Forgotten Sins

Sickened by the shivering pleasure his expert touch had given her, she said crudely, ‘You said I wouldn’t have to sleep with you.’

‘And I meant it.’ He didn’t seem angry, although his eyes were calculating. ‘But I’m not going to let you lie to yourself. You know as well as I do that from the moment we met we’ve been acutely, uncomfortably and inconveniently conscious of each other. Sooner or later we’re going to do something about it.’

‘I won’t—’

‘Calm down.’ He said it so forcefully the words dried on her tongue. ‘I’ve already told you I’m not such an insensitive clod that I’d try to persuade you now. Come out when you’re ready.’

Aline waited until the door closed silently behind him before unpacking with rapid, angry energy, stacking her clothes in the walk-in wardrobe next to the bathroom.

Then she gazed around the room—large and light, furnished with a casual expertise that breathed skill and money—and found herself liking it very much.

Retreating, she showered, sighing when her tense muscles finally relaxed under the hot water. But by the time she’d towelled herself dry and dressed—the same black trousers topped this time by a soft silk shirt in the moody aquamarines and blues that went so well with her eyes—she was once more as tight as a coiled spring.

‘Stupid!’ she muttered between her teeth, picking up the hairdrier. ‘So, why wouldn’t the bathroom have everything a woman might need? Do you care?’

A twist of jealousy gave her an answer she didn’t like. Refusing to consider the highly suspect implications, she used the drier and her brush to free her hair of tangles before winding it firmly into its knot and venturing out of the sanctuary of her room.

‘Ah, back to normal,’ Jake said enigmatically, looking across the high bar that separated the kitchen from a huge living and dining area. ‘A pity—I liked that wild, uncaged look.’

She frowned, shocked anew by the pulse of response through her. He’d changed too, his long legs and narrow hips shaped by casual trousers, with a tawny, superbly cut cotton shirt clinging to his wide shoulders. Rolled sleeves revealed tanned forearms, and damp hair fell across his brow as he stirred something that smelt delicious.

‘The wild uncaged look doesn’t fit into corporate life,’ she said evenly. ‘Can I help?’

‘Can you cook?’

‘I can stir,’ she retorted, irritated at the defensive undertone to the words.

He laughed. ‘It’s all right—I’ve got dinner organised.’ He set the spoon down and put a lid on the saucepan, then emerged through the doorway and strode across to a sideboard where a tray held a bottle of champagne and two tall flutes.

Aline shuddered. After this afternoon she didn’t think she’d ever be able to drink champagne again without recalling Lauren. She said tautly, ‘A man who can cook—wonderful!’

‘All the great chefs are men,’ he said, still amused.

‘Not any longer they’re not.’

Smiling, he eased the cork from the bottle. His charismatic mixture of confidence and grace and authority made everything he did seem easy.

Aline glanced at the bottle; this wasn’t merely champagne, it was superb French champagne. ‘Are you trying to impress me?’ she asked, a cynical smile touching her mouth.

Gleaming gold eyes scanned her face with cool interest. ‘Could I?’

CHAPTER THREE

A HEATED recklessness gripped Aline. Tomorrow she’d regret this, but she replied, ‘No, you’re not trying to impress; that armour-plated confidence is tough enough for you to ignore what anyone thinks.’

Especially a woman he’d seen comprehensively humiliated. Jake probably felt sorry for her, she thought, outraged pride gouging more holes in her disintegrating armour.

‘I do have some respect for some people’s opinions,’ he said dryly.

‘But none for public opinion.’

‘A hundred and fifty years ago public opinion held that women were unfit to vote.’ His smile was ironic. ‘Most women believed that too. So, no, I don’t listen to public opinion.’

He had the sort of mind that stimulated her, made her want to sharpen her own wits against his. Stubbornly she kept silent as he poured the pale gold liquid into the flutes—lean, tanned hands, strong and deft, capable and expert…

‘We should drink a toast,’ Jake said. When she looked up sharply he handed her a glass with an enigmatic smile. ‘To the truth.’

Aline’s mouth twisted. “‘And the truth shall make you free”?’ she scoffed before she drank. Bitterness spiked her words as she set the glass down onto the polished wood table with an audible click. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Would you rather still be chained by comfortable lies?’ Jake asked sardonically. ‘You surprise me.’

Her eyelashes quivered but she kept staring into the glass. Tiny bubbles beaded and winked, rising in columns to the surface of the champagne. ‘Why?’

‘Surely you’d rather deal with a painful truth than live a lie.’ He waited, and when she said nothing he added deliberately, ‘You’ve always struck me as being as strong and fine as spun steel. Only weaklings hide behind convenient falsehoods.’

Aline lifted the glass to her lips again. Although some detached part of her brain conveyed to her that the champagne was dry and exquisite, it might have been sour milk for all the pleasure she took in it. ‘I’m gratified you think I’m strong,’ she said, folding her lips on the other words that threatened to tumble out and angry with herself for saying that much. Vulnerability brought predators prowling.

Sure enough, Jake’s glance sharpened. ‘But?’

She summoned a light, casual shrug and a cool smile. ‘Sometimes it’s the only thing a person’s got going for them, and steel is utilitarian stuff.’

His brows met over the blade of his nose. ‘The world runs on utilitarian stuff,’ he said dispassionately, watching her with unsettling curiosity. ‘Steel, coal, oil, trees felled to make paper, metals dug from the ground, food grown in the earth. Are you a closet romantic, Aline, yearning for moonbeams?’

‘No,’ she said with a brittle lack of emphasis, tight shoulders moving uneasily under his intent golden scrutiny. She thought to sip some more champagne, but put the glass down untouched. The last thing she needed was a head clouded by bubbles.

The glimmer of starlight on the sea gave her an opportunity; she walked across to uncurtained windows and gazed out. ‘What a lovely spot you have here.’

It was a clumsily obvious ploy, but to her relief he let her get away with it. Ten minutes later they were discussing a controversial takeover that had been exercising the minds of financial journalists for the past week.

Usually Aline could do this sort of thing without thinking, but tonight Jake’s trenchant, perceptive comments kept prodding her brain out of neutral; by the time dinner was ready she realised with sick shame that she hadn’t thought of Michael for at least an hour.

At first she ate the scallop and noodle salad automatically, hardly tasting the sophisticated lime juice and sesame oil dressing, but soon the bite of chilli and fresh ginger and the smooth richness of the scallops shook her tastebuds awake.

‘That was delicious,’ she said with real appreciation when she’d finished. ‘You’re not just a man who can cook—you’re a superb cook.’

‘Thank you,’ he said laconically.

Aline watched as he collected the plates and took them into the kitchen. The combination of food and champagne and impersonal yet exhilarating conversation, the strange novelty of being cosseted and cared for, both stimulated and lulled her into a languid mood.

Jake was dangerous. When all she’d wanted to do was hide for the rest of her life he’d forced her senses and mind into enjoyable alertness. Simply by being himself—a compelling, attractive man—he’d broken through the bitterness of betrayal.

Heat surged from deep inside her, stinging her skin, clouding reason and logic in fumes of sensation. Shakily she got up and walked across the big room, pushing back the folding doors to gulp in cool air, moist from the sea, lush with the scent of greenery. She didn’t want to feel, to cope, to recover; for once in her life she longed to hide and howl at her emptiness.

When Jake came in from the kitchen carrying a couple of serving dishes she asked with tight formality, ‘Do you mind if I leave the doors open?’

‘No,’ he said, setting the dishes down. He straightened and stood watching her as she came towards her.

Something about his stillness, the metallic light in his golden eyes, the controlled lines of his sculpted mouth, chased ripples of unease across Aline’s skin. Lightly, steadily she said, ‘I was suspiciously close to nodding off, and I don’t want to miss any of this superb dinner.’