‘I suppose.’ The man seemed impervious to insult. ‘Let’s see, shall we?’
Still smiling, he stood up and lifted her back into his arms. Caught by surprise, she clutched at broad shoulders. And just like that, he kissed her.
She was always to remember that first time. His lips were warm and hard, and he smelled of a blend of sweat and river and cologne that was wholly masculine. When she pushed at his chest, her fingers meshed with damp body hair and her heart kicked up a beat. She made some sound, half protest, half moan. He took it for acquiescence and perhaps it was, the struggle was so brief. A clash of teeth before she opened her lips, a deep shudder going through her when he began to probe the sweet wet cavern of her mouth, then the thrust of tongues as her hand finally snaked round his neck to hold his head to hers.
Her response was all a man could have hoped for and more—but Dray was quite unprepared. One kiss and he found he’d never wanted any woman so badly. He had the urge to take her right then and there, to lay her down onto the tiled floor, to touch the warm willing body in his arms and cover it with his.
The blood was rushing to Cass’s head, pounding through her veins, and she grasped handfuls of his hair as they began to bite and play with each other’s mouths. She wanted, needed more. It was like the passion in poems and songs—the earth was moving and she didn’t care that it was Drayton Carlisle who was doing it for her.
He was the one who finally broke off the kiss, forced to as she slipped in his arms and they almost overbalanced. He saved them both but, in doing so, knocked her injured foot against the wall.
Cass was left gasping aloud with pain. It was some reality check!
‘I’m sorry.’ Dray’s tone was contrite but his expression wasn’t remotely so.
‘Well, you don’t look it,’ accused Cass, rapidly recovering her sanity.
‘Sorry, it’s just… Who’d have thought it?’
If Cass had been a fool, she would have said, Thought what? But she wasn’t. She knew full well what he meant. Who would have thought that she could be so passionate?
It had come as something of a surprise to Cass, too.
‘It doesn’t prove anything,’ she said, as much for her own benefit as his.
‘No,’ he seemed to agree with her.
But Cass didn’t want him to. She wanted the battle to recommence so they could discount what had happened.
‘So if you’ve finished playing macho man—’ she took refuge in sarcasm ‘—I’d like to find a phone and call a taxi.’
‘To take you where exactly?’
‘The railway station.’
‘Right.’ He glanced downwards and his gaze lingered long enough to make Cass snatch the sides of her shirt together, belatedly concealing the swell of her breasts. ‘Well, that should help boost rail travel, at least.’
The dry comment reminded Cass she was in no state to stand on her dignity—no state to stand, full stop—but it didn’t stop her wriggling in his arms.
‘Okay, I’m walking,’ he added quickly and, hooking the door with his foot, strode back along the corridor until they reached the main living room.
There the rescued boy lay on a sofa, attended to by his parents and Dray’s housekeeper. He was pale and tearful but clearly on the road to recovery.
Dray deposited Cass on an armchair before pulling on a fine wool jumper produced by the housekeeper. Cass happily faded into the background, leaving him to field questions from the boy’s parents. They knew the bare facts but wanted the full story.
Cass coloured as she listened to his version where she was the heroine responsible for saving their child. Simon Carlisle might have disputed it but he seemed to have disappeared somewhere and Cass didn’t get the chance before the ambulance arrived.
The paramedics were reassuring but decided to take the boy to hospital as a precaution. They would have taken Cass, too, only they agreed with Dray that a GP could treat her foot and without the inevitable wait in Casualty on a busy Saturday afternoon.
Cass wasn’t given any say in the matter.
As the ambulance men and the Stewart family departed, Simon Carlisle reappeared, showered and in a fresh shirt.
Dray asked how his son was and the other man made a slight face before relaying that William was fine but had been taken home by his mother. He had stayed on in case his help was needed.
Dray nodded and asked his cousin to return to the reception and ensure everything was going smoothly. He then dispatched his housekeeper to run a bath.
‘I don’t need a bath!’ Cass protested somewhat ridiculously when he picked her up in his arms once more.
‘Really?’ He sniffed the air, as they walked towards the staircase. ‘Ah! Let me guess. Eau de Thames, a subtle blend of sewage, old car tyres and toxic chemicals.’
Cass didn’t have to pretend offence. ‘And I suppose you imagine you still smell of Rico Sabine.’
‘Ted Charles,’ he told her his normal choice of cologne. ‘Just in case we end up on Christmas present terms.’
There he was, flirting again, and Cass didn’t know how to handle it. Flirting back didn’t seem a wise move. They’d already reached the kissing stage without the slightest encouragement from her.
‘What did you give the man who has everything?’ she finally quipped back. ‘A wide berth!’
He made a face, as if crestfallen. ‘So what have you against us rich folk?’ he asked, very much tongue-in-cheek.
‘Where to begin?’ she replied. ‘Ignorance, insensitivity, greed…’
‘Not to mention war, famine and death,’ he cut in dryly. ‘They’re probably all down to us, too.’
‘Probably,’ Cass echoed, ‘but I think it’s their arrogance I find most unbearable.’
‘Speaking impersonally, of course.’
‘Of course.’
But they both knew it had been a dig at him. He just wasn’t bothered. That was real arrogance for you.
The conversation was curtailed as they reached the first floor and he carried her through a bedroom to the bathroom beyond. There they found his housekeeper pouring a liberal amount of essence in a piping hot bath.
Cass wondered if the whole world had noticed she was less than fragrant.
The housekeeper scuttled out of the room on their arrival. Perhaps she imagined they wanted privacy.
Cass didn’t. She remembered what had happened in the downstairs bathroom and she wasn’t ready for an encore.
He set her down on a wicker chair. She sat primly, waiting for him to leave.
‘Towels, soap, shampoo, bathrobe.’ He checked each item off. ‘Anything else you need?’
‘No.’
‘Sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Back wash, maybe?’
Cass’s eyes widened in alarm, before she caught the amused look on his face.
‘No, thank you,’ she muttered heavily.
‘Shame.’ He smiled, already backing out of the door.
Cass told herself to get a grip. Sure he might fancy her, but it didn’t mean he was going to pounce on her, uninvited.
She took her time in washing—her foot hardly allowed her to do otherwise—and it was almost an hour before she emerged, wrapped in the folds of a towelling robe, to find the housekeeper in the bedroom beyond.
The older woman smiled before announcing, ‘The doctor is outside.’
‘Doctor?’ quizzed Cass.
‘Dr Michaelson. Mr Dray called him. Should I show him in?’
‘Yes, all right.’
Cass wasn’t about to argue. If she did, she suspected more than the doctor would materialise.
‘Sorry about this,’ she murmured as a youngish man dressed in a smart suit entered the room. ‘I hope I haven’t spoiled your day.’
‘Not at all—’ he indicated that she should sit on the bed ‘—quite the contrary, in fact. I was knee-deep in dirty shirts when I got the call.’
Cass eyed him quizzically.
He laug
hed, ‘No, I don’t normally do my laundry in a suit and tie. Dray suggested I join the reception. After I’ve killed or cured you, of course.’
She smiled a little, before asking, ‘You’re friends?’
‘Sort of,’ he responded. ‘I act as Medical Officer at Carlisle Electronics one day a week… The name’s John, by the way.’
‘John, right.’ Cass winced as he probed the wound.
‘Nasty cut,’ he mused aloud.
‘I think it’s glass,’ she volunteered in turn.
‘Looks like,’ he agreed. ‘Well, we have a choice—we can do this the easy way or the hard way.’
‘Which are?’
‘I can try to locate said glass while you grit your teeth and bear it—’
‘Or?’
‘I can inject a walloping great dose of anaesthetic into your foot, wait till it’s completely dead, then cut deeply enough to ensure all foreign bodies are expelled.’
Cass raised a brow at this information. ‘And the easy one is?’
He laughed. ‘Quite.’
‘How long will the walloping dose last?’
‘Depends. A good few hours, at least. You’ll be blissfully pain-free.’
‘But immobile?’
He gave another nod and waited while Cass debated her choice.
‘I think the walloping dose, don’t you?’ a third voice drawled.
Cass looked over the doctor’s shoulder to find Dray Carlisle, dressed once more in pristine white shirt, tie, waistcoat and trousers, watching from the door left wide open by the housekeeper. How long had he been there? And why hadn’t he announced his presence earlier?
‘I’d like to try the other method first,’ she stated categorically.
Dray gave her a look that questioned if she was being purposely difficult, while the young doctor awaited further instruction.
‘And I’m the patient,’ Cass reminded them both.
‘Of course.’ John Michaelson began to rummage in his medical bag.
Dray didn’t pursue the argument, but settled for glaring at her from the doorway.
Cass really didn’t want a dead foot for hours on end so she gritted her teeth as suggested and gripped the edge of the bed and somehow stopped herself from screaming aloud, but it was all to no avail. The glass was embedded too deeply. She wasn’t going to call a halt, however.
The sweat was standing out in beads on her forehead when Dray finally did it for her. ‘For God’s sake, John, give her the injection! Can’t you see she’s in pain?’
His voice was gruff, angry even, but John Michaelson didn’t seem to take exception. He stopped immediately and raised his eyes to Cass’s face.
‘He may be right. I can see the glass but I’ll need to cut deeper to reach it.’
‘Okay, do what you think is best.’
Resigned, Cass watched him prepare the injection, then looked towards the door as he administered it.
She half expected to see a triumphant look on Dray Carlisle’s face. He’d won, after all—laid down the law.
But his face was expressionless, except for a nerve pulsing at his temple, and the next moment he was gone, footsteps retreating down the corridor.
‘He’s just concerned,’ John Michaelson said, catching her frown.
She quickly blanked off expression. ‘Doesn’t bother me. Let him throw a moody, if he likes.’
Her words surprised, then amused the other man. ‘Drayton Carlisle throwing a moody—an interesting concept… Are you friends?’ he echoed her earlier question.
Only he gave it a different twist—friends as in lovers. Or was she being over-sensitive?
‘I hardly know the man, actually,’ she said with some conviction.
She really didn’t. One moment he was the urbane charmer, the next a complete autocrat.
‘Still have feeling?’ John Michaelson enquired and for a mad second she thought they were on the same subject. Then she noticed he was pressing the blade of the scalpel to the sole of her foot.
‘Nothing,’ she replied, and was careful to remain immobile as he extracted a wicked-looking shard of glass, before cleaning and dressing the wound.
He stayed to talk a while but the conversation made little impression on Cass.
Her head was still full of Dray Carlisle.
Her heart, too, if truth be told, only she hadn’t quite admitted it then.
CHAPTER FOUR
THREE years on Cass returned to a very different present, alerted by the sound of approaching footsteps.
She turned, expecting to see Tom, and her back stiffened at the sight of his older brother, towering above her. He’d removed his jacket but left on his black tie.
He studied her face for a moment and Cass was glad she’d hidden her eyes behind sunglasses. She didn’t want him to know she’d been crying.
She got to her feet, ignoring his offer of a hand up, and brushed dust from the back of her skirt before asking, ‘Where’s Tom?’
‘Up at the house,’ he told her. ‘He won’t come down here.’
Or big brother wouldn’t let him?
‘Fine.’ She checked her watch and discovered it was past twelve. ‘Well, if he wants to speak to me, he knows where I live.’
She folded her jacket over her arm and took him by surprise as she walked away. She got as far as the copse of trees before a hand restrained her.
‘Look, he’s not playing games with you, if that’s what you think. It’s just the summer house… It has unhappy associations for him.’
The latter admission was slow in coming, so slow Cass felt he was making it up as he went along.
‘What associations?’ she asked in disbelief.
She wanted to see how good his powers of invention were. Not very, it seemed.
‘It’s not important,’ he dismissed.
Cass sensed he was hiding something—if only his feelings. His tone was clipped and precise yet the pulse at his temple was beating in overdrive, and his eyes held disdain. He disliked her as much as she did him.
‘Neither’s meeting Tom for me,’ she stated and tried to slip from his grip.
His fingers tightened automatically. ‘All right. If I tell you the truth, you’ll come to the house?’
Cass wondered if she had any choice. He was stronger, bigger and suddenly a little frightening in his intensity.
She nodded slowly, then wished she hadn’t as he resumed, ‘Your sister used to meet one of her lovers in the summer house. Tom found out about it.’
Cass’s throat closed up and she swallowed hard, but she still hadn’t a thing to say. She wanted to call him a liar only she couldn’t find the conviction.
Her silence spoke volumes to Dray. ‘You already knew this, didn’t you?’
‘No!’ That she could deny.
‘But it isn’t a total shock to you,’ he pursued.
Cass shook her head. She was aware of the affair, just not the details.
‘Did you know?’ she challenged in return. ‘Was it you who told Tom?’
‘No, on both counts. Tom told me but he was scarcely coherent. I didn’t quite believe it till now. It’s true, though, isn’t it?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Yes, you are.’ Anger now narrowed those unusually dark blue eyes. ‘You might not have been close but the one thing I know you and your sister discussed was your sex lives.’
Cass’s lips parted in mute protest. Pen might have occasionally been indiscreet, but Cass had never reciprocated. She’d always regarded such matters as private.
‘I wouldn’t bother with that innocent look,’ he grated on, ‘because she told me as much. She said how you rated us. Men, that is. All your men.’
‘My men?’ Cass was struggling to catch up.
‘That’s something else she told me—what a busy social life you had.’ His mouth curved into a bitter smile. ‘So what benchmark do you use? Technique? Stamina? Or something more quantifiable like orgasms per night?’
Cass
shook her head, finally finding the voice to accuse, ‘You’re making this up. Pen wouldn’t say anything like that.’
‘Oh, wouldn’t she?’ He gave a hollow laugh.
Cass had a moment’s doubt. But no. Why should Pen tell lies about her?
‘Of course, you don’t actually, do you?’ he went on—inexorably, degradingly on. ‘Rate us, I mean. Not in any real sense. We’re nobody. Just there to give Cassandra Barker a good, hard—’
‘Don’t!’ She cut off the profanity before it could be uttered, and almost jerked free of him.
He grabbed her back. ‘What’s the matter? I thought you northerners appreciated plain speaking.’
‘You and I—it wasn’t like that! You know it wasn’t!’ A welter of emotions rose to the surface.
‘I thought it wasn’t,’ he sneered back, ‘but then I was suffering from a brain bypass at the time. Thank God your little sister put me straight.’
Cass heard the rancour in his voice, but still refused to believe a word.
‘I’m not listening to this!’ she tried to shout him down.
‘Oh, you’ll listen—’ he yanked her closer ‘—you’ll listen as long as I want you to listen.’
‘Like hell I will!’ Railing against his arrogance, she struggled once more, only this time, when he wouldn’t release her, she kicked him hard on the shin.
He swore aloud, more in surprise than pain, and Cass wasn’t given the chance to repeat the assault.
She found herself backed hard against the nearest tree, arms twisted round the trunk, feet barely touching the ground.
‘Let me go!’ Green eyes sparked with rage as she tried and failed to land another kick.
Dray held her fast until she gave up fighting and took to staring past him with tight-lipped fury. He hadn’t meant things to get physical but he had forgotten she had a temper.
The rest he remembered now she was close enough for her breasts to rise and fall against his chest, close enough to feel her breath on his face, to smell the unique scent of her. The trouble was he remembered it all too vividly: how real it had felt when they’d made love, how perfectly her body had moved to the rhythm of his, how badly he’d needed to possess her. He remembered, also, what a fool he’d been, talking of love, when it had just been sex…was still sex.
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