Oliver had indicated repeatedly that he didn't want to put her out of business, that he believed the area was large enough to provide sufficient business for both of them. There was something about him, some intrinsic basic honesty that compelled her to believe he meant what he was saying, but was he right? Only time would tell.
But if they both stayed in the area, how was she going to cope with her feelings? Already it was getting harder to conceal them, and, although she knew it was the best possible thing for her, she was dreading the time coming when he would move out of her home and into his own.
Common sense told her that her best course of action would be to put as much distance between them as possible. Perhaps if she didn't have the business and Sheila and Sophy to consider, she might consider selling up and …
Who was she trying to deceive? she asked herself tiredly as she dropped Sophy off at home and then drove back to the office. She had no intention of doing any such thing. Her brain might tell her one thing, but her heart was telling her something entirely different.
She wanted to be close to him. She wanted to be where he was, self-destructive though she knew such a desire was.
She was a fool, she berated herself tiredly at half-past six when she finally locked up the office and went out to her loaned car. If she had any sense … but what woman in love ever exhibited that particular virtue?
Halfway home, tired and hot, she pulled off the road and crossly removed her bulky sweater. She was aching to get home and shower the sticky heat of the day off her body. The fine wool shirt she was wearing beneath the sweater was clinging uncomfortably to her skin, and, as she wound down the windows and restarted the car, she pushed her fingers into her hair, savouring the cooling effect of the light breeze on her hot, tense scalp.
Oliver's car was parked outside the house, a reminder of his generosity in offering to lend it to her. She had been wrong about him in so many ways; it was tempting to allow herself to daydream that she might be wrong in others … that the occasional, disturbing glint of sensual awareness she had surprised in his eyes when he looked at her might actually mean something … that that kiss he had given her, the words he had said to her, could have sprung from something other than pity.
Telling herself not to be such a fool, she stopped the car and got out.
The workmen had left for the day, and as she walked round to the back door she found herself hoping that she would not find the same chaos in her kitchen she had discovered the previous evening. The door was open, making her stop and frown over the carelessness of the workmen.
While she was still staring at the open door, she suddenly heard Oliver saying cheerfully behind her, 'Ah, good, it is you. I thought it must be.'
She turned round to be confronted by the unexpected sight of his naked torso, tanned still with a faint golden residue of the previous summer's sun, the dark hair that was such a disturbingly visual reminder of his masculinity damp with sweat.
As she stared at him, he pushed a grimy hand through his already ruffled hair, leaving a streak of dirt on his forehead and making her stomach muscles clench against the wave of sensuality and desire that rose up inside her at the sight and scent of his sun-warmed body.
'I got back earlier than I expected, so I thought I'd make good use of the weather and make a start on the garden,' he was saying cheerfully, adding more cautiously, 'You did say you didn't mind.'
Didn't mind … what was it she wasn't supposed to mind? she wondered dazedly. The sight of his half-naked body, clad in a pair of faded ancient jeans that seemed to cling lovingly to the lean length of his legs, outlining the powerful muscles of his thighs, the scent of his body, warm, musky … male … was so powerfully arousing that she wanted to walk blindly towards him, to breathe in that musky aphrodisiac maleness, to explore the powerful muscles of his shoulders and torso with her hands and her lips.
She started to tremble, a deep-rooted, aching physical reaction to the sight of him. She wanted to walk up to him and to slide her hands against the taut flesh above the waistband of his jeans, to unfasten them and to discover if that tormenting line of damp, dark hair …
A shocked moan of self-contempt broke the silence between them; her eyes were wild with panic as she tried to focus on the garden beyond him, to strive for some measure of normality and sanity in a world that suddenly seemed to have turned completely upside-down.
It was men who were supposed to feel this intense sexual need, wasn't it? Not women … at least, not when nothing had been said or done to encourage it.
Beneath the thick covering of her blouse she could feel her nipples hardening, aching. And, as her breath caught in her throat, she suffered the humiliation of the unbearably erotic mental image of herself, free of the cumbersome burden of her clothes, her body pressed close to Oliver's, so that the tormented pulse of her swollen breasts was eased by the physical contact of their bodies, so that her paler, feminine flesh was rubbed erotically by the darker, harder maleness of his.
'Charlotte.'
An anxiety in his voice brought her sharply back to reality. As his hand reached out towards her, she stepped back from him, such a look of revulsion in her eyes that he frowned, not realising that it was directed against herself.
'I'm sorry … I'd forgotten. I must be filthy. It's just that for a moment you looked … '
Charlotte turned her back on him. She didn't want him to tell her how she had looked. She felt sick and faint, stripped of her defences, struggling to come to terms with a latent sensuality she had never dreamed she possessed.
'I expect you'll be eating out tonight,' she said awkwardly. 'I … '
'Well, as a matter of fact, I had thought we might eat together.'
His words stopped her, so that she had turned round to face him again before she knew what she was doing, her face registering her shock.
'Together? But-'
'It's by way of a small celebration. I've sold my London agency for an excellent price, and I was hoping that you might be kind enough to help me to celebrate my decision to make my home permanently down here.'
'Me? But-'
'Please … I've brought a special Fortnum's hamper back with me so that we wouldn't need to cook.'
Charlotte was staring at him. She couldn't take in what he was saying. 'You want to celebrate with me,' she repeated jerkily. 'But … '
'But what?'
How on earth had he come to be standing so close to her? She blinked dizzily, wondering when he had closed the distance between them.
He was so close to her now that if she gave in to the temptation to close her eyes and sway close to him her hair would brush that bare, moist chest, and then if she turned her head her lips would touch the satin smoothness of his throat. And, if she did, he would only have to close his hands on her shoulders to bring her body into intimate contact with his and to relieve the aching tension tormenting her.
'But what?' he repeated softly, causing her to focus on him and then step back from him, her eyes shadowed and wary.
But why me? she wanted to ask, but dared not. Instead she said as coolly as she could,' I should have thought you would have friends in London you could have celebrated with.'
'Not friends,' he corrected her. 'Acquaintances, yes. London is that kind of place. Everyone is too busy carving a career for themselves these days to have time to establish friendships. That kind of lifestyle isn't for me any longer. Mature, sensible relationships where two individuals agree to spend a tiny portion of their time together, sharing their bodies without sharing their dreams … that's not for me.'
She was starting to tremble wildly, unable to allow herself to believe what she was hearing.
'You mean you want … friendship … from me?' She trembled uncertainly over the word friendship, not sure of anything any more, feeling as though she had strayed into an unfamiliar world where there were no markers for her to follow.
She saw the way his mouth twisted and felt sharp anxiety spear her. She had angered him in some way.
'Is that so very hard to understand?' he asked her quietly.
'I-'
'Look, I'm filthy and sweaty. Let me go and shower, and then we can talk over dinner. You won't have to do a thing. In fact, if you like we could eat outside.'
'Outside?' Charlotte stared at him.
'Mmm. It's going to be a lovely warm evening.'
Eat outside … How long had it been since she had done anything like that? Not even when she had been a child had her father believed in the spontaneity of picnics and eating outdoors. Her childhood, she had come to recognise, had been very regimented. A certain code of behaviour had been imposed on her and rigidly adhered to.