Burning Inheritance Read online

  'I think you know how I felt then,' he muttered, bending his head to touch her bare shoulder with his tongue. 'If that policeman hadn't interrupted us, I'd have taken you there and then.'

  Isabel quivered. 'I wish you had,' she whispered fervently, as he drew her into his arms, and Alex said,

  'So do I,' against the parted sweetness of her lips.

  His kiss was firm and gentle, as Alex rediscovered the contours of her mouth, a sensuous benediction to the altar of her beauty. There was no rush, no haste, no hurried need to satisfy the senses. Just a sensual awakening to the delights that they might share. Even the hands that caressed her waist made no overt attempts to disconcert her. Alex was quite content to explore her lips, her cheeks, the fluttering femininity of her lashes, and the scented hollow behind her ear with his tongue, so that by the time he found her mouth again, she was aching for much more.

  This time, when he kissed her, she responded, urgently, winding her arms around his neck and pressing herself against him. It was marvellous feeling his hard body close to hers, and not until her breasts encountered a certain roughness did she realise he had pushed the strapless bodice of her swimsuit down to her waist.

  'What—what if someone comes?' she stammered huskily, as his hands slid from her waist to find the swollen fullness of her breasts, and Alex's lips twisted.

  'I don't particularly care,' he said honestly, lowering his lips to take one rose-tipped nipple into his mouth. 'But relax,' he added, as she jerked beneath his hands, 'no one will come.' He smiled. 'They wouldn't dare.'

  'Are you sure?' she fretted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and with another lazy nod, Alex sought her mouth again.

  'I'm sure,' he told her, cupping her face between his hands and rubbing his forehead against hers. 'Besides, we've got nothing to be ashamed of. You're not married this time.'

  In spite of the lethargy that Alex's kisses were inducing in her, Isabel heard his careless words quite succinctly. 'This—this time?' she echoed blankly. 'Why—this time? I wasn't married when------'

  'Forget it.'

  Alex didn't want to talk right then, but Isabel's brain was clearing with every second that passed. 'When, Alex?' she pressed him urgently. 'When did we ever do this before? I was never unfaithful to Chris, ever! You know that. Don't you?'

  Alex allowed her to escape only to arm's length. 'Well, not with me,' he conceded softly, his thumbs caressing her shoulder. 'Darling, it really doesn't mat------'

  'It matters to me!' she exclaimed, and now she tore herself out of his grasp. 'You—you still believe it, don't you? You still believe I had an affair with Jerrold Palmer.'

  Alex's shoulders sagged. 'Isabel, we don't have to talk about this------'

  'We do!'

  'Why?' He sighed. 'Look, I'm prepared to accept that you and Chris were not compatible. And, knowing how I feel about you, I'm even prepared to admit that, being the passionate woman you are, you needed someone else------'

  'How big of you!' Isabel caught back the sob that trembled on her words. Alex still didn't believe her. He never had. He was prepared to make her his mistress believing she and Jerrold Palmer had been lovers!

  'Isabel, Isabel . . . ' Alex was trying to reason with her. 'Don't you see! It doesn't matter to me. God, why do you think I stayed away from Nazeby so much after you and Chris were married? I knew you two weren't happy, and I was afraid that if I spent any time with you, I might destroy us both!'

  Isabel was struggling to pull the maillot over her breasts. 'And I suppose I destroyed myself?' she choked, her fingers shaking so much she could hardly do anything, and with an oath of impatience, Alex stepped towards her.

  'Here,' he said roughly, 'let me!' But Isabel was too strung up to let him touch her again.

  'Keep back,' she said, jerking violently away from him, and as she did so, her foot slipped, and she pitched backwards into the water.

  In normal circumstances, the fact of falling into the pool would have meant little. But in her present state, her hands shaking, and her breathing shallow, she was in no condition to weather the body-blow of the water. Instead, she gulped as the air was knocked out of her, and felt a stinging pain as water surged into her lungs.

  She thought she must have lost consciousness, for she remembered little of the next fifteen minutes. She had a vague recollection of Alex hauling her out on to the pool-side and applying pressure on her back to clear her lungs, but it all had a dream-like quality.

  Her first real coherency came when she was lowered on to the silky coolness of a bedspread, and the softness of a mattress eased the bruises from the pool­room floor.

  She blinked and looked around her as another weight was deposited on the bed at her side, and she breathed a little less easily when she discovered that it was Alex.

  'Wh—where am I?' The honey-brown walls and gold silk draperies were not familiar.

  Alex grimaced. 'On a bed,' he said, and she noticed that he had shed his wet shorts in favour of a pair of cotton trousers. But his chest was still bare, and he looked distractingly handsome.

  'I know that,' she said, feeling her throat ache a little when she swallowed. 'But whose bed? This isn't the room I was in before.'

  'It's my bed, actually,' he informed her flatly. 'But don't worry, I'm not planning my revenge. I just thought you'd prefer not to have what happened broadcast. So I brought you up here to recu­perate . . . '

  Isabel caught her breath. 'But I'm wet.'

  'Yes, you are.' He shrugged. 'I didn't think you'd approve if I changed your clothes.'

  'I wouldn't.' Isabel propped herself up on her elbows and looked about her. 'Why didn't you put me on a towel? This swimsuit is going to ruin the bedspread.'

  'I didn't want to,' said Alex honestly, smoothing the satin spread with a lazy hand. 'I wanted to see how you looked against my pillows. Putting you on a towel would have spoiled the whole effect.'

  Isabel had never heard anything so erotic in her life, and in spite of the recklessness in doing so, she couldn't prevent herself from asking 'And?' in a voice husky with emotion.

  Alex's dark eyes appraised her. 'I'd have preferred you naked,' he said, with devastating candour, and before she could escape, he had bent his head and covered her mouth with his own.

  It was not like his other kisses. This time, there was a feverish urgency in his lips, and the tongue that fought its way into her mouth was hot and sensual. He wasn't just kissing her, she realised, he was giving a fair impression of what it would be like if he possessed her, and her protests wilted beneath the hungry pressure of his mouth.

  She lifted her hands to fasten them in the still-damp thickness of his hair, determined to force his head away from her; but she couldn't do it. Instead, her hands slid compulsively round his neck, curling into the silky hair at his nape, sliding up against his scalp and pulling him down on top of her.

  She managed a shaky 'Alex!' when she felt his fingers in the bodice of her swimsuit, forcing it down to her hips, but he didn't stop. This time, he pushed the offending garment down to her ankles, following its progress with his lips so that she was incapable of resisting him.

  Naked now, she gave herself up to the sensual pleasure of his lovemaking. She was deaf and blind to the dangers in what she was doing, and any doubts she had were submerged by the simple needs he was creating inside her. No one had ever kissed her, and caressed her, and aroused her, as Alex was doing, and what had always seemed so wrong with her emotions suddenly seemed so right.

  There seemed no part of her body he hadn't touched, and although she knew he was on the bed beside her now, she was hardly aware that he was naked, too. Only the length of his legs rough against hers, alerted her to their intimacy, but her mind was spinning so dizzily with his kisses, she had no sense of inhibition.

  'You're beautiful!' he groaned, burying his face between her breasts, before cupping their fullness in his hands and suckling them urgently. Her nipples swelled and hardened beneath his search
ing tongue, and she knew a sense of wonder at her own body's fulfilment.

  When he left her breasts to trail his lips down over her waist and her flat stomach, she dug her nails into his hair as if to stop him, but the erotic caress of his tongue in her navel evoked even more pleasure. He was sensitising every quivering muscle, and when he reached the apex of her thighs, she shuddered convul­sively.

  'Now—I think . . . ' he said huskily, sliding back over her, the throbbing heat of his arousal hard against her stomach. With infinite tenderness, he parted her legs to slide into her, and seconds before she felt any pain, she knew the sensuous nudge of his manhood against her.

  Even then, she felt no urge to draw back, even if he had been prepared to let her. This was what she wanted; this was what she had been made for; and there was no one else but Alex whom she wanted to share it with her.

  She realised she should have told him, the minute he thrust himself inside her. She had thought she was ready; that all those books she had read, which had said it could be painful, were exaggerating. But they weren't. She had not realised he was so big, or so powerful. His unguarded invasion tore into her like a knife, and although she tried to stifle her cry, Alex was too experienced to doubt what he had done.

  For seconds after he had buried himself inside her, he lay completely still, and as the pain subsided, Isabel began to hope she might get away with it yet. But then, with a groan of anguish, Alex turned her face up to him, and she saw his raw frustration that she had deceived him yet again.

  'You should have told me!' he bit out savagely, and although she knew she had tried to explain the truth many times, his total self-derision would not allow her to let him take the blame. Ignoring his instinctive attempt to propel himself up from her, she wound her arms round his neck and dragged him down to her again. With deliberate provocation, she slipped her tongue between his teeth and courted his participation. Then, when his teeth closed upon her tongue, to prevent its seductive dance, she let one hand trail down his back to his buttocks, and he groaned protest-ingly in his throat as his own needs overwhelmed him.

  'Isabel . . . ' he muttered, as she ran one foot lightly up and down his calf, and she arched against him.

  'I thought you wanted me,' she whispered, inno­cently, stroking his nipple with a delicate finger, and he closed his eyes.

  'I do. I do!' he acknowledged tormentedly and, giving in to his emotions, he captured her lips with his ...

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  'You don't mean this, Isabel!' Jason stared at her disbelievingly, a look of frustration marring his faintly over-indulged features, and Isabel thought how typical it was that he should still assume he knew what was best for her.

  'I do,' she insisted now, dropping down on to the chintz-covered sofa, and crossing one long, slender leg over the other. 'Jason, it's no use! I'll never go back to modelling.'

  'Don't say that!' Jason sighed, spreading his hands. 'Isabel, when—when this is all over, you're going to feel altogether different, believe me. You'll soon get bored with this—rustic existence.'

  'I don't think so.'

  Isabel turned away from him to stare through the lattice windows of the cottage, out on to the fields that bordered the canal a hundred yards away. Some­where a farmer was ploughing a furrow, preparing the soil for the winter's planting, and the steady drone of the tractor's engine was soothing. It helped to smooth away the disturbing ripples that Jason's invasion into her life here always created and, thinking of the changing seasons, she was more convinced than ever that this was where she would stay. Perhaps we do retain some remnant of our ancestry, she reflected ruefully. Certainly this corner of Norfolk, that bordered on Lincolnshire, seemed to hold some attachment for her. Or perhaps it was simply the fact that this cottage had been available, and she had leased it, she admitted honestly. And its distance—and inaccessibility—from London had suited her purpose.

  Jason's nostrils flared. 'Don't you think you're being rather reckless? Something could go wrong. Situated like this—miles from anywhere—what happens if you're taken ill?'

  'There is a phone,' said Isabel shortly, indicating the instrument occupying a corner of the window-ledge. But he had voiced a fear she had already experienced. In spite of her assertions of independence, her isolation here was a little daunting to someone used to city life. She wasn't afraid of being ill; she had always been disgustingly healthy, and in the last few weeks, that had not been one of her priorities. But being alone at night still made her nervous, and even the knowledge that the Vicarage was only a few yards away was no compensation in the middle of the night.

  'Nevertheless,' Jason exclaimed now, 'sooner or later you're going to have to come back to town.' He made an impatient gesture. 'Won't you have to attend the Denby board meetings, at least sometimes?'

  Isabel bent her head. 'As a matter of fact, I'm thinking of selling the shares.'

  'Selling them!' Jason was astounded. 'After what you said!'

  'I know, I know.' Isabel lifted her shoulders. 'But I don't want to see any of the Setons ever again, and by selling the shares, I can guarantee that.'

  Jason snorted. 'You're a fool!'

  'Maybe.'

  'Robert Seton won't thank you for it.'

  'I don't expect him to.'

  'But you do intend giving him first option on the shares.'

  'Probably.'

  Jason shook his head. 'You're crazy! Put them on the open market. Let him bid for them, like anyone else.'

  'I don't think Vinnie would have wanted that.'

  'Vinnie!' Jason was scathing. 'I suppose you realise your precious Vinnie is responsible for everything that's happened. If she hadn't involved you in the company in the first place, you'd never have seen Alex Seton again.'

  Isabel got to her feet now, a slim, defensive figure in her long suede skirt and loose-sleeved shirt. 'I'd really rather not talk about it,' she said, crossing the low-beamed room and disappearing into the adjoining kitchenette. 'Do you want some coffee? I'm afraid I've got nothing stronger.'

  Jason seethed, but there was nothing he could do. Isabel had made up her mind, and he knew of old that nothing he said would change it.

  'No,' he said now, pushing his hands into the pockets of his corded jacket. 'No, I've got to go. I've left some things at the hotel in Spalding, and I want to collect them before driving back to town.'

  'Oh.' Isabel came to the door of the kitchen again, her slim hand resting against the frame. 'Well—thanks for coming.'

  'My pleasure.' But Jason was ironic. 'Look after yourself, Isabel. Remember, if you change your mind, I'm just at the other end of the line.'

  She kissed him then, going towards him and pressing her lips against his cheek. 'Thanks,' she murmured, her hand lingering against his lapel. 'I wish—I wish things could have been different.'

  Jason grimaced. 'Yes. So do I,' he averred, putting her firmly from him. 'I'll be in touch. Ciao!'

  She watched him drive away, the wheels of his Mercedes sending up a cloud of dust from the dry track. It was weeks since there had been any prolonged rain, and the lane from the cottage down to the main road was cracked and powdery. July had been a wet month, but both August and September had been dry, and now, at the beginning of October, the farmers were beginning to grumble about the drought.

  Still, she reflected, glancing up at the overcast sky, perhaps their wishes were soon going to be granted. It certainly looked thundery, the clouds hanging on the horizon just lightly tinged with yellow.

  Shrugging off the oppressive thought of an impending storm, Isabel went back into the cottage and closed the door. Then, she leaned back against its gnarled panels, acknowledging, somewhat ruefully, that Jason was unlikely to come again.

  Since she had come to live at the cottage, he had visited her several times, always hoping, she knew, that time and isolation would bring her to her senses. But after today, after learning what she had had to tell him, he seemed finally convinced, and although she was relieved, s
he couldn't help a pang of remorse. He had been a good friend; better than she deserved. And maybe she would have second thoughts when the next six months were over.

  But right now, the idea of going back to London, of possibly running into Alex again, and him learning what had happened, seemed no alternative at all. If things had been different; if she had still been seeing Alex, the situation might have had endless possibili­ties. But they weren't, and she wasn't and, thanks to Jason's co-operation, her secret would remain her own.

  Leaving the door, she crossed the room to the fireplace, and added another log to those already smouldering there. The day wasn't exactly cold, but the cottage walls were thick, and even on the hottest day, a fire was not out of place. Besides, it heated the water, and although the plumbing was primitive, she intended to take a bath that evening.

  She was feeling hungry, too, and, discovering it was half-past four, she decided to make herself some tea.

  These days she felt hungry at the oddest times, and because she had only herself to please, she generally kept country hours.

  She got most of her provisions in the village, only driving into Spalding when it was absolutely neces­sary. She knew the local people were curious about her, but she managed to keep herself to herself. The only person she had had a long conversation with was the Vicar, although she had confided in the doctor that she did have private means. If only to reassure her neighbours that she was not a fugitive criminal, she had excused herself afterwards. But the truth was, she didn't want anyone feeling sorry for her. A hangover from her childhood, no doubt, but impor­tant none the less.

  She went for a walk after her tea. She did a lot of walking these days, and she was considering getting a dog. As well as the companionship it would offer, it would give her a reason for going out. A woman walking alone attracted all sorts of undesirable comments. Still, since coming to Norfolk, she had tackled her own housework again, and the idea of having an animal shedding hairs all over the furniture was not appealing. Maybe later, she decided, when she decided to buy a house.