A Forbidden Desire

EVERYTHING Jacinta owned except for some stored furniture was contained in two suitcases. In the back seat of Gerard’s car, neatly strapped in by the seatbelts, were a computer and printer, and on the floor several boxes of books.

Not a lot for almost thirty years, she thought wryly as she began to ease a suitcase out of the boot.

‘I’ll take that,’ Paul said from behind.

Jacinta didn’t quite stop herself from flinching, but hoped that her swift step away hid her involuntary reaction. ‘Oh—thanks,’ she said vaguely.

The sun gleamed on his fair hair, gilded his tanned skin. When he picked up the second case in one steady lift, muscles flexed smoothly beneath the fine cotton of his shirt. Oddly breathless, Jacinta reached into the back seat, fumbling with the seatbelt that held the computer in place.

A seagull laughed mockingly, its wings catching the light so that it shone silver, a mythical bow in the sparkling sky. Jacinta hauled the computer out and set off with it after the man who walked so easily up the white path and into the cool shadow of the house.

He put the suitcases onto the floor of the room she’d chosen and said, ‘I’ll bring in the printer.’

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I can do it; you must have work to do.’

‘Not today,’ he said gravely.

Frankly helpless, she stood in the centre of the room with the computer in her arms and watched him go. Oh, lord, she thought dismally, walking across to the desk. Biting her lip, she turned and settled the computer into place on the desk.

He looked like a white knight, handsome and easygoing, a golden man—if you could ignore that strong jaw and the hint of hardness in his chiselled mouth. But from behind he looked like a Viking, walking with steady, long-legged, distance-eating strides across a world that trembled before him.

And although imagination was a prime requisite for her next venture, at that moment she wished she didn’t possess quite so much of it.

He brought the printer in, and watched while she set it up. She did that because there was no way she’d open her suitcases in front of him. As it was, she was beginning to think that agreeing to stay here had not been a good decision.

While the test pattern ran through she said tentatively, ‘I think we should discuss some sort of—of arrangement while I’m here.’

Those intimidating brows lifted again. He didn’t say anything.

Jacinta imagined rods of steel going from her head to her heels. ‘Money,’ she said succinctly.

Eyes the same colour as a winter sky, cold and clear and piercing, moved from the screen to her face. ‘You are Gerard’s guest,’ he said, his voice as unyielding as his expression. ‘He asked me to make sure that you were all right while you were here. Money doesn’t enter into it.’

She tried again. ‘Nevertheless I’ll pay for my food.’

He shrugged, his unreadable gaze never leaving her face. ‘If it’s that important to you, work out some sort of board payment with Fran,’ he said negligently. ‘As for anything else, just treat this as your home.’

She frowned. ‘I don’t want to intrude.’

‘Oh, you won’t,’ he said quite gently, and smiled.

God! That smile was as uncompromisingly explosive as Semtex. Jacinta had to draw in a deep, shaken breath before she could even think. Fortunately the printer whirred and chirruped, letting her know it was ready for work. Turning, she stared blindly at it, swallowed, and said, ‘Thank you.’

‘That looks very like Gerard’s set-up,’ Paul observed, his voice almost bland.

‘It was,’ she said shortly. ‘When he got a new one he gave me this. They’re obsolete as soon as you buy them, unfortunately. Not worth anything.’ And she stopped because she’d started to babble, to explain, and she’d made a solemn vow that she was never going to do that again. The experience with Mark Stevens had cured her of ever justifying her actions to any man.

No man was ever again going to believe that he had the right to question what she did or what she thought.

Ever!

One brow drifted upwards. ‘Aren’t they? Not even as trade-ins?’ Paul suggested evenly, and went out across the verandah into the sunlight.

Jacinta glowered after him. Did he think she was sponging off Gerard? Well, she didn’t care! Not even if he did look like something chivalrous from a medieval tapestry, she thought sardonically, opening the wardrobe door and surveying the cavernous depths.

First of all she’d unpack, and then she’d go for a short walk—no, first she’d go and see the housekeeper and establish some ground rules.

She was almost in the hall when she realised that Paul was on his way back again, this time carrying a cardboard carton.

‘From the weight of this I assume it’s books,’ he said.

Nodding, Jacinta firmly directed her gaze away as he set the box down on the floor. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘I’ll get the others.’

She knew how heavy those boxes were; Gerard had helped her carry each one out to the car. Yet the weight didn’t seem to affect Paul at all.

Jacinta looked with respect at his shoulders and said again, ‘Thank you.’

‘It was nothing,’ he said, and left her, to reappear before she’d opened the first carton.

Once all the boxes were inside, he showed her the door to the bathroom and said, ‘Make yourself at home,’ before opening a door that presumably led into his bedroom.

Jacinta stood for a moment staring after him, her stomach gripped by some strong sensation. Hunger, she thought. You didn’t have any lunch.

On the floor of the front passenger seat there should have been another carton, packed full of food. She’d brought everything in her pantry, supplementing it with groceries and perishables in the small town twenty minutes away, the town where she’d also taken out a temporary membership in the local library.

It wasn’t there.

So Paul must have delivered it to the kitchen. Sure enough, when she’d made her way there, she saw the carton on the bench.

‘Oh, he did bring it in here,’ she said.

Busy kneading bread, Fran Borthwick smiled. ‘Yes.’

‘Tell me where to put everything.’

After the housekeeper had done that, and the food was stacked away in a well-stocked pantry, Jacinta explained that she wanted to contribute something to the housekeeping exchequer.

‘Have you talked this over with Paul?’ Fran asked, sounding surprised.

‘Yes.’ Jacinta repeated what he’d said.

Pulling off a chunk of dough, the older woman kneaded it expertly into a loaf and placed it into a baking tin. She said, ‘Well, you pay whatever you feel is right. As far as meals go, breakfast’s at seven. If that’s too early—’

‘No, no, that’s fine,’ Jacinta told her hastily.

‘OK. Lunch at midday, afternoon tea at four, and dinner at seven-thirty.’