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‘Work?’
‘There are a couple of businesses for sale in Leeds. I came north to see what they’re like.’
It was near enough the truth, Ronan told himself. Or half the truth at least. It didn’t take into account the fact that he could quite easily have visited Leeds on a day trip if he’d wanted, or that his usual policy was to send some employee out first to see if an investment was worth considering. Only if their report was one of glowing approval did he bother to put in an appearance himself.
And it totally ignored the way that he’d been looking for just such an excuse to come north for weeks. Almost ever since he’d left Edgerton, just over a month before. At the time he couldn’t shake the dust of the place from his feet fast enough, but he’d barely been back in London for twenty-four hours before he’d realised that Lily Cornwell—Lily Guerin—couldn’t be as easily left behind.
She’d haunted him ever since; there was no other word for it. It was her face he saw every morning when he woke, projected onto the screen of his closed eyelids, and even when he opened his eyes she was still there, in his mind, no matter how hard he tried to think of something—anything—else.
And, even more disturbing, she was there last thing at night, drifting into his thoughts like some fey spirit, awakening a hunger that clutched at his loins, holding sleep at bay for long, restless hours. When he did eventually fall into a shallow doze his dreams were full of hot, voluptuous fantasies from which he awoke sweating and breathing heavily, his heart pounding, his nerves on fire.
He couldn’t get her out of his mind, and in the end had been forced to admit that he couldn’t go on without seeing her just once more. Perhaps that way he would be able to convince himself that she was nothing special, that with the spectacular sensuality of the one night they had spent together colouring his thoughts he had created a myth that the real woman could not live up to.
Even then he had fought against it long and hard, hating the thought that he, who had always believed himself to be a supremely discriminating and rational being, had been reduced to submitting to the control of his most basic carnal desires. But in the end he knew he had no alternative but to give in. He preferred not to think of the speed limits he had broken on his way here.
‘I also thought it was the perfect opportunity to call and see how my dear wife was getting on.’
Lily steeled herself not to flinch at the black sarcasm of that ‘my dear wife’ as she slowly turned to face him, keeping her eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond his right shoulder. She still couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze, knowing that the inimical blaze she would see in its indigo depths would destroy what little composure she had managed to collect for herself, leaving her floundering, speechless and totally out of her depth.
‘You surprise me,’ she managed stiltedly. ‘I rather got the impression that you never wanted to see me again.’
‘I would have preferred never to see you again,’ Ronan returned harshly. ‘What I want is a different matter entirely.’
Which was so inexplicable that she didn’t even try to work it out. If she let it mean what she thought it might, then it didn’t fit with any of Ronan’s behaviour, and certainly not with everything she had learned about his character from the moment he had put his ring on her finger.
‘Well, as you see, I’m fine, so now you can just get into your car and go on your way again.’
And how would she feel if he did precisely that? She tried to tell herself that it was what she wanted, that she wished he had never come, that his presence polluted the atmosphere of her home like the foul stench of some decaying matter. But deep inside she knew that it didn’t come near to the truth.
She was having to fight a nasty, brutal battle with herself not to show how much he was affecting her. Her whole being hungered for the sight and sound of him, so much that she felt as if she had been starving slowly for all the weeks he had been away. She hadn’t known just how much she had missed him until now, when his unexpected appearance seemed to emphasise how empty her life had been without him.
No one should have the right to look so lethally attractive, she told herself miserably, knowing that even the swift, sidelong glance she had allowed herself had already shaken her composure down to the ground. That hawk-like profile wasn’t strictly handsome in the conventional sense, but when combined with those steely blue-grey eyes, the forceful, imposing height and the gloriously vibrant colour of his hair it had an impact that was nothing less than explosive.
Even casually dressed, in a loose-fitting navy suit of obviously Italian design and a crisp white polo shirt, Ronan had the sort of potent masculinity that hit home like a blow to the stomach. His devastating, purely sexual allure acted like a magnet to every woman he had ever met, and Lily could only admit weakly that even hating him as she did hadn’t rendered her immune to its forceful pull.
Even the hours spent in his car on the motorway hadn’t so much as creased his immaculate clothing, she thought resentfully. Beside his cool elegance she felt decidedly shabby and down at heel, in her blue flowered tee shirt and grubby jeans.
That feeling was aggravated by the way that Ronan simply stood, arms folded, subjecting her to a slow and embarrassingly thorough survey, from the top of her head to her battered, mud-encrusted shoes. Feeling uncomfortably like some insignificant and rather unpleasant specimen under a microscope, Lily shuffled uneasily from one foot to another, putting up a nervous hand to brush back a straying strand of blonde hair that had escaped from the band she had fastened around an untidy ponytail.
‘You’ve put a streak of mud on your cheek.’
The underlying hint of laughter in Ronan’s voice was almost more than she could bear. The whirling turmoil of her thoughts was made all the worse by the way he took a step forward, his hand reaching out towards her.
‘No!’
Instinctively she flinched back sharply, her hands coming up defensively before her. If he touched her she would go to pieces, splintering like shattered glass.
‘I was only going to offer you this.’
The clipped, cold enunciation spoke eloquently of the control he was having to impose on himself in order to bank down the fires of his anger, while the white handkerchief she now realised he had been holding out was practically flung in her face.
‘You had no need to react as if you’d just come face to face with some poisonous snake about to bite. I would never harm you.’
Not physically, perhaps. In that way at least the growled reproach was justified, Lily admitted. In spite of his awesome height and strength, she had never once felt physically nervous in his presence, and had never seen that might turned against anyone weaker than him. It was the sheer emotional power he had over her that made her afraid.
‘Well, aren’t you even going to offer your husband a drink?’ Ronan switched back to an easygoing, conversational tone with a speed that made her head spin.
No way! she wanted to fling back at him. She wanted him out of here for good—and fast, before Davey came back. The words had even formed on her lips before she forced herself to reconsider. If she seemed too keen to be rid of him, Ronan might realise something, that quick, incisive brain of his swiftly deducing just what, or rather who, she wanted to hide from him.
Davey had taken her car and driven into town earlier that afternoon. He had told her not to expect him back before teatime, and if past experience was anything to go by it would be closer to seven before he reappeared. If she was careful she could go along with what Ronan wanted and see him on his way again without him ever suspecting a thing.
‘A coffee would be welcome. I’ve been on the road since ten.’
‘One coffee…’ It was all she could manage as he fell into step beside her as she headed for the kitchen.
She didn’t care if she sounded ungracious. Quite frankly she felt it, and she was having to fight against the way her mind would insist on a painful awareness of how well their strides fitted together as they walked. It was impossible not to recall with bitter pain the last time they had walked side by side like this, on the way down the aisle after the black farce of their marriage.
‘I have to admit that I never thought of you as a hands-on sort of gardener…’
That relaxed, casual tone shocked her to the depths of her soul. How could he be like this? How could he chat to her as easily as if they were mere acquaintances, people who had met perhaps once before?
Didn’t he feel as raw inside as she did, simply at the sight of him? Didn’t he know what it was like to seesaw desperately between a burning hatred that wished him a million miles away and a yearning delight that wanted to keep him here for ever?
Evidently not. In fact she was forced to wonder whether he felt anything at all.
‘I couldn’t imagine you getting those long, delicate fingers dirty grubbing about in the soil.’
His gesture drew Lily’s eyes to her hands. A mistake, she realised, as the glint of gold where her wedding ring caught the afternoon sun had an effect like the cruel stab of a very sharp knife.
‘And I certainly never saw you—’
‘You never saw me at all!’ Lily interjected sharply. ‘If you had then you would never have…’
