the feeling of depression he had when he opened his eyes.
Of course, he wasn’t denying that he hadn’t expected to have a run-in with either his mother or Laura again the night before. He’d gone for a walk to try and clear his head and it had been pure chance that he’d been crossing the hall when he’d heard his mother’s voice. What had she been doing, sneaking about the house making phone calls she could just as easily have made in her room? Had she really been phoning a girlfriend? Somehow, that explanation didn’t ring true.
But had Laura believed it? That was what he’d like to know. She’d been in the room the whole time and had obviously heard more of the call than him. Would she tell him if
she suspected his mother was lying? After what had happened after Stella had gone to bed, he somehow doubted it. What in God’s name had possessed him to kiss her? She was never going to trust him again.
He scowled down at the plate of scrambled eggs Laura’s aunt had provided for him. It shouldn’t matter what she thought, but it did. Dammit, she’d practically accused him of taking advantage of her father and then imagined that pretending she hadn’t meant it would pacify him. The trouble was, the knowledge of the will Stella had found was taking its toll on his nerves, and he’d been so mad that Laura should even think such a thing without any evidence, it had shattered his self-control. He’d wanted to punish her, and that was what he’d intended. But when he’d taken her in his arms it hadn’t worked out at all the way he’d planned.
To begin with, he’d been angry, but that hadn’t lasted long. He’d been in control, too, but somehow that had got away from him as well. All his preconceived ideas had taken a beating, but not as much of a beating as he had taken himself.
He expelled an unsteady breath. Imprisoning her hands behind her back had seemed such a good idea, he remembered ruefully. It had made her helpless, vulnerable, susceptible to his every demand. It had also brought her upper body against his, stilling her resistance, but the sensual pressure of her breasts against his chest had aroused an entirely different reaction, after all.
Of course he’d expected her to resist him. He’d wanted her to, if only to prove he had the upper hand. But after those first few moments she’d been as caught up in their lovemaking as he was, and when her lips had parted beneath his he’d been lost.
He’d forgotten how delicious her mouth tasted. Soft, and hot, and so responsive—his blood had pounded like thunder through his veins. His arousal had been instantaneous; there’d been no way he could control that. He’d only buried his tongue inside her, but he’d wanted—how he’d wanted—to do so much more.
He’d let her hands go then, but instead of backing off the way any sane man would have done he’d allowed himself to explore her softness instead. He hadn’t been able to resist the urge to bring her fully against him, and there’d been a pleasurable kind of pain in letting her feel his throbbing need.