by Anne Mather
‘What are you doing out of bed?’ he demanded, leaving his support to advance some way towards her. ‘I thought I told you to stay in bed all day. Sitting on a hard surface is not going to relax those muscles.’
‘This—this chair isn’t hard,’ Rhia exclaimed, edging to one side so that he could see the cushioned seat. ‘And—and I don’t like eating in bed. I don’t like the crumbs.’
‘Have you finished?’
‘What? Oh—’ Rhia glanced down at the soiled napkin. ‘Yes. Yes, I’ve finished. Why? Have you come for the tray?’
Jared’s lips twisted. ‘Would I?’ He strolled across to the bed and lifted the jar of ointment from the bedside table. ‘No, I’ve come for this. Horse has wrenched his shoulder, hauling up some timber.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Rhia moistened her lips. ‘Is he all right?’
‘He’ll live,’ remarked Jared dryly. ‘How about you?’
‘Oh—I’m much better.’ Rhia hesitated. ‘How’s Glyn?’
‘His temperature’s subsided. I guess it was just a touch of fever. And you’ll be happy to learn that Pa is recovering.’
‘I’m so glad.’
‘Yes.’ Jared paused. ‘I guess it was something Lisa said that drove him off the rails. It generally is.’
Rhia opened her mouth as remembrance of what Lisa had said returned to her, but then she closed it again. It was not up to her to say anything. If Ben wanted Jared to know, he would tell him.
‘So—’ Jared rocked back on his booted heels. ‘I’m glad you’re feeling so much better. Glyn told me what happened. I won’t tell you what I said.’
Rhia’s lips quivered. ‘I can guess.’
‘Can you?’ Jared came round the end of the bed, surveying her intently. ‘Did Maria repeat the treatment this evening?’
‘Maria?’ Rhia looked up at him blankly. ‘I—why, no.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, because I haven’t seen her since lunchtime. Rebecca brought my dinner.’
‘Damn!’ Jared gazed down at her impatiently. ‘I asked her to take care of it.’
‘Well, she didn’t.’ Rhia shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter, I’ll do it myself.’ She glanced round. ‘If you could leave me a little of the ointment—’
‘I’ll do it.’ Jared snapped the words abruptly. ‘Go on, lie on the bed. It won’t take long.’
‘It’s not necessary.’ Rhia got to her feet, but made no move towards the bed. ‘Jared—’
‘I’ve said I’ll do it, and I will,’ he declared harshly. ‘It’s no hardship, God knows!’
Rhia’s mind reeled with the implications of that statement, but then Jared was pushing her towards the bed, and she tumbled on to it helplessly as he squatted down beside her.
Her robe and nightgown were peeled back and the chill of the ointment was accentuated by the chill of Jared’s fingers. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered roughly, taking his hands away and rubbing them together. ‘I’ll go wash them in hot water. A frozen massage is likely to do more harm than good.’
Rhia obediently remained where she was, and presently he came back, laying his now warm hands against her waist. ‘Is that better?’ he asked huskily, but before she could answer him, she felt the sudden heat of his lips against her skin.
‘Oh, God,’ he groaned, resting his forehead against the curve of her hip. ‘I’m not going to be able to do this, Rhia. Not without touching you…’
‘But—’ Rhia half turned towards him, on the point of saying that of course he had to touch her when she saw the burning darkness of his eyes. ‘Oh—Jared!’ she whispered, expelling her breath in a little gasp, and with a smothered oath he pulled her up into his arms.
Perhaps if his lips had begun by being violent or aggressive she might have stood some chance of resisting him. But they weren’t. His mouth moved on hers with persuasive sensuality, a wine-dark possession that flowed around her and over her, drugging her senses and seducing her into a state of trembling acquiescence.
Almost instinctively, her hands moved against his chest, parting the buttons of his shirt so that the warm scent of his body rose into her nostrils. There was a bittersweet enchantment in touching him in this way, in feeling the response her timid hands were evoking. There was pleasure, too, and a thrilling sense of power in the knowledge that she could arouse him as he was arousing her.
With an exclamation of impatience he tore off his tie and jerked the remaining buttons of his shirt apart, and only as she felt the abrasive touch of his hair-roughened chest against her breasts did she realise he had pushed the nightgown off her shoulders. Looking down, she knew a trembling delight in seeing those hard peaks crushed against his brown skin, and following her gaze, Jared’s eyes narrowed and darkened until they were almost black.
‘You want me,’ he said, winding his hands into her hair and drawing it across his lips. ‘You want me—and heaven knows, I want you!’
Now, when his mouth sought hers, it was hard and demanding, pressing her lips against her teeth, hungrily devouring its sweetness. With a muffled groan, he bore her back against her pillows, half covering her body with his, and Rhia’s aching spine was forgotten as his lean limbs entwined with hers.
His hands caressed her urgently, his lips following their tantalising trail to her throat and her shoulders, and the hardening curve of her breast. With his tongue inflaming one taut nipple, she offered no resistance when his fingers probed the inner curve of her thigh, stroking the sensitised skin until an unfamiliar ache began in the pit of her stomach and spread down her legs.
‘Don’t stop me,’ he said, burying his face in the hollow between her breasts, and her instinctive response was to curl her hands into the hair at his nape and pull his parted lips to hers.
He moved on her then, and she could feel the swollen muscle through the taut barrier of his slacks. It thrust against her softness, and even through the cloth she could feel its pulsating strength, its maleness. Weakness flooded her being, weakness and a mindless hunger that gave itself up to his assuagement, and blindly knew what he wanted of her.
Her hands moved over the hair that arrowed down to his navel, finding the zip that was all that was keeping them apart. Her fingers captured the clip and began to propel it downwards, and then she had to tear her hands away when she heard the sound of a door closing in the adjoining room.
‘Rhia—’ Jared’s barely audible groan was muffled against her neck, but he had felt her withdrawal and made his own interpretation of its cause. With grim determination he dragged himself away from her and up from the bed, and she gathered the quilt about her, breathlessly waiting for someone to expose them.
Nothing happened. There was no further movement, no sound at all from the sitting room, but the steady ticking of a clock. With an expression of bewilderment Rhia turned her eyes up to Jared’s—and met a dark and hostile accusation.
He was rapidly restoring his clothes to order, fastening the buttons of his shirt, slotting his tie beneath his collar. But the bitterness in his face was more than she could bear, and with a helpless shake of her head she mouthed her fears.
‘Someone came in,’ she whispered, loath even now to give an intruder the satisfaction of knowing she was alarmed. ‘I—I heard them.’
Jared’s mouth took on a downward slant. ‘Did you?’ he said sceptically, making no attempt to moderate his tone. ‘Well, where are they?’ He walked to the archway and looked into the room beyond. ‘It’s empty. There’s no one here, Rhia. You just got cold feet, that’s all. But perhaps it’s just as well.’ He shook his head. ‘I must have been out of my mind!’
Rhia caught her breath. ‘No, there was someone. Jared, you’ve got to believe me.’ She looked up at him beseechingly. ‘I—I didn’t get cold feet.’ Her lips parted. ‘Please—don’t go!’
A look of anguish crossed his face for a moment, and she thought she had got through to him. But then it was as if a mask came down and he schooled his features, adjusting the knot of hi
s tie as he moved towards the door.
‘Go to sleep, Rhia,’ he said harshly, picking up the tray. ‘I’ll see this is delivered back to Maria. Perhaps it was she who came for the tray. I suppose it’s possible.’ His lips twisted. ‘Except Maria’s not the kind of person to enter a room uninvited.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
RHIA slept badly, her dreams haunted by the memory of Jared’s face as he pulled himself away from her. She had let him down, she didn’t need any previous experience to understand that, and her own over-stimulated emotions would not allow her to relax. In her dreams, she re-lived those moments when Jared’s hard body had been pressing hers down on to the bed, when his mouth had played tantalisingly with hers, and his throbbing masculinity had probed the inviting softness of her thighs. She trembled in the grip of feelings she had never felt before, her breasts hard beneath the thin silk of her nightgown, her limbs aching for a fulfilment they had not received. She thought with incredulity of the association she had had with Simon, and began to understand Valentina’s impatience with the chaste relationship they had shared. That was not love, that colourless friendship, whose high spot was a fumbled embrace in Simon’s car. She had never known what the relationship between a man and a woman could be like. She could never have believed herself capable of behaving so eagerly, so wantonly, wanting Jared so badly that it created an actual physical ache inside her. She had never felt that way with Simon, never felt the slightest desire to find out what lay beneath the neatly-laundered shirts and pullovers his mother provided. But with Jared she was always aware of the man beneath the casual elegance of his clothes, his unconscious sexuality acting like a flame to her already smouldering senses.
At least in the morning she was able to get out of bed without too much discomfort. Despite the fact that Jared had not repeated the treatment the night before, the warmth and rest had worked their own miracle, and apart from a little stiffness, she felt free from pain. However, she was a little disturbed to find the jar of ointment lying on the floor when she got out of bed, and she hoped that Horse would not blame her for its absence.
She was washed and dressed by eight o’clock, and instead of waiting for Maria to bring her breakfast tray, she went down to the kitchen. The Indian woman was relaxing for once, sitting at the scrubbed pine table drinking a cup of coffee, and her dark eyes widened in surprise when Rhia entered the room.
‘Didn’t Jared tell you to rest a while?’ she exclaimed, getting up and putting her cup aside. ‘Seems a little foolish to leave your bed at this hour of the morning, specially since you spent the whole of yesterday in it.’
‘Oh, really, I feel fine.’ Rhia brushed a careless hand over the revealing shadows beneath her eyes. ‘That—er—that ointment Jared—brought me—’
‘Worked good, did it?’ Maria grimaced. ‘Well, I’m pleased to hear it. I guess that recipe’s been around longer than I have, and I’ve never known it let me down yet.’
Rhia forced a smile. ‘I—Jared said that Horse had wrenched his shoulder. He came back last night to get the ointment, and then went away without it.’ She shrugged, a little awkwardly. ‘I don’t know why.’
‘No problem.’ Maria pulled a face. ‘We got more than one bottle of the stuff.’
‘You have?’
Rhia could feel her face deepening with colour. So that had only been an excuse, she was thinking unsteadily. Jared had really come back to find out how she was. Her hands were trembling, and she thrust them into the hip pockets of her purple jeans to prevent Maria from seeing them.
‘You want some breakfast?’
Maria was laconic, but all of a sudden Rhia felt as if she could eat a horse. For some reason best known to himself, Jared had wanted to come back last night, and no matter how crazy it might be, she was glad of that.
She surprised the old woman by eating everything she set in front of her, including a cereal with cream, grilled ham and eggs, and even a slice of buttered toast, with home-made strawberry conserve.
‘You were hungry,’ Maria commented, clearing the plates. ‘Just as well. As I recall, you hardly ate a thing yesterday.’
Rhia bent her head. ‘Yesterday was yesterday,’ she declared. ‘How is Glyn? Do you know?’
‘I checked on him at seven-thirty,’ Maria agreed, pausing. ‘His temperature was definitely down. I’d say he was okay.’
‘Thank goodness.’ Rhia sighed. ‘And—’ she looked up, ‘and Ben?’
‘That old soak!’ Maria grimaced. ‘He’ll survive, though how his liver stands the pace, I don’t know. He’s not a young man, y’know. All of sixty-five. You’d think he’d know better at his age, wouldn’t you?’
Rhia bit her lip. ‘Maybe he’s not happy,’ she ventured, and Maria grunted.
‘You could be right. Since Angus died, things have been worse.’
‘Things?’ Rhia blinked. ‘What things?’
‘Oh—’ Maria turned away, ‘I guess he realises there’ll be changes when Jared—well, when Mrs Frazer—’
‘—marries Jared,’ Rhia put in succinctly, her elation fading, and Maria nodded.
‘I guess so.’
Rhia rested her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. ‘But—’ she felt compelled to go on, ‘Mrs Frazer—Lisa, that is—was married to Angus.’
‘That’s true.’ Maria paused, resting her hands on the table. ‘But Jared runs the ranch. Angus was often away. He never had much interest in farming, like his son.’
‘And I suppose—Mrs Frazer went with him.’
‘That’s right.’ Maria shrugged. ‘And I guess she may want to make some changes, when she’s mistress here.’
Rhia felt an overwhelming sense of compassion. ‘I see.’
‘So,’ Maria became businesslike, ‘how about you taking up Glyn’s breakfast this morning? I guess he’ll be pleased to hear that you’re all right.’
But Glyn wasn’t awake when Rhia entered his room with the tray, and she carried it to the bedside table, setting it down carefully. She knew if she intended leaving the tray, she would have to wake him, so that he didn’t blindly knock it aside. But it seemed a shame to disturb him, and she stepped a little closer, looking down at him affectionately. She realised she had become fond of him over these weeks, and the effort of being Val was not as arduous as it had been at first. Nevertheless, she would be glad when it was over, even if the idea of never seeing Jared again filled her with despair.
As she turned away, her toe brushed against something lying just under the bed. Had she not come so close to stare down at him, she would never have noticed it, but now she bent and picked it up, finding it was a magazine.
At first the realisation that a magazine should be lying under Glyn’s bed did not ring any warning bells. It was simply a glossy rag, the kind of publication printed to titillate the male appetite. Almost unthinkingly, its pages slipped through Rhia’s fingers, exposing the female form in a variety of poses. Her lips were parting in amusement when the incongruity of her find struck her a shocking blow. This was a visual periodical, something that required to be seen to be enjoyed. How long had the magazine been there? And what did it mean?
The date was that of a current issue, but she had no way of knowing whether Glyn had brought the book home with him, or whether someone else had left it beneath the bed. But no—she dismissed that theory. Maria would never have allowed Glyn to use this room without first cleaning it from top to bottom, and no girlie magazine was likely to escape her notice. But did this mean that Glyn had put the magazine there to hide it from his mother, perhaps? Or, incredibly, had his sight come back, without anyone knowing anything about it?
She wanted to wake him up then. She wanted to take him and shake him, and demand that he tell her the truth. But if it was true, if he had regained his sight, he would see immediately that she was not Val, and she was afraid of the inevitable consequences.
She had to tell someone, she thought, twisting the magazine between her fingers. But wh
o? Who? Jared was the most obvious person, but he was unlikely to return before lunchtime at least, and by then her identity could have been exposed.
Lisa! Her brain seized on the obvious alternative. Lisa should be told of the possibility, at least, and perhaps she would have some suggestion. After all, she had no reason to fear her son’s regaining his sight, and armed with the magazine, she could ask the pertinent question.
Pushing the magazine back beneath the bed, Rhia lifted the tray again and carried it to the table by the window. She dared not leave it where it was, just in case she was mistaken, and her nerves prickled with impatience as she moved the bowl of flowers which occupied the table aside, and made the tray secure.
However, as she turned back towards the door, Glyn stirred. She was still several yards from freedom when he opened his eyes, and she froze to the spot, cursing her bad luck.
‘Maria?’ he mumbled sleepily, shuffling up on his pillows, but Rhia stared at him mutely, unable to say a word.
Could he see her? Even with the curtains drawn, the light was filtering through and she could see him clearly.
But then his face was in the light, while hers was in the shadow, and in those first few seconds she felt rooted to the spot.
‘Who is it?’ he muttered, rubbing his eyes, and her breath escaped on a trembling sigh. If she didn’t answer him soon, she would be unable to answer him at all, and she could imagine the ignominy of having to creep out of the room without making a sound.
‘It—it’s me, Glyn,’ she got out, her voice several degrees higher than it normally was. ‘Oh,’ she cleared her throat nervously, ‘have I woken you? I—I didn’t mean to. I just brought your tray.’
‘You’re better?’ To her relief, Glyn seemed more intent on straightening his covers preparatory to taking his tray than in her appearance, and a persistent throbbing began behind her temple. Could he see, or couldn’t he? she exhorted silently, before resignedly picking up the tray and carrying it to the bed.