After three days in bed, Zara was delighted to be throwing off her pyjamas. Opening her wardrobe, she surveyed her options. She selected a powder-blue Stella McCartney suit. She’d bought it at Harvey Nics as a celebration when the Morgan-Huntly design job she’d done had been featured in Ideal Home magazine.
The suit was three years old, but it was one of those outfits that made her feel great, and people always commented when she wore it. She teamed it with a cream silk shirt.
In the bathroom, she held her face close to the mirror and applied her make-up carefully. She touched her lashes with a little more mascara than usual. She selected a cherry-red lipstick she hadn’t worn in months and outlined her lips with the bold colour.
Slipping on the jacket, she admired herself in the mirror. But was she wearing it simply to be professional at her meeting with the charity events manager or had she selected it hoping Xavier would notice? Her body warmed. Last night had been dangerous. Another moment with Xavier’s naked chest so close and she wouldn’t have needed a game to strip off her clothes.
She shook her head. See . . . passion. It made you do stupid things, forget yourself. Imagine the consequences of sleeping with Xavier. She’d give him her heart and he’d leave for America a few days later. Xavier’s disappearance from her life had been the worst kind of torture, and she didn’t want to walk blindly again into that chamber of horrors.
Brushing her hair a little too roughly, she pulled it back into a tight ponytail. It’d taken her years to excise Xavier from her heart; letting him back and losing him again might just kill her.
She headed down to the kitchen. The clatter of plates announced Xavier was cooking breakfast. She closed her eyes and drew in a long, slow breath. Xavier’s just a guest. Xavier’s just a guest. She opened her eyes, placed her hand on the door and braced herself to see the man who’d invaded her dreams and had her tangled up in the sheets all night.
‘Morning,’ she announced in a singsong voice to ensure her tone didn’t betray her lingering thoughts.
Xavier stood over the stove. From the aroma wafting across the room, he was cooking bacon and eggs again.
‘Morning,’ he said, glancing up. ‘You’re lucky it’s day four, or you’d be in my arms again and into bed.’
The thought sent a little shiver through her body. She’d tried to visit the stables yesterday to discover what Xavier had been up to out there. But before she’d crossed the lawn, he’d lifted her in his arms and carried her back to bed, reciting the doctor’s instructions.
‘You’re certainly the man to call if you’re sick,’ she said, sitting down at the table.
He handed her a cup of freshly brewed coffee. ‘I don’t give this service to just anyone, you know.’
‘So I’m someone special, am I?’ Heat flashed across her chest. She hadn’t meant to say that. To beg for a clarification of what she meant to him. Aside from the burning throat, the last three days had been magic. She knew he’d felt it too. As though that bond between them had reignited, meshing them together once again.
‘You were once the most special person in this world,’ Xavier said, giving his attention to flipping the bacon.
She twisted her fingers together. And now?
For three days he’d cared for her, cooked for her, slept in the same room in case she needed him. He’d worked at the stables all day and then sat with her at mealtimes. It was the Xavier she’d known before their lives had turned to hell. Kind, attentive, generous Xavier. She still found it difficult to accept it had all been an elaborate façade.
What was she to him now?
‘So what have you been doing all this time in the stables?’ she asked, pushing the confusion from her mind. She had to show the stable block to the event manager in an hour and there was still a huge amount to do to make the building acceptable.
A view of the stables was shrouded from the house by a small wood of oak trees. She’d heard a number of vehicles hum up and down the drive during her confinement. She was bursting to know what he’d been doing out there, but he’d refused to tell her while she’d been sick. ‘You can tell me now I’m better,’ she stated.
Xavier handed her a plate of bacon, eggs, fried tomato and wilted spinach.
‘This and that,’ he said, taking the seat across from her and picking up his cutlery. ‘If you’re feeling up to it, I’ll show you after breakfast.’
‘Brilliant.’ She’d thought he’d come up with some other excuse to keep his activities a secret. ‘But let’s get one thing clear,’ she said. ‘I’m fine now, so there’s no need to go carrying me around any more.’
‘No problem. I won’t lug you around, if you can stop hurting yourself or being sick for more than five minutes.’
‘It’s not as if I meant to crash and burn while you were here.’
‘Lucky it was me and not a big group of strangers. What would you have done then?’
She stabbed her egg with her fork and the yolk spread across the plate. Failed. That’s what she would have done: failed.
‘I’d have found a way,’ she said, flicking her ponytail back over her shoulder.
He shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ He sliced his knife through his bacon, slowly and deliberately. ‘Sometimes you find yourself in a situation where there’s no way out. A situation not of your making, but in which you have to suffer the consequences.’
Was he talking about his being set up again, or the fact her father had spun the wheel of their family’s fortune in the financial markets and lost – leaving her to fight for their financial future alone? Whichever he was referring to, she didn’t want to discuss it. Her appetite vanished. She shoved back her chair.
‘Let’s go see those stables,’ she said, standing.
‘Not until you finish at least the spinach and another egg,’ he said, not moving. ‘You need to rebuild your strength.’
She cocked her head to the side and threw him a frown. ‘You seem to be confusing yourself with someone who can dictate how I live my life.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Eat your breakfast.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘I can make you, you know.’
She wedged her hands on her hips. ‘Really?’
He nodded.
‘And how do you figure that?’
‘Well, I can pin you to the floor and tickle you until you beg for mercy.’
She took a step back. She was the most ticklish person on the planet. Xavier had always won whatever argument or game they were playing by resorting to this tactic when they’d been kids.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘You wouldn’t.’
‘Try me,’ he said, his gaze dark with challenge.
She hesitated.
‘You have five seconds.’ He held up five fingers and counted them down. She didn’t move. He couldn’t dictate her food intake, or any aspect of her life, for that matter.
He took down his final finger and stood.
She stepped slowly sideways away from him. He feinted toward her.
‘No,’ she screamed, holding her arms tight across her chest.
‘Egg and spinach,’ he said simply, retaking his seat. He picked up his cutlery and continued to eat as if he hadn’t just threatened her with childish yet effective tactics.
She picked up her fork and ate the spinach and egg without taking her seat. God, this man could be infuriating. It didn’t help that he was right. He always seemed to be right.
‘Happy?’ she asked, wiping her lips with her napkin.
Xavier grabbed the last piece of toast from his plate. ‘Follow me. We’ll have to be quick. I need to get on the road soon.’
Her shoulders sagged like a deflating balloon. She’d forgotten he had to leave for a few days – to attend the BAFTA Awards, no less. When they were alone she forgot he was a global superstar.
They walked in silence across the lawn to the stables. The morning was still and glorious. Two majestic swans glided across the lake – the only sound a happy birdsong of tiny wrens in the hedgerows.
She didn’t speak. Neither did Xavier. They seemed to be in silent agreement that the day was too perfect to be marred by human intervention.
Xavier took her hand. She glanced down and then up into his eyes.
He smiled. ‘Don’t want you falling down. Who knows what you’d break next time.’
If only that smile would erase what he’d done to her years ago.
‘I’m stronger than I look, you know.’
He squeezed her hand. ‘Yes, I’ve always known that.’
His words made her feel bulletproof and sad at the same time. He’d always believed in her and her dreams, but had that been part of the ruse to ingratiate himself into her life? Had Charlie’s affair with her mother been a set up to access the family’s treasures? She hated second-guessing their relationship.
She slipped her hand from his. ‘I need to move. Been cooped up too long.’ She ran under the trees and emerged into the sunshine a few moments later. Xavier ran past her and stopped in front of the stable doors.
‘I think you’ll find that the stables are now satisfactory for the charity auction,’ he said.
He hauled open the heavy wooden doors, his muscles tensing and bunching under his T-shirt. She held herself tight, to stop herself reaching out and running her hands over those gorgeous shoulders.
‘Your new exhibition space,’ he announced with a flourish.
She stepped inside. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light. She’d explained to the fair organisers that the space would still be rather rustic but clean.
Slowly, the transformation of the space became clear. She gasped, staring, eyes wide. Xavier turned on the lights and the reality of what he’d achieved in three days was revealed. An electric tingle ran down her arms and her hands flew to her chest.
Whitewashed walls, a freshly laid wooden floor, pearly-white down lights that directed the light into all the right spaces. The beautiful old beams had been sanded back, taking off hundreds of years of muck, and had been finished with a beautiful golden stain. The natural beauty of the ancient wood shone, highlighted against the simple white walls. The old grimy stables were now better appointed than the local art gallery.
‘How . . . What . . . How . . .’ She didn’t even know what questions to ask.
He took her hand and walked her to the middle of the room.
‘Well, I was going to do what you’d planned. Clean it out and whitewash the walls, but it had so much potential. I couldn’t stop at a little paint. So I drew up some plans and called in some help.
She turned slowly around and around, drinking in the changes. Xavier had perfectly blended the old-world charm of the building with modern features. It must have cost a fortune.
‘Xavier, I can’t afford this.’ The heavy pressure of panic settled on her chest.
He held both her hands. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got it covered.’
‘But . . . why would you do this?’ she asked weakly, not believing it was all real.
‘Well, we couldn’t let the kids down and you were sick, so. . . .’
Pure love flooded her heart. She threw her arms about his neck and hugged him tight. How could she ever have doubted this man?
‘Thank you. Thank you.’
This was her Xavier. The man she’d loved. Surely this must clear the slate of his teenage misdemeanours. He was honourable. He was ethical. He was trustworthy.
His arms circled her waist, bringing her body flush with his. So close. So close she could feel the beat of his heart. His heart raced. Her breath stalled.
He drew her closer. This was no friendly hug. The light caress of his breath stroked her neck. He brushed his cheek against the sensitive skin beneath her ear, then his lips followed. Fire blazed through her bloodstream. She drew in a stuttering breath.
‘Xavier,’ she whispered, her voice already altered with desire.
‘Say it again. Say my name again.’
His demand drove beads of desire deep, down low. Hell, she wanted to scream his name.
‘Xavier,’ she breathed, her lips close to his ear.
His body shuddered and he trailed kisses down her collarbone. She ran her fingers through his hair.
He straightened. The rings around his irises looked like molten gold, his eyes smouldering with want.
‘Now say you want me,’ he commanded.
His words sent a shiver of raw desire straight to her core. Zara placed her palms on his cheeks and drew his face in close to hers. The scent of cloves and raw masculinity assailed her nostrils. She dragged in a breath, dizzy with need. Her body demanded to be touched.
‘I’ve never stopped wanting you,’ she whispered.
Her words were like the key to the Pandora’s box of his desire. His hand slid up her neck and into her hair, locking her to him. His lips took hers, hard and demanding, as though the lost kisses of the last fifteen years must be crammed into this one kiss. This one moment. His other hand skimmed down and cupped her bottom, moulding their bodies together.
The intensity of his touch forced her eyes closed. She wanted to feel everything. She wanted more, so much more. She pulled at his shirt and fanned her hands up of his back. He anchored her hips more tightly to his body. Her belly pushed hard up against his erection.
Oh God. She dragged her nails down his smooth skin and was rewarded with a low moan. He kissed her deeper, his tongue seeking out her own. She craved more. Skin on skin.
He pulled her jacket aside and moulded his palm to her breast. She gasped. Her nipple reacted instantly, hardening and tingling. She needed to be touched. Touched inside. Now.
As if reading her mind, he slid his other hand down and drew her skirt up her thigh. She pulled from his mouth to haul in oxygen, fearing she might faint from pleasure.
‘Look at me,’ he commanded. The fire in his eyes drove her pulse into the stratosphere. She found his belt buckle.
‘No.’ He gripped her hand. ‘Touch me now and I’ll explode.’
Backing her up against a wall, he pinned her hand above her head. ‘And this is something I don’t want to rush.’
He pulled her skirt up slowly, so slowly. Giving her all the time in the world to stop him. She didn’t.
His fingers caressed the skin of her inner thigh. Need throbbed between her legs. He drew aside the fabric of her knickers. She held her breath, the sound of her heart loud in her ears.
His finger slid inside her. She arched back against the wall, her eyes shut, the intensity almost too much to endure.
‘Look at me, Zara.’
She looked into his beautiful hooded eyes. She felt wet and slick and shameless.
His thumb found that exact point and stroked with precision. Rivers of fire blazed through her body. She moaned and leaned back, giving him better access. He upped the rhythm. Stroking her faster with a firmer touch. Each caress sent a jolt of fire through her body. Over and over and over.
She couldn’t get enough air. She couldn’t handle the pleasure. She couldn’t . . . She couldn’t . . .
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
The orgasm hit fast and hard.
Her body snapped rigid. Wave after wave after wave of ecstasy pulsed through her body. Her legs lost their strength and she slumped. Xavier held her upright with his body. His harsh breathing was loud in her ear.
‘Hello?’
Somewhere in the back of her brain she registered a voice.
‘Yoo-hoo,’ a woman’s voice called. ‘Is anyone there?’
She froze and her blood turned to ice. Hell. Charlotte Morgan. The charity event woman. The meeting!
She pushed Xavier from her body and shoved her skirt down.
‘Wow,’ Charlotte exclaimed. ‘I can’t believe what you’ve done here.’
Xavier stood in front of her to give her a chance to rearrange her clothes and compose herself.
‘New floor too,’ Charlotte said.
Thank goodness, Charlotte was distracted by the beauty of the space. The many wooden poles gave them some protection from immediate detection.
‘You okay?’ he asked in a low voice.
‘Okay? I’ve just had the best orgasm of my life,’ she whispered, trying to bring her breathing under control. ‘Do I look okay? Is everything in the right place? My hair? My lipstick?’
‘No,’ he said.
She scanned herself quickly. ‘Whatever it is, fix it. Quick.’
He stroked a stand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear.
‘Everything won’t be in the right place until I have you beneath me and I’m inside you and you’re screaming my name.’
Was he trying to kill her?
‘This is incredible,’ Charlotte said, navigating herself around the pole to where Zara stood with Xavier. Charlotte was dressed in her usual sleek suit and heels, but her usual calm was now replaced with a quiver of excitement. ‘You certainly under-promised and over-delivered.’
Xavier stepped away and walked toward the door, obviously trying to avoid any interaction with Charlotte.
‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ Charlotte said, clearly oblivious to the scene she’d stumbled upon. ‘I know I’m a little early. I wasn’t sure how the traffic would be on the M25 but I had an excellent run. Don’t you love it when that happens?’
‘Thanks for showing me around your new facility, Zara,’ Xavier said in a professional tone. ‘It’s very impressive. I’ll be off.’
Zara frowned. She wanted to introduce Xavier to Charlotte. She wanted to explain, no, to rave about his transformation of the stables.
‘Xavier . . .’ Then she remembered. Remembered he wanted his stay to remain private.
But Charlotte turned. She took a step back. Her hand flew to her mouth.
‘Xavier Hunt?’ she said, her voice laced with total shock. She turned to Zara.
‘That’s Xavier Hunt,’ she said pointing.
Zara couldn’t help smiling. She’d never seen Xavier with a fan before. She found it funny and impressive simultaneously.
Xavier stepped forward. Zara knew he could never be rude to anyone.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Nice to meet you . . .’
Charlotte’s mouth was still the shape of a perfect O.
‘This is Charlotte Morgan from the Children’s Hospital,’ Zara explained. ‘She’s managing the charity fair.’
‘Nice to meet you, Charlotte,’ Xavier said, extending his hand.
Charlotte held out her hand but appeared to be in a daze. Xavier shook it firmly.
‘Well, I have to get moving. Goodbye, ladies.’ He strode from the stable block.
Charlotte stared after him until he disappeared from view.
‘That . . . I . . .’ Charlotte shook her head as if trying to wake herself from the best dream of her life. ‘Xavier Hunt,’ her voice wistful. ‘I can’t believe I just met Xavier Hunt.’ She stared down at her hand as if Xavier might have left an indelible mark. ‘What’s he doing here?’
‘He’s staying at the manor to write his new book.’ Zara lowered her voice. ‘But his stay is confidential, so I’d appreciate it if you don’t mention it to anyone.’
Charlotte stepped in close.
‘His secret is safe with me,’ she said softly, looking about as if the paparazzi might spring out at any minute and demand an interview.
‘Thank you,’ Zara said. ‘So, would you like to walk around the grounds now?
But Charlotte couldn’t focus. ‘Xavier Hunt,’ she said softly to herself.
Zara smiled a secret smile. Hmm, Xavier Hunt. Glorious anticipation strummed every fibre of her body. She couldn’t wait to run to the house and finish what they’d started.
A few hours later, Zara walked Charlotte to her car.
‘Well, I have to say I’m very impressed,’ Charlotte said.
Relief flooded Zara’s veins.
‘We took a bit of a gamble selecting Ravensdale for the event,’ Charlotte continued. ‘But you have delivered in spades. I’ll be pleased to report to the board that we are on track to make this an exceptional fundraising event.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ Zara said.
‘There is one other thing that would really make this event . . . Well, make it something really special,’ Charlotte said, clearly hesitant about voicing her idea.
‘I’ll do anything within my power to deliver, Charlotte. What is it?’
‘Xavier Hunt,’ she said, staring wistfully toward the house, as if by sheer force of will she could make Xavier materialise. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any way you could ask him if he’d make an appearance?’
Zara smiled. ‘I’m sure he would have loved to, but I understand he will be back in the States by then.’
‘Oh.’ Charlotte’s face fell. ‘How very disappointing.’
‘I could ask him to donate something signed for the auction. I can’t promise anything, but I can try.’
Charlotte clasped Zara’s hands. ‘That would be lovely. Just lovely.’
‘My pleasure,’ Zara said, extracting herself gently from the woman’s firm grip.
Charlotte hopped into her car, gave one last longing look toward the manor and drove off.
Zara knew Charlotte’s mind would be preoccupied with Xavier during the long trip back to London.
He was certainly on the top of Zara’s mental checklist.
She could still feel the delicious afterglow of Xavier’s touch on her body. Her nipples felt tender and sensitive against the fabric of her blouse. She’d lost her train of thought more than once while taking Charlotte on the tour of the grounds. She’d blamed it on her recent illness, not the fact she and Xavier had been a heartbeat away from having sex on the stable floor.
But what would happen now? Had Xavier already left for London? She hadn’t heard his truck leave.
She walked into the entry hall and stood at the bottom of the staircase. What should she do? She knew what she wanted to do. So what about the family history? So what if Xavier had been mixed up in his father’s plan? The plan where Xavier’s father had seduced her mother and stolen their valuables. He’d been a boy under his father’s influence. Now he was a man and answered to no one.
She started up the stairs. The door of the master suite pulled shut, and footsteps sounded in the hall above her head. She placed a hand on the banister. He was still here. Her belly fluttered like a leaf in the breeze.
Xavier appeared at the top of staircase. Her teeth grazed her bottom lip. He hadn’t immediately seen her. She took the moment to study him. How different he was now. Xavier had always been confident, but he’d possessed the innocence of a country lad, unsullied by the ugliness of life. Now he looked as though he owned the manor, owned its history, its heritage. That he’d been born to wealth and entitlement. Even though he didn’t show the usual trappings of rich men – the designer clothes, expensive cars – it was the way he held himself, as though he knew the world and understood everything in it.
‘There you are,’ Xavier said, pacing down the stairs. He carried two overnight bags and his briefcase. ‘Let’s go.’
Her head jerked back. ‘Go where?’
‘To London. You’re coming with me to the BAFTAs.’
Her heart jumped over a beat. She’d always loved watching the BAFTA Awards, the Academy Awards for British television. She loved the stars. The fashion. The celebration of great British talent.
‘I can’t go to the BAFTAs.’ The idea was ridiculous.
‘Why not?’
She threw up her hands. ‘I have this place to run. I’m hosting a huge charity fair in just over a week. And . . .’ she looked down at her suit and picked at the fabric. It was the best outfit she owned. ‘I don’t have anything to wear.’
He dropped the bags. ‘One.’ He held up a finger. ‘You only need to run this place if you have guests. I’m the guest and I’m leaving for a few days.’ He held up a second finger. ‘Two: if you’d checked your extremely detailed to-do list, you’d see I’ve now completed most of it.’ He stepped in close. ‘And three, even if you turned up in dirty overalls, you’d be the most beautiful woman in the room.’
A sensual tingle spread through her veins.
‘And four, I’m not leaving here without you. So,’ he said, picking up the bags in one hand then taking her hand in the other. ‘Let’s go.’
She held back.
‘Xavier. Wait.’
Could she really drop everything? From where she was standing she could see a thin film of dust on the hall table. No matter what Xavier had achieved over the past three days, there was always more to do. The list never ended. She hadn’t had a day off in months. But going to the BAFTA Awards? With Xavier? The whole idea spelt danger.
He pulled her outside.
‘No. We’re not waiting. We’re going.’ He bent down, bringing his face close to her own. ‘Live a little.’
She slid her hand from his. ‘I have to lock up.’ And locking up took a long time when you had over fifty ground-floor windows to check.
He pulled her keys from his pocket and locked the front door. ‘Already done.’ He handed her the keys.
‘But —’
He laid a finger across her lips. ‘And I’ve checked every window. Now, I know this is not part of your well-ordered life, or your finely-tuned plan, but doesn’t that make it more fun?’
Fun? Deviating from any plan made her anxious. She turned at the sound of a car. A sleek black limousine travelled slowly up the drive.
‘And here’s our ride,’ Xavier said, as if that were the end of any indecision she suffered.
‘What about your truck?’
‘I didn’t think the truck struck the right tone for our first real date.’
Her mouth dried and she tried to swallow. Date? This was a date? Nerves struck like a tsunami. It was one thing being with Xavier here at the house. The house and their history somehow stood in between, keeping them apart. Well, except for that serious lapse in the stables. But a date? In London? Then what? Back to . . . a hotel? For what? A night of passion?
She took a step back from his mesmerising power. His power to throw her life into disarray. ‘I can’t. . . .’
‘Come on, Zara.’ She could hear a note of frustration in his voice. ‘Take a step into the unknown.’
Who was he to direct what she did and didn’t do? She put her hands on her hips.
‘Sorry, Xavier, but I can’t just up and leave.’ She laced her voice with a teacher-like quality. ‘I have responsibilities. I have things to do. I . . .’ What was she doing? Did she really want to stay and dust antiques when she had the chance to attend a glittering awards ceremony with Xavier? The decision was so easy. Go. Have fun.
But it was too risky. She had her life in order. Since Xavier had arrived she’d felt out of control. As if she were steering her life with just a fingertip on the wheel.
‘I can blackmail you, you know.’ A sinister undertone entered Xavier’s tone.
Her chest tightened. ‘What . . . What do you mean?’ A nasty prickle marched up her arms. Is this why he was here? To blackmail her?
‘I’ve done all that work for you. Fixed up your garden, renovated your stables, knocked a thousand odd jobs off your to-do list, and you won’t do me the courtesy of being my date for one night? It’s an important night for me.’
She expelled a breath. He was teasing. She hadn’t realised how worried she still was about Xavier having some ulterior motive for being here. For visiting Ravensdale like this, out of the blue, after so many years.
‘Please, Zara. I want you by my side.’
She was being stupid. Worse. She was being ungrateful. What harm could come from an amazing night in London? Xavier was simply offering a night out as friends. That mishap in the stables . . . Well . . .
‘Of course I’ll come.’ She’d done it now. She had to go. ‘I’d be honoured.’
‘Excellent.’ Xavier offered her his arm. She took it. He led her down the steps to the waiting limousine. The driver took the bags. Xavier opened the door and ushered Zara into the dim, cool interior. The car smelled of fresh leather. A bottle of champagne stood in a silver ice bucket held in a special compartment.
She smiled. The first real smile in what felt like a lifetime. She settled herself into the soft leather. Xavier sat close to her, so close their thighs touched.
The Cinderella fairytale. That’s how it felt. Such a silly feeling, but it really did feel as though she was being whisked away from all her troubles to the ball by the handsome prince.