by Penny Jordan
‘With your publisher?’ she asked the question half drowsily, almost drunk on the warmth and comfort of his arms, and she wished she hadn’t spoken when she sensed his faint hesitation.
‘Er . . . yes . . .’ he agreed. ‘Caroline told me what happened when I got back.’
‘Gloating over every word of it no doubt,’ Jaime said bitterly, trying not to remember those words she had overheard the day she had gone to him for help.
‘Where’s your mother?’ Blake was looking round as though he expected Sarah to materialise in front of him.
‘She’s still away.’ Jaime explained that her mother was extending her holiday.
‘You shouldn’t be alone here.’ Her heart leaped and then fell. Was he genuinely worried about her, as his expression and words seemed to hint, or was his concern all part of a carefully made plan to undermine her defences? Her instincts told her to believe the former, to lay her head on Blake’s shoulder and pour out her fears; to have him hold her even closer, and tell her not to worry any more, but she dared not trust her instincts, in fact, she had to be wary of them because they would always find in Blake’s favour influenced by her love for him.
‘Mrs Widdows is next door on one side and the Hargreaves on the other,’ she said as lightly as she could, disentangling herself from his arms with a reluctance that was almost a physical pain. ‘So I’m not precisely alone.’
‘And Fern is sleeping upstairs, no doubt,’ Blake broke in roughly, ‘ready to defend you the moment those young ruffians decide to take their “demonstration” a step further. I don’t believe you fully realise the danger you could be in Jaime.’
If only he knew! She turned away from him so that he couldn’t see the indecision she was sure was written plainly in her eyes. Once he did see it, he would soon drag the whole story out of her, and she couldn’t risk finding out that he was involved in it.
‘I think you ought to stand down from that committee.’ His words surprised Jaime into turning round. Blake was facing the empty hearth, frowning. ‘I realise you won’t want to, but I’m not sure you fully realise the potential dangers here. Barrons are well known in the building industry for their ruthlessness, and they seem extremely determined to get the Abbey.’
‘Even to the extent of ignoring a Government Preservation Order?’ Jaime demanded huskily. On the face of it, Blake’s suggestion was a reasonable one; one she had even contemplated herself, and yet. . . . ‘In that case, perhaps we ought to disband the committee altogether, after all if they’re as ruthless as you seem to be suggesting, we’re all equally at risk, surely.’
‘You may all be at risk, but not equally so,’ Blake countered roughly. ‘You’re far more vulnerable than any of the others, Jaime, and if Barrons are behind this demonstration today, you can be sure they won’t stop there. I want you to . . .’
Before he could get any further, there was another knock on the door. Charles, Jaime recognised, not knowing whether to be glad or sorry that they were being interrupted. Blake, however, seemed to know exactly how he felt. He was scowling darkly when she let Charles in.
‘I thought I’d just pop round and see how you were,’ Charles began fussily, breaking off when he saw Blake leaning against the fireplace, for all the world as though it were his own.
‘As you can see, you were rather laggard,’ Blake taunted him, his voice deep with disapproval as he added, ‘As a matter of fact, I’m rather surprised that you allowed Jaime to return home alone, in view of today’s events.’
‘I got held up at the television studios,’ Charles explained stiffly before Jaime could protest that she wasn’t a child, and that she was perfectly capable of making her own decisions.
‘Oh, I see.’ Blake’s tone was openly derisive, and Jaime saw a dark tide of colour sweeping Charles’ face. Perhaps, she thought later, that was the reason for his next outburst—one which she was sure startled him as much as it did her.
‘Look, Templeton,’ he began heatedly, ‘I’m perfectly capable of looking after my own fiancee, and I’d be obliged if you’d go and leave us alone. I want to talk to Jaime privately.’
‘Do you now?’ In direct contrast to Charles’ blustering, raised voice, Blake’s was very cold and soft. ‘Well, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible. You seem to have forgotten that the woman you’re claiming as your fiancee is still my wife, and if anyone’s going to be leaving, it’s not going to be me, and what’s more, if you really, genuinely cared about her as much as you pretend to do, you’d never have left her alone this evening, whilst you gave a television interview.’
‘Jaime understands that we have to get our campaign the maximum amount of publicity.’
‘Even to the extent of arranging today’s debacle? Oh, it has been known,’ Blake continued icily before Charles could protest, ‘although in this instance I’ll acquit you of it, but as for Jaime understanding the importance of your campaign, right at this moment, I’ll bet she’s wishing she wasn’t involved in it, and if you really cared about her, you’d make sure she wasn’t. She’s too vulnerable to be caught up in the sort of terror-tactics firms like Barrons use.’
‘And that’s precisely the reason we have to go on fighting against them,’ Jaime found her voice for the first time since Charles’ arrival, and it rang with a quiet conviction that brought Charles’ eyes to her face in pleased approval and Blake’s in wry acceptance.
‘So you won’t withdraw?’ he said softly, ‘I suppose I should have anticipated that. You always were a cussed little thing. I think it’s time you left,’ he said to Charles.
‘Left?’ he spluttered indignantly, looking to Jaime for help. ‘But I’ve only just arrived.’
‘Claiming my wife as your fiancee,’ Blake drawled. ‘Rather precipitate of you in the circumstances.’
For a moment Jaime wondered if Charles would defy Blake, but he didn’t. At the door, he turned to her and said woodenly, ‘I’ll be in touch tomorrow Jaime.’
Jaime could tell from his expression that he had expected her to object to Blake’s comments, but somehow she just hadn’t had the energy. Blake had made her feel protected and safe and that sensation had lingered long enough for her to want to keep him with her as long as she could.
‘It won’t do, you know,’ he said softly, when they heard Charles’ car start up. ‘You’ll always have to fight his battles for him, Jaime, and you’re not that sort of woman. . . .’
‘What sort am I then?’ she demanded waspishly. ‘The clinging helpless type who needs a big strong man to protect her?’
‘No. . . .’ He moved, and came to stand beside her, looking down into her upraised face. Jaime knew she should move away, but she couldn’t. ‘No, you’re a woman who’s learned to stand alone; an intelligent caring woman who combines all that is so essentially feminine in her sex, with a dash of independence and individuality that add the necessary spice to a sweet mixture. Sometimes, you’re a woman who’s afraid to admit to her femininity, who tends to hide herself away behind self-erected barriers.’ He removed ’ his leather jacket, and dropped it down on one of the chairs. When Jaime followed the movement, frowning slightly in non-comprehension, he explained easily—‘I don’t feel happy about you being here alone at night, Jaime, and as your Galahad seems reluctant to take proper care of you, I’ve decided to do it myself.’
‘You mean you’re staying here tonight. . . . But you can’t.’
‘Why not? After all, we are still married, if it’s the moral aspect of my staying that worries you. Don’t forget, we still have to talk about Fern.’
‘Why not?’ he had said, and Jaime tried muzzily to summon to mind all the reasons why it was not possible for him to stay in the cottage with her, but all the time her heart was telling her how much she longed to give in and accept his suggestion, his protection.
‘I’ll sleep in your mother’s bed, if that’s what’s worrying you.’ He was watching her closely, and all she could manage to say was a feeble, ‘But . . . bu
t, you’ve nothing to wear and . . .’
‘I sleep in the raw, or can’t you remember,’ he derided her, ‘and as for the rest, it won’t be the first time we’ve shared a toothbrush will it?’
Jaime’s face flamed. She knew what he was alluding to. The night he had asked her to marry him. The night she had insisted on going home with him. The night they had first made love and she had woken up in his arms and known that that was where she wanted to spend the rest of her life.
‘No more arguments?’
‘I’ll have to make up the bed. . . .’
‘Well, you go and do that, I’ll make us both a hot drink.’
Numbly, Jaime went upstairs, chiding herself for her weakness, for wanting to lean on him. She wasn’t a child any longer; she was fully capable of taking charge of her own life, but, oh, the relief of knowing that tonight she wouldn’t be alone, the sole guardian of Fern’s safety! Her heart leapt and sang. Surely she had been right to believe that Blake wouldn’t do anything to hurt either her or Fern? Unless of course he had been a party to the initial plan, but was now having second thoughts. No, she decided firmly, no, she wouldn’t believe that about him. She wouldn’t!
Half an hour later, drinking the mug of cocoa that Blake had made for her it seemed the most natural thing in the world that he should be sitting opposite her drinking his.
For the first time since she had left him, she felt safe and cared for, an illusion she would be wise to be wary of. Hadn’t she taught herself in the intervening years that it was both foolish and selfish to rely completely on another human being, and that, by doing so, one was forging bonds which sooner or later, they would find so constricting that they would want to break them and find freedom? Her type of love was too intense, too overwhelming, as Blake had already taught her once.
CHAPTER FIVE
JAIME SLEPT RESTLESSLY, WAKING UP IN DARKNESS TO DISCOVER THAT IT WAS STILL ONLY THREE O’CLOCK. WHETHER BECAUSE OF THE TRAUMATIC EVENTS OF THE DAY OR BECAUSE OF BLAKE’S DISTURBING PRESENCE UNDER THE SAME ROOF SHE FOUND IT IMPOSSIBLE TO GET BACK TO SLEEP. HER MOUTH FELT DRY AND SHE CRAVED FOR THE UNIQUE COMFORT OF A CUP OF TEA.
Not wanting to disturb either Blake or Fern, she went downstairs in the dark, finding her way to the kitchen without too much difficulty. It was under Blake’s bedroom and so she moved about as quietly as she could. It was just as she was taking a china mug from the cupboard that she saw what she thought was a human shadow moving stealthily through the garden. The mug fell from nerveless fingers, splintering on the quarry-tiled floor with a crescendo of noise which made Jaime forget about the intruder she may or may not have seen as she worried about whether the noise of the ,breaking china-—so loud in the kitchen—could have woken Blake.
She was just sweeping up the shards when she realised that it had. He came into the kitchen, fastening his jeans as he did so. His hair was still rumpled from sleep, the bare expanse of his chest glowing golden under the electric light. Despite the fact that he had just woken up, his eyes were sharply alert, going from Jaime’s pale face to the broken mug, and then back again.
‘I wanted a cup of tea,’ her voice sounded guiltily apologetic. It was her home, Jaime reminded herself, and Blake was an uninvited guest.
‘You were making as much noise as an addict looking for a too-long delayed fix,’ Blake growled in response.
‘I’m sorry if I disturbed you.’ The kettle was boiling, and Jaime moved across to it automatically. She had her back to Blake when she heard him say shatteringly, ‘I was out of bed and half way downstairs before I realised what was going on. . .. My first instinctive response was that someone must have broken in. I’m not at all happy about you and Fern being alone here—not after what happened this afternoon.’
‘And you think if I left the committee it would stop happening?’ She couldn’t look at him, and see her fears made fact by what she might read in his eyes.
‘I certainly think it would help, but I doubt that you’re going to stop campaigning against the sale of the Abbey. However, Barrons are very powerful opponents.’
‘And you think they’re the ones responsible for what happened at the school?’
He might genuinely believe the builders had arranged the demonstration but, on the other hand, if he and Caroline had been responsible for it, he would want her to think that. If only she had the courage to ask him the truth. Coward, she mocked herself, weak, stupid coward.
‘I think it’s a very strong possibility, although I doubt that you’d ever get proof. They’re far too clever for that. Mind out. . .!’
His warning came too late as she almost trod on a sharp piece of pottery.
‘Blake!’ Her protest was smothered against his throat as he bent to pick her up and then strode into the living room with her, depositing her on the settee. Just for a moment, as he leaned over her, the warm male smell of him reminding her of countless other occasions when he had held her in his arms like this, Jaime wanted to beg him not to let her go. Instead, she struggled steadfastly against the warm pressure of his arms, wondering if he was as aware of the fact that her breasts were crushed against the naked warmth of his body as she was.
A familiar heat rose up inside her, the thin cotton of her nightdress clinging provocatively to her body as he released her. ‘You stay there,’ he told her curtly. ‘I’ll make the tea and clear up. What were you doing down here anyway?’
‘I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. I thought a drink might help.’
‘I know the feeling, but I normally opt for something more alcoholic.’
Jaime watched him, through the open doors, tidy the kitchen, each movement smoothly economic. During the time they had lived together when he was at home, he had always insisted on doing his share of the chores. In some strange way then she had resented it, seeing it as yet more proof of how little he needed her. They had quarrelled about it, she remembered, and he had lashed out at her saying he didn’t want her as a housemaid, but as a companion. He had offered her so much, she realised now, the sort of relationship every woman hopes for, but she had been too frightened, too insecure, and too reluctant to abandon her cherished dream of conventional marriage and motherhood to take what he had been offering.
‘Hey, come back. Where were you?’
‘I was thinking about Charles,’ Jaime lied hastily, avoiding his eyes as she took the mug he proffered. It wouldn’t do her any good at all if Blake guessed that he was the subject of her thoughts, him and regrets for her folly in the past.
‘Oh, were you?’
Surely that wasn’t rage she saw in his eyes. She knew that Blake didn’t like Charles, but the dark, fiercely intent gaze he was turning on her now was that of a very jealous lover.
‘You’re still my wife, Jaime. . . .’
‘But that doesn’t mean I can’t think about other men.’ What on earth had got into her? She sounded almost provocative! When she saw the way Blake’s tension increased, his whole body taut with it, she knew why she had reacted the way she had. She wanted to make him jealous.
‘Doesn’t it? He isn’t worthy of you, Jaime. Stop thinking about him. Think about this instead.’ His hand slid up into her hair, twining through the silky strands, and tugging gently until her throat arched. The thumb of Blake’s free hand stroked along her jaw, his eyes registering the soft quiver that betrayed her, before his fingers curled against the warmth of her throat, imprisoning her so that she was forced to witness the leisurely descent of his mouth, without being able to do a thing to avoid it.
The anticipation of his mouth on hers was almost unbearable, and even whilst she felt resentment at Blake’s openly ‘dog in the manger’ attitude, there was a spiralling excitement and satisfaction in knowing that he wanted to kiss her.
‘Jaime. . . .’ His mouth touched hers lightly at first, as though he was trying to judge her reaction, and then when he met no resistance, his tongue stroked coaxingly along the tremulous outline of her lips until they were pliant and mo
ist, already half parting in anticipation of his kiss.
It was an explosion of pleasure within her, a reaffirmation of all that she already knew she felt about him. She moaned hungrily in her throat when she felt the possessive pressure of his mouth yield, arching against him in her need to prolong his kiss.
Blake seemed to know how she felt, just as he always had. His kiss deepened to match her need, fuelling and feeding the growing hunger she could feel inside her and then, easing slightly, bringing her back down to earth by gentle degrees until she realised that she was lying in his arms, with her mouth swollen from his kiss and his lips still warmly pliant against hers.
‘Jaime, you’re as hungry for me as I am for you.’
‘No,’ she moaned the denial out loud, but knew in her heart that Blake was right. ‘What on earth do you see in that Thomson as a man? He can’t satisfy you in any of the ways that a woman like you needs to be satisfied. He calls you his fiancee, but he isn’t your lover.’
‘How do you know that?’ She moved restlessly in Blake’s arms, aware of treading on treacherous ground and yet unable to deny herself the pleasure of being this close to him.
‘Because, if he were, you wouldn’t want me to touch you like this . . .’ His thumb stroked softly behind her ear and down over her throat, shaping the line of her collar bone and drawing shivering frissons of pleasure from her responsive flesh. ‘Or like this.’ His fingers probed the low neckline of her cotton nightdress and found the swollen mound of her breast. At the first touch of his thumb against the vulnerability of her nipple, Jaime sucked in her breath, tensing her whole body, her heart pounding so heavily it seemed to echo in the silence between them. Deftly, expertly, Blake slid the straps of her nightdress down until Jaime felt that the mere vibration of her breathing would be enough to make the fine fabric fall free Of her upper body, but it was Blake’s hands that smoothed the cotton free of her skin and then shaped the full femininity of her breasts, his eyes following the line of tan that revealed that all her sun bathing had been done with the benefit of her bikini top.