‘You still want me, admit it,’ James said hoarsely, the breath rasping through his chest, triumph in his voice bringing Rose back to earth with a bump.
She shoved him away in disgust, and jumped to her feet, desire transformed to blazing anger. ‘Is that what all this is about?’ she threw at him. ‘An ego-massaging exercise?’ She let out a strangled sound of self-loathing as she put herself back together with shaking fingers, then shoved him away as he tried to take her in his arms.
‘Rose,’ he panted, capturing her hands. ‘Don’t look at me like that.’
She calmed down a little. ‘It was my fault,’ she said bitterly. ‘I should never have asked you round here tonight.’ She blinked away angry tears. ‘Like a stupid idiot I thought we could just talk rationally, like adult human beings. Whereas you took it for granted I had a spot of auld lang syne in mind.’
James released her and stood back. ‘I’m only human, Rose. And male. I needed to know if you still responded to me.’
‘Well, now you do,’ she said wearily. ‘You’ve made the experiment and it worked like a charm. I hope your wilting ego is satisfied.’
He gave her a deeply disturbing smile. ‘Bad choice of words, Rose. But if I promise not to come within a foot of you until I leave could we still have that rational talk? And maybe the coffee we passed on earlier?’
Rose stared at him, irresolute, then gave a deep, shaky sigh. ‘All right,’ she said dully. ‘Why not? We can discuss the divorce.’
‘What if I said I don’t want a divorce?’ he parried.
She swallowed, thrusting a hand through her tumbled hair. ‘Don’t start that again. Because whether you do or not, James, is immaterial. I can get one any time I want.’
His smile set her teeth on edge. ‘In that case, Rose, tell me what made you wait all these years before doing something about it?’
Good question, thought Rose, later that night, while sleep became less and less of a possibility as the hours dragged by. The coffee had been a mistake, since James had flatly refused to discuss the divorce, and in the end had taken his leave without kissing her again, but with a faintly ominous promise to be in touch.
And what, exactly, did he mean by that? thought Rose, pummelling her pillow yet again. Tonight was meant to be a full stop. A finale to the unfinished business between them.
After a Sunday spent alone and restless, hoping James would contact her again, halfway through Monday Rose discovered exactly what James had meant by keeping in touch when the local florist delivered a vast sheaf of spring flowers.
‘Thank you for a delightful evening. J.S.,’ was the message.
‘I assume J.S. is the old chum,’ said Bel, eyes dancing, ‘Very nice. You obviously had a good time together.’
Rose smiled in agreement, and took the flowers up to her flat, glad that the rest of the day was busy enough to keep her mind off James Sinclair. But later that evening the phone rang while she was deep in publishers’ catalogues, checking on titles in the pipeline.
With the caution she’d acquired lately she waited until she heard James begin to leave a message before she picked up the receiver.
‘How are you today, Rose?’
‘Tired. We’ve been busy. I lost your phone number,’ she fibbed, ‘so I had no way of thanking you for the flowers.’
‘Just a small token of appreciation. And for obvious reasons, not roses. It occurred to me that you don’t have my home address. So grab a pen.’ He gave her his home and mobile number, and his London address. ‘Try not to lose them this time. Though in emergencies you can always reach me at the bank.’
‘I doubt I’ll need to do that! Future communications,’ added Rose crisply, ‘will probably be made through my solicitor.’
James laughed mockingly. ‘You really believe that? Goodnight, Rose.’
Rose was very much aware that this was the day she should have instructed Henry to start proceedings, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it. Because in her heart of hearts she didn’t want to be free of James. At least, not yet. Her intellect resented his assumption that he could just invade her life again and sweep her off her feet to show he still had power over her. But her errant heart, not to mention the body that throbbed at the mere sound of his voice, made it plain that only sheer force of will had helped her hold out against him. The sensible course would be to break all contact with him once and for all, and be safe. But then, when had she ever been sensible in her dealings with James Sinclair?
And James, she discovered, had no intention of letting her break contact. He phoned every night, ostensibly to check on her stalker, then to chat for a while, and if the intention was to keep Rose in a state of suspense every night until he called James was highly successful. She found it hard to settle to anything until she’d heard from him, and even refused Bel’s invitation to a meal at the weekend in favour of staying in for the nightly conversation with James.
‘I’m in bed, James,’ she snapped, one night towards the end of the week, irritable because she’d been waiting on tenterhooks for what seemed like hours.
‘If I woke you up it’s your fault. Your line was engaged early on, before I went out. I’ve only just got back. Who were you talking to, anyway?’
‘Let me see.’ Rose relaxed, smiling smugly at the ceiling. ‘Mark Cummings, Henry Beresford, oh, and Anthony Garrett.’
There was a tense pause. ‘I don’t know which one I object to most,’ said James tightly. ‘But on consideration perhaps it’s Henry Beresford. Was the subject divorce, by any chance?’
She stretched luxuriously, deeply gratified by his tone. ‘Yes.’
Another silence. ‘And Garrett? What did he want?’
‘In a word, me. He decided to overlook my aberration last weekend, and proposed marriage again.’
‘Remind the bastard that you’re not a free agent,’ said James savagely. ‘So what did Cummings want?’
‘To talk about the bookstall I’m running at his school tomorrow night.’
‘As long as that’s all he wants.’
‘My personal life is nothing to do with you any more, Sinclair.’
He laughed softly, with a mocking indulgence that clenched her fists. ‘Goodnight. Sweet dreams. I’ll call you.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ROSE went off with her wares to run the stall at Chastlecombe Grammar School parents’ evening without hearing from James. Disappointed, and furious with herself because of it, she got through the evening with her usual smiling efficiency, accepted Mark’s help in clearing up, and his company on the way home to help her take everything into the shop. Refusing her offer of coffee, Mark gave her a hug and a kiss on the front doorstep, told her to lock up securely behind him and went sprinting home to his little daughter.
Rose dawdled over her preparations for bed, but the longed-for phone call refused to materialise. She lay awake for hours, but heard nothing from James until he strolled into the shop next morning in person. Rose, bowled over at the sight of him, was involved with a customer, but Bel, in tune at once to the gamma rays sizzling between her boss and the newcomer, gave James a beaming welcome and volunteered her help in supplying him with the latest additions to their non-fiction section.
The moment the shop was empty Rose made the necessary introductions, and tactful Bel promptly took herself off to a very early lunch hour.
‘You didn’t say you were coming down again, James,’ said Rose, eyeing him with resentment.
‘If I had you’d probably have taken off somewhere else,’ said James, and leaned against the counter to look into her eyes. ‘We need to talk.’
Rose clenched her teeth against the wave of pure longing that swept through her, and saw James’s eyes dilate as he sensed it. ‘We can’t talk here,’ she whispered, as a trio of customers entered the shop.
‘Tonight, then.’
‘No. I’m going out to dinner—’
‘No, you’re not. Cancel!’ His eyes took on a steely gleam. ‘D
o it, Rose. I’ll be round later.’ He picked up his book and strode from the shop, leaving her in a state of such tension she was glad the newcomers were content to browse for a while before requiring her attention.
‘That was the old college chum, I assume,’ said Bel, when she came back.
Rose nodded. ‘I wasn’t expecting him.’
‘I could see that. I thought I’d have to scrape you up from the floor.’ Bel grinned. ‘You’re a dark horse, Rose Dryden. No wonder you passed on my offer tonight!’
It was the longest Saturday Rose had ever experienced. By the time she closed the shop she was tense with a variety of emotions ranging from plain weariness to a state of euphoria that made her feel sick. She went through the motions of locking up and leaving everything secure for the night, then trudged upstairs, wondering how soon James was likely to turn up. This time she had no special meal in readiness. If he wanted food James would have to provide it. And probably cook it too, in her present state of exhaustion.
Rose stood under the shower for a long time, dried her hair, dressed in the navy linen trousers and a white cotton sweater, added a few basic touches to her face, and made herself some tea. She curled up on her sofa with it, but before she’d taken more than a sip or two her phone rang. She snatched up the receiver eagerly, expecting James, then shuddered as she heard her name whispered before the line went dead. She slammed the phone down, not even bothering to try and trace the call as she cursed the idiot who was frightening her. When the doorbell rang she raced down the stairs, then gave a gasp of horror as she stumbled over a newly delivered rose in her headlong flight. She flung the door open, tears streaming down her face, and James stared at slammed the door shut behind him.
‘My God, Rose, what’s wrong—?’ He stopped short as she held out the flower, and with a savage curse he flung it down and took her in his arms, holding her close, murmuring wordless comfort into her hair as she sobbed her heart out against his chest. After a minute or two James picked her up and carried her up to the flat, and sat down with her in his lap, smoothing her head against his shoulder as he let her cry.
‘Better now?’ he whispered, when she was quiet at last.
‘Yes,’ said Rose thickly, and sat up, knuckling the tears from her eyes. ‘Sorry to make such a fuss. It was a hard day, I’d just had another of those phone calls, and the flower was the final straw. I just hate this feeling of being watched.’ She looked up into his eyes, trying to smile. ‘I must look a mess,’ she added, pushing her hair back.
‘No, you don’t.’ James drew her down against his shoulder again. ‘You look delectable.’ He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Nor, I discovered last night, am I the only one who thinks so.’
Rose frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I came round to see you last night the minute I arrived, and saw you in a clinch with another man.’ His jaw clenched. ‘I assume the guy kissing you was Mark Cummings?’
‘Oh. Yes. He helped me home with my stock,’ she said, secretly euphoric. ‘Why didn’t you say something? I waited hours—’ She stopped dead.
‘What for?’ he asked, so silkily she tried to pull away, but his arms tightened. ‘Were you waiting for me to ring, by any chance? If I had I’d have blown my top, lady, after watching you kiss another man.’
‘It was just a goodnight peck,’ said Rose truculently. ‘Mark’s an old friend.’
‘Which doesn’t give him the right to make love to my wife.’
‘I’m not—’
‘Oh, yes, you are. I’m still your husband and you’re still my wife, Rose Sinclair. I’ve got every right to make love to you,’ he whispered, raising the hairs along her spine. ‘And I want you. Now.’
Their eyes met. Rose could feel his arousal hard beneath her thighs, and her heart began to beat thickly, every nerve-ending heightened by recent fright, and present longing, and a deep, uncontrollable need to feel James’s body joined with hers in the rapture she had never come near to experiencing with anyone else. Even if tonight was all she’d have, she wanted it. And wanted it badly. She shivered uncontrollably as James, eyes blazing with triumph, took her silence for assent.
He kissed her as though he was starved for her, and Rose surrendered to him with equal hunger, responding wantonly as their lips and tongues and importuning hands synchronised in a love duet which quickly threatened to reach crescendo.
‘Wait,’ gasped Rose.
‘I can’t wait!’ James pushed her flat beneath him and smothered her protests with kisses that drove everything from her mind as their mutual need roared through them like a forest fire, consuming them so rapidly they clutched each other close. As they shockwaves receded afterwards, their eyes locked in mutual awe.
Without a word James picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, where he relieved her to the remainder of her clothes at dizzying speed, then demanded a similar service in return.
‘No,’ gasped Rose, trembling under the eyes which caressed her body with tactile hunger. ‘You do it. I’ll be too slow.’
‘I thought you’d lived with someone!’
‘I didn’t do that kind of thing for him.’
‘Why not?’ he whispered, stretching out beside her.
‘I just couldn’t,’ she said impatiently, and lay with eyes closed for a moment to savour the bliss of head-to-toe contact again as he smoothed her body against his. The first time, James had removed only enough clothing to make their loving possible. But now they were together in full naked contact their bodies generated a heat that quickly rekindled their mutual fire.
‘I’ve got a lot of time to make up for,’ whispered James, his breath hot against her ear. ‘And this time I mean to go slow, so pay attention.’
He began to make love to her in the way she’d so often dreamed of and longed for, his lips pulling on taut, hard nipples as his probing fingers caressed and cajoled. Soon she was one aching, shivering mass of hot, liquid longing as he deliberately inflamed them both to such unbearable heights of arousal he gasped her name at last and entered her with a sure, conquering thrust and united them again, as they were always meant to be, in one flesh.
Rose’s breath was still tearing through her chest as James turned her face up to his afterwards, his eyes hot on hers. ‘Now tell me you’re not in love with me any more!’
She stiffened in his arms. ‘Is that what all this is about? To make me admit I still find you irresistible, Sinclair?’
‘Not entirely. I know your body responds to me, Rose.’ He smiled a little. ‘I tried to convince myself that I’d fantasised about what we had together. That it couldn’t possibly have been as good as I remembered. And it isn’t.’
She glared at him, and he laughed and kissed her heard. ‘It’s even better.’ He sobered abruptly. ‘But it was never just physical for us, Rose. I need to know you still care.’
Rose gazed up into his eyes for a long time, unwilling to commit herself, then threw caution to the winds. Of course she cared. So what was the point in pretending she didn’t? ‘Yes,’ she said gruffly. ‘I care.’
His engulfing kiss put an end to conversation for a while, until her stomach gave an unromantic grumble and James laughed indulgently.
‘You’re hungry. What can I do about it?’
Rose sat up, pulling the covers up to hide her breasts from grey, marauding eyes. ‘One,’ she said, ticking off her fingers, ‘you can order in something from Orsini’s and wait for hours until we eat, two, you could go out and buy fish and chips, or three, we can eat bacon and eggs right now.’
‘Three,’ said James promptly. ‘I’m starving.’
A few minutes later, fully dressed and more or less in her right mind, Rose had bacon, eggs and mushrooms ready, accompanied by hunks of bread. They sat together on the sofa, and for a while James ate in famished, appreciative silence. But once the meal was over he looked at her with searching eyes.
‘So what happens now, Rose?’ He took her hand. ‘Come and sit on my lap and let’s disc
uss it.’
When they were settled together in familiar embrace, with Rose’s head on James’s shoulder, he put a finger under her chin and turned her face up to his.
‘Does this mean you’ve changed your mind about the divorce?’
Rose met his eyes steadily. ‘Do you want me to?’
‘What else did you think all that was about?’ he demanded, then frowned. ‘However, like the late, unlamented Mr Garrett, I’m based in London. Will this be a problem?’
‘No, it won’t,’ she said emphatically. ‘Because I’m not rushing into anything this time, James.’
He eyed her askance. ‘I don’t like the sound of that. Hell, Rose, we’ve wasted too much time apart already.’
‘Nevertheless, I’m not a starry-eyed teenager any more, James. I’ve acquired at least some common sense since I saw you last.’
He kissed the lip she was biting. ‘To hell with common sense. It’s time you made up for all the years you forced us to spend apart.’
Rose drew in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘James, we need to get to know each other again before I do that.’
‘Why? Surely we’ve both matured into responsible adults.’
She touched a hand to his cheek. ‘No one could have acted more responsibly than you did ten years ago, James, when I came crying to you with my little problem.’
His eyes darkened. ‘It was no big deal, Rose. I knew you had no parents to turn to. It never occurred to me to do anything other than assume full responsibility.’
‘And I was desperately grateful for that. But so guilty, too, about your finals.’ She smiled a little. ‘You were well-known for concentrating on books rather than girls.’
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