Just Once

‘Well, gee, I don’t usually bother to check out the ownership of neighbouring properties wherever I go, to make sure I’m not inadvertently going to intrude on your precious privacy,’ she said, matching him for sarcasm.

His eyes narrowed as he pounced on the perceived slip. ‘Then how do you know I’m the owner?’

‘The rabid territorialism you’re displaying is a dead give away,’ she said drily. ‘Given your reclusive writing habits and erratic timetable, I doubt that you’d feel comfortable working anywhere but your own space. Someplace where you can come and go at will without attracting notice. And it’s not as if there’s a big choice of long-term rentals if you want something right on the beach…or so the travel agent told me,’ she added swiftly.

‘So how did you find out about this one?’ He jerked his beard-roughened jaw at their surroundings. ‘Internet? Newspaper ad?’

She almost agreed before she saw the potential trap. For all she knew the rental had never been actively advertised.

‘Serendipity?’ She smiled limpidly. ‘I read a magazine story about some people who camp at Oyster Beach every Christmas, and then asked around. I am a researcher, you know.’

His jaw tightened. ‘And something of an actress, too. You didn’t even show a blink of surprise when I opened my door; almost as if you were expecting to see me. Yet you appeared not to recognise me.’

‘I was shocked,’ she said truthfully. The little electric pulses that zipped through her veins every time she saw him had intensified rather than faded with time. Her hyper-awareness was simultaneously exciting and inhibiting.

‘So you just went ahead and trotted out your cheerful little spiel as blandly as if I was someone you’d never met before rather than the man you’ve been sleeping with for the past two years.’

Colour touched her haughty cheekbones. ‘We’ve never actually slept together,’ she corrected him with a crisp exactitude that would have made her mother proud. ‘And in the rather awkward circumstances, I thought you would prefer me not to presume on our relationship—’

‘Presume?’ he echoed incredulously, dropping his hands from his hips. ‘Am I really that much of a ogre?’

‘Quite frankly, yes,’ she punctured his scornful amusement. ‘You made it very clear from the very beginning that there are situations and subjects which are strictly off limits between us—’

‘I thought that was a mutual arrangement,’ he cut in roughly. ‘We’re two very independent people, and, as I remember it, you’re the one who’s uncomfortable with the idea of us sleeping together. You never want to stay in my hotel room and you’ve certainly never invited me to spend the night at your house…’

Behind her back, Kate’s hand gripped the sharp edge of the bench, using the small, cutting pain in her palm as a means of controlling the larger pain. Did he think that she hadn’t been aware of the conflicting signals he had given out in those first few weeks? The reckless rush of passion that had precipitated them into an unlikely affair had caught them both off guard. Drake had been between books at the time and making the most of his freedom, and Kate had thought that once he plunged back into his creative cycle his interest would inevitably wane. Not having his experience in the etiquette of conducting casual romantic liaisons, Kate had quietly taken her cues from him. She had seen the way he shied away from gushing, clingy women, had noticed that, although he had a large circle of acquaintances, he had few real friends. He was quick to charm but slow to trust, so she had been very careful never to step over the invisible boundaries that his own behaviour had marked out, or to demand more than she was certain he was prepared to give. The reward for her restraint had been to hold his interest far beyond the usual few months his well-publicised affairs generally lasted. The price of loving Drake Daniels, she had discovered, was not to love him.

She smothered the hot words of protest that tingled on her tongue.

‘We’re getting off the point—’

‘And what is the point?’ He cocked his head. ‘Oh, yes, that’s right—your ridiculous pretence not to know me just now.’

If that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black!

‘Maybe I was simply scared you might jump to the arrogant conclusion that I had followed you down here, and accuse me of stalking you! A normal person might shrug it off as just one of life’s little amusing quirks, but with you there’s no assumption of innocence; no, “Hi, Kate, great to see you—what on earth are you doing in this neck of the woods?” Your paranoid obsession has to build it into some big conspiracy theory centred solely around yourself.’

Temper kicked up a brooding storm in his eyes as he realised she had deftly outmanoeuvred him. ‘That was what you meant by “rather awkward circumstances”?’

She hesitated, and lightning comprehension flashed in the storm-dark eyes. ‘Ah…I suppose that was a reference to my being with Melissa…?’

Kate cursed herself for giving him the opportunity to torture her with more self-doubts. She was not going to betray the slightest interest in his half-naked companion.

She tilted her chin and gave him a coolly uncomprehending look. ‘I meant the fact that I know you hate any interruptions while you’re writing—’ Except by the mysterious Melissa, an evil voice whispered in her ear. ‘But if nobody knows where you are, I don’t see how they can be expected to know which places to avoid. Perhaps if you were less secretive you might find out that people actually want to avoid you.’

‘If you want to avoid me, Katherine, there’s an easy solution. Pack up and go elsewhere for your holiday. If the rent isn’t refundable I’ll reimburse you. Hell, I’ll even book you in at a five-star resort somewhere.’

Anywhere but here—he really was desperate to get rid of her! Kate smiled through a thin red veil of rage. ‘Thank you, but I’ve never accepted expensive gifts from you before, and I don’t intend to start now. I’ve already settled in and I’m quite happy with my choice,’ she said, safe in the knowledge her bulging suitcases and bags were hidden behind the closed door of the master bedroom, where she had flung them before hurrying next door. She strolled over to sit down at the table with her tea, letting him know that she was unworried by his looming presence. ‘I’m looking forward to being able to step out of the house straight onto the beach every day…’

‘That’s if it stays fine. You’re a city girl, you’ll get bored here by yourself. There’s nothing for you to do if the weather turns—no shops, no cafés or restaurants, no entertainment—’

‘Luckily I brought along my own brain,’ she said drily, ‘an essential accessory for the modern single woman. I’m sure I’ll be able to keep myself amused. And I doubt the rest of the local community will be as standoffish as you. Perhaps I’ll meet a handsome young fisherman who’ll offer to show me the sights,’ she added flippantly.

A muscle flickered alongside his compressed mouth. His restless eyes fell to her cup and his dark brows formed a straight line. He sniffed the air like a hound on a fresh scent. ‘Is that tea? I thought you said that you were making coffee.’

Her stomach gave a commemorative lurch as another lie come home to roost. ‘I changed my mind.’

‘I didn’t know you drank tea.’ He frowned.

‘There’s a lot you evidently don’t know about me,’ she pointed out.

‘So it would seem.’ His gaze shifted to her face and subjected her to a darkly probing look. ‘Well, since I brought you the sugar, perhaps you could offer me a cup?’

She barely stopped her mouth from falling open. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘But not tea—I’d rather have coffee.’ He began to prowl around the kitchen. ‘Where are your beans?’ He opened the fridge to inspect the shelves. ‘God, this all looks depressingly healthy—where’s all those lovely, full-fat soft cheeses you’re so addicted to…and there’s no wine, or stash of chocolate. Prunes? Who takes prunes on holiday? Don’t tell me you’re on one of those new faddy diets you said your mother is always suggesting you take. What is it this time—South Pacific Colon? Kidney-cleansing Vegan?’ He closed the fridge and headed for the pantry.

‘Do you mind?’ Kate got there first and whipped out the small jar of coffee, pushing it into his chest before he could see the full container of sugar that had been sitting behind it. She shut the cupboard and stood in front of it with folded arms.

‘Instant?’ He looked pained as he cupped the jar in his big hands. ‘What about fresh ground?’

‘It’s all I’ve got. Take it or leave it,’ she said tartly. At home she had always made sure she had the blend of beans he liked and had taken pains to brew it to his personal taste.

‘What in the hell is this? “Decaffeinated?”’ he read off the label, as outraged as if he had discovered her keeping a dead body in the pantry.

‘It’s gentler on the stomach.’

‘That’s a contradiction in terms; coffee is supposed to kick you like a mule. Is this part of the new diet—some form of aversion therapy?’

‘Well, it certainly seems to be working so far,’ she muttered, glaring at him in dislike.

His dark head jerked up, eyebrows notching. How could a man who wrote such thrilling, emotionally dense prose be such a blind, insensitive swine? Kate could feel delayed reaction biting deep into her fragile self-control. Next thing he would be wanting her to invite his flame-haired companion over for a bonding drink!

‘So I take it you won’t be staying for that drink after all?’ she said smoothly, sitting back down to her steaming brew.

Still holding her gaze, he unscrewed the lid of the jar, broke the new seal and inhaled the aroma, wrinkling his patrician nose.

‘I suppose your tea is decaffeinated too?’

Her hands curled possessively around the mug, drawing it towards her. ‘No. But I didn’t make a pot, I just used an ordinary tea bag.’

His snobbish palate ignored the blatant discouragement. ‘Well, I suppose that’ll have to do, then.’ She watched in dismay while he snagged a mug from the row of hooks under the cupboards and dropped in one of the tea bags from the open cardboard box on the counter.

‘Make yourself at home,’ she commented sarcastically as he re-boiled the kettle.

‘Thanks. I am,’ he said, filling his cup, his quick grin of genuine amusement setting off alarm bells. What had made him so good-humoured all of a sudden?

Kate wished she hadn’t made it so obvious that she wanted him to leave, for now it seemed he was going to punish her by lingering.

‘Any biscuits?’ he asked, returning the milk to the fridge and scooping a teaspoon out of the cutlery drawer.

‘No. I thought you were anxious to get back to—’ She broke off as he dropped into the chair opposite, his long calves brushing her bare legs under the table, sending a shiver of goose-pimples scooting up her inner thighs. She quickly crossed her legs, swivelling her hips sideways so that she was well away from his unsettling touch, tucking the short, flared skirt neatly under her bottom.

‘Back to Melissa?’ he completed her question helpfully, heaping sugar into his tea.

Kate’s face ached with the strain of not reacting to his casual twist of the knife.

‘To your writing,’ she said. ‘I know you’ve got deadlines to meet.’ She was pleased to see that her hand was rock-steady as she raised her cup to her lips.

‘Is that what Marcus told you?’

‘Sorry, I don’t talk shop while I’m on holiday,’ she said coldly. Let him believe that she was here at someone else’s behest, if that was the way his mind was tracking. It would take some of the heat off her and, in reality, it was close enough to the truth not to cause her undue guilt.

He blew across his tea, wreathing his dark head in curls of steam: the devil in a domestic setting. ‘Then what shall we talk about?’ he invited in the deep voice that haunted her dreams.

Her stomach tightened and she lowered her lashes to hide a violent upsurge of emotion. ‘What do we usually talk about?’

‘Everything.’

And nothing…They never spoke about the disjointed nature of their affair—the weeks of passionate closeness interspersed by months apart, with little or no contact. In a mutual conspiracy of silence they could argue the state of the world, but never the state of their own feelings.

The only place their communications were truly uncensored was in bed, where actions spoke louder than words and their bodies were perfectly attuned to each other’s needs. Drake was a generous lover, and Kate found a fierce rapture in his arms that helped carry her through the long, lonely periods of empty yearning.

The things that she ached to say to him were suddenly dammed up behind a thick wall of resentment. He didn’t really want to talk, he simply wanted Kate to answer his questions…questions that she didn’t yet have answers for herself!

‘Nice weather we’re having for the time of year,’ she said.

‘It is indeed…and you’re obviously taking full advantage of it,’ he agreed, taking up the challenge, his eyes stroking across the honey-coloured skin of her shoulders exposed by the spaghetti straps of her sundress.

Kate was suddenly conscious of the pull of the cotton bodice where it was cut straight across the slope of her breasts, notched in the centre of her cleavage by a V-shaped slit. The flower-splashed, chain-store dress was a comfortable old favourite of hers, despised by her mother for its cheerfully déclassé origins. She had never worn overly casual styles in Drake’s company, knowing that it was her classic, understated elegance that appealed to his sophisticated tastes, and set her apart from the trend-setting flamboyance of more beautiful rivals for his attention.

She stopped breathing as Drake’s gaze drifted down to the sliver of pale skin revealed by the straining V. Nor did she usually go braless when she was with him, preferring the protection and provocation of a lacy bra to enhance her slender curves. She hadn’t worn this sundress since last summer, and was suddenly uncomfortably aware of a slight tugging at the side seams, a tightness pressing up under her arms that crowded her breasts forward against the strict cut of the fabric with an unaccustomed boldness. Thankfully the contrasting double-fold of colour that banded the top of the low bodice masked the crushed outline of her painfully sensitive nipples, and allowed her the semblance of indifference as he continued to rudely stare.

Was he making unflattering comparisons…or thinking that she had let herself go? Kate felt faint at the thought. Then she realised that she was still holding her breath and let it out in a little huff of relief, sucking in a fresh supply of oxygen to chase away the dizziness. The sudden reinflation of her lungs caused her breasts to further test their close confinement, and she was mortified to feel a stitch pop.

It wasn’t only the dress, it was her own skin she no longer felt comfortable in, she tormented herself. And if he dared to ask if she had gained weight since he had last seen her, he was going to get a faceful of hot tea!

Perhaps he sensed her violent impulse because he rocked back on the hind legs of his chair with a lazy, placating smile, taking a long, leisurely gulp from his mug before resting it on his chest.

‘Bright, splashy colours suit you rather well in this setting. That dress makes you look very much the part…’ he trailed off suggestively and she obligingly snapped at the bait.

‘What part?’

‘The young, frivolous holiday-maker out looking for trouble.’

‘I’ve never been frivolous in my life,’ said Kate, offended.

He compounded the offence with a mocking grin that creased the sunfolds at the outer corners of his eyes. ‘Sorry, perhaps I should have said “carefree”…’

A lot he knew! ‘And I’m not “looking for trouble”, either,’ she added, far less sincerely.

‘No? What about your handsome young fisherman?’

‘What?’ She took a moment to trace the origins of his non sequitur. ‘That was a joke.’

‘Was it?’

His cynical response make her hackles rise. ‘You know it was!’

‘Do I?’ He lowered his chair with a thud and leaned forward on the table, the amusement wiped from his face. ‘Because it’s not as if there’s anything to hold you back from experimenting. We never promised each other total fidelity, did we, Kate?’

Her heart stuttered. Experimenting? Was that what he was doing?

‘We never promised each other anything at all,’ she forced out evenly. ‘But I think at the very least we owe each other a certain degree of respect and consideration.’

‘You mean we should be discreet about our indiscretions?’ he commented drily, his dark eyes intent on her still face. ‘I thought I was…’ His shrug encompassed their surroundings. ‘A cosy little hideaway “far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife”…how much more careful can a man be?’

Trust Drake to frame a paralysing statement in a poetic quotation, but Kate was inured to his clever verbal games. She battled the crushing pain in her chest to try and work out what he was playing at, because there had to be an angle. He was brutally honest, but rarely deliberately cruel—and never towards Kate. However, she had never breached the unwritten rules of their relationship before…

It was almost as if he wanted her to be furious with him, to rant and rave like a jealous fishwife and insist on being the only woman in his life. Ah, yes…that would give him the perfect excuse to push her away, to end their affair before it threatened to become anything more complicated.

It struck her that a cosy little hideaway was the perfect place to commit a discreet murder!

‘Well, you could do your—experimenting—offshore,’ she advised, visualising him sinking to the bottom of the bay with an anchor slung around his neck. The satisfying mental picture brought a chill smile to her pale lips.

He shoved away his cup and got restlessly to his feet. She could see that her contrived calm was having the desired effect. ‘Aren’t you going to finish your tea?’

He looked down at her, his heavy-lidded eyes burning with frustration, his mouth smudged with sullen temper. ‘No, thanks. Melissa’s probably waiting for me.’

With or without the robe? Kate nodded understandingly. ‘Right. You’d better hurry home to reassure her, then. You wouldn’t want her to think you were over here firing up your Bunsen burner for an alternative study.’

His eyelids flickered.

‘Of course, I’m sure you’ve already made it clear to her that she’s not unique or in any way important in your life. It’s always best to be up front about these things, isn’t it, Drake?’

Tension pulled the skin tight over the bones of his face. ‘We agreed, right at the beginning, that we didn’t want any messy emotional scenes—’ he grated.

‘I’m not the one making a big scene,’ Kate cut him off before he said anything irrevocable. She got up and began rinsing out the mugs under the running tap, speaking to him over her cold shoulder. ‘I just asked for some sugar, remember? You were the one who came haring after me bristling with ridiculous suspicions and flinging out all sorts of dramatic allegations. You should chill out, Drake, and stop making such a big deal of it. Instead of wasting all that energy worrying about what I’m doing just go back to living your own life. We’ll be neighbours for a month, that’s all. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse…you’ll hardly even know I’m around…

‘And if you wouldn’t mind leaving the rest of that sugar—I think I feel like pancakes for dinner!’

CHAPTER THREE

‘MUMMY, look at me!’

The chain on the swing squeaked as Kate swung higher, rocking her small body on the splintery wooden seat to get more speed, stamping her shoes against the hard-packed ground on the down-swing to propel herself up into the wild blue sky.

‘Look at me, Mummy!’ Her white dress fluttered, her hair spraying out around her head as she rushed through the air, her excited squeals mingling with the squeak and rattle of the chain as she went higher and higher towards the impossible goal—doing a complete loop over the steel support bar. What would happen when she was upside down, she wasn’t sure, she only knew that her mother would be proud of her for doing something that only the big boys dared to try.

‘Mummy!’ She looked for her mummy’s proud face but she couldn’t see her against the blur of scenery. She suddenly couldn’t see any of the other children or mummies and daddies, either—she was all alone in the big, empty park and it was getting dark. There was no one cheering or clapping her brave effort, only the rusty squeak of the chain to accompany her hysterical cry as she realised that she was going too fast and there was no one there to catch her if she fell, or to stop her from flying off into space and being lost for ever. ‘Mummy? Mummy!’

Kate jerked into wakefulness, her eyes flying open, her hands clutching for the dissolving chains and finding only wrinkled sheets. Morning sunlight filtered in around the dark curtains, painting bright stripes on the faded wallpaper. The breath rattled in her chest and the haunting squeak from the disturbing dream still echoed in her thick head.

She groaned. She didn’t need a psychiatrist to interpret the meaning of that little vignette. Her accidental conception hadn’t stopped her mother from ruthlessly applying herself to her studies and graduating from university with first class honours. Money had been very tight and, except for during term-time lectures, there had been none to spare for day-care. Childish demands for attention had often been greeted with impatient dismissal or an instruction to play extra quietly. Before she’d even known what exams were Kate had learned to dread their approach. Her earliest memory was of lying under the bed in their cramped, one-roomed apartment whispering stories to herself because Mummy had been studying for something more important than silly games.

Kate rolled her head on the pillow, trying to rid herself of that haunting squeak. Except it wasn’t coming from inside her head, she realised, but rising up from the skirting-board where it ran along behind the bed. And it wasn’t a hard, metallic kind of squeak, either; there was a certain warm furriness about it that suggested some form of rodent. She grimaced at the thought of mice scampering around the house while she slept. She listened for the tell-tale scuffling of tiny feet in the woodwork, but the squeaking was too loud. Far too loud. More like…

Rats!

Kate shot bolt upright in the bed, too late remembering that she should have moved with more care. She grabbed at the package of crackers she had left open on the bedside table and stuffed one into her mouth, but even as she chewed she knew what was coming and, showering a trail of crumbs, she fled into the bathroom.

For the second time in just over twelve hours she inspected the hazed porcelain of the toilet bowl at close quarters.

Kate was never sick. Never. Until a month ago her biological mechanisms had been in perfect sync with her busy lifestyle. Then she had bought that wretched little box in the chemist and her world had gone haywire.

‘Damn you, Drake Daniels,’ she moaned, in between retches that produced little but burning bile. ‘This is all your fault!’

If only it were, she might be able to work up a decent case for hating him. But the truth was that Drake had always been absolutely scrupulous about using birth control. Even though Kate had started on the pill the day after their first time together, he had insisted on using a condom every time they made love. ‘No contraception is one hundred per cent perfect,’ he had told her bluntly, ‘so if we use two methods with optimum effectiveness we lessen the chances of a malfunction.’

Well, Kate was certainly malfunctioning now!

She cleaned up and staggered back to bed.

At least she seemed to have frightened away the mystery squeaker, she thought, lying flat on her back and nibbling cautiously at another cracker, glad to be able to push aside at least one of the problems in her life.