Escape Me Never (18 page)

She washed and dressed and went downstairs. The aroma of coffee filled the kitchen, and from the window she could see Rohan hard at work in the garden. She poured herself some coffee and walked out into the sunshine, drawing the fragrant air deep into her lungs with instinctive delight.

'Good morning.' Rohan had straightened at her approach, and was watching her, his face cool and speculative. 'Did you sleep well?'

Cass flushed slightly. 'I think you know I did.' She gestured awkwardly at her clothes. 'Thank you for these. You're—very efficient.'

He shrugged. 'You're my guest.'

'I'm your prisoner,' she retorted.

'Any cage you feel around you, Cassandra, is of your own making,' he said levelly. 'I'm not adding any bars—merely trying to remove some that already exist. Set you free, in fact.'

But freedom wasn't the gift she wanted at his hands, she thought achingly.

'So, how are you planning to spend your captivity today?' he asked mockingly as the silence between them lengthened. 'Pacing round the house like a little tigress again? Because you could always lend a hand out here, if it's not against your principles.'

'I don't know anything about gardening,' she protested.

'At this stage there isn't a lot to it.' Rohan said drily. 'Just assume everything you find growing is a weed and behave accordingly.'

Cass lifted an indifferent shoulder. 'Why not? At least it will fill in the hours until I can get out of here.'

'It might,' he said. 'And—who knows? You might even get to enjoy it.'

That was the danger, Cass thought numbly, as she began to obey his directions. Unless she was careful, she could find herself wanting to stay here with him forever.

And there was Jodie, she reminded herself guiltily. Jodie, who didn't know where she was, who might be fretting for her. She'd hardly given her a thought since she arrived here. She tried to assuage her feeling of treachery by reminding herself she could be reunited with her that evening if everything worked out.

In the meantime, she was discovering that the hard manual work of gardening brought a curious satisfaction all its own. There'd been a garden in the house where she was born, but her aunt had lived in a flat with not even a window box, and the house she'd shared with Brett had fronted directly on to the street, with, a small yard for hanging washing at the rear.

She was amazed how quickly the time passed. It seemed like minutes before it was lunchtime. They ate a snack meal of paté and french bread, washed down with lager, then started again.

Cass felt a real sense of pride at the size of the patch she'd cleared as she straightened, giving a little gasp as her muscles protested volubly.

Every inch of clothing seemed to be sticking clammily to her body, and her back and shoulders were shrieking for surcease.

Rohan looked across at her, frowning a little.

'You've done enough,' he said. 'Go and soak in a hot tub, while I finish up here.'

It was a command, but she was in no state to resent it. A hot tub, she thought thankfully, as she headed for the house. The greatest idea since the beginning of the world, she decided as she began to run the water into the bath, beating the theory of relativity into a cocked hat.

There was bath oil in one of the cupboards, and she added a generous measure before lowering herself with a sigh of pure pleasure into the steaming, scented foam. She'd folded a small hand-towel and placed it against the rim of the bath as a cushion, and she leaned her head back on it, closing her eyes as the water soothed her tired body.

Rohan said, 'Has no one ever told you falling asleep in the bath can be dangerous? It's just as well I've brought you a stimulant.'

Her eyes flew open, and her lips parted in a startled yelp of sheer shock. She almost sat up, but some sixth sense warned her that her semi-recumbent position offered far better concealment, so she stayed where she was.

He put a mug of coffee down on the broad rim of the tub. He was wearing, her stunned mind registered, nothing but a towel loosely draped round his hips.

He smiled at her. 'I did warn you this was the only bathroom, darling, and you can't expect to hog it forever. You've already had more than your allotted span, so drink your coffee and hop it.' His hands moved almost casually to the towel. 'Unless you'd like me to join you.'

'No,' she said in a strangled voice. 'And get out of here—now.'

His smile widened. 'Or you'll do—what? Speaking as an observer I'd say you were at something of a disadvantage.' His hand scooped up a handful of the remaining foam and blew it at her gently. 'See what I mean?'

'Yes.' She glared at him. 'Give me a few minutes' privacy, and the bathroom's yours.'

'I think I prefer it the way it is,' he told her silkily. He reached into a cupboard, and produced a small bottle. 'Oil,' he said succinctly. 'Well rubbed in, it will take some of your backache away.'

'Thank you,' Cass said hurriedly. 'If you'll just leave it within reach…'

He shook his head. 'It needs to be applied now—while you're warm and relaxed. And you certainly can't reach all the relevant spots yourself. So—sit up a little.' He handed her a large sponge. 'You can preserve your modesty with this, if you feel you must, although I should remind you yet again there's nothing the matter with my memory,' he added sardonically.

He was uncapping the bottle, and pouring oil into the palm of his hand.

Slowly and cautiously, using the sponge as a shield, Cass sat up.

For the first few moments, the stroke of his fingers across her taut skin was sheer physical pain, but gradually under the firm rhythmic pressure of his hands, the knots of tension began to dissolve away almost magically, and she began to relax under his touch, even to co-operate, as a little sigh of satisfaction escaped her lips.

He said softly into her ear, 'I told you cooking wasn't my only accomplishment. Bend your head a little.'

She obeyed, quivering with pleasure as he began to massage the nape of her neck, her head moving almost involuntarily in response to the caress of his strong fingers.

His hands slid to her shoulders and paused, and her body arched, leaning back against him, the sponge slipping from her nerveless grasp to reveal the lift of her small breasts, the rosy nipples darkly erect with excitement.

She turned her head into his bare chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath her cheek, hearing the note of his breathing change.

She was waiting. Ah God, she'd been waiting so long it seemed, and he couldn't be so cruel as to string out this fevered anticipation any longer…

Slowly, slowly, his hands glided down from her shoulders, making her ache again, but so differently. Aching in an agony of expectation— of sheer desire.

Then, with a suddenness which seemed to drive all the breath from her body, his hands hooked under her slender armpits, and lifted her bodily out of the water, setting her firmly on her feet on the fleecy carpet. And instead of the longed-for caress, she felt the warm friction of a bath towel enveloping her.

She looked at him dazedly, aware that her drowsing eyes, her parted lips were telling him how totally vulnerable she was, and not caring anylonger.

'I think that's enough for now.' Was that mockery she could hear in the quiet voice? she wondered, cringing. 'But if you need further treatment, you only have to let me know.' His hands lifted, cupping her face, his fingers tangling in her dampened hair as he stared down at her.

She thought he was going to kiss her, but he didn't. Instead, she experienced the blatant sensual thrust of his lean hips against her softness, demonstrating with silent force all the heated strength of his arousal. And, for a shattering moment, she felt her own body flare in response so acute it almost tore a cry from her throat.

His hand tightened in her hair. He said softly, but with an undertone of menace, 'Perhaps you'd better get out of here while I'm still prepared to let you.'

She stumbled to her room, almost tripping over the trailing towel. Once inside, she slammed the door, and leaned back against the panels, her breath labouring in suddenly tortured lungs.

For her own sake, she had to find the strength, somewhere, to fight him. But time, it seemed, was running out fast. And so…God help her, was her will to resist him.

As darkness fell, Cass was sorely tempted to stay in her room with the door locked. But wasn't that merely another form of self-betrayal, she wondered bitterly.

No, it was better to go downstairs and join him for dinner as if nothing had happened. Which, in truth, it hadn't, so the thing to do was play the whole incident down.

She'd dirtied her jeans and top again during her afternoon's endeavours in the garden, so she was forced to fall back on Marcia's selection after all. But she chose with care, deliberately rejecting the sensuousness of the evening wear for the chic black flare of a soft wool skirt, which she teamed with a full-sleeved cream silk blouse cut on classic lines.

She delayed her arrival downstairs until the last possible moment. The sitting room was empty although the fire crackled softly in the grate, and, after a brief hesitation, she went along to the kitchen.

Attempting to establish an atmosphere of normality, she said, 'The food smells wonderful.'

Rohan who was standing at the stove looked, round at her. He was wearing black too, she noticed, her eyes drawn instinctively to the lean contours of his body.

'We aim to please,' he commented sardonically. 'Sit down and pour some wine. You look as if you need it.'

Aware that her colour had heightened, she obeyed, while he brought the food, a chicken casserole and a bowl of savoury rice, to the table.

The unwonted activity in the fresh air had sharpened her appetite almost ravenously in spite of the emotional turmoil she was in, and she ate every scrap placed in front of her.

'But I don't want any coffee, thanks,' she said, lifting a hand to her mouth to conceal an artificial yawn. 'I—I think I'll have an early night.'

'Not yet,' he said brusquely. 'And if you don't want coffee, you can at least bear me company while I have mine. Go along to the sitting room and wait for me there.'

The autocratic note in his voice infuriated her, and she flung her head back, her lips parted in defiance, then faltered as she read the message in the cool hazel eyes fixed steadily on her own.

'Very wise,' Rohan approved drily after a moment's silence. 'Now, run along.'

Cass stood in the middle of the sitting room, her arms crossed defensively over her body while she stared huntedly round her. The purpose she'd seen in Rohan's face had been unmistakable. He'd interpreted her frenzied reaction to him in the bathroom quite correctly, she thought bitterly, and clearly saw no reason to hold back any longer.

But—she couldn't let it happen. She wouldn't let it happen. She couldn't endure a lifetime of regret for the sake of one night's passion.

The taxi, she thought feverishly. Perhaps the driver was back, and could come to collect her right away. She reached for the 'phone, only to remember the vital number was upstairs in her room. Cass sped to the door and halted as she heard Rohan coming down the passage. Controlling a groan of dismay, she shot to the sofa, and sat down on its edge, smoothing her skirt over her legs with hands that trembled.