Running From the Storm (17 page)

And he must have known that.

So why had he spent so much time and money looking for her?

He had said he wanted answers to his questions—peace of mind. Yet he hadn’t asked the one question she had expected him to ask—the question she had feared the most.

CHAPTER NINE

FEELING emotionally exhausted, totally drained, Caris leaned her head against the back of the chair and stared into the fire.

Watching her face, recognizing that exhaustion, Zander lapsed into silence. There was plenty of time to learn what he still needed to know.

Wind and rain continued to beat relentlessly against the mullioned windows, while thunder tore the sky apart and flashes of lightning lit up the ever-deepening gloom.

But in spite of the noise of the storm raging outside the flickering firelight had a soothing effect, and the tension gradually began to ease.

She was half asleep when Zander rose and tossed some more logs onto the stove, remarking as he did so, ‘Time’s getting on …’

Time’s getting on …
The ominous words rang in her ears. Soon it would be night, and then what?

As she struggled to keep the sudden panic under control, he went on prosaically, ‘Which means it’s time I was digging out some candles.’

‘But surely we could go now?’ she burst out. ‘There’s no further reason to stay.’

The faint hope that he might agree to leave died as he said positively, ‘There are several reasons—one being that our clothes are still wet.’

Afraid to ask what the others were, she bit her lip and lapsed into silence

Looking through the cupboards, he located a variety of old candlesticks and a supply of tall wax candles. Having lit half a dozen, he placed them round the room then drew the curtains against the coming night. He asked, ‘You must be getting hungry?’

All the emotional stress had taken away her appetite, and she was about to say she wasn’t, when she thought better of it.

At least getting ready a meal of some kind would occupy him, keep his mind on the present.

Her voice as level as she could manage, she agreed, ‘A little.’

After a look through the store cupboard, he reported, ‘Though the menu is necessarily limited, you have a choice of canned soup, beef casserole, macaroni cheese, or spaghetti in a cream and white-wine sauce.’

‘I don’t mind in the slightest,’ she told him. ‘Whatever you fancy.’

After her previous night’s disturbed sleep, Caris found the warmth of the fire soporific, and while Zander set about preparing the meal she rested her head against the back of the chair, tired both physically and mentally.

She was gazing drowsily into the fire when Zander’s hand softly stroked her cheek. She smiled dreamily and turned her face up to his, giving a sigh of pleasure as his mouth brushed hers.

Her lips parted beneath the light pressure of his, and when he deepened the kiss her arms went around his neck and, her whole body melting, she kissed him back.

Then, suddenly scared by her own reaction to that kiss, she drew back, demanding raggedly, ‘Why did you do that?’

‘Because your meal’s ready.’ Bringing her food on a small round tray, he set it down on the coffee table. ‘I thought we’d have it on our laps.’

Taking her confusion out on him, she ordered sharply, ‘You had no right to kiss me—don’t ever do it again. I hated it!’

As soon as the words were out, she knew she’d made a bad mistake.

She sat still as a statue. His hands moved to cup her chin and tilt her head back, so that she found herself looking up into his handsome face, intriguingly inverted.

‘So tell me,’ he said silkily. ‘If my kiss is such anathema to you, why did you kiss me back?’

‘I didn’t,’ she denied hoarsely. ‘I’ve already made it clear I can’t stand you touching me.’

Quietly furious, he said, ‘Well, that’s too bad.’

His hands released their hold, but almost before she realized it he had moved round the chair and, taking her shoulders, pulled her to her feet and into his arms.

Her initial protest was stifled as his mouth closed over hers. It was a hard kiss, meant to relieve some of the anger that was simmering just beneath the surface.

If that was all it had been she might have found the will to resist, but after a second or two it metamorphosed into a lover’s kiss.

It held an urgency, a passionate hunger, that swept her away. With no further thought of resisting, her lips parted to allow that sweet invasion.

Within seconds her head was swimming and her very soul had lost its way.

When finally he let her go, dazed and shaken to the core, she sank limply back into her chair while, apparently unmoved, he fetched his own food and sat down opposite as if nothing had happened.

When she made no attempt to pick up the tray, he enquired, ‘Can you reach it all right?’

She looked at the bowl of spaghetti, never having felt less like eating. She said unsteadily, ‘I really don’t want anything to eat.’

He glanced at her with a frown. ‘A short while ago you said you did.’

She shook her head. ‘I’ve changed my mind.’

‘Don’t be a fool,’ he urged. ‘There’s no point in starving yourself.’

‘I really couldn’t manage it.’

Putting his own food aside, he got to his feet and, setting her tray on her lap, cajoled, ‘Try.’

After a moment, without the energy to fight, she picked up her fork.

When she had taken the first mouthful he resumed his seat and began to eat his own.

Much to her surprise, once she had started on the pasta she found her normal healthy appetite had returned and, in spite of everything, she was able to empty the bowl.

When the simple meal was over, without a word Zander cleared away and made a fresh pot of coffee, handing Caris a cup.

While she sipped it, she stared into the flames and wondered helplessly where all this was going to end. Zander’s kiss and her own response to it had shaken her, and her clumsy attempt to deny that response had angered him and brought a reprisal that had shaken her even more.

But after a kiss that had rocked her world he had walked away, unmoved.

Apparently
unmoved. But then he had always been more adept than she at hiding his feelings.

Glancing up at him now through a fan of thick, dark lashes, she found his eyes were fixed on her and she looked hastily away.

But even that fleeting glance couldn’t help but register the look on his face—a look of passionate desire. A look she knew well. A look that stopped her breath and made her heart start to race impossibly fast.

A split second later it had vanished as though it had never been, while the flickering firelight played across his features, casting shadows in the hollows and highlighting the planes.

Forcing herself to breathe, to remain outwardly calm, she tried to tell herself that she’d been mistaken, that it had simply been a trick of the light. But she knew it hadn’t, and her stomach tied itself in knots.

Though he no longer loved her—perhaps he even hated her—that look had made it abundantly clear that he still wanted her physically.

She shivered. Though Zander had more self-control than most men, anger could fuel passion—as she had already discovered—and the knowledge made her feel even more vulnerable.

When he moved suddenly, she jumped. But with scarcely a glance in her direction he set about filling a large kettle with water and setting it on the stove to heat.

Realizing with a sinking heart that he was making preparations for bedtime, she bit her lip.

Resuming his seat, he assured her, ‘There’s no need to look quite so alarmed. Though we’ll have to share the bed, it’s plenty large enough.’

With panic in her voice, she said, ‘I don’t want to share a bed.’

‘We’ve done it before.’

‘I can’t bear the thought of lying next to you.’

‘From your reaction when I kissed you earlier, I know that’s not true. Your response was all I could have asked for.’

‘When you kissed me, just for a minute it took me back to when—’ Breaking off abruptly, she swallowed before going on. ‘But I meant what I said.’

‘I believe you
want
to mean it, but that’s not the same thing.’

‘I
do
mean it,’ she insisted.

Hearing the panic in her voice, he said, ‘Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of trying to force you. In fact, I promise not to lay a finger on you unless you want me to. If you come to me it has to be willingly, eagerly, as you once did.’

‘I’ll never do that.’

‘You said you loved me.’

‘I did. But now it’s dead. All in the past.’

‘Real love doesn’t die that easily.’

Somehow she forced herself to say, ‘In that case it couldn’t have been real. It must have been just infatuation.’

His jaw tightened as though she’d struck him. Then he shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, even if you don’t love me, you still want me and you’ll come to me because you can’t help yourself.’

‘I
don’t
still want you, and I
can
help myself.’

Smiling a little, he said with conviction, ‘Forgive me, but I don’t believe you.’

Desperate to shake that certainty, she snatched a familiar name out of the air and said, ‘You should. I could never let Nathan down.’

‘Who’s Nathan?’

‘My boyfriend.’

She saw him stiffen before he said, ‘This is the first I’ve heard about a boyfriend. Why haven’t you mentioned him before?’

‘Because my private life is none of your business.’

He looked at her through narrowed green eyes. ‘You’d better tell me about him. That is, if he actually exists?’

On slightly firmer ground now, she said, ‘Of course he exists.’

Nathan was a nice-looking thirty-eight-year-old widower she had met in the course of her work. He had asked her out quite a few times, and his kisses had been pleasant.

But no more than that. He had never once caused her heart to miss a beat, never once made her feel delightfully confused and breathless, never once raised her temperature by a single degree—so that, when he had tried to take things further, it had been only too easy to say no.

Then the company he worked for had relocated him to Wales and, her heart intact, untouched, she had waved him goodbye without any regrets.

‘So what’s his surname? What does he do? Why weren’t you meeting him on a Saturday night?’

‘His name’s Nathan Thomas. He works for an insurance company. And I wasn’t meeting him tonight because at the moment he’s in Wales.’

‘And I suppose you’re missing him desperately?’ Zander asked mockingly.

‘How did you guess?’

‘Has he been your boyfriend long?’

Deciding on a gamble, she said, ‘He’s rather more than just a boyfriend.’

Zander’s gaze sharpened. ‘How much more?’

‘We’re engaged to be married.’

The mockery vanished entirely and for an instant shock took its place. Then, his face wiped clear of all expression, he leaned forward and lifted her bare left hand. ‘You’re not wearing a ring.’

‘No, but we’ll be going to choose one as soon as he gets back.’

Zander ran long, lean fingers over his chin, assessing the truth of her words, before asking, ‘So when did he propose, exactly?’

‘Just before he went.’

‘And you said yes?’

‘Of course.’

He jumped to his feet and paced like a caged lion for a moment or two before standing over her and demanding, ‘Why did you agree to marry him?’

‘Because I … I love him.’

‘You don’t sound terribly sure.’

‘I’m quite sure,’ she insisted, then spoiled it all by adding, ‘I’m
extremely
fond of him.’

‘Fond!’

‘There’s no need to sneer,’ she said sharply. ‘It may seem tame to you, but genuine fondness can outlast a mistaken passion.’

He let that go but, seeing a white line appear round his mouth, she added for good measure, ‘And I’m sure he’ll make a good husband.’

His face set and hard, Zander demanded, ‘What about a lover?’

‘Yes … Yes, of course.’

‘Have you slept together?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘Have you?’ he demanded savagely.

‘I’ve no intention of telling you.’

‘I don’t believe you have.’

‘Believe what you want.’

Zander’s short, sharp sigh was audible as he returned to his chair.

There was silence for a while, then out of the blue he asked, ‘So what made you decide to be an estate agent?’

The abrupt change of topic, though a surprise, was a welcome one; she answered, ‘I never wanted to be a lawyer. I’d only trained to please my father. So, when I came to England, instead of looking for work with a law firm I chose to join Aunt Jo in the agency. When she died and left everything to me, I decided to have a go at running it myself.’

‘I see. And now you’re a thriving estate agent and about to get engaged to the man of your dreams.’

Caris ignored the sarcasm. As the silence closed in once more, she tried to bolster herself with the thought that if he believed she was going to marry another man he would back off. And once they had left Gracedieu they would never have to meet again. Their lives and futures would be totally separate. He would go back to the States and she would …