Instant Fire

CHAPTER THREE (#u88da8f6c-dce4-5928-bd2a-321f645ceb33)

‘MAYBE.’ He seemed to fill her sitting-room. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘I’m not hungry, Clay. I’m just tired. All I want is a shower and my bed. Just say whatever it is you feel you have to and go.’

‘You have to eat.’ He turned her in the direction of the bedroom and firmly steered her towards it. ‘Have your shower. I’ll get you some food.’

She dug her heels in. ‘I don’t want anything from you, Clay.’

‘Yes, you do.’ His hands were still on her shoulders and his grip intensified. ‘So you’d better go and shower now, before I lose all semblance of self-control and remind you exactly what you want from me.’

She fled. Locking the bathroom door firmly behind her, she stood against it, her whole body trembling with the longing for him to slake the shattering need that the slightest touch of hand awoke in her. A longing that wouldn’t go away.

‘Damn you, Clay Thackeray,’ she whispered to herself. She took deep, calming breaths and gradually began to regain control of herself. Slowly she undressed, and stood under a fierce shower trying to work out what Clay wanted from her. She had already offered him everything a girl could give a man and he had rejected it in very short order. Angrily she flicked the switch to cold.

Shivering, she quickly dressed in cream cord trousers and an oversized fleecy sweatshirt. The blue was faded and the Prince of Wales feathers of Surrey Cricket Club were barely visible, but it had been her father’s and it was a comfort in her misery.

As she opened the bedroom door she heard a key in the lock. Clay appeared carrying a plastic bag. ‘I borrowed your key. Hope you don’t mind.’

‘When you said you were getting food, I had assumed you were going to cook,’ she protested. ‘I could have made an omelette or something.’

‘You said you were tired,’ he said. ‘Have you got any chopsticks?’

‘I’m afraid not. I just use knives and forks.’ Her lips imitated a smile.

He shook his head and tutted. ‘How very conventional.’

‘I’ve recently discovered that stepping outside the bounds of convention isn’t that good for my ego,’ she replied, sharply.

He smiled. ‘I promise I’ll do my best to restore it.’ With a wry smile he dumped a pile of magazines on the floor. ‘New Civil Engineer. I might as well be at home.’

‘I’m sure I can find you a copy of Vogue if it will make you feel more comfortable,’ she offered, but he ignored this and began to lay out a series of aluminum dishes on the glass-topped coffee-table.

‘Plates?’ he suggested.

‘Has anyone ever told you that you have a very managing disposition, Clay Thackeray?’ she remarked, crossly.

‘Managing is what I do best, Joanna Grant, so you’d better get used to it.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Jo snapped, but fetched a couple of plates and some cutlery from the kitchen. Clay piled a plate with food and handed it to her. She stared at it in dismay. ‘I can’t eat all this!’

He helped himself to food. ‘Convince me that you’ve had a proper meal today and I’ll let you off with half,’ he offered.

‘I don’t suppose you’d take a doughnut into consideration?’ He paused in the act of spooning rice on to his plate just long enough to hand her a fork. She made no further protest. At least eating precluded conversation.

‘More?’ he offered, as he watched her finish.

Jo shook her head. ‘No. But thank you.’ She forced a smile. ‘I was hungrier than I thought.’ She began to clear the dishes into the kitchen. ‘Now, perhaps you’ll tell me why you’re here?’ It seemed easier to ask the question while she was occupied. ‘What exactly do you want from me?’

He had followed her, and his voice at her ear made her jump ‘Maybe,’ he said, very softly, ‘I did change my mind. Maybe I can’t get the thought of the other night out of my head.’ He reached out and caught her wrist. ‘Maybe I’ve been driven to distraction by the thought of you offering yourself to another man … I have the feeling that Peter Lloyd wouldn’t be so tactless as to refuse you. Or is that where you’ve been all weekend?’

Jo stared at his hand, at the strong fingers curled around her wrist, the same fingers that had elicited such a eager response from her. She ignored his question. ‘Is that how you see me?’ she asked. ‘Desperate? Realising how late I’ve left it and throwing myself at every man who comes my way in the hope that one of them will take pity on me?’ She shuddered, resisting to no purpose as he pulled her into his arms, wrapping them around her, holding her close.