The Forbidden Mistress

by Anne Mather

  She saw him, of course. Unlike her, he seemed to feel no obligation to stay out of her way. She lost count of the number of times she glimpsed him, tall and dark and disturbing, either lounging about the patio next door or strolling casually past the villa on his way down to the village. She thought he took an unholy delight in exposing his lean, muscular torso to her covert gaze, and in her more malevolent moments she suspected he knew she watched him and was enjoying the notoriety.

  Then one morning, about a week after Oliver’s arrival, she supposed, Grace pulled herself out of the pool to the sound of voices from next door’s patio. A man and a woman were talking and she didn’t need to see the dark head bent towards his companion to know it was Oliver. The other voice wasn’t his mother’s, however, and it only took Grace a moment to realise he was speaking to Sophie, his ex-wife.

  Despite herself, Grace’s stomach hollowed. What was Sophie doing here? Had the Ferreiras invited her? That didn’t seem likely after what Mrs Ferreira had said. Oliver, then? Surely not. What about Miranda? Or didn’t he care about anyone but himself?

  She couldn’t hear what they were saying. Nor would she want to, she assured herself grimly, wrapping the towel she’d left beside the pool around her. They were welcome to one another. All she wanted to do was get into the villa without being seen.

  Which proved surprisingly easy. Her neighbours were too engrossed in their conversation to pay any attention to her and she slipped through the French doors without attracting anyone’s attention.

  But as she showered in her bathroom Grace was aware of an unfamiliar twinge of an emotion she didn’t want to recognise. She wasn’t jealous, she told herself fiercely. She couldn’t be. What she and Oliver had shared had been sex, nothing more. Emotion hadn’t entered into it. And she was going to get herself into serious trouble if she allowed herself to think of him in those terms.

  She was making herself a salad for lunch when someone tapped on the kitchen window. She’d been engrossed in what she was doing, her thoughts miles away, and the sudden summons startled her. But what startled her more was the fact that it was Oliver, particularly after the uncomfortably heated thoughts she’d been having about him.

  She couldn’t ignore him, however. When he gestured for her to open the door, she obediently dried her hands and went to do as he asked.

  ‘Yes?’

  The word was hardly welcoming and his expression briefly registered his dislike of her curt greeting. Then, with an obvious effort to ignore it, he said, ‘May I come in?’

  Grace moistened her lips. ‘Why?’

  ‘I want to talk to you.’ Her involuntary withdrawal aroused a momentary fire in his eyes, but he controlled it. ‘No. Not about that,’ he said flatly. ‘I think I got the message there.’ He paused. ‘This is something else.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If you’ll let me in, I’ll tell you.’

  ‘If this is some ploy—’

  ‘It’s not.’

  Grace pressed her lips together. The trouble was, he had such an honest face. It made her want to believe him. And, truthfully, she was greedy for the sight of him. But that was dangerous and she knew it. Which was why her tone was offhand as she stepped aside and said carelessly, ‘Okay.’

  But the kitchen, spacious though it was, seemed too small with him in it, and, besides, these surroundings had connotations she didn’t want to remember right now.

  The living room was similarly out of bounds. So she let him into her father’s den, a comfortable masculine room with a couple of leather armchairs, a book-lined cabinet and a mahogany desk, presently clear of anything except the computer that her father couldn’t live without.

  Even so, Oliver’s presence made her instantly aware of the intimacy. His skin seemed darker, probably due to the time he was spending outdoors, his legs long and muscular below the narrow cuffs of his khaki shorts. His shirt had sleeves for once, something for which she was grateful, but as it was open halfway down his chest, he still looked incredibly male and sexy.

  ‘Wh—what do you want?’ she asked, putting the width of the desk between them, and Oliver’s mouth compressed at her obviously defensive retreat.

  ‘Can I sit down?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Grace wished he would, actually. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so intimidated by his presence. But she’d remain standing.

  Oliver swung one of the leather chairs round and dropped into it. Then, hooking one ankle across his knee, he looked about him with evident interest. ‘This is nice. Your father’s sanctuary, I presume?’

  Grace took a deep breath. ‘You didn’t come here to discuss the appointments of the villa, Oliver. What do you want?’

  Oliver considered her thoroughly before replying. Then, after bringing an unwelcome flush of colour to her throat, he said, ‘Are you all right? You look—tired. Aren’t you sleeping well?’

  ‘You wish!’ The words were out before she could prevent them and she gritted her teeth in annoyance. Then, swallowing her outrage, she squared her shoulders. ‘Get to the point, Oliver. Your wife will be wondering where you are.’

  ‘I don’t have a wife.’ Oliver gave her a weary look. ‘But I guessed you’d seen her. And don’t look at me like that. I didn’t invite her.’

  ‘Do you think I care?’

  But her voice gave her away and she knew he’d noticed when he said drily, ‘I thought you might. You and she having so much in common.’

  Grace gasped. ‘I have nothing in common with that—that—’ She broke off, trying to temper her outburst. ‘She’s nothing like me!’

  ‘You think not?’ Oliver was still regarding her with a jaundiced eye. ‘Oh, well, if you say so. And I’m sure Tom would agree with you. Where he’s concerned, Sophie appears to have sprouted horns and a forked tail! Was that before or after you came on the scene, I wonder?’

  Grace stiffened. ‘I have no intention of discussing Tom’s affairs with you.’

  ‘Affairs being the operative word,’ remarked Oliver drily, and Grace wanted to punch him. ‘Anyway, enough of Tom’s emotional hang-ups—did you know that he intended approaching a money-lender for the money to pay Sophie?’

  Grace blinked, momentarily taken aback by the sudden change of topic. ‘I—why, no. Why would I?’

  Oliver allowed his foot to drop to the floor and leaned towards her, his forearms resting along his spread thighs. ‘Well, now,’ he said coolly, ‘I would have thought he’d have taken you into his confidence. You deal with the garden centre’s finances, don’t you? You seem to know all about it.’

  ‘You flatter me,’ said Grace tightly. ‘How Tom finances the centre is his business, not mine.’

  ‘Right.’ Oliver regarded her intently. ‘So you knew nothing about this proposed loan?’

  ‘No.’ Grace hesitated. ‘No more than you, anyway. You knew he’d been to see his bank manager.’

  ‘George Green?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I forgot.’ Grace’s lips curled. ‘He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he? Didn’t he tell you how desperate for money your brother was?’

  ‘George doesn’t divulge his clients’ financial affairs,’ retorted Oliver grimly. ‘Are you saying he turned him down?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask Tom?’ demanded Grace, feeling resentful. ‘Or Sophie? I imagine that’s where all this has come from.’

  Oliver didn’t immediately answer her, but she could tell from the scowl that darkened his features that she was right.

  Then, with evident reluctance, he said, ‘She told me, yes.’ He paused. ‘She says she’s worried he’s going to get himself into real trouble if he goes ahead with it.’

  ‘Good old Sophie,’ muttered Grace, guessing this had been her excuse for coming here. ‘She’s all heart!’

  Oliver had been staring at a spot on the floor, midway between his feet, but now he looked up, his eyes wary. ‘You don’t believe her?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’ Grace sighed. Then, giving in to the des
ire to tell him the truth, ‘All right, it may be true. Your friend Mr Green was only willing to advance Tom half of what he needed. Go figure.’

  ‘Only half?’

  ‘Yes.’ Grace considered a moment before adding, ‘Tom has taken on quite a lot of debt in recent months, what with the expansion and everything. I’d say any bank would fight shy of increasing his liability.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Oliver absorbed this. ‘So you think Sophie was right to come and tell me?’

  Grace shook her head. ‘I don’t know what Sophie’s motives are.’

  ‘But you don’t like her much, do you?’

  Grace sighed. ‘I don’t have to like her. She’s your problem, not mine.’

  Oliver’s sigh was regretful. ‘What if I said she was Tom’s problem? What then?’

  ‘I’d say that was wishful thinking,’ replied Grace, wishing she’d never got into this. She came round the desk, hoping he would get the message and get to his feet. ‘Well, if that’s all…’

  ‘It’s not.’ Using the wheels on the chair to propel himself forward, Oliver slid across the hardwood floor towards her, capturing both her hands before she could get away. ‘When can I see you again?’

  Grace’s breath caught in her throat. ‘I—you’re seeing me now,’ she protested, but Oliver only pulled her between his thighs, trapping her there, with his hands moving familiarly to cup the rounded curve of her bottom.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ he said, his voice muffled as he pressed his face against her bare midriff. ‘I want to be with you. Since we were—together, I haven’t been able to think of anything else.’

  Nor had she!

  ‘Not—not even Miranda?’ she asked in a strangled voice, not really knowing why she cared. She ought to put a stop to this right now. Only she seemed incapable of doing so.

  Oliver uttered a savage oath. ‘Forget Miranda,’ he muttered, lifting his head and nuzzling the damp hollow between her breasts. ‘I have.’

  For now, Grace thought, aware of the ambivalence of his words. He was making no promises, no commitment. She didn’t doubt he wanted her. She could feel the hard length of him throbbing against her leg. But for how long? she wondered bitterly. It was not something she wanted to find out.

  ‘Well, I haven’t,’ she declared resolutely. ‘And unless you want to risk possible impotency—’ her knee brushed deliberately against his erection ‘—I think you’d better go.’

  But the threat was a hollow one, and he seemed to know it. Instead of letting her go, his fingers slid beneath the cuff of her shorts, cool against her hot flesh. Then, as he lifted one hand to her nape with the obvious intention of pulling her face down to his, chimes echoed throughout the house.

  ‘Someone’s at the door,’ said Grace unsteadily, not sure whether she was glad or sorry, and Oliver was forced to let her move away to answer it.

  ‘Saved by the bell,’ he said harshly as she stumbled towards the door. ‘But we’re not finished, Grace. And that’s a promise.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  G RACE flew back to London the following day. She desperately needed to get her feelings about Oliver into perspective and she didn’t trust herself to keep him at arm’s length when he was only next door. She didn’t trust him either, but that was another story.

  As far as she knew, Sophie was still staying with the Ferreiras, and that was another reason for getting away. She had been downright rude when she’d come looking for Oliver the day before, leaving Grace in no doubt that she blamed her for delaying him.

  If she only knew, Grace mused a little bitterly as she waited for her luggage to appear on the carousel. Goodness knew what might have happened if Sophie hadn’t interrupted them. Which was why she’d wasted no time before packing her cases and ringing the airport.

  After collecting her bags, Grace waited another twenty minutes for a taxi and then gave the driver her parents’ address in Croydon. She’d decided to spend a couple of days with them before returning to Northumberland. And if that meant she was a scaredy-cat, then so be it. She needed to get her head together, and she wasn’t going to do that if Tom decided he’d waited long enough to make his intentions known.

  Of course, it meant delaying finding a place of her own, but that couldn’t be helped. She just wished Tom could get his financial problems solved so that she wasn’t made to feel she was deserting a sinking ship.

  And she wasn’t deserting him, she assured herself. And nor was the ship sinking, whatever Sophie said. She was simply moving out of Tom’s house. So no one should be under any illusions as to why she’d been staying there.

  Only her mother was at home when she reached the house in Maple Terrace. The narrow Victorian townhouse looked exactly the same as always, and she was relieved to know that some things never changed.

  Her mother wasn’t expecting her and she looked very surprised when her daughter hauled her suitcases into the hall. ‘I thought you were supposed to be in Spain, darling,’ she said, viewing Grace’s pale face with some misgivings. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No.’ Grace knew she sounded defensive, but she couldn’t help it. ‘I just thought I’d spend a few days with my family before going back to work. That’s all right, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course.’ Mrs Lovell’s response was reassuringly swift. ‘I just can’t imagine anyone preferring grey old London to sunny San Luis.’ She paused. ‘Was Tom with you?’

  ‘Tom!’ Grace’s ejaculation was terse. ‘No! No, Tom wasn’t with me. Why would you think he was?’

  ‘Oh…’ Mrs Lovell looked a little discomfited. ‘I just thought he might be. I—er—I was speaking to Nancy on the phone a couple of days ago and she said her son was staying with them at the moment. I naturally assumed she meant Tom.’

  ‘Well, she didn’t,’ said Grace, dumping her backpack on top of the cases. ‘Look, can I have a cup of tea? I didn’t have anything on the plane.’

  ‘Sorry, darling.’ Her mother pulled a wry face. ‘Here am I prattling on about the Ferreiras, and you’re dying of thirst. Come along. Come into the kitchen. I’ll make you some lunch.’

  ‘A cup of tea will do,’ said Grace, following her along the hall. ‘Then I’ll get unpacked.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  Mrs Lovell led the way into a pleasant kitchen-cum-breakfast room that looked out onto the pretty walled garden at the back of the house. Gesturing Grace towards a chair, she went to fill the kettle, and after it was plugged in she gave her daughter a bright smile.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘did you enjoy your holiday?’

  Grace expelled a slow breath. ‘I—very much,’ she said. ‘Um—how’s Dad?’

  ‘He’s okay.’ But it was obvious Mrs Lovell wasn’t interested in discussing her own affairs. ‘So—what did you do?’

  ‘Not a lot.’ Grace sighed, and then, realising that wasn’t going to satisfy her mother, she added, ‘I swam and sunbathed. Did a little walking. It was too hot to do much else.’

  ‘And did you see the Ferreiras?’

  ‘I had supper with them one evening.’

  ‘And how are they?’

  Grace felt like saying ‘Don’t you know?’ as her mother had recently spoken to Mrs Ferreira, but she didn’t want to create any animosity between them.

  ‘They’re fine,’ she said instead. ‘Looking good.’

  Mrs Lovell nodded. ‘So it was Oliver who was staying with them?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Grace tightly, remembering why she had moved out of her parents’ house in the first place. Her mother always insisted on knowing the far end of everything.

  ‘So how was he?’ Mrs Lovell paused. ‘I don’t suppose Sophie was with him?’

  ‘They’re divorced, Mum,’ exclaimed Grace shortly, realising as she said that it was important for her to believe it, too. ‘Oh, good. The kettle’s boiling.’

  Mrs Lovell went to make the tea, but when she turned back again, Grace could tell from her expression that she wasn’t deceived by her daughter’
s rather inept attempt to change the subject. ‘There is something wrong, isn’t there?’ she said, taking a jug of milk out of the fridge and setting it on the pine table. ‘I suppose it’s Tom. I knew it as soon as Nancy told me that Sophie had moved out of the house.’

  ‘What? What did you know?’ Grace felt helpless in the face of her mother’s certainty. ‘I’m not involved with Tom, if that’s what you’re implying. I’ve never been involved with him and I have no intention of getting involved with him. Is that clear enough for you?’

  ‘There’s no need to take that tone with me, Grace.’ Her mother was looking offended now. ‘Just because Tom doesn’t return your feelings—’

  ‘Tom’s a jerk!’ Grace interrupted her hotly. ‘Sometimes I don’t even like him very much.’

  ‘You say that now,’ declared Mrs Lovell placidly, pushing the cup of tea she’d just poured towards her daughter. ‘But I know you, darling. You wouldn’t have gone dashing off to Spain like that, with no warning, if you hadn’t been upset about something.’

  Grace stared at her disbelievingly. ‘You really think I’m interested in Tom?’

  ‘Well, you have to admit, you got along with him very well last summer. After all, if you hadn’t, he wouldn’t have offered you a job and—’

  ‘The job has nothing to do with it,’ exclaimed Grace incredulously. Then, deciding she was going to get no peace until she came clean about Tom’s intentions, she heaved a sigh. ‘All right. If you must know Tom is the reason I went out to Spain.’

  ‘I thought so.’ Her mother looked smug.

  ‘But it’s not how you think,’ Grace insisted grimly. ‘Since Sophie left, things have been—difficult. I don’t like living in the house alone with him. I don’t trust him. He seems to think it’s only a matter of time before we become—well, an item, if you know what I mean. And that’s not going to happen.’

  Mrs Lovell frowned now. ‘He hasn’t threatened you, has he?’