Dangerous Passions

The voice was unmistakable. It had haunted her dreams for the last ten days and, although she had no desire to speak to him, she couldn’t help the involuntary response of her body.

‘Ben.’ She didn’t pretend not to recognise him. But her tone was distant—in direct contradiction to her emotions. ‘What do you want?’

‘I thought you might be interested to know that Tom’s here,’ declared Ben flatly. ‘Do you want to speak to him?’

Jaime wanted to sit down, but she didn’t. Instead, she hung on to the phone as if it might offer some remnant of support. ‘Tom’s—there!’

Ben expelled his breath. ‘Yes.’

‘Oh, God!’ Jaime caught her breath. ‘What have you done?’

‘I haven’t done anything,’ retorted Ben smoothly. ‘As I say, I think you should speak to Tom.’

‘Did you go to his school?’ Jaime was beside herself. ‘Did you bribe him with promises of lunch? I suppose you realised you were wasting your time with me, so you decided to use Tom—–’

But she was speaking to herself. The phone had been laid down, and she could hear the sound of footsteps on an uncarpeted floor. Then she heard a muffled exchange, and other footsteps, lighter ones this time, before the phone was picked up once more.

‘Mum?’

‘Tom!’ Jaime could barely articulate his name. She swallowed convulsively. ‘Tom, what are you doing there?’

‘Oh, Mum.’ Tom sounded sheepish, and Jaime’s nerves tightened. What did Tom have to be sheepish about? He couldn’t help being attracted by so much wealth. ‘Mum, I’m sorry.’

Jaime drew a steadying breath. ‘There’s no need to be sorry, Tom,’ she said evenly. ‘Naturally, I’m disappointed that you’ve missed an afternoon’s school. Still, it’s only half a day. I dare say you can make it up tomorrow.’

‘You don’t mind my coming here, then?’ Tom was obviously anxious, and Jaime was reassured. So long as Tom cared about her feelings, she had nothing to worry about.

‘Well,’ she murmured now, wondering whether Ben was eavesdropping on their conversation, ‘I don’t suppose you could refuse. Did—er—did Uncle Ben meet you from school?’

‘No.’ Tom sounded puzzled now. ‘No, he didn’t even know I was coming, did he?’

Didn’t he?

Jaime had to sit down then. She groped her way to the foot of the stairs, and sank down weakly on to one of the lower treads. What was Tom saying? That he had gone to Ben’s house uninvited?

‘I—I think you’d better explain what happened,’ she managed, after a few moments. ‘Are you saying that you—that you decided to play truant?’

‘Kids don’t play truant these days, Mum,’ muttered Tom, a little sulkily. ‘They skive off—or they split!’

‘Thank you. But I don’t require a lesson in semantics, Tom,’ retorted Jaime shortly, and as a justifiable anger began to replace the panic inside her she added, ‘How dare you go there without my permission?’

Tom sniffed. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘What do you mean, it wasn’t like that? You’ve just told me you—you abandoned school, and that—that Uncle Ben wasn’t expecting you.’

‘I know.’ Tom’s reply was defensive. ‘But I didn’t intend to come to the house. I—just wanted to see where it was, that’s all.’

Jaime breathed deeply. ‘So? What happened?’

‘Uncle Ben saw me.’

‘He saw you?’

‘Yes.’ Tom hesitated. ‘He—I—I was outside the gates, when he drove in.’

‘I see.’ Jaime tried to keep a lid on her temper. ‘And he recognised you, of course.’

‘Well—I waved,’ muttered Tom lamely, and Jaime closed her eyes against the visions that his words evoked. Ben turning into the gates of the Priory, and Tom trying madly to attract his attention. God! And she had virtually accused Ben of kidnapping! No wonder he had put the phone down on her.

‘I think you’d better put—Uncle Ben back on the phone,’ Jaime declared now, steeling herself for another confrontation. ‘And I think you should come home. Right away.’

‘Oh, Mum!’

‘Just put Ben—Uncle Ben back on, will you? Anything I have to say to you can wait until you get home.’

‘But I want to go swimming!’

‘Not today, Tom. Now, let me speak to—to your uncle.’

Once again, the phone was laid down, this time rather less considerately, and she heard the exchange of feet on the bare floor. Tiles? she wondered inconsequentially, and then dashed the insidious thought. She had absolutely no interest in how Ben Russell had restored the Priory. She was only concerned with its occupant, and the effect he was having on her family.

The phone was lifted, and once again Ben came on the line. ‘Washed your mouth out with soap?’ he queried laconically, and Jaime was so relieved he wasn’t angry with her that a nervous laugh escaped her.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No problem.’ Ben was unperturbed. ‘I just thought you might get worried if he didn’t arrive home from school at the usual time.’

‘Well, I would have, of course.’ Jaime had her incipient hysteria under control now, and she was able to think of other things. ‘How—how did you know I was here?’

‘I looked in my crystal ball.’ Ben’s tone was dry. ‘How do you think? I phoned your office, and the receptionist told me you’d gone home. She said you weren’t feeling well. Are you all right?’

‘Oh—yes.’ Jaime wasn’t concerned about her own condition right now. With luck, the receptionist wouldn’t have asked who he was, so Felix was unlikely to hear about it. ‘Um—I’m sorry if Tom’s disrupted your afternoon. I had no idea he might—well, I’ll speak to him myself, when he gets home.

‘As I say, it’s no problem.’ Ben was infuriatingly casual. ‘He was curious to see where I lived. I can understand that.’

Yes, you would! thought Jaime tautly, willing herself not to say anything that might jeopardise her chances of getting Tom home again unscathed. At least, now, she had some idea of what she was up against, so far as her son was concerned. Whatever he said, Tom wasn’t going to ignore his relationship to the Russells. That was blatantly obvious.

‘Well, I think you’d better send him home—right away,’ she declared now, trying hard to sound reasonable. ‘The—the bus from Nettleford to Kingsmere passes close to the Priory gates. He can get that. He does have some money with him.’

‘OK. If that’s what you want.’ If she’d expected an argument from Ben, she was disappointed. ‘I can think of an alternative, but you’re his mother.’

‘Yes, I am.’ Jaime’s response came out curter than she could have wished, but she couldn’t help it. She licked her lips. ‘Tell—tell Tom I’ll pick him up at the bus station.’

There was a moment’s pause, and then Ben said quietly, ‘Why don’t you come and get him yourself?’

His suggestion was delivered in the same even tone he had used before, and Jaime envied him his ability to hide his feelings so well. For her part, she was left scrabbling for a legitimate excuse.

‘I—don’t think so,’ she said at last, not very satisfactorily, and Ben sighed.

‘All right.’ As before, he didn’t attempt to try to change her mind. ‘I’ll give Tom your message—–’

‘Wait!’

Jaime realised he intended to ring off, and all of a sudden she was aware of how skilfully he had transferred the responsibility for what happened next to her. He could tell Tom—quite truthfully—that his mother had insisted he go home, and, remembering her son’s attitude over the past weekend, Jaime could imagine how that would be received. It might be what she wanted, but was it really wise to play into Ben’s hands by acting the heavy?

‘I—uh—what was your alternative?’ she enquired, through clenched teeth, and had the dubious pleasure of knowing she had disconcerted him for once.

But Ben was nothing if not resourceful, and he quickly regained his composure. ‘I was going to offer to bring him home myself—later,’ he appended smoothly. ‘After he’s had time to look around—and take a swim.’

‘He doesn’t have his swimming shorts,’ Jaime protested at once. It was the first thing that came into her head, but Ben was undeterred.

‘There’s only the two of us here, and we’re both male,’ he reminded her mildly. ‘But, if he’s shy, he can borrow a pair of mine. We can fix something.

‘I’m sure.’

Jaime was terse, but she couldn’t help it. The idea of her son being rewarded for ducking out of school, and visiting the Priory without telling her first, rankled. Even without the very real threat Ben presented in all this. He was forcing her to trust him, and it wasn’t easy. The truth was, images of Ben and Tom swimming together caused other, equally disturbing reactions. Not least, images of Ben as she had once seen him, and the devastating effect he had had on her life.

‘You’re not happy?’

Ben was asking the question, and Jaime struggled to recover a sense of proportion. ‘I—don’t know what to say,’ she admitted honestly, incapable in that moment of prevaricating. ‘Oh—all right. He can stay. For an hour, at least. I’ll meet him at the bus station at a quarter to five.’

She thought Ben might have insisted that he would bring Tom home, but he didn’t. Instead, he accepted her terms without debate, and before Jaime could say anything more he rang off. He’s probably disappointed because he’s got nothing to blame me for, she decided defiantly, but her ebullience was short-lived. Ben still had Tom—and more than an hour to poison the boy’s mind against her.

It was impossible to relax after that. Jaime finished her tea, and washed up the cups, but she found herself consulting her watch every few minutes. However, nothing could accelerate the passage of time, and after turning the television on and then off again in quick succession she went upstairs to have a wash and renew her make-up.

Her reflection in the mirror above the hand-basin was not reassuring. She looked harassed and drawn, she thought bitterly. It was just as well her hair was that silvery shade of blonde. She was sure she must have acquired a great many grey hairs since she had learned Ben was coming to live in Kingsmere, but at least they didn’t show. Nevertheless, the strain on her nerves was undeniable, and she tipped her head back on her shoulders as exhaustion took its toll.

Still, a few moments later the skilful application of cosmetics had removed much of the evidence. The shadows around her eyes had disappeared beneath a dusky powder, and a creamy blusher had added colour to her pale cheeks. With the generous contours of her mouth outlined by a tawny lip-gloss, she was moderately pleased with the results. She might still be able to see her anxiety, but she was sure that Tom would not.

She changed from the shirt dress she had worn to the office into a pair of loose-fitting cotton trousers and a sleeveless vest. Because they were white, they accentuated the slight tan she had acquired during the hours she had spent in the garden and, like the make-up, they were a determined attempt to lift her spirits. Superficially, she looked good, she decided firmly. Good enough to convince Tom she wasn’t beaten yet.

It was still too early to go and meet him, however. Although Kingsmere was a small town, it did have its rush-hour, and Jaime had no intention of trying to find anywhere to park near the bus station. She planned to wait until Tom had had time to get outside the terminal. That way she hoped to be able to pick him up without having to park at all.

She was standing in the living-room, gazing impatiently out of the window, when the sleek Mercedes glided to a halt behind her small Renault. It was barely four-thirty, and she hadn’t even thought about leaving yet. She had estimated it would take her ten minutes at most to reach the town centre. And Ben must have known that, she hazarded. How she wished she had left early. It was galling being so predictable.

Even so, she couldn’t prevent the shiver of apprehension that shivered down her spine as Ben turned off the ignition, and got out of the vehicle. Tom was getting out, too, hauling his school haversack off the back seat, and looking not a little apprehensive himself now that the excitement was over and he had to face his mother.

She had to go to the door, Jaime knew that. She had to open the door, and behave as if nothing monumental had happened, not least because she knew the car’s arrival would have caused quite a stir in the neighbourhood. There was no way she could grab Tom and drag him inside without creating a disturbance, but the very idea of being civil, when she felt so angry, almost choked her.

Tom was first up the steps, his guarded expression revealing his awareness of the enormity of what he had done. It was the first time he had done anything without clearing it with his mother first, and Jaime guessed he wasn’t as confident as he would like her to think. He didn’t know how she was going to react, and he wasn’t yet old enough not to care.

His hair was wet, Jaime noticed, and, looking beyond her son to the man who had followed him through the garden gate, she saw that Ben’s hair was damp, too. So Tom had had his swim, she thought painfully, realising that the small betrayal hurt more than anything.

‘Uncle Ben said that, as you weren’t feeling well, he’d bring me home,’ Tom volunteered now, brushing past his mother and into the hall of the house. He glanced at her defiantly. ‘I must say, you look OK to me.’

‘Do I?’ Jaime managed the flat rejoinder, and then steeled herself to turn back to Ben. ‘How kind of you to think of me!’

‘You don’t think so,’ observed Ben, halting on the flagged path below her. ‘Do you?’

Jaime stifled the desire to agree with him, and lifted her shoulders. ‘It’s not important. Tom’s home now. I’m grateful.’

Ben tossed his car keys and caught them, and then thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He was wearing black denims and a beige silk shirt, which accentuated the darkness of his skin. But for all that, he still had a look of fatigue around his eyes, and Jaime found herself remembering what her mother had said.

‘Right,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

Tom came forward. ‘Aren’t you coming in?’

Ben’s mouth twisted. ‘I don’t think so.’ His gaze shifted to Jaime. ‘I don’t think your mother wants company right now.’

‘Mum?’

Tom was still looking frustratedly at her when they all heard the sound of running footsteps coming down the street. Dragging her gaze away from her son’s, Jaime turned her head to see who it was, and then felt an overwhelming sense of relief when Angie Santini stopped at the gate.

‘Tom!’ Angie exclaimed, sweeping back the tumbled weight of her hair with a knowingly sensual hand. ‘Where’ve you been? I’ve been waiting outside the lab for ages!’

Tom coloured and, evidently satisfied with this result, Angie came through the gate. But her attention had moved to the other male present, and Jaime’s feelings did a quick about-face as the girl’s eyes lingered on Ben. She gave his leanly muscled frame a thorough appraisal, and then glanced meaningfully over her shoulder at the Mercedes parked outside.

‘Nice car!’ she murmured, a knowing smile lifting the corners of her lips, and Tom squeezed past his mother again to make the introduction.

‘It’s my uncle’s,’ he said proudly, and Jaime’s fists clenched as she turned back into the house.

She was in the kitchen, pulling saucepans out of the cupboard, when she became aware that she was no longer alone. Red-faced from her exertions, she turned, expecting to find Tom and Angie behind her. But it wasn’t her son and his girlfriend. It was Ben standing in the open doorway, and her feelings coalesced into a burning resentment.

‘I thought you were leaving!’ she exclaimed, slamming a saucepan down on to the drainer, and Ben took a deep breath before walking into the room.

‘I think you should calm down,’ he said, as she turned to face him. ‘You’re going to give yourself a heart attack if you go on like this.’

‘What would you know about it?’ Jaime’s hand itched to slap his impassive face. ‘You come here and seduce my son with expensive toys, and expect me to be happy about it!’

‘He’s my son, too,’ replied Ben, in a low, forceful voice, and Jaime caught her breath. But when her eyes darted anxiously past his shoulder, Ben raised a soothing hand. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘Tom’s outside with—Angie, is it? I’d say he has his hands full for now.’

‘Well, Angie is quite a handful, as I’m sure you’ve noticed,’ muttered Jaime, turning back to the sink, and then stiffened when Ben moved to rest his hands on the drainer at either side of her.

‘You wouldn’t be jealous, by any chance?’ he murmured, his breath lifting the hair at the nape of her neck, and Jaime lifted a hand to protect the vulnerable flesh.

‘Don’t—don’t be silly,’ she snapped, but she didn’t trust herself to turn towards him. She was too intensely conscious of the heat of his body behind her, and the faint smell of him, that mingled shaving soap and deodorant, and the musky male scent of his skin.

‘You don’t have to be,’ he continued, and she wondered if he was aware of the effect he was having on her weakened senses. His lips grazed the skin of her knuckles, and she withdrew her hand abruptly, only to regret having done so when his mouth touched the sensitive curve of her nape. ‘Compared to Angie, you’re as ripe and luscious as a peach.’

‘Fat and overblown, is that what you mean?’ retorted Jaime witheringly, desperate to dispel the disturbing intimacy of his words, but Ben was not deterred.

‘You’re not fat, and you know it,’ he said, stepping closer, and Jaime had to press her stomach against the sink to avoid brushing against him. ‘You were never thin. That was one of the things I liked about you. You hadn’t sacrificed shape for style.’

‘Un—unlike—Maura,’ Jaime choked, hoping the mention of his dead wife’s name would bring him to his senses. But it didn’t.

Instead of moving away, his mouth sought the skin at the side of her neck, and although she jerked her head away he bit into the soft flesh. ‘Don’t expect me to make comparisons,’ he said, one hand leaving the unit to curve possessively over her hip. ‘You were the only woman I loved. Let that be enough for you.’

‘You can’t say that—–’

‘I just did.’

‘You never loved me—–’

‘What would you know about it?’

He used both hands then to turn her resisting body to face him, and, although she strained away from him, his hands on her hips made her increasingly aware of his arousal.

‘Ben,’ she began, hoping to reason with him, but something—some frustrated need, perhaps—was fighting her resistance. She wanted to push him away from her. She wanted to escape from the sensual strength of his hands, and rekindle the hatred she knew she should be feeling towards him, but she couldn’t. She didn’t know why. Maybe it was their unfamiliar isolation—the realisation that for the first time since Ben had come back into her life they were really alone. There were no people around them here. No fellow diners at the pub by the river, no Tom in the next room, straining to hear every word they said. Oh, Tom wasn’t far away. Jaime thought she could hear his and Angie’s voices mingling in the garden outside. But, for the moment, they were absorbed with their own affairs. Not with hers.

Ben was looking at her. She could see the darkening heat of passion in his green eyes, and her knees trembled. His lips were slightly parted and the warmth of his breath was fanning her temple. She could feel his awareness, sense his hunger. The throbbing power in his loins was melting every bone in her body, and when he bent his head towards her she didn’t have the will to fight him.

His lips were hot and sensuous, yet, for all that, she sensed the restraint he was putting on himself. She guessed he was aware that if Tom should come and find them in such a compromising position he might ask questions Ben was not prepared to answer. But he couldn’t disguise his need. Between ragged gulps of air he savaged any protest she might have tried to make, and as her opposition waned his tongue plunged urgently into her mouth.

Reality slipped—for both of them. When Ben’s hands moved over her hips and drew her even closer to his taut body, Jaime could only clutch at his shoulders. Her head was swimming, and the consuming desire Ben was communicating narrowed her world to one of needs and sensations. Sanity deserted her entirely when he caressed her buttocks, and when his fingers probed the sensitive cleft between, and used it to part her legs, his thigh riding between them became a vital support.

The blood was pounding in her ears now, deafening her to anything but what was going on in this room. Her fingers encountered the open neck of his shirt, and the warm column of his throat was an irresistible temptation. Almost instinctively, her nails disposed of the buttons at the top of his shirt, and when he released her mouth to take a shuddering breath she pressed her lips to his chest.

His groan was barely audible, but she felt its vibration against her tongue. She guessed he was on the brink of losing all control, and the knowledge of the power she now had over him was a tantalising discovery. The intimacy of their embrace, the speed with which it had developed, and the desperate way he sought her mouth again revealed his weakness. Nevertheless, when he drew her tongue between his lips and suckled on its tip, she was left in no doubt as to her own weaknesses. She wanted this, just as much as he did, and any thought of capitalising on her advantage was lost…

CHAPTER SEVEN

JAIME wondered later what might have happened if Tom hadn’t interrupted them. Although the idea of Ben taking her against the kitchen unit might sound incredible—unbelievable—in retrospect, the fact was they had both been beyond the point of caring what was proper and what was not. The fine veneer of civilisation had been swept away, and its place had been taken by raw, primitive passion.

But some sixth sense seemed to warn Ben of the moment when Tom decided to come and find out what was going on. In less charitable moments, Jaime would wonder if it weren’t a sixth sense honed by years of living on his wits, but at the time she was just grateful for his quick thinking. Without the speed of his reactions, Tom would have surprised them in what could at the very least be described as embarrassing circumstances, and the thought of having to face her son in such circumstances, after what she had said about Ben, was unthinkable.

As it was, she was still struggling to regain her composure when Tom appeared in the kitchen doorway. The fact that Ben had put the width of the room between them before her son could suspect their behaviour was really not enough. Jaime was still reeling from the effects of Ben’s lovemaking, and, although she strove to suppress it, part of her ached from the suddenness of his withdrawal. She noticed that, although Ben appeared to have regained control of his senses, he had dragged his shirt out of his trousers, and thrust his hands into his pockets. The realisation of why he had done so hit Jaime with some force, and a guilty wave of colour stained cheeks that were already burning.

‘Hey…’ Tom’s gaze flicked between them with some concern and, for a second, Jaime thought he had guessed what had occurred. But, happily, her son was still too young to jump to what Jaime believed was a fairly obvious conclusion. Because he had never been exposed to a normal family relationship, Tom still regarded sex as something his generation had discovered, and the idea that his mother might succumb to uncontrollable impulses simply didn’t occur to him. ‘Have you two been fighting over me?’

Jaime heard the breath Ben expelled, and then he straightened his spine with a definite effort. ‘We’ve been—exploring—possibilities,’ he said, and only Jaime understood the real significance of that remark. ‘Nothing for you to worry about.’

‘Is that right?’ Tom turned to his mother. ‘Is it?’

Jaime ran her damp palms over her cheeks. She had to get control of herself, she told herself severely. But her brain felt scrambled, and it was difficult to even formulate a coherent response.