Читать книгу A Haunting Obsession - Miranda Lee - Страница 9

CHAPTER FOUR

GODDAMN it, she was blushing again!

A guilty confusion wiped the smile off Jordan’s face. If there was one thing he knew about women of easy virtue it was that they didn’t blush when you started coming on to them. Neither did they keep breaking eye contact or become totally flustered.

The truth of the matter quickly sank in. That bastard back at the real-estate office had lied about her. She wasn’t a tramp at all. She was a respectable married woman who was too damned sexy-looking for her own good.

It certainly put a different interpretation on her reactions to him. Any hope that she’d been giving him the eye was obliterated. Clearly, her staring was because he must have seemed horribly rude. Hell, he had been horribly rude, right from the start!

She wasn’t to know he’d been fighting urges which till today had been totally alien to his personality. Good lord, he hadn’t surrendered to any form of uncontrollable passion since he was an adolescent! On top of that, the last female on earth he would consider trying to seduce would be a married woman, albeit a supposedly amoral one. He’d seen the pain adultery caused.

Yet that was exactly what he wanted to do. Seduce her.

He’d staunchly resisted temptation at first, only to give in finally, deliberately misinterpreting her offer that he call her by her first name, thinking he only had to turn on a bit of charm to make her realise he was willing to go along with whatever was on offer.

Shame was hard on the heels of guilt. Jordan knew he was no saint—what man was?—but his behaviour today had been appalling. So the woman was exquisite, with a voice like cool silk and a body men might kill for. So what? That was no excuse.

Damn it all, he’d defended men in court who had done just that, committed crimes of passion over a beautiful woman. He’d always thought what fools they were. There were plenty of other beautiful women in the world. Why ruin their lives over just one? Why not simply walk away and climb into another bed? What made them so vulnerable to that one particular woman that they could think of nothing and no one else?

Such obsessions were the result of a sick mind, he used to believe. Or a weak character. Suddenly, he was gaining a different perspective on sexual obsession. And he didn’t like it one bit.

Jordan wanted no part of such a weakness, no part at all!

His inner torment was getting out of hand when his usual ruthless logic came to his rescue. This obsession—for want of a better word—was due to nothing more than an acute case of male frustration. He’d been working incredibly long hours over the past few weeks. Why, he hadn’t even had a spare hour to write, let alone make love.

Erica, of course, had been very understanding, which was only to be expected. Her lack of any real physical passion was something Jordan actually found reassuring. Hell, the last sort of woman he wanted for a wife would be one who actually needed sex. How would he be able to trust her when this sort of thing happened after they were married?

He could still remember that awful Saturday afternoon when he’d come home injured from soccer practice, only to stumble across his mother ‘entertaining’ a man who wasn’t his father on the sofa. He’d been just fifteen and up till then had thought his mother little short of a saint.

He’d stood there, white-faced and shaken, while she’d scrambled into some clothes and shuffled the man out of the back door. When she’d returned to face her son, she’d launched into a muddled explanation, all the while floods of tears running down her flushed cheeks.

Jordan had listened to her pleas for understanding with a chilled heart. She’d claimed she still loved his father but that he was hardly ever home, his ambition to become a judge taking up all his spare time. She’d sobbed that she needed company, needed to be loved.

Needed to be screwed, more like it, he’d decided, having seen the man she’d chosen for her lover. He’d been very good-looking and very common, with tattoos over his arms. Not the type to know much about love, only sex.

She’d begged him not to tell his father, and he hadn’t. But someone else must have, for he’d overheard his parents having a bitter row that night.

Nothing was ever the same after that. His parents hadn’t divorced, but an air of cold remoteness had descended on their relationship which never thawed. Adultery had destroyed his parents’ marriage, plus his own respect for his mother. It was the ultimate betrayal, in his opinion, and Jordan wanted no part of it!

He decided then and there to ask Erica to marry him this very night. Make the commitment official, after which he would sweep her off to bed. That should set his equilibrium to right!

‘By all means call me Mr Vine-Hall, if you’re more comfortable with that,’ Jordan resumed, his tone crisp. ‘I wouldn’t like you to think I was trying to come on to a married woman.’

Bonnie swallowed. Had she been thinking that? Admittedly, she’d been flustered by his suddenly being nice to her, but she hadn’t really stopped to find a reason for it. Her brain seemed to have been scrambled by his smile along with her body.

She steeled herself and looked over at him. He was no longer smiling, but when their eyes met an electric charge seemed to sizzle across the space between them, making her stomach tighten and her breasts prickle alarmingly, Intuition told her that he would come on to her if she weren’t a married woman.

Tell him you’re not married, whispered an insidious little voice. Tell him you’re a widow.

She clenched her jaw underneath the force of the temptation, shuddering inside as she remembered where her carnal weaknesses had led her last time—to hell and back. No way could she risk such treatment again. No way. Let him continue to think she was married. It was the only wise course of action.

‘Of course I don’t think that, Jordan,’ she said, amazing herself at the cool tone she’d found in her desperation. ‘I can recognise a gentleman when I see one. Now, there’s a place at Bateau Bay which I’d like to show you. The lady who owns it is sure to be home and doesn’t mind if I drop in at any time.’

His returning smile was rather wry, she thought, but infinitely preferable to his earlier, disturbingly sensual offering. ‘I’m totally at your disposal,’ he said.

Bonnie managed to keep a straight face, despite her decidedly x-rated thoughts. God, she was wicked. Wicked and weak. She’d been afraid this would happen to her one day. No, not afraid—terrified! She’d always known it was still there, deadly and dormant, despite those last months of marriage having seemingly frozen every desire for sex she had ever had.

OK, so it had taken an exceptional man to melt her ice, but still... that ice had proven to be a disconcertingly thin layer. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop her mind skittering from one erotic image to another, couldn’t stop her body flooding with a sexual awareness that was both appalling yet insidiously exciting.

Hating herself, she carefully put on her right-hand indicator and headed north.

Jordan didn’t like the first place she showed him. Too large, he said. Or the second. Too small. Or the third. Too noisy. The fourth seemed to find some favour, though he would not be drawn into over-effusiveness. By this time it was half-past one and when he suggested that they stop somewhere for a bite to eat Bonnie reluctantly agreed. Already, time spent with the man had increased her awareness of his physical attractions. Added to that was an admiration of the man himself, and what he did for a living.

He was a barrister. Not an ordinary barrister, either. A queen’s counsel. It was no wonder he was impressive, not only in his looks but his general bearing. Never had Bonnie seen a man carry himself with such superb aplomb. Or was the word panache?

Whatever, there was no doubt he was the most self-contained, self-possessed man she had ever come across, not to mention the most attractive. The prospect of just the two of them having an intimate little lunch together was daunting indeed. But she could hardly object. Besides, she was starving herself.

They ended up at a café in a small shopping square in Erina which had umbrellaed tables outside in the sun and a delightful little menu. Bonnie chose a vegetable pie with a side-salad and coffee, Jordan opting for the same, but with chips and a bread roll included.

‘Have you been selling real estate long?’ was his first question after they’d given their orders.

‘Two years,’ she admitted, reminding herself to be careful not to accidentally reveal her widow status. Continuing with the ruse was more difficult than she’d realised. A couple of times already she’d almost unconsciously given the game away.

‘You’re good,’ he said. ‘Refreshingly honest and not pushy. I’ll bet you’ve been very successful.’

‘I have been of late. I even won a pewter mug for best salesperson last month.’

‘Ahh...’

His ‘ahh’ sparked her curiosity. ‘What do you mean by “ahh”?’

‘Nothing, really. Do you work at the weekend?’

‘Almost always.’

That eyebrow lifted again. It was a habit of his, she realised, the gesture carrying a range of expressions from merely curious to cynical to drily amused to downright sarcastic. She could well imagine him using it to good effect in court to undermine a witness’s testimony, or as a clever personal aside with the jury. She could see him now, setting those jet-black eyes of his on some highly susceptible woman juror, lifting that eyebrow and immediately creating an intimate little bond between them.

‘What about this weekend?’ he asked. ‘Will you be working this weekend?’

‘Yes.’

His frown confused her a little. What was it he wanted to do this weekend? Surely he wasn’t going to ask her out, not when he thought her a married woman?

Such a prospect should have shocked her. Instead, she found it unnervingly exciting.

‘Right,’ he said curtly ‘In that case I’d like to bring my fiancée up this Saturday, once we’ve narrowed the choices down to a couple of places.’

Bonnie felt the breath leave her lungs in a whoosh. A fianceé... He had a fiancée.

Well, of course he has, you stupid idiot! Either that or a wife. What did you expect? Men like Jordan Vine-Hall don’t go round unsnapped up unless they’re perennial playboys or gay.

Bonnie suspected she looked as dismayed as she felt. Which was crazy. She should be grateful, since it put him firmly beyond her reach. God, get it together, girl, she told herself firmly. ‘What time would you like me to be available?’ she asked, avoiding his eyes and struggling to keep her voice steady.

When he didn’t answer, she glanced up, only to find him staring at her with narrowed eyes.

‘Doesn’t your husband find it annoying to have you work every weekend?’ he asked sharply.

Bonnie decided there was no point in continuing with this fiasco, which was beginning to be a strain. Besides, what would happen if someone back at the office let the cat out of the bag? She would look a fool.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said simply. ‘I didn’t realise you didn’t know. I’m a widow. My husband died three years ago.’

Jordan felt as if someone had just punched him in the stomach. A widow. She was a widow!

Goddammit, he thought savagely. Goddammit!

His fists curled into tight balls and he rubbed them up and down on his thighs under the table, an explosive emotion charging through his veins. If he’d known she was a widow, he would never have mentioned Erica, would never have given her any reason to reject him.

For he had to have her. He could see that now. He’d pretended to himself that he could resist temptation when it would have meant committing adultery, but not even the most noble intention had stopped him still wanting her. It had been building in him all afternoon. The desire. The passion. The need.

Maybe he would have been able to resist in the end. Maybe he would have been able to go away meekly and forget her. But she’d opened the Pandora’s box now. She was free, free to accept his advances, free to accept his love.

Love?

Good God, was he mad? He didn’t love the woman. He didn’t love any woman. Love was for adolescents and masochists. He wanted her, that was all. It was sex, nothing more.

This last reaffirmation sent his brain catapulting back to his earlier reasoning that it wasn’t Bonnie Merrick he was wanting so badly, but any woman. A night or two in Erica’s bed and this insane yearning would quickly become a distant memory.

But what if it didn’t? What then, Jordan? What then...?

Bonnie was taken aback by his reaction to her announcement. He looked almost angry. Yet why should he be angry? It didn’t make. sense.

‘You’re very young to be a widow,’ he said at last, ‘let alone one of three years.’

‘I’m twenty-five,’ she said, rather defensively.

‘Was your husband much older?’

‘A couple of years.’

‘Only a couple of years. What did he die of?’

‘He was killed on the job...in a car accident. He was a policeman.’

He mouthed another of those non-committal ‘ahh’s.

‘And children?’ he went on after a few seconds’ silence. ‘Do you have children?’

‘No.’ Thank God, she thought. For a while she had begged Keith to let her have a child, thinking it might solve their problems, but of course it would have been the worst thing they could have done. She was grateful now that he had refused to give her a child, no matter how sick his reasons.

‘Do you regret that?’

‘Not really. I was too young to be a mother back then.’

‘How old were you when you were married?’ ‘Nineteen.’

That is young,’ he agreed.

Their food arrived at that moment, bringing a welcome break to what Bonnie was beginning to feel was an inquisition. Perhaps it was the lawyer in him, but when he asked questions Jordan was very intimidating. It reminded Bonnie uncomfortably of Keith’s never-ending third degrees. She decided it was time to turn the tables.

‘So tell me some more about your life, Jordan?’ she asked as she cut her vegetable pie into quarters. ‘Why haven’t you married before now?’

‘I hadn’t met the right woman.’

‘And is your fiancée much younger than you?’

‘Erica’s twenty-four. I’m thirty-six.’

Bonnie detected a curtness in his voice. He didn’t want to talk about his fiancée, this Erica. She wondered why.

‘I’ll bet you work hard,’ she remarked.

‘Too hard.’

‘Which is why you need some place where you can come and relax.’

His laugh startled her. ‘I doubt I’ll end up doing much relaxing up here.’

‘I... I don’t understand.’

He settled those incredible eyes on her and a little shiver ran down her spine. ‘I write in my spare time, you see,’ he explained, obliterating the sudden ridiculous fear that he was somehow referring to her, that he meant to spend his weekends in orgies of wanton behaviour with none other than Mrs Bonnie Merrick, the closet nympho of Blackrock Beach. ‘When I write, I hole up in my study and tap away on my PC in a compulsive fervour. Relaxation is far from my mind, which is invariably tormented with all sorts of wild characters and wickednesses.’

‘Goodness!’ she exclaimed, hoping she wasn’t betraying any of her own wildly wicked thoughts. ‘What on earth do you write? Accounts of the murder trials you’ve been involved in?’ When talking of his work he’d explained that his law firm was ninety per cent criminal defence, mostly on capital cases.

Again he laughed. ‘If I tell you, will you promise to keep it a secret?’

‘Of course.’

‘I write thrillers.’

‘But how wonderful! I love thrillers. Have you been published?’

He nodded.

‘Would I have read any?’

‘I doubt it. I’ve only had three out so far, under the name of Roger Black. They’re all about a lawyer named Richard Halliday who solves the most gruesome crimes. Plenty of sex and violence, with undertones of political anarchy. My publisher thinks the public will love them, but, alas, my family and business colleagues would not.’

‘Why not?’

He gave her a look that suggested she knew nothing of his world.

‘What about your fiancée?’ she persisted, perhaps foolishly. But she was curious about the sort of woman Jordan would choose as his wife. ‘What does she think?’