by Penny Jordan
He had been wearing a pair of heavy-duty working gloves. Now he pulled one of them off and ran his thumb gently over the abrasion, causing her to wince and shiver.
‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised again. ‘I just wanted to check that you are only grazed and that no bark has lodged in the wound.’
As he spoke, the breeze caught hold of her hair and whipped it across his face. He moved his hand, sliding it against her scalp, lifting it back behind her ear.
As his hand touched her skin, she shivered violently. She felt the tension that suddenly held him still and lifted her gaze to his.
His eyes were darkly gold, glittering fiercely, tension drawing the flesh of his face taut against his bones. His eyelids dropped, hiding his expression from her, his lashes thick and dark against his tanned skin.
He was looking, she realised with stomach-lurching intensity, at her mouth.
Immediately she was conscious of a desire to wet her lips with her tongue-tip; she was equally aware of the swollen fullness of her bottom lip where she had bitten it.
‘You’ve bitten your lip.’
The words seemed to reach her from a great distance, slow and heavy, as though each one was weighed down with great importance.
‘Yes. It’s a bad habit.’
Now she did touch her bottom lip with her tongue-tip, finding the small wound she herself had inflicted.
‘Don’t.’
The raw command made her stiffen as she automatically searched his face, her eyes dazed and confused.
He was lowering his head, moving closer to her. There was still time for her to move away, still time for her to avoid the kiss she knew was coming, but although she trembled and felt the mingling of excitement and apprehension burning through her veins like a powerful drug she made no attempt to move away.
He kissed her gently, tenderly almost, his mouth warm and explorative on hers, his tongue-tip finding the small abrasion on her bottom lip and stroking it, soothing it, and then suddenly and overwhelmingly filling her with such a sharp piercing response to him that she was opening her mouth, reaching out towards him, moving eagerly within the circle of his arms almost before she knew what she was doing.
She could feel the fierce almost frantic thud of his heart against her body, smell the warm aroused man scent of him, feel the tautness of his body, its alien maleness, its strength and power, and such a force of need—of yearning…of aching…wanting—filled her that her awareness of it shocked her into realising what she was doing…what she was feeling. She made a small moan of protest beneath his mouth, pushing against his chest, so that he immediately released her and stepped back from her.
‘I’m sorry.’
A hard flush of colour ran along his cheekbones; he looked almost grimly angry—not with her, Sara realised guiltily, as he made a stilted apology, but with himself.
‘I haven’t any excuse. There is no excuse. I should never have…’ His mouth twisted. ‘All I can hope is that you’ll be generous and put it down to the fact that you are a very attractive and desirable woman, and I’m a man who has perhaps been living on his own for too long.’
What could she say? If he was guilty then so was she. She had known he was going to kiss her, had known it and had done nothing whatsoever to prevent it, which she could have done. Just a simple step back from him…just a simple turning away of her head, and the whole situation could have been easily averted, but instead… She took a deep breath, acknowledging inwardly that not only had she wanted him to kiss her, but she had almost actively invited and encouraged it. Even if he had not recognised her responsiveness to him, and it seemed that he had not, she most certainly had.
As she turned her head away from him, she heard him saying quietly, ‘I hope this won’t affect your decision to come and work for me. I promise you that it won’t happen again. Now that I’m aware…’
She froze, tensing her muscles, afraid that he might after all have recognised that it could have been her own awareness of him which had somehow been indirectly responsible for his reaction to her; that he might after all have recognised it but been too good-mannered to mention it, but to her relief he broke off, looking grimly into the middle distance, leaving her to say into the heavy silence, ‘Please don’t apologise. After all, we’re both mature adults. I’m sure both of us realise that it…that is…’ She was beginning to flounder a little, guiltily aware of how fast her heart was beating, of how she could still feel the warmth of his mouth on her own, of how intensely a part of her longed still to actually have his mouth on her own.
‘…that it was just a reflex physical reaction,’ she stammered lamely.
He gave her a sharply direct look that made her skin flush with discomfort and guilt. ‘A reflex physical reaction. Yes, I suppose you’re right.’
For some reason his comment hurt her. What would she have preferred him to say? she derided herself half an hour later as he drove the Land Rover back into the cobbled yard. That he had been overwhelmed by desire for her? That he had felt a momentary and uncontrollable male lust for her? Of course not. She was allowing Ian’s rejection of her to make her wallow in self-pity, to make her want some kind of ridiculous show of male desire for her—any male desire. She ought to be disgusted with herself, ashamed of herself, instead of feeling…
She bit down hard on her bottom lip, wincing as she caught the broken flesh.
Instead of feeling what? Cheated…deprived…all too conscious of that small sharp ache inside her body which said that if she hadn’t been stupid enough to push him away Stuart might well have…
Have what? Made love to her? Of course he wouldn’t and of course she wouldn’t have wanted him to. The very idea was…
She swallowed hard, unwilling to admit exactly what her reaction to the very idea of Stuart making love to her was.
‘I’d better take a proper look at that graze,’ Stuart told her as he stopped the Land Rover.
‘There’s no need,’ Sara assured him hastily. ‘It feels fine now… Would it be OK if I stayed on for a couple of hours? I’d like to familiarise myself with your computer, and go through the paperwork with you, but if I’m going to be in the way I could leave it until…’
‘You won’t be in the way,’ Stuart told her, but his voice was terse, and his earlier warmth and friendliness seemed to have chilled—or was she being absurdly sensitive, looking for problems, for rebuffs that in all probability did not exist? Had she allowed Ian’s rejection to make her so sensitive…too sensitive? After all, Stuart was the one who had asked for her help, who had suggested that she come and work for him.
The fact that he had kissed her… Sara swallowed, unhappily aware of the fact that this time, although he came round to her side of the Land Rover and opened the door for her, he made no attempt to physically help her down, even though he waited politely until she was safely on the ground.
The fact that he had kissed her was something she would be well advised to put completely out of her mind. What had it been other than an automatic male reaction to the proximity of a female?
Nothing. And it was obvious that Stuart had regretted the impulse almost as quickly as it had formed. Well, of course he would regret it, wouldn’t he? She had already gathered that he, like her, had lost someone he loved. Obviously as a man he still felt all the normal male sexual desires and needs…and just as obviously he had no wish for her to misinterpret his momentary reaction to her.
After what she had told him about Ian, he was probably concerned that she might be the kind of woman who made a habit of falling in love with her boss. Well, if so it was up to her to convince him otherwise…or to tell him that she had changed her mind about working for him.
But she wanted this job, needed it…not for the money, but for the mental stimulation, for its ability to keep her mind off Ian and the past.
The most sensible thing she could do was to show Stuart that what had happened this afternoon meant nothing whatsoever to her, that she fully understood
that it had been a momentary aberration and that as such it was something best forgotten by both of them.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘TIME to take a break. I’ve made some coffee and there’s toast in the kitchen if you want it.’
Sara looked up from the VDU, frowning slightly as she focused on Stuart.
She had been so deeply engrossed in what she was doing that she hadn’t even heard the door open, but now that he had mentioned coffee she realised how much she was longing for a cup, and as for the toast… Her stomach made a gently discreet protest, reminding her that it had been several hours since lunchtime.
‘That sounds great,’ she told him, turning away from the screen and stretching her torso, relaxing her taut muscles.
‘I hardly dare ask how it’s going,’ Stuart told her five minutes later when they were both seated at the kitchen table.
‘It’s going well,’ Sara assured him. ‘The software is good, the program fairly flexible, although I must confess it is a little advanced perhaps for a beginner.’
‘There’s no need to be tactful,’ Stuart told her ruefully. ‘When it comes to growing trees, I pride myself on knowing what I’m doing, and I’m likely to take umbrage if anyone says otherwise. When it comes to handling a computer, we’re in a different ballgame altogether.’
Over their coffee and toast, Sara explained to him as simply as she could what she intended to do, whilst he listened and watched her ruefully, commenting when she had finished, ‘If I were that boss of yours, I’d be beating a path to your parents’ door, and begging you to come back…’ He broke off, shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he told her. ‘I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean…’
‘It’s all right,’ Sara told him shakily. ‘I’ve already accepted that Ian and all I’d hoped to share with him is in the past. It was all an idiotic dream anyway. I’m beginning to realise now that even if he had loved me it would never have worked.’
She saw Stuart was frowning, and explained wryly, ‘We’re too different—our views on life, our values. I’m still very much a country woman at heart. I would want to bring my children up somewhere like this, somewhere, anywhere other than in a city, especially a city like London; whereas Ian, even if he had agreed to have children, would have expected me to hand them over to a nanny. He loves city life. He loves being at the centre of everything. He would loathe living somewhere like this, and he’s the kind of man—’ She broke off, biting her lip, not wanting to admit what she was coming to realise: that Ian was too shallow, too vain ever to be the kind of man who could bear to be anything other than the centre of a woman’s life. Children to him would be competitors, rivals. He would expect and demand always to come first, and, while she believed that a woman’s relationship with her husband, the father of her children, must always be special and treasured, there were bound to be times when the claims of a family, especially a young family, might mean that adult relationships and needs must take second place.
‘It sounds to me as though you’re better off without him,’ Stuart told her grimly.
‘Yes,’ Sara agreed. ‘I expect I am. Not that I ever actually had him.’ She stopped, flushing a brilliant shade of crimson, as she realised the sexual connotations unwittingly carried by her remark, but Stuart seemed to be unaware of her embarrassment and the reason for it as he turned away from her, asking calmly,
‘Fancy another cup of coffee?’
By the time she had accepted, and he had poured it, her colour had gone back to normal and to her relief he seemed to have lost interest in the subject of Ian, and returned instead to the problems he had been having in mastering his computer.
‘Sally thought it was hilarious when I told her I was buying it,’ he confided.
Sally? Sara felt her heart lurch. Who was Sally? Or could she guess? Was she the mystery woman who had deserted him, who had allowed him to love her and who had then rejected him? Already she disliked her. Her laughter held painful echoes of Anna’s laughter, Anna’s cruelty.
‘Did she? Wasn’t that a little insensitive of her?’ Sara demanded. Something about the rueful warmth in Stuart’s voice as he mentioned the other woman increased her antipathy towards her, although she couldn’t really understand why, other than that she felt quite extraordinarily protective towards him. As a fellow victim? She doubted that Stuart would ever have behaved as stupidly as she had done. Despite his kindness, his warmth, his niceness, there was a very evident toughness about him; a maleness that suggested that he could when necessary be an extremely formidable foe. Only he and this Sally hadn’t been foes, had they? They had been lovers.
Lovers… She swallowed painfully. Her eyes had started to ache and burn. Too long spent staring at the VDU, she told herself, totally ignoring the fact that in the course of a normal day’s work she spent far longer than she had done today engaged in that very same task—but it couldn’t be tears…emotional pain that was making her eyes sting, could it?
She couldn’t really possibly be jealous of this Sally. No, of course she couldn’t. Perhaps a little envious… Not of her relationship with Stuart, but of the fact that she had known what it was like to have a lover, to experience a man’s desire, his physical compulsion to show her how much he loved and wanted her.
She had never known that…and now probably never would. At twenty-nine she was quite definitely far too old to experience the intensity of such passion, such love, and even if she did… She shivered a little. No, she didn’t want ever again to feel for someone else what she had felt for Ian. It was too dangerous, too destructive. Margaret had been right: what she ought to do was to form a nice safe relationship with a quiet pleasant man who, like herself, wanted to settle down, to marry and have children. A man with whom she could live in quiet comfort without the highs and lows of passion and love.
‘Stop thinking about him. There’s no point in tearing yourself apart—’
‘Over a man who doesn’t want me,’ Sara supplied drearily. ‘No, you’re right. Although, as a matter of fact, I wasn’t thinking about Ian.’ She drank her coffee and stood up.
‘I’d better get on. I’ve still got quite a bit to do before I call it a day…’
As she walked towards the door, she was suddenly acutely conscious of the fact that Stuart was watching her, although why she should be so aware of his silent regard now, after the time they had spent together, she really had no idea.
Sara worked on the computer for another hour, before feeling that she had come to a point where she could reasonably stop.
Stuart had invited her to join him for supper, but she had refused his invitation to allow him to take her out for dinner as a thank-you for the work she had done, pointing out that if she was going to work for him he could not be expected to provide her with meals as well as a salary.
A little later, when he drove her back to her parents’ home, he seemed rather withdrawn. Had she offended him by refusing his offer of dinner? Surely not. As she contemplated the solitude of the evening that lay ahead of her, she half wished that she had after all accepted.
She would have enjoyed his company. There would not have been any stilted pauses in their conversation. He might be a man who preferred to work out of doors, but from the books she had seen in his study and sitting-room, from the conversations she had already had with him, she knew already that he was a man with very widespread interests.
The kind of man, in fact, whom any sane woman would have been only too delighted to have as a dinner companion, or as a lover.
She stiffened, resisting the thought as she had resisted it the previous evening. What on earth was the matter with her? In the days when her thoughts, when her life, had revolved entirely around Ian, it had never crossed her mind to think of any other man in terms of his sexuality, but now…
The moment Stuart brought the Land Rover to a halt, she opened the door and started to scramble out, without waiting for him to come round to her side of the vehicle and assist her.
The illumin
ation from the security lights which had sprung on when they stopped showed her that his mouth had compressed in a grimly bitter line, giving him an air of distance and withdrawal, making her want to reach out to him, and beg him not to look at her so coldly.
She found that she was actually shivering as though the temperature had dropped by several degrees.
It dismayed her that she should be so distressed by Stuart’s apparent change of mood, and as he walked her to the door she was conscious of a very strong need to close the gap between them and to move closer to his body, something which astonished her since she was normally by nature the kind of person who preferred to keep a definite physical distance between herself and others.
At her door she paused and turned to face him, saying quickly, ‘If it’s all right with you, I’ll start work at ten tomorrow and stay on until about three.’
‘You still want the job, then?’
‘Yes,’ she assured him vehemently. ‘Unless…unless you’ve changed your mind.’
‘No.’ He sounded abrupt, irritated almost. ‘I’ll probably be out when you arrive. I’ll leave the back door unlocked for you. We’ll have to sort out something about a key.’
He paused and Sara looked up at him. She was standing far closer to him than she had realised, and a tiny but unmistakable quiver of sensation darted through her body. She looked quickly away to avoid the temptation of focusing on his mouth. Thank goodness he had no idea of the effect he was having on her. She could barely comprehend it herself, and could only put it down to some kind of extraordinary and totally out-of-character reaction to the wounds inflicted by Ian and Anna; a desperate and reactionary attempt by her body to prove them wrong when they’d described her as sexless. Whatever was causing it, she hoped that it would soon stop.