The Wrong Sister(36)
Soon after Fiona climbed back into bed there was a knock on her bedroom door. Kathy’s bright red hair and nonchalant face appeared.
“Christian—er—Mr Hartley said to bring you coffee,” she said, carrying a steaming mug across to the bed. Fiona noticed the easy use of his first name. Kathy seemed right at home. “And to let you know he’s decided to go to work for the rest of the day, seeing I’m here.”
Getting as far away from me as possible.
She couldn’t blame him. They could hardly indulge in polite chit-chat after what had happened.
“I’ll get up and bring my book through to the big window-seat in a while then. Thanks for the coffee.”
For the rest of the day she lazed in the shifting sun, trying hard to lose herself in a murder mystery set in Venice and New York.
Kathy kept Nicola well occupied or napping. Amy Houndsworth mopped the floor and produced a delicious chicken pie for dinner, commenting on Fiona’s new hairstyle, and mentioning her own forthcoming visit to a sister in Australia when she noticed the book had been laid down. Construction noises drifted through from the workmen in the garage. And Christian stayed away, and away.
It was six-thirty before he re-appeared.
“I’ve bought Dad back for dinner”, he said, introducing his tall silver-haired father to Kathy.
Fiona blanched. The only time she’d met Christian Hartley Senior was at Jan’s wedding. She’d felt beautiful that day, but now she was slouched in her old robe, blotched with bruises, and without so much as a lick of lip-gloss.
She sat up straighter to shake his hand.
“You’ve been very lucky, I hear?”
“I’m indestructible,” she joked.
“That I doubt.” His brown eyes surveyed her keenly. Christian’s gaze exactly.
“I’m feeling very glad to be alive,” she conceded.
“I remember you looking more like Jan—almost her twin.” He released her hand.
“Different hairstyle,” she murmured.
“Very easy-care,” Christian contributed, tongue-in-cheek.
“You could almost do this yourself,” she shot back at him.
“Could be fun.” He sent her a slight wink—the merest twitch of an eyelid over a dark eye—and Fiona felt a sudden little spasm of pleasure bloom low in her belly. The man was far too desirable. Her body knew it for certain, even as her brain fought to put some distance between them.
“Ganda!”
“Is that my Nicky?” Christian Senior asked, turning aside to play peek-a-boo with Nicky around the corner of the couch.
Seeing the chance to escape, Fiona levered herself to her feet and grabbed for her crutches. “If you’ll excuse me for a few minutes,” she said, “I’ll just get changed for dinner, seeing we have company.”
“Not on Dad’s account, I hope?”
Fiona smiled vaguely and shook her head. “On my account, Christian. It’ll make me feel much better.”
“Shall I get the chair?”
“I’ll be fine.” She started to limp across the room, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“Wait a few seconds, Fee. That’s all it’ll take.” He came back wheeling his office chair almost instantly. Sighing, she sat. He pushed her along the wide hallway.
“Stop trying to look after me,” she said through gritted teeth.
“I’m very happy looking after you.”
“I’m not yours to look after.”
“You are for the next day or two.”
But that’s all, she felt like adding.
They reached the bedroom.
“I’ll come back for you in a few minutes.”
“There’s no need.”
But by the time he returned, Fiona had curled up on the bed, sobbing in frustration.
“I can’t get my bra done up,” she hiccupped, feeling ridiculous to be upset by such a small thing.
She saw Christian trying to suppress a smile.
“I’m good at bras.”
She snorted, and pushed herself to her feet. “I’ll just bet you are.”
She turned her back on him.
He smoothed his hands down her spine and grasped the fastenings of the flimsy scrap of lace. He might have had every intention of helpfully hooking the ends together, but somehow his lips settled onto the back of her neck and wandered along her shoulder. And his fingers let go of the lace and slid around her ribcage to cover her breasts and caress her nipples. She felt them harden under his thumbs, and she gave a baffled moan.
“That wasn’t an invitation.”
He urged her around to face him, looking down at her bruised and tear-streaked face.
“I know. I do know that, Fiona. But...God...” He kissed her brow, and the tip of her nose, and then relief flooded through her and she raised her mouth to his, all her good intentions abandoned, too.