Untamed

She contained her humour with effort. ‘Being a reporter isn’t like having a contagious disease, Aunt Sylvie. The poor man can’t help his profession.’

Her aunt still looked disapproving. ‘One or two of them that came down here could have done with better manners,’ she reproved. ‘And some of the questions they asked your Uncle Bill and I,’ she looked scandalised. ‘I’m sure they expected you to have that actor’s baby at least!’

‘Aunt Sylvie!’ she gasped, not having realised just how personal the reporters had become with her family.

Her aunt shrugged. ‘That’s what several of them implied. I hope Mr Richards isn’t going to be as offensive,’ she frowned.

Keilly shook her head. ‘I’ve already told him I’ve never met Rod Bartlett. I’m sure he believed me.’ She picked up her beach bag. ‘I’d better go and wash the salt and sand off me.’

‘See you later, darling,’ her aunt returned to her cooking.

Keilly knew exactly what sort of scandalous story the reporters had expected to find here, but she hadn’t realised any of them had gone so far as to burden her aunt and uncle with such questions. She intended telling Rick Richards exactly enough to get him to leave Selchurch and no more. She had no more than that to tell him anyway.

He was waiting in the bar when she came downstairs an hour later, not noticing her at first as he chatted easily with her uncle as he stood behind the bar, Rick relaxing on one of the bar stools. The sheepskin jacket had gone now, a brown jacket and cream shirt in its place, showing her that she had been right about his shoulders and chest; he was powerfully muscled. The tailored trousers were the same cream colour as his partly unbuttoned shirt, their style and cut drawing provocative attention to the muscular leanness of his legs and thighs. He looked as if he too had showered during the last hour, the short neatly styled hair still damp.

Her uncle said something to make him laugh before moving off to serve some local people who had just come into the bar. Rick turned slightly away, his eyes widening as he saw Keilly standing in the doorway, warming to a deep blue as he took in her appearance, making her feel pleased that she had taken so much trouble with her hair and dress. She couldn’t ever remember feeling so warmed by a man’s open appreciation before.

Her hair was darkly gleaming now, blow-dried into its feathered windswept style to her shoulders, her make-up light and subtle, blue shading over dark grey eyes, her high cheekbones darkened by blusher, her lip-gloss of burnt orange. Her dress was knee-length, black shot through with silver weave, a black sash belt tied about her narrow waist, black high-heeled sandals adding to her elegance.

She could see her efforts had all been worth it as Rick stood up to slowly come towards her. ‘I hardly recognised you,’ he admitted huskily, standing only inches away now. ‘And I mean that in the nicest possible way.’

Keilly eyed him shyly, slightly unnerved by his own appearance. He was certainly nothing like the usual sort of man they had staying here, the hotel catering mainly for families. It was a long time since she had been in the company of such an attractive man, and now she felt rather awkward, wishing once again that she hadn’t agreed to have dinner with him.

He seemed to sense she was almost ready to take flight, lightly clasping her arm, his hand almost seeming to burn where it touched. ‘Shall we go through to the dining room?’

‘Your drink?’ her voice came out huskily.

He shrugged dismissal of it. ‘We can have some wine with our meal,’ he decided arrogantly.

Keilly allowed herself to be led into the intimacy of the small dining room they used during the winter months, smiling at the young waitress as she came to take their order, her smile fading slightly as she saw the appreciative look Brenda was giving Rick.

He looked at the small but extensive menu. ‘What do you recommend?’ he seemed completely unaware of the other girl’s interest in him.

It was a dangerous quality, the ability he had to make the woman he was with feel as if she were the only person important to him, and Keilly’s voice was unnaturally sharp because of it. ‘Everything,’ she told him abruptly. ‘My aunt does all the cooking, and she’s good.’

They both ordered the duck, Rick looking at the other empty tables. ‘Not very busy tonight,’ he remarked softly.

She shrugged. ‘It’s out of season, we’re never busy in October. In fact, you’re our only guest at the moment. Although we do serve meals to anyone who cares to come in.’ She looked pointedly at the empty room. ‘The people of Selchurch prefer to eat at home in the winter as a rule.’ She picked up the glass of vodka and lime he had ordered for her, sipping it slowly, looking anywhere but at the compelling man sitting across the table from her. ‘How long are you staying?’ she asked casually.

‘This time?’ He sat back in his chair, totally relaxed. ‘Just tonight. But I may come back,’ he added throatily, his dark gaze intent on the beauty of her face, forcing her to look at him with the insistence that she should.

He was flirting with her, she knew that, with his words but without actually touching her. He didn’t need to touch her, just the warmth of his gaze was like a caress. But he was only here for the one night, and despite what he said to the contrary she doubted he would ever come back here. With his cool sophistication he was more suited to London than this small northern town, and once he got back there he would forget all about Keilly Grant, the woman who had caused a minor stir because she dared to criticise Rod Bartlett, the darling of the film world.

She waited for their meal to be served before speaking again, her voice waspish as she saw the smile he bestowed on the already besotted Brenda. ‘Which newspaper do you work for?’

‘Which——? Oh I’m freelance,’ he replied easily. ‘I write an article and then try and sell it,’ he added by way of explanation.

‘Whatever takes the public’s interest,’ she derided.

‘Which at the moment is you,’ Rick drawled. ‘You’ve caused quite a sensation, little lady.’

Her mouth twisted. ‘Because I don’t happen to think Rod Bartlett is wonderful!’ her tone showed her contempt for such a thing being important.

Rick shook his head. ‘Because you came out and said it.’

‘Isn’t that allowed?’ she taunted.

‘Apparently not,’ he mused, sipping the wine that had been poured for them, consulting her on his choice, not one of those men who arrogantly assumed they knew the likes and dislikes of the person they were dining with and ordered for them. Keilly couldn’t stand such dominating men, and although Rick appeared to be forceful he certainly wasn’t inconsiderate. ‘Yours was the only letter of dissension they received at the magazine about the article. You should have seen the sacks of mail they received from people who wanted to lynch you from the nearest tree once your letter had been published,’ he derided.

‘All of them women,’ Keilly dismissed scornfully.

‘Actually, no,’ he refuted gently. ‘Rod Bartlett has quite a following among both sexes.’

‘Men wishing they were as macho as him,’ her mouth twisted with distaste.

Rick narrowed puzzled blue eyes. ‘He really did do something to upset you, didn’t he.’

She flushed. ‘Don’t tell me you think he’s wonderful too!’

He seemed to hestitate, an emotion that didn’t sit well on such a decisive man. ‘Have you seen “Beginning Again"?’ he named Rod Bartlett’s most recent film.

‘Certainly not,’ she snapped. ‘But you obviously have,’ she looked at him accusingly.

‘It’s a beautiful and sensitive film——’

‘Nothing about Rod Bartlett could possibly be beautiful or sensitive,’ she cut in heatedly, and then wished she hadn’t as he gave her yet another speculative look. She had to remember that no matter how charming and easy to talk to Rick was he was still a reporter, and reporters had been known to forget all ethics if they thought they were on the trail of a story. Rick had only promised not to quote her, not to refrain from writing the story altogether. ‘There’s no room for nakedness in a beautiful and sensitive film,’ she added uncomfortably.

‘How do you know that if you haven’t seen it?’

She flushed at his quiet rebuke, the food on her plate only half eaten as Brenda took them back to the kitchen, although Rick seemed to be experiencing no such loss of appetite, eating all of his food. ‘I thought you said we wouldn’t talk about Rod Bartlett all evening,’ she reminded waspishly.

‘And I don’t intend to,’ there was a dark promise in his steady gaze. ‘Not all evening. But I wondered what your reaction was to him coming back here?’

Keilly raised a stricken gaze to him, sure she couldn’t have heard him correctly. ‘I—Did you say he was coming to Selchurch?’ she swallowed hard.

‘It’s been rumoured that he is,’ Rick nodded. ‘I have a friend on the magazine you wrote to—Jeanie. I think you met her?’

She nodded, remembering the tall blonde woman who had arrived from the magazine to interview her. She wondered how much of a ‘friend’ the beautiful woman was to Rick, and then chastised herself for these ridiculous feelings of jealousy. After tonight she would never seen him again, and one casual dinner together certainly didn’t give her the right to be jealous of the other women in his life.

‘She’s the one who interviewed Bartlett for the article,’ Rick continued softly. ‘Apparently he mentioned that he’s taking a break soon. He hasn’t stopped working for the last five years, you know.’

‘I’m sure he hasn’t,’ Keilly derided. ‘But that hasn’t prevented him playing either.’

Rick shrugged. ‘A man needs relaxation of some kind——’

‘So does a woman,’ she bit out.

‘Then no one gets hurt, do they,’ he shrugged.