Sara Wood-Expectant Mistress original Page 5

  ‘Trish! You shouldn’t have done that!’ he protested at once. .

  ‘Don’t go all macho on me!’ She grinned, incapable of remaining aloof for long. ‘I’m as strong as Rambo,’ she told him, flexing her biceps like a body-builder. ‘I’m not fragile and feminine like Louise.’

  He appeared to be about to contradict her, then changed his mind. ‘She’s tough in a different way,’ he said. Hard as nails, thought Trish, uncharitably. She frowned at her tart jealousy and vowed to think well of his fiancee.

  ‘Anyway, you’re a guest here. My job is to look after you,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I’d better show you around. That’s the sitting room in there.,}

  He peered at the cheerfully cluttered room with its comfortable chintz chairs, rows of bookcases and the incomparable view of jagged islands in the sapphire sea.

  ‘Sunny aspect. I’ll enjoy sitting in there with you,’ was his verdict.

  ‘I’m usually busy baking in the evenings,’ she said quickly. ‘You’ll have to watch Coronation Street on your own.’

  ‘I rarely get to see any TV,’ he said, with a smile at her cheeky put-down. ‘I usually work in the evenings too.’

  ‘Poor Louise!’ she murmured sympathetically, leading him through to the conservatory at the back.

  ‘She works alongside me.’

  Trish suppressed her involuntary flinch. ‘Great for intimacy.’

  ‘I’ll say,’ he replied enthusiastically.

  Her lips compressed for a moment, then she remembered that he was a paying guest, nothing more.

  ‘I’ve laid on tea for you.’ On her best welcoming behaviour, she pulled out the white wicker chair. ‘You have breakfast in here, squeezed in between the geraniums and petunias. Or outside, if it’s warm enough. Dinner ditto.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ he said, when she’d expected him to turn his nose up at the cramped conditions.

  ‘I’ll go and make the tea and bring tonight’s menu,' she continued pleasantly. ‘Help yourself to tea bread. The flapjacks and Dundee cake were made today. Any preferred brand of tea?’

  ‘Earl Grey with lemon.’ He seemed to be fighting down laughter. ‘Join me, Trish. And stop being so damn formal!’

  ‘You’re getting the same treatment as anyone who comes here!’ she said indignantly. ‘I can’t deviate from the script———I’d forget something?'

  She left him laughing, and as she put the kettle on to boil she knew she was longing to be on easy terms with him again. Should she sit with him or not? There were a thousand jobs she could be doing. Her conscience and de-sires had a brief tussle. One cup of tea——just to be friendly, she decided, pleased with her cool compromise. Surrounded by tumbling passion flowers and scarlet geraniums, and with jasmine shedding petals on his head, Adam had stretched out his legs and was finishing a sticky slab of tea bread. He slowly licked his fingers, his eyes fixed on the garden but his mind miles away. On Louise, Trish supposed. Then a small curl of erotic pleasure tweaked at her breasts as he sucked his forefinger in very sexy contemplation.

  ‘Right! Tea!’ she cried merrily, as though she were producing vintage champagne. ‘I can only stop a moment. The weeds in the garden are in danger of taking over the whole island!’

  Adam’s rich chuckle warmed her body. ‘It’s an amazing place! Like a jungle!’ he said, leaning forward in admiration, as if he were seeing it for the first time. Flattered, Trish nevertheless felt a pang. He had been mooning over Louise. He was missing his fiancee already. Subdued by this, she poured the tea then took a golden flapjack, noticing that he’d removed his sweater and had rolled his sleeves up to the elbow. His bare, oak—coloured arm lay along the edge of the chair, close to hers. An inch more and they’d be touching.

  Something drastic happened to her throat. She began to choke.

  ‘Hold on!’

  Adam leapt up and banged her on the back. Her coughing ht ceased but he continued to massage either side of her spine. She let him. A deep warmth invaded her body through the thin T-shirt, loosening tendon, muscle and sinew. The massage became slower. She could hear him breathing. Every inch of her was aware of him and tingling with an electric tension. A light touch of something——his fingers, perhaps?—brushed the nape of her neck and then he was moving back to his chair.

  ‘OK?’ he asked abruptly.

  No. Aroused. Angry. Resentful... ‘Thanks to you. Good thing you were here!’ she said vigorously, in an effort to drive the devils from her body. ‘Think how awful it would be, having "Suffocation from home-made flapjack" on your death certificate?

  He managed a thin smile at her panic-stricken joke. ‘Like me in the kelp pit, I don’t think you’d be in a position to care,’ he observed drily.

  He watched while she cut him a piece of Dundee cake and slid it onto his plate. Quickly she drank her tea and replaced the iloral cup in its saucer.

  ‘There. I ought to go—’

  ‘Tell me about the garden first,’ he said quietly, gazing out at the wilderness of feathery tamarisk, cistus, daturas, lilies and shrub roses, all competing desperately with herbs and vegetables for a decent space. ‘I imagine your mother had a hand in it?’

  Sinking back in her seat, Trish smiled gently, touched that he should remember that her late mother had become a gardener in the famous exotic gardens on Tresco. What she hadn’t told him, though, was that they’d needed the money because her father had walked out, shortly after she was born.

  Her smile faltered. Mainland people like her father often found it hard to adapt to island life. He’d tried to settle, but couldn’t bear the isolation.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Adam said, seeing her troubled expression. He reached out his hand as if to touch her arm and then seemed to think better of it. ‘I didn’t mean to bring back sad thoughts!

  ‘We’ve all got tragedies in our lives, haven’t we? You have to learn to live with the sadness.’

  ‘Or bury it,’ he said, his voice quiet and very low.

  ‘Oh, no! That means you don’t remember the good times,’ she said, aching to see his blank expression.

  ‘I never thought of it like that.’ He fell silent. Trish felt sad. If he was refusing to think of Christine because the memories hurt, then he was missing some wonderful moments they’d shared. ·

  ‘I remember only the happiness Mum and I had together,’ she said gently, throwing crumbs out to the gathering thrushes. 'She died very peacefully. The iris and foxgloves were in bloom and early sweet peas were filling her room with perfume. She had no money but she’s left me a wonderful legacy, Adam: love and fond memories and the garden. I think of her every time I walk in it.’

  He said nothing in response but he’d relaxed and seemed absorbed in hand-feeding the thrushes. So she chattered on. There was just a field here at first. Mum planted pittosporum all round it for protection and then stuffed every—

  thing in it she could lay her hands on. She was a very passionate person, over the top. Not a bit like me!’

  There was a tension in the atmosphere between them. When she cast a sideways look at him, she saw he was studying her intently, his eyes as dark as rich chocolate, his mouth infinitely inviting.

  ‘Pass the menu,’ he said softly.

  She flushed. She’d been talking too much. ‘Here it is. Take your time choosing.' she said stiffly. ‘All the meat’s organic. The fish was caught this morning. The veg are mine.' She got to her feet. ‘I’ll be in the garden. Let me know what you want, then you can get on with your business.’

  ‘When’s dinner?’ he asked, watching her with lazy amusement.

  ‘Seven-thirty. You help yourself to drinks in the dining room first and there’ll be some home-made nibbles.’

  ‘Sounds tempting,' he murmured, his smile wickedly carnal. He held her gaze for a moment or two, then suddenly said, ‘Will you nibble with me?’

  It was the sort of remark which should have made her giggle. But she had to turn her back on him and pretend to be dead-heading a scarlet abutilo
n. All she could think of was his mouth working its way up her body, sliding over her thighs while she moaned in hunger. Nibbles had never seemed so desirable.

  ‘I always drink with the guests she said with brittle politeness, appalled by her dangerous feelings for a committed man. ‘I hope you know your role. You tell me every detail of your day and show me the souvenirs you’ve bought and bore me rigid about your job. I look interested, try not to let my eyes glaze over and worry about the soup burning.'

  ‘Sounds cosy? .

  She flung him a look over her shoulder, suspecting him of mockery; But his expression was unreadable. ‘Depends on the guest.,See you in a minute or two when you’ve chosen,’ she said edgily, making for the garden door.

  ‘You forgot to give me my key... To let myself in‘?’ he added, when she looked puzzled.

  Trish smiled faintly. ‘You don’t need keys here. I don’t think one exists for the cottage. We don't lock our doors. There’s no crime, no vandalism. Just clean air and-—’

  ‘Women of Nature,' he muttered, under his breath. Trish suppressed her desire to live up to that idea and uninhibitedly fling off all her clothes and slide her body against his. It was his fault, she thought crossly, furiously twisting off several perfect blooms of an unsuspecting ginger lily. He would stand there exuding pheromones!

  ‘No. Clean air and bird droppings,' she corrected him, deliberately bringing herself down to earth.

  ‘Ever the joker,' he drawled. ‘I’m beginning to get the message, Trish.’

  ‘What—message?’ she enquired as casually as possible.

  ‘About the lack of crime.' He seemed innocent. But then, with Adam, you never could tell.

  She relaxed, then tensed again. He had come unnervingly close to her and was fixing her with his dark, come-to-bed gaze.

  ‘Well, it’s totally safe here,’ she said, feeling anything but.

  ‘So I gather from when they dropped me at the quay on Tresco. I was told that the boat would be arriving in an hour. I was staggered when they told me to leave my luggage by the café wall and go off for a walk!’

  Mesmerised by his lazy stare, Trish tried to swallow, failed, and finally succeeded in bypassing the lump of cotton wool in her throat.

  ‘Did you?’ she husked, her eyes a startling blue. He came closer still. Inches separated them. She didn’t move away. That would betray her fear of contact. It seemed her body was reaching up to him, every nerve straining for his touch, drawn by an irresistible pull.

  ‘No. My city chains tied me,’ he said, very softly. ‘I couldn’t conceive of leaving my irreplaceable computer bag so I stayed with it. I made back-to-back calls on my mobile and eyed everyone suspiciously if they came within a hundred yards of my luggage?

  She was having difficulty paying attention to what he was saying. His speech had sounded slow and slurred. She had watched his lips moving, fascinated by their sensual curves as they’d shaped each word. And now they were parted over his strong white teeth as though he wanted to. . . Her nails dug into her palms, shocking her into reality.

  ‘I hope you called Louise,’ she said sharply.

  ‘I left a message on her answering machine.'

  ‘Saying where you were.’

  A gleam came into his eyes. ‘No. I don’t think she’d be too pleased. Do you?’

  To her fevered mind, his gaze caressed her lovingly. Her skin felt alive. She was trembling again. Slowly it dawned on her that Adam had recognised Louise’s jealousy. He must have wondered about it. . .or put two and two together. Her eyes closed in brief dismay and she turned away. Adam knew how she felt about him! Apparently her fascination had been obvious at the engagement party. She might as well have waved a placard announcing the fact, instead of trying to hide her feelings!

  ‘She seems to think I’m a threat,’ she said, with a canyon-believe-it laugh.

  ‘But you’re not, are you?’ he murmured, a strong thread of caution underlying his low tone.

  This was a warning, she thought, glad that he stood behind her and couldn’t see her shamed face. He wanted her to know that she must abandon any stupid hopes where he was concerned. Only then could she and Petra meet up with him and Louise in the future, for jolly family occasions at Christmas...attend his wedding...

  ‘How could I be a threat?’ Bravely she turned, shocked to find herself inches from Adam’s body. He remained where he was, his face set hard as a rock. ‘Look at me!’

  she cried shakily, with a self-deprecating laugh. It was tinged with pain. She didn’t want to be unattractive to him. But she had to remind herself that she was.

  ‘I’m looking,’ he muttered, frowning in annoyance. Somehow she met his brooding eyes, certain that he must be anxious about her emotions. ‘I have no illusions about myself, Adam,’ she said firmly. ‘Gran cuts my hairthough I ruined the fringe all on my own. I wear no make-up, I haven’t any flattering clothes and I am a stranger to your world. Louise, on the other hand, has it all.’

  His eyes glittered, as hard as granite. ‘Oh, she has. Beauty, sophistication, grace, social skills——’

  Trish laughed. It was that or wince at his eulogy and she had no intention of betraying herself again. ‘OK, OK!

  Don’t make me feel too inadequate?

  The back of his hand stroked her golden satin cheek. It was a shockingly unexpected gesture that drove the breath from her body.

  ‘Inadequate?’ He looked at her strangely. ‘But you are beautiful.’ His hand fell to his side and his voice flattened.

  ‘In your own way.’

  ‘My, you really know how to Hatter a girl, don’t you?’

  she joked, nursing her aching heart. And her battered pride. She found herself willing him to touch her again, even if it was only in sympathy.

  Amazingly, he did, his hands clasping her arms while she stood woodenly, forcing herself not to respond and lean against that hard chest with a sigh of relief.

  ‘What would you do if I did flatter you?’ he demanded.

  ‘If I said that you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever known, the most generous, most tender-hearted...desirable?’

  There was a little catch in his voice, as though he found such claims to be preposterous, and his eyes crinkled appealingly in what she imagined must be suppressed laughter.

  ‘I’d faint with amazement? she said truthfully, keeping her head for once. ‘Roll about on the ground laughing. Refer you to an optician. Would you mind letting me go, Adam? I’ve got work to do!’

  Released abruptly, she made her escape into the garden. Hot with agitation, she attacked all the weeds in sight with grim ferocity. Had he noticed that she was still wilting whenever he came near? Did she look as dopey as she felt?

  Trish furiously hoed the carrots, repeatedly jabbing at the soil till all the weeds had been satisfactorily cut off in their prime.

  ‘Trish.’

  Unnerved by the nearness, the vibrating velvet of his voice, she spun around, flustered, flushed, flashing-eyed.

  ‘What?’

  Without a word, he held out the menu. Judging by the kindling of his eyes, he was laughing inside again, she was sure. Humiliated, she snatched it from him, determined that he wouldn’t catch her going gooey ever again.

  ‘I’m impressed. It’s an amazing choice,’ he said admiringly, indicating the menu. ‘Given the limitations of island life, I’m surprised—’

  ‘That we can manage more than stewed limpets and dandelions?’ she asked a little sharply. ‘I’ll do you seaweed on toast, if it’ll make you feel authentically deprived?

  Adam grinned. ‘l know the quality of your cooking. I’d be a fool not to indulge in its pleasures. So I'd like. .. Stupid of me! I’ve forgotten. Let me see...’ He came to her side, a friendly hand on her shoulder as he checked the menu again. ‘I remember,' he murmured in her ear. ‘Asparagus in Stilton sauce, cream of leek and potato soup, lamb noisettes and Bryher strawberries. With a bottle of Rioja. My mouth is watering already.'

>   Her eyes slanted sideways. His breath whispered on her face, tantalising her lips. His smile reached right through to her heart. And that annoyed her. What was he doing?

  Did he always flirt in this meaningless way'?

  ‘Try to control it,’ she said witheringly. ‘You’ll have no saliva left for digestion. You won’t be eating till seventhirty.'

  With deft tingers, he removed geranium petals from her hair, his mouth so close to her cheek that she only had to turn for their lips to meet. Trish doggedly went through her nine times table, getting stuck, as she always did, on nine sevens.

  ‘Some things that one wants,’ he mused, his fingers smoothing down the glossy black strands he’d disturbed,

  ‘are all the better if you have to wait for them.'

  ‘Some things you wait for and never get at all,’ she muttered, shrugging off his hand irritably. Wondering how to erase Adam from her mind, she gave up mathematics, rolled up the menu, stuffed it in her pocket and started hoeing vigorously again.

  There was something ridiculous about her fierce and totally unnecessary tilling of the soil. She was desperate to get rid of him. Her last remark had been evidence of that. Yes, OK, he’d wanted her rejection. And he was getting it in spades.

  Yet his plan wasn’t working. Despite every indication from her that he was unwelcome, he still ached for her in every bone of his body. She clearly had no idea how ravishing she looked in that revealing T—shirt and those tight jeans. He didn’t know how he’d stopped himself from cupping his hands around that neat rear, though somehow he’d managed. Nevertheless, he’d not been able to prevent himself from flirting! What the hell was he doing?

  He shouldn’t be touching her, but she was like a drug and he couldn't stop himself from craving more and more of her. Frustration was making him worse. He couldn’t resist any opportunity to be near her. God knew what his eyes were telling her. It wouldn’t surprise him if he were arrested for mentally salacious assault.

  She made him conscious of the good things in life. Like laughter. He grinned. Even her put—downs made him laugh!