Dangerous Temptation Read online

  She forced a smile. "I see you took a shower." With his hair still damp and clinging to his neck, that seemed a safe comment to make. "I—I should have told you. There's a hair dryer in one of the drawers in your dressing room."

  "A hair dryer, eh?" Nathan's mouth compressed a little sardonically. "Well, what do you know? I don't remember ever using one. Seems like my hair's used to drying naturally. Though I guess it is getting over-long."

  "Oh, no, I…"

  The protest spilled automatically from her lips, and Caitlin felt the wave of heat sweep up her neck. For God's sake, what had possessed her to say that? How he wore his hair was nothing to do with her. It was just that its length added to his alienation—a circumstance she was quite prepared to admit she preferred.

  He was waiting for her to finish, and with an awkward shake of her head, she said offhandedly, "I rather like it as it is."

  "Do you?"

  The words were spoken very softly, and his narrowing gaze held a depth of emotion she didn't ever remember seeing before. Those moments in the bedroom when she'd been so aware of him came back to haunt her, and she wondered why she was so drawn to him now, when she'd never felt this way in the past.

  Whatever, when he lifted his hand and brushed his thumb almost sensuously across her parted lips, her tongue crept forward instinctively. She wanted to taste the pad that had touched her and she savoured the faint aroma of coffee on his skin.

  His indrawn breath showed he was not unaware of the intimacy, and long muscles, taut and masculine, flexed beneath the short sleeves of his black knit shirt. Dark eyes, as soft and smooth as velvet, impaled her nervous gaze, reminding her, if any reminder were needed, of his strength and her vulnerability to it.

  Struggling to escape the trance he was laying on her, she found refuge in an unusual way. It was so long since she had been this close to Nathan, and a sudden awareness of how brown his skin looked—how healthy—brought the unwelcome thought of Lisa Abbott to mind. He must have been attending a health spa, she decided. Had he taken his mistress along?

  A pain knifed through her stomach, banishing her weakness and replacing it with cold resentment. Why was she even contemplating his appearance? Whatever he did, it didn't matter to her.

  So, when he moved closer and bent his head towards her, Caitlin recoiled in revulsion. He was not going to make a convenience of her. If he'd forgotten about the other woman, she hadn't, and she shouldn't allow her sympathy to get in the way of common sense.

  His reaction was not unexpected. When she drew back before his mouth could connect with hers, he uttered a muffled oath. And with a feeling that mingled an unwilling regret with triumph, she put the width of the kitchen between them, bending to take a carton of cream from the fridge to avoid his eyes.

  "What is it with you?" he demanded angrily, long fingers combing back the heavy hair that had fallen over his forehead. "For Christ's sake, Kate, I'm your husband! How long are you planning on keeping up this crazy charade?"

  Caitlin set the cream on the drainer and made a play of removing its plastic cover. "It's too soon," she said, realising she didn't have a satisfactory answer. So long as he didn't mention Lisa Abbott, neither would she.

  "Too soon?" He stared at her impatiently now, and she offered him a wary look. "Too soon for what? For kissing my wife? For welcoming me home? For letting me make love to you? Dammit, what's wrong with us? Don't we communicate any more?"

  Caitlin swallowed. "Of course we do."

  "On what level?"

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "I mean, why are you acting like we never slept together? You'll be telling me next you're a virgin! Hell, you surely know what that can do to a man."

  Caitlin held up her head. "There's no need to be rude."

  "Isn't there?" He regarded her scathingly. "Seems to me it's the only way to get a reaction around here."

  "That's not true." Caitlin sighed. "I just need a little-time, that's all. We have to get to know one another— again."

  "Bullshit!"

  Nathan's response was predictable, and Caitlin wondered why she had expected anything else. And at least his outburst was familiar. He had never been any good at guarding his tongue.

  Deciding there was no point in trying to reason with him in this mood, she turned away to check on the coffee, but his next words were not predictable at all. "Can't you see?" he implored. "I'm just trying to make some sense of my existence. And it seems to me that our relationship should be the most important aspect of that."

  Caitlin swallowed. "Well—"

  "You don't get it, do you?" he demanded suddenly. "You have no earthly idea what I'm saying." His lips twisted. "Why should you? I'm the one who's all screwed up. Oh, shit, what I need is a drink."

  "You're going to have a drink. The coffee's almost ready," said Caitlin, deliberately misunderstanding him. But she didn't like it when he appealed to her sympathies, particularly when she so badly wanted to respond. "I—I bought some pastries. I thought you might be hungry. You didn't have any breakfast on the plane."

  "At three o'clock in the morning? Give me a break," he countered, reminding her of the five-hour time change between New York and London. "Anyway," he added wearily, "I'm not hungry. I guess I lost my appetite along with all the rest."

  "Nathan—"

  Caitlin started to speak, but before she could say anything she might have regretted later, Mrs Spriggs appeared in the open doorway. "That's it, Mrs Wolfe," she said, offering Nathan a nervous smile. "I've finished the bedrooms. I'll come back tomorrow and do the laundry."

  "Thanks."

  Caitlin was grateful. She had never had any cause to doubt Mrs Spriggs's word. From time to time, Nathan had complained that she got in his way, or that she didn't iron his shirts as well as he was used to, but most of the time they kept out of each other's way.

  Aware of this, she glanced somewhat awkwardly towards Nathan, and as if sensing his presence was surplus to requirements, he brushed past the daily woman and left the room. He didn't even take the cup of coffee she'd poured for him, and presently she heard the outer door of the flat slam.

  Immediately, she wanted to go after him. She was terrified of what might happen to him out in the street. But although her hands clenched tightly on the marble worktop, she forced herself to remain where she was.

  "Gone out, has he?" inquired Mrs Spriggs in a return to her usual garrulous fashion. Caitlin's father had always said that his daughter allowed the daily woman too many liberties, but there'd been times when she'd welcomed her friendly chatter.

  "It looks like it," Caitlin answered now, pushing the newly made pot of tea towards her. And then, because she needed any reassurance, however specious, she added, "D'you think he'll remember where he lives, or ought I to follow him, Mrs Spriggs?"

  "Well…" Mrs Spriggs evidently welcomed the opportunity to offer an opinion. "I dare say he can ask somebody else if he gets lost. I shouldn't worry about him, Mrs Wolfe. He's not a baby." She pulled a wry face. "As a matter of fact, he seemed—well, rather competent to me."

  "Mmm."

  Caitlin wished she felt more confident about his actions, but at least it seemed that Nathan had been civil to Mrs Spriggs. He had been known to swear at her on occasion, particularly if he had a hangover and she started hoovering the floor.

  "How—er—how long is it likely to take?" the woman was asking now, and Caitlin didn't pretend not to understand what she meant.

  "I wish I knew," she said. "Apparently, there are no hard-and-fast rules about amnesia. No one seems to know exactly how long it may last." She shrugged. "We can only hope for the best."

  "I see." Mrs Spriggs nodded. "The best being that—er— Mr Wolfe recovers his memory?" she added curiously, and Caitlin frowned.

  "Of course."

  "Of course." Mrs Spriggs looked a little discomforted. "But I have to say, he seems—very nice as he is."

  Caitlin couldn't prevent a rueful smile. She knew exactly what Mrs
Spriggs meant. It would be nice to think that Nathan wouldn't change when he recovered his memory, but she was realistic enough to know that miracles didn't happen.

  "I suppose he's just trying to find his feet," she offered neutrally, wondering how much Mrs Spriggs really knew. She had to have her own opinion as to why they had separate bedrooms. And Nathan had been known to speak carelessly in the past.

  The sudden ringing of the phone gave her a welcome excuse to abandon their conversation. Excusing herself to the daily woman, she went to answer the call in the other room. But when she picked up the receiver, no one answered. It was obviously a wrong number, she thought, because when she gave her name, the call was immediately disconnected.

  She sighed, wishing Nathan hadn't left the flat without telling her where he was going. How dependable was his independence if he didn't recognise the flat? It was just as well the call hadn't been from her father, she mused ruefully. She could imagine his impatience if he called and Nathan wasn't there.

  As if the thought was father to the deed, the phone rang again right beside her. And this time when she picked it up, it was her father. The bell had jangled her nerves, and she collapsed into the chair beside the phone rather wearily. She could have done without Matthew Webster's intervention right at this moment.

  "Cat?" he demanded, as if her voice wasn't perfectly familiar to him. "Where've you been?"

  "Well, I have just got back from New York," she replied tersely, aware of the deliberate irony. "And yes, I had a good journey, before you ask."

  "Don't be clever with me, Cat." Her father had never had much of a sense of humour, and she could tell by his tone that he was not in the mood for whimsy now. "I know where you've been and I know what time your flight landed. What I want to know is why you haven't rung me before this."

  Why, indeed!

  Caitlin rested her head back against the soft velour of the chair's headrest and closed her eyes. "I haven't had the chance," she said at last, recognising that for the prevarication it was. "We haven't been back that long, and I had things to do—"

  "Yes, you did," said Matthew Webster sternly. "You had to ring me. You must have known I'd be concerned about you, Cat." He paused. "So—how is the invalid? Has he remembered who he is yet?"

  "No."

  Caitlin opened her eyes, finding herself resentful of that particular tone in her father's voice. Whilst she might have had her doubts, she found she objected to anyone else being suspicious of her husband. Besides, why should her father think he might be lying? So far as she was aware, he had supported Nathan in everything he'd done.

  "I see." Matthew Webster sounded thoughtful now. "Well—why don't you put him on the line? Perhaps I can jog his memory. I know what women are like. They avoid plain speaking if they can."

  How would you know? thought Caitlin indignantly, aware suddenly that the amicability of her present relationship with her father was just a veneer. Oh, she still loved him and she had no doubt he loved her in his own way. But she hadn't forgotten his disparagement of her abilities, and at times like this, the cracks began to show.

  Now she felt a certain amount of satisfaction in saying, "He's not here." She knew, better than anyone, how much her father liked to get his own way. But in this instance, he was bound to be disappointed. She could even have said that Nathan didn't care.

  "What do you mean, he's not there?"

  Her father's response was just as aggravated as she had expected, and having a belated care for his blood pressure, she attempted to calm him down. "He's gone for a walk," she said, although she didn't honestly know what Nathan was doing. "This has been a difficult time for him, Dad. Just give him a little breathing space."

  The silence that followed was decidedly hostile. She could hear her father's laboured breathing and knew he was having quite a job controlling his temper. Whatever sympathy he might have had for Nathan's condition was being sorely tested, and knowing him as she did, she guessed he was resenting putting his faith in a man who had let him down.

  "When will he be back?" he demanded at last, and Caitlin considered before answering.

  "I don't know," she said. "Probably not long."

  "Well, where's he gone?" exclaimed her father, losing his personal battle. "For God's sake, Cat, I thought the fellow was sick!"

  "Not sick—just suffering from amnesia." Caitlin wondered why she was bothering to defend Nathan. It wasn't as if he would thank her for it. "And I'm afraid I don't know where he's gone. He didn't give me an itinerary before he left."

  Her father snorted. "I've told you, don't take that tone with me, young woman. I'm not the one who's allowed someone who apparently can't even remember his own name to go wandering all over London." He bit off an expletive. "Have you no sense? What if he gets lost?"

  Caitlin sighed. "He's not stupid, Daddy." She straightened her spine. "And if you must know, I didn't 'allow' him to do anything. He doesn't need my permission to go out. I doubt if I could have stopped him, even if I'd wanted to."

  "What do you mean by that?" Matthew Webster sounded suspicious now. "Have you two been having a row? If you have, I want to know about it."

  "Oh, no." Caitlin knew she couldn't allow him to think that. "He's just—upset, that's all. Impatient. I expect he finds the situation frustrating. He can't even remember the flat."

  "Hmm, well…" Her father seemed to be considering her answer. "Well, I don't know how he feels, do I? I haven't had a chance to find out. But I suppose I can wait until later, if I have to. And we'll be seeing you on Friday at the house."

  Caitlin's throat dried. "Will you?"

  "Of course." Her father gave a peevish exclamation. "Naturally, your mother and I are expecting you and Nathan to join us for the weekend. It's been far too long since you both spent any time at Fairings. And it will give me a chance to assess Nathan's condition for myself."

  To see if he's lying, thought Caitlin drily, but she didn't say it. "Oh—Daddy," she said instead, wishing she had a reasonable excuse to give him. "I don't think Nathan will want to go away again. He's just got home."

  "Don't you think you're being rather selfish, Cat?" her father asked abruptly. "Surely you can understand our feelings just this once. You're our daughter, for heaven's sake, and Nathan's our son-in-law. Naturally, we feel we have the right to welcome him back."

  Caitlin stifled a groan. "All right," she said resignedly. "I'll—see what he says." She bit her lip. "But I don't intend to browbeat him into accepting. He needs to take things slowly. That's what his American doctor said."

  "Did he?" The sarcasm in her father's voice resurfaced. "And I suppose that's why he's gone out without an escort, is it?"

  "No."

  Caitlin wondered if it was only her imagination, or was the criticism being levelled at Nathan as well as herself? After all, her father had never had much patience with illness. In his own case, he'd been desperate to get back to work.

  "So—providing he finds his way home again, we can expect you on Friday afternoon, can we?" her father continued when it became obvious that Caitlin had nothing more to add, and she lifted her hand in a gesture of defeat only she could see.

  "Why not?" she agreed tersely. "I'm sure Janie won't mind covering for me again." That was a deliberate provocation. She had no real idea when she'd be returning to the antique shop. She pressed her lips together. "Is that all?"

  "Not quite." Her father snapped out the words. "You know very well you can't consider going back to work while—while Nathan is in his present state. Why—why anything could happen. And I'm not paying for a full-time nurse to take care of him."

  "No one's asking you to," retorted Caitlin indignantly. "And I've told you—Nathan's not answerable to me. He's proved that by—" She broke off, and then continued rather more evenly. "I can't be expected to mollycoddle him, Daddy. He does have a mind of his own."

  "Does he?"

  Her father didn't sound convinced, but Caitlin eventually made some excuse about Mrs Spriggs cal
ling her and hung up. She knew if she stayed on the line any longer, she might be tempted to reveal the truth about her marriage, and that would never do. Besides, they seldom talked about personal things, which generally suited her very well. It was only now, with the whole fabric of her world in tatters, that she wished she had someone she could talk to.

  If only she and her mother had had a close relationship. But from the very beginning, Caitlin had wanted to follow in her father's footsteps, and by the time she was married to Nathan, it was too late to change her ways. Besides, Daisy Webster had always had a soft spot for her son-in-law, and Caitlin had known she couldn't confide her problems to her.

  She was still sitting dejectedly by the phone, her mug of coffee cooling in her hand, when Mrs Spriggs came to tell her she was leaving. "I've left the coffee on the hob," she said, "just in case Mr Wolfe wants a cup when he gets back." She hesitated. "I—I shouldn't worry about him, if I was you, dear. He'll find his way back. And our Wayne could always go and look for him. He's got nothing better to do."

  Caitlin doubted Wayne Spriggs would appreciate being volunteered so arbitrarily. In her opinion, the daily woman's son seemed quite happy doing nothing at all. If he wasn't down at the dog track, he was in the pub or sprawled in front of the telly playing computer games.

  But she thanked Mrs Spriggs for the offer, and after the woman had gone, she went to pour the rest of her coffee into the sink. Alone now, she was becoming increasingly anxious. Her father was right: she shouldn't have let Nathan go out alone.

  Yet, she had to admit that in the past she'd been happiest when he was out of the flat. She'd been glad when he'd just used it as a place to shower and change his clothes. He'd spent most of his time with Lisa Abbott, she reflected, trying to drum up her usual resentment. But unless the other woman had been waiting outside, he couldn't be with her now.

  Which is what made the present situation so disturbing. If only Mrs Spriggs hadn't interrupted them, they might have made some headway after all. Though she'd been grateful enough for the daily woman's arrival when he'd had her imprisoned in the bedroom, and the frustration he'd exhibited later had hardly augured well for a breakthrough in their relationship.