Tidewater Seduction Read online

  Joanna shivered in spite of the sun burning down on her bare shoulders, and closed her eyes. When Cole had told her his father wanted to see her, she hadn’t given it a lot of thought. She had been too intent on making Cole’s task as difficult as possible, and, as she had no intention of coming here, any curiosity she might have felt would have seemed a sign of weakness. Of course, when she had been so reckless as to change her mind, she had wondered then, but never in her wildest dreams could she have predicted Ryan’s reasoning. Because she possessed an immutable core of compassion inside her, she had naturally assumed Cole’s father must be the same. She had actually entertained the notion that he wanted to beg her forgiveness for what she had suffered at his and Maggie’s hands.

  She opened her eyes again, as a low moan escaped her lips. God! How wrong could you be? Ryan Macallister didn’t have a compassionate muscle in his body. He was all unforgiving bone!

  A lanky-legged colt, evidently used to being spoiled, came to nuzzle at her white-knuckled hands, and Joanna gave him a rueful smile.

  ‘I’m afraid you’re out of luck,’ she said, displaying her empty palms. ‘You and me both.’

  ‘Feeling sorry for yourself?’ enquired a drawling voice, and, turning her head, Joanna saw her ex-husband strolling across the grass towards her. For the past few moments, she had forgotten she had seen Cole in the paddock earlier, and now it took a distinct effort to face his undisguised hostility.

  ‘I guess you’d like to think so,’ she retorted, avoiding his gaze. She gestured towards the colt. ‘What’s his name?’

  Cole halted at the other side of the fence, pulling an apple out of his pocket to give to the mare, who had come to see what her offspring was doing. ‘He doesn’t have a name yet,’ he replied, his lean fingers easily breaking off a corner of the apple to give to the colt. ‘Henry calls him Beau, for obvious reasons.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Joanna stretched out her hand and stroked the colt’s dusky head. ‘He is beautiful, isn’t he?’ And then, reacting to the name Cole had used, she looked up. ‘Henry’s still here?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t he be?’ asked Cole shortly. ‘He works here.’

  ‘Yes, but——’

  ‘Have you seen my father yet?’

  Cole cut into her words with a taut enquiry, and although she would have preferred to pursue her line of thought, rather than his, the question was too urgent to be ignored.

  ‘I—yes,’ she said brittlely, deciding to be honest. ‘That’s why I’m here. I needed to get some fresh air.’

  Cole’s brows, which were several shades darker than his hair, descended in a glowering look. ‘Must you always be so offensive?’ he demanded, putting his hand on the top bar, and vaulting over the railing. ‘The man’s dying, for God’s sake. Can’t you show him some respect?’

  ‘As you do?’

  The words sprang, unguardedly, from her tongue, and she was hardly surprised when Cole reacted to them. ‘What the hell do you mean?’ he muttered, glaring at her with angry eyes, and Joanna’s heart skipped a beat as he thrust his face close to hers.

  ‘Why, what do you think I mean, darlin’?’ she taunted, realising this was her only means of defence. She lifted her hand and let her knuckles slide down his cheek, which was roughened by a fine stubbling of silvery-blond beard. ‘I was only teasing, wasn’t I? Everyone knows, you’re Daddy’s blue-eyed boy!’

  Cole’s hand clamped about her wrist, dragging it down to his side. ‘You can’t wait to cause trouble, can you?’ he snarled, and although his grasp was painful the burning frustration in his eyes wasn’t.

  ‘Careful, darlin’,’ she murmured, her slim fingers reaching out to stroke the taut muscle of his thigh, exposed by the tight-fitting denim. ‘Your mother might be watching, and we wouldn’t want her to think we can’t get along.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JOANNA ate lunch with Maggie and Ben. Cole didn’t come to the table, and Ben told her that Joe and Alicia had built their own house on the property, and spent most of their time there. The three younger members of the family were at school, of course, and the conversation during the meal was decidedly strained. But at least Ryan Macallister didn’t join them, for which she was grateful. She needed time to decide what she was going to do, before confronting him again.

  After lunch, she learned that Cole had gone into Beaumaris. Maggie took great delight in informing her that he wouldn’t be back until that evening. Joanna managed not to show any emotion to his mother, but she was annoyed just the same. If she’d known he was leaving, she’d have found some way to get him to take her with him. But probably he had known that, too, she acknowledged, which was why he hadn’t mentioned it.

  So, unwilling to risk another encounter with Ryan Macallister, Joanna spent the afternoon in her room. It did cross her mind that she could go down to the stables, and renew her acquaintance with Henry, but she was loath to open that particular can of worms today. Instead, she kicked off her espadrilles, and stretched out on the bed. Perhaps she’d feel better after a nap.

  But she didn’t go to sleep. Her brain was too active to allow her to relax. Even though the events of the morning had taken their toll, her mind kept re-running the reasons that had brought her here. She’d thought she’d put the past behind her. She’d thought she was immune to anything the Macallisters could to to her. But coming back to Tidewater, meeting Cole’s family again, had acted like a catalyst on her emotions. She might be tougher than she used to be, but she wasn’t out of danger.

  How strange it was, she thought, that one small incident could change your whole life. She certainly hadn’t expected a faulty fuel pump to be her stepping-stone to fame and fortune. And yet that was exactly how it had happened.

  As the youngest child of older parents, born when the offspring closest to her in age was already ten years old, Joanna had lived a fairly solitary existence until she went to school. She had become used to entertaining herself, and her aptitude for drawing did not go unnoticed. But, although her parents were proud of her artistic skills, they did not consider them a viable occupation. Joanna was encouraged to work hard at her academic studies, and even though she insisted on leaving school at eighteen, to give her more time to study her art, she spent her days in the merchant bank, which her father’s family had founded.

  When the tutor at the night class she attended suggested putting a couple of her paintings on exhibition at the local library, Joanna had never expected anyone to be interested. But Grace, who had been driving back from an exhibition in Sussex, developed a fault with her car in Guildford High Street, and while it was being mended she wandered into the little gallery.

  Of course, Joanna’s success didn’t happen overnight. But Grace had sufficient faith in her to offer her the chance to show her work in the West End gallery she managed. Just one painting, at first, and, when that sold fairly quickly, another, until by the time Joanna was twenty-one she was able to give up the bank, and devote herself to her art.

  In the meantime, she and Grace had become close friends. In spite of the difference in their ages, they had a lot in common, and after Joanna found herself a flat in London Grace became her agent as well. And, naturally, they shared confidences. Grace heard all about Joanna’s lonely childhood, and Joanna learned that Grace had once been married to an American, and that she had two teenage sons living in South Carolina.

  Which was why, when the tall American strolled into the gallery one day, when Joanna was alone, and asked where Grace was, she gave him a rather cool reception. She had guessed he must be some relation of Grace’s ex-husband—in spite of her antipathy towards him, she had not been able to deny the attraction of his lazy southern voice—but, as he was too old to be either of Grace’s sons, she had assumed Grace wouldn’t be too pleased to see him.

  However, as with so many things about Cole, she thought ruefully, she had been wrong. When Grace returned, fortunately only a few minutes later, she had greeted him with real affection, and it had been obvio
us that, whatever relationship she had with her ex-husband, his nephew was a great favourite of hers.

  And, because Grace had been so insistent that they should become friends, Joanna had unwillingly accepted the invitation to join them for dinner that evening. Ray Marsden had joined them, too. To make up a foursome, Grace had said, although subsequent events had led Joanna to make a different interpretation of that arrangement. In any event, they had all enjoyed one of Grace’s home-cooked meals, served in the tiny apartment she occupied above the gallery. And afterwards Cole had taken her home.

  Looking back now, Joanna recognised that, despite her initial misgivings about him, she had probably fallen in love with Cole that very evening. He had been so attractive, so amusing—and so downright sexy—that she hadn’t stood a chance. Although he was only four years older than she, he was aeons older in experience, and while common sense warned her to be careful her leaping senses had left her little room for compromise.

  Naturally, he had known better than to rush her. There had been no furtive grapplings in the hall outside her apartment, no abortive attempts to invade her space without her involvement. That first evening, he had escorted her home without even attempting to kiss her goodnight. He had been polite, and courteous, and she had been the one left with a disturbing sense of loss. Indeed, she had half wondered if she had only imagined the lingering looks he had cast in her direction during the course of the evening. Perhaps he wasn’t attracted to her, after all. Perhaps it had just been good old-fashioned southern gallantry.

  There had been no reason for her to go to the gallery the following day, but, after spending a wasted morning at her easel, she decided to go for a walk. It was early summer, and the rhododendrons were out in the park. A good enough reason, she thought, for her to cast a critical eye over them.

  She stayed out for a couple of hours. She was loath to go back to face a blank sheet of sketching paper. She knew exactly where she wanted to be, but she wasn’t confident enough to go for it. Instead, she bought French bread and cream cakes. She’d decided to console herself with starch.

  But when she got back to her apartment she found she had a visitor. Cole was sitting on the low wall that skirted the garden of the Victorian conversion. In tight-fitting jeans that clung to his long legs, and a black T-shirt, he looked lean, and tanned, and muscular, his brown hands resting on the wall at either side of his lazy, lounging frame.

  The colour raced to Joanna’s face, but she couldn’t help it. She had been thinking about him all day, and every image she’d had had been accurate. He was just as attractive as she remembered, and her artist’s eye lingered lovingly on his broad shoulders and rippling muscles. The belt that secured his jeans rested low on his narrow hips, the silver buckle drawing her eyes like a magnet. Seduced them, too, to the worn cloth of his fly, and the sun-bleached denim that cupped his sex.

  But she knew, if she was honest, it was not his male beauty, as a subject for her easel, that caused the blood to race madly through her veins at that moment. For the first time in her life, she knew what it was like to actually want a man. She wanted to look at him, and touch him, and for him to touch her. But she hadn’t the faintest notion of how to bring that about.

  In an age when behaving promiscuously was the rule rather than the exception, Joanna was still a virgin. Oh, she had had boyfriends. She was young and, in her eyes, moderately attractive, and she had never had any lack of admirers. But, perhaps as a result of being born to older parents, she had acquired their values, rather than those of her own generation. In consequence, she had always regarded sex as a fairly overrated occupation. Certainly, none of the young men she had dated had inspired any great desire to experiment in that way. Which was why her instantaneous attraction to Cole was so astonishing to her. Astonishing, and disturbing. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted that kind of complication in her life.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, getting up at her approach, and taking the bag of groceries from her. ‘Let me help you with that.’

  Joanna’s tongue made a hasty circuit of her upper lip. ‘Have—have you been waiting long?’ she asked—as if she’d been expecting him, she chided herself irritably. ‘Um—I’ve been shopping.’

  The banality of her response made her cringe, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t know what else to say. If only she had put on a dress before she went out, she fretted. Her purple dungarees were splashed with paint.

  ‘I guess I should have called first.’ Cole removed any sense of embarrassment with his easy charm. ‘But I didn’t know your last name, and I didn’t care to ask Aunt Grace.’ He gave a rueful grin. ‘She might not have approved of my seeing you again.’

  Joanna blinked. ‘Oh?’ She lifted her slim shoulders, and the shoulder-strap of her dungarees fell off one shoulder. ‘Why not?’

  Cole’s mouth flattened. ‘She might think I wasn’t to be trusted,’ he conceded softly, putting out his hand and restoring the strap to its proper position. His fingers lingered against her shoulder and, although she was wearing a cotton shirt under the dungarees, his touch seared her flesh. ‘She’s very fond of you.’

  ‘And—and I’m very fond of her,’ stammered Joanna, shifting so that his hand fell harmlessly away. ‘She—she’s been very good to me.’

  ‘The way I see it, you’ve been pretty good to her, too,’ responded Cole. ‘Without the commission she’s taken from your work, she wouldn’t have been able to buy into the gallery. Marsden’s no fool. He saw the advantages of tying Grace into that partnership.’

  Joanna moved her head. ‘I’m sure you’re exaggerating.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Cole regarded her steadily for a few disturbing moments, and then glanced behind him. ‘Are you going to invite me in?’

  ‘What? Oh!’ Joanna realised she was being unforgivably rude. Whatever she felt about him, he had taken the trouble to come here, and he had been holding her shopping bag for the past few minutes. ‘I—of course.’ She fumbled for her keys. ‘It’s up several flights of stairs, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Cole was sardonic. ‘You folks don’t go much for elevators, do you?’

  Joanna unlocked the outer door, and smiled. ‘The gallery?’ she suggested, and Cole nodded.

  ‘You got it,’ he agreed. ‘No wonder Grace keeps her figure. I’d be a physical wreck if I had to climb those stairs every day.’

  Joanna led the way up the first flight of stairs. ‘I doubt it,’ she murmured, giving him a surreptitious glance, and Cole’s eyes narrowed appraisingly.

  ‘Do you?’ He shifted the shopping bag to his other arm. ‘But you don’t know anything about me—yet.’

  ‘I—I don’t think you’re likely to be—to be worn out by a few stairs,’ she insisted, as they started up the second flight.

  ‘Is that so?’ Cole’s tone of enquiry brought her eyes to him again, and she missed a step, and had to grab for the banister.

  ‘Y-yes,’ she answered, feeling a complete fool. And thereafter she concentrated on what she was doing until they reached her floor.

  Joanna’s apartment was on the third floor of the old building. Originally used as the servants’ quarters, in the days when the house had been lived in by only one family, the rooms had been small and airless, with tiny windows set up high in the walls. But a far-sighted developer had knocked down walls, heightened ceilings, and installed wide picture windows that gave a magnificent view of the surrounding area. He had also had the foresight to enlarge an existing skylight, and nowadays that room was used as Joanna’s studio.

  Now, Joanna unlocked the door, and led Cole into a rather untidy living-room. When she was working, she tended not to notice her surroundings, but now, looking at the room through his eyes, she wished she had concentrated on her housework, instead of mooching about in the park.

  It was basically a two-bedroomed apartment, with the kitchen adjoining the living-room, and her bedroom, bathroom, and the studio opening from the hall that led off the living-ro
om. There was no dining-room, as such, and she was sure it was much smaller than any apartment Cole was used to—except perhaps Grace’s. But it hadn’t been cheap, and she was proud of it. It was a symbol of her success, and as such she loved the independence it signified.

  While she was fretting over the wilted carnations, drooping in their vase, and the papers strewn across the couch, Cole had leaned against the door to close it, and walked across the room to admire the view.

  ‘Impressive,’ he said, both arms wrapped around the supermarket bag, and, remembering her manners, Joanna went to take it from him. ‘Just show me where you want it,’ he intoned huskily, and, aware of the double entendre, she turned jerkily towards the kitchen.

  ‘Here,’ she said, gesturing towards the least cluttered work-top, and Cole deposited the bag where she had indicated. But, when he gave the kitchen an equally interested inspection, she added, hurriedly, ‘I’m sorry the place is such a mess. I—er—I wasn’t expecting visitors.’

  Cole’s eyes danced. ‘You only clean the place when you’re expecting company, is that right?’

  Joanna flushed. ‘No,’ she said defensively. ‘It’s not usually like this.’

  ‘No sweat.’ Cole shrugged his broad shoulders, and tucked his thumbs into the low belt that circled his hips. ‘I didn’t come to see the apartment anyway.’

  Joanna stiffened a spine that weakened every time he looked at her in quite that way. ‘If—if you’d like to go and sit down, I’ll make some coffee,’ she declared, in her most repressive tone, but Cole made no move to do as she had requested.

  ‘How about we get a beer, and sit down together?’ he suggested, and Joanna’s stomach hollowed alarmingly.

  ‘I’m afraid I—don’t have any beer,’ she offered apologetically. ‘Just—just Coke.’

  ‘Coke’s fine,’ Cole assured her, nodding towards the fridge-freezer. ‘In there?’