by Helen Brooks
‘Anything; I don’t mind. They don’t do hot drinks, do they?’ She shivered as the heat from the fire warmed her cold face. ‘I’d love a cup of coffee or hot chocolate.’
‘Your wish is my command, o favoured one,’ he said softly. ‘Who can refuse the favourite of the harem anything?’
She looked up at him warily, her eyes rebellious. ‘You started that, Alex,’ she said hotly, her face tight. ‘Insinuating to that man that I was here as your...your...’
‘My what?’ His face was genuinely puzzled. ‘You’re supposed to be down here as my girlfriend, for crying out loud, aren’t you?’
‘You didn’t make it sound like that,’ she said quickly. ‘Not your girlfriend, more...something else.’
‘Like hell I did,’ he said flatly, his eyes narrowing. ‘If any of your other boyfriends had made a remark like that you would have taken it in the spirit it was meant. It was a joke, just a casual everyday joke. You really have got quite a chip on your shoulder where I’m concerned, haven’t you? What is it about me, Fabia—my wealth, the lifestyle, my physical appearance? What is it that reminds you so much of him?’
‘I’ve never said there was a him,’ she said coldly, ‘and even if there were it’s none of your business. You’ve asked me to do a job and that’s what I’m here for. That doesn’t give you the right to pry into my personal life.’
‘No, you’re dead right,’ he said icily as he straightened up away from her, his face stony. ‘But when you let your personal life interfere with the work in hand it becomes my business, and that’s exactly what you’re doing. I don’t care whether you like me or not but we might as well get it clear now that I won’t tolerate snide remarks and sarcasm for a week. I meant nothing by what I said and whether you believe me or not you’re going to have to accept that. I’ve no intention of watching everything I say for the next few days in case you take offence. Got it?’ He marched over to the bar before she could reply and she sat where she was, cheeks burning and hands clenched in impotent rage.
As her cheeks cooled along with her anger she was forced to admit to herself, albeit reluctantly, that he did have a point. She wouldn’t have taken umbrage at the remark from anyone else, it was true. She eyed him with distinct irritation as he stood talking to George at the bar. She was in the wrong, again! Why do you have to be so altogether perfect? she thought balefully as she stared at him across the room. And why can you read me like a book? She suddenly wished with all her heart that she hadn’t agreed to this crazy idea. She should have let him do his worst, let him unleash his anger—anything rather than be with him like this. She was standing on the edge of a precipice and it felt as if she were blindfolded.
‘One cup of coffee.’ As he placed the steaming cup in front of her she blinked and realised with a start that she hadn’t seen him cross the room. ‘Dreaming?’ He smiled slowly, the cold anger of a few minutes before seemingly evaporated.
‘I’m sorry, Alex.’ She spoke quickly before she lost her nerve. ‘I was being touchy. I can see you didn’t mean anything in what you said.’ She touched his arm in a gesture of apology.
He sat down beside her, a strange expression on his face as his eyes rested on the small hand resting on his arm. He smiled slowly. ‘And you apologise when you’re wrong? You really are quite an enigma, Miss Fabia Grant. I’m not at all sure if it was a good day or a bad day for me when you blazed over my horizon.’
‘Blazed?’ She risked a shaky smile. There had been something in the deep voice, something tender, that she preferred not to dwell on. It stirred too many discarded dreams.
‘Definitely blazed,’ he said lazily. ‘You stood out from the other women like—’
‘Shall we eat?’ She broke in with a smile to soften the abruptness but she couldn’t listen to any more. Those had been the very words Robin had said to her all those years ago. ‘You stood out from the other women like an exotic flower in a field of daisies’. She hadn’t understood at the time that some men were fascinated by a challenge, the unattainable, but later, much later, how she had envied those daisies.
‘Sure.’ She sensed those sharp gold eyes missed nothing, but he accepted the change of conversation gracefully as he settled back in his seat. ‘The steak in red wine sauce is excellent here. George’s brother is a butcher and George gets preferential treatment for all the best cuts of meat. Care to try it?’
‘Thank you.’ She passed him the menu, her face enquiring. ‘Do you often eat here, then?’
‘I normally stop off and see old George if I’m down this way,’ he said blandly, his eyes narrowing on her surprised face. ‘I grew up in this neck of the woods, remember.’
‘Yes.’ She looked at him carefully. ‘Of course.’
‘You find that surprising?’ There was a soft note in his voice that warned her she was on dangerous ground and she hesitated for a moment before answering him.
‘Not exactly.’ She chose her words cautiously. ‘It’s just so different from your normal sort of place...that restaurant in London, you know...’ As her voice trailed away he didn’t move for a long moment, looking at her silently from frosted eyes.
‘No, I don’t know, Fabia. Do I take it you assume I’m the sort of clown who only likes to be seen in the right places? Who carries a social Who’s Who in his pocket? Is that it?’
It was so close to what she did think, how Robin had behaved, that a flood of betraying colour stained her cheeks pink.
‘I see.’ His voice was still cool and quiet but his eyes were deadly. ‘Charming. And how did you arrive at this delightful piece of supposition? No, let me guess.’ He held up his hand mockingly. ‘It’s none of my business, right?’
She stared at him miserably. The last couple of hours had been a wonderful start to the holiday!
‘Well, let’s just suppose, for a short while, that there are a few things about me you don’t know? Ridiculous, you’re thinking, but humour me.’ The contempt in his voice was matched only by the scorn in his face. ‘I am—surprise, surprise—quite normal in some respects. I eat, I sleep, I breathe and if you cut me I bleed.’ He smiled coldly. ‘I enjoy doing ordinary things,’ he continued, his voice lifted in exaggerated surprise. ‘I sometimes drive my own car, take the dogs for a walk, go to the pub. I even—’ he paused dramatically ‘—cook a meal for myself now and again. What? you’re asking. This leader of the social whirl, this heartless seducer of women—can this be true?’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘I work hard and I play hard and I don’t intend to apologise to you for either.’ She stared at him silently, quite unable to speak. ‘And for crying out loud stop looking at me like that!’
He moved so violently that his chair scraped harshly against the red tiles of the hearth, and as George raised his grizzled head in surprise Alex forced a smile to his face. ‘Two steaks in red wine, George, and a nice bottle of wine, OK?’
‘OK, Mr Cade. Ten minutes.’
Fabia sat in stunned silence for a few seconds more and then opened her mouth to speak at the same moment as she caught his eye. ‘Not a word, Fabia, not a word.’
She flushed angrily. ‘I was only—’
‘I said not a word.’ She suddenly understood how he controlled his empire. There was a savage ruthlessness in his voice that stopped her in her tracks. She didn’t dare speak! She was furious and she wanted to, but she didn’t dare. She glared at him nevertheless, her dark blue eyes flashing sparks. ‘And drink your coffee.’ There was a thread of amusement in the dark voice that seared her stretched nerves like fire. ‘You can rest assured that your objections, although not verbal, have been taken note of.’
They didn’t speak again until George brought their meal. Alex seemed perfectly calm and untroubled, his big body relaxed and easy and his dark, handsome face quiet. She, on the other hand, Fabia reflected bitterly, was as tight as a coiled spring! It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair!
The meal was delicious but she could only eat a small portion of the succulent meat a
nd one potato. There was a huge lump in her throat that defied all food and the churning in her stomach was rendering eating impossible.
‘What’s the matter?’ She became aware that his eyes were fixed on her face as she moved a piece of steak around on her plate for the umpteenth time. ‘Are you worried about meeting my grandmother?’
Your grandmother? For an awful moment she thought she had voiced her amazement out loud. His grandmother was the last person she was concerned about, she thought wryly as she looked into the tawny gold eyes. If she were Lucretia Borgia personified the lady would be a pussycat to handle beside this man.
‘I’m just not hungry,’ she answered quietly. ‘Too much breakfast.’
His eyes were frankly disbelieving. ‘You’ll be all right.’ He reached out a hand suddenly and touched her arm gently. ‘I told you, I won’t let any harm come to you.’ His eyes held hers in a tight grip. ‘Trust me.’ Her flesh tingled faintly where he’d touched.
‘I can’t.’ It was a faint whisper and for a long moment they were locked in a silent world of their own.
‘I could kill him.’ His voice was flat. ‘Whoever he was or is I could kill him. He’s here with us now, isn’t he?’
‘Please don’t,’ she said weakly. It wasn’t real, this concern, this caring. She lowered her eyes, stroking the top of her wine glass distractedly. She had been here before. She mustn’t forget. Physical attraction meant little to a man like him.
When they left the cosy shelter of the small, warm pub it was to find that although the worst of the blizzard had abated an icy northerly wind was slicing the air with savage fingers and it was quite dark. Alex lifted her into his arms without a word and this time she didn’t protest, steeling herself to show no emotion when he set her down by the car, his face tight.
‘One thing, Fabia.’ There was a strange tenseness in his voice and his arms were still about her as he spoke, his breath a white cloud on the frosty air. ‘Which is it?’
‘What?’ She stared up at him in the circle of his arms, her eyes dark midnight-blue and her hair a pale glow in the darkness. ‘I don’t understand...’
‘No, of course.’ His voice was husky. ‘I’m not expressing myself very well. This man, is he a was or an is?’ His eyes were piercingly intent on her face. ‘It’s not idle curiosity, I need to know. The present circumstances and so on...’ It was almost as though he wanted to say more and she waited a moment, her heart pounding and her hands clammy in spite of the freezing air. She wished he would kiss her... The thought jolted her out of the odd stillness that seemed to have her in its grasp and she shut her eyes for a brief moment before replying.
‘Was.’ She looked up and caught a flash of emotion in his eyes seconds before a shutter came down and blanked it out. ‘He’s a was.’
‘Right.’ Although he hadn’t moved a muscle and his facial expression was just the same she felt he had changed, that some pressure, a tautness, had drained away. He opened the car door without letting go of her, easing her into the seat, and reaching into the back for a big fluffy car-rug which he draped about her lap before shutting the door carefully. He didn’t speak when he joined her a moment later, starting the engine and clearing the windows of their burden of icy snow in silence.
As they continued on their way along white deserted roads the wind was vicious in its intensity, stirring the powdery flakes of snow that had settled on trees and bushes into mad flurries now and again and jostling the car with its force. They passed the odd solitary car crawling along at a pace to match theirs but otherwise the world seemed quite empty, the starlit clear sky overhead and the cold white earth beneath in perfect harmony.
‘We’ve made it.’ She came to with a start and realised she must have been dozing; the cosy warmth of the car had been deliciously seductive. She looked about her with wide eyes, seeing nothing but a huge snow-covered stone wall in which were set an enormous pair of wrought-iron gates.
‘We have?’ She realised there had been a note of great thankfulness in his voice although he had displayed no anxiety or concern during the journey at all. But then he wouldn’t, would he? she thought intuitively. She was beginning to realise that Alexander Cade was not an easy man to understand. ‘I don’t see anything.’
‘No, the house is down the drive a way, but first...’ He cut the engine and leant over towards her, taking her lips in a firm, hard kiss before she could move. As his mouth covered hers she knew she wouldn’t resist, that she didn’t want to resist, that she had been waiting for this moment all day. ‘So sweet, so fresh...’ His passion was growing as he felt her response to him, his tongue plundering her mouth and his hands crushing her against him so that her hair hung in a golden veil over his arm.
The kiss was all-consuming and like before it amazed her with its power, a sweet drugging sensation taking hold of her senses as she melted into him, her hands caught against his hard chest and her head bent backwards. He was running his hands up and down her back now as he covered her eyes, cheeks and mouth in tiny burning kisses, his breathing harsh and uneven.
‘Fabia?’ There was a note of undisguised surprise in his voice as she opened her eyes to find his face an inch away from hers. She sensed that the blazing passion that had sprung up between them the moment he had touched her lips with his had taken him by surprise as much as it had amazed her. Surely people didn’t normally feel like this? This wasn’t usual, was it? She stared at him, her eyes huge in her pink-tinted face.
‘I was going to kiss you and say I hope you’ll have a wonderful Christmas,’ he said ruefully as he let go of her, moving back into his seat slowly and brushing a lock of tawny-brown hair off his forehead. ‘The...ardour wasn’t premeditated.’
‘Thank you,’ she said shakily, quite unable to muster a casual reply to ease the situation. ‘I hope you have a good Christmas too.’
‘Yes.’ He stared at her for another long moment before turning the ignition key so that the car sprang into life, easing his way between the gates and on to a long tree-lined drive that seemed to stretch into the distance forever, winding and turning as it went. Someone had obviously cleared the drive of snow in anticipation of their arrival; it was heaped in great shining banks either side of them and there was a thin scattering of dark sand beneath the car’s tyres. It was a full minute before the house came into view and when it did it merely added to the sense of unreality that had taken hold of her in the last few hours.
The building was palatial, huge and regally beautiful in mellow white stone, set on a slight incline with massive weathered oaks either side like dutiful sentries. It was grand, imposing, like a magnificent stately home, and as she looked at it she felt slightly sick. I must be mad! she thought faintly. This cool, controlled man at her side had grown up in surroundings fit for a king, as far removed from her beginnings as it was possible to imagine, and here she was thinking that he might just be different from Robin, that perhaps he could be genuine.
You fool, she thought harshly. You stupid, pathetic fool. You have maybe caught his fancy for a brief moment in time, something different in his normal well ordered life that he can turn to his advantage, but don’t forget you’re here doing a job, no more, no less. You couldn’t begin to function in his world; you don’t even know the ground rules. She remembered the last words Robin had flung at her as she had left the flat that day, with the sound of his mistress’s sobs in the background. ‘You didn’t seriously think you were expected to last, did you? You were a change, my dear, like good old-fashioned ice-cream after an excess of soufflé.’ His face had been cruel, red with frustrated passion and rage, the short bathrobe he had pulled on to cover his nakedness revealing white hairless legs that were curiously repugnant. She had concentrated on his legs for a long time, she reflected bitterly; it had helped to get the rest of the miserable fiasco into balance.
‘Penny for them?’ As they glided to a halt in front of the massive oak door flanked by two imposing stone lions at the top of the circular steps F
abia raised her eyes to Alex’s watching face, her expression guarded.
‘They aren’t worth a penny.’ She smiled carefully. ‘I would be robbing you.’
‘I doubt that.’ He was looking at her hard, his eyes noting the tight line of her lips and shadowed eyes, her hands bunched nervously in her lap. ‘I doubt that very much. You intrigue me, Miss Fabia Grant; I’ve never met a woman who houses so many different facets in one lovely body. Playful, wicked, defensive, vulnerable...which is the real you?’ She stared at him without answering, her eyes almost black against the whiteness of her face. ‘But maybe they are all you?’ he continued thoughtfully. ‘A grand composite of a hundred men’s dreams just waiting to be released.’
‘There’s nothing mystical about me, I assure you, so don’t waste your time trying to make me into something I’m not,’ she said sharply, the colour returning to her face as her anger sent a burst of welcome adrenalin to banish the past and provide help for the present. ‘I’m a perfectly ordinary average working girl with two flat feet firmly on the ground. You needn’t try to charm me into thinking I’m something wonderful, Mr Cade. I know what I am.’
‘Maybe.’ He smiled slowly. ‘But do you know who you are? That’s different, my prickly little siren. I have a feeling that the real Fabia Grant is in there somewhere, just waiting to be let out. She just got lost for a while.’
‘Look—’
He cut her indignant response off with a lazy chuckle. ‘And the name is Alex, angel-face, remember? I hardly think Mr Cade holds sufficient warmth to make our relationship believable, do you?’
She looked at him as he sat, perfectly relaxed and self-assured, long dark hair perfectly groomed and gleaming against the black coat and his tawny eyes glittering at her discomfiture, and felt a moment’s blinding panic at what she had taken on. But it was too late now. As the big door at the top of the steps swung open the thought repeated itself like a ominous tolling bell. It was far, far too late.