Rival Attractions & Innocent Secretary(16)

Something about the way he was looking at her warned that he meant every  word he was saying. Shakily, Charlotte released her seatbelt and opened  the door. 'I've got to get home,' she protested. Dimly she was aware  that she was suffering from some kind of shock, and no wonder after what  he had said!

'I'll drive you there.'

'My car-' she protested, but she was already being ushered very firmly across the car park to the parked Jaguar.

'I'll arrange for it to be returned to you.'

'You don't have to do this … ' she told him uncertainly, putting her hand  to her head. Her head was aching badly. Strange … she hadn't realised she  had a headache. Tension-induced, of course. Suddenly, for no reason at  all, she felt her eyes start to swim with tears and an awful choking  sensation block her throat.

She had stood on her feet for so long, had been independent and  self-sufficient for so long that this inner weakness was something she  didn't know how to cope with.

Why on earth this particular man should be affecting her like this she had no idea.                       
       
           



       

'I don't want to go with you,' she told him almost childishly, unaware that she had spoken out loud until he said drily,

'Yes, I know. You don't want anything to do with me, do you, Charlotte?  In fact, you don't want anything to do with my sex at all, do you?'

Somehow or other they were both inside his car, and he was fastening her  seatbelt while he waited for her answer. She felt shock-waves of  sensation burst through her, washing over her body in ever-increasing  heat.

'Or is it me personally?' he pressed.

Him personally? For a moment she thought he must have registered her  reaction to him, and she gave him a guarded, almost frightened look that  made his frown deepen. The shock of what he had said to her was slowly  fading, the lump had disappeared from her throat, and when she blinked  she discovered that the tears had gone too.

He had caught her off guard, that was all. There had been no real reason for her to get in such a panic … to feel so vulnerable.

He was still waiting for a response, and, even though he had now set the  car in motion, she knew instinctively that he would continue to press  her until he got one.

After the way she had just behaved, she suspected that the last thing he  would want to do now was to share her roof, and so there was nothing to  be gained from concealing the truth.

'I just don't like being pushed into corners,' she told him restlessly.  'Everyone seems to think I should be pleased to have you lodging with  me … '

'When in reality it's the last thing you want. Why did you agree, then? Is it just the money?'

She shook her head. 'No,' she admitted. 'It was Vanessa. I didn't want her to think that I was influenced by what she said.'

'Ah, Vanessa. A most unpleasant woman, although I suppose I shouldn't  say so.' As though he felt her surprise, he grimaced. 'I feel very sorry  for her husband, because, no matter how much he does for her, it will  never be enough. I must admit I'm looking forward to moving into my new  quarters.'

'To moving in? Oh, but surely-?'

'Surely what I'll do now is the gentlemanly thing and let you off the  hook, now that I know you don't want me. I'm afraid not,' he told her  calmly. 'I've already wasted far too much time looking for somewhere  suitable, and besides, like you, I feel that the kind of comments that  Vanessa was making are best refuted by being totally ignored. Which  way?' he asked her.

Automatically she told him, and then lapsed into a numb silence as they  covered the miles in easy comfort. He was a good driver; the Jaguar was  bliss to ride in. It smelled of leather, and the passenger seat seemed  to curve itself around her body. Within twenty minutes they were turning  into the drive. She saw Oliver frown as he noted the rickety gates and  unkempt drive, although all he said when he eventually stopped the car  in front of the house was, 'Excellent situation … for a family. Do you  have much land?'

'An acre of garden and a good-sized paddock,' Charlotte responded automatically.

She never used the front door, keeping it bolted and barred at all  times, but now she reflected that perhaps she ought to have new locks  put on it so that Oliver could use it. That way she would be decreasing  the risks of their paths crossing too frequently. The risks … what risks,  for heaven's sake?

She saw the way he studied the house as she opened the porch door. When  he followed her into the kitchen, she found herself gabbling that she  was waiting for the joiner to start work on the new units, and quickly  stopped herself. Why on earth was she apologising to him? What did it  matter to her what he thought of her home?

But to her surprise he said easily, 'My mother died last year. It was  months before I could bring myself to do anything about her house.  There's always such a feeling of betrayal and guilt involved in the  death of a parent, isn't there? A feeling of reluctance to change  anything. I suppose it's all part of the natural healing process. The  trouble is that nowadays we're all too geared to the media vision of  instant everything to accept that some things take time. Do you miss  him?'

'Not really,' Charlotte admitted. 'He wasn't easy to get on with and we  weren't really close. I suppose it was guilt that brought me home in the  first place, and guilt that kept me here.'

She was surprised to discover how easy it was to admit it to him.

'I'd better show you the rooms,' she said awkwardly, opening the kitchen door and waiting for him to follow her.

In the end she showed him all through the house, and then the garden. He  was surprisingly knowledgeable about the latter for a man who lived in  London, and when he said quietly, 'Would you mind if I tried my hand at  resuscitating your vegetable plot?' Charlotte said the first thing that  came into her head.                       
       
           



       

'But you won't be here long enough. You said six months.'

'Yes, I know. So the garden is out of bounds to me, is it?'

'No … no …  Of course not.'

What had she said? She had no intention of sharing her garden with him  as well as her home. The trouble with Oliver Tennant was that he never  reacted in the way she expected, and so he was constantly catching her  off guard. She had no idea why he would want to bother himself with her  neglected vegetable garden, but now it seemed she had given him  permission to do so, just as she had tacitly agreed to accept him as her  lodger.

There were still various minor details to sort out. It was almost eight o'clock before he finally got up to leave.

Charlotte walked out with him to his car. As he opened the door he turned round. Instinctively she stepped back from him.

'By the way,' he said calmly, 'there's just one more thing.'

Charlotte waited patiently, and was stunned when his head descended  towards her own and he said quietly in her ear, 'Look at me, Charlotte. I  don't think you're sexless, far from it. Shall I prove it to you?'

The shock of his words immobilised her for just long enough for his hand  to settle firmly against her jaw and gently turn her face towards his  own, so that his mouth could feather slowly against her skin until it  came to rest against hers.

A shudder of shock racked her as her senses registered the moist warmth  of his lips and their gentle persuasive movement against her own. Her  eyes, wide open and dazed, stared into his. She couldn't believe this  was happening, but it was. His free hand was resting on her waist,  propelling her forward to close the gap between their bodies. She could  feel the heat coming off his skin-or was it her own flesh that was  giving off that warmth? The hand on her jaw stroked her throat and then  her nape, the long fingers burrowing under her hair, while her pulse  jerked frantically and her heart pounded in her chest. And all the time  his mouth was moving on hers, slowly, subtly, seductively, so that her  insides were turning fluid and molten and she was automatically obeying  the silent command of his mouth and responding to the growing pressure  of his kiss.

His kiss … he was kissing her! Frantically Charlotte pushed him away,  standing back from him as he released her immediately. A hundred  questions clamoured on her lips, but she couldn't voice any of them,  couldn't ask why he had done such an extraordinary thing. She already  knew, of course. He felt sorry for her. Well, she didn't want his pity,  nor his kisses. Nausea turned her stomach to ice. Had it really come to  that … that a man kissed her out of pity?

'Charlotte-'

'Please don't ever do that again,' she told him fiercely. 'I don't need your … your kisses, and I don't want them.'

Before he could say anything she turned on her heel and almost ran back  into the house. When she reached the kitchen she was shaking. What an  appalling thing to have happened.