Act of Possession Read online

  The door was closed and Reed walked round the bonnet to get in beside her. Between them, the gear console prevented any accidental contact, but he did not immediately start the car; instead, he half-turned in his seat towards her.

  ‘The train was late,’ he observed, his features vaguely discernible in the light cast from the station. ‘I enquired, and they said they expected it in at nine.’

  ‘Yes.’ Antonia endeavoured to sound as composed as he did. ‘There was a diversion. Some repairs being done to the line, they said. I’m sorry. H-have you been waiting long?’

  ‘Since nine o’clock,’ he conceded expressionlessly. ‘You don’t seem surprised to see me.’

  ‘Oh, I am.’ Antonia shook her head. ‘It’s just—well, you’re here, and … and I’m grateful. I was feeling pretty awful when I got off the train.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘And now—–’ His eyes looked black in the shadows and she lifted her shoulders helplessly. ‘I—I’m glad you came,’ she mumbled, turning her face away from him. ‘I wanted to apologise anyway. For … for what I said on Tuesday.’

  ‘Did you?’ She heard his sharp intake of breath at her words. ‘Yes well, you might not have felt that way if you had been at home on Friday afternoon.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Antonia’s hair swung forward as she looked at him, half-concealing her expression behind its silky curtain, and Reed’s cold fingers looped it back behind her ear. ‘I came round to the flat to verbally tear you to pieces,’ he confided with asperity, his hand lingering rather longer than was necessary beneath her ear-lobe. ‘Unfortunately, Mrs Francis intercepted me to tell me you were away for the weekend$$, and I had to invent some asinine story about my delivering a message to you, from Cee.’

  Antonia went suddenly still. ‘So—so that’s why you’re here,’ she said, all the warmth leaving her voice as things swung sickeningly back into perspective. He had not come to meet her because he wanted to. He had come because he dare not allow her to contradict anything Mrs Francis might say to her.

  With a sob rising in her throat, she reached impulsively for the door handle. She didn’t need a personal warning. A simple telephone call would have sufficed. She had no wish to hurt Celia, any more than he evidently did, and she wanted to get out of this car and away from him before she made an even bigger fool of herself.

  ‘You’re crazy!’ Reed’s voice behind her was rough with emotion, and there was a rattle of keys as he switched off the ignition without starting the engine. ‘Do you really think I’d stand here in the cold for over two hours, just to get you to cover my story?’ he demanded, his hard fingers digging into her shoulders, as he compelled her round to face him. ‘Oh, Antonia—you don’t know me very well yet, do you? But you’re going to! Believe me, you’re going to!’

  ‘You … you said you’d been waiting since nine o’clock,’ she protested, her hands against the fine cashmere sweater providing a barrier between them, and Reed sighed.

  ‘I have,’ he responded huskily, and in spite of her efforts his lips brushed her temple. ‘I didn’t say I’d been waiting only since nine o’clock,’ he amended. ‘I’ve been here since about seven-thirty, I suppose. I didn’t know what train you were likely to get, so I compromised.’

  Antonia shook her head. ‘But you … you said you were mad with me,’ she exclaimed, as his sensuous mouth touched her cheek, and his warm breath was expelled in a rush of wry amusement.

  ‘I was,’ he said evenly. ‘But that was on Friday. Since then, I’ve had a change of heart. Not least because of the shock I got when that old busybody told me you had gone.’

  ‘Mrs Francis,’ said Antonia flatly, as Reed’s tongue stroked her skin, and he nodded.

  ‘The same,’ he agreed, his lips hovering near her mouth, and she abruptly turned her head aside to avoid the inevitable consequence.

  ‘Are you going to take me home?’

  ‘Eventually,’ he conceded, accepting the rebuff and removing his hands. ‘But first, we’ll have some supper. You look half-starved, as well as half-frozen.’

  ‘I don’t think we should,’ she declared as he turned back to the wheel, and he paused to give her a weary look.

  ‘Well, that’s par for the course, I suppose,’ he responded cynically, starting the engine. ‘But now you’ve made the statutory protest, can we enjoy what’s left of the evening? You’re going to have supper with me. Accept it. Call it … compensation, if you like, for my perseverance.’

  All the way along Euston Road and on down Portland Place into Regent Street, Antonia kept telling herself that she ought to be more forceful. She should demand that Reed take her home this instant, or set her down so that she could catch the bus. It was foolish to pretend he was just being friendly. Friends did not indulge in the kind of interplay Reed had indulged in at the station, and she had no way of knowing what manner of man he was. He could be a sex maniac, for all she knew. Just because he treated Celia with respect, did not mean he treated all women the same. And if she disappeared right now, who would know where she had gone? She’d be just another missing person, one of the hundreds who disappeared in London every year.

  She shook her head frustratedly, and saw that they had turned into St James’s Street. She didn’t honestly believe Reed was dangerous—at least, not in a violent way. But what they were doing was wrong, both ethically and morally, and she was to blame for allowing it to go on.

  The sudden descent into a darkened cavern was startling enough to drive all other thoughts out of her head. One minute, they were above ground, and the next the car had thudded over a ramp and swooped down into the bowels of the earth.

  The realisation that it was an underground carpark gave her some relief, but the polite acknowledgment of the carpark attendant rekindled her anxieties. Where were they? she wondered, looking doubtfully at Reed’s dark profile, and his lips parted in satisfaction as he drew into an empty space.

  ‘Okay. Let’s go,’ he said, switching off the engine, and thrusting open his door, and Antonia gazed up at him in surprise.

  ‘Go?’ she echoed. ‘Go where?’

  ‘To have supper, of course,’ he said resignedly, walking round the car to open her door. ‘Come on. You don’t want to create a scene, do you? Harry knows me quite well, and I wouldn’t want to upset him.’

  Antonia hesitated. ‘Mr Gallagher—–’

  ‘It’s Reed,’ he said flatly, his hand beneath her elbow practically lifting her out of her seat. ‘And you used it earlier, before you remembered it was verboten!’

  She let him help her out, partly because she was convinced he would break her arm if she didn’t, and partly because, as he had said, Harry was watching them.

  ‘You hurt my arm,’ she told him stiffly, as he locked the car, and he permitted her a brief appraisal.

  ‘I’ll massage it for you,’ he said, his hand in the small of her back directing her towards a bank of lifts, that evidently gave access to the upper floors. ‘Stop worrying, can’t you? I’m not taking you to a torture chamber!’

  Inside the lift, Antonia stood as far away from him as she could, hoping it would stop and other people get in. But he had used a key beside the button which designated the twenty-second floor, and the lift ascended swiftly, leaving her stomach far behind. She assumed, as the twenty-second floor was the penthouse, he was taking her to a rooftop restaurant, but when the doors glided open, only a carpeted hallway and white-panelled door confronted her.

  ‘Out,’ said Reed brusquely, compelling her to move forward, and the lift closed behind them as he drew out his keys again.

  ‘Is this—is this …?’

  ‘… my apartment,’ agreed Reed drily, inserting a perforated metal strip below the door handle. There was a momentary pause as the computed key slid into its compartment and then the door swung open. Reed rescued the key again before urging Antonia ahead of him, and although she was indignant, curiosity got the better of her.

  Th
e first thing that caught her eyes in the subdued lighting of the entrance hall was the magnificent chandelier suspended overhead. It was not lit. Such illumination as there was, was concealed above the frieze that decorated the walls. But the prisms swung together delicately, like wind chimes, in the sudden draught from outside, drawing Antonia’s attention and inspiring her admiration.

  She had little time to observe the other appointments of the hall, however. The glossy darkwood table and the antique mirror above received only the briefest of appraisals, before Reed was impelling her past several other doors to the one furthest away from the entrance. The thick beige carpet, which had cushioned her feet in the hall, flowed on into a room already illuminated by a handful of lamps. The enormous, gold-coloured velvet sofas that met her bemused gaze provided oases of comfort in a room seemingly designed for that purpose. Everything in the room spoke of style and good taste, from the bowl of amber lilies occupying a low revolving bookcase, to the exquisitely laid-out chessboard, with its ebony and ivory pieces. The room was spacious, but its size had been tempered by the way the furniture was grouped, creating areas for reading or relaxing, or perhaps to listen to the elegant hi-fi system, cleverly concealed in a mahogany console. One wall was given over to bookcases, carelessly stacked alongside paperbacks and magazines; another comprised shelves of smoked glass, set with an interesting selection of sculptures, that invited a visitor’s inspection; and finally the wall opposite was composed of windows, running from floor to ceiling, fluted by long blinds, and flanked by heavy cream velvet curtains.

  ‘Hungry?’ inquired Reed softly, lifting the jacket of her suit from her shoulders, and Antonia turned to him bewilderedly.

  ‘This … is yours?’ she asked faintly. ‘You … live … here?’

  ‘When I’m in town,’ amended Reed evenly, depositing her jacket on the back of a chair and removing his own. ‘I asked if you were hungry. Maria will have left us a snack in the dining room.’

  Antonia swallowed. ‘Maria?’

  ‘My housekeeper,’ Reed informed her tolerantly, loosening his tie. ‘Come on. Let’s go and see what she’s left us. I don’t know about you, but I could do with a drink.’

  Antonia moistened her dry lips. ‘Wh-where do you live when you’re not in town?’ she ventured, still overawed by her surroundings, and Reed sighed.

  ‘I have a house in Oxfordshire. I’ll show you that another day,’ he promised, touching her shoulder. ‘Now do we eat, or do I satisfy my other instincts?’

  She could feel the strength of his fingers, through the thin material of her blouse, and she moved swiftly out of reach. ‘Wh-where is the dining room?’ she asked, wondering how she had ever got herself into this position, and with a whimsical smile, he led the way across the living room and through a door that was hidden in the smoky recesses of the shelves.

  Like the living room, the dining room had long windows overlooking the lights of London below But the other walls were panelled here, surrounding a gleaming refectory table, capable of accommodating at least twenty people, with matching cushioned chairs upholstered in shades of green.

  The ‘snack’ Reed had referred to, was laid out at one end of the table: a remarkable repast of smoked salmon and salad, rolls of ham stuffed with pineapple and skewered with olives, dishes of various kinds of fondue, with sticks of cheese and celery for dipping, and luscious black caviar, nestling on a bed of lettuce. There were sweet things, too: a meringue gâteau, two different types of cheesecake, and a fragrant dish of fruit salad, filled with every kind of fresh fruit imaginable, and flavoured with a trace of kirsch.

  ‘Help yourself,’ advised Reed easily, lifting a bottle of champagne out of its refrigerated bucket and expertly extracting the cork. The chilled liquid tumbled invitingly into long-stemmed glasses, and Reed handed one to her when she hesitantly looked his way. ‘To us,’ he said softly, touching his glass to hers, and she had swallowed a mouthful obediently before she realised what she was toasting.

  ‘So …’ Reed put down his glass again and regarded her gently. ‘What would you like? As you’re apparently not prepared to help yourself, I’ll have to serve you.’ He scooped a spoonful of caviare on to a round wafer and held it to her lips. ‘Come on: taste it. It’s delicious. Then you can tell me what you prefer.’

  Antonia withstood his offering for only a moment before her lips parted. Reed studied her unknowingly provocative mouth for several seconds before popping the wafer inside, and Antonia’s heart was pounding when he turned back to the table.

  The caviare was nice, rather salty and distinctively flavoured. The champagne was good, too, much better than the rather indifferent sparkling wine she had had at her wedding. But every new experience underlined the vast gulf that stretched between Reed and herself, a gulf even she had not fully appreciated until tonight.

  ‘Try the smoked salmon,’ he suggested now, forking another small morsel for her delectation. ‘Like it?’ he asked lazily, his eyes on her mouth, and her knees felt suddenly weak and incapable of supporting her.

  ‘I ought to go,’ she got out carefully, putting down her glass. ‘Really—I’m not awfully hungry, and it’s getting very late.’

  ‘It’s barely eleven o’clock,’ declared Reed persuasively, glancing at his watch.

  ‘But I have to go to work tomorrow,’ Antonia persisted.

  ‘So do I.’

  She shook her head. ‘Do you have a job?’

  ‘You’d better believe it.’ Reed was smilingly indignant. ‘I’m not a playboy, if that’s what you think.’

  Antonia took a deep breath. ‘Nevertheless …’

  ‘Nevertheless—what?’ Reed abandoned his attempt to tempt her with the food and came unnervingly towards her. ‘Let’s take our glasses and go back into the living room. We’ll have another drink, and then I’ll take you home.’

  ‘Will you?’

  Antonia looked at him doubtfully, and his expression sobered. ‘If that’s what you want,’ he agreed, picking up his glass and the opened bottle of champagne and propping the door open with his shoulder. ‘Come on. Maria will deal with that tomorrow.’

  ‘Wh-where is Maria?’ Antonia asked, glad of the diversion as she walked past him. Her shoulder brushed the wool of his sweater, and she was intensely conscious of the muscled frame beneath.

  ‘I imagine she’s in bed,’ Reed replied, allowing the door to swing closed behind him. ‘She generally retires soon after ten o’clock, I believe. I think she reads in bed.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘She devours romantic novels.’

  Antonia bit her lip. ‘You mean—she lives here, too?’

  ‘Her rooms are on the other side of the kitchen,’ explained Reed tolerantly. ‘She has her own self-contained apartment, with her own lift. She likes it.’ He nodded to the nearest sofa. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’

  ‘Is—is she young—old—what?’ asked Antonia, seating herself on the very edge of the sofa, her glass cradled protectively in her hand.

  ‘She’s a fifty-five-year-old German lady, who came to Ireland just after the war as an au pair, and has never wanted to go back,’ declared Reed, setting the champagne bottle on the carved end table, and reclining on the cushions beside her. ‘And that’s the last word I’m going to say about Maria Mueller, is that clear? I didn’t bring you here to conduct a discussion about my housekeeper’s undoubted attributes!’

  Antonia pressed her lips together. ‘Why—why did you bring me here?’

  Reed groaned. ‘You know why. To have supper.’

  ‘And that’s all?’ Antonia looked at him out of the corners of her eyes.

  Reed turned his head against the honey-gold velvet ‘That’s up to you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What do you think I mean?’ he demanded, a trace of impatience colouring his tone. Pushing himself up he deposited his glass on the table beside the champagne bottle. ‘For God’s sake, stop looking at me like I was about to jump on you! I won’t.’ He paused, and when nex
t he spoke his voice had thickened: ‘Not unless you want me to, of course.’

  Antonia was never sure whether it was the champagne on an empty stomach or some malicious demon inside her that inspired her next question, but the words were uttered, and she could not take them back: ‘Do you want to?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said honestly, the fringe of dark lashes giving his face an oddly vulnerable expression, and when a mutual feeling stirred inside her, Antonia sprang abruptly to her feet.

  ‘You’re crazy!’ she exclaimed, throwing his earlier words back at him, but when his hand came up and removed her glass, and then took her fingers to his lips, she could not deny the aching sensation that ran down her back and into her thighs.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said, tugging at her arm, and because her legs were so unsteady, she complied. She came down on to the sofa heavily, rocking the cushions, and her breath caught constrictedly when she saw his lazy smile.

  ‘What are you trying to do? Break my sofa?’ he enquired with some amusement, trying to put her at her ease. But the unconscious sensuality of her wide wary eyes and parted mouth dispelled his humour, and his hand slid behind her nape to massage the sensitive skin.

  ‘I feel such a fool,’ she breathed, realising the hem of her blouse had separated from the waistband of her trousers and trying unsuccessfully to restore it.

  ‘You don’t look a fool,’ Reed assured her, using his free hand to still her restless fingers and drawing them instead to his lips again. Taking them into his mouth, one by one, he caressed their sensitive pads with his tongue, evoking sensations inside her Antonia knew she had never experienced before.

  ‘Reed, be sensible,’ she whispered, prepared to make one final protest, but his finger against her lips silenced her.

  ‘You’re sensible enough for both of us,’ he responded, bearing her back against the soft cushions, and then the hard beauty of his mouth found hers.

  She had guessed he would be as good at this as he was at getting his own way, but nothing had prepared her for her own response. It was as if she had never been kissed before, and certainly Simon, at his most passionate, had never disturbed her as Reed was disturbing her now. The probing pressure of his lips, the sensuous invasion of his tongue, the possessive strength of his hand behind her head, holding her imprisoned in his grasp—he was arousing emotions she had hardly known existed, and although she was a mature woman, a divorcee moreover, she felt like an amateur in the hands of a professional.