Time for Trust

by Penny Jordan

  CHAPTER SIX

  DANIEL’S meeting with the builder went well enough for the two of them to be able to agree that, once he had looked at the house and confirmed that the plans drawn up by Daniel’s architect were compatible with the capabilities of his workforce, he would be able to start work almost immediately.

  When Daniel looked surprised and pleased he went on to explain that under normal circumstances it would have been weeks, if not months, before he would have been able to do the work, but a barn conversion on which he had been due to start work had hit some last-minute snags, which meant a long delay while work went back to the planning stage.

  Having made an appointment to meet the builder at the house in the morning, they set off back for the village.

  Although she didn’t say anything, Jessica’s arm and shoulder were beginning to ache quite painfully. She thought she had done a very good job of hiding this fact from Daniel, until he pulled up in front of her cottage and said abruptly, ‘I’m sorry. I’ve exhausted you. Thoughtless of me.’

  He sounded so terse that Jessica felt for a moment that her weakness irritated him. Her father had always been rather intolerant of anyone less than physically one hundred per cent. It was his boast that he never caught so much as a cold, and that he had never in all his working life had to have time off through ill health, and so she said quickly, ‘I’m not normally like this. I’m pretty tough really.’

  As though he sensed the vulnerability and defensiveness hidden by her quick smile and light voice, Daniel caught hold of her good arm, sliding his hand down it. His fingers brushed the turbulent pulse, the delicate inner skin of her wrist, sending her pulse-rate into turbulent disorder. He turned her hand over, studying her palm so intently that she started to tremble, and then he lifted her hand to his mouth, dropping a light kiss into her palm.

  ‘I wasn’t criticising you, Jess,’ he told her softly. ‘I was condemning myself for being thoughtless.’

  She looked at him, her breath catching on a ragged sigh as he read the emotions chasing one another across her face.

  ‘Jess…Jess…’ he said rawly, lifting her palm to his lips a second time, but this time their pressure was hard and forceful, and when she quivered under the assault of sensations rioting through her his tongue caressed the soft pads of flesh at the base of her fingers. When they curled in immediate reaction to the rush of pleasure swamping her, he bit gently into the soft mound at the base of her thumb, and then less gently, so that she shuddered violently, her eyes huge and dark with bewilderment.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he muttered roughly, his thumb registering the too rapid thud of her pulse, his eyes monitoring the hectic flush staining her cheekbones, his body responding violently to her arousal.

  ‘Why?’

  Her lips parted softly on the question, a tiny frown etched between her eyebrows.

  ‘Because it makes me want to do this.’

  His hand cupped her head, sliding into her hair, his fingers hard and warm against her scalp. During the day his jaw had darkened with the new growth of beard, and when he kissed her the roughness of his skin against the softness of her own created a frisson of sharp pleasure that made her shiver inside and break out in a rash of goose-flesh outside.

  She had never done anything like this before—never been kissed so passionately and demandingly in full sight of anyone who chose to walk past the car, and been so oblivious to that fact that if Daniel had started to undress her all she would have known was that now, at last, she was going to feel the delirious joy of his touch against her skin.

  It was a car backfiring in the distance that brought her to her senses, making her pull back from him, her eyes still cloudy and confused by the suddenness and intensity of her own desire.

  Neither of them spoke as they went inside, but Jessica was acutely aware of Daniel’s hand on her arm, of the tension gripping him—the same tension that was still invading her. She sensed his impatience, his male desire to carry them both to the culmination of the feelings they had just shared.

  They looked at one another in silence, but the air between them quivered with expectancy and anticipation. If she went towards him now, if she touched him, spoke to him, Jessica knew that he would make love to her. She wanted him to so intensely, her need so sharp and spearing, that it seemed incredible to imagine that she had ever hesitated or doubted. The Jessica who she was now, this moment, looked back in incredulous amazement at the Jessica she had been, unable to comprehend why she had had such doubts, such fears.

  And then the phone rang, the sound shrill and imperious, fragmenting the fragile bubble of desire that held them both captive. Jessica reached for it instinctively, her voice unsteady and slightly higher-pitched than usual as she said her name.

  ‘Jessica, darling, are you all right? I’ve been trying to reach you all day.’

  ‘Mother…Is something wrong?’

  Discreetly Daniel moved out of earshot to give her privacy, but there was nothing private she wanted to say to her mother. Strange that, while she loved her and knew that she was loved in turn, there were still these immense barriers between them.

  ‘No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just that it’s rather a long time since I spoke to you.’

  Instantly Jessica felt guilty, uncomfortably aware of the low tone of unhappiness in her mother’s voice.

  Jessica suppressed her guilt.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right, darling?’ her mother pressed. ‘You don’t sound your normal self. Your father and I worry about you, living alone.’

  ‘Living in London is much more dangerous,’ Jessica pointed out wryly, and then, aware of the quality of her mother’s silence, mentally cursed herself. No doubt her mother thought she was making an unkind reference to her kidnapping.

  ‘Why don’t you come home for the weekend?’

  Jessica felt her stomach knotting as it always did at the thought of spending time with her parents, of being vulnerable to their subtle persuasion and coercion, and yet she heard the yearning note beneath the lightness of her mother’s words.

  ‘I can’t, Mother,’ she fibbed, hating herself for her own weakness. ‘I’m afraid I’ve already got something on.’

  ‘A date?’ her mother enquired, her voice brightening.

  A date…What would her parents say if they knew about Daniel? If they knew she had fallen in love? Not that she was going to tell them. Not yet. Not until she herself was sure.

  Sure of what? Of Daniel? Of herself? As she muttered something non-committal and replaced the receiver the euphoria of her earlier mood of reckless certainty and confidence had gone, replaced by one of uncertainty and tension.

  Daniel obviously sensed it. He gave her a thoughtful look and offered quietly. ‘If you’d like me to leave…’

  She shook her head. Part of her did. Part of her wanted to crawl back into the security of the solitary life with which she was so familiar, but another part of her wanted to break free of the old Jessica and her fears.

  ‘No,’ she said huskily. ‘Please stay.’

  And as they looked at one another across the width of the room she wondered if he realised that those were probably the most portentous words she had ever said.

  * * *

  As though he knew what she was going through, over the meal, which he had insisted on preparing, Daniel deliberately kept the conversation light and general.

  He was interesting to talk with—not like some men, whose entire lives and interests were themselves and their careers. Daniel was widely read, and knowledgeable, drawing her out to talk about herself so easily and gently that she scarcely realised what he was doing.

  At nine o’clock exhaustion suddenly hit her.

  ‘You’re tired,’ Daniel said quietly. ‘I’d better go.’

  Go? Jessica stared at him. She had taken it for granted that he would be staying the night again.

  He touched her face with his hand, his touch both reassuring and tender.


  ‘I promised I wouldn’t rush you,’ he reminded her. ‘But if I stay here with you tonight, I may not be able to keep that promise. We both know that.’ He frowned and hesitated. ‘I want your love and your trust, Jessica.’

  She desperately wanted to beg him to stay, to push caution aside and say that she had changed her mind, that she was ready now to make the fullest kind of commitment to him, but the words stuck in her throat, a paralysing shyness silencing her, and by the time she had found her voice he was already on his feet and walking towards the door.

  ‘I’ll get my bag,’ he told her quietly, and then added, ‘Tomorrow, would it be too much if I asked you to be with me when Alan Pierce comes to go round the house? I’d like your views on anything he has to say.’

  ‘A woman’s touch,’Jessica said lightly, trying to mask her pleasure that he should want her there.

  ‘No,’ he corrected, watching her. ‘The woman’s touch.’

  He wouldn’t let her go with him to the car, saying that it was too cold outside. He brushed his lips fleetingly against her forehead before firmly stepping back from her.

  ‘Nine o’clock tomorrow?’ he suggested.

  Jessica nodded, and then offered almost shyly, ‘If you want to make it a bit earlier, we could have breakfast together.’

  ‘I’d like that, Jess.’ He seemed about to say something else, but then stopped and opened the door.

  The house felt empty without him, and yet, after all, she had only known him a couple of days.

  Tiredly she went upstairs, wishing she had had the courage to ask him to stay, and yet admitting ruefully later, when she studied herself in the full-length mirror in her bathroom, that her bruised arm and shoulder, all swollen and now vividly coloured, purple and blue, were hardly appealing.

  * * *

  Morning brought an end to the brief interlude of blue skies and bright autumn sunshine. The wind had picked up during the night, blowing in pewter rainclouds and turning the whole landscape a dull, leaden grey.

  Lethargically Jessica surveyed the contents of her cupboard and wondered what on earth she was going to give Daniel for breakfast. A trip to the local market town to stock up at the supermarket there was plainly called for, but she couldn’t summon any enthusiasm for such an undertaking. She hated supermarket shopping at the best of times, and could never visit one without wondering how on earth mothers with under-school-age children managed. The old-fashioned corner-type shops might not have sold the wide range of goods supplied by supermarkets, but they had a friendliness, a warmth that was lacking from these huge soulless buildings. The worst time for shopping in them, as far as she was concerned, was early in the evenings or at weekends, when all the other shoppers seemed to be in family groups and she felt as though she was the only person there who was on her own.

  She wondered curiously how Daniel lived, where he did his shopping. As a successful businessman no doubt he ate out a lot. Daniel…Was every path her thoughts took these days destined to lead her back to him? Was she already so dangerously involved with him that she couldn’t, didn’t want to focus on anything or anyone else?

  As she closed the fridge door she glanced upwards towards the window, sighing as she saw the rain spattering against the glass, and then she remembered that tucked away in one of her top cupboards was an unopened packet of porridge bought on impulse one bitterly cold spring day and left unopened all summer.

  She wasn’t tall enough to reach the top cupboards in the kitchen without standing on a stool, but she had forgotten the weakness in her arm, and as she stood on the stool and lifted her arm to open the cupboard her bruised muscles protested, and the pain in them made her cry out in surprise and almost lose her balance.

  ‘Jessica! What the devil…?’

  The sight of Daniel standing in her kitchen, glowering at her while he set down the paper bags he was carrying and came quickly towards her, made her tremble so much that the stool wobbled even more. The floor was uneven and the stool not the safest thing to stand on, she knew, but her situation was surely hardly perilous enough to warrant either the grim look Daniel was giving her or the stifled curse he muttered under his breath as he crossed the kitchen and unceremoniously lifted her off the stool.

  Once her feet were touching the floor, though, he didn’t let her go.

  She could feel the heavy thud of his heart through her thin sweater.

  The heat from his body lapped her in a warmth which was rapidly making her own flesh burn. It was hard to keep her voice calm and steady as she asked, ‘What did you do that for? I was perfectly safe.’

  ‘Safe? Your front door was unlocked and open when I heard you cry out.’

  The grimness was beginning to leave his mouth, and guiltily Jessica remembered that she hadn’t checked that the door was closed and locked after she took the milk in.

  ‘I forgot about my arm,’ she told him breathlessly. ‘That was why I cried out.’

  ‘Idiot!’ Daniel told her roughly. ‘Don’t you know that the majority of patients in Britain’s out-patients’ hospital departments go there through accidents caused in the home? What was it you wanted, anyway? I’ll get it for you.’

  She told him, and then explained about her near-empty fridge and her concern over what she was going to give him to eat.

  ‘I’ve brought our breakfast with me,’ he told her wryly, watching her nose twitch appreciatively as she focused on the carrier bags he had put down on the table. The unmistakable smell of freshly baked bread reached her, making her mouth water.

  ‘You’ve been into Long Eaton,’ she accused him. ‘You must have been. That’s the only place around here where they have a bakery.’

  ‘I was awake early,’ he told her. ‘Mrs G had mentioned the bakery, and so I thought I’d drive over and see what they had to offer.’

  ‘They make the most wonderful croissants,’ Jessica began with regret. ‘They use French flour and a special recipe…’ Her voice trailed away, her eyes rounding with pleasure as Daniel delved into one of the carrier bags and told her,

  ‘I bought some, and some of Mrs Neville’s cousin Ann’s very special blackcurrant conserve,’ he added virtuously.

  Jessica started to laugh, happiness rising inside her like effervescent bubbles, intoxicating her. She wanted to fling her arms around him and tell him how wonderful he was, but because by nature she was cautious and unused to expressing her feelings, she said mock severely instead, ‘That conserve is wickedly expensive, and loaded down with calories.’

  ‘Mrs Neville told me it’s your favourite.’

  It was the way he was looking at her, and not the words, that silenced her—the knowledge that he cared.

  She reached out to touch him, her hand trembling a little as her fingertips found the hard line of his jaw.

  ‘It is,’ she said huskily.

  And then she was in his arms and he was holding her, touching her, kissing her as she had ached for him to do every time she woke up during the night and discovered that he wasn’t there.

  ‘Much more of this and I’m going to start forgetting that I promised not to rush you,’ Daniel whispered thickly against her ear, stroking the soft skin of her throat with fingers that trembled betrayingly. ‘And I still haven’t…’

  She ached to tell him that she had changed her mind, that there was nothing she wanted more than to commit herself to him completely, but instead said softly, ‘Haven’t what?’

  ‘Jess, about your parents…’

  ‘No, please, I don’t want to talk about them. I know you mean well, Daniel, but it’s just that I can’t trust them. We’ll be late for the builder,’ she reminded him jerkily.

  She saw him look at her, an odd expression in his eyes, composed of wryness and something that was almost pain.

  ‘Posting No Trespassing signs, Jess?’ he said drily.

  The builder arrived at Daniel’s house just as they were getting out of Daniel’s car. He showed no surprise at seeing Jessica with Daniel, and toget
her the three of them set off on a tour of inspection.

  It took them almost three hours, with Alan Pierce making copious notes.

  He listened while Daniel explained exactly what he wanted to achieve, firmly agreeing with him when Daniel said that he wanted to use salvaged materials of the right period as much as possible, resorting to new only when there was no alternative available.

  The builder, as Jessica already knew, had been apprenticed as a teenager to a small family firm of craftsmen working in and around Bath, so that unlike many modern builders he was fully conversant with many of the traditional forms of building, but, listening to him discussing the work with Daniel, what surprised her was Daniel’s own expertise.

  When she commented on it later when the builder had gone, he told her ruefully, ‘It’s only information culled second-hand from books and magazine articles, I’m afraid. Unfortunately I have no practical expertise. I’ve always been interested in architecture and old buildings. In fact, as a teenager I had dreams of qualifying as an architect.’

  Jessica looked at him in surprise.

  ‘Did you? What made you turn to the City instead?’

  He gave a brief shrug. It was cold outside in the overgrown gardens, but he was standing so that he sheltered her from the worst of the wind. There was something intensely pleasurable about standing here with him, Jessica thought as she looked up into his face, waiting for his reply.

  This morning he was dressed casually in a pair of faded jeans, a woollen shirt and a rather battered and very soft leather blouson jacket, and, watching him as he had enthusiastically and knowledgeably inspected rotting pieces of wood, crumbling stonework and plaster, as comfortably at home among the dirt and mess of the old house as the builder, she hadn’t been able to help contrasting him with the other men she had occasionally dated—men introduced to her via her parents, men who dressed in expensive suits and who would never in this world have dreamed of crouching down on rotting floorboards to admire the workmanship in a piece of wainscoting.