by Penny Jordan
‘You want me,’ Adam muttered rawly into her throat, drawing his tongue along her skin with a compulsion that left her shivering and mute with reaction. ‘I can see it in your eyes, feel it in your body, you want me, and right now there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to have you. You’ve been like a fever in my blood,’ he told her half angrily, ‘driving me crazy, making me ache like I haven’t done since I was an adolescent. I couldn’t drive past here without seeing you. I’ve been thinking about it ever since I got on that damned plane … imagining touching you like this….’ His hand swept over her body capturing her breast, his thumb rubbing rhythmically against the hard peak of her nipple, ‘and this … I’ll make it good for you Brooke. I’ll….’
His kisses were liquid fire heating her blood, the promises he moaned into her skin inflaming her senses past the point where she could control her response. She wanted him. So badly that her body shook with the force of her need. He smelled of fresh sweat and…. Freezing in his arms Brooke caught the scent of a rich earthy perfume where it clung to his jacket. Another woman’s perfume. All at once revulsion flooded through her, sickening her almost to the point of physical nausea. She pushed Adam away, staring at him with haunted eyes and a pale face.
‘What’s the matter?’ His voice was thick, slurred as though he found difficulty framing the words.
The sickness faded leaving in its place cold, reasoning logic. She couldn’t allow Adam to become her lover; she couldn’t join the long procession of other women whom he had wanted and then discarded. Better never to have known the taste of paradise than to have sipped it once and spend the rest of her life yearning to taste it again. She shivered feverishly, folding her arms round her body, her voice a faint thread of sound as she asked, ‘Please leave now Adam … I need time … I….’
His fingers spread against her jaw, tilting her face up so that he could look into her eyes.
‘What happened?’ he demanded thickly, ‘less than five minutes ago you were in my arms, responding to me … wanting me, Brooke,’ he reminded her cruelly. ‘Now suddenly you’re telling me you don’t. Why?’
‘Because you smell of another woman,’ she told him simply and honestly, watching the high colour leave his face and cruel bitterness take its place.
‘I’ve never pretended to be a monk,’ he told her softly.
‘No … you haven’t deceived me Adam, and I can’t deceive myself. I’m not prepared to be simply one in a long line of women moving through your life.’
‘Then what do you want?’ he demanded savagely as he released her, stepping back from her. ‘To be the only one?’
Yes, yes, her heart cried with a furious intensity that made her ache for her own pain, but she kept her face controlled and blank as she said dryly, ‘I learned long ago never to hope for the impossible. Please go Adam.’
This time he didn’t argue. She stood where he had left her in her small living room long after he had driven away, weak, aching, tears sliding painfully down her face, only then able to acknowledge just how much part of her had longed for him to overrule her; to stay with her and let him tutor her body in all the ways he could give it pleasure so that she could pleasure him in return.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE next day Brooke had to force herself to go to work, her nerves tensely on edge, waiting for the moment when Adam walked in through the office door and she had to face him.
When mid-morning came and went without him putting in an appearance she began to wonder if he was inflicting deliberate torment. He must know how much she was dreading coming face to face with him after last night. When he had gone she had gone to bed and then spent most of the night lying awake reminding herself of the futility of getting involved with him on a personal level—on any personal level.
When twelve o’clock came and he still hadn’t appeared she couldn’t stand it any longer. She could go into the kitchen and make herself a cup of coffee and if he hadn’t appeared by the time it was ready she would have to go and find him.
The kettle had just boiled when she heard the kitchen door open and with a considerable effort of will she refrained from whirling round but instead poured boiling water over the dark brown grains, concentrating on her task as best she could when every one of her five senses were drawn against her will to the man she could sense watching her from the door.
‘Umm, that smells good, pour me a cup will you please Brooke? You should have woken me up earlier,’ she heard Adam grumble. ‘It isn’t often jet lag effects me like that.’ He had walked up to her as he spoke and she was forced to turn and look at him. As their eyes clashed she read something in his that made her stomach churn, her body igniting with a sexual excitement that made her mind recoil in horror.
‘I wonder which of us regrets my leaving last night the most Brooke?’ he drawled tauntingly, watching the rich colour come and go under her pale skin, and then laughing softly as she fought not to betray any reaction to his comment. ‘Fight it as hard as you like,’ he murmured. ‘In the end it won’t make the slightest bit of difference—and you know it.’
‘I won’t become your sleeping partner Adam.’ She said it flatly, hoping her lack of expression would reinforce her determination.
‘Who said anything about sleeping?’ He laughed again, the deep sound rumbling in his chest. He was wearing a loosely belted towelling robe, with nothing on beneath it probably, Brooke thought feverishly, watching him rub his hand against the dark growth of beard lining his jaw.
‘You should have woken me earlier,’ he complained. ‘There’s one hell of a lot to get through.’
‘I didn’t realise you were still asleep.’
‘And you were too scared to come and find out? Pity, I’m sure I’d have enjoyed being woken up by you Brooke.’
Compressing her mouth Brooke handed him a mug of coffee and headed for the kitchen door.
‘I think I’ll take my lunch break now,’ she told him crisply. ‘I’ve left notes on your desk of all the messages I’ve had for you while you’ve been away.’
His taunting laughter followed her out into the passage, and she virtually flew into the office, to gather up her coat and handbag. The walk back to the Lodge did much to restore her equilibrium; the cold fresh air stinging her face and easing her down on to a more level plane. What was happening to her? She shivered and knew the tremor wasn’t entirely due to the fresh autumn weather. Did she have the strength to withstand Adam if he continued to pursue her? Of course she did, she told herself furiously; to think otherwise was an insult to her intelligence. She already knew exactly what Adam wanted from her and why should she find it any harder to deny him than she had found it to deny the other men who had wanted her for exactly the same reason. Adam made no pretence of wanting her for herself; of getting to know her as a person; no he simply wanted her body in his bed. She stopped abruptly, staring blindly at the Lodge. The difference was that for the first time she reciprocated a man’s hunger; she wanted Adam. But she wanted more than mere sexual possession. It was enough to drive every other thought out of her head. She shivered violently, almost running up the garden path, and locking the door behind her as though she was somehow locking out her unwanted thoughts. What was she trying to tell herself? That she had ‘fallen in love’ with Adam. But she had never believed in ‘falling in love’; at best it was a very insubstantial emotion on which to build a commitment for life, and at worst it was a state akin to madness.
Restlessly she prowled round her small kitchen, letting Balsebar out, opening the ‘fridge door to remove the salad she had left prepared for her lunch and then turning away from it, knowing she could not eat.
No matter how much she denied it to him, she could not deny to herself that emotionally as well as physically she was intensely responsive to him. During his absence she had caught herself thinking about him, daydreaming stupidly over the way his hair curled over his collar at the back of his neck; of the indolent way he moved when he was at his most dangerously p
erceptive; the way he smiled and frowned.
By the time her lunch hour was up she had managed to regain some slight composure. It ought to have helped to discover that in her absence Adam had gone out, but instead of finding it easier to settle down to work she found it harder. Where was he? She punched restlessly at the computer keyboard, staring at the screen without really seeing it, her tense nerves only relaxing when she heard the unmistakable purr of the Ferrari.
She was ready for Adam’s entrance, head bent studiously over her work, determined not to react to him; what she wasn’t prepared for was the light, feminine voice that drawled disdainfully, ‘This is your office? Really Adam darling, I thought you’d come up in the world.’
The voice was the type that always made her bristle; far too obviously ‘upper class’, hinting at an artificiality that grated.
‘Susan, let me introduce you to my PA, Brooke Beauclere.’
Adam’s voice, deep and richly toned, soothed her raw nerves, until they picked up on the woman’s name. Telling herself that she was jumping to ridiculous conclusions Brooke stood up and turned round.
The blonde woman she found herself face to face with confirmed the mental image she had built up of her from her voice. Everything about her was artificial Brooke thought distastefully, from her too-carefully applied make-up to her obviously expensive and highly fashionable outfit. Her blonde hair was cleverly streaked, her skin so smooth that Brooke found herself wondering cynically if its flawless tautness was entirely natural. Despite her slender figure and youthful demeanour Brooke knew she was probably somewhere in her mid-thirties. Her eyes betrayed it. They were the eyes of a woman used to hunting down her prey and keeping it, and right now they were most definitely warning Brooke off Adam.
‘Miss Beauclere.’
Her voice was icy cold and if anything even more deliberately ‘top drawer’. Brooke itched to let her own antagonism show in response, but pride prevented her from letting Adam see just how much he had undermined her defences. Keeping her smile warm and her voice as light as she could, she responded cheerfully.
Just for a moment she thought she saw unholy amusement glint in Adam’s eyes as his companion absorbed all the information Brooke’s voice and manner relayed to her, and then he said casually, ‘Brooke’s family owned Abbot’s Meade until quite recently.’
The other woman was shocked, but she hid it well, smiling venomously at Brooke and saying sweetly, ‘That’s the trouble with these old places, isn’t it? So many businessmen buy them without realising just how costly they are to run. I suppose it’s no wonder that they’re passing out of the hands of the original owners. How long had your family owned it?’
Her voice implied that it couldn’t have been very long. She was being quite deliberately put in her place, Brooke recognised, accepting the snub with a grim smile, only just concealing her astonishment when Adam said smoothly, ‘Oh, since fifteen hundred and odd, give or take a generation or so, isn’t that right, Brooke?’
Susan looked furious, hard, angry colour flushing her cheek bones. As a young girl she must have been exquisite, Brooke recognised, but now she possessed a hardness that she personally found chilling. She struck Brooke as the type of woman who put a price on everything. It seemed that Adam had found a kindred spirit, she decided cynically, glancing towards the door as it opened and Tod walked in.
‘Well, well,’ he grinned, ‘if it isn’t lady Susan. What brings you out slumming my lady?’
‘I don’t think that’s particularly funny.’ She fixed him with a freezing glare and then said coldly to Adam. ‘Really Adam I should have thought by now you’d have taught your staff to have a little more respect….’
‘You seem to forget that Tod and I grew up together.’
‘Yes well….’ For a moment she looked slightly uncomfortable, and Brooke knew with a sinking sensation that her earlier misgivings were right. His companion was the woman who had so cruelly rejected Adam. So what was she doing here with him; the two of them apparently on the very best of terms?
‘It was good of you to give me lunch darling,’ Susan made a play of smoothing down the skirt of her suit, ‘but I really must fly now. I only popped down here out of curiosity really. Having read so much about you in the press recently, and as we’re such old … friends….’
Behind her back Tod grimaced slightly in Brooke’s direction and Adam, who was facing them, picked up the exchange, his eyes darkening warningly as he said smoothly to Susan. ‘Any time Sue. I’ll see you out to your car.’
When they were safely out of the room Tod frowned after them. ‘That one’s got all the hunting instincts of a killer shark. I suppose she’s hoping to make Adam husband number two.’
‘After the way she rejected him?’ Brooke was shocked and let it show, ‘But surely Adam….’
‘Adam’s only human like everyone else,’ Tod reminded her wryly, ‘and remember he’s probably not seeing her as a thirty-odd-year-old woman on the look out for a second rich husband to keep her in the style to which she’s grown accustomed, but as an eighteen-year-old girl who he put up on a pedestal.’
It was an extremely sobering thought and one that haunted Brooke all through the afternoon. Every now and then she stopped work, and watched Adam, feeling the sensation of pain and loss building up inside her and unable to do a thing about it. She hadn’t realised that he had seen her until he commented sardonically, ‘What’s the matter? Have I suddenly grown two heads?’
She turned her back to him, not trusting herself to respond to him, glad when five-thirty came and she could reasonably make her escape.
Back at the Lodge she sat down with her supper and tried to analyse her feelings. She had been jealous of Susan, searingly, bitterly jealous; the feeling such an alien one to her that it had taken her several minutes to recognise it. Her instant antipathy towards the other woman had surprised her with its intensity, and she felt a renewal of her earlier stomach churning nausea as she remembered how she had reacted.
This madness had to stop. She had no intention of becoming just one more name in the long list of Adam’s bedmates, and what else was there for her? A lifetime working as his devoted assistant; sharing his working hours and yet constantly having to tame and subdue all her physical responses to him; knowing that he would be spending his nights with other, more amenable women; women who he could use and then pay off when he grew bored with them?
Not even a brisk walk with Balsebar managed to drive out her preoccupation with him, and she returned to the Lodge, grateful that the weekend was looming and that she would have a brief respite in which to re-charge her batteries.
In the event the respite came sooner than she had envisaged, and was far from pleasant. When she arrived at work the following day Adam told her that he had business in London which would take him away all day. He looked preoccupied and tense and there was none of the sexual speculation in his scrutiny of her that she had grown used to seeing.
He didn’t come back that night, but on the Saturday as Brooke returned from shopping she saw the Ferrari turn in through the gates, and Adam wasn’t alone. As she recognised the blonde hair of his companion Brooke felt her stomach lurch with sickness. It was a cold dismal day, and with the encroaching evening came the heavy rain which had been threatening all day. Brooke let Balsebar out as usual whilst she prepared his evening meal but when she went to call him in there was no sign of the Afghan. An icy, stinging wind lashed the rain against her skin as she stood by the open door, and her heart sank. Balsebar occasionally did this, taking it into his head to be awkward, but she couldn’t allow him to roam all evening. He had precious little road sense and could easily wander through the grounds on to the main road. At the thought of her pet lying maimed or dead, hit by some motorist, her stomach lurched again, and without bothering to do more than pick up his lead and a torch Brooke hurried out into the wet night.
An hour later, her throat hoarse from calling him, she admitted defeat. She had gone through
fear to anger and back to stomach churning fear again as she searched the grounds.
After towelling her soaking hair and changing into dry clothes she was just about to pick up the ‘phone and ring the police when she heard a knock on her door.
Tense with apprehension she hurried to open it, staring at the last person she had expected to see there, her soft, ‘Adam …’ doing nothing to lighten his grim expression.
‘Is something wrong?’
‘It’s that damned dog of yours,’ he told her impatiently. ‘He’s howling his head off in the study, and refusing to leave. You’d better come and collect him.’
Just for a moment she was almost sick with relief. What on earth was Balsebar doing at the Dower House?
‘What the hell’s he doing out on a night like this anyway?’ Adam growled.
‘He ran off. I’ve just been out looking for him.’
‘You shouldn’t keep a dog if you aren’t prepared to see that he’s properly trained. Come on,’ he demanded brusquely. ‘I’ve got dinner guests waiting for me…. The Ferrari’s outside, get in.’
He sounded so angry and distant that Brooke didn’t dare ask him if she could go and get a coat. Despite her dry clothes she was cold and she shivered as she followed him outside.
They drove to the Dower House in a grim silence, Brooke following Adam in through the kitchen where a couple of women she recognised from the village were busy with preparations for his dinner party. She had heard Balsebar’s howls the moment she opened the car door, and her heart sank as she saw Adam’s furiously angry expression.
‘I’m sorry about this Adam.’ To her dismay her voice quivered faintly, but he didn’t seem to hear her, striding through the hall and flinging open the study door.