Kelly's Man (12 page)

S
HE
followed him into the cottage. Mary was methodical, and it seemed that Nicholas knew where to find what he needed.

When he had cleaned the area surrounding the scratch he opened the tube of disinfectant ointment. He began to stroke on the ointment, his fingers moving in slow movements that were so unbearably sensual that Kelly felt her pulses racing. She pressed her lips in a tight line to prevent them trembling, and dropped her eyes so that he would not read her emotion. At his low chuckle, unnervingly near her ear, she shivered.

'It's that bad?' His voice was a husky tease.

She nodded. 'Yes.' Ostensibly they were talking of the scratch, but Kelly had the appalling feeling that Nicholas guessed at the true reason for her tension.

'You're a funny mixture, aren't you?' He studied her speculatively, taking in the wide green eyes that were frighteningly easy to read, the two spots of colour in the soft cheeks, the little pulse that throbbed at the base of her throat.

'Wh-what do you mean?' It was becoming harder and harder to speak through the tightness in her chest.

'All spoiled and sophisticated worldliness on the outside, yet a little naive on the inside.'

He was so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. 'I don't know what you're trying to say,' Kelly countered jerkily. 'If you're talking about the work I've done I'm not Mary, but I've tried my best.'

'I'm not talking about Mary or your work, and you know it.' The low voice held a seductive throb. 'Though I don't deny that you've done a good job.'

'I never thought you'd say it.' His fingers were continuing in the same stroking movement, and she wondered, a little wildly, how much ointment Nicholas thought was necessary, also why he should see fit to rub the skin that was not torn by the thorns. 'Nicholas—do you think you could stop now?'

For a moment that seemed never-ending the movements of his fingers were, if anything, even more tantalising. Just when she thought she would stop breathing, the hand left her arm. She was relieved—and at the same time she felt stupidly bereft.

Without a word Nicholas stood up and walked through to the living-room. Kelly followed him.

'Nicholas ..." Her throat was dry. 'You didn't answer my question.' And as he turned to look at her, 'About Mary ... She
is
coming back this afternoon, isn't she?'

His eyes studied her. 'No.'

Kelly turned pale. 'That was the arrangement.'

'She can't make it. She'll be here tomorrow morning.'

'No!' Colour returned to Kelly's cheeks, as the protest jerked from her lips. 'I won't stay here tonight.'

'You have little alternative.' His tone was without expression.

'Will you be here too?'

'My dear Kelly,' white teeth flashed wickedly against the bronzed skin, 'what an unnecessary question!'

She looked at him quite silently for a few moments before she spoke again. He was enjoying this, she thought. He knew just how she felt—the turmoil coupled with an almost pleasurable apprehension—and it gave him satisfaction.

'If the hotel is full you could sleep at your farm.'

'You know the answer to that one too.'

'You don't understand, Nicholas.' A note of quiet despair. 'I don't want to spend another night in the same cottage with you.'

'I do understand,' he countered in measured tones. 'And if you're honest with yourself, Kelly, you'll admit that we both want the same thing.'

She stared at him wide-eyed. Her mouth opened, but no words came. As a wave of desire swamped her senses she could only shake her head in horrified disbelief. At last one word burst from her parched throat. 'No!'

Then she was pushing past him, intent only on getting out of the cottage, away from Nicholas, away from a truth which she could under no circumstances accept. A strong hand seized her wrist, jerking her back from the door, and then he was pulling her roughly against the hardness of his body.

He had kissed her before, in punishment or to prove a point, and each time she had been stirred against her will. This kiss was different. It was deliberately sensual, the expertise of the probing lips raising her to heights she had not dreamed of. Once, when he paused for breath, she managed to twist her head and utter a protest. She caught sight of his eyes, filled with an expression she had never seen before, not even in Gary, and she was frightened and wildly excited at one and the same time.

'Nicholas,' she pleaded, 'please ... let me go...'

'You want it, Kelly.' There was seductiveness in the husky throb of his voice.

And then his mouth was descending again, and his hands were on her body, moulding it between them, sliding from her shoulders to her back and then to her hips. She could feel the hard length of his body against hers and through her own desire she could feel that he wanted her. She did not know that she arched instinctively towards him, all rational thought gone now, filled only with the need to be closer to him, and closer--

At some stage he must have opened the buttons of her blouse, and now she felt his lips pressing against the hollow between her breasts. New flames were ignited, and involuntarily she shuddered.

It was only as he lifted her in his arms to carry her to the bed that she saw his face. It was the face of Nicholas Van Mijden, the man who could rouse her to an ecstasy she had never imagined possible, and who would despise her later for having been too susceptible. It was the face of her enemy, the man who had despised and ridiculed her since the moment he had set eyes on her. With the last vestiges of her resistance crumbling, and with every nerve and fibre of her body clamouring to be part of this man, reason came to her rescue.

This time when she protested, she did so with anger tinged with despair. For once she was quicker than he was. It was the despair which lent urgency to her movements, so that she managed to wrest herself from him before he could put her down.

It was only later that she realised that if Nicholas had really wanted her, the movement would not have succeeded. She knew too that if he had resumed his lovemaking, she might have surrendered completely and risked the consequences.

He made no move to stop her as she ran from the bedroom and out of the cottage. She was already outside when she remembered that her blouse was undone, her hair dishevelled. With fingers that shook she stood beneath the trees and did up her buttons and tucked her blouse into her slacks. Ideally she should have gone back inside to do her hair. But nothing would induce her to face Nicholas again so soon. Roughly she raked her fingers through her hair, and hoped she was in some measure successful.

Nicholas did not seek her out again that afternoon, and Mary's list mentioned nothing specific to be done at the hotel. If Andrew had been around Kelly might have suggested a walk, but except for the few moments at tea-time she had not seen him. She was in no state to go to the verandah and order herself something to drink. In any event she was far too restless to sit and gaze into the mountains.

Sitting would mean thinking, and her thoughts would inevitably turn to Nicholas.

Sooner or later she would have to think about him, and about the feelings he had awakened in her. But not now. Not until she had left Great Peaks Lodge. For she knew that the thoughts would be painful, that only the finality of a parting and the knowledge that there was no possibility of seeing Nicholas again could create some kind of peace out of turmoil. The fact that it would be a peace born of resignation, was something she would have to accept.

But she could not, would not, think about him now!

Only one way not to think, and that was to keep busy. Even without Nicholas to delegate chores, it was not hard to find things to do. On the surface the hotel was neat and well kept. Although they could not afford as much staff as they needed, the Andersons had been clever at making the best of things and at preserving an outward image that was eminently pleasing. Yet now that Kelly was beginning to know the hotel more intimately, she recognised tasks that had been shelved to await a day when time and money were more plentiful. For one who was looking for work, it was not hard to find.

She was polishing a pair of copper vases which would look just right on the mantelpiece of the lounge when she glanced at her watch and saw that it was time to go to the kitchens. The sun was beginning to set behind the high peaks. Soon it would be dark. Despite what Nicholas had said, she had continued to hope that Mary would return. Now she knew that the hope had been futile.

For once Nicholas did not come to the kitchens and Kelly was glad. She did not want to face him. Later, when most of the guests had eaten and it was almost time for her own dinner, a waiter came to her with a message. Miss de Jager was dining with Mr Van Mijden and they would be glad if she would come through and join them. Kelly hesitated a few moments, searching for a believable excuse, before it came to her that no excuses were necessary. She sent a polite message back, declining the invitation.

Not that they would waste two minutes wondering at her refusal, she thought wryly. The invitation had been no more than a social politeness. They would be far happier without her. She did not have to be in the room to see them together—Serena, beautiful and vivacious, laughing at Nicholas across the flickering light of the candle. Nicholas, lean and tanned and devastatingly attractive, enjoying the company of the woman who would soon be his wife. Not for Serena his arrogance and contempt and derision. Those qualities were reserved only for Kelly.

Under no circumstances would she share a meal with them. Yet the thought of their candlelit intimacy brought a pain which was like a knife in her chest.

When she had had something to eat, Kelly found more work to keep her busy. It occurred to her that she could go to the verandah and look for Andrew, but the idea of spending the evening in the engineer's company, much as she liked him, was unappealing. There would be a facade to keep up, a constant air of bright unconcern, for not far way, Nicholas and Serena would be sharing a table of their own. Kelly was in no mood for facades.

It was almost ten o'clock when she lifted her head from a cabinet she was sorting. Her back was stiff and her head was throbbing—fatigue, she decided. She had been on the go since dawn, with almost no respite. That Nicholas could be the main cause of her discomfort was something she did not even want to consider.

Through the scent-filled darkness she walked to the cottage. A light burned at the door, but the living-room was empty. In the bedroom she took off her shoes and lay down on the bed. She was so tired that the effort to bath and brush her teeth and change into a nightgown was beyond her. In a while she would get ready for bed, but first she needed a few minutes of rest...

The smell of coffee was aromatic, tantalising. Slowly Kelly opened her eyes. It was light. Vaguely she remembered lying down on her bed to rest. She must have fallen asleep and left the light on.

Quite suddenly instinct told her that she was not alone in the room. Green eyes opened warily. A tall figure stood beside the bed, bronzed and muscled and almost unbearably virile. In his hand was a mug with the steam rising from it, in his eyes a mocking amusement that sent the blood racing through her sleep-sluggish veins.

He did not speak, and for a long moment no words came from her own lips. In a rush the events of the evening flooded her mind, and she understood that she had slept the night through and that it was now morning. What was not yet clear was how she came to be beneath the blankets. She sat up, meaning to ask him the question, when she saw, to her horror, that she was clad in a pale-pink nightgown. It was the most diaphanous garment she possessed. With a little gasp she clutched the sheet to her chin.

'An unnecessary action in the circumstances.'

For one wild moment there had been the hope that she had in fact woken some time during the night, just long enough to get undressed and slip between the sheets. But the clipped statement, coupled with the wicked gleam in dark intelligent eyes, put paid to the notion.

'You couldn't have... I mean, did you...?' Kelly was stammering in her confusion. The fact that warmth was flooding her cheeks with colour did not add to her composure.

'Of course.'

'You shouldn't have,' she protested shakily.

His voice was dry. 'It was a pleasure.' And then, as colour burned even brighter in her cheeks, Nicholas said mockingly, 'If it's any consolation, it was by no means the first time I've seen a naked female. ^He paused, and she saw the gleam lighting the dark eyes. 'Though not all possessed bodies which were quite as desirable as yours.'

'You find me desirable?' The words were out before she could stop them.

He laughed softly. 'Are you asking me to prove it to you again?'

Yes! The knowledge came that she wanted it more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. Her every nerve and fibre trembled with the desire to have him make love to her. It was a revelation which brought her no joy.

'No,' she said tautly, keeping her eyes down lest he read the expression which must be clear to anybody as perceptive as Nicholas. She curled her fingers in her palms, and willed her voice to emerge loud and firm. 'Get out of here, Nicholas. I can't help what happened last night. But I do want some privacy while I get dressed.'

Her heart did a double-leap as a hand cupped her chin, forcing her face upwards. Grey eyes looked down into green ones. There was no drawing away, no possibility for concealment, for there was something compelling about the dark eyes that brooked no defiance. Kelly's heart hammered against her ribs, and there was a hard lump in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. Later she was to wonder if she remembered to breathe.

After what seemed eternity but might well have been only seconds, the grip on her chin relaxed, and Kelly was able to draw away and look down again, but not before she saw the glimmer of what could only be satisfaction in the rugged-featured face.

He left her without a word and went out of the room. For a long time Kelly sat quite still. Even after she heard the outer door of the cottage close, she did not move. There was a buzzing in her head and her limbs were trembling. Above all there was a leaden feeling of disappointment. No matter that she fought Nicholas, that she seemed unable to exchange a dozen civil words with him, she could not deny to herself the knowledge that she had wanted —desperately wanted—to feel the hardness of his against hers.