Читать книгу Passionate Nights: The Mistress Assignment / Mistress of Convenience / Mistress to Her Husband - Пенни Джордан, PENNY JORDAN - Страница 13

‘YOU’RE very quiet. Not having second thoughts, I hope.’

They were on their way back to Rye-on-Averton, the original late-morning meeting with the archivist having turned into a full tour of the factory in addition to an inspection of its archive records, followed by an early dinner as the archivist, delighted to find a fellow enthusiast, had insisted on showing them both some examples of some of the company’s rarest pieces as well as advising Kelly on just how she might best mix and colour her paints to achieve an authentic antique tone.

‘Not second thoughts about wanting to do the work, just worrying about getting the paint right,’ Kelly told him ruefully.

‘Mmm … I must admit I hadn’t realised that modern paint colours wouldn’t be suitable,’ Brough acknowledged. ‘It’s certainly a fascinating and complex business.’

‘Yes,’ Kelly agreed. ‘I thought I knew most of what there was to know about the history of British porcelain, but listening to Frank today I realise just how wrong I was and how little I do know.’

‘Mmm … I could see how thrilled he was to be able to talk with you.’

‘Well, he certainly couldn’t have been more helpful. But, as he says, there really isn’t any substitute for seeing the rest of the teaset at first hand for ensuring that I get the colour matches right.’

‘It isn’t too late to change your mind about coming with us on our next visit,’ Brough said.

‘I … I’ll have to think about it …’ Kelly told him.

The evening was already turning to dusk. They had left Staffordshire just before eight o’clock. Frank Bowers had insisted on taking them out to dinner and Brough had taken her to one side after Frank had delivered his half-hesitant invitation, to say quietly to her, ‘If it doesn’t conflict with any other plans you may have made, I think we should accept. He’s plainly enjoyed the opportunity to talk about his work—and I know we did talk about stopping off at the Lion and Swan for a meal and a walk along the river on the way back, but I should hate to disappoint Frank …’

‘I agree,’ Kelly had responded instantly, and they’d both returned to where Frank was putting away the company records.

‘Yes, I understand you’ll need to think about the weekend visit,’ Brough was telling her cordially now as he swung the car out into the fast lane of the motorway. ‘I should hate to interfere with any private plans you might have.’

It was the emphasis on the word ‘private’ that made Kelly glance warily at him. Was he trying to insinuate that he suspected her of hesitating in accepting the invitation to visit his grandmother because she was either planning to see Julian Cox or hoping to see him? It seemed that, with their return to Rye-on-Averton imminent, the cessation of hostilities between them was over.

Very well, if that was the way he wanted things, she decided hardly, suppressing the unwanted quiver of disappointment that sharpened almost to an actual pang of pain.

‘I’m not sure just what you’re trying to suggest,’ she told him frostily, ‘but the main reason I can’t give you a yes or a no at this stage is because I need to find someone to take charge of the shop for me. You may be able to walk away from your business commitments for a whole weekend—I’m afraid that I can’t.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Brough returned equally formally and coolly. ‘Forgive me, but I had assumed that since this commission was business …’

Immediately hot colour burned a mortified flush up her throat and over her face.

‘I realise that,’ she retorted stiffly, and of course she did, even if very briefly earlier in the day she had momentarily forgotten.

But, in truth, hadn’t there been a few brief but oh, so telling occasions during the day when the sharp line that in the past had always divided her professional life from her personal one had become dangerously blurred—when she had looked at Brough, compelled to do so by something he had said, only to find that it was not the client she was seeing but the man?

And what a man!

Kelly groaned in dismay, lashed by a delicate shiver of sexual awareness. This wasn’t what she wanted, what she needed in her life right now.

Her reaction to Brough would have unnerved her even without the added complication of the situation with Julian Cox. When she added to that the already highly combustible mixture of anger and attraction she felt towards Brough, the dangerous extra ingredient of emotional awareness and longing she was confronted with became a potentially lethal cocktail which she knew could destroy her if she wasn’t careful. After all, put together all those ingredients and the result was as dangerous as some magical, mystical sorcerer’s potion, because the result was quite simply love. And Brough was the last person she could ever allow herself to love. He didn’t like her now, so what on earth was he going to feel about her when he discovered—as discover he surely must—that she was deliberately trying to take Julian away from his sister?

She could try telling him, of course, that her motives were truly altruistic, but somehow she doubted that he would believe her, that he would even want to believe her.

‘Tired?’

The unexpected concern in his voice brought a small, anguished lump to her throat. Unable to reply without betraying her emotion, she shook her head.

‘It’s been a long day,’ Brough told her, adding ruefully, ‘I must admit I had no idea of the complexity of the task I was asking you to take on when I first approached you.’

‘It will be a challenge,’ Kelly admitted, relieved to be back on a safer subject. ‘But I am looking forward to it. My biggest worry is that your grandmother is going to be disappointed. The teaset must mean so much to her … When Frank showed us those jugs this afternoon, which had been in the same family for six generations, and he told us how much each generation had to reinsure them at, it really brought it home to me that it isn’t the material value that means so much but the fact that they represent a part of a family no longer there in person, a piece of very personal history … memories …’

‘Yes,’ Brough agreed soberly. ‘I can see from the look in Nan’s eyes when she touches her teaset that it’s Gramps she’s thinking about.’

A little enviously Kelly wondered what it must be like to have experienced such love, and to still be able to warm oneself by its embers.

What was Brough’s grandmother like? What had his grandfather been like? Brough? Her heart gave a small, uneven thump. In thirty years from now Brough could be a grandfather himself. Her heart gave another, even more uneven thud, and then a series of short, frantic, accelerating mini-beats as she contemplated her own future. In thirty years from now how would she feel when she looked back on today? Would the sharp ache of newly discovered love for Brough she had recognised today have dulled to nothing more than a dim memory, or would she be looking back in sadness and regret for what had never been?

They were almost home now, the lights of the town shining in the valley ahead of them as Brough turned off the motorway. Kelly sat in silence beside him as he drove through the quiet streets towards the shop. Rye-on-Averton was a genteel town, its residents either middle-aged or retired in the main. Its wine bars and restaurants, though, were well patronised, as were the shows put on by the excellent local amateur dramatic and operatic societies.

‘I’ll come up with you,’ Kelly heard Brough saying as he parked his car outside the shop.

Immediately she shook her head, but Brough was already climbing out of the car.

‘It really isn’t necessary,’ she said as he opened her car door for her.

The flat had its own entrance, and she had already removed the keys in readiness from her bag and was holding them in her hand, but to her chagrin Brough quietly removed them from her grasp.

‘I know this is a relatively crime-free and safe area, but I’m afraid my grandmother’s influence means that I would feel I had failed in my male duty if I didn’t see you safely inside.’

So he was only acting out of duty. What had she imagined? she derided herself as she walked silently towards the rear entrance of the flat. That he was insisting on seeing her inside because he wanted to delay the moment when he parted from her for as long as he could? How utterly ridiculous. He probably couldn’t wait to see the back of her.

‘It’s this way,’ she told him unnecessarily, indicating the rear ground-floor door.

Stepping past her, Brough inserted the key in the lock and then opened the door for her.

‘Thank you …’ Kelly started to say as she stepped past him, but it seemed he still did not consider his duty to be fully done, because he shook his head and stepped into the small hallway with her, glancing towards the stairs as he did so.

‘Would you like me to come up with you and look around?’ he asked her politely.

Immediately, Kelly shook her head.

In the hallway on a small console table was one of the first pieces of china she had painted. She saw Brough looking at it.

‘One of your pieces?’ he asked her.

‘Yes,’ she told him. ‘The inspiration for it came to me when I was on holiday in South Africa with my family.’

The piece, all greens and blues and surf-whites, always made her think of the magnificence of the Cape’s beaches. Such a dramatically beautiful country with such a horrifically cruel history. She touched the curving contours of the piece of china with gentle fingers. It held many happy memories—days when she had played with her brother’s children, running in and out of the surf with them, evenings when she had strolled along the beach with her parents and her brother and his wife. Very happy memories. She shuddered a little to imagine what they would think of her current involvement with Julian Cox.

‘Are you cold?’ Brough asked her, frowning slightly and taking a step towards her just as Kelly, too, stepped forward, away from the table.

Automatically, she put her hand out to prevent them bumping into one another as she shook her head in response to his question, but unwisely, as she did so, her gaze was drawn to his face and then his mouth.

The shape of it had been tantalising her all day—the sharp masculine cut of it, the sensual fullness of his lower lip, the dangerous and somehow illicit knowledge she had of just how it felt to have it moving on her own.

Now, just when she knew she needed to be at her coolest and most in control, her breathing had become erratic, her pulses racing, her pupils betraying the surge of feminine longing that was overpowering her.

Her brain begged her body to behave sensibly, her eyes to break contact, her breathing to slow down and become properly measured, but her senses had become flagrantly disobedient.

Very slowly Kelly lifted her gaze from Brough’s mouth to his eyes. It was like gazing into deep waters, so cool that they made her body tremble as though she had touched ice, and yet so hot that her bones felt as though they were going to melt. Every sense she possessed, every centimetre of flesh covering her body, suddenly seemed to have become a thousand times more sensitive than normal, a thousand times more receptive.

She could hear Brough breathing, feel the heat of each breath he drew against her skin, sensing even the tension that coiled like fine wire through his body, feeling just what was burning through him as she gave herself up to the dark blaze of passion she could see in his eyes.

Her body swayed towards him, seeking his strength and offering in return the promise of her own pliant responsiveness, the instinctive age-old body language of woman to man, yielding and promising, whilst at the same time demanding that he show that he had the strength, the manhood, to take up the challenge she was offering and to protect her weakness.

‘Brough.’ She whispered his name, her eyes heavy-lidded, mysterious, luminous with passion as she turned her face up to his, an enchantress, powerful and strong. Irresistible.

And yet she still placed her hands flat against his chest, as though to deny the promise in her eyes and the desire running through her body, heavy and hot as molten gold.

She could feel his arms wrapping around her, enfolding her, as he drew her close, so close that her hand could feel the wild, fierce, heady drumming of his heartbeat, fast and furious as a cheetah during the chase. Boldly Kelly kept her eyes open. His were hot, dark, deep, glittering with male arousal.

Once again she looked at his mouth, a wild thrill of elation gripping her body. Now she was the hunter, her body tight, coiled, waiting … hungry.

Their mouths met, hers wanton, responsive, and yet at the same time soft and waiting. Brough was kissing her, sliding his hands up over her back, caressing her over and over again, his body hard and powerful against hers. Her own body felt molten and plain, reminding her of glass before it was shaped and blown, liquid running free, waiting to be formed and shaped, a wild natural element that could be coaxed but never forced.

Brough’s hands were on her shoulders, gripping them hard as his tongue searched her lips for an opening. Eagerly she gave it to him, her own nails digging into the long muscles of his back.

She was experiencing a wildness within herself, a sensuality she had never encountered before, and it both exhilarated and terrified her. Beneath her clothes her breasts ached and peaked. No need for Brough to even lightly caress them to arouse her need for him, but when he did—!

Was that really her making that low, hungry, almost semi-tortured sound deep down in her throat? Was that Brough growling in fierce exultation beneath his own breath as his thumb-pad returned demandingly to caress and probe the taut peak of her nipple?

She wanted him. Wanted him … wanted him so badly. Wanted to feel his body, his skin, next to hers, his touch, his love …

Kelly made an urgent keening noise deep in her throat, her body arching against Brough’s in a sexual mixture of longing and pleasure.

Somehow all the barriers there had been between them, all her doubts and fears, her refusal to believe that it was possible for her to feel like this, for her to love like this, so immediately, so intensely, so unexpectedly were banished, vaporised by the sheer force of her feelings.

Now, here in his arms, she was all feeling, yearning, loving woman, her natural female instincts overturning the conditioning of modern society and its demands. As boldly as some long-ago ancestor might have done, she was recognising and claiming for her own her man and her right to love him.

‘Brough.’ She whispered his name throatily, a husky purr of aroused pleasure, heavy with sensuous promise shot through with love.

‘You feel so good. I want you so much …’ Was that her saying that, or was it Brough? Was she the one reaching for him or was he the initiator of their increasingly passionate caresses? The shadowy confines of the hallway, normally surely the last place she would have ever thought of as romantic, now seemed as private and protected as the most secret of sanctuaries. And it was a dizzying, tantalising thought to know that not so very far beyond its closed door lay her bedroom—her bed.

Her whole body shuddered as it wantonly followed where her thoughts were leading, where she already ached for Brough to lead her. A feeling of the most incandescent joy filled her; a sense of throwing off the past and turning to welcome the future and their love made her feel as though suddenly something unacknowledged deep within her had sprung to life, as though the person she had been before the wonderful, miraculous discovery that she loved Brough had been someone who was only half alive, someone who had been deprived of the true pleasures and meaning of life.

‘I don’t want you to go …’

As she murmured the words against Brough’s mouth she could feel him start to tense; his mouth left her throat, which he had been kissing and nibbling, sending a cascade of tiny erotic shivers all the way from the top of her head to her toes.

‘I don’t want to either,’ he whispered back as his thumb caressed her throat and then her jaw, slowly moving towards her mouth. ‘But I must. I’m expecting a call from Hong Kong—I had some business dealings there, which I’ve sold out of, but there are still some legal ends I need to tie up. And tomorrow I have to go to London to see my accountants. But when I come back …’

As he turned away he paused and then turned back, taking hold of her hand and urging her gently towards him.

‘Thank you …’ he told her softly.

‘For what?’ she managed to ask him in a shaky voice.

‘For today … and this … and you …’ he told her throatily as he bent to place a soft kiss on her half-parted lips.

For her … For a moment Kelly felt close to tears. There was so much more about her that he still didn’t know. So much that she still had to tell him—especially … But now, when he was on the point of leaving, wasn’t the time to start explaining about Julian and Beth.

‘I know you’re only being like this because you’re worried about how much I’m going to charge you for the teaset,’ she told him teasingly and a little chokily.

‘Aha … so you’ve seen through my dastardly plot, then,’ Brough responded in the same vein.

Suddenly anxious, she clung to him and whispered, ‘Oh, Brough, it’s all so new, so unexpected. I don’t …’

‘It’s perfect … you’re perfect,’ Brough assured her as he tightened his arms around her and cradled her head against his shoulder. ‘We are going to be perfect … together … Right now, there’s nothing I want more than to stay here with you.’

He looked betrayingly towards the inner doorway to the flat and, guessing what he was thinking, Kelly quickly reassured him. ‘I know and I understand. You’ve got your responsibilities, and anyway, perhaps … Everything’s happened so quickly, so …’

‘I’ll call you the moment I get back from London,’ Brough promised her huskily.

‘There’s so much I haven’t told you,’ Kelly protested as he started to release her.

‘Such as?’ Brough grinned. ‘I’ve already discovered for myself all that I need to know, and what I have discovered, what I do know … I love …’

‘Oh, Brough …’

It was impossible not to throw herself back into his arms and share another passionate kiss with him, and then he was gone, leaving her to touch her fingertips to a mouth that still tingled from the passion of his kiss and to acknowledge with a small, cold shiver that he was wrong, that there were things that he still had to learn.

Would it change what he thought, what he felt, when he learned of her deceit, or would he understand and accept that her deliberate pursuit of Julian had been prompted by loyalty to Beth?