THE explosive crack snapped Brogan awake in shock and panic. Red after-images distorted her vision. She held her breath until her mind interpreted the sound, then released it slowly, and only then did her heart stagger back to normal, until the next crack of thunder only seconds later. Riffy screamed and Brogan stumbled from the bed and along the landing to the nursery.
Picking her up, she soothed her, flinched when jagged forks of lightning split the night sky apart, hugged her daughter closer. They’d forecast storms, but this was Armageddon! The noise was incredible!
Fascinated despite herself, she watched the next spear of light, gave a funny little laugh as it stabbed down from the heavens and looked as though it hit the cottage, and then her laugh died, because it had hit the cottage. Oh, God. That was Joshua’s bedroom! For a moment—long seconds that felt like eternity—she was incapable of constructive thought, was merely disbelieving. Supposing.
Staring down at her daughter, seeing that, unbelievably, she had gone back to sleep, Brogan gently returned her to her cot and ran. Barefoot, wearing only a skimpy nightie, she flung herself across the grass, into the cottage, into his bedroom, and halted. Breathing heavily, she stared at the
ragged hole in the wall, the bricks and rubble that littered the bed, forced her shocked mind to contemplate death, injury.
‘Bit of a mess,’ a laconic voice murmured from behind her.
Swinging round, she stared at Joshua. An allright Joshua belting himself into a robe.
‘I saw. I thought.’
‘And the speedy reaction is much appreciated,’ he said somewhat drily. ‘What were you intending to do? Dig me out single-handed?’
‘Don’t sneer,’ she retorted breathlessly. ‘You think I couldn’t?’
He paused, then said quietly, ‘No.’
Swinging back to the wall, she stared at it. And when it rained, as it would. ‘You can’t stay here.’
‘No.’
‘You’d better come back to the house.’
‘An overwhelming offer.’
‘Stop it!’ she said fiercely. ‘I expected to find.’ He sighed. ‘Yes. I’m sorry. It was something of a shock to me too.’
‘You weren’t hurt?’
He shook his head, watched her.
‘I can make you up a bed on the sofa, or we could carry the bed across.’ And now that the initial drama was over her mind felt incapable of constructive thought. She was aware of her skimpy nightie, his short robe—not much on either of them to cover nakedness—and suddenly there was electricity inside as well as outside. The distance between them was not great; the size of the cottage did not allow for huge distances between people and she was only an arm’s reach away—a distance he took full advantage of.
‘Is this for my benefit?’ he asked softly as he touched one long finger to the strap of her nightdress.
‘No,’ she denied thickly. ‘When I saw the lightning strike, I just ran. I thought you were dead.’
‘And would you have minded?’
‘Of course I would have minded!’
‘Good.’
‘Joshua, I—’ she began urgently when he pulled her towards him, against him, held her loosely within the circle of his arms, breast to breast, thigh to thigh.
‘Shh.’ Bending his head, he captured her mouth, slid his hands up her back, let them rest briefly on her shoulder blades, moved one back to her waist, the other up to her neck, twisted it in her hair. ‘I could love you here…’
‘Ah, no,’ she breathed against his mouth. ‘No.’ But her body had ideas of its own, melted against him, and her arms were somehow round his neck, her breasts against his chest, between his open robe, and he pressed one hard thigh between her legs, exciting her. It had been such a long time since she’d been loved, held like this, kissed like this—and it had never been like this, she thought hazily. Never, ever, ever.
His mouth moving on hers was tempting, tantalising, tormenting, his fingers pressing, teasing, and when his mouth moved to her neck she stared over his shoulder, eyes wide, dazed, yearning.
‘I can’t leave Riffy too long,’ she whispered raggedly.
‘No.’
‘I could put her in with me…’
‘Put me in with you,’ he argued seductively, and she groaned, shook her head weakly.
‘No.’ Trying to be sensible, she forced a small amount of space between them, stared into his face. ‘I can’t think when you touch me like this,’ she objected thickly.
‘I wasn’t intending you to,’ he murmured as he continued to touch her, intimately—a shivering delight she kept trying to deny.
‘And we can’t leave the bed here,’ she continued desperately, hoarsely. ‘When it rains.’
‘Mmm,’ he agreed absently as he continued his exploration. Eyes so very dark, intent on hers, he trailed his fingers across her shoulder, dislodged a strap, continued down, and warmth flooded her stomach, tightened her thighs.
‘It will get wet,’ she said raggedly. ‘And there’s no room to put it in the tiny lounge; the cottage is too sma—Oh, Joshua don’t do that,’ she groaned
weakly as warm fingers cupped the breast he had exposed as his head dipped to savour it.
With a sharp intake of breath, she clutched him tight, shuddered, fought not to give in to sensations that she had not felt for so long—sensations she yearned to revel in. Surely there should be shame in such delight, in allowing intimacies with a virtual stranger?
‘You don’t like it?’
‘No—yes. Oh, please don’t; this could destroy me.’
He broke off, raised his head. ‘Destroy?’ he queried softly. ‘An odd word to choose.’
‘Choose?’ she cried. ‘Choose? It is not choice! I barely know you!’
‘No,’ he agreed—a soft little puff of sound, almost a sigh.
‘And I don’t want this!’
‘Don’t you?’
‘No!’
‘Why?’
‘Because my life is complicated enough!’ she cried.
Staring into her troubled face, he gave a slight nod and gently replaced the strap. ‘And when you do know me? When your life is less complicated?’ he asked softly.
‘I don’t know. I don’t understand what’s happening. You make me feel.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘You make me feel too.’
Stepping back, she eyed him warily, saw his slight amusement—no, was aware of his amusement—she couldn’t actually see his expression in the dim light—and felt a fool, naive. And they couldn’t stand here staring at each other for the rest of the night. She needed to get back in case Riffy woke.
Taking a deep breath, she turned to stare at the bed. ‘Right,’ she began briskly, then hastily cleared her throat because she sounded husky, breathless. ‘We can carry the bed across, worry about everything else later.’ Grabbing the coverlet, she stripped it off, shook out the debris, bundled up the rest of the bedding and walked out. Hurrying across the garden, flinching every time the lightning flashed, she dumped it in the kitchen, forced herself not to think or feel, and hurried back to help with the bed.
‘Grab hold,’ she instructed him, and fortunately didn’t see his expression of amusement at her highhanded behaviour.
‘It would be better to take the mattress first,’ he said with quiet logic. ‘Otherwise.’
Nodding, impatient now to get it over with, be on her own, try to think, she grabbed one end of the unwieldy mattress and struggled out behind him.
‘Upstairs,’ she instructed him once they were in the house.
‘Can we put the light on?’ he asked drily.
Mouth tight, furious with herself for her stupidity, embarrassed, aware that her nightdress was short, she struggled to balance the mattress one-handed, and reached out to snap on the switch before they made their way up the stairs.
‘Leave it here on the landing,’ she whispered so as not to wake her daughter, then changed her mind. ‘No, if we take the cot out first, carrying it into my room, that will be best.’ Nodding to herself, she carefully eased open Riffy’s door, waited until Joshua had joined her, indicated for him to lift one end of the cot, then lifted the other.
Shuffling, they carried it along to her room and set it down by the wall furthest from the window. Riffy slept on. Tiptoeing out, Brogan carefully eased her door shut and headed back down the stairs, Joshua meekly following.
When they’d finally finished and the bed, newly made up, was installed in Riffy’s room, still avoiding eye contact, she said quietly, awkwardly, ‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight. Do you have any polythene?’ He sounded hatefully amused.
‘Polythene?’ she queried blankly.
‘To tack over the hole. When it rains.’
‘Oh—yes. I think there’s some in the shed.’
‘And tools?’
‘On the bench.’ With some rather unformed idea that she should offer to do it, she began, ‘Shall I.?’
‘No. Go to bed.’
Nodding, she walked out and into her own room, let out her breath on a long, shaky sigh, stared at her hands, thought about her feet, and padded out again and into the bathroom.
Life had been difficult—no, life had been a bloody nuisance but bearable—until the advent of Joshua. Don’t think about it, she instructed herself firmly. And, above all, don’t let your mind linger on the feel of him, the taste.
She dragged in a breath, held it, then released it slowly. You don’t know him, Brogan. You rushed into marriage with Andrew. Don’t be a fool. Joshua doesn’t want marriage. And neither do you. Go to bed.
Climbing beneath the duvet, she glanced at the clock. Two. With luck, she might get four hours’ sleep. If she could get to sleep. If she could forget about being held in gentle arms, kissed as though tomorrow did not matter. With a groan, she buried her face in the pillow, tried to ignore the ache inside.
Barely an hour later, programmed to obey when she registered the small sounds—never mind what small sounds, because sounds in the night always meant Riffy—eyes not even open, she stumbled along to the nursery, groped for the cot—and remembered.
‘Changed your mind?’ Joshua asked softly.
She stared in his general direction, glanced at the baby alarm still connected, grunted, and padded back out. Riffy was still asleep.
Three o’clock. With luck, she might get three hours’ sleep.
Riffy didn’t know about luck, only about sore gums and a wet bottom.
Three-thirty. On automatic pilot, she laid Riffy back down, fell into bed, and from waking to sleeping—the line between them so ill defined as to be non-existent—reclaimed the arms of Morpheus.
Riffy slept till seven. Beautiful, adorable, smashing, wonderful Riffy slept till seven. It felt like five, but against all expectations she had managed another hour.
Staring at her daughter who was pulling faces at her through the bars of the cot, Brogan smiledand. thoughts of Joshua rushed in. Firmly dismissing them, she scrambled free of the covers. ‘Come on, beaming pumpkin,’ she laughed. ‘Let’s get another day started.’ Lifting her daughter out, she gave her a smacking kiss and carried her into the bathroom. Running a few inches of water into the bath, she sat Riffy at one end to play at splashing whilst she had her shower—and Joshua walked in.
She shrieked and didn’t know where to hold the sponge; Riffy shrieked and slapped the water. He grinned, quietly apologised and retreated. He must have heard them in here, she thought indignantly. Perhaps he had voyeuristic tendencies.
Hurriedly finishing, she wrapped a towel round her wet hair and put on a short silk robe to cover her nakedness; then she washed and dried her daughter, put on her nappy and carried her back to the bedroom, snuggling the warm little body to her. There was so much joy and pleasure in the feel of a warm little body—so much joy and pleasure in the feel of a warm, hard, masculine body. Shut up, Brogan. A warm, chubby little body, she insisted to herself as she gave Riffy an extra hug. ‘Mmm, I could eat you all up!’
Riffy gurgled, tried to strangle her. ‘Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum!’
‘Mmm, Mum, Mum, Mum.’ She grinned. ‘I think, Riffy Carpenter,’ she said softly, ‘that you are something pretty special.’ Lowering her to the floor, she pulled back the curtains, stared out at the new day. Grey cloud, no sun, still muggy.
Joshua was standing at the end of the cottage, staring up at the wall, and her smile died. Did the insurance cover lightning strikes? She wasn’t sure it did. And if it didn’t. Don’t trouble trouble till trouble troubles you. Hah. And he’d been going to pay her a hundred pounds to rent it, hadn’t he? Very amusing, God. Thank you so much.
‘Riffy, no!’ Launching herself across the room, she managed to grab her daughter just as she was about to haul all the contents off the dressing table. ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘Wretch. Come on; let’s get you dressed. What you need is a strait-jacket, my girl. Think it’s funny, do you? You’re a pickle!’ Tickling her until she was gurgling infectiously, she carried her into the nursery, laid her on the floor and began finding her clothes.
‘No, no, no, no, no,’ she laughed, and quickly grabbed her daughter before she could escape onto the landing. Dumping her onto the bed, she hastily found her dungarees and T-shirt, then began wrestling her into them.
‘It is not a game, child! It’s called getting dressed—’
‘And it’s probably all your own fault that she thinks it’s a game in the first place,’ Joshua pointed out, quite truthfully as it happened, from the open doorway. ‘Go and get dressed.’
Opening her mouth to tell him to mind his own business or something, she watched the eyebrow ascend, glanced down at her robe that was hanging open at the front, and wrenched the two sides together.
‘I’ll watch her.’ It wasn’t an offer, it was a statement, and Riffy, fast to spot a moment’s inattention, was off down the bed like an express train, and into Joshua’s arms. He did not laugh at her, tickle her, kiss her, do any of the things people usually did when catching a baby, he merely looked at her, and Riffy—undiscerning Riffy—beamed at him and slapped his cheeks with a crow of delight.
He glanced at Brogan, amused knowledge on his face, waited, and with a cross tut she hurried out and into her bedroom to dress. Dragging on underwear, long shorts and a crop-sleeved top, she quickly dried her hair, dragged a brush through it, and, as though afraid that something dire might have happened to her daughter in her absence, hurried into the other bedroom, found them gone, and leapt down the stairs and into the lounge.
Skidding to a lame halt, she watched Joshua with her daughter. Crouched on the floor in front of her, he was building up her bricks, gently making her wait until he’d finished the small construction, and then allowing her to knock them down.
He glanced up at her unorthodox entrance, and she silently warned him against using his eyebrow. It was beginning to irritate her very much. Riffy didn’t even look round, just screeched to gain Joshua’s attention, and cleverly gave him a brick. At least, Brogan thought it was clever. Joshua looked as though it was no less than he expected.
‘I’ll start breakfast,’ she said abruptly, and if he mentioned bursting in on her in the shower.
Going into the kitchen, she crashed things around until common sense restored her sense of proportion, then gave a shamefaced smile. Who’s the child here, Brogan? she asked herself. You or Riffy? Perhaps he was playing tit for tat. She’d burst in on him, he’d burst in on her. Well, now they’d both seen the other naked—half-naked; he hadn’t actually been naked. Will you shut up, Brogan?
‘I’ve made the tea,’ she said quietly a few minutes later. ‘What will you have to eat? Toast? Cereal?’
‘Toast will be fine.’ Standing, he picked up Riffy, walked with her into the kitchen and put her in her high chair, then took a seat at the battered table that Brogan had started to strip ready for repolishing. She hadn’t, yet, had time to finish it.
‘Daniel doesn’t join you for breakfast?’ he asked quietly.
‘Would you?’ she asked with a laugh that rang false even to her own ears. ‘Breakfast is usually somewhere around six-thirty.’
He didn’t answer, but she could feel him watching her, feel amusement emanating from him, and that made her nervous, inclined to babble, which made her furious with herself, because she wasn’t normally a babbler.
‘We didn’t discuss what arrangements you wanted for meals.’
‘So we didn’t,’ he agreed blandly. ‘But just breakfast will be fine. If I’m up first, or last, I’ll get my own. If that’s all right,’ he tacked on.
‘Oh, I meant just today. I assumed you would be going now that the cottage is uninhabitable. I mean, you can’t stay here, in the house, can you?’
‘Can’t I?’
‘No, and I’m sure you’ll be able to find a room in Lavenham.’
‘I don’t like hotels,’ he stated quietly.
‘Oh, no. I forgot.’
‘I would prefer to stay here. It will only be to sleep. I shall be out most of the day.’
‘Oh.’
No, she really didn’t think it was, and how could one statement like ‘It will only be to sleep’ hold so many connotations? ‘There’s only one bathroom,’ she said stupidly.
‘I know. If there’s a problem, I can use the one at the cottage. Can’t I?’
‘I suppose.’ But she didn’t want him here. The thought of him in the cottage had been bad enough. And he might at least try to see things from her point of view, not sound as though he thought that she was stupid. ‘And what about washing?’ she demanded as though that might be an insurmountable problem.
‘I’m sure my landlady will allow me to use her washing machine. Won’t she?’
‘You use it? Do you know how?’
‘I expect I can figure it out.’
‘Yes.’ Despairing, hating herself, she saw smoke begin to rise from the toaster and hastily lunged. ‘Doesn’t pop up,’ she muttered. Rescuing the toast, she put it on a plate for him and handed it across.
‘Are you always this indecisive?’ he asked interestedly.
‘Yes. No. Don’t push your luck. And if you mention routine,’ she added fiercely, ‘I get violent!’
She wasn’t used to people in the mornings, and having him stay here would mean a curtailment of privacy, she thought worriedly as she dished up Riffy’s egg; it would mean remembering to get dressed in the mornings, not having her evenings to herself. What evenings? a mocking voice asked. She didn’t get any evenings. Not on her own, anyway. Although Riffy should be going to bed earlier soon, shouldn’t she, when she’d finished teething? But it wasn’t only that—of course it wasn’t only that; he was in the next bedroom, and if he…if she…
‘I’ll pay you the same.’
‘What? Oh, you don’t have to. I mean.’ With a sigh, she sat to feed Riffy her egg. ‘It was a lot to start with, wasn’t it?’
‘I’m sure I’ll manage.’
Yes, he looked the sort of man who would be always able to manage—and then she remembered what he had said in the night. And as though he could possibly know what she was talking about she mumbled, ‘I hadn’t disconnected the baby alarm.’
‘You hadn’t?’
‘No.’ She was watching Riffy, not Joshua, and so didn’t see his expression, which was probably just as well.
‘Butter?’
‘What?’ Swivelling round, she stared at him, stared at the table. Oh, God. ‘In the fridge.’ She’d forgotten to get out a fresh packet, which meant it would be hard. ‘Sorry. There’s marmalade in the cupboard. I think. No Riffy, give me back the spoon, there’s a good girl. Thank you,’ she muttered as Joshua handed her another one. ‘I’m not used to people in the morning,’ she added by way of defence. ‘I’m not—organised.’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘Perhaps I’d better take over breakfast whilst I’m here.’
Depressed, feeling diminished, useless, she asked, ‘Have you ever been married?’
‘No.’
‘Had little ones to look after?’
‘No.’
No, and people who hadn’t ever had them didn’t understand how difficult it sometimes was. Like juggling with too many balls when you’d never even managed to do it with one. Some mornings everything ran smoothly. This didn’t happen to be one of them. And non-parents seemed to think you should have a timetable or something, start as you meant to go on, but babies didn’t understand timetables. At least, Riffy didn’t. And Joshua made her nervous.
‘What did you do before you had the baby?’ he asked idly.
‘Hmm? Oh, interior design…’
He choked, and she looked round in astonishment.
‘Sorry,’ he managed. ‘Crumb went down the wrong way.’
‘No, it didn’t,’ she argued. ‘You were laughing!’ ‘More along the lines of a disbelieving grunt,’ he corrected her solemnly, and then glanced pointedly round the kitchen.
‘You shouldn’t judge by.’ she began huffily, then sighed. ‘I haven’t had the time!’ Or the money. ‘I’ve only managed to do my bedroom and the nursery, and make the lounge habitable.’ The dining room looked as though a pitched battle had been fought and lost in there, the other two bedrooms were dumping grounds for things as yet unsorted, unwanted or awaiting repair, and she began to wonder if she even noticed the hall and landing any more. ‘I didn’t feel in the least inadequate until you came,’ she retorted crossly. ‘And don’t smile!’
‘How do you know I am smiling?’
‘I can feel it!’
Leaving Riffy to bang with the spoon, she went to heat her milk, still avoiding eye contact with him. This was so silly—he was only a man, for goodness’ sake! And she wished she didn’t feel the need to keep filling these awful silences—silences he didn’t seem to want to fill, need to fill. And it felt as though they were talking all round a subject that he’d never heard of. Did he know how he made her feel? Yes, of course he did; he probably enjoyed making her feel uncomfortable. And for why? she wondered despairingly. Why pursue her at all?
Not at all confident about her attractiveness to the opposite sex, she couldn’t understand what he saw in her. Once she might have done, she thought sadly, but now? No make-up, probably smelling of baby food. And Joshua could probably have any woman he wanted. Women probably fell over, beating a path to his door.
Without looking, she could have told anyone who asked about the little mole beside his left ear, the way his hair grew against his neck, the shape of his eyebrows, his mouth, his nose, the ridged scar on his right thumb. And it was so stupid. His body was hard and lean—a body that was worked at to keep it in shape. His teeth were even and white. Jaw gritted, she wrenched her mind violently away.
‘How bad was the damage to the cottage?’ she demanded abruptly.
‘It isn’t in immediate danger of collapse, if that’s what you were worried about.’ He still sounded amused. ‘The joists aren’t affected, and the roof seems sound, as far as I can tell without actually climbing up there.’
‘Oh. And lightning is an exclusion clause, isn’t it?’ she asked despondently.
‘You’d have to check the policy.’
‘Mmm.’ And even if it covered it she would have to pay a percentage of the claim.
Passing Riffy her bottle with automatic instructions not to dob it everywhere, she made her own toast, poured her own tea, and sat opposite Joshua, eyes lowered, body tense, just as the back door opened and Daniel wheeled himself in.
He halted, stared at them all, and sneered, ‘Very cosy. What’s he doing here?’
Joshua turned his head, looked at him, and greeted him quietly. ‘Good morning.’
Daniel flushed, wheeled himself over to Riffy and lay a rather proprietorial hand on her hair. She screwed up her eyes, banged her bottle on the tray and blew a raspberry. Daniel laughed. ‘Come on, sweetheart, you don’t want to sit in that rotten old chair; come and sit with me.’
‘Daniel,’ Brogan began tiredly, ‘leave her be.’
Ignoring her, he awkwardly lifted her out and sat her on his lap. ‘I’ll have cereal.’
Avoiding looking at anyone, she abandoned her half-eaten toast and went to get his breakfast.
‘Did you hear the storm last night?’ he asked as he took the bottle from Riffy’s hands and began to feed her himself.
‘Yes,’ Brogan said shortly. Plonking his breakfast at the table, she removed Riffy from his lap and put her back in her high chair, ignored her wail and gave her her bottle. ‘Drink.’ Much to her astonishment, Riffy broke off mid-wail and put her bottle in her mouth.
With a grunt of surprised laughter, Brogan sat to finish her breakfast. ‘It took out the wall of the cottage.’
‘What did?’ Daniel queried blankly.
‘The storm.’
‘Brogan—’
‘Lightning strike,’ Joshua put in laconically. ‘Missed me by inches.’
Brogan glanced up, stared at him. He gave her
a lazy smile—and a gentle hand squeezed her insides. Hastily averting her eyes, she stared at her plate. No, she thought blankly. Finding him attractive was one thing. Being attracted to him was one thing. To have him promote that attraction was quite another. Don’t smile, she wanted to say. Go back to the eyebrow. The eyebrow is safer. Only, of course, it wasn’t. ‘Safe’ wasn’t in that man’s vocabulary.
Only vaguely aware that he was explaining the night’s events to Daniel, her mind still foolishly trying to find excuses for her feelings, she didn’t really register the specific content of his talk until Daniel exclaimed, ‘What?’
Looking up to find Daniel glaring at her, she waited, and he exploded, ‘He stayed here? In the house?’
‘Well, where else was he supposed to stay? In the shed? Of course he stayed here.’
‘Are you mad?’
‘Not to my knowledge. It was two o’clock in the morning, Daniel!’
‘Then you should have told me.’
‘I’m telling you now.’
‘I meant when it happened!’
‘Whatever for?’
‘Well, if you don’t know I’m not going to spell it out!’
‘Good.’ Irritated, she got up, began to clear the table. ‘Do you want any more tea?’
‘No.’
‘Then go away, both of you; I have things to do. Did you bring your washing in?’
‘No,’ Daniel said sulkily.
‘Then go and get it.’
Joshua gave a small smile, got up and walked out.
‘What’s amusing him?’
‘How would I know?’
‘Well, he’s your friend.’
‘No, he isn’t, he’s—’ Breaking off, she ordered crossly, ‘Oh, go away.’
‘You’re asking for trouble…’
‘Go away!’
With a mutinous grunt, he wheeled himself out and she saw him catch up with Joshua, say something, saw Joshua reply, then Daniel wheeled himself across to the annexe, a look of bad temper on his thin face.
A few minutes later she saw Joshua go off in his car—a car that looked as beaten up and unreliable as her own—and didn’t quite realise how long she stood at the window staring after him, trying to analyse him.
She spent the day trying to organise herself, and Daniel, thankfully, stayed out of her way. She inspected the cottage, rang the insurance company, only to be told regretfully that no, her policy didn’t cover damage caused by lightning, and so she shoved the matter to the back of her mind. Perhaps Joshua would have some idea how much it would cost to get it repaired. No, she mentally scolded herself, don’t ask Joshua, ask a builder; they usually give free estimates.
She managed to get her washing dry before the rain started, which was an on-and-off drizzle, as though it couldn’t quite make up its mind what to do. Thunder rumbled menacingly in the distance but didn’t come any closer.
She removed the baby alarm from Joshua’s room, made the beds, cleaned, polished, made an extra effort with the lounge, made sure the bathroom was spotless, and didn’t realise until she heard it that she had been waiting for the sound of his car. And almost—almost—she ran out to greet him. Horrified, she grabbed the bag of potatoes and began to peel them as though her life and her sanity depended on it.
And, as though he too had been waiting, only seconds after Joshua entered the kitchen Daniel followed him, and thereafter, through that long, fraught evening, wherever Joshua was, so too was Daniel. Joshua looked amused. Daniel didn’t.
‘You don’t need to worry, you know,’ Joshua drawled provokingly. ‘Domesticity bores me.’
‘Then go and stay in a hotel!’ Daniel said through his teeth. ‘You shouldn’t be here with Brogan on her own!’
‘I don’t like hotels,’ Joshua argued mildly. ‘And Brogan needs the money. Don’t you, Brogan?’
Brogan didn’t answer; she merely walked with as much dignity as she could muster out to the kitchen to make Riffy’s last bottle. So domesticity bored him, did it? Tough. And if Daniel didn’t stop bitching.
At ten, as though bored with drizzling, the heavens opened. Rain bounced off the roof, overflowed the guttering, probably flattened the corn; the farmers would be cursing, she thought. It pounded the hard-packed earth of the drive until it had pulped it to swamp, pinged viciously off her car, and then, after its burst of spite, an hour later it returned to a spasmodic drizzle.
Joshua read his book, and Brogan and Daniel watched the rain, neither speaking, and if the other two thought profound thoughts Brogan didn’t know. She certainly didn’t have such thoughts but merely stared blankly, her mind empty.
Not wishing to have to talk, discuss it, she rose abruptly and announced that she was going to bed.
‘Lock up after Daniel, would you, Joshua?’
He nodded.
‘‘Night,’ she added quietly. As she passed Daniel, he caught her hand, tugged her down, and she obediently kissed his cheek. He’d intended it to be his mouth—she knew it had—for Joshua’s benefit. Tiredly shaking her head, she escaped.
To the gentle, almost soothing patter of the rain, she fell asleep almost immediately—and woke abruptly at a violent prod from her subconscious. The dinghy. Oh, God, the dinghy! Flinging the cover aside, she hurtled onto the landing, dragged the loft ladder down with an agonised clang and rapidly climbed. Yanking on the light, she stared.
‘Oh, my God,’ she whispered.
Galvanised into further action, she slid down, hurtled down to the kitchen, grabbed the bucket and hurtled back up. Out of breath, she dragged herself back into the loft, stumbled over sundry objects, stubbed her toe, cursed, then gently, carefully, bottom lip clenched between her teeth, she eased the bucket into the rubber dinghy, which was full, almost—oh, so nearly—to overflowing.
Water slopped, but not enough to be a danger, and, carefully straightening, shipping water at every step, she carried the bucket to the opening, hovered indecisively, set the bucket down, backed onto the top step and clasped the bucket in her arms. Teeth still mangling her lower lip, she began to descend. Water sloshed down her front and she hissed, grimaced, found another step. Bucket still clasped to her chest, because she had nothing to rest it on in order to transfer it to her hands, and each step a marvel of precision, peripherally aware of Joshua standing in the doorway of his room, she made it to the bathroom and emptied the bucket into the bath.
She hurried back to the ladder and had one foot on the bottom rung when Joshua demanded incredulously, ‘What on earth are you doing?’
‘Can’t stop,’ she muttered as she scrambled up again. ‘But if it doesn’t rain all night one more should do it.’
‘Do what?’ he demanded of her disappearing feet. Ascending the ladder behind her, he stared in astonishment at the rubber dinghy in the corner, fully inflated, and full of water.
‘Why?’ he asked in the dazed voice of a man who knew, really knew, that he shouldn’t ask.
‘Roof leaks,’ she mumbled as she carefully eased her bucket into the slopping water.
‘Roof leaks,’ he repeated flatly. ‘Of course it does. What a silly question. Oh, give it to me,’ he ordered in a long-suffering voice, ‘before you fall in.’
‘I have no intention of falling in,’ she said with dignity.
‘Then before you damage your back! And for goodness’ sake go and put some shoes on!’ Wrenching the bucket from her, he edged her to one side, and she stared at her bare feet, then athis, then at his face.
He muttered something rude, dragged the bucket out and carried it to the hatch—and descended forwards, bucket held easily in one hand. He didn’t stoop, grunt, slop water, give any indication at all that the bucket weighed more than a few ounces.
Full of admiration, absently holding her wet nightie away from her breasts, she stayed where he’d left her, heard him empty the bucket, heard him returning.
‘I knew there was a reason why women needed men,’ she commented admiringly. ‘It was just a little difficult to work out what it was. Until now.’
Ignoring her sarcasm, mild as it had been, he demanded, ‘How long has this been here?’
‘Since we moved in. It’s Andrew’s. Was Andrew’s,’ she corrected herself, ‘when he was a little boy.’
‘Well, surely it would have been easier to mend the roof?’
‘Of course it would,’ she agreed, ‘but he died before he could do so. And I forgot all about it until now.’
‘Then it’s a pity you didn’t remember sooner!’ ‘And extraordinarily fortunate that I didn’t remember later!’ she exclaimed. ‘The dinghy is over your room.’
‘Of course. Where else would it be?’
It took him six trips to empty the dinghy, and Brogan perched on a broken chair and watched him, chin in hands. His towelling robe was very short. So was her nightie.
‘We really must stop meeting like this,’ she quipped.
He ignored her.
With absolutely no idea why she was feeling so unruffled by it all, she continued to watch him. He used an economy of movement that was extraordinarily pleasing—an efficiency. Was this the real Joshua?
Startled by a thought that had been half-hidden, she frowned. Real? Implying that he was usually acting? Yes, because she did sometimes get the feeling that he was playing a part. On the rare occasions when he was unaware of her watching, his face reverted to sternness, the eyes to coldness, and then he would turn, his expression lightening. Because he didn’t want her to know that he had a lot on his mind, was worried about work? Or was it, as Daniel had intimated, because he was playing a part—slumming?
He returned, examined the damp dinghy, glanced at the roof, dumped the bucket, and ordered, ‘Bed. Unless there are any more bizarre receptacles waiting to be emptied?’
She shook her head.
‘Does Daniel know?’
‘Daniel? No,’ she denied, puzzled.
‘You haven’t told him?’
‘No. Why would I tell him?’
He shrugged. ‘You and your husband both moved in here?’
Still puzzled, not sure where the conversation was heading, or why he had asked, she nodded.
‘Well, there’s nothing more we can do tonight.’ Indicating for her to precede him, he followed her to the loft hatch, yanked off the light and followed her down.
Shoving the ladder back up, he dusted off his hands, stared at her, shook his head, and walked into the bathroom. She heard him wash his hands, watched him emerge and go into his room and quietly close the door. Still puzzled, she finally shrugged, but this Joshua—the Joshua of dinghy fame—was far easier to cope with. No overtly sensual glances, no innuendo. Because he’d forgotten?
His door opened and he looked out. ‘Awaiting an invitation?’ he asked softly.
‘No,’ she denied automatically, her face still thoughtful. ‘Goodnight, and thank you.’
He nodded, closed his door, and she went quietly into her own room. Checking on Riffy, who slept on undisturbed, she glanced at the clock, was astonished to discover that it was only a little after midnight, climbed into bed—and remembered that tomorrow—today—was Riffy’s birthday and she hadn’t wrapped her present. She knew that Riffy wouldn’t actually know, but it still had to be wrapped. Presents always did.
Climbing out again, and without bothering to put on the lights, she padded back downstairs. Carefully opening the dining-room door so as not to make a noise, she groped inside, located the large box and dragged it along to the lounge. She snapped on the table lamp and removed the wrapping paper, sticky tape and scissors from the bureau where she had left them earlier.
Kneeling on the floor, a little smile on her mouth, she began to wrap the box.
‘Now what are we doing?’ Joshua asked interestedly from the doorway behind her.
Turning her head, she smiled more broadly. ‘It’s Riffy’s birthday.’
‘And we get her up now, do we?’
Startled, she laughed, shook her head. ‘No, silly. I forgot to wrap her present.’
Leaning one shoulder against the doorframe, he folded his arms across his chest. ‘She’s one year old, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘And she knows it’s her birthday?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Then she will not know she has to have a present, will not know it has to be wrapped.’
‘But I will.’
‘Then do it in the morning. I would have thought you get little enough sleep as it is.
‘Don’t be silly; she’ll see me do it in the morning. It’s a surprise. Hold the paper down for me, will you?’
Straightening, he walked across, squatted the other side of the box and obediently held the paper down so that she could tape it.
‘What is it?’
‘An elephant.’ She glanced up, saw his expression and snorted with laughter. ‘With wheels and a handle. You think I’m a fool, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And when you have a family,’ she told him gently, ‘you’ll do exactly the same.’
‘Heaven forbid.’
‘Don’t you want to get married, have children?’
‘No.’
No hesitation, no thinking about it, just a flat ‘no’—and a little pain curled inside her. She had known—of course she had known—that he didn’t want to marry her, for goodness’ sake, any more than she wanted to marry him, she assured herself, and she’d known that this pursuit was just—flirtation, so why did his words hurt?
‘Unless they were special,’ he added softly.
Giving him a quick glance, the frown still in her eyes, she absently turned the box, indicated for him to hold the next bit. ‘Special?’
‘Mmm.’
‘And you’ve not met anyone like that yet?’ she asked carefully.
‘Stop fishing.’
‘I wasn’t.didn’t.’ Abandoning what she was going to say, she taped down the last corner.
‘Finished?’
‘Yes. I just have to write the label.’
‘She can read?’ he asked admiringly, and she gave a wry smile, but whether she knew it or not his words had taken the warmth from her eyes, left a trace of sadness.
‘It’s important.’ Scrambling to her feet, she found a pen, knelt back down to write.
‘“To Riffy,’“ he read, ‘“with lots and lots of love, Mummy.”‘
‘Don’t,’ she reproved him, her face flushed and suddenly vulnerable. ‘I don’t care what you think.’
‘Not only me.’
‘What?’
‘I meant, do you care what anyone thinks?’
‘Oh. No.’ Somewhat confused, she stood, capped the pen, picked up the rest of the paper and scissors, and put them tidily in the bureau.
He stepped up behind her, handed her the tape, and she shivered, felt that little leap of excitement, tried to suppress it, and couldn’t. He did excite her, make her yearn for closeness, warmth—all the things her marriage had promised and never delivered. To be able to lean against a strong shoulder, share her worries, her problems. How very defeatist. And that would be using him, wouldn’t it? And even if it wasn’t, if she gave in to these rioting inclinations, when he left, as he undoubtedly would, she would be ten times worse off than now, wouldn’t she?
‘Why, Joshua?’ she asked quietly.
‘Why what?’ he asked softly, and he was close enough for his breath to stir her hair, feather against her cheek.
‘Why the pursuit? I wouldn’t have thought I would be at all the sort of woman you’d be attracted to.’
‘Who ever knows what attracts?’ he asked as he fingered her hair, moved it to one side, touched his mouth to her neck.
With a little shiver, she turned, stared into his face.
‘The shape of a nose,’ he continued. ‘The way they walk, move. Wealth, position, laughter.’
‘Wealth?’ she asked with a smile. ‘I don’t have any wealth.’
‘No, but one day you might, mightn’t you? In a few years.’
‘Mmm,’ she agreed thoughtfully. She wouldn’t always be content to live in this domestic chaos, allow her brain to atrophy; she would want, need to use her talents, and, when Riffy was a bit older, would hopefully start up her business again.
‘And Daniel?’
‘Daniel?’ she queried.
‘Mmm. You’ll stay with him? Why do you stay with him, Brogan?’
Guilt, she was about to say, then changed her mind. ‘Because he needs me.’
‘And if I needed you?’
‘You?’ she asked softly and a little sadly, because she couldn’t conceive of Joshua ever needing her.
‘Would you devote your life to me? What if I were to tell you I was rich?’
‘You think that would make a difference?’ She smiled, because she didn’t believe he was.
‘Wouldn’t it? If I had a big house? Money in the bank?’
‘Do you?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘And perhaps I’m in line for an inheritance,’ she prophesied lightly. ‘Then we would both be rich.’
‘Yes.’
‘But happiness doesn’t depend on wealth, does it?’
‘What does it depend on, Brogan? An ability toexcite?’
The expression in his eyes, the roughness in his voice said far more than the words, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.
‘And we can so easily excite each other, can’t we?’ Sliding both straps off her shoulders, he pulled her against him, stared down into her wide eyes. ‘Can’t we?’
Heart jerking unevenly, tape still clutched to her breast, she stared up at him. ‘Yes, but that doesn’t really explain what I asked.’
‘Doesn’t it?’
‘No. Why me, Joshua?’ she demanded huskily. ‘If domesticity bores you, why are you trying so hard to seduce me?’
‘Do you really not know?’
She shook her head.
‘Because I can,’ he answered, almost too softly for her to hear.
‘What?’
‘Touch me,’ he ordered, his voice still soft, mesmerising.
‘What?’
‘Face, arm, hand—anything—because you never do, do you? You carefully avoid contact unless I instigate it. Why?’
‘Because…because I don’t know what you want from me, and because—I don’t have the courage,’ she admitted honestly. ‘Joshua, it’s been a long time since.’ She dragged in a deep breath and, eyes still fixed on his, blurted out, ‘You sometimes seem to be acting, searching for a response, and I don’t…’
Releasing one shoulder, he removed the tape from her, put it behind her on the bureau and slipped both hands round her waist. ‘Don’t?’ he queried softly. ‘Don’t want to appear—desperate?’
‘No!’ she denied, horrified.
With a tiny grin—an appealing grin—he touched his nose to hers. ‘I am.’
‘Am what?’ she whispered, confused.
‘Desperate.’
‘No, you aren’t.’
‘Don’t argue. Kiss me goodnight.’
‘Joshua.’
‘Or stay in my arms.’
Searching his face—such a strong face, such an unreadable face—she continued to stare up at him in worried confusion.
‘Kiss me.’
She touched her mouth to his chin.
‘Not good enough.’
With a little groan, firmly suppressing a rising, almost overwhelming desire to do a great deal more than kiss him, aware of the naked body beneath the robe, the strong thighs, the hard chest, she pressed a kiss to his mouth, held her breath to stem the spreading warmth inside as he prolonged it, teased her lips apart, breathed softly into her mouth.
‘Now go to bed. It’s late. And seduction,’ he added softly as he slipped both straps back onto her shoulders, ‘can backfire.’
On whom? Feeling dazed, unreal, she switched out the lamp and walked slowly up to her room.
The next day she didn’t see him at all. He was up and out before she rose, didn’t return until after she was in bed. They had a very nice birthday party without him. With cake. And singing. Daniel bought Riffy too much. Joshua didn’t even send her a card. And her exhaustion when she finally went to bed was due to bewilderment, not activity.
She heard him come in, heard him lock the back door. It was late—early in fact. Sunday morning. Sunday. The day of the photoshoot. Oh-h-h. With a fatalistic tut she reached out and set the clock for five.
Staring into the dark, no longer sleepy, she listened to the sounds Joshua made—the tiny creak of the stairs as he ascended, the opening of his bedroom door, the closing, the rustle of clothing removed, the journey to the bathroom, the sound of teeth cleaning. An intimate sound.
And did he look towards her room? Give that odd smile? Expect that any moment she would burst out, seduce him? Had he been implying that it was she who’d been trying to seduce him? She didn’t know. Or was he wondering at his stupidity in coming to live in a house of chaos—a house where his landlady wandered around in her nightie? And she still didn’t know what he wanted. His words of the previous night went round and round in her head, and no matter how many times she tried to analyse them, understand them, nothing became any clearer.
Turning her gaze to the wall that separated the two rooms, she continued to think about him, worry about it. Want him.
He would be naked, his robe tossed over the foot of the bed, perhaps, shrugged off when he’d entered his room. Were his hands linked behind his neck? He looked the sort of man who would lie like that. Or was he curled on his side, already asleep? And she wondered how he’d got the scar on his collar-bone. As a child? Falling off his bike, at twelve, thirteen years old, maybe.? She could picture him as a child. Had be been unloved? Unwanted? Was that why he didn’t want a family of his Own? She would not ask.
Brogan, will you go to sleep? Perhaps when he’d made that remark about seduction backfiring he’d meant his seduction, not hers. But if he’d meant hers then that was insulting. Perhaps women tried to seduce him all the time. He looked like a man who might have had an exciting lifestyle, a man who had once commanded the best. He looked as though he was used to casinos, glittering parties, polo matches or something.
And he made her feel threatened, vulnerable, furious, and aware—oh, yes, so very aware—of her femininity. Only because of the unfamiliarity of having a man in the house, she tried to tell herself. Daniel didn’t count as a man, only a friend. Although, the way he was going, they wouldn’t even be friends for very much longer. And all those presents for Riffy—a bike which she was too young for, a swing, a Wendy house. Generous—and silly, and she didn’t know how to explain to him.
If she could just be stronger, she thought for the umpteenth time—more resolute. Although, now that the fashion show was over one of the fashion houses would maybe get in touch with him, offer him work, and then he would leave, become independent. That was likely, wasn’t it? And then she could maybe start up her business again—just in a small way to start with—meet new people. Everything would be all right then, wouldn’t it?
Waking with a start, she slapped off the alarm before it could wake Riffy, or Joshua, and, feeling totally unrefreshed, totally unlike attending a fashion shoot, no matter how important, she began her preparations for a day that would be very long. And finally, eventually, showered and dressed, Riffy ready, holdall packed with all her daughter’s necessary bits and pieces, she locked up and walked round to the annexe to collect Daniel. She did not even glance at Joshua’s door.
‘Ready?’ she asked.
‘I suppose.’
‘It’ll be fine.’ Please God, let it be fine.
‘It will probably rain.’
‘No, it won’t; the clouds have gone, and the forecast said warm and sunny. Any idea how long it will take?’
He shook his head. ‘Not long, I shouldn’t think.’ Riffy was strapped into her baby seat, the boot was carefully loaded with Daniel’s collection, the wheelchair stowed—and the car wouldn’t start.
Don’t panic, she told herself repeatedly. Don’t flood the engine; just keep calm and try again. Daniel’s hands were bunched on his lap, his face set.
‘Do something!’ he gritted.
‘I’m trying. It’ll be all right-’
‘It won’t be all right! Well, that’s it—I won’t bloody go! All that work, all for nothing. The photographer won’t wait, you know. He’s doing it as a favour. And then the girls will have to be at work—’
‘Daniel, calm down; we have plenty of time. I’ll ring for a cab—’
‘And who’s going to pay for the bloody thing? You?’
‘Yes, and don’t keep swearing. I don’t want Riffy’s first long words to be profane.’
‘Then get this damned car started!’
‘I’m trying!’
The back door was yanked open and Joshua strode the few yards towards them. He wore grey trousers and nothing else. Face half-covered in foam, a razor held in one hand, he wrenched open Brogan’s door and stared at her. ‘What the hell is going on now?’