The Trouble with Trent!

by Jessica Steele

  She felt one of Trent's hands come and brush her hair from her face. 'What a sensitive soul you are,' he murmured softly.

  Alethea jerked her head away. Sensitive soul? He wouldn't say that if he knew how dearly she wanted to punch him on the nose. 'What about your parents?' She got her second wind. This was all too much one-sided, in her opinion.

  `What about them?' he asked mildly.

  `Are they still together?' Why should it be his prerogative to pry?

  `Very much so,' Trent answered. 'They're everything to each other.' Her anger went as suddenly as it had come. Perhaps she was a shade touchy where her father was concerned. She rather liked the sound of Trent's parents being everything to each other. 'They don't live more than an hour from here,' Trent went on, adding, to her enormous surprise, 'We've time to go and call if you'd like to meet them.'

  Meet them—meet his parents? Grief, no! And where do you live, Alethea? With your son, actually—no, thank you very much! 'I've nothing against your parents,' she began to refuse politely, 'but —'

  `Then it must be their son,' Trent cut in.

  `Remind me to tell you about it some time,' she commented drily, and unexpectedly found that they were both breaking out into a grin.

  Ridiculously she felt her heartbeat quicken and hastily she looked away. But she could not rid her mind of him-tall, casually dressed, good-humoured and standing so close they were almost touching.

  Alethea concentrated hard on admiring the view, something which, not so long back, had needed no concentration at all. 'It's lovely here.' She felt tense and in the need to say something.

  `Beautiful,' Trent murmured, and she just had to turn her head and take a quick look at him. He wasn't admiring the view, she saw, but her. Quickly she turned her head away. She felt strung up and all over the place. Yet Trent's voice was casual, off-hand almost, as he enquired, 'So what did you plan to do today that might have prevented you from enjoying this view?'

  Alethea at once recalled how she had originally turned down his invitation because she had a lot to do that day. Perhaps it was the fact that his tone was so casual, or

  perhaps it was that she needed something to pin her thoughts. Whatever the case, Alethea discovered that she did not have the same reluctance to tell him about her flat that she had experienced last evening.

  `I've taken a flat,' she stated. 'It needs—' She got no further.

  `The devil you have!' The roar of Trent's voice, so totally unlike his previous casual tone, made her turn sharply to stare at him. 'You're living with me!' he informed her furiously.

  `As if I need reminding!' In an instant she was as angry as he, the peace and quiet of the afternoon shattered as, toe-to-toe, they glared at each other. Then, suddenly, just when she was certain that some acid retort was on its way to her lips, her innate honesty came and tripped her up. Moving in with him had not been compulsory; she had done it to gain what she wanted and it was a bargain that she had agreed to. Her anger dipped. 'Don't be sniffy about it, Trent,' she said, starting to feel miserable. While she still had no intention of fulfilling her part of the bargain to the letter, she had, after all, in her mind agreed to live with him until such time as he told her to go. Trent continued to eye her with hostility. Which left her to explain, 'You know as well as I do that our—er—arrangement isn't a permanent one.'

  He eyed her coldly for perhaps two seconds or more, and then enquired coolly, 'You're suggesting it will soon be over?'

  At once misery vanished and she came out fighting. `Don't get your hopes up, de Havilland!' she flared. 'I'm no closer to getting into your bed now than I've ever been!'

  What she expected him to say in reply she had no idea. What she did not expect, however, was that, she having

  told him what was what, he should stare at her and, as she stared back at him, that she should see his lips start to twitch. Suddenly, so did hers.

  `You're the limit,' he commented and it was the most natural thing in the world that he accompanied those words with a brief kiss on her mouth.

  Both pulled back. She felt no alarm and, strangely, no surprise. She looked at him, saw his gaze on her was steady, serious. His head came down once more towards her.

  He put his arms around her. She liked feeling this close to him. His lips captured hers, gentle, seeking, giving and yet taking, not greedily.

  She placed her hands on his waist and kissed him back when, for a third time, he kissed her. When three kisses simply begged to be four, he kissed her again and she relaxed totally, putting her arms around him.

  Trent raised his head, warmth in his eyes. 'This is one hell of a way to work off lunch.'

  `Perhaps we'd better walk,' she suggested.

  But for long, long seconds they just stood and looked at each other, until he agreed, 'Perhaps we better had.' As they walked he kept one arm about her shoulders, almost as if it fitted, as if that was where it belonged. Alethea did not object. Away from his house, out here in this splendid countryside, she felt in no way threatened.

  They spent what was left of the afternoon walking, talking and driving and in a fine kind of harmony. They returned to London in the early evening.

  `You'll have to pack for your trip, I expect,' she realised as they entered his drawing room.

  `It won't take long,' he replied. 'Hungry?'

  `You did all the driving; I'll get us something to eat,' she offered. They didn't need another mammoth meal that day. 'Poached eggs all right?'

  `So tell me about this flat you've had the nerve to take,' he invited when they were sitting down in the kitchen to supper.

  Alethea darted a quick look at him, but saw his question was asked good-humouredly.

  `It's a basement flat, and I'll need to decorate... That's what I intended to do today, go and decide how much exactly has to be done and how much emulsion or wallpaper I'll need—whichever I decide on.'

  `You're going to decorate it yourself?'

  `I thought I'd try.'

  `Are you any good at paper-hanging?' he asked, seeming interested.

  She shook her head. 'I've never done any before, which is why I shall probably use emulsion,' she grinned. `Though, come to think of it, I've never emulsioned a wall before either.'

  `I'll. ..' he began, and seemed to change his mind about what he intended to say. 'I'm sure you'll do a splendid job,' he stated encouragingly.

  Their acquaintance—Alethea didn't think it could be called a relationship—seemed to have moved into a different sort of sphere, she rather felt. She supposed having spent the day with each other, having exchanged several kisses—more in friendship than as lovers—had a lot to do with it. But, even so, she was sipping the last of her coffee when she suddenly began to get the notion that Trent was only waiting for her to say goodnight so he could go and get on with his packing.

  She carried the dishes to the sink and began to wash them. When Trent came over and, picking up a cloth,

  began to dry the dishes, she grew more certain that he was now in a hurry to make a start on his packing.

  Alethea checked that everything was tidy and, remembering she had left her shoulder bag in the drawing room, she went to retrieve it.

  `Nightcap?' Trent enquired, following her in.

  `I think I'll go to bed,' she refused in a friendly fashion.

  `Sure?'

  He was standing quite close. 'Positive,' she smiled, and found she was telling him honestly, 'I enjoyed today. Thank you.'

  Trent smiled too, and took two steps that brought him within touching distance. 'I enjoyed it too,' he stated softly, his eyes fixed on hers.

  Feeling unable to move, Alethea stared up at him. She still hadn't moved when he stretched forward, caught hold of her by her upper arms, and placed his superb warm mouth against her own.

  She had closed her eyes, but she quickly opened them when he broke his kiss and pulled back from her, before abruptly walking away. 'Goodnight, Alethea,' he said evenly. Making for the drinks table, he made no mov
e to detain her.

  Clearly kissing her had not deprived him of his fancy for a nightcap! Feeling most peculiarly disgruntled—grief, what was she waiting for, to be kissed again? — she went swiftly to bed.

  But she couldn't get off to sleep. Much later she heard Trent coming up the stairs. Then, as on previous nights, she heard him moving about in his room. She knew that he was packing and felt, ridiculously, that she would like to go and help him.

  I must be going soft in the head, she decided. Trent, by the sound of it, was always going away and would therefore be highly efficient at packing.

  She was all confused again by the time sleep claimed her. Most oddly, she had realised that it was comforting hearing Trent moving about next door. Also, she dearly wished she had asked him what time he was leaving in the morning. Insanely she felt that she would like to get up to see him off. Well, why shouldn't she? He was going to be away for three weeks, he'd said. Her thoughts were starting to grow more confused, the drowsier she got. She wouldn't see him now for three whole weeks! She fell asleep arguing with herself: as if it mattered that she wouldn't see him again before he went!

  But she did see Trent again before he left, however. She opened her eyes and saw him placing a cup of tea down on her bedside table.

  `Didn't see why early-morning tea-delivery should be your sole prerogative,' he said, on seeing her waking.

  She struggled to sit up, sleepy still, but glad to see him, she realised. 'Are you going now?' she asked.

  `Very shortly,' he replied, and, coming to sit on the side of her bed, he asked, 'Going to be good while I'm away?'

  `You think I should break a habit of a lifetime?' she asked impishly.

  His mouth tweaked at the corners. 'You will one day,' he informed her solemnly. But that half-smile was back again when he added roguishly, 'And I intend to be there.'

  She laughed. She liked him 'Don't hold your breath,' she advised, and was soundly kissed for her trouble.

  But when Trent pulled back neither of them was laughing. She stared at him unblinking—she didn't want

  him to go! Trent stared back and for ageless moments they just looked at each other. Then, abruptly, he switched his gaze from her face and his glance happened to light on where the loose-fitting strap of her nightdress had fallen down, way down.

  Alethea followed his eyes, her breath catching as she saw that most of her left breast was exposed. She went to hurriedly cover herself up. 'Don't!' Trent commanded. 'You're beautiful,' he breathed, and with a groan, as if he was fast going out of control, he reached for her and took her in his arms.

  Unresisting, and maybe feeling a little bewildered, Alethea clung onto him. Then his mouth claimed hers and, though he had kissed her before, this time it was different.

  Alethea came fully awake as the pressure of his arms around her increased. She felt his mouth against her own, mobile, parting her lips with his. She was not sure if he breathed her name against her mouth. All she did know was that she had no mind to try and push him away.

  Indeed, when Trent, still holding her firmly in one arm, began to caress her naked left shoulder with his other hand, far from pushing him away, Alethea nestled closer to him When that caressing hand moved down to capture the firm globe of her uncovered breast, Alethea swallowed hard.

  `Oh, my dear,' he breathed against her mouth, and kissed her, caressed her, awakening such feelings in her that she did not know where she was.

  Then at last, as if compelled, Trent pulled back. His eyes searched her face, before once more, as if drawn, his glance went down to where her left breast was now fully exposed.

  Her breath sucked in, but as she went to swiftly cover herself Trent's hand on her wrist prevented her. 'I won't hurt you,' he soothed quietly, and bent his head to her uncovered breast and kissed the hardened peak, then took it into his mouth, awakening in her a desire such as she had never known.

  Which made it a mystery to her that she called out, `Stop!' when what she wanted was for him to never stop.

  With a deep sound of anguish, he did stop. He even righted the strap of her nightdress back on her shoulder, though he seemed to be having a devil of a time with his self-control. Letting go of her, he asked, 'You're something of a spoilsport, Alethea Pemberton—do you know that?'

  Dear Heaven, she wanted him to kiss her again. 'I know it,' she managed huskily.

  `Do you also know that you're driving me half-demented?'

  Didn't he know what he was doing to her? 'I bet you say that to all the girls,' she said, desperately searching for something to put her back together again.

  Trent looked at her long and hard, as if he might store up the memory of how she looked—all tousled hair and pinkened cheeks. Then he growled, 'I've a plane to catch!' — and was gone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ALEA did not go back to sleep after Trent had left. How could she? He had awakened emotions in her at which she had never guessed. She had thought she had been kissed before, but she hadn't. Not like that. No man had ever stirred her in the way that Trent had.

  She drank the tea he had brought her and mused what a lovely gesture that was on his part. Then she swiftly got out of bed and got showered and dressed, while all the time she strove to get her head back together.

  She spent the morning in such a mental quagmire that she achieved little. Had that been her in Trent's arms—clinging, wanting more? Had she dreamed the whole of it?

  It all seemed so crazy, though she had to admit that since first she had met him her ability to think straight had taken a dramatic downward turn. She felt pulled all ways. She hadn't wanted to come and live with him and should be hating him because he had forced her to do so.

  But she didn't hate him and, if this morning's performance was anything to go by, it seemed she was growing more and more attracted to him. Oh, Heavens! No wonder she was confused.

  Fully awake, and in the cold light of day, Alethea was able to re-endorse the fact that she still had not the slightest intention of getting into bed with Trent. Only now she quite urgently wished that, instead of waiting

  for Trent to get fed up with waiting for that event, they had agreed a time limit.

  By the time the afternoon came around, it seemed to her that she had done nothing but think of Trent ever since she had opened her eyes that morning. While she did not discount that Trent and his kisses and caresses had disturbed her mightily, she decided that the fact that all her thoughts seemed centred around him must be because, this not being a working day, she had nothing to do.

  Nothing to do! Ye gods, she'd got a flat that needed decorating and furnishing. Furnishing? Alethea pulled herself together once more, thought of the furniture she'd always been tripping over in her old home, and went and dialled her mother's number. Maxine answered.

  `How's life living on your own?' she asked, still sounding so much brighter that Alethea had to be glad she had done what she'd done. No need to tell Maxine that she wasn't living on her own.

  `Different, but I like it,' she answered.

  `Good! Though I was sure you would. Where is it, by the way?'

  This time Alethea had an address to give. She gave her sister the address of the basement flat, adding, 'You must come and see it when I've got it decorated and the way I want it.'

  `All of us? You'll be sorry! What's your phone number?'

  `I—er—can't remember,' Alethea excused, which was true. 'It's not on the handset,' she said, which was an invention. 'Actually,' she went on quickly, 'I'm on the cadge. Is Mother there?'

  `She's taken Sadie and Georgia out for a walk.' `Not Polly?'

  `Would you?' Maxine asked drily, and Alethea laughed. 'She's sleeping,' Maxine went on to explain. `She's played hell all morning and is now exhausted. What are you on the cadge for?'

  `Loan, actually. I wondered if I could borrow some of my old bedroom furniture. Only temporarily until I can—'

  `Borrow some of mine—you'd be doing us all a favour,' Maxine cut in quickly. 'How
about your sitting room?'

  Alethea put down the phone with the problem of equipping her flat easily solved. She had told Maxine she would arrange the furniture's collection. Her sister was keen she should take the chest that presently resided in the hall. Trent had cracked his shin on that chest, Alethea remembered—and Trent was back in her head again.

  Alethea was glad to see Monday come around. She felt a most restless need to keep busy. Which was no problem until she left her office. Somehow, when she had never had a problem in filling her evenings before, the evening seemed to stretch before her emptily and endlessly.

  For goodness' sake, what's wrong with you? She gave herself a pep talk, and went straight from her office to her basement flat. Yes, most definitely the bedroom was going to have to be decorated before she could move in any furniture.

  Alethea made a stab of calculating how many decorating materials she would need, and went back to the house she shared with Trent. Only he wasn't there, and it wasn't the same. She wasn't hungry and she was going to bed. She planned a busy day tomorrow.

  Perversely she decided to make herself a warm drink first, and was in the kitchen when the telephone rang. Oh, heck! She decided against answering it. She had no idea if Trent had told anyone that he had someone living with him. But in any case she wasn't about to tell anyone who she was.

  But the phone persisted in ringing, so whoever wanted Trent wasn't going to give up in a hurry. Well, it couldn't be anyone from his office because they'd know that he was out of the country. And he would certainly have told anyone close to him that he'd be away for three weeks—his parents or some close woman-friend.

  Oh, dammit, that last thought somehow made her feel impatient. Before she knew it she had taken the receiver of the kitchen wall-phone in her hand and said, 'Hello.'