Ryan's Revenge
Lee Wilkinson
Jilted at the altar! No one could do that to Ryan Falconer and get away with it. That' s why, two years later, Ryan' s back. He' s going to reclaim his bride– and he wants revenge.Ryan needs to discover why Virginia left him, as he' s convinced the passionate love they shared isn' t dead, and he' s determined to prove it. Ryan' s revenge: to lead Virginia down the aisle– willing or not!
Without warning, hands came over her eyes and a low, slightly husky voice said close to her ear, “Guess who?”
Virginia’s heart pounding like a trip-hammer, her breath coming in shallow gasps, she stared into Ryan’s tough, hard-boned face. A face she knew as well as her own. A face she had often looked into while they made love.
He put out a hand, and with a proprietary gesture brushed a loose tendril of curly hair back from her pale cheek.
“My dear Virginia, there’s no need to act as if you’re afraid of me.”
“So you did catch sight of me in the gallery. Why didn’t you say anything?”
Ryan’s voice was ironic as he told her, “I thought I’d surprise you.”
LEE WILKINSON lives with her husband in a three-hundred-year-old stone cottage in a Derbyshire village, which most winters gets cut off by snow. They both enjoy traveling, and recently—joining forces with their daughter and son-in-law—spent a year going around the world “on a shoestring” while their son looked after Kelly, their much-loved German shepherd dog. Lee’s hobbies are reading and gardening and holding impromptu barbecues for her long-suffering family and friends.
Ryan’s Revenge
Lee Wilkinson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ONE
WARM June sunshine poured in through the open window, a beneficence after the late and miserably cold spring. In nearby Kenelm Park a dog yapped excitedly, shrill above the continuous, muted roar of London’s traffic.
Glancing from her second-floor window, Virginia saw between the trees the flash of a bright red ball being thrown, and smiled, before returning to her cataloging.
A moment later the internal phone on her desk rang. Reaching out a slender, long-fingered hand she picked up the receiver. ‘Yes?’
Helen’s voice said formally, ‘Miss Ashley, there’s a gentleman here asking if we have any paintings by either Brad or Mia Adams. I’ve explained that there are none listed, but he’d like to know if we’re able to acquire any.’
During the past ten years the Adams’ work had become widely sought after, and Virginia had grown used to the idea of her parents being well known—at least in the world of art.
‘I’ll come down,’ she said.
Helen Hutchings, a nice-looking forty-year-old widow, handled casual sales of the good contemporary art that the Charles Raynor Gallery displayed, while Virginia dealt with specialist requests or queries.
Checking that no wisps of silky ash-brown hair had escaped from her neat chignon, and donning the heavy glasses that changed her appearance and made her look considerably older than her twenty-four years, she left her office, slender and business-like in a charcoal-grey silk suit.
The long oval gallery had a balcony running around it and was open to the skylights, where today the oatmeal-coloured blinds were in place because of the bright sunshine.
Peering over the wrought-iron balcony rail, she saw that a few people, mainly tourists she judged, were browsing. At the far end, she caught a glimpse of a tall, well-built man with dark hair who was standing by the reception desk.
His stance was easy, anything but impatient, yet he had an unmistakable air of waiting.
As she reached the stairs, which at the bottom were roped off with a crimson and gold tasselled cord that held a notice saying Private, he turned to glance in her direction.
Ryan.
There was no mistaking that lean, hard-boned face, the set of the shoulders, the carriage of that dark head, the strong yet graceful physique.
Though it was much too far away to see the colour of his eyes, she knew quite well that they were midway between dark blue and violet.
Her breath caught in her throat. Virginia stopped dead, gripping the banister rail convulsively.
Even after her flight from New York and her return to London she had been afraid of seeing him, on edge and wary of every tall, dark-haired man who came into sight.
Only over the last six months or so had she started to feel relatively safe, confident that she had left the past behind her.
Now it seemed that her confidence had been premature.
Her heart was beginning to pound and, a rush of adrenalin galvanising her into action, she turned and fled back to the safety of her office.
Sinking down at her desk, her stomach churning sickeningly, she prayed that he hadn’t seen and recognised her.
If he had, Ryan wasn’t the kind of man to walk quietly away. Remembering how he’d said, ‘I’ll never let you go,’ she shuddered.
In spite of all that had been between them she had left him. Unable to bear the pain of his perfidy, afraid to confront him for fear of what damage it might do to the family, she had run without a word.
He wouldn’t easily forgive her for that.
But if he hadn’t recognised her, the situation could be saved…
Hoping against hope that Charles was back from his early afternoon appointment, she reached for the internal phone.
There was no answer from his office, which was on the ground floor, and she tried the private showroom and then, in mounting desperation, the strongroom.
When, his voice sounding abstracted, he answered, ‘Yes… What is it?’ Virginia could have wept with relief.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but could you possibly find time to see a prospective customer who’s waiting at reception?’
‘What does he or she want?’ he queried in his rather dry, precise manner.
‘He asked if we can acquire any Adams paintings.’
Sounding surprised, Charles said, ‘Surely you can deal with that?’
‘It’s someone I…once knew, and I’d rather not have to meet again.’
Though Virginia had done her best to play it down, with the perception of a man in love, he picked up the urgency. ‘Very well. Leave it to me.’
Fear darkening her grey-green eyes almost to charcoal, she wondered, why, oh, why, out of all the art galleries in London, had Ryan chanced to come into this one?
Since her return to London two-and-a-half years ago, she had used her middle name as a surname and had virtually lived in hiding. No one knew where she was. Not even her parents.
She had been staying in a cheap hotel off the Bayswater Road and, with very little money and Christmas coming up, had been badly in need of a job.
The employment agency she’d approached had sent her to the Raynor Gallery where she had been interviewed by Charles himself.
She had told him about the course on the practical and administrative side of art she had taken at college, and had explained, without giving any details, that she had just returned from the States.
After studying her thoughtfully while she spoke, he had offered her a post as his assistant.
After she had been working for him for almost a year, the gallery had started to handle the Adams’ work, and when Charles had suggested that she should be their contact she had been forced to tell him at least part of the truth.
‘Virginia, my dear,’ he protested, ‘as you’re their daughter, surely—’
‘I don’t want them to know where I am.’
They were acquainted with Ryan, and that made any communication with them potentially dangerous.
Charles frowned. ‘But won’t they worry about you?’
‘No, I’m certain they won’t. You see we’ve never been a family in the real sense of the word.’
Seeing he was unconvinced, she explained, ‘Mother was fresh out of art school when she met my father, who was over from the States.
‘They’d both been painting since they were children, and lived for art. That’s probably what drew them together.
‘After they married they lived in Greenwich Village for several years before coming back to settle in England. By the time I was born they were well into their thirties.
‘I was a mistake. Neither of them wanted me. If mother hadn’t been brought up to believe life was sacred, I think she might well have had an abortion.’
‘Oh surely not!’ Charles, a mild-mannered, conventional man, sounded shocked by her bluntness.
‘They were both so wrapped up in their work that a baby was an unlooked-for and unwelcome complication in their lives…’
Though she spoke flatly, dispassionately, he could feel her abiding sense of rejection, and his heart bled for her.
‘They were well-off financially, and their solution was a series of nannies, and a girl’s boarding school as soon as I was old enough.
‘I was on the point of leaving school and starting college when they went back to New York to live.’
‘They left you behind?’
‘I was nearly eighteen by then.’
‘But surely they helped to support you? Financially, I mean?’
‘No, I didn’t want them to. I preferred to take evening and weekend jobs and stay independent…
‘So you see, not knowing where I am now won’t worry them in the slightest. In fact I doubt if they ever give me a thought.’
‘Very well, if you’re sure?’
‘I’m quite sure.’
‘Then, I’ll deal with them personally.’
‘You won’t say anything?’ she asked anxiously.
‘Not a word. Your secret’s safe with me.’
She felt a rush of affection for him. He was a thoroughly nice man and, knowing that he would keep his promise, she breathed easier.
Until now…
The latch clicked.
She glanced up sharply, her heart in her mouth.
It was Charles, neat and conservative in a lightweight business suit, a lock of fair hair falling over his high forehead giving him a boyish air that belied his forty-three years.
Seeing her face had lost all trace of colour, he said reassuringly, ‘There’s no need to look so concerned. He’s gone.’
Perhaps, subconsciously, she had been half expecting Ryan to come bursting in, and relief was washing over her like a warm tide when a sudden thought made her query anxiously, ‘He didn’t ask about me?’
Dropping into the chair opposite, Charles raised a fair brow. ‘Why should he?’
She worried her lower lip. ‘I’d started to go down when I realised who it was. I thought he might have seen and recognised me.’
‘He made no mention of it,’ Charles assured her calmly. ‘And, as he appears to be the type who wouldn’t have hesitated to ask about anything he wanted to know, I think we can safely assume he didn’t.’
Watching Virginia relax perceptibly, he wondered what had passed between her and the powerful-looking man he’d just been talking to.
From her reactions it was clear that her feelings had been a great deal deeper than her casual ‘someone I once knew’ had implied. It might even be part of the reason she had refused his offer of marriage…
Hoping for further reassurance that Ryan’s visit had been just chance, she asked, ‘What did he actually say? How did he act?’
‘His manner was quite straightforward and purposeful. He told me his name was Ryan Falconer, and that he’d like to acquire, amongst other things, some of the earlier Adams paintings. I promised I’d put out some feelers and let him know the chances as soon as possible…’
‘Is he staying in England?’
‘For a few days, apparently. As well as his home address in Manhattan, he gave me the phone number of a Mayfair hotel.’
Mayfair. She repressed a shiver. Practically on their doorstep and much too close for comfort.
‘Though he’s primarily a businessman, a Wall Street investment banker, I understand, he’s interested in art and owns the Falconer Gallery in New York… But possibly you knew that?’
‘Yes.’
When she failed to elaborate, Charles went on, ‘However, I gather the paintings he’s hoping to buy are for his private collection. He mentioned one by Mia Adams that he’d particularly like to own, Wednesday’s Child…’
She froze.
‘Falconer believes it was painted seven or eight years ago, and is one of her best. Though I must say I’ve never heard of it… He made it clear that money’s no object, so I’ve promised to do what I can. Of course, even if I’m able to locate it, the present owner might not be willing to sell.’
Something about Virginia’s utter stillness made Charles ask, ‘Do you remember it by any chance?’
Taking a deep breath, she admitted, ‘As a matter of fact I do. I sat for it. I wasn’t quite seventeen.’
His light blue eyes glowing with interest, he exclaimed, ‘I didn’t realise your mother had ever used you as a model!’
‘It was just the once. I’d been invited to spend the summer holidays with a school friend—Jane belonged to a big happy family, and I was looking forward to it—but at the last minute the visit had to be cancelled, so I went home.
‘Mother said that as I was there she might as well make use of me. I tried hard to do just as she wanted, but for some reason she disliked the finished portrait, and she never asked me to sit again.’
‘What did you think of it?’
‘I didn’t see it,’ Virginia said flatly. ‘She told me that it needed framing, and the next time I went home, it had been sold…’
And now Ryan wanted to buy it.
That fact disturbed her almost as much as seeing him again…
But maybe it was just chance that had made him specify Wednesday’s Child? Maybe he didn’t know that she had been the sitter?
Almost before the thought was completed, a sure and certain instinct told her it was no chance. He knew all right.
She shivered.
Watching her face, Charles asked shrewdly, ‘If I am able to locate and acquire that particular painting, how do you feel about Falconer having it?’
With careful understatement, she admitted, ‘I’d rather he didn’t.’
‘Then, I’ll tell him I had no luck.’
Recalling the problems and financial losses that Charles had suffered over the past year, she swallowed hard and made herself say, ‘No, if you are able to acquire it and he’s willing to pay well, you mustn’t let my silly prejudices stand in the way of business.’
‘Well, we’ll see,’ he said noncommittally. ‘Things might well be looking up.’
Before she could question that somewhat cryptic statement, he glanced at his watch. ‘It’s almost four o’clock. I’d best be getting on.’
Rising to his feet, a tall, spare figure with slightly rounded shoulders, he suggested with the solicitude he always displayed for her, ‘You’re looking a bit peaky, why don’t you go home?’
Thoroughly unsettled, her head throbbing dully, and never having felt less like work, she said gratefully, ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache, so I think I will, if you really don’t mind?’
Smiling, he shook his head. ‘As it’s Monday, I’m quite sure Helen and I can deal with anything that may crop up in the next hour or so.’
At the door, he paused to say, ‘Oh, by the way, I won’t be coming home at the usual time. I’ve agreed to have dinner with the client I saw earlier this afternoon…’
Her heart sank. Somehow, after what had happened, she needed his comforting, undemanding presence.
‘And as it’s my turn to cook—’ when Virginia had first moved into his spare room, they had reached an amicable arrangement whereby they cooked on alternate evenings ‘—I suggest you get a takeaway, on me…’
Well aware that his sensitive antennae had picked up her unspoken need, she asked with determined lightness, ‘Will you run to a Chinese?’
He grinned. ‘I might, if you promise to save me some prawn crackers.’
‘Done!’
‘I don’t expect to be late but, if by any chance I am, don’t wait up for me. You look as if you could do with an early night. Oh, and if you’re not feeling up to scratch, take a taxi home.’
Charles was so genuinely kind, so caring, Virginia thought as the door closed behind him. He would make a wonderful husband for the right woman.
He was an excellent companion, easy to talk to and good-tempered, with that rarest of gifts, the ability to see another person’s point of view.
Added to that, he was a good-looking man with a quiet charm and undeniable sex appeal. Helen, she was almost certain, was in love with him, and had been for the past year.
It was a great pity that she couldn’t love him in the way he wanted her to.
A few weeks before, as they’d washed the dishes together after their evening meal, he had broached the question of marriage, diffidently, feeling his way, afraid of scaring her off.
Until then she had thought of him as a confirmed bachelor, set in his ways. It had never occurred to her that he might propose, and he’d been skirting round the subject for several minutes before she’d had the faintest inkling of what had been in his mind.
‘I hadn’t realised how much I lacked companionship until you came along… Since you’ve been living here…well, it’s made a great difference to my life… And you seem happy with the arrangement…?’
‘Yes, I am.’ She smiled at him warmly.
Bolstered by that smile, his blue eyes serious, he finally came to the point. ‘Virginia…there’s something I want to ask you… But if the answer’s no, promise me it won’t make any difference to our friendship…’
‘I promise.’
‘You must know I love you…’
She had suspected he was getting fond of her, but had regarded it as the kind of affection he might have felt for any close friend.
‘Don’t you think it might be something to do with propinquity?’ she suggested gently.
Shaking his head, he said, ‘I’ve loved you ever since I set eyes on you…’ Then formally, he said, ‘It would make me very happy if you would agree to marry me.’
Just for an instant she was tempted. It would be lovely to have a husband, a home that was really hers and, sooner or later, children.
Though she liked her chosen career and had worked hard to gain the knowledge and the eye that had put her on the road to success, it had always taken second place to her dream of being part of a close and happy family.
But it wouldn’t be fair to Charles to marry him. He deserved a wife who would love him passionately, rather than a woman who felt merely affection for him.
In no doubt of her answer now, she took a deep, steadying breath. ‘I’m sorry…more sorry than I can say…but I can’t.’
‘Is it the age difference?’
‘No,’ she answered truthfully. If she’d loved him enough age wouldn’t have mattered.
He hung the tea towel up carefully, and pushed back the lock of fair hair that fell over his forehead. ‘I had hoped, in view of how well we get along, that you might at least consider it. But perhaps you don’t like me sufficiently?’
‘I both like and respect you, in fact I’m very fond of you, but—’
‘Surely that would be enough to make it work?’ he broke in, his blue eyes eager.
She half shook her head. ‘Fondness isn’t enough.’
‘I’m prepared to give it a try. A lot of marriages must be based on less.’
‘No, it wouldn’t be fair to you…’
Seeing the discomfort on her face, he patted her hand and said firmly, ‘Don’t worry. I promise I won’t bring it up again.
‘But don’t forget I love you. I’d do anything for you… And if you should ever change your mind, the offer’s still open.’
He was a wonderful man. A man in a million. She wanted to love him. But love was something that could neither be ordered nor controlled.
She knew that to her cost.
Seeing the dangers, she had tried not to love Ryan… Without success.
But she wouldn’t think about Ryan.
As though amused by her decision, Ryan’s dark face with those blue-violet eyes smiled back at her mockingly.
Her only coherent thought on first meeting him had been that never before had she seen eyes of such a fascinating colour on any other person…
Damn! there she was doing it.
Gritting her teeth, she closed and locked the window, then gathering up her shoulder bag, made her way down the uncarpeted rear stairs and out of the green-painted staff door onto the cobbled street.
Kenelm Mews, with the backs of buildings on one side and the iron railings of Kenelm Park on the other, was filled with slanting sunlight and the summer-in-the-city smell of dust and petrol fumes and melting tarmac.
Instead of turning the corner into the main road and either looking for a taxi or heading for the bus stop, as she usually did when Charles didn’t drive her home, she hesitated.
With its sun-dappled flower beds and shady trees Kenelm looked green and pleasant. If she walked home across the park, it might help to clear her head and relax some of the remaining tension.
Suddenly impatient with her glasses, she stuffed them into her bag and set off through wrought-iron gates that stood open invitingly.
Passing the Victorian bandstand, and the velvety smooth bowling greens where sedate cream-clad figures were standing in little groups, Virginia took a path that skirted the small boating lake.
She walked briskly as though trying to outpace her thoughts. But try as she might, they kept returning to Ryan and his reason for coming into the gallery. Why did he want Wednesday’s Child?
So he had an image of her? Something to metaphorically stick pins into?
The thought of so much pent-up anger and hatred directed towards herself, frightened her half to death. Her legs starting to tremble, she sank down on the nearest bench, staring blindly across the lake.
She had hoped that time would lessen the animosity she guessed he must feel towards her.
But why should it?
Time hadn’t lessened the way she felt.
The bewilderment, the sense of betrayal, the resentment, the hurt…
Without warning, hands came over her eyes and a low, slightly husky voice, a voice that would have made her turn back from the gates of heaven, said close to her ear, ‘Guess who?’
Her heart seemed to stop beating, robbing her brain of blood and her lungs of oxygen. Faintness washed over her, swirling her into oblivion…
As the mists began to clear, she found herself held securely against a broad chest, her head resting on a muscular shoulder, the sun warm on her face.
Gathering her senses as best she could, she tried to struggle free.
An elderly woman walking past with a liver-and-white spaniel on a lead, gave them a quick, curious glance and, deciding they were lovers, walked on.
When Virginia made a further, more determined, effort, the imprisoning arms fell away, allowing her to sit upright.
Her heart pounding like a trip hammer, her breath coming in shallow gasps, she stared into Ryan’s tough, hard-boned face. A face she knew as well as she knew her own. A face she had often looked into while they’d made love.
The thick dark hair that tried to curl was cut fairly short, but by no means the shaven-headed look she so disliked; his chiselled mouth was as beautiful as she remembered, as were those long-lashed eyes, the colour of indigo.
Eyes that would have made the most ordinary man extraordinary. Except, of course, that Ryan was far from ordinary. Even without those remarkable eyes he would have stood out in a crowd…
He put out a hand, and with a proprietary gesture brushed a loose tendril of brown curly hair back from her pale cheek.
She flinched away as though he’d struck her.
His expression pained, he protested, ‘My dear Virginia, there’s no need to act as if you’re afraid of me.’
‘So you did catch sight of me in the gallery,’ she said hoarsely.
‘Just a glimpse before you bolted. Running away seems to be your forte.’
Biting her lip, she asked, ‘Why didn’t you say anything to Charles?’
His voice ironic, he told her, ‘I thought I’d surprise you.’
He’d certainly succeeded in doing that. Though the air was balmy, she found herself shivering. ‘How did you know I’d be in the park?’
‘I waited in the mews until I saw you leave the gallery, then I followed you.’
‘Why did you follow me?’ she demanded.
White teeth gleamed in a wolfish smile. ‘I thought it was high time we had a talk.’
‘As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing to say.’ She jumped to her feet and took an unsteady step.
‘Don’t rush off.’ He reached out, and his fingers closed lightly but inexorably around her wrist.
‘Let me go,’ she said jerkily. ‘I don’t want to talk to you.’
He drew her back to the bench and, careful not to hurt her, applied just enough downward pressure to make it expedient to sit.
When she sank down onto the wooden slats, he smiled a little. ‘Well, if you really don’t want to talk, I can think of more exciting things to do.’ His eyes were fixed on her mouth.
Her voice shrill with panic, she cried, ‘No!’
‘Shame,’ he drawled. ‘Though it seems an age since I last kissed you, I can still remember how passionately you used to respond. You’d make little mewing noises in your throat, your nipples would grow firm and—’
She went hot all over and, seeing nothing else for it, threw in the towel. ‘What did you want to talk to me about?’
‘I want to know why you ran away. Why you left me without a word…’
Normally, he had a warm, attractive voice, a voice that had always charmed her. Now the underlying ice in it sent a chill right down her spine.
‘Why you didn’t at least tell me what was wrong.’
Feeling a deep and bitter anger, she wrenched her wrist free and rounded on him, eyes flashing. ‘How can you pretend to be so innocent? Pretend not to know “what was wrong”?’
He sighed. ‘Perhaps you could save the histrionics and just tell me?’
Unwilling to reveal the extent of her hurt, her desolation, she choked back the angry accusations, and said wearily, ‘It’s over two years ago. I can’t see that it matters now…’
Of course it mattered. It would always matter.
‘We’re different people. The girl I was then no longer exists.’
‘You’ve certainly altered,’ he admitted, studying her oval face: the pure bone structure, the long-lashed greeny-grey eyes beneath winged brows, the short straight nose, and lovely passionate mouth.
‘Then, you were young and innocent, radiantly pretty, almost incandescent…’
If she had been, love had made her that way. Happiness was a great beautifier.
‘Now you’ve—’ His voice suddenly impeded, he stopped speaking abruptly.
But she knew well enough what he’d been about to say. Each morning her mirror showed her a woman who had come up against life and lost. A woman whose sparkle had gone, and who was vulnerable, with sad eyes and, despite all her efforts to smile, a mouth that drooped a little at the corners.
She swallowed hard. ‘I’m surprised you recognised me from just that brief glimpse.’
‘I almost didn’t. That severe hairstyle and those glasses change your appearance significantly, and the “Miss Ashley” had me wondering. If I hadn’t been expecting to see you—’
‘So you knew I was there?’ she broke in sharply.
‘Oh, yes, I knew. I’ve known for some time. Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?’
Rather than answer, she chose to ask a question of her own, ‘What made you come into the gallery?’
‘I decided to check things out on a personal level.’
‘You told Charles that you wanted to buy Wednesday’s Child.’
‘So I do.’
‘Why?’
‘Surely you can guess. Will he be able to get it for me, do you think?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘But not if you can help it?’
When she made no comment, he added with a smile, ‘Though I guess I won’t need Wednesday’s Child when I’ve got the real thing.’
Afraid to ask what he meant by that, she remained silent, looking anywhere but at him.
‘From Raynor’s manner,’ Ryan went on, ‘I rather gathered you’d kept quiet about our…shall we say…relationship?’
‘It’s not something I like to talk about.’
He pulled a face at her tone. ‘So how much did you have to tell him in the end, to get him to see me in your place?’
‘I just said you were someone I’d once known and didn’t want to meet again.’
‘How very understated and cold-blooded.’
‘It happens to be the truth.’
She saw his face grow taut with anger, before a shutter came down leaving an expressionless mask.
‘I would have said I was rather more than someone you’d once known even if you’re using the word known in its biblical sense.’
She moved restlessly, desperate to get away, but knowing she stood no chance until he was willing to let her go.
‘That’s all in the past,’ she said tightly. ‘Over and done with.’
‘Hardly.’
‘It’s over and done with as far as I’m concerned.’
He shook his head. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. I want you back.’
‘What?’
Though he had sworn, ‘I’ll never let you go,’ the fact that she had gone, had run away and left him, should surely have hurt his pride to the point where he wouldn’t want her back under any circumstances?
‘I want you back,’ he repeated flatly.
Stammering in her agitation, she cried, ‘I’ll never c-come back to you.’
‘Never is a long time,’ he said lightly.
‘I mean it, Ryan. There’s nothing you can do or say that will make me change my mind.’
‘I don’t think you should bet on it.’ His little crooked smile made her blood run cold.
‘Please, Ryan…’ She found she was begging. ‘I’ve made a new life for myself and I just want to be left to enjoy it.’
‘You once told me you disliked being on your own.’
‘I’m not on my own.’ The words were defiant, meant to make an impression.
‘Let’s get this straight, we are talking about merely sharing accommodation?’
‘I wasn’t,’ she said boldly. If he believed she was seriously involved with someone else he might leave her alone; she wouldn’t let herself be hurt again.
He froze into stillness, before asking quietly, ‘So, who are you sleeping with?’
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘I’m making it my business.’ Those indigo eyes pinning her, he repeated, ‘Who?’
‘Charles.’
Ryan laughed incredulously. ‘That middle-aged wimp?’
‘Don’t you dare call Charles a wimp. He’s nothing of the kind. He’s sweet and sensitive, and I owe him a big debt of gratitude. He gave me a job and a home when I was desperate.’
‘I’m quite aware that you share his house—my detective has followed the pair of you home often enough—but knowing you as I do, I hesitate to believe that gratitude is enough to get you into his bed.’
‘It isn’t just gratitude. I happen to love him. Passionately,’ she added for good measure.
Ryan’s mocking smile told her he didn’t believe a word of it. ‘So, when did you two become lovers?’
‘Ages ago.’
‘Then, how is it you have separate bedrooms?’
‘What makes you think we have separate bedrooms?’
‘I don’t think. I know.’
‘How could you possibly know a thing like that?’ she scoffed.
‘With a bit of encouragement, the domestic help can be an excellent source of information. Mrs Crabtree, in particular, enjoys a good gossip.’
Virginia’s heart sank. Mrs Crabtree, a cheerful, garrulous woman, came in several times a week to clean and tidy.
Seeing nothing else for it, she admitted, ‘All right, so we have separate bedrooms. Charles is conventional enough to want to keep up appearances.’
‘That’s not surprising. He’s old enough to be your father.’
‘He’s nothing of the kind.’
‘Rubbish! He must be forty-five if he’s a day.’
‘Charles is forty-three. In any case, age has nothing to do with it. He’s a wonderful lover.’
Even as she spoke she felt a stab of conscience. It was hardly fair to Charles to use him in this way; perhaps she should just tell Ryan the truth… But she’d gone much too far to back down now.
Recklessly, she added, ‘And he’s not hidebound enough to believe that lovemaking should only take place in bed.’
A dangerous light in his eyes, Ryan said, ‘I hope for everyone’s sake that you’re lying.’
‘Did you seriously expect me to be living like a nun?’
‘You were when I met you.’
‘In those days I was abysmally naive and innocent. But you taught me a lot, and it’s much more difficult to give up a known pleasure.’
Watching him weighing up her words, wondering…she struck at his ego, ‘Or did you think you were the only man who could turn me on?’
‘I certainly didn’t think Raynor was your type.’
‘That just shows how wrong you can be. Charles and I are very good together. He wants to marry me.’
A dark flush appeared along Ryan’s high cheekbones. ‘Over my dead body. I’ve no intention of letting anyone else have you.’
Rattled, she found herself catching at straws. ‘But you said yourself how much I’ve changed. I’m not even pretty any longer.’
‘No, you’re not merely pretty. Now you have the kind of poignant beauty that’s haunting.’
She half shook her head. ‘Even it that were true, the world’s full of beautiful women.’
One in particular.
‘In the past I’ve had my share of beautiful women. But I find that, after you, none of them will do. It’s you I want in my bed and in my life.’
‘I don’t understand why,’ she cried desperately.
His voice cold as steel, he said, ‘For one thing, there’s a score to settle. You owe me.’
CHAPTER TWO
WHITE to the lips, she whispered, ‘A score to settle?’
‘Why should that surprise you? You must have known that leaving me as you did would make me look a complete and utter fool?’
She couldn’t even deny it. Part of her had wanted to pay him back. Wanted to wound him as much as he’d wounded her. Wanted to destroy his world, as he’d destroyed hers.
Afraid that he might read it in her eyes, she looked away, watching a small boy in a blue T-shirt and red shorts run towards the lake. He was clutching a shining new toy yacht, obviously a birthday present, and a stick.
As he knelt on the low parapet to launch the vessel into the water, his mother, who was wheeling a baby in a pushchair, called, ‘Be careful, Thomas. Don’t fall in. The water’s deep.’
When—his will was proving stronger than hers—Virginia’s eyes were drawn irresistibly back to Ryan’s, he pursued. ‘Apart from that, when you just disappeared and I had no idea where you were or what had happened to you, I nearly went out of my mind with worry. Since then I’ve spent two-and-a-half years and a small fortune looking for you.
‘Now I’ve found you, I want you in my bed. I want to make love to you until you’re begging for mercy and I’m sated. Then I want to start all over again. Does the thought of being made love to until you’re begging for mercy turn you on?’
Heat running through her, she said thickly, ‘No! I can’t bear the thought of you touching me.’
His handsome eyes gleamed. ‘Knowing that will give me great satisfaction, and add immeasurably to my pleasure—’
A simultaneous yelp of fright, a splash, and a high-pitched scream cut through his words.
Ryan was on his feet in an instant and running towards the lake as the woman with the pushchair continued to scream hysterically.
He said something short and sharp to her that stopped the screaming, and a second later he had cleared the parapet and had plunged into the water.
Rooted to the spot, Virginia watched him haul the small dripping figure from the lake and set him on his shoulders. Judging by the roars of fright the child was letting forth, he was mercifully uninjured.
The water was somewhere in the region of three-and-a-half feet deep, and came past Ryan’s waist, as he waded a few steps to rescue the capsized yacht.
Letting go of the pushchair, the woman, now sobbing loudly with relief, hovered, arms outstretched ready to embrace her son.
Belatedly, Virginia’s brain kicked into action, and realising that no real harm had been done, she grabbed her bag and leaving Ryan to cope, bolted.
Hurrying as fast as she could to the nearest of the park’s side entrances, she made her way between the ornate metal bollards and out onto busy Kenelm Road.
A black cab was cruising past and, hailing it, she pulled open the door and jumped in, breathing hard, her heart racing.
‘Where to, lady?’
‘Sixteen Usher Street.’
Sinking back, drenched in perspiration, she glanced in the direction of the park. There was no sign of pursuit and, starting to tremble in every limb, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks. She’d escaped.
But for how long?
Ryan knew all about her. Where she worked, where she lived, her movements… He had said he wanted her back, and he wasn’t a man to give up.
Just seeing him again had shaken her to the core, but the knowledge that he wanted her back had been even more traumatic.
It had been so entirely unexpected. Never once had she considered the possibility that he might want her back again.
It was unthinkable. The very idea made her blood turn to ice in her veins. All he wanted was revenge. He didn’t even love her.
If he’d loved her, it might have been different…
But if he’d loved her she would never have left him in the first place…
Her hectic thoughts were interrupted by the taxi turning into Usher Street and coming to a halt in front of number sixteen.
It was a quiet street of cream-stuccoed town houses with basements guarded by black wrought-iron railings, and steps leading up to elegant front doors with fluted fanlights.
Charles had inherited the house from his parents, some five years previously. A confirmed bachelor, at least until Virginia had come along, he’d talked about moving somewhere smaller, easier to manage. But in truth he was comfortable there, and it was reasonably close to the gallery.
Recalling agitatedly what Ryan had said about his detective following her, Virginia suddenly felt uncomfortable.
She scrambled out of the taxi and, having reached through the window to pay the driver, ran up the steps to let herself in.
Feeling invisible eyes boring into her back, her palms grew clammy, and pointing the truth of the saying, more haste less speed, it took several attempts to turn the key in the lock.
Her heart throwing itself against her ribs, she dropped the key into her purse, slammed the door behind her, and hurried through the hall and into a large attractively furnished living-room with long windows.
Dropping her bag on the couch she crossed the room and peered cautiously from behind the curtains, half expecting to see a strange man opposite, lurking behind a newspaper.
Apart from a woman walking past whom she recognised as a neighbour, the sunny, tree-lined street was deserted.
With a feeling of anticlimax, Virginia told herself satirically that she was either getting paranoid, or had been watching too many detective series on the television.
But her attempt to josh herself out of it failed dismally. The threat to her new-found security was chillingly real and couldn’t be laughed away.
Becoming aware that her head was now throbbing fiercely, she went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea and swallow a couple of painkillers.
Then, uncomfortably hot and sticky, she decided to have a shower and wash her hair. Physically, at least, that should make her feel better.
She stripped off her clothes and, removing the pins from her hair, shook it loose before stepping beneath the jet of warm water.
As she reached for the shampoo, she found herself wondering about Ryan. He must have been saturated…
Had he walked back to his hotel? Or braved it out and hailed a taxi? Was he at this precise minute also taking a shower?
In the old days, alone in his Fifth Avenue penthouse, they had enjoyed showering together…
While the scented steam rose and billowed, her own hands stilled as she recalled how his hands had roamed over her slick body, caressing her slender curves, cupping her buttocks, stroking her thighs, finding the nest of wet brown curls, while his tongue licked drops of water from her nipples…
Shuddering at the erotic memory she turned off the water and, winding a towel turban-fashion around her head, began to dry herself with unnecessary vigour, rubbing the pale gold skin until it glowed pink.
Having decided not to bother and get dressed again, she found the Christmas present Charles had given her, a chenille robe-cum-housecoat in moss green and, pulling it on, belted it.
Her feet bare, her naturally curly hair still damp and loose around her shoulders, she was descending the stairs when the phone in the hall began to chirrup.
Reaching out a hand she was about to pick up the receiver when it occurred to her that it might be Ryan, and she hesitated.
Who else was likely to be calling? Who else would know she was home before her usual time?
It kept chirruping, and its sheer persistence tearing at her nerves, she snatched it up.
‘Virginia?’ It was Charles. His well-modulated voice sounded a shade anxious.
‘Yes,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Yes, I’m here.’
‘Is anything wrong?’
She took a deep breath. ‘No, of course not.’
‘You didn’t seem to be answering.’
‘I’ve just got out of the shower.’ It wasn’t exactly a lie.
‘Oh, I see.’
‘Is there a problem?’ she asked.
‘No. Not at all… I was just ringing to make sure you were all right.’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘Certain?’ With his usual sensitivity he had picked up her jumpiness.
Resisting the impulse to tell him about Ryan and beg him to come home, she said with what cheerfulness she could muster, ‘Absolutely. Any idea what time you’ll be back?’
‘I should be home somewhere around eight-thirty. Don’t forget to save me some prawn crackers.’
‘I won’t,’ she promised. ‘Bye for now.’
As she replaced the handset, the grandmother clock whirred and began to chime six-thirty.
Might as well ring for her takeaway now, she decided. It usually took between thirty and forty minutes for an order to be delivered, and she’d only had part of a roll for lunch, the remainder having been fed to a family of sparrows who, nesting in the eaves above her office window, had learnt to line up along the sill, bright-eyed and expectant.
Not that she was hungry.
But something to eat might help to get rid of the hollow, stomach-churning feeling that had persisted since Ryan had said, ‘Guess who?’ in the park.
The number of the restaurant was written in Charles’s neat numerals in the book by the phone, but it was Ryan’s face that swam before her eyes as she tapped in the digits.
‘The Jade Garden. Good evening…’ a singsong voice responded.
Her mind still obsessed by Ryan, Virginia, who was usually clear and precise, made a mess of her order and was forced to stumble through it a second time.
Returning to the living-room, she prowled about plumping cushions and tidying magazines, far too restless to sit still.
What would Ryan do next? she wondered anxiously. There was no doubt in her mind that he wouldn’t let matters rest. He wanted her, and his sense of purpose was terrifying…
Though she had lied through her teeth about her relationship with Charles, it hadn’t had the desired effect. Ryan either hadn’t believed her, or hadn’t wanted to.
Either way, her assertions had failed to provide the anchor, the safeguard, she had been so desperate to put in place.
But even if he had believed her, would that have stopped him? Remembering the look on his face when he’d said, ‘I’ve no intention of letting anyone else have you’, she felt her skin goose-flesh.
Just seeing him again, feeling the force of his will, had made her doubt her ability to hold out against him if he kept up the seige.
No! she mustn’t think like that. If necessary she would tell Charles the whole truth, and beg for his forgiveness and support.
He was far from being the wimp that Ryan had so contemptuously called him. In fact, in a different and less obvious way he was as strong as Ryan, with a quiet determination and a tensile strength.
But how could she ask Charles for help, ask him to pretend to be her lover, when she had denied him that privilege by refusing his proposal of marriage?
All at once she was filled with a burning shame that she’d even considered involving him any further. Somehow she must manage without his help.
There was one thing in her favour. Usually a brilliant strategist, this time Ryan had made a bad mistake. He had admitted that he was out to make her pay for leaving him, and forewarned was forearmed.
Though his attraction was as powerful as ever, knowing his intentions would enable her to hold out against him, to freeze him off…
The peal of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts.
Her takeaway had come a lot quicker than usual. But of course it was still quite early. They wouldn’t yet have had a build-up of customers…
She fumbled in her bag and purse in hand, went to open the door.
Taken completely by surprise, her reactions were a trifle slow and, before she could slam the door in his face, Ryan had slipped inside.
Over six feet tall and broad-shouldered, he seemed to fill the small hall.
Closing the door behind him he stood leaning with his back to the panels. Wearing stone-coloured trousers and a two-tone, smart-casual jacket, he looked tanned and fit and dangerous.
‘Get out!’ she cried in a panic. ‘You have no right to force your way in here.’
‘I didn’t exactly force my way in,’ he objected, adding coolly, ‘Though I might well have done had it proved necessary.’
Surveying the robe, her shiny face and the wealth of ash-brown hair curling loosely around her shoulders, he remarked, ‘You look about ready for bed. But of course Raynor doesn’t take you to bed, does he? He has more…shall we say…inventive ideas.’
When, her soft lips tightening, she said nothing, he goaded, ‘Tell me, Virginia, where does he usually make love to you? In the kitchen? Lying in front of the fire? On the stairs?’
‘Stop it!’ she cried.
‘After what you told me earlier, you can’t blame me for being curious.’
Wishing fervently that she’d kept her mouth shut, she said, ‘I want you to go. Now! Before Charles gets home. He won’t be long.’
Ryan shook his head. ‘It’s no use, Virginia, my sweet, I know perfectly well that he won’t be in until much later…’
How did he know?
‘And, even if that wasn’t the case, do you seriously think the prospect of Raynor coming home would scare me into leaving?’
No, she didn’t. Lifting her chin, she threatened, ‘I could always call the police.’
‘You could,’ he agreed, ‘but somehow I don’t think you will. After all, the police have a lot more to concern themselves about than what they would undoubtedly class as a trivial domestic problem.’
In past skirmishes he had proved to be quicker witted than she was, and in any battle of words he almost invariably won. But she couldn’t allow him to win this time.
‘It isn’t “a trivial domestic problem,”’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘It’s an illegal entry into someone else’s home.’
‘How can it be an “illegal entry” when you opened the door to me yourself?’
‘I thought it was my takeaway.’
Eyeing the purse she was still holding, he said, ‘I see. Well, if you have a meal ordered, perhaps you’ll invite me to stay and share it?’
Her agitation increasing, she cried, ‘No, I don’t want you to stay. I don’t know why you came in the first place.’
‘For one thing, we hadn’t finished our conversation—’
‘There’s nothing further to say. I’ll never come back to you, so you’re just wasting your time.’
As though she hadn’t interrupted, he went on, his voice quietly lethal, ‘And for another, I’m not prepared to let you keep running out on me.’
For the first time she realised he was furiously angry, and she quailed inwardly.
He stepped towards her, dwarfing her five feet seven inches, and with a hand beneath her chin, he forced it up. His eyes were focussed on her mouth, his dark face sharp and intent.
Guessing his intention, she begged, ‘No! Oh, please, Ryan, don’t…’
But his hand slid round to her nape, tangling in her silky hair, and his mouth swooped down on hers, taking possession, stifling any further protests.
The purse she had been clutching like a lifeline thudded to the floor and, despite all her efforts to hold aloof, the blood began to pound in her ears and the world tilted on its axis.
Head spinning, she was engulfed, gathered up and swept away on a tide of conflicting emotions, while every nerve ending in her body zinged into life.
At first his kiss was hard, punitive, a way of venting his anger, the arm clamping her to him like an iron band.
But when, scarcely able to stand, she made no attempt to break free, his arm loosened its hold slightly and, instead of being a punishment, his kiss became passionate, his skilful tongue sending shivers of excitement and pleasure running through her.
Leaving her nape, his hand slid inside the lapels of her robe, following her collarbone, moving down to find and fondle the soft curve of her breast.
He seemed to be deliberately avoiding the tip and, desperate for his touch, her whole being was poised in an agony of waiting.
When, finally, his experienced fingers began to lightly tease the sensitive nipple, causing sensations so exquisite they were almost pain, her stomach clenched and a core of liquid heat began to form in her abdomen.
Now he was making her feel all that he wanted her to feel, and he took her little gasps and whimpers into his mouth like the conqueror he was.
Lost and mindless, she was hardly aware when his free hand undid the belt and eased the robe from her shoulders, allowing it to fall at her feet.
His mouth had moved away from hers to rove over the smooth flesh he had exposed, when, shockingly, the doorbell rang.
Ryan’s recovery was light years ahead of Virginia’s. Stooping, he gathered up the robe and, wrapping it around her, gently hustled her across the hall and into the kitchen.
Pulling on the robe with shaking hands, she belted it tightly and, sinking down in the nearest chair, groaned aloud.
So much for holding out against him.
Oh, dear Lord, what had she been thinking of? If it hadn’t been for the interruption, Ryan could have taken her right there on the hall carpet and she would have allowed it.
No, more than allowed it, welcomed it.
Oh, you fool! she berated herself. She had planned to freeze him off, to make it clear that she was no longer under his spell.
Instead her abject surrender must have boosted his confidence, made him even more certain that he could win…
Only he mustn’t. Much as she wanted him—and she did still want him, maybe she always would—she mustn’t let him win.
Through her tumult of mind she was aware of the front door opening and Ryan’s voice saying, ‘Thanks. How much do I owe you?’
By the time he came through to the kitchen carrying a brightly coloured cardboard box with a handle, she had gathered the remnants of her dignity around her like a tattered cloak.
Standing up, she faced him squarely. ‘I want you to leave, now, this minute.’
Unpacking the various foil containers onto the pine table, he said mildly, ‘I like Chinese food and, as you appear to have ordered enough for two, it would be a shame to waste it.’
Looking dazedly at the number of containers, she realised that her repeat of the order had caused confusion and had resulted in them delivering far too much food.
Watching her face, he asked ironically, ‘Was it a Freudian slip? Did you subconsciously want or expect me to be here?’
‘No, I certainly didn’t. If I wanted anyone here, it would be Charles.’
She could tell by the way Ryan’s mouth tightened that her answer had annoyed him, but all he said was, ‘Do you have any bowls and chopsticks?’
‘In the cupboard,’ she answered shortly. He might insist on staying, but that didn’t mean she was prepared to make him welcome.
Slipping out of his jacket, he hung it over the back of a chair before opening the cupboard door.
Along with the bowls was a small electric hotplate. Infuriatingly at home, he took it out and, having plugged it in, arranged the foil containers on it.
Loosening the lids, he suggested, ‘Why don’t you sit down and tell me what you’d like to start with?’
Still standing, she said curtly, ‘I don’t want anything to eat. I’ve lost my appetite.’
He raised dark level brows. ‘That’s a pity. Still if you’re quite sure you don’t want to eat, we could always start a precedent.’
Alarmed by the silky menace in his tone, the glint in his eye, she demanded, ‘What do you mean, start a precedent?’
‘Don’t you think it would be a nice change to be carried upstairs and made love to in bed?’
All the fight going out of her, she sat down abruptly.
White teeth gleamed as he laughed. ‘No? Oh, well…’ Taking a seat opposite, he queried, ‘So what’s it to be? The sesame prawn toast looks good.’ Leaning towards her, he offered her a piece.
His dark silk shirt was open at the neck, exposing the strong column of his throat. Remembering how she had sometimes buried her face against it when he’d made love to her, her mouth went dry.
Lifting her eyes, she met his ironic gaze, and felt the colour flood into her cheeks.
‘You look warm,’ he observed innocently. ‘Do you have any nice cool wine?’
Somehow she managed to say, ‘There’s a bottle open in the fridge.’
He found a couple of glasses and filled them with Chablis. Then, having helped them both to chicken and cashew nuts, he picked up his bamboo chopsticks and, sorting out one of the fat, gleaming cashews, reached across the table.
Without conscious volition, her mouth opened and he popped it in.
His action was like a blow to the solar plexus, winding her and making her heart thump erratically.
Eating their first meal together in New York’s Chinatown, she had mentioned that she only ordered that particular dish because she adored cashew nuts.
Loverlike, he had fed her the nuts from his own bowl. After that it had become a kind of tender ritual.
Except, of course, that it had only been play-acting. He might have wanted her, he undoubtedly had, but he had never loved her, had never felt any real tenderness for her. He had just wanted to use her.
But she had refused to be used, though it had broken her heart to leave him…
As though following her train of thought, Ryan said abruptly, ‘You still haven’t told me why you ran the way you did.’
‘You ought to know.’
‘If it was what I can only presume it was—’
‘Did you think I wouldn’t mind?’ she burst out. ‘Think I’d play along, let you use me and say nothing?’
He frowned. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. You’d better explain.’
Infuriated by his denial, she jumped to her feet. ‘I’ve no intention of explaining anything. I want you to go, and if you won’t go, then I will!’
As she turned away, he said quietly, ‘Sit down and finish your meal.’
Their glances met and clashed.
She wanted to disobey his order, to walk away, but she couldn’t leave, and she found herself subsiding into her chair.
After a moment, he asked softly, ‘Why didn’t you at least let me know you were safe?’
‘Why do you suppose?’
‘You didn’t think I might worry about you?’
‘I tried not to think of you at all.’
‘What about the rest of the family?’
When she said nothing, he went on, ‘They were all very upset and concerned that you’d gone without a word. Beth in particular…’
‘I’m sorry about that. I liked your stepmother.’ It was the truth. In fact, with one exception, she’d liked the whole family.
‘She had another heart attack,’ he added flatly.
Virginia caught her breath.
Seeing the apprehension on her face, Ryan said quickly, ‘A fairly mild one, thank the Lord.’
‘Then, she’s all right?’
‘She made a good recovery. Which is just as well.’
‘You mean if she hadn’t, you would have held me responsible?’
‘I do hold you responsible.’
Virginia flinched at the bitter irony. It had been mainly to safeguard his stepmother’s fragile state of health that she had chosen to run as she did.
‘Do Janice and Steven?’
‘What do you think?’
Her heart sank. Still, it was better that they should blame her, a comparative stranger, rather than know something that would almost certainly tear their close-knit family apart.
One half of her still wondered incredulously how Ryan had been able to do what he did. But perhaps he’d found it impossible to help himself? Love could be a powerful, overriding force…
As could the need for revenge.
Though more sinned against than sinning, she had wrecked all his carefully laid plans and, in his own eyes at least, had made him look a fool.
Not something a man like him would easily forgive.
She shivered.
‘You’re surely not cold?’ Ryan asked.
‘No.’
‘Ashamed?’
‘Why should I be ashamed?’
‘I can think of several good reasons. First and foremost that you treated a woman, who had taken you to her heart, in such a callous fashion…’
Perhaps, in retrospect, she should have left a note, made up some excuse for going… But, shocked and stunned, feeling mortally wounded, she hadn’t known what to say.
‘I’m sorry if it seemed that way. I never meant to hurt her…’
A shrill bleating cut through her words.
‘Excuse me.’ Reaching into his jacket pocket he produced a mobile phone. ‘Falconer… It has? Good… Yes… Yes… Be with you shortly.’
Dropping the phone back in his pocket, he rose to his feet and pulled on his jacket. ‘I’m sorry I have to leave quite so soon.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t say the same,’ she informed him trenchantly.
Paying her back for her show of spirit, he came round the table and with studied insolence slipped his hand inside the lapels of her robe and cupped her breast.
Knowing that he was waiting for her to jump up and protest, summoning every last ounce of will-power, she sat still and silent.
Smiling a little, he bent his dark head and his mouth brushed hers. ‘When you’re in bed on your own tonight, dream that I’m making love to you.’
‘Not if I can help it,’ she spat at him.
‘If you’re frustrated enough, you might find it impossible not to.’
‘I’m not frustrated.’
Smiling, he rubbed his thumb over the nipple until it firmed. ‘You were always very responsive.’
Unable to stand any more, she jerked away and, dragging the lapels together, jumped to her feet. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something? Or should I say, someone?’
His blue-violet eyes narrowed.
‘Charles might not be a young man by your standards, but he’s fit and in his prime. If I am frustrated I won’t need to stay that way.’
She saw a white line appear round Ryan’s mouth and, fiercely glad that he was furious, laughed in his face.
With a sound almost like a growl, he took her upper arms, his fingers biting into the soft flesh, and warned softly, ‘Don’t even think about it. From now on I intend to be the only man in your life, so if Raynor does get any bright ideas about making love to you, it will pay you to say no, and mean it.’
Dragging her right up against him, he kissed her once more. This time his kiss was hard and unsparing, rocking her to her very foundations. Then suddenly she was free.
‘Be seeing you,’ he said mockingly.
A moment later she heard the front door open and close.
Badly shaken, she went through to the hall on unsteady legs. Ryan was gone, but she noted abstractedly that her purse had been picked up and placed neatly on the telephone table.
Trembling now as reaction set in, she sank down on the bottom step of the stairs and stared blindly into space while her thoughts whirled.
Oh, dear Lord, what was she to do? Ryan’s unwelcome visit had proved at least two terrifying things: that he was in deadly earnest; and that her chances of resisting him were practically nil.
It had been that way from the start. She had looked at him and had loved him, heart and soul.
Recognising at some deep, subconscious level that he was the one she had been waiting all her life for, she had given herself to him with a joyous certainty, and the hope of a happy ever after.
But that happy ever after had been short-lived. A bare two months from its rapturous start to its bitter ending…
And now, unless she could find some way of keeping Ryan at bay, the torture would start all over again.
She would still be there, and even if his feelings for the other woman—love or obsession, call it what one will—had died, the situation would still be quite intolerable.
No matter what he said about wanting only her, Virginia knew that she would never again be able to believe nor trust him. And he must know that… It might even be part of his revenge to have her on the rack of jealousy and torment…
No, no, she couldn’t, wouldn’t go back to him.
But, even as she tried to make herself believe it, she knew she was like a moth that, unable to help itself, was drawn irresistibly and fatally towards a candle flame.
CHAPTER THREE
GRITTING her teeth, she tried to reject that frightening image. Somehow she must help herself. Find a way out of still loving Ryan.
If only she had loved Charles enough to marry him… But it wasn’t so much a case of not loving Charles, as of still loving Ryan.
Though how could she go on loving a man who hated her? Who only wanted to hurt her? It was utter madness. That kind of self-destructive love could end up wrecking her whole life.
If she allowed it to.
But even if she was strong enough to hold out against him, all she had to look forward to was an empty future.
As far as she was concerned, love and sex went hand in hand. She wasn’t one for casual sex nor for affairs, but she was a young woman still with natural needs.
True those needs had been smothered and suppressed for over two-and-a-half years, but how quickly they had flared into life as soon as Ryan had kissed her.
If she didn’t want to live like a nun, marrying Charles, a man she was fond of and respected, was the obvious answer. She would be safe then, her future more hopeful, with the prospect of children and a happy, family life.
As for her reservations about it not being fair to him, well, she had told him honestly how she felt, and he’d said he was willing to try…
So why not? It might be no grande passion, at least on her side, but if she could make him happy…
The clock chiming eight roused her. With a bit of luck, Charles would be home in about half an hour.
Getting to her feet, she went back to the kitchen and, making a determined effort to think about the brighter future she had envisaged, rather than the unhappy past, began to wash up and clear away the debris of the meal.
She had only just finished and plugged in the kettle when she heard the sound of Charles’s key in the lock.
Hurrying through to the hall, she smiled at him. ‘You’re back nice and early.’
Hearing the relief in her voice, he was glad that he’d hurried straight home rather than going on to a pub, as his companion had suggested when their business was over.
‘How did your appointment go?’
‘Very well.’
‘That’s good.’
She sounded distracted, he thought, as though her mind was on other things.
Studying her pale, drawn face, he asked gently, ‘Headache still bothering you?’
‘No, not really. I took some tablets when I first got home. By the way, the kettle’s on if you’d like some coffee?’
‘Love some.’
Wearing the robe he had bought her, and with her curly hair tumbling around her shoulders, he thought she had never looked so lovely. Nor so fraught. Something had happened to seriously upset her.
Wondering if she wanted to talk about it, or if she would prefer to be alone, he asked carefully, ‘Were you thinking of having an early night?’
Shaking her head, she explained, ‘I didn’t bother getting dressed again after my shower.’
‘Then if you’re not off to bed, why don’t you have some coffee with me?’
‘Yes, I’d like to. There’s something I want to tell you.’
He hung up the jacket of his suit, and was starting to follow her into the kitchen when she said hastily, ‘I’ll bring it through to the living-room.’
The kitchen was still uncomfortably full of Ryan’s presence.
When she had filled the cafetière and had put the coffee things on the tray, she carried it in and set it down on the low table.
The west-facing room, always pleasant in the evening, was full of low sun, which threw a distorted pattern of oblong window panes and leafy branches onto the magnolia walls.
She poured the coffee, stirred sugar and cream into his, and handed it to him.
‘Thank you. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve being waited on,’ he remarked humorously.
Too tense to sit still, she left her own cup untouched and, wandering over to the window, stood looking out while the silence lengthened.
Now the moment had arrived, she had no idea how to broach the subject.
Watching her and guessing her difficulty, he said, ‘What was it you wanted to tell me?’
Still she hesitated. Suppose he’d had second thoughts about his proposal? Decided it had been a mistake?
Well there was only one way to find out. Turning, she took the bull by the horns. ‘When you asked me to marry you, you said if I ever changed my mind the offer would still be open…’
Thrown, because it was the last thing he’d expected her to say, it was a second or two before he assured her, ‘It is.’
As she let out the breath she’d been unconsciously holding, his blue eyes filled with a dawning hope, he asked urgently, ‘Have you changed your mind?’
‘Yes. I will marry you, if you still want me to.’
‘Darling!’ He was on his feet and gathering her close, eager as a boy. ‘Believe me, I’ve never wanted anything more.’
He held her firmly, with no sign of diffidence, and his kiss was pleasant, almost exciting.
After a while he stopped kissing her to ask, ‘What made you change your mind?’
‘Well, I…I got to thinking… I’d like a husband and a home and a family… You do want children?’ she added a shade anxiously.
‘I’d never actually thought about it,’ he answered honestly. ‘But if that’s what it takes to make you happy… How many were you thinking of?’ He sounded like a man on a high, a man who could hardly believe his luck.
‘At least two, possibly three or four.’
‘Why stop at four?’ he teased.
‘Charles… You are quite certain this is what you want? A wife and family, I mean?’
‘Quite certain. Forty-three isn’t too old.’
‘No, of course it isn’t.’
‘But I’m not getting any younger, so how soon will you marry me?’
‘As soon as you want.’
‘What kind of wedding would you like?’
‘A quiet one.’
‘You don’t want a white dress with all the trimmings?’
Knowing she must tell him the truth, she said flatly, ‘White is the sign of virginity.’
‘And you’re not a virgin?’
‘No. I’m sorry if that bothers you.’
‘My darling, I’m not Victorian enough to support the old double standard. Though I’ve been fairly circumspect in my dealings with women, I certainly haven’t lived like a monk, and I wouldn’t expect a woman of twenty-four never to have had lovers—’
‘Not lovers in the plural,’ she said quietly.
‘One special one?’
‘Yes.’
His heart sank. Several lovers that didn’t really matter was one thing… One special lover that, judging by her face, mattered a great deal was another.
Remembering Virginia’s reaction to the dark, powerful-looking man who had come into the gallery that afternoon, he said, ‘It was Ryan Falconer, wasn’t it?’
Moistening her dry lips, she nodded.
He drew her over to the settee and when she sank down on the soft cushions, took a seat by her side. ‘I think you’d better tell me about him.’
The last person she wanted to talk about just at that minute was Ryan, and half hoping for a reprieve, she stammered, ‘I—I don’t know where to start.’
‘Start at the beginning,’ Charles suggested quietly.
Seeing no help for it, she gathered herself, and began. ‘It’s getting on for three years since we first met. I’d left art school and was working in the Trantor Gallery, when late one morning a man came in…’
While she told him the bare bones of it, memory fleshed out the details and she relived the past as though it was the present…
The gallery was quiet, as it usually was towards noon, just an elderly couple browsing, and a small group of men in business suits discussing the relative merits of two abstract paintings.
Sitting behind the polished-wood reception desk, Virginia was checking the contents of a catalogue when the smoked glass door opened and a man came in and strolled across.
Tall and well-built, with thick dark hair that tried to curl a little, he was dressed in the latest smart-casual De Quincy jacket and handmade shoes.
As he got closer she could see he was somewhere in his early thirties, with a tough, masculine face, strong features and a beautiful mouth.
He was one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. No, more than just attractive, he was what Marsha would have termed drop-dead gorgeous.
‘Miss Adams?’ The most incredible blue-violet eyes, with faint laughter lines at the corners, smiled into hers.
Virginia found it quite impossible not to stare into those eyes and, instantly captivated, her mouth went dry, and her heartbeat quickened.
Wits scattered, she stammered, ‘Y-yes.’
‘My name’s Ryan Falconer. I’m acquainted with your parents.’
‘They live in New York,’ she said stupidly.
White teeth flashed in a smile. ‘Yes, I know, I had lunch with them a couple of days ago, and they told me where to find you…’
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