Dangerous Temptation

by Anne Mather

  It was after seven o'clock, and Caitlin put off the decision and went into the kitchen instead. "Are you hungry?" she called, trying to keep her tone light and casual. "We can have steaks if you like. It won't take long to make a vinaigrette."

  Nathan came to the kitchen doorway, propping his shoulder against the jamb. He was wearing jeans again, as if in defiance of what she had told him, and the supple cloth followed every line of his lean body like a second skin. Her eyes were drawn downwards to the apex of his long legs, where the bulge of his sex thrust against his zip, and she tore her gaze away in sudden self-loathing. Dear God, she thought, what was happening to her? She'd never known what lust was until now.

  "I'm not hungry," he said, his voice cool and detached, and she wondered what she'd done to inspire such unexpected prejudice. He was looking at her as if he was wary of what she might say to him, and impatience—and raw frustration—had their way.

  "What's wrong?" she demanded, abandoning any attempt at preparing a meal, and facing him bravely. "Why are you looking at me as if I'd offended you in some way? For God's sake, I didn't realise it was a crime to touch you— without your permission, of course," she added with some sarcasm.

  "It's not a crime." He was impatient. "You were driving, and—"

  "You were afraid I'd take my eyes off the road," finished Caitlin drily. "Yes, I know."

  "Oh, shit!" He turned his head away, and Caitlin knew a moment's panic that she had gone too far. Then, as if controlling whatever emotion her words had aroused in him, he straightened away from the door. "I'm going to take a shower," he announced without looking at her. "D'you have a problem with that?"

  "No." Caitlin took a steadying breath. She turned to face the cabinets, her fingers clenching over the rim of the counter. "I'll wait until you come back, then, shall I? You might know what you want then."

  Nathan's oath was low, but audible. "I know what I want now," he told her between this teeth. "Only you wouldn't understand."

  Caitlin's breathing was suspended. "Try me," she suggested, not sure what she was inviting, but knowing that anything was better than his indifference.

  "No."

  His fist balled against the door-frame for another pregnant moment, and then, without another word, he turned and walked across the living room, collecting his suitcase on the way.

  Caitlin's body sagged in the aftermath of the tension she'd been feeling, but she was no longer feeling so downhearted. She understood now. It wasn't that her husband regretted what had happened between them. On the contrary, she was fairly sure he had been as devastated by the events of the night before as she had. But—and it was a big but—until last night, she had made it patently obvious that she wouldn't welcome a closer association between them, and he must now have doubts about where they went from here. It was up to her to show him that as far as she was concerned, she was quite prepared to continue their relationship in its present form, and if she was any judge of character, he wouldn't object.

  She refused to consider the possible ramifications of that decision should he recover his memory. Until that happened, she intended to play the cards as they'd been dealt to her, and if Lisa Abbott found out, then so be it. Nathan was still her husband. She'd never expected that that fact would ever do her any favours. But it did, and she had to prove she was woman enough to take advantage of it.

  All the same, it took an enormous amount of determination to open the door to Nathan's bedroom a few moments later. Particularly without knocking first. Her palm was moist as it gripped the knob, and although she had intended to saunter casually into the room, she found herself peering round the door as if she was afraid she'd chosen the wrong room.

  She didn't know if she was disappointed or relieved to find the bedroom empty, and if her husband's case hadn't been tossed carelessly onto the ottoman at the foot of the bed, she might have doubted his occupation. But there it was, unzipped, its contents spilling haphazardly onto the quilted lid of the chest.

  The sound of water running explained his absence. Evidently, he had not been lying when he'd said he was going to take a shower, and her tongue circled her dry lips as she considered what her next move should be. Twenty-four hours ago, she wouldn't have had a problem. She'd have simply turned round again and gone back to the kitchen to prepare the supper. But after last night, she was uncertain. There had to be something more she could do…

  The idea to join him caused a ripple of anticipation in her stomach. Dare she? she wondered. Dare she strip off all her clothes and join him in the shower? The prospect of doing so was too nerve-racking to consider calmly, and so, before she could change her mind, she unbuttoned her trousers and slipped them off.

  Naked, the idea seemed even more outrageous. She'd never done anything like this before, and she had the uneasy feeling that she really wasn't the type. In the light from the lamps beside the bed, her skin looked pale and feathered with goose bumps. She was sure she looked nothing like the seductress her senses were telling her she should be.

  She trod barefoot across the carpet, pausing in the dressing area, ostensibly to get her bearings, when in actual fact she knew the way only too well. Nathan's bathrobe was hanging on the back of the door, and she was tempted to use it. It was chilly in the dressing room, and although the fanlight above the bathroom door was misted, the humidity didn't reach beyond its panels.

  She bit her lip, considering her options, but the realisation that he might finish his shower any minute had her reaching for the door. With a quivering haste, she pressed the door inwards and peered round it. As she had hoped, he was still in the shower cubicle, and he had his back to her.

  The heat in the bathroom warmed her blood, and before she could have second thoughts, she tiptoed across the tiles and stepped into the cubicle behind him. The first inkling he had of her presence was when she slipped her arms around him from behind, pressing her breasts against his back, warming her stomach against his wet, slick flesh.

  "Christ, Caitlin," he swore harshly, jerking away from her, and she consoled herself with the thought that she'd given him a shock. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, staring at her through the lukewarm fall of water, and she could tell from his strained expression that he was on his guard.

  "What do you think I'm doing?" she asked softly, aware that the anger he was exhibiting was forced. Her eyes moved irresistibly down his body, and his jaw clenched as she did so. "I thought you'd be glad to see me." Her tongue circled her lips. "Ah—I see you are."

  He swore again, half-turning away from her, as if anything he did could disguise the immediate reaction of his sex. "Get out of here, Kate," he muttered. "This isn't a good idea."

  "I think it is," she contradicted him huskily, and ignoring his attempts to avoid her, she slid her arms about his waist. "I'm cold. I thought you might like to warm me." Her tongue brushed his nipple. "Or we might warm each other…"

  Her husband's hands around her upper arms put her back from him. "You don't know what you're doing."

  "Oh, I think I do."

  Caitlin refused to be put off even though her confidence was fading by the minute. Grasping the tablet of soap he had left on the gold-plated dish, she applied it generously to her hands, and then transferred the lather to her breasts, massaging herself with apparently sensual enjoyment. Her skin was soon tingling with awareness, as much from Nathan's narrow-eyed appraisal as from any satisfaction she was gaining from the exercise, and by the time her hands moved to her stomach and the slight swell of her abdomen, she could practically feel the emotion pulsing from him.

  "Stop that!" he snarled, his eyes dark and savage, and she tilted her face up to his in innocent inquiry.

  "What?" she asked, her fingers sliding down into the curls that clustered between her legs, leaving provocative pearls of soap on the silvery mat of hair. "I'm just bathing myself—"

  "Like hell you are," he muttered, and then, as if unable to resist the sensuous pull of her body any longer, he reached for
her.

  The powerful shower beat down on their overheated bodies as he imprisoned her against the wall of the cubicle. With one hand behind her head, he angled her lips for his kiss, his tongue plunging deeply into the parted sweetness of her mouth.

  She thought she heard him say, "This is crazy!" but if it was, it was the kind of craziness she wanted. With a sensuality she hadn't known she possessed, she wound one leg about his hip, bringing the pulsing heat of his erection to the threshold of her woman's core. His maleness nudged the moist place between her legs, causing her to arch herself against him, and with a muffled oath, his hand curved along her thigh, bringing both her legs about him.

  His body slid into hers with satisfying slickness. It was like the night before, only better. Now her body welcomed his. She had no fears about what he might ask of her, and her muscles tightened about him with an eagerness over which she had no control. Instead, she wound her arms about his neck and hung on.

  Meanwhile, he covered her face with kisses, biting at her lips and sucking her tongue into his mouth until the urgent thrust of his body had them both weak and gasping for breath. Caitlin's climax came only seconds before he uttered a hoarse cry and spilled his seed inside her, the friction of the water cooling bodies that only moments before had been inflamed to fever pitch.

  The first awareness of her surroundings came when he eased himself away from her, and her knees almost buckled when he set her on her feet. But, although she was reluctant to release him, her husband's actions were almost robotic now. Her husky "Nathan?" met only a tight-lipped appraisal, and if she hadn't known better, she'd have said he was angrier than before.

  "Is something wrong?" she asked at last, when she emerged from the cubicle to find him towelling himself down with controlled movements, and he gave her a hard-eyed stare.

  "Like what?" he asked, wrapping the towel sarongwise about his waist. "You got what you wanted, didn't you? What could be wrong?"

  Caitlin caught her breath as she snatched up a towel to conceal her nakedness. "Does that mean you didn't want it, too?" she demanded, finding it incredibly difficult not to show how upset his words had made her, and he shrugged.

  "That's not the point."

  "Then what is the point?" she exclaimed, unable to understand what she'd done wrong, and his lips twisted.

  "Good question," he answered, striding through to his bedroom. "I wish to hell I had the answer."

  19

  "What it is to be young and in love!"

  Janie's sardonic voice broke into Caitlin's reverie, and she turned, almost guiltily, to look at her friend.

  "As if," she countered, hoping Janie wouldn't hear the lack of conviction in her voice. She glanced at her wrist-watch before thrusting her empty coffee cup onto the drainer. "Isn't it time we were opening up? I heard ten o'clock chime a few minutes ago."

  Janie regarded her with a sceptical expression. "Ten o'clock may well have chimed," she agreed, "but you didn't hear it. You were miles away, Caitlin. Am I allowed to ask what you were thinking about?"

  Caitlin managed a fairly casual shrug. "Oh—this and that," she answered lightly, aware that Janie had been trying to get her to open up ever since she returned to the shop yesterday morning. "I forgot to ask. Were you busy on Saturday? I'm sorry I had to let you down again."

  "Mmm." Janie acknowledged the rebuff with a wry grimace. Then, "We managed," she replied a little coolly. "Della's getting better all the time."

  Caitlin knew that that was a deliberate attempt to rattle her. Della Parish was the sixth-former they employed on a part-time basis, and generally Janie didn't have a good word to say for her. But the girl meant well, and she was enthusiastic, and Caitlin had no doubt that she hoped one day to join them full-time. But the fact was, the business wouldn't support more than two people, and until recently it hadn't been a problem.

  Now, as Janie put down her cup and made to go through to the shop, Caitlin caught her arm. "Wait."

  Janie looked as if she might shake her hand off, but then she, too, seemed to relent. "What is it, Cat?" she exclaimed. "Ever since you got back, you've looked—dazed. Is something wrong, for God's sake? Has that bastard been beating you up again?"

  "No!" Caitlin's denial was almost too vehement, and Janie waited with some impatience for her to explain. "It's just—well, if you must know, the weekend was brilliant."

  "With Nathan?" Janie looked staggered.

  "Yes."

  "You're not telling me you—slept with him?" And at her friend's guilty expression, "My God, Cat, are you out of your mind?"

  "No." Caitlin licked her lips. "Oh, Janie, I don't know how to explain it. It just—happened."

  Janie snorted. "You mean you let the man who raped—"

  "Please." Caitlin held up a hand to silence her. "I know what you're going to say, and don't think I haven't thought of it myself. But it wasn't like before. He wasn't like before. My God, if it wasn't so outrageous, I'd say he was a different man!"

  "He must have been." Janie wasn't sympathetic. She shook her head. "I can't believe this, Cat. I thought you wanted a divorce."

  "I do. At least, I did. That is…" Caitlin didn't know what she wanted any more. Despite the explanation she had given Janie, she hardly believed it herself.

  Janie stared at her. "He's that different?"

  "Yes."

  "So, as far as you're concerned, you're hoping he doesn't get his memory back?"

  "Yes. No. Oh, I don't know, Janie. Try and understand. This has been hard for me to comprehend."

  "I'll bet." Janie was still sardonic. "God, I can't believe you're saying this after everything that's happened. Caitlin, men don't change. Not so completely. Are you sure he's not just acting the part? I mean, when you said you were going to spend the weekend with him, I wasn't enthusiastic, but I never expected this."

  "Do you think I did?"

  "But how did it happen? I thought you slept in separate rooms."

  "We do." Caitlin felt a trace of colour enter her cheeks at the other woman's words, and thought how ridiculous it was that a woman of her age should still feel embarrassed when she spoke about sex. "But—my mother—well, Marshall was at Fairings, and she'd given him my old bedroom. In consequence, Nathan and I shared a room. There was nothing I could do about it."

  "And you're saying it just happened?"

  "Not like that." Caitlin didn't want Janie to think it had just been a case of proximity and nothing else. "We—we went for a walk on Saturday afternoon, and—and he kissed me. Then—then on Saturday night, when we went to bed—"

  "Don't bother to elaborate." Janie's lips twisted scornfully. "Believe it or not, but I can guess what happened next. I just don't know why you went along with it. Weren't you afraid of what he might do?"

  "Initially, perhaps." Caitlin remembered that Janie's opinion of Nathan was still coloured by what she had told her during the early days of their marriage. "But—he was so sensitive, so gentle. I just knew I didn't have to be afraid. Don't tell me I'm crazy. I sometimes think I must be going mad."

  Janie shook her head. "We're talking about Nathan Wolfe here? Nathan Wolfe, your husband?"

  "Yes." Caitlin swallowed. "I know what you must be thinking. But believe me—it's the truth."

  "And what about Lisa Abbott?"

  Janie was nothing if not candid, and Caitlin drew a painful breath. "She—telephoned," she said. "On Saturday evening. As a matter of fact, I answered the call."

  Janie gasped. "And you still went to bed with him?"

  Caitlin got up from the stool where she had been sitting and paced restlessly about the small storeroom. "It does sound unlikely, doesn't it?"

  "Unlikely?" Janie scoffed. "It sounds downright unhealthy to me. How could you, Cat? How could you do it? My God, after everything you've said."

  Caitlin could feel herself getting angry and tried to subdue her temper. Janie was only thinking of her after all, and goodness knows, she had been there for her when everything had look
ed so black.

  "He didn't recognise her," she said now, carefully. "He didn't know who she was. She obviously called because he hadn't been in touch with her. If he was lying, do you think I wouldn't know?"

  Janie gave her a level look. "So—what did she say?"

  "I don't know, do I?"

  "You mean, you let him take the call?"

  Caitlin's nails dug into her palms. "Of course. What else could I do? And, fortunately, she didn't even tell him her name."

  "Did you?"

  "Did I what?"

  "Tell him her name," exclaimed Janie impatiently. "For pity's sake, Cat, what are you saying? Just because he's apparently mellowed enough for you to allow him to fuck your brains out, have you completely taken leave of your senses?"

  "You don't know anything about it." Caitlin was hurt, but she hid her anguish beneath a show of indignation. "I think you'd better not say any more. I don't want us to fall out."

  "And I don't want you to throw yourself away on a man who doesn't know the meaning of the word honour," retorted Janie. "But you're right, he's not worth our quarrelling about it. I'll go and unlock the door."

  It wasn't quite what Caitlin wanted to hear, but she realised it was hard for Janie to understand. If she hadn't seen it—experienced it—for herself, she would never have believed it, either. And she dared not voice what she was secretly thinking: that not only did Nathan appear to be different, he was a different man.

  But that couldn't be true.

  Yet, with every day that passed, her feelings became more and more confused. Oh, she was well aware that it must be infinitely harder for Nathan to cope with, but at least he had nothing to compare his present behaviour with. She did. She remembered the man he used to be, and this man was nothing like him, in character, word, or deed.

  The only solution she could come up with was that the knock he had received to his head had been more serious than the doctors had imagined. She'd read of psychological disorders that were treated by removing or killing certain cells in the brain. What if the accident had altered Nathan's brain cells? What if the amnesia he was suffering had subdued the violent streak in his nature?