Bittersweet Deception

Kate spun around, shock sending her pulse-rate into overdrive. Jason Warwick was standing in the gateway in the wall, and regarding her inscrutably down his long, not quite straight nose. For one brief moment she dwelt on the agreeable picture of an angry fist breaking it.

‘My name is not Eve, as you already know, and it’s the wrong time of year for apples,’ she declared vigorously as she rose, trying to ignore the athletic grace of his figure and the way his well-cut beige cord trousers clung to his hips. She concentrated on the safer area of his chest concealed under a soft wool shirt of a deeper shade. Then she averted her eyes. There was nothing safe about Jason Warwick, and it would be a grave mistake to think he was less deadly in casual clothes than in the black broadcloth and starched linen he had been wearing on their previous encounter.

‘Your name is of considerably less interest at this moment than why you’re trespassing in my garden,’ he replied evenly, but she was not deceived. He was angry.

But he had met his match. ‘Your garden indeed! I’m not the one trespassing. You are. This house belongs to Lady Maynard.’

‘Does it, now?’ The touch of amusement that twisted his lips made her vaguely uneasy but, hands on hips, she stood her ground as he towered over her. ‘You’re nearly right. But since Tisha Maynard is my aunt and this is my home, I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that.’

‘You are Tisha’s nephew?’

His eyes narrowed at her use of his aunt’s given name. ‘I don’t know what tale you’ve told my aunt to inveigle your way in here. Whatever it is, you’d better make your excuses and leave.’ He took a step forward and grasped her firmly by the arm. ‘Right now.’ He turned and began to walk back to the kitchen, his fingers digging into her flesh as she resisted.

She ignored the pressure of his fingers on her arm, only fleetingly wondering why it was possible to dislike a man and everything he stood for yet still be aroused by him. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said. But even as the words left her lips she knew it was too horribly possible that Jason Warwick was the nephew Lady Maynard had so casually mentioned, although she couldn’t understand how anyone could be casual about owning such an obnoxious relative. Perhaps that was the reason she hadn’t bothered to mention who he was.

His face darkened as she dug her heels in. ‘Don’t make it worse by pretending not to know. What on earth do you think you’re doing here?’

‘Perhaps you should ask your aunt, Mr Warwick, before you start flinging accusations about.’ She pulled her arm free and tugged at her sweater, then wished she hadn’t as his eyes lingered on the outline of her breasts.

‘Oh, I’ve a fair idea what you want. But if you think because I kissed you once, you’ll be a welcome addition to my household, you are mistaken. This is my family home. I share it with my aunt. When I’m here, Kate, I sleep alone.’

‘You must be glad of the rest,’ she snapped back. ‘I certainly won’t be disturbing you. I had no idea you would be here.’

He gave a short, unpleasant laugh. She knew he was tall. In the close confinement of Tisha Maynard’s kitchen, his height had commanded attention. But here, in the early-morning garden, there was something so physical about him that she instinctively stepped backwards. His hand shot out and caught her wrist, preventing her further retreat. ‘You expect me to believe that?’ His fingers tightened and he shook her slightly, like a naughty puppy. She couldn’t believe the gall of the man.

‘Is it so impossible?’ she demanded. ‘Or is your ego so inflated that you believe every woman you kiss can’t wait to leap into bed with you? Let me tell you,’ she continued, with reckless abandon and an equal disregard for the truth, ‘I’ve been kissed by men just as accomplished as you!’ His eyes gleamed and she fervently wished she had chosen her words more carefully. Her intended put-down had somehow developed into a compliment of sorts.

‘Have you, now? Well, I suggest you pick one of them out of a hat and go right back to the lucky winner. You’re not wanted here.’

‘Is that so? Perhaps you should check with Lady Maynard first. Maybe she has other ideas.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps you’d better tell me.’ It was not an invitation she felt capable of refusing.

‘Lady Maynard has just signed a six-month contract with me. And she was the one who insisted that there should be a no-break clause. She didn’t want me to change my mind.’ She paused briefly. ‘I can’t imagine why she thought I might.’

He ignored the gibe. ‘Six months?’ He frowned. ‘What on earth…?’ He made a dismissive gesture. ‘It doesn’t matter. You’ll just have to come up with some particularly heart-rending reason for leaving. She won’t stop you even if you signed a hundred no-break clauses. I promise,’ he added fervently.

‘Why should I do that, Mr Warwick? I’m extremely happy with the arrangement.’ That was true as far as it went. But Tisha Maynard, in her throwaway comment about a nephew, had not thought fit to mention who he was, or she would never have come within a hundred miles of Fullerton Hall.

‘That could change. Very quickly.’ His eyes blackened as they insolently travelled the length of her, from narrow feet encased in immaculate white trainers, by way of slender legs and a tiny waist—a figure that, dressed in jeans, might be described as boyish by the careless onlooker—to a face that certainly could not. A full, sensuous lower lip, a nose as straight as an arrow and fine grey eyes that were flashing angry warning signals that any man would ignore at his peril. But Jason Warwick wasn’t any man. He eventually arrived at the smooth coil of shining black hair that crowned her finely shaped head.

It was a look calculated to insult, to put a rocket under the blood-pressure of any woman with half an ounce of spirit, and he raised a pair of well-marked brows, inviting her response, clearly expecting an explosion that would wreck any chance of her staying. No contract was that watertight.

But he had no idea how much she needed this job. That despite her one slip from reality in his arms, she had three years of hard-won self-control to call upon.

Kate Thornley refused Jay Warwick’s invitation to self-destruct and retaliated in kind, forcing herself to return the slow, assessing examination that he had subjected her to and making very sure he understood exactly what she was doing.

She lacked his experience in these matters and therefore followed his example by beginning with his feet. They were large. Beautifully shod in hand-tooled leather, but at least a size eleven. His legs were long, and from the way the material stretched across his thighs, powerful. His hips and waist were temptingly lean and for a moment her gaze lingered, before almost reluctantly she allowed her gaze to continue over the widening chest to square, broad shoulders.

Her impulsive challenge faltered as she reached the hard, uncompromising line of his jaw and his mouth twisted into a knowing smile. As she met his eyes, her mouth dried.

‘Jay? I thought I heard your car.’ The tap of an ebony cane across the brick courtyard and the swift scuff of paws announcing the arrival of Tisha Maynard and her rather scruffy little terrier smashed the threads of tension that had momentarily bound them like a web of finely spun glass. ‘I didn’t expect you until later, darling.’ She offered her cheek to be kissed. ‘I’m so glad you’ve introduced yourself to Miss Thornley.’ She turned to her. ‘Did you sleep well, Kate?’

‘Yes, thank you, Tisha,’ she said, conscious of Jay Warwick’s eyes burning into her. ‘My room is very comfortable.’

‘Well, if there’s anything you want, just ask.’ She turned back to her nephew. ‘I’ve managed to persuade Kate to come and run the new tearoom for us. She’s a wonderful cook and an excellent organiser. She cooked the last time you dined with me.’

‘I know. We—’ his gaze flickered over Kate ‘—bumped into one another. What new tearoom?’

‘In the conservatory. I would have told you before, but you’ve been so busy with your bid for the new radio station. Besides, you said not to bother you with the details.’

‘Miss Thornley is rather more than a detail. Surely you have more than enough staff?’

‘No one with Kate’s talent for organisation.’

‘I’m sure she has many talents,’ he said ambiguously. ‘What exactly is she going to organise here?’

His aunt, apparently unaware that his conversation was being conducted on two levels, explained what Kate would be doing. ‘So you see, Jay, you needn’t worry about a thing.’

‘Of course not. Who drew up the contract?’ he asked, casually. ‘These things need to be done properly.’

‘My solicitor handled it quite as easily as yours could have done. Just because I’m old, it doesn’t mean I’m foolish, Jay.’

His face softened slightly. ‘I never said you were foolish, Tisha…’ He did not go on, apparently unwilling to destroy her pleasure in her plans, but his aunt sensed his hesitation.

‘But?’ she demanded, a little testily. ‘I suppose you think you could have done it all a great deal better?’ Kate held her breath as for a heartbeat he seemed to weigh his own feelings against hurting his aunt.

‘Of course not.’ He avoided Kate’s eye. ‘You’re a clever woman and it’s a lovely idea.’

Mollified, Tisha Maynard smiled at them both. ‘Why don’t you take Kate for a walk around the garden before breakfast, Jay? She’s full of plans.’

‘Is she?’ He glanced at her then. ‘Then a walk it will be. Come along…Kate. I can’t wait to hear just what you have in mind.’ He held out his hand, nothing in his manner to betray the warning in his eyes as they met hers. Reluctantly she surrendered her arm to him and he tucked it under his.

The sun was higher. A blackbird was perched on the wall serenading them. Jay Warwick had given way in the face of his aunt’s eagerness for her plans, clearly unwilling to upset her by betraying his own displeasure. Everything should have been perfect. But that would have been too easy. She didn’t think he would be quite so gentle with her, and her heart was pounding furiously as she was insistently propelled along a path dissecting the formal gardens, closely flanked by the tall, dangerous figure of her nemesis.

‘There’s really no need to escort me, Mr Warwick,’ she said, finally breaking the silence. ‘I’m sure I can find my own way.’

‘I like to stretch my legs after a long drive.’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘I assure you I have no immediate plans to ravish you in the rhodedendrons.’

‘It never occurred to me that you would,’ she said. ‘Unless of course the one-to-a-bed rule only applies inside the hall?’

‘If you were considering putting it to the test, I would advise against it.’

‘You’re really quite safe, I promise,’ she said flippantly, firmly ignoring the thought that if he had been intent on ravishment, she wasn’t totally convinced that she would be able to resist him. It was infuriating.

He stopped, and she was forced to do the same. He regarded her thoughtfully, gold glints sparking in the depths of velvet brown eyes. ‘Perhaps you should be more concerned for your own safety.’ Then, ignoring her sharp intake of breath, he regained possession of her elbow and continued to propel her down a broad gravel path flanked on either side by the black skeletal shapes of ancient standard roses. This was hardly the pleasant walk in the garden that she had envisaged when she set out first thing. She attempted to shake free. But his grip was deceptively firm. ‘I wouldn’t want you to think, Kate, that because I have decided not to interfere with Tisha’s plans I am happy about them.’

‘I did get the hint of a feeling that you weren’t too happy.’