by Sara Craven
‘Ah, the food.’ Nick strolled out of the bathroom, pushing damp dark hair back from his forehead. ‘Things were so chaotic downstairs I wondered if it would ever reach us.’
The top buttons of his shirt had been left undone, and its pale material threw into sharp contrast the tanned skin it revealed. He brought an aura of cool cleanliness with him that was almost tangible, and totally masculine.
No matter what he was or was not wearing, Paige thought, her throat tightening, there was no denying his sheer physicality. Or his attraction.
She pointed to the trolley. ‘What is all this?’
‘Siege rations.’
‘I was referring,’ she said, ‘to the champagne and candles.’
‘I thought you’d probably be in need of a tonic after the rigours of the past few hours. Champagne’s the best reviver I know—at least in liquid form. The candles are for the moment the power goes off.’ He slanted a grin at her. ‘Or did you think I was planning a romantic candlelit meal? It’s still the middle of the day, you know. And I operate better in the evening.’
Speculation had taken her entirely along those lines, she realised with annoyance. Slightly flushed, she hurried into speech again. ‘Do you think it will happen?’
‘Which? Dinner à deux or the electricity?’
Her colour deepened. ‘The power failure, naturally.’
Nick shrugged. ‘It has been known, and the alternative supply is a temperamental generator, so the hotel makes emergency provision.’
‘None of this,’ she said, looking apprehensively towards the shutters as the wind threw itself with renewed force against the window, ‘sounds very safe.’
‘Afraid the hotel will blow away?’ he queried lightly. ‘Don’t be. It’s withstood worse than this over the years. That’s why so many people tend to use it as a refugee centre.’ He smiled again, but more gently. ‘You’re in no real danger, you know. You’re more likely to die of boredom than you are to be whisked away by some whirlwind, I promise you.’
‘Yes.’ She moved stiff lips in the semblance of a response. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’ She paused. ‘Perhaps I will have that shower, after all. While I still can.’
Moving self-consciously, she unzipped her own bag, finding underwear, a pair of white Capri pants and a loose silky overshirt in a rich shade of jade-green. But Nick, as her swift, sideways glance revealed, wasn’t taking a blind bit of notice. He’d stretched out on the bed and appeared to be deep in some paperback book.
‘Please make yourself at home,’ Paige commented icily as she stalked past him to the bathroom.
‘Thanks,’ he said, without raising his eyes. ‘Allow me to extend you the same courtesy.’
A none-too subtle way of reminding her that he was footing the bill and that this was his room, she realised smoulderingly. And his bed.
She was dismayed to discover that the bolt on the bathroom door was not only inadequate in size, but broken too.
He could have mentioned, it, she told herself. But Nick, clearly, did not bother about such niceties. If he’d even noticed.
However, his casual attitude did not alleviate any of her immediate concerns, she thought as she shed her clothes. Nor did his reassurance about her safety. Because she knew that the real danger had nothing at all to do with the weather—but was only a few feet away from her behind a door which she could close, but not lock.
This was the first time they’d been alone in any kind of intimacy since that disaster of a honeymoon, she realised as she stepped under the stream of water. And she’d sworn then that she would never allow it to happen again. That she could not take the risk…
Yet—here she was, through no fault of her own. Although that was proving small consolation.
They said time was a great healer, yet the pain of her memories of that brief time was still there, just below the surface, waiting to strike at her again. To tear her to ribbons.
She felt sudden, unexpected tears prick at her eyes, and lifted her face to the water to wash away the telltale evidence of distress.
Because this was a secret wound, she thought. And one that she had to conceal from Nick at all costs.
Wasn’t that why she’d gone out of her way to evade him all these long months?
She switched off the water and pushed open the door of the cubicle. There was a mirror on the tiled wall directly opposite, and for a moment she stood, almost blankly, staring at herself. At her ungiven, unwanted body.
Not just slender, she thought, but thin. Hollows at the base of her throat, narrow waist, stomach almost concave, hipbones sharp and without grace.
This—this was what Nick had seen—and rejected.
Paige Harrington. Undesirable and undesired.
And, as her throat closed in swift, uncontrollable agony, overhead the lights flickered once and went out, leaving her stranded in pitch darkness.
She’d known it might happen, but she could do nothing to prevent herself crying out in sudden, instinctive alarm. She stood frozen, scared to take even one step. Afraid of tripping on the edge of the cubicle, of slipping on the wet floor beyond and hurting herself. Unable in the impenetrable blackness to see, or hear, or even think clearly. Smothering.
She heard the door open. Nick’s voice saying, ‘Paige—are you all right?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘But I’m stuck here. It’s so stupid. I—I dare not move.’
‘Wait a moment. I’ll light one of the candles…’
‘No.’ It was a wail of distress, involuntary and self-betraying. ‘No—you can’t.’
There was a pause, then he said, ‘Well, I need to get you out of there somehow. Are you still in the shower itself?’
‘Yes.’ She was gripping the edge of the door so tightly that her fingers hurt.
‘Then reach out your hand and I’ll come to you.’
No. This time the negation was silent but no less heart-felt.
She swallowed. ‘I’d rather wait. Maybe it’s just a temporary thing…’
‘You mean like our truce?’ There was a caustic note in his voice. ‘Don’t be a fool. You can’t stand there shivering.’
She was aware of movement in front of her. She put out her hand and felt the warmth of his skin under the thin shirt. Frighteningly close.
‘Good girl.’ His own hand came up and captured her fingers before she could withdraw them. Quivering, she felt him touch her arm, then her shoulder. ‘Now, I think this is the easiest way—but for God’s sake don’t wriggle, because you’re wet.’
Before she could utter a word of protest his hands had slid down to her waist and he was clasping her firmly, lifting her against him. Holding her there with one arm as he carried her towards what was now the dim oblong of the doorway.
And there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it, she raged inwardly.
The scent of his skin filled her nose and mouth. The heat of his body seemed to penetrate to her bones. Deep within her she felt the onset of that sweet trembling ache that she’d thought she’d managed to erase for ever.
As an ordeal, it only lasted a few seconds, but it seemed like hours before she felt herself being lowered and encountered the chill of the floor under her bare feet.
She drew a shaking breath. She said on the edge of her voice, ‘There was—really—no need for that.’
‘Well, there we differ. Didn’t you tell me once you hated the dark?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted unwillingly, surprised that he’d remembered. ‘But even so…’
‘You were beginning to sound hysterical,’ he went on. ‘So summary action was needed. I’ll find your clothes later,’ he added, his tone matter of fact. ‘In the meantime make do with this.’
She felt the softness of towelling being placed round her shoulders. ‘What is that?’ Not, she prayed, another miniature bath towel.
‘It’s a robe,’ he said. ‘And, before you ask, it’s not mine but the hotel’s. Just in case you feared further contamination.�
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‘Thank you.’ Paige thrust her arms into the sleeves and fumbled for the tie belt. ‘You make me sound ungrateful,’ she went on stiffly. ‘And I don’t intend to be. I—I’m sure you meant well.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said softly. ‘Or maybe I simply wanted to find out if your skin still felt like smooth, cool silk, and just—seized my chance.’
She wasn’t cool any more. She was burning all over with shame, indignation and a mixture of other emotions it might be wiser not to analyse.
Her lips parted in outrage to deliver some blistering comment which would blight the rest of his life. But the right words wouldn’t come.
At last, all she could manage was a lame, ‘You’re despicable.’
He laughed. ‘No, darling, I’m an opportunist. That’s the secret of my success.’ He paused. ‘And now, ready or not, I’m going to light some of these candles.’
She stayed where she was, her arms folded across her body in classic defensive posture, watching him inimically as each tiny flame caught, then steadied. He used the saucers from the trolley as candleholders, pouring a little melted wax on to their surfaces to provide a firm grip. He put one on each of the night tables flanking the bed, another on the dressing chest, and the fourth on the trolley itself.
‘There,’ he said softly when he’d finished. ‘The perfect setting for a cosy meal and a pleasant domestic chat.’
It would have given her infinite pleasure to tell him she wasn’t hungry and what he could do with his food, but it would have been a sour victory because she would simply have ended by watching him eat instead, and she was starving.
Coldly, she took the chair he indicated and accepted the napkin he handed her. Deftly, Nick opened the champagne and poured it into the waiting flutes.
‘A toast,’ he said, passing her the slender glass, ‘to our better understanding.’
Paige sipped reluctantly. ‘Is it necessary we have one—for the short time that’s left?’
‘You speak as if I’m suddenly going to disappear from your life in a puff of smoke.’ Nick studied his wine with narrowed eyes. ‘Yet, married or divorced, we’ll still be involved professionally.’
She shrugged a shoulder. ‘Only while you stay at Harringtons, and who can say how long that will be?’
‘Planning a palace coup, darling?’ Nick offered her the sandwiches.
‘I simply meant that things are running more smoothly now, and we no longer need your undivided attention,’ Paige returned. ‘So you’ll be able to get back to—whatever you were doing before.’
‘Would you like me to tell you what that was?’ he asked with faint amusement.
‘No.’ She finished her sandwich and took another.
‘You don’t think a wife should take an intelligent interest in her husband’s working life?’
‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘If it’s a real marriage. Which doesn’t apply in our case.’
‘That,’ he said softly, ‘is true. However, it hasn’t stopped me having a look at the way you’ve been earning a crust over the past year, and I’ve found it quite fascinating.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ve had to learn quickly.’
‘And you’re clearly an apt pupil.’
His mouth seemed to have hardened suddenly, Paige thought. Or was it just the effect of the candlelight?
She hesitated. ‘It hasn’t always been easy.’
And she could say that again, she thought wryly. Not only had she taken a cut in salary, but there’d been times in the past twelve months when bad publicity had seriously threatened, and she’d felt like the little Dutch boy holding back the floodwaters with his finger in the dam. While Toby seemed to have turned non-communication into an art form, she acknowledged with a touch of grimness.
‘Well, we’ll have to see what the board can do to lighten your load.’
It should have been a sympathetic response. The words were right, yet it missed by a mile. Or was she imagining the irony she’d picked up in his tone? There seemed to be undercurrents here she did not understand—and there had been since their first confrontation on the beach.
I’m just stressed out, she told herself, and my mind is playing tricks on me.
She drank some more wine, feeling the chill of it caress her throat. She was surely entitled to some nervous reaction, given the current situation. But at the same time it was important to let Nick think she was calm and in control, she reminded herself.
‘You’re very quiet.’ His dark face was quizzical as he studied her.
Paige shrugged. ‘I’m not much good with strangers,’ she returned with a touch of defiance.
Nick’s brows lifted. ‘Is that how you see us?’
‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I don’t see us at all.’
‘Nevertheless,’ he said, ‘I do happen to be part of your life, and will continue to be for the foreseeable future. It occurs to me we’d do well to extend the truce beyond the limits of this room. Look to the future rather than the here and now.’
She said curtly, ‘I think the present is as much as I can cope with.’
From somewhere below there was the noise of shouting and the crash of broken glass.
Paige jumped. “What’s happened? Is the storm getting worse?’
Nick shrugged. ‘I’d say it’s some of the guests, trying to drink themselves into oblivion.’ His smile was brief, even wintry. ‘You really are better off up here.’
‘Naturally you’d think so.’ She lifted her chin. ‘But I can look after myself.’
He inclined his head courteously. ‘Well, let’s hope you’re never called upon to prove it.’ He passed her the plate of flans. ‘I suggest you build your strength up—just in case.’
She took one of the savouries, eyeing him mutinously.
They ate and drank in silence for a few moments, then Paige said, ‘How long do you think we’re going to be—incarcerated like this?’
‘Why, darling, has my company begun to pall? I must try to be more entertaining.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Now, what could I suggest, I wonder, to make the next twelve hours pass more quickly?’ he mused softly.
He didn’t even glance towards the bed. He didn’t have to, Paige realised, her heartbeat quickening. The implication was clear in the tone of his voice—the sensuous twist of his mouth.
She had to resist the impulse to draw the lapels of the robe closer round her throat. She didn’t need to betray to this man the sudden havoc he’d created in her senses.
She made herself speak coolly, ‘Well, please don’t concern yourself on my account.’ She paused. ‘You don’t really think we could be here for another twelve hours—do you?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’ Nick helped himself to the pineapple. ‘The original forecast gave us plenty of time to get out of here, but, like most women, Minna is proving unpredictable.’
Her mouth tightened. ‘Do we really need the sexist remarks?’
‘Probably not,’ he said. ‘I just enjoy watching you rise to the bait. Surely you won’t grudge me that solitary pleasure from our marriage?’ he added silkily.
Oh, God, she thought, her throat closing. That was so unfair. He was the one who’d drawn back. Who’d established the limits. And she had the scars to prove it. The memory of the deepest humiliation of her life.
And he could not have forgotten.
Even so she was not about to remind him.
Restlessly, Paige pushed her chair back and rose.
‘Planning a stroll?’
‘Only to get my clothes,’ she returned shortly.
‘Why bother? The robe looks good on you.’ His grin mocked the faint colour warming her face.
‘I’d prefer to be properly dressed.’
‘Feeling vulnerable, darling?’ he asked softly. ‘Now there’s a damaging admission.’
‘Nothing of the kind.’ Paige kept her voice even. ‘But, as you say, it’s the middle of the day, and I’m not used to lounging around in a dr
essing gown at this hour.’
Nick gave her a dry look as he reached for the coffee pot. ‘You lounge like a coiled spring,’ he said. ‘But get dressed by all means, if it makes you feel better.’
‘I was not aware,’ she said, her voice shaking, ‘that I needed your permission.’
‘No,’ Nick said quietly. ‘But my goodwill could be valuable.’ He paused. ‘Also my forbearance.’
‘Is that a threat?’ she demanded coldly.
His mouth twisted. ‘More a friendly warning, darling. These are unusual circumstances, so don’t push me.’
‘A situation,’ she said, ‘of your own contriving.’
‘Not guilty, Paige. I don’t control the weather.’
‘That,’ she said, ‘can only be an oversight. You seem able to manipulate everything else in the way you want.’
‘If that was true,’ Nick said slowly, ‘I wouldn’t have had to wait for Hurricane Minna’s intervention in order to be alone with you.’
The words seemed to drop into her consciousness like stones into a pool, the ripples spreading silently and inexorably. Her heart was racing suddenly, and there was a strange quivering in the pit of her stomach as she made herself meet the frank intensity of his gaze. She felt the sudden shocking hardening of her nipples against the soft towelling that covered them.
She said, ‘Another excellent reason for me to hate her.’
Then, with an assumption of calm that she was far from feeling, she picked up a candle from the trolley, carried it into the bathroom, and shut the door behind her.
She leaned back against the reassurance of its panels, her breathing shallow and rapid, the knuckles of one hand pressed bruisingly against her mouth as she fought for control.
She was shaking so much that she realised she was in danger of dropping the candle, or at least spilling hot wax down herself. Moving slowly and carefully, she placed the saucer on the shelf above the basin.
She retrieved her clothes from the towel rail and huddled them on almost frantically. But they were a fragile defence at best, and she knew it.