Her breasts seemed to blossom and flower at his touch, the nipples erect and eager for the flutter of his fingers against their hardening peaks. Her back arched in sensuous joy and demand, all thought of resistance finally ebbing away. She felt the edge of the wooden worktop pressing against her back as his other hand moved slowly down in its turn, smoothing its way over the curve of her flank and lingering over the slender pliancy of her thigh. Leaving her on some knife-edge of bewilderment and need, her body hot and fluid in anticipation of his touch. Her nipples were aching, on fire with pleasure. She wanted him to kiss them—longed to experience the balm of his tongue. Her thighs had already parted—inviting his exploration—pleading with him to discover this intense molten desire for him in a demand more potent for being silent.
Her breathing was in tense abeyance, her lower lip caught between her teeth in an attempt to balance the pain of this unlooked for yearning. And then, like the lash of a whip across her senses, it was over. Chay released her, straightening her clothing in one practised movement.
'I think you have a visitor.' His voice was cool, even expressionless, as if he was some stranger with whom she'd been exchanging thoughts on the weather, Adrien thought dazedly.
Then, instantly, she heard Zelda's voice outside the back door, calling, 'Adrien—are you there! Are you all right?'
By the time she'd opened the door and walked in Chay was on the other side of the kitchen, attending to the kettle which had come unnoticed to the boil.
'Oh.' Zelda checked in obvious embarrassment when she saw him. 'I'm sorry. I saw all the lights come on and wondered... I didn't realise...'
'Everything's fine.' His smile was relaxed, charming. As if she was the one person in the world he'd wanted to see, and at that particular moment, Adrien thought with a silent gasp of outrage. 'I was on the point of leaving, anyway,' he added, adding fuel to the flames. 'I just had—a few final details to settle with Miss Lander.'
'Well, if you're sure,' Zelda began doubtfully.
'Totally.' He nodded for emphasis, then turned to Adrien, his expression cool—even impersonal. 'I think that little discussion has made things much clearer, don't you? I look forward to continuing our dialogue next Friday. Please don't move,' he added quickly, as she took a half-step forward, her lips parting indignantly. 'I'll see myself out.'
He favoured them both with another swift smile, and was gone.
'Well,' Zelda said, with a wealth of meaning. 'So, what was that all about?'
'I don't know what you mean,' Adrien said evasively, wondering if she could walk across the kitchen without her legs collapsing under her. Her body, subjected to the sexual equivalent of cold turkey treatment, had gone into shock. Zelda gave her an old-fashioned look. 'Who are you kidding? You could cut the atmosphere with a knife. I thought I'd walked into a force field.'
'Nonsense.' Adrien found her way to the cupboard and took down two beakers and a jar of coffee, moving busily, even fussily, to cover her complete disorientation and her seriously flurried breathing. 'We were simply talking business.'
'That's the kind of business I like.' Zelda gave her a catlike grin. 'So that's the new model Chay Haddon. Actually, he hasn't changed much. Still blond, still sexy, but definitely more outgoing.' She paused, giving Adrien a speculative glance. 'And you're looking good yourself. Isn't that your new outfit?'
Adrien bit her already sore lip, and winced as she spooned coffee into the beakers and brought the kettle back to the boil. 'We've been out to dinner. I felt I'd better make an effort—that's all.'
'Well—did it work?' Zelda asked with painful intensity. Adrien stirred the coffee, and tried to get her mind in gear. 'I suppose it did,' she said quietly. 'At any rate he— he's going to pay for the work on the Grange—settle all the bills—and let me finish the project. So, we don't have to worry.'
'Oh, God.' Zelda closed her eyes. 'There is a Santa Claus.' She took a breath, then gave Adrien another penetrating look. 'So, what's the snag?'
'Why should there be one?' Adrien handed over a beaker and took a scalding mouthful of her own brew.
'Because I don't believe in Santa Claus,' Zelda said grimly. 'So, what's the worm in the apple—the fly in the ointment?'
Adrien hesitated. She hadn't time to invent a story, so a half-truth would have to do.
She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. 'He wants me to move back into the Grange while I'm sorting it out.'
Zelda frowned. 'Why?'
'It's nothing new.' Adrien took another gulp of coffee, hoping that would explain the sudden rush of colour into her face. 'After all, I have been staying there for the past couple of weeks.'
'Yes,' said Zelda. 'But that was when you thought you and Piers were going to be married and the Grange semi-belonged to you. That's not the case any more. So, what gives?'
'There's still quite a bit of work to be done,'
Adrien parried. 'And he has his own ideas as well. So he wants me on the spot to make sure everything's done properly.'
'Can't he do that for himself?'
'He's away a lot.' Adrien bit her lip. 'Anyway, by paying off the contractors he's got me off the hook, so if he wants a favour I can't really argue about it. I—I owe him.'
'Gratitude is one thing,' said Zelda. 'Although I hope what I interrupted tonight wasn't you simply being grateful,' she added drily. 'But the guy can't expect to own you, body and soul. Remember that.'
Adrien forced a smile. 'Now you're being silly,' she said, surreptitiously crossing her fingers in the folds of her skirt.
But he does own me, she thought, her mind shuddering away from the events of the past half-hour. He does—and there's not a thing I can do about it...She still could barely believe her reaction to his advances. She had nothing but dislike and contempt for him, and yet she'd stood there and let him do what he wanted without a word of protest, and, but for Zelda's arrival, she would probably be having sex with him at this moment.
I'm as bad as he is, she thought, wincing with distaste.
Zelda spoke, her voice gentle. 'Adie—if you don't want to accept Chay Haddon's offer, say so now. We'll manage somehow. It's not too late.'
Oh, but it is, Adrien thought. It was too late from the moment I saw him standing there, looking up at the house.
'Everything's fine.' She lifted her chin. 'Living at the Grange won't be particularly convenient, but it's only a temporary measure. Soon—very soon—life will be back to normal again.'
And she wished with a kind of dread that she could believe her own reassuring words.
* * *
Just a few more hours, Adrien thought, turning the Jeep into the Grange's drive. When the day ended, her life would have changed forever.
It had been a strange week. The days short, as she'd struggled to finish the Grange. The nights all too long, as sleep had proved elusive.
Do what she would, she had not been able to forget her last encounter with Chay—or forgive herself for it either.
And something told her that she was going to pay dearly for those long moments of self-betrayal in Chay's arms.
She should have insisted that they adhere to the original terms of the bargain—made him leave. Oh, she could see it all now. Why hadn't she been as wise at the time— instead of melting like some sex starved idiot? she berated herself savagely. Yet wasn't mat exactly what she was?
I'm a throwback, she thought. A total, pathetic anachronism. I don't belong in the twenty-first century. Looking back, she could see that Piers's determination to postpone the physical consummation of their relationship until they were married hadn't been the act of a chivalrous romantic at all.
He had to sweet-talk me to get me to restore the Grange for him, she thought bleakly. But that was as far as it was ever going to go. The rest of it was my imagination.
She'd lain in the darkness, night after night, trying to remember how Piers's arms had felt—his kisses. And to recall her own responses.
She'd been in love with him, she thought wonderingly, yet, to her shame, not one of his embraces had ever stirred her as Chay's lightest touch had done. She shivered. How had Chay been able to exert such power over her, and with such consummate ease, too? It seemed too glib to tell herself that he was just a very experienced man toying with the senses of a relatively innocent young woman. But what other explanation was there?
It was almost as if she'd been bewitched.
But next time he wouldn't find her mental and emotional defenses so fragile, she promised herself grimly.
She'd found it easier to cope in the daytime. There'd even been times when work on the house had taken her over again. When she'd been able to lose herself in the pleasure of restoration, watching the Grange coming to life again. When she could look around her and allow herself to bask in the satisfaction of a job well done.
All the contractors had returned to work, presumably on Chay Haddon's guarantee, and although she'd been aware of curious glances from some, and an air of constraint from others, no one had referred to the returned cheques, or even to the new ownership. At least not in her hearing. Sometimes she'd even been able to relegate the price she had to pay for Piers's defection to the back of her mind. Until something would occur to remind her of the new regime, and how intimately she'd soon be involved with it.
The arrival of the phone company to install extra lines and points had been the first thing, and that had been followed by a vanload of high-tech office equipment. And today she'd been told to expect the arrival of another consignment of furniture.
The first load had arrived the previous day. She'd watched the men carry in chairs and sofas, with luxurious feather cushioning and brocaded covers in sapphire, ivory and jade. They looked good in the formal surroundings of the long drawing room, but she'd been in no mood to admire Chay's taste. The beds, too, were all brand-new, and ostentatiously large, Adrien had noted, tight-lipped, as she'd directed which rooms they were to be placed in.
She'd chosen a relatively modest queen-size bed for her own quarters, a bedroom with its own tiny shower room and an adjoining sitting room, at the opposite end of the house to Chay's suite.
And today she would complete the furnishing of her little suite. She'd brought an easy chair from the cottage yesterday, but she still needed a chest of drawers and a night table. However, a number of small items of furniture that Piers had deemed not good enough to be auctioned had been relegated to the cellar, so she might find something down there. Inside the house, the contractors were clearing up and preparing to leave. She'd been astonished at the amount of work they'd got through lately, until she'd heard one of them say that Chay Haddon had promised them all a bonus if they finished on time. How nice, she thought, to have that kind of money, and to be able to wield that kind of power.
She went into the kitchen and put the kettle on, then took the cellar key from the hook and went off to investigate.
The cellar had once been Angus Stretton's pride and joy, but now it looked more like an explosion in a junkyard, she thought without pleasure, as she switched on the single light bulb. His collection of wine had been the first thing Piers had sent off for auction.
That should have warned me that he could be short of cash, she thought with an inward sigh. But I believed him when he said he didn't want to live in the past.
But then—what hadn't she believed?
Moving carefully, because the entire place was thick with dust and the spiders had been having a field day, she began to sort through the hotchpotch of chairs, stools and occasional tables. One of the first things she found was the little davenport that had once stood in the morning room, with one of its delicate pillars snapped off.
That could easily be repaired, she thought, touching it with a protective finger. Maybe she should make an inventory of everything that was down here. Underneath a box of odd cups and saucers she came upon a small circular mahogany table, its veneer chipped and scratched but otherwise intact, and a matching chair needing a replacement seat cover. Nearby she unearthed a three-drawer chest, also in mahogany, the bottom draw lacking a handle. Chay would hardly begrudge her any of those, she thought.
She manhandled the small table up the cellar steps, and was just catching her breath when a voice said, 'Miss Lander?'
She was confronted by a small, rather plump woman in a neat navy suit, with smartly cut grey hair and bright dark eyes.
She said briskly, 'I'm Jean Whitley. I believe you're expecting me.'
Adrien, very conscious of her elderly tee shirt and paint-stained dungarees, gave a constrained smile. 'Yes, of course. Er—welcome to Wildhurst Grange.'
'It's certainly a lovely house.' Mrs. Whitley gave her surroundings an appraising look. 'I can see why Mr. Haddon feels so strong about it.' She nodded, then picked up the leather suitcase beside her. 'If you'd be good enough to show me my quarters, I'll get settled in. The rest of my things are in the car.'
She looked at her watch. 'Lunch will be ready in an hour and a half, madam. Only soup and sandwiches, I'm afraid, but I'll be back in my stride by this evening.'
She looked at the table. 'And where is that to go?'
'In my room. There are a couple of other things as well,' Adrien said. 'I'm going to ask one of the workmen to bring them up for me.'
'No doubt they'll need cleaning.' Mrs. Whitley clicked her tongue. 'What a shame to let nice things go to rack and ruin. But all that can stop here and now.' She nodded again, rather fiercely. 'Now, where am I to sleep?'
Adrien took her up to the small self-contained flat on the second floor which the Grange housekeepers usually occupied.
I wonder if she knows that Chay used to live there? she wondered as she returned downstairs, feeling as if she'd been caught in a small whirlwind. The soup was a homemade vegetable broth, and the sandwiches were smoked salmon.
'That was delicious,' Adrien said with complete sincerity when Mrs. Whitley arrived to collect her tray.