Escape Me Never (16 page)

'That's big of you,' she interrupted contemptously.

'But what I want now,' he went on as if he hadn't heard. 'Is for us. to be together for a while, sharing a roof, with no hassle, and no outside distractions.'

'No hassle?' Cassie gave a derisive laugh, her hands clenched tightly together in her lap. 'You say sharing a roof, but what you mean is sharing your bed.'

He sighed. 'There is more than one bedroom, Cassie. Naturally, I'd prefer you to sleep with me, but I don't insist on it.'

'That is, of course, a relief,' Cass said sarcastically. 'But I hope you don't expect me to be grateful.'

He said drily, 'No, darling. I'm not that unrealistic'

'And don't call me darling,' she snapped.

'As you please,' he said. 'What would you prefer? She-devil?'

She shot him a hostile glance, and relapsed into silence. She had no idea where they were, and no intention of asking either. But she was aware that they were well away from any main road, travelling through narrow lanes where trees, flaunting their springtime greenery arched to form shadowy tunnels, permitting the filtering sunlight to form a delicate tracery on the road. They met little other traffic, and Rohan seemed in no great hurry to reach their eventual destination.

Perhaps he was having second thoughts. Cass found herself praying that he was. In spite of his assurances, the prospect of being alone with him, living in the same house for perhaps several days, was an unutterable torment.

And she was under no illusion as to why she was with him, she told herself stonily. As far as he was concerned, as he'd admitted, she was— unfinished business. An irritation which he needed, physically, to assuage.

And she needed it too. In spite of everything that had happened, her newly awakened body ached, pleaded for fulfilment.

Ached for him, Cass acknowledged in bitter despair. Because she knew that if she gave in to the pressure of her senses and emotions, she would regret it forever.

If she'd been a different person, maybe she could have settled for what he was offering. Could have been content, for a while, to dwell on the margin of his life, and accept it philosophically when it was over.

But for her to give herself to belong to him, knowing that there was no real place for her in his life, or share in his future, would be intolerable. No sensual satisfaction, however intense, could ever compensate for the heartbreak which would inevitably follow.

And there was Jodie to consider too. Jodie, who was already too fond of Rohan, and becoming too involved with the family at Graystocks. Cass could imagine the child's disappointment and disillusion when it all came to an end.

She thought drearily, 'I should never have let it begin.'

She was aware of the car slowing, and realised that they must have arrived. She bit back a gasp when she saw the house. It was low and rambling, white-painted under a thatched roof, with small dormer windows. And later in the year when the wisteria over the doorway came into bloom, and the climbing roses were in flower, it would probably be too beautiful to be true, she thought.

Rohan parked under a lilac tree on the paved forecourt, and opened his door.

He said pleasantly, 'As you can see, we've arrived. Now, you can either walk to the door in the normal way, or you can be carried there, kicking and screaming if need be. There's no one around to hear or care, anyway. The choice is yours.'

He walked round the car, and opened her door. 'Well, which is it to be?'

She said coldly, 'I'll get there unaided. I've not the slightest wish to feel your hands on me again.'

His expression did not alter. 'As you wish.'

She stood watching as he unlocked the boot and took out two cases.

'Sure you've brought enough?' Cass jibed. 'I, of course, have only the clothes I stand up in.'

'One of these is for you,' he said. 'Mostly Marcia's things, I'm afraid, as we didn't have much time, but she thinks you're roughly the same size.'

'Thank you,' she said. 'And I shall never forgive your sister for her part in this either.'

'She'd be sorry to hear that.' He carried the cases to the front door. 'She likes you.'

'Then she has the oddest way of showing it,' Cass said savagely, following him into the house.

The hall was small and square with a flagged floor, the air redolent of old fashioned polish and pot pourri.

'I'll take the cases up when you've had a look round and decided what room you'll be using,' Rohan said levelly. 'But that can wait until after lunch, I expect you're hungry.'

'Not particularly,' denied Cass, who was starving.

'What a pity.' He smiled faintly. 'Mrs Barber who looks after the place in my absence promised to leave one of her meat and potato pies as a welcome gift. But I'm sure I can manage your share as well.'

He led the way into the sitting room, and Cass, recognising that the wind had been taken out of her sails, followed. It was a big, sunny room, traditionally furnished, with a huge sofa, and deeply cushioned armchairs upholstered in chintz. Paper and kindling was waiting in the big dog grate on the wide hearth, and a basket of logs stood to hand.

'I'll get this going.' Rohan took a box of matches from the mantelpiece. 'The kitchen's the far door on the opposite side of the hall. Perhaps you'd like to make some coffee.'

'Well, I wouldn't.' Cass said ungraciously. 'I'm not here to sleep with you, and I'm not here to cook either. Make your own coffee, if you want it.'

He shrugged. 'It's no real hardship, if that's what you thought. I happen to like cooking, and I only get a chance to practise when I'm down here.'

'And I'm not interested in your domestic arrangements either.' Cass bit her lip. 'All I want to know is when you're going to admit that this whole situation is a mistake, and let me go.'

He added some logs to the fire, now burning up merrily, and stood, dusting off his hands.

He said quietly, 'You're free to leave at any time, Cassie.' He walked over to a Queen Anne bureau in the corner and opened a drawer, extracting a small white card.

He held it out to her. 'The name and telephone number of the local taxi-driver,' he told her. 'You can call him any time you want to, and he'll drive you anywhere you wish to go, and send the bill to me. There's a 'phone on the table behind the sofa, and another on the wall in the kitchen. Now, I'm going to get some lunch. You're welcome to join me, if you want to.'

He walked out of the room, and closed the door behind him.

Moving stiffly, the card clutched in her hand, Cass moved to the telephone. She lifted the receiver and held it to her ear. Held it until the dull purr of the dialling tone seemed to fill the world.

Then, slowly, as if her body was acting independently of her will, she replaced the 'phone on the rest, and pushed the card into the pocket of her jeans.

She would telephone later, she told herself. After lunch. When she could think straight again.

She looked round the bright and beckoning room. Felt its serenity settle on her like a warm coat.

This house—this whole situation spelled danger.

Aloud, she said, like a vow, 'I must get away. I must…'

In spite of her protest, Cass found she did full justice to her share of the meat and potato pie. The cottage had its own small, elegant dining room, but they ate in the kitchen, sitting at the scrubbed pine table. In spite of its gleaming units, and range of gadgets, the room had a warm, welcoming atmosphere, and as soon as the meal was over, Cass hastily escaped to the back garden.

She felt mean about not offering to lend a hand with the dishes, but she had to stick to her guns—make it clear that there were going to be no concessions. For her own peace of mind, she had to stay aloof, refuse to come even a third of the way to meet him.

The land at the back of the house wasn't nearly as controlled as the pretty rose garden which fronted it. In fact, it was pretty overgrown, although not disastrously so, and Cass could see that someone had already made a start on cutting back the tangle of grass, bushes and undergrowth. Probably the male equivalent of the unknown Mrs Barber, she thought, and turned to go back to the house. She stopped with a start, as she realised Rohan was lounging in the doorway watching her.

She sought for a safely neutral remark. 'This is a delightful place,' she said at last. 'Another family home?'

'No, this belongs to me alone.' He smiled faintly. 'Everyone needs a retreat, Cassie, and this is mine. I found it, bought it, renovated it and now I'm beginning to enjoy it.' He glanced round. 'But this garden's a bit of a problem because I can't spare as much time to be here as I'd like.'

'You do the gardening yourself?' she asked, frankly surprised.

His smile widened into a grin. 'Did you think cooking was my only accomplishment?' he inquired. 'No, this is my own small wilderness, which I intend to tame—in time.' His eyes touched her mouth like a sudden caress. 'You'll find I can have infinite patience—when I need it.'

'I'm sure you can,' she said huskily. 'But in my case, it won't be necessary, because I'm 'phoning for that taxi right away.'

She'd expected some protest, but he merely shrugged. 'Just as you wish. I'm going to start on those nettles.'

She almost flew into the kitchen and dialled. At first the line was engaged, but when she tried again, a woman's voice answered.

'He's not here, I'm afraid,' she said in response to Cass's query. 'He's taken a gentleman to Brighton, and bringing him back tomorrow sometime.'

'Oh.' Cass's heart sank. 'Well—I'll try again— perhaps tomorrow evening?'

'That might be best,' the woman agreed.

Cass put the 'phone down and looked at it blankly. Tomorrow, she thought. A whole day— and a night—to get through before she could escape.

She wandered restlessly from room to room, catching frequent glimpses from the windows of Rohan working in the garden, scything down weeds with easy competence. Once or twice he paused in his task, and glanced towards the house, and Cass shrank back hurriedly behind the shelter of the curtains, terrified that he might have seen her peeping at him—like some adolescent with a crush, she thought bitterly.

Eventually, she made herself some tea, and after a short inner struggle took him a cup. She'd expected some edged remark about capitulation— and to be interrogated as to why she was still around—but all she got was a casual word of thanks as he took the cup from her.

He'd discarded his shirt, hanging it over the branch of a tree, and his bronzed skin was filmed with sweat. Her eyes were wrenched to him, to the width of his shoulders, the faint shadowing of hair across his chest, and the way it grew in a vee down his flat stomach, the tautness of his ribcage, the way the muscles under his skin rippled as he moved. The breath caught clumsily in her throat as she remembered all too potently the scent of his skin, the play of those muscles under her shyly exploring hands. Remembered what it had been like to be held close in his arms…

With a start, she realised he was watching her, the hazel eyes quizzical. Oh God, she was practically devouring him with her gaze, and he had to be aware of it. Burning all over, she beat a hasty retreat back to the house.