Dangerous Nights
When his stroking hands became bolder, arrogantly exploring the length of her spine to cup the petite swell of her buttocks in their skimpy triangle of cream lace, crushing her punishingly against the hardening bulge of his own body, fear and self-preservation came to her rescue. Blindly, she wrenched her mouth free, aimed a fiercely furious kick at his shins, and began to thump and pummel his chest with her fists.
‘Stop it, stop it…!’ she was half sobbing in the darkness.
‘You’re not playing this game any more?’ The tersely teasing words were bitten between clenched teeth.
She found herself released unceremoniously.
‘OK,’ he told her bluntly. His eyes were moving over her dishevelled, distressed state without compunction. ‘Tonight’s your lucky night, lady. You’re dealing with someone who abides by the rules. Usually. Treat that as a lesson in consequences.’
‘Consequences…?’ She could hardly speak.
‘Of your own actions. Save your flirting games for the boys in your drama class, Ana.’
He’d said he’d teach her a lesson—and he had, she reflected bitterly, the tears drying on her white face as he turned and walked away.
And even if he’d left it there, stayed right away from her from then on, it would still have been a lesson she’d never have forgotten…
How had he become so…embittered? Ana wondered now, huddled in the early morning chill of the kitchen, gazing through the spiral of steam from her mug of tea. The promise of another glorious September day was gilding the scene through the window, but she didn’t see it. All she could see was that ruthless glitter in Jed’s eyes as he’d demonstrated his superior strength, annihilated her self-esteem…
There was nothing soft about Jed Steele. Nothing warm. And by the time he’d finished amusing himself with her that fateful weekend every one of her fragile, youthful emotions seemed to have iced over to match…
The knock at the front door brought her back to the present with a jolt. Nine o’clock. Not an accepted time for callers on a Sunday morning…
Her shock at seeing Jed, calmly standing on the doorstep, was swiftly followed by horror at the state she was in. Pale and sleepy, hair wildly awry, the crimson dressing-gown bundled round her anyhow, she glared at him furiously. He looked impossibly attractive, in close-fitting Levis, white shirt and thick-ribbed navy jersey. A soft fawn suede jacket was slung over his shoulders. In daylight, the crisp, wind-ruffled brown hair had subtle gold-bronze lights in it. The cool green gaze and strong, tanned features were even more painfully familiar.
‘Not you again!’ she managed, raking an unsteady hand through her hair.
‘Can I come in?’
He didn’t wait for an answer. Overpoweringly blocking the hall, he eyed her up and down wryly.
‘I had some interesting dreams last night. How about you?’
‘Mine were nightmares,’ she supplied shortly. ‘What do you want, Jed?’
‘I came to find out what actresses do on Sundays.’
‘This one usually sleeps in late, then catches up on the jobs she hasn’t had time to do in the week.’
‘I hope I didn’t get you out of bed?’ He didn’t sound particularly repentant.
‘No. I was awake.’
‘Bacon, eggs and coffee would go down well.’
‘Jed, I really…’
He’d strolled into the kitchen, and was investigating the decidedly sketchy contents of the fridge and larder.
‘Go and get dressed, Ana,’ he ordered with a grin, shutting the fridge door with a slight shake of his head. ‘I’ll take you out for breakfast.’
‘I don’t want to go out for breakfast.’
‘Well, I do. And I didn’t forgo the full English version at my hotel to make do with half a bowl of cornflakes and a slice of mouldy toast. So move it.’
Her jaw dropped, but suddenly words failed her. Curiosity, strong, potent and dangerous, had begun to consume her. Whatever had brought Jed determinedly back into her life, he appeared to have some purpose. And she might have grown a protective shell these last four years, but the sight of Jed lounging nonchalantly in her small kitchen, professing a desire to eat breakfast with her, was more than her embattled defences could stand.
‘OK,’ she agreed flatly, swinging out of the door to hide her eyes from that probing, all-seeing gaze. ‘If having breakfast with you is what it takes to get rid of you, fine. Breakfast it is. Just breakfast…’
‘Just breakfast,’ Jed agreed easily. But something in the wry tone of his voice made the soft hairs all over her body prickle into red alert…
CHAPTER THREE
THE short drive to Jed’s hotel was accomplished in chilly silence. He was staying in one of the most luxurious hotels in the town, a half-timbered Elizabethan affair set in its own grounds. The dining-room was elegant, overlooking the river. Pale green damask cloths adorned the tables, with china bowls of russet chrysanthemums.
While Jed calmly consumed bacon, sausage, egg, fried bread and grilled tomatoes, Ana tried valiantly to do the same. But she was too tense to eat. To avoid eye contact, she kept her eyes on the view through the small leaded-light windows. The tranquil River Avon flowed very close by. She could see sunlit willows across the river, stroking the water with their lacy branches. A swan glided by, its beady eyes scanning the banks for tourists bearing bread.
‘Eat your breakfast,’ he ordered, shooting her a bleak grin.
‘I did tell you I wasn’t hungry.’
‘So you did.’ Leaning back in his chair, he scanned her impassively. Wriggling slightly under that cool scrutiny, she gazed about the room. There were guests at several of the tables near by. An American couple, and Germans, French and Japanese, Ana deduced, from the rich blend of languages and accents. Part of the ever-present pageant of tourists, flocking to experience Shakespeare’s county, to absorb the atmosphere left by the centuries. Stratford’s lure for visitors from so many different countries and cultures never failed to give her a warm little glow of pleasure.
Until now. Right now, she could think of nothing except devising some casual, uninterested-sounding excuse to escape from Jed’s company…
‘You look tired, Ana,’ he murmured, pushing his knife and fork together and lifting a hand to summon the waiter. ‘I imagine acting is an exhausting profession?’ There was no expression in his voice.
‘It can be very tiring,’ she agreed equally tonelessly. The waiter poured more tea into her cup, topped up Jed’s black coffee, then disappeared obediently in search of more toast. ‘You don’t get much time off. But I love it…’
‘When did you last take a holiday?’
She shrugged slightly, irritation creeping in. ‘Heavens, I can’t remember. I’ve got a free ten-day slot coming up soon, I think. Another play’s preview week. But it’s possible to do the entire season without a holiday. It’s just the luck of the draw.’
‘Is that why you’re looking like the walking dead?’
‘Spare me the flowery compliments!’ she snapped. ‘If you must know I’m feeling… stunned! I can’t believe I’m seeing you again!’ Horrified, she heard herself blurting it out. ‘I thought I never would. See you again, I mean. Part of it is like a nightmare. Part of it feels more like a dream. A dream I’ve had on and off since that weekend at Farthingley…’
She caught her lip in her teeth, mortified. So much for her urgent desire to play it cool, to escape.
‘I’ve thought about Farthingley, too.’ His deep voice was guarded.
Her face felt hot. Beneath her loose, scoop-necked emerald sweatshirt, her breasts tingled, the tips traitorously tightened like press-studs.
How could he still make her feel like this? Fighting the waves of heat, she struggled angrily to examine her subconscious feelings. Trying to make sense of her reaction to him felt like agitating muddy water with a stick. Hadn’t she hated him, despised him, resented him, blamed him for her sexual hang-ups, for the last four years? Burned with mortification, whenever she remembered that rejection on the lawn, and then the second, even more devastating rejection, the later episode she could hardly bear to relive? Was she so weak that she could sit here now, bleating on about dreams, as if he could still mean something to her?
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘No. I guess you wouldn’t.’
She fixed him with an intense brown gaze.
‘Unless it was to think back and gloat?’ she suggested tightly. ‘Presumably you got quite a kick out of that weekend?’
Jed’s face had darkened.
‘I was doing a job that weekend.’
‘Oh, yes, the mysterious “job". The one which entailed prowling round with portable phones and two-way radios and pouncing on innocent girls practising their Shakespeare in the garden?’
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