Guilty Read online

  ‘I’m not keeping secrets!’ But she was, and she was guiltily aware of it. ‘As it happens—Julie did…bring a friend home with her last weekend. He’s an Italian. His name’s—Jake Lombardi.’

  ‘I see.’ Jess was intrigued, and looked it. ‘Was he nice? Did you like him?’

  Laura felt hot. And it wasn’t just the fact that the restaurant was heated. It was as if she were enveloped in the steam from a Turkish bath, and it took the utmost effort not to use the menu as a fan.

  ‘He’s—very nice,’ she said, grateful for the reappearance of the waitress, to ask if they wanted a dessert. ‘Er—just coffee for me, please. I—couldn’t eat another thing.’

  ‘I’ll have the same,’ said Jess, and, after the woman had departed, she lay back in her chair. ‘Is he sexy?’

  ‘Who?’

  Laura pretended not to understand, but Jess was not to be diverted. ‘This—Jake Lombardi, of course,’ she answered. ‘What does he look like? How old is he?’

  ‘Oh….’ Laura realised she was not going to get any peace until she had told her, and, adopting what she hoped was a careless tone, she said, ‘Julie seems to like him, so I suppose he must be. Sexy, I mean. He’s—an Italian, as I said. What do Italians look like? He’s dark, of course. Quite good-looking, I suppose. And young. No more than about twenty-eight.’

  ‘I see.’ Jess looked at her friend with knowing eyes. ‘So—what’s wrong?’

  ‘Wrong?’ Laura blinked. She wished she had known what was going to happen this morning before she’d accepted Jess’s invitation to lunch, but it was too late now. ‘Nothing’s wrong.’

  ‘No?’ Jess was not convinced. ‘You don’t usually get so flustered when you talk about Julie’s boyfriends.’ She paused, and then added softly, ‘You know, if it weren’t so unlikely, I’d wonder if you weren’t attracted to him yourself!’

  It was after four o’clock when Laura started back to Burnfoot. She had intended to make some excuse, and leave directly after lunch. She hadn’t been happy about leaving Jake as it was, and the fact that he had had no food since God knew when was preying on her mind incessantly. At least, that was what she told herself was preying on her mind. Anything else was not to be considered.

  But she had had to abandon the idea of leaving early. After the conversation she and Jess had had, it would not have been politic to beat such a hasty retreat. Jess might have begun to wonder why she had felt the need to curtail their outing, and if she ever found out that Jake had come back to Burnfoot…

  It had been hard enough as it was, making her friend believe that she had no personal interest in her daughter’s boyfriend. She had pretended it had been Julie’s idea to bring him to meet her, thus fuelling Jess’s speculation that their relationship was serious. And she had made a lot of their affection for one another, and maintained that she had felt like a gooseberry the whole weekend.

  Of course, she hadn’t been entirely honest in that respect. At no time had she actually interrupted them in what might be called a compromising position. But the fact was, she could have. And after playing on the fact of Jake’s youth, and how no man was likely to look at her when Julie was around, she thought she had convinced Jess she was barking up the wrong tree.

  She hoped she hadn’t been too vehement in her denials, she thought now, accelerating past a slow-moving vehicle. Jess was fairly shrewd, and they had known one another too long for Laura to find lying easy. No, not lying, she corrected, her hands tightening on the steering-wheel; just prevaricating, that was all. Jess had probably felt sorry for her, she decided grimly, slamming the car into a lower gear, with a distinct disregard for the mechanism. After what she had said about marriage, it was obvious the way her mind worked.

  The car splashed through the ford into Burnfoot at about five minutes to five. Laura would have been quicker—she had driven fast, if rather badly—but she had been balked since she’d left the main road, by the vicar’s modest Vauxhall. There weren’t many opportunities to overtake on the narrower country roads and, besides, the Reverend Mr Johnson would probably have looked askance at one of his staider parishioners, storming past him like a teenager who’d just got her licence.

  The vicar waved as he turned into the vicarage gates, thus confirming Laura’s suspicions that he had recognised her behind him. But her response was barely perfunctory as she passed the vicarage and drove along the village green. Her attention was arrested by the fact that the Lamborghini had gone. The verge beside the churchyard wall was deserted, the drizzle which had started as she’d left the city sending even the children home earlier than usual.

  Her stomach sank. There was no other word to describe the way she felt. Jake had gone, and the steaks she had bought for their evening meal would end up in the freezer. Of course, she was later than she had said she would be. And it was obvious he couldn’t stay at the cottage overnight. She should have thought of that when she was wasting so much time in the dress stores. She should have realised what he would think when she didn’t return.

  There were tears in her eyes as she reached her gate, and she was glad it was raining, so that she wasn’t likely to encounter her next-door neighbour in the garden. She was in no mood to talk to anyone, and she turned into the narrow driveway with a heavy heart.

  And then, she gasped. The Lamborghini was parked alongside the cottage, just as it had been the previous weekend. Although she didn’t have a garage, there was plenty of room to stand a car beside the cottage, and her hands tightened convulsively on the wheel of the Ford. He was still here, she thought incredulously, aware that her heart was hammering wildly. He hadn’t gone away. He had just moved his car.

  She sat for several seconds, after switching off the engine, trying to get a hold on her emotions. For heaven’s sake, she thought, screwing the heels of her hands against her damp cheeks, it wasn’t as if it meant anything. He had said he would stay until she got back, and he had. And she had to pull herself together, before he got the wrong idea as well.

  Eventually, of course, she had to move, and, throwing open her door, she got out and leant into the back to collect her coat and her shopping. On the pretext of needing something to wear for work, she had invested in two new blouses, a skirt, a pair of wide-legged trousers, and a fine wool sweater. All necessary stuff, she had assured Jess, dismissing the silky trousers as pure indulgence. After all, she had argued, she seldom spent money on herself. And Jess had agreed.

  There was also a bag of food from Marks and Spencer. Steak, fruit and vegetables, and a cheesecake. Quite a haul, she reflected, trying to concentrate on what she was doing, and not on Jake Lombardi. But she couldn’t help wondering how he was.

  She was fumbling for her key on the doorstep. Her arms were full, with her coat and the carriers, and she was wishing she had had the sense to find her key before loading herself down, when the door gave inwards.

  Jake stood on the step above, looking down at her with dark unreadable eyes. He had changed his clothes, she saw at once, and the snug-fitting jeans, and dark blue shirt, hid any trace of his injury. He still looked a little pale, but rested, his face clean of the designer stubble he had sported when he’d arrived.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, reaching to take the bags from her, but when he did, her brain reasserted itself.

  ‘I—I can manage!’ she exclaimed, hugging the bags close. ‘You—you might hurt yourself.’

  ‘As if,’ said Jake drily, wresting the carriers from her hands. ‘It was only a jab, Laura. Not a major laceration!’

  He turned then, and walked into the house, and after glancing about her, as if to reassure herself that no one else had witnessed their struggle, Laura stepped inside, and closed the door. Then, draping her coat over the banister, she followed him across the living-room, and into the kitchen.

  Jake had deposited all the bags on the table, and he turned when she came into the room after him. ‘I don’t know where you want these—–’ he was beginning, when he saw her face. ‘Hey!’ he exc
laimed, and, because the kitchen was so small, he reached her with only one step. His thumb smudged an errant tear from her cheek, and then brushed her lower lip, before her instinctive withdrawal caused his hand to drop. ‘What’s wrong? Did I breach some feminist principle, or something? Where I come from, women do not carry heavy bags. Not if a man is there to do it for them.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ Laura bent her head, wishing she had a tissue. ‘Nothing’s wrong. It’s raining, or hadn’t you noticed?’

  ‘I’d noticed,’ he said tautly. ‘But raindrops don’t usually fall into your eyes, do they? What’s the matter? Are you sorry I’m still here, is that it?’

  ‘No.’ Laura sniffed, and turned aside. ‘I—you moved your car.’

  As soon as she had said the words, she knew she had made a mistake. Jake frowned, and then, side-stepping her, he put himself into her path. ‘So what? I got the impression you weren’t very happy with it where it was.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’ Laura’s skin tingled with uneasiness. ‘It—it was too conspicuous. Everyone was looking at it—–’

  But Jake had sucked in his breath. ‘Wait a minute,’ he said, and the hand that only seconds before had grazed her cheek, moved to grip the back of her neck, imprisoning her in front of him. ‘You thought I’d gone, didn’t you?’ he said hoarsely. ‘Dio, Laura, as if I would.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ she cried, trying to get away from him, but, instead of letting her go, he jerked her towards him.

  ‘No. You’re wrong,’ he said thickly, bending his head, and, before she could even comprehend what he planned to do, his mouth covered hers.

  Even then, she knew, she could have tried to stop him. He had no right to touch her; to take her in his arms; to hold her so close she could feel every ridge of the bandage she had applied earlier. Her knees bumped against his, and one powerful thigh was thrust between her legs, as he moved to keep his balance. It made her overpoweringly aware of his sex, trapped against her hip, and the warm male scent of his body, that rose irresistibly to her nostrils.

  But it was his mouth that caused the most havoc, that lean sensual mouth, that she now admitted had haunted her sleep for the past week. It ravished hers with all the skill of which he was able, and her timid objections were trampled in the dust.

  Her mind swam beneath the dark hunger of his kiss. Every nerve in her body was alert to the sensuous needs he was arousing. Her lips parted beneath his, and no experience she had known had prepared her for Jake’s urgent assault on her senses. When his tongue invaded her mouth, its hot wet tip raking every inch of quivering flesh, her legs turned to water. She had never, ever, felt so utterly helpless, in the grip of emotions she hadn’t known existed, drawn into a maelstrom of wild seductive passion.

  But when his hand slid from her waist to encircle one swollen breast, a need for self-preservation fought its way to the surface. Dear God, she thought, aware that her hands were clutching his shirt for support, whatever was she doing? Apart from anything else, this was the man her daughter had told her she intended to marry. How could she be standing here like this, and letting him maul her? It was insane.

  ‘No,’ she gasped, and, although the word was muffled and barely distinguishable, Jake heard her.

  ‘No?’ he repeated softly, his thumb describing a sensuous circle around her nipple, tautly—and shamefully—visible, beneath the cream wool of her dress. ‘Why not? It’s what you want. It’s what we both want—–’

  ‘No!’ Laura could hardly get her breath. ‘You—you’re disgusting,’ she choked, thrusting his hand away from her, and taking a backward step. ‘How can you do this? You know that Julie—–’

  Jake’s mouth hardened, and, although he didn’t move away from her, he didn’t stop her when she widened the space between them. ‘Julie’s not here,’ he said harshly, his accent thickening his tone.

  Laura clenched her fists. ‘Is that all you have to say?’ she cried. ‘Julie’s not here! My God, is that supposed to mean something?’

  Jake straightened, and when he moved Laura couldn’t help watching him. He had an indolent, almost feline grace, and, when he wiped his palms down the seams of his trousers, it was all she could do not to follow them with her eyes. She wanted to. She knew what she would see if she did, what she wanted to see, she admitted, sickened by her own duplicity. The tight jeans were no barrier to the bulging proof of his arousal.

  ‘What do you want me to say?’ he asked now, and she hated the fact that he probably knew exactly how she was feeling. ‘I am not interested in Julie at this moment. I am only interested in you.’ He paused. ‘And I think you are interested in me, only you have some prudish notion that you shouldn’t be.’

  ‘That’s not true!’

  The words were hot and vehement, and, although she sensed he didn’t believe her, he knew better than to argue her down. ‘If you say so,’ he conceded, lifting his hand as if to massage his midriff, and then, as if thinking better of it, he let it fall. ‘So—I suppose you would like me to go now.’

  Laura bit her lower lip. His involuntary action had served to remind her of his injury, and although she could hardly accuse him of making use of it she was guiltily aware that she had forgotten it. Had she hurt him? she wondered. When she’d clutched at his shirt, had she grazed the tender skin? She hoped not. She didn’t like to think that she might be responsible for it starting to bleed again.

  ‘I—suppose you should,’ she answered at last. But when his lips twisted rather cynically, she added, ‘But that doesn’t mean you have to.’

  Jake took a deep breath. ‘No?’

  ‘No.’ Laura squared her shoulders. ‘In spite of what you think of me, I’m not a complete idiot. I don’t think there was a shred of decency in what happened just now, but I’m prepared to forget it, if you are.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’ Laura held up her head. ‘It was just a—a mistake, an aberration. You’d been on your own all day, and you mistook my reactions, that’s all. You felt sorry for me, and—and I was flattered. It’s not every day a—a young man makes a pass at an older woman like me.’

  ‘It wasn’t a pass,’ said Jake flatly, but Laura was already tackling the bags on the table, sorting the one that contained the food from the others.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ she asked brightly, determined to show him that she meant what she said. ‘I thought we could have steak, and roasted parsnips—–’

  ‘You’re not an older woman,’ persisted Jake, sliding his hands into the hip pockets of his jeans, apparently equally determined to have his say. ‘How old are you? Thirty-five? Thirty-six?’

  ‘With a twenty-one-year-old daughter?’ Laura gave him a withering smile. ‘I shall be thirty-nine next birthday. But thank you for the compliment.’

  Jake swore. At least, she thought he did. The word he used was incomprehensible to her, but its meaning was not. ‘Why are you doing this?’ he demanded. ‘Why are you trying to pretend you didn’t want me to touch you, just as much as I wanted to do it? You’re not old. You’re in the prime of your life. D’you think I’m likely to be deterred by the fact that there’s a handful of years between us?’

  ‘A handful!’

  Laura was proud of the scornful way she threw his words back at him, but Jake only stared at her with raw contempt. ‘Yes, a handful,’ he said, his mouth curling derisively. ‘I’m thirty-two, Laura. I shall be thirty-three next birthday. Not exactly a boy, wouldn’t you agree?’

  Laura jerked her head aside. ‘You’re still too young. Not—not just in years, but in—in experience. You young people, you think you invented sex. I was having Julie, when you were still a schoolboy.’

  Jake’s eyes glittered. ‘As I understand it, you were just a schoolgirl yourself at the time,’ he retorted, and Laura caught her breath.

  ‘That doesn’t alter the fact that you’re my daughter’s friend, not mine,’ she countered, forcing herself to take the steak out of the carrier, and set it on the table.
‘Now—do you think we could change the subject? If you’d like to go back into the living-room, I’ll start preparing dinner.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JAKE looked as if he would have liked to have argued, but to Laura’s relief he didn’t. With a grim inclination of his head, he walked out of the kitchen, and it wasn’t until she was left alone that Laura realised she hadn’t asked him how he was.

  Oh, well, she thought unsteadily, it was obvious he was feeling much better, and although it was impossible to tell if the cut was hurting him he was apparently capable of driving his car. Not to mention everything else, a small voice taunted mockingly. He might have been in dire agony, but his emotional organs weren’t impaired.

  Her hands were trembling, and, feeling in need of a drink, she filled the kettle and plugged it in. She would have liked a glass of the sherry she kept for special occasions, but that was in the living-room. It was always out of reach, she reflected, remembering the night, a week ago, when Julie had rung to tell her she and Jake were coming for the weekend. It had been out of reach then, too, but she definitely needed it more at this moment.

  Still, a cup of coffee would do instead, she decided. And at least it would have the added advantage of not containing any alcohol. The last thing she needed right now was the soporific effects of a fortified wine. She needed to keep her wits about her.

  She wondered now why she had ever invited him to stay. There was no question about it: it was madness. She had allowed the desire to prove to him that she could dismiss what had happened without a qualm to override basic common sense. She had wanted to show him that, as she was Julie’s mother, he was welcome to her hospitality; to clear the way for their continued association. It would do her no good to try and turn her daughter against him. If she tried to tell Julie what had happened, she would never believe her. She would simply have to hope Julie detected his true character, before it was too late. And turning him out—however attractive that might sound—was the right way to achieve the opposite.