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His thumb gently massaged the sensitive flesh just below her ear and her bones turned to water. ‘No,’ she muttered feverishly.
‘Your game got out of hand, didn’t it?’ His dark skin bore the merest sheen of dampness, his eyes a merciless beat of gold on her strained face.
‘There was no game!’ she snapped starkly.
He wasn’t listening to her. ‘You’re as caught up in this as I am, and I was never into spectator sports. I’m not into hole-in-the-corner affairs either.’
Her head flew back, strands of shimmering hair springing back from her slanted cheekbones in pale silk wings. ‘I wouldn’t have an affair with you if you were the last man alive on this earth!’ she derided.
Long fingers were twining with caressing cool into her tumbled hair, smoothly preventing her from an inch of withdrawal. ‘Well, that’s what I came here to tell you, Kitty. As far as you’re concerned while you’re up here, I am the last man alive on this earth. I don’t share,’ he spelt out sibilantly. ‘I don’t care how you behaved with Maxwell, but by God you’ll be different with me.’
An overriding awareness of the hand lazily tracing the line of her extended throat was turning her brain into an inactive wasteland. ‘You’re crazy!’
His mouth twisted. ‘Ground rules not to my lady’s fancy? They’re on a take-it-or-leave-it basis. Non-negotiable,’ he emphasised, his formerly even intonation steadily harshening. ‘I’m not down on my knees, Kitty, and I never will be. So if that is your objective, you’re in for a disappointment.’
The instant she attempted to jerk free, something seemed to snap in him. His eyes blazing down at her, he pressed her back against the wall. He took her lips fiercely, ravishing the tender interior of her mouth with his tongue until the hot blood pounded in her veins, sapping her of all will to protest. He trembled against her. With every lean line of his taut body moulded to her, she could not have been unaware of the extent of his arousal, yet she dimly sensed the duality in him, the anger as powerful as the hunger he couldn’t deny.
He released her mouth with a ragged groan. ‘God, not here…anywhere but here.’
Self-loathing dug bitter claws of reproach into her. She pulled violently free of his loosened embrace and made for the stairs. Near the foot of the first flight, her heel went skidding off the edge of a step, catapulting her into the air. She landed with a sharp cry on hard boards, her ankle twisted painfully beneath her. Hot tears flooded and blurred her vision.
‘You could have broken your neck!’ He let rip at her with a rage that made her flinch as he came down beside her on his knees, careless of his suit. Firm hands pushed away her clutching fingers and lightly probed her ankle. ‘I imagine that hurt.’ White under his tan, he stared down at her, releasing his breath in a tortured hiss, none of that anger betrayed by the gentle investigation he pursued.
The tears she had been fighting inexplicably fell all the more freely. ‘Go away!’ she sobbed furiously.
Instead he lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his thighs as he sank back on the stairs, holding her as easily as if she were a small child. Her hand balled into a weak fist and struck against a broad, muscular shoulder. ‘Don’t!’ she gasped.
He pressed her hot face almost roughly into his shirt-front. The throb of her ankle was already receding under the soothing massage of his fingers. She struggled hoarsely to catch her breath. The husky male scent of his warm flesh was drowning her already stormed defences. She felt weak and defeated, utterly incapable of contesting the ridiculous sense of security she was experiencing. His heart was a solid, reassuring thump against her ear. He held her until her breathing steadied and unwillingly she lifted her head away, her hair screening her face from him.
‘Do you miss this place?’ she whispered in the strangely comfortable silence.
Fingertips lightly caught her chin, pushing it up. ‘What do you think?’ A ruefully amused smile played over his mouth, softening the implacability so often etched there. Her pulses quickened to the inherent dark charm of that almost forgotten smile. ‘Two hundred years of family heritage once belonged under this roof. I knew when my father died that I’d never be able to keep it, but it didn’t make moving out any easier.’
Her lashes cloaked her disquiet. Becoming uneasily conscious of the childish fashion in which she was still sprawled across his thighs, she slid on to the step beside him. ‘Was there no way you could have kept the house?’
‘At the time I couldn’t afford the maintenance. A clean break seemed wisest,’ he said dispassionately, his honesty piercing her with guilty discomfiture. ‘Look around you. If certain steps aren’t taken soon, this house will be derelict in another few years.’
‘For goodness’ sake, it’s not that bad!’ she protested.
‘You’d be surprised how fast a house goes downhill when it’s empty. The damp’s getting in all over the place. The roof and the windows are overdue for renewal, and that would only be the beginning. I doubt if the consortium who owns the estate now would consider the expense worthwhile,’ he drawled. ‘It’s hardly in the stately home bracket.’
‘It’s a very attractive house. It’s unusual,’ she argued half under her breath, constrained by the weight of her deception.
Jake grimaced. ‘It’s a Victorian folly, built for a half-dozen servants, not for convenience. It’s surprising that the estate hasn’t made more profitable use of it. It could be split up into apartments or even turned into a small hotel.’
Since both of his suggestions had been tabled to her and costed several years previously, she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. At her insistence the Grange had remained a private dwelling. She swallowed. ‘The condition of the house bothers you, doesn’t it?’
‘Possibly because there’s always that little doubt that asks me if I tried hard enough to hang on to it,’ he confessed bleakly as he slid fluidly upright and dusted himself down. ‘How’s your ankle? Can you stand?’
Clutching his supportive arm, she slipped back into her discarded shoe and tested her foot. ‘It’s fine,’ she dismissed, immediately moving away from him. ‘We should be going. Mr Creighton will be sending out a search party soon.’
He caught her hand, dark eyes diamond-hard on her withdrawn profile. ‘You started this, you
can’t stop it now.’
‘Tell me, where does Paula fit into this ménage à trois?’ she prompted curtly.
‘She doesn’t. Paula and I had a convenient arrangement which is now at an end,’ he breathed harshly. ‘Paula appreciates her freedom as much as I do. I haven’t even known her for very long. We have never been lovers, Kitty. If you are looking for an exit, you are not going to find it through Paula.’
She turned away, a prey to conflicting emotions. Guilt, relief, panic and pleasure all tore at her simultaneously. The emptiness of her unsteady hands provided a welcome distraction. ‘I must have left my bag upstairs.’
He released his breath in the tension that had sprung up again. ‘I’ll get it.’
Momentarily she let her shoulders slump back against the wall. Dear God, what was happening to her? Ten minutes ago she had broken down completely and somehow Jake had put her together again. Eight years ago she had sewn up her emotions tight and now feelings that she had suppressed for so long were gushing out in a damburst. She was conscious of a treacherous, unreasoning happiness blossoming inside her.
He was hers. His violent pride might take refuge in aggression, but he was no more in control of events than she was. Even as she stood there, that bold belief faded, leaving behind an appalled awareness of her own vulnerability. He wanted no more from her than he had wanted before. What a fool she was, what a blind, stupid fool to still want him no less even facing that unpalatable fact!
Her feelings for Jake had limpet-strong tenacity. Breaking away would be like walking down these stairs. One step, then another, each one slightly harder, that invisible elastic fighting to yank her back to him, regardless of every self-preservative instinct. She remembered the dark days when despair had been her shroud, shutting out the rest of the world. Love was a gift, God’s greatest gift, she had been taught in Sunday school. But love could be a burden and an agony, a ceaseless craving that you could be desperate to root out of yourself. And the will to do that seemed to be beyond her.
