At last he said, “It will have to be,” and he even managed to smile. “But I’m hoping to convince you that I’m worth waiting for.”
The ridiculously old-fashioned expression made me laugh out loud, and his expression softened. “You’re so beautiful when you laugh.”
“And you’re handsome when you flirt,” I replied, not recognizing myself inside this bantering woman. But being around him was a thrill-ride—gut-wrenching at times and delightful at others. I couldn’t seem to stop myself responding naturally, as if my walls of reserve crumbled in his presence.
I wasn’t sure if that was sensible, but it was certainly addictive.
He leant further forward and took my hand out of my lap, to hold it in both of his. “Louella Knight,” he said quite seriously, “I want you to commit to being my friend and to letting me stay in your house. That means you don’t throw me out the first time you get embarrassed or angry or scared. You tell me, and we work it out together. Can you do that? Can you try to do that?”
I stared into his steady blue eyes and felt myself tipping over. There were a hundred reasons I should say no, but I wanted to say yes. I wanted to take the comfort and security he offered and work out the rest as we went along, exactly as he’d described.
Jill was the one who made decisions by jumping off a cliff and discovering what she had to do on the way down—hopefully before she crashed. That wasn’t me. At all. And yet…
“Yes. I’ll try.”
Not I will or I promise, but something I could manage. I could try. It wasn’t a clifftop leap, but it was something new to me, and when he smiled that gentle smile that undid me completely—especially when he was touching me, holding my hand—I felt brave and somehow reckless, as if I was young and foolish. And I never felt that way. I usually always felt older than everyone else, even when that wasn’t the case.
“I’m proud of you,” he said softly and his thumb stroked my palm where the skin was incredibly sensitive. Instantly my nipples tightened, and I felt the oddest sensation as if my breasts had somehow swelled and were pressing against my shirt.
His gaze dropped to my breasts and several beats of silence passed as he breathed in and out. Then he said, “I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
His gaze dragged back to mine. “No I’m not.” He was still stroking my palm, back and forth, reminding me in the most visceral way possible of his fingers against my clitoris and the spectacularly noisy orgasm that had created. “All this talk of other men got me jealous.” He frowned. “I’m still…territorial, but that will settle down.”
“While we’re being platonic?” I pulled my hand out of his and took a slow, deep breath, trying to settle my libido. Then I stood and went back to my desk, seating myself behind it and forcing myself to keep breathing, to ignore the tingling behind my breasts and the warmth between my legs. “Because that’s a strange way to start.”
He stood up. “And yet…we’re still friends.” He raised an eyebrow expectantly and I found myself nodding in reply. “So,” he went on. “I’m taking leave from my job and moving into your house.”
I had a sense of life rushing too fast for me, and I held up a hand. “I feel…I don’t know much about you.” While he was my employee, responsible to his company for his behavior, that felt accountable. But what sort of conduct could I expect if he was simply my friend?
He was watching me very closely again. “Ask me anything.”
“Do you have a girlfriend? A wife?”
His eyes widened, almost theatrically. “No!”
I hurried on before he could berate me for asking. “Where do you live between jobs?”
“The company has a house in Sydney. Sometimes I take holidays.”
“Where?”
He shrugged. “Europe mostly. I’m a Renaissance groupie. Michelangelo. Da Vinci. Caravaggio. I keep going back to the same paintings. The same sculptures. I see something different each time.” He looked vaguely embarrassed. “I know it’s pathetic—”
“I adore Michelangelo,” I cut in softly. “Every time I’m in Rome I go to the Vatican to see his Pietà.”
He smiled softly. “Sublime.” And I knew he adored it as much as I did. I felt swayed in that moment, by an accord that hadn’t existed before. I could suddenly imagine holidaying with him. It was a dimension to the friendship I’d never imagined before that conversation.
But I forced myself to go on. “Family? I know you have a cousin.” Who has a kitten.
“Two cousins,” he said. “The other is in Spain where my aunt and uncle live. Both my parents are dead. No siblings.” The softness was gone from his voice and his eyes. I suspected that his relationship with his parents may have been troubled. I wondered if it was as bad as mine, growing up, and was momentarily jealous that his relationship with his parents was over, while I still had to navigate mine whenever family ‘occasions’ required it. Thankfully there had been none for the past few years.
“Friends?”
His gaze became wry. “I’ve got a couple of mates I can have a beer with when they’re in town, and Gisel likes to boss me around, but nothing like the wild bunch you hang with.”
He was clearly having a dig at Fritha again, but it was a good natured dig, and he had seen Angela in an uncharacteristic moment yelling at Jack—something I’d never seen before either. And Jill was just…Jill. So having seen each of them at their worst, he was entitled to imagine they were crazy. But I could also tell that he knew how much they meant to me, and that was good.
“So,” he said, “Is that enough for now, or do you want me to fill in a questionnaire? I’m sure we’ll get to know each other as time passes.”
I nodded. It was enough, for now. But I had to ask, “Where, exactly, in my house were you going to live?” If it was the bedroom next to mine, I couldn’t imagine our platonic friendship lasting a week.
“Let’s talk about that after the police leave.”
Marcus.
The thought was like stepping under a cold shower, and I wondered then if there was some problem with my mind being overwhelmed. How could I have forgotten? Was the kidnap situation too much to handle and my brain had switched off?
I forced it to switch on. “When is the fake drop?”
“Two hours.” His gaze was very observant then. “They’ll call us with results. I’m sure your ex-husband will be unharmed.”
“I want that,” I said.
Nicholas’s expression sobered. “This…friendship between us. I’m glad we have to go slowly.”
Maybe he was right, but he’d aroused me a moment ago, and if he kept that up, eventually my body would want release. As for my emotions, I had no clue. He made me feel safe and desired. I valued that. But it wasn’t the fondness and affection I’d felt for Marcus, so I didn’t imagine it was love.
“I can see,” he said quietly, “That I’ve rushed you into this. But I don’t regret that.”
I nodded.
“And whatever happens to Marcus…” It was the first time he hadn’t said Mr. Knight or your ex-husband. “…we’ll be okay.”
He wasn’t saying you’ll be okay, he was saying we. Which meant, in his mind, we were a unit, able to withstand emotional difficulties together.
I’d never had anyone—beyond girlfriends—who’d offered to do that, to share that with me, not even my husband. But Nicholas had already shared the drama of my sadism, and seeing me relive the kitten horror of my youth. I suspected that he’d put two and two together and worked out that it was also the reason I was unnerved by the idea of handling fragile babies.
Maybe one day I’d tell him about my mother finding her newborn inexplicably dead when I was five, and how it had changed our lives so dramatically. But I’d need to be much stronger to talk about that. For now, I was simply grateful that he’d already sustained me and supported me emotionally, and would do that again, probably as often as I wanted him to. It seemed an extraordinary gift.
“Another thing,” he said, interrupting my train of thought. “Can Betty come in once a week instead of every day?”
What?
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want her underfoot, making you edgy or embarrassed.”
Okay, that made sense so I nodded.
But before I could speak, he went on with, “I can cook—”
“And she can clean,” I cut in. “Two mornings a week.” I’d come a long way to accommodate his ‘friendship’ idea. I wasn’t dropping the standards of my household to do it.
His smile was slow to come. “You like to negotiate, don’t you?”
“I like to get my own way,” I replied. Didn’t everyone?
“Me too,” he said softly. “And I’m patient.”
With a last enigmatic smile, he left me to my thoughts, which should have been all on Marcus, but memories of Nicholas, naked, telling me how impatient he was to be inside me kept trickling back in.
The worst of it was, I wasn’t quite sure what I’d done.
Possibly the most irresponsible thing in my life.
But instead of berating myself, the feeling of inevitability washed over me again. Nicholas was the sexiest man I’d ever met. When he made love to me, I howled. He clearly desired me, and he wanted to live in my house.
Whatever requirements there were on the Heal your sexuality checklist, I was sure he met every one of them, in triplicate. And yet, he wasn’t going to have sex with me until I was divorced. Could I bear that? Could I live in the same house as a man I frankly wanted to lick all over, and not have sex?
I’d never been in this situation before. I’d had fleeting attractions before I met Marcus, but nothing like the primitive desire that gripped me around Nicholas. Was it possible that I’d suspected this from the start, because Jill was right, I hadn’t looked at him. I’d created a force-field of distance between us by strengthening my reserve around him, instinctively. But at The Rocks Spa it had all collapsed, leaving me exposed to my own raw need.
And he had been there, ready.
But would any man have created the same feelings in me? Or was there something special about Nicholas—about Nicholas and I together?
I straightened in my chair and shook my head. Dwelling on all this wasn’t making things clearer. I’d made a commitment. I’d have to stand by that now, so I did what I could to facilitate that, hurrying through my emails and rejecting all invitations. Then I saw Betty in the kitchen and explained that because of security I only wanted her in twice a week, however I would continue to pay her for a full week and she could consider that a bonus.
I can’t say she was thrilled, but ever the practical one, she reorganized her schedule to cover necessities and organized our relief cleaner to come and work with her those two mornings to ensure the house remained spotless.
Then there was nothing to do. I wandered from room to room, feeling ever more claustrophobic until eventually my restlessness led me out of the house and onto the back veranda, a good vantage point to see Nicholas in the pool, swimming endless laps. Sunlight sparkled on the water, and as each arm came out I was given a spectacular view of that broad, beautiful back rolling, muscles working under the skin, driving him from one end of the pool to the other.
When an alarm went off I jerked in surprise, but he merely raised his head, and then swam for the side, lifting himself out effortlessly and striding to the sun lounge, water streaming down his body over blue swim trunks that left little to the imagination.
He dried his hands on a towel and then picked up his phone to silence the alarm, then he wrapped the towel around his waist and turned toward the house. That’s when he spotted me, standing in the shadows beside the wisteria, wondering why I felt so hot.
He walked straight to me, his tanned skin still glistening with water, his dark hair slicked back, showing off cheekbones I wanted to lick. And seriously, I had to stop thinking about licking, because I knew what his skin tasted like and how excited it made me. Even thinking about licking him—which I seemed to do all the time—was not going to ease the situation.
He was frowning. “I locked that door.” He nodded to the veranda door behind me. “You’re supposed to stay in the house unless I’m with you.”
“I wanted air.” He raised one eyebrow, so I blurted the first thing I could think of. “No news from the police?”
“That’s what the alarm was for. To get me out before the drop. They could ring anytime now.”
“I see.” I glanced at the pool, then back at him, flustered by the fact that his very attractive, wet chest was right in front of me.
“I’m going to need a lot of physical activity to keep me sane,” he said quietly. “I assume that’s alright.”
Walk around half naked and glistening with sweat?
“Of course—”
“I’ll be in the gym more often.”
“I see.” I told myself not to blush, but I could feel it building. To distract myself, I glanced at his shoulders again, remembering those pull-ups I’d witnessed. He was honed to perfection and smelt like a thunderstorm, which completely undermined any platonic thoughts I might have harbored toward him.
“I’ve set alarms to my phone,” he added. “Any security breach gets my immediate attention, no matter where I am.”
I dragged my attention back to his eyes. “Then why do you need to be in the bedroom next to mine?”
He gazed at me steadily. “If someone gets into your house, I want to be closer to you than they are. I want to get to you first.” All the banter was gone from his voice, and I suddenly realized how deadly serious this was to him.
“I’m sorry. I can see that I’ve been slow to understand the risk. Do you really think someone might try to hurt me?”
It was several seconds before he replied, “In a couple of hours we’ll know for sure.”
I suddenly remembered something. “Weeks ago you asked me if I’d move somewhere they couldn’t find me.”
“And you said no. You wanted to remain in your own home.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t realize the danger. To me. I’m sorry.” I suddenly understood how hard I’d made things for him, and how much easier his job would have been if I’d moved to a retreat for a few weeks.
He shrugged, a slight movement of those muscular shoulders. “Done now. Let’s see what today brings.”
“Alright.”
“And let’s get you inside the house,” he put a hand on my arm, “and lock the door behind us.”
I felt the warmth of his fingers through my sleeve and I didn’t miss the fact that his thumb accidentally brushed my breast as I turned, but I kept walking, back to the library where I sat in my favorite chair with a book and pretended to read while I imagined Nicholas naked in the shower above me.
It was completely ridiculous that he wouldn’t have sex with me, while at the same time he ensured that I couldn’t forget how much sexual tension throbbed between us. Was it just jealousy, as he’d said—a desire to ensure I was focused on him, and not any other man?
If it was, it was working!
And I should have had more self-control, but this was all so new, so thrilling that it was almost impossible to ignore. However, when he walked into the library ten minutes later without knocking and closed the door behind himself, his face a blank mask of non-expression, I did forget the desire between us.
The book fell out of my fingers as I stood. “What’s happened?” I could feel blood draining from my face and I struggled to stay still, to not leap forward and grab him by that vest and shake it out of him.
“Marcus is in hospital,” he said carefully. “He’s alive.”
“But?” I did walk forward then, until I was right in front of him, feeling his breath on my face, willing him to laugh, smile, reassure me.
Instead, some struggle was happening behind his eyes. At last he said, “The lover is dead. Marcus tried to protect him. That’s how he was shot.”
“By the
police?”
Nicholas nodded and took both my hands in his. It was only then that I realized mine were shaking.
“Where is he shot?”
“In the chest. The police are sending a car. Now.”
I looked around the library blindly, as if I wasn’t sure I’d return. Nothing seemed familiar. I looked back at Nicholas. “I’m ready.”
He snatched something off my desk, then kept hold of my hand as he led me out of the library. Betty was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a dish towel scrunched in her hands.
As we approached her, Nicholas said calmly, “Mr. Knight has been shot, Betty. I’m taking Mrs. Knight to the hospital to see him. We’ll ring you as soon as we know something.”
She pressed her lips together and nodded, a jerky gesture, but I didn’t make any acknowledgement, I was floating alongside Nicholas in a cotton wool daze. By the time we reached the front door and he’d opened it, a police car was waiting in the driveway. I saw my neighbor across the street watering her roses, and she glanced up with a frown, but I didn’t have the presence of mind to acknowledge her or the policeman who Nicholas spoke to as he helped me into the backseat.
Then he got in after me and had to help me with the seatbelt, because my fingers weren’t working. I said nothing. I sat there during the drive with my hands on my lap, looking at the seat in front of me, while inside my mind, a movie-reel was running of Marcus cooking for our guests, teasing Jill, charming philanthropists out of money at one of my charity dinners, and holding my hand while we watched a movie at home with a glass of wine.
Nowhere in this montage was there anything ugly, frightening or distasteful. My mind appeared to have whitewashed my memories and that terrified me. It felt like I was formulating a eulogy, and that wasn’t right. Marcus couldn’t die. I wasn’t in any way prepared.
Well before I was ready, we arrived at the hospital and Nicholas helped me out, holding my arm this time to steady me, but he did it impersonally, and I had no doubt his bodyguard ‘face’ would be on display. But I didn’t look at that. I didn’t look at him. I simply stared straight in front of me, saying nothing as he led me to the Intensive Care Unit.
Husband Heel (Husband #3) Page 11