Stepping out of the Shadows, page 8
Breathing slowly, she gazed out into the night, a place of enchantment lit by the serene light of the moon. It was so still she could easily hear the soft whisper of wavelets on the sands of the children’s beach and the long, lamenting cry of one of the waterbirds Waimanu was named for.
Where did Rafe sleep? Unbidden into her mind stole a picture of his lean, strong body sprawled out across a huge bed. Did he sleep naked? A sinful thrill warmed her. In Mariposa she’d been too exhausted and too worried to do more than accept his nakedness, but now she thought he’d be a brilliant lover …
On the other hand, why on earth should she imagine that just because he was a worldly success and had a very good body he’d be some—some super-Lothario?
Banishing the dangerous image, she left the curtains open, pulled off her T-shirt and went back to bed, where her plans for dealing with what had been saved from the fire were eventually overtaken by sleep.
An abrupt knock on the door brought her out of bed to race across the room, blinking sleep from her eyes.
Keir, she thought, panicking. She must have called his name, because through the door Rafe said urgently, “It’s all right—he’s fine.”
“Then what—?” Marisa jerked the door open, then blinked again, staring at him in the glow of a dim light in the hall.
He’d obviously been in bed too, because all he was wearing was a pair of loose trousers, slung low on narrow hips. The soft hall light gilded bronze shoulders and he looked big and powerful and overwhelmingly masculine.
Marisa’s pulse leapt into overdrive. After swallowing to ease a suddenly dry throat, she croaked, “What’s going on?”
“I’ve just been rung by Sandy Tanner,” he said, and grabbed her by the upper arms as she staggered. His voice harsh, he said, “It’s not good news. The fire flared up again and burnt the garage down.”
The words made sense, yet she couldn’t process them. Dazedly she stared at him as he went on quietly, “With everything in it. By the time the brigade got back it was all gone.”
It felt like a fatal blow to the heart. Every memory of her parents and every carefully preserved memento of Keir’s life lost to her for ever …
Marisa sagged, but almost immediately tried to pull herself erect.
And then she was held in a strong embrace and Rafe said abruptly, “You don’t have to take everything on the chin. You can allow yourself a tear or two.”
“I c-can’t … I can’t …” she started to say, but got no further. Her eyes flooded.
When she choked on the next word Rafe said, “It’s all right, I won’t tell anyone,” with a wryly amused note that finally broke through her resistance.
She couldn’t stop weeping, not even when he picked her up and carried her back into the bedroom. Dimly she expected him to put her down and tried not to feel abandoned. Instead, he sat on the side of the bed and held her while she gave in to the tears she hadn’t allowed herself since her father died.
Eventually it had to stop. She fought back the sobs and lifted her head, aware Rafe’s broad shoulder was wet from her crying.
And that apart from a pair of briefs, she was naked, her breasts against his chest, one of his hands very close to them.
At a complete disadvantage, she muttered hoarsely, “I’ve got a handkerchief somewhere,” and tried to pull away.
Rafe said, “I’ll get some tissues from the box on the bedside table.”
When he set her on to the side of the bed she shivered and hauled the sheet around her. His support had enfolded her, kept her safe and allowed her the luxury of grief—and threatened the life she was building for Keir.
She didn’t dare let herself rely on any man—but oh, it had been immensely comforting to feel the steady driving beat of his heart against her cheek, his powerful arms shielding her from a world that seemed suddenly to have turned on her.
Comforting and—something else …
“Here,” he said, handing her the box. He left her for the bathroom and came back shortly with a warm face flannel and a towel.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered and hid her face in the warm, wet folds.
“Why are you sorry? For crying?” His voice was level and cool. “After the day you’ve had there’d have been something wrong with you if you hadn’t released the tension somehow. And crying is a lot safer and better for you than getting drunk.”
She shivered again and he said, “Where’s your dressing gown?”
“Burnt by now,” she said more steadily. “I’ll have to call the insurance company. Again.”
He sat down beside her and slung an arm around her shoulder in another sexless embrace. “Who are you insured with?”
She had to think; her mind seemed woolly and useless. When she told him he said, “Ah, yes, I know the local agent.”
“I suppose you went to school with him.” She moved away as far as the sheet would let, evading the too-confining weight of his arm about her shoulders.
Even in the darkness she could see the white gleam of his teeth as he smiled and got to his feet. In the dimness of the room he loomed like some primeval, godlike being. Every cell in her body quivered with delicious tension and she shivered with a sensuous, terrifying mixture of anticipation and apprehension.
It was the darkness, she thought wildly. If she turned on the bedside lamp everything would return to normal. Except that she was almost naked.
So what? It wasn’t the first time she’d been almost naked in his arms. But he’d been unconscious then and they’d both slept heavily in the primitive comfort of their mutual warmth.
Now, standing so close to him, with the feel of his arms imprinted on her skin and the faint masculine scent still in her nostrils, she was seized by a sudden fierce longing for all the things she couldn’t have—for support, for excitement, for love …
But most of all for Rafe.
Who had held her without the slightest sign of wanting her.
Keir, she thought desperately. Concentrate on Keir. And dealing with the fire.
“As it happens I didn’t go to school with him,” Rafe said, his voice amused, “but he’s a decent chap and good at his job. I’ll ring him tomorrow.”
It would have been so easy to say thank you, to let him take over. He’d been kind when she needed it and she was grateful, but right now she had to fight this tantalising weakness that melted her bones and sapped her energy in a slow, smouldering heat.
“Thank you for offering, but I’ll do it,” she said unevenly.
He didn’t object. “Will you be able to get back to sleep?”
What would he do if she said no?
“Yes,” she blurted, so suddenly she made herself jump. “Goodnight, Rafe.”
“Goodnight,” he said, his voice level and uninflected.
She watched him walk out of the room, that reckless yearning she’d never felt before aching through her like sweet, debilitating poison.
Keir woke her the next morning, laughing as he tickled underneath her chin. She grabbed him and hauled him close for a kiss, then released his wriggling body to fling back the sheet and get up. The T-shirt she’d huddled into before she finally got off to sleep hung in loose folds.
And she remembered.
Remembered Rafe’s arms around her, the powerful contours of his body against hers and the faint, subtle scent that was his alone—heat and virile male. Strange, but she’d always remembered it from the night after the crash, when she’d slept in his arms while rain hammered down on the grasslands …
Her skin burned and she said swiftly, “We have to get ready for work and school, darling.” The previous night Rafe had told her he’d take her in and collect her and in the evening she could try out his grandmother’s little car, and she’d agreed.
“Can we go to the beach?” Keir asked eagerly.
She glanced at her watch and blinked. “After work, perhaps.”
The table on the terrace had been laid for breakfast and to her intense relief Rafe wasn’t there.
“He’s taking an overseas call,” the housekeeper said when Keir asked. She winked at Marisa and said, “I thought you might like to come and help me bring out the utensils, Keir.” Keir’s enthusiasm widened her smile. “If Mum agrees, of course.”
Marisa laughed. “Of course I do. I’ll come too.”
“Stay where you are and enjoy the peace,” Nadine advised. “Keir and I can do it.”
I could get used to this, Marisa thought when they’d gone back inside, looking around at the garden and the trees, colourful and lush and beautiful.
And definitely not for her …
She bit her lip, forcing her mind away so she could concentrate on all she had to do. Get through the day first and then check to see what—if anything—could be salvaged in the burnt-out shed behind the cottage.
A shattering sense of futility gripped her, clouding her mind as she wrestled with a sense of obligation that was interrupted by a prickle of awareness between her shoulder blades.
After an uneasy moment she turned to look towards the house. Rafe was walking out through the French doors, moving towards her with the lithe silence she still found intimidating.
Colour burned up through her skin, accompanied by a pang of need so fierce it almost made her gasp. He looked at her keenly, but although her stomach knotted he didn’t refer to her breakdown in his arms.
Instead, after greeting her, he said, “I’ve had news that will take me away from home for several days. I’ll be leaving tomorrow afternoon, so after I’ve picked you up from work tonight we’ll drop Keir off at the Tanners’ and check out the garage at the cottage, then find out if you can drive the sports car.”
* * *
“It’s just like a toy car!” Bouncing with enthusiasm, Keir beamed at the sports car.
Rafe looked down at him. “It might look like a toy, but it’s real enough,” he said. “Let’s strap your seat into the back and we’ll see how your mother feels about driving us down to the road.”
I’d feel a lot better if you weren’t coming too. The moment the thought popped into her mind, Marisa looked guiltily away. He did seem to have a talent for reading her mind, but right then he was concentrating on getting the car seat into position according to Keir’s instructions, delivered importantly and with pride.
She didn’t want him to be so—so damned thoughtful. That afternoon he’d realised she was near breaking point when she’d seen the smouldering wreckage of the garage and he’d helped her control her shock and desolation by being coolly practical.
Nothing had been saved; the building and its contents were a twisted, blackened heap. Inwardly Marisa had wept at the loss. Yet after they’d collected Keir and driven home, in some odd, perverse way her grief had given way to a feeling of lightness, as though the fires had burned away the detritus of her past to allow her a freedom she’d never experienced before.
Wistfully, she watched Keir direct the attachment of his car seat, envying her son’s confidence, his obvious enjoyment in helping Rafe. They could be father and son—both dark-haired and long-limbed …
Another thought to be firmly squelched. It brought with it an even heavier load of guilt.
“We’re ready.”
Rafe’s voice startled her. She turned to see that the child seat had been fitted into the car and locked into place.
His smile was a little ironic. “Satisfied?”
“Yes.” She looked down at her son. “In you get, young man.”
He obeyed, but when she went to clip him in he said, “Mr Pev’ril can do it, Mum.”
Something twisted in her heart. She said, “OK”, and watched an amused Rafe follow more instructions, his hands deft and swift and sure as he slotted in the clip.
“There, that should do it,” he said to her son’s enthusiastic assent.
Marisa slid behind the wheel, fighting a difficult tangle of emotions. Love for her son mingled with fear that she was depriving him of a formative and necessary relationship by keeping him away from his father.
And then there was the confusing ache that had nothing to do with Keir.
She was so very aware of Rafe. Her body sang a rash, forbidden call whenever he was near, a call she didn’t dare heed. If only he weren’t so … well, so nice in his autocratic way. And Keir’s pleasure in being with him was obvious from his confident, happy tone when he was chatting to Rafe.
Unfairly, she didn’t want Rafe to be good with her son. Why wasn’t he what she imagined a typical tycoon to be—dictatorial, overbearing and intolerant, puffed up with pride and a sense of privilege and entitlement?
Then she wouldn’t feel this reckless attraction, this disturbing tangle of emotion and sensation that was changing from the initial strong, physical pull into something much more dangerous, an emotion with the power to change her life …
He lowered his long body into the front seat. Hastily she pretended to be studying the dials on the dashboard.
“Ready?” he asked.
Without looking at him, Marisa nodded and switched on the engine. “As ready as I’m likely to be. It’s a good thing there’s a long drive to practise on.”
Although it had been some years since she’d used a manual gearbox, she soon remembered the technique as they set off slowly towards the road. From the back seat Keir chatted away, seeming not to mind that it was Rafe who answered his questions and pointed out various things he thought might interest her son.
At least concentrating on co-ordinating gear lever and clutch kept her from further obsessing about the man beside her.
And then they met the tractor. Not an ordinary tractor, but a behemoth, garish in colour and noisy.
“Stop here,” Rafe ordered.
Marisa brought the car to a halt, smiling as she turned to look at her son when Rafe swung out of the car. Keir adored tractors and his attention was fixed on the vehicle and the man striding towards it.
After a brief discussion with the driver Rafe came back and bent to tell her, “The nearest gate is only about a hundred yards behind us, so back up and go into the paddock to let him past. Would you like me to do it?”
Powerfully tempted to surrender the wheel, Marisa set her jaw. Letting him take over would be a disintegrating reversion to the woman who’d allowed herself to become the wreck he’d seen at their first meeting.
In a clipped voice she said, “No, I’ll be fine, thank you.”
As though he’d expected her answer, he nodded. “Don’t try to back through the gate. Reverse past it, then drive through. Once you’re in the paddock you can turn around.”
It wasn’t exactly an order, but she had to conceal a bristling irritation as he straightened up again.
Go and talk to the tractor driver again, she urged silently.
Instead, he walked towards the gate, formidable and compelling, the sun gleaming red-black on his arrogant head.
A heady rush of adrenalin clamoured through Marisa, setting off tiny fires in every cell. Shocked by its force, she realised her hands were clammy on the wheel. As she dragged in a swift, shaky breath she ordered herself to be sensible, an injunction that did nothing to calm her twanging nerves.
Concentrate, she told herself fiercely. Reversing is not one of your strongest skills, but for heaven’s sake, this is dead flat and perfectly straight—you can do it. Just don’t scrape the side of the car as you go through …
How she hoped the mechanic would have her car fixed on Tuesday! And that she could find a place of her own soon—before Rafe returned from wherever he was going.
Tuning out Keir’s chatter, she set the car in motion. Rafe stood beside the opened gate, watching her. Acutely conscious of him, she slowly reversed the car down the drive.
“I like Mr Pev’ril,” Keir said from the back, waving at Rafe, who lifted his hand in response. “Do you like him, Mum?”
“Yes,” she said colourlessly, because what else could she say?
Like? What a pallid, wishy-washy word. She didn’t like Rafe Peveril—she wanted him.
There, she’d admitted it. She wanted him. Whenever he was nearby her treacherous body did its best to weaken her will. Even though every instinct whispered that he was a dangerous man with the power to cause her huge grief, she thrilled to the sight of him.
To Keir’s enthusiastic commentary, she drove carefully into the paddock and turned the car to face the drive. The tractor thundered by, stopping a few metres beyond the gate and the driver swung down to speak to Rafe. Carefully she eased the car on to the drive again before stopping and glanced in the rear-vision mirror.
Something about Rafe’s stance caught her attention. Whatever he was being told had made him angry. He spoke briefly and curtly, then strode towards the car.
“Here he comes!” Keir announced superfluously.
Marisa’s hands clenched on the wheel. She took a huge breath and turned her head as Rafe got in, meeting eyes as cold and deadly as the moon.
Her stomach knotted and for a moment she froze in a familiar, dreaded fear. Whenever David had been angry with her he’d go silent, refusing to give her a reason and ignoring her tentative efforts to find out what she’d done wrong. Periodically he’d walked out, sometimes for days, leaving her alone without knowing where he was or whether he was ever coming back.
Involuntarily she asked, “Is something wrong?”
And stopped, angry with herself for reverting so rapidly. Rafe wasn’t David and she was no longer a depressed girl rendered helpless by those long silences.
“Possibly.” He paused, then continued in a level voice, “The driver’s been clearing some gorse along the riverbank and noticed some suspicious plants on the other side.”
“Suspicious pl—oh!” She stared at him. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
“Yes.”
“On your property?”
“Yes.” In a lethal tone that sent icy shivers down her spine, he finished deliberately, “Which could indicate that someone from Manuwai put them there.”
