touched her mouth. She lifted her hand and then froze, her body stiffening in horror as she realised what she had been about to do. What on earth had come over her? The very idea… The mere thought of reaching out voluntarily to touch a man’s skin… his hair… to stroke her fingers slowly through those almost boyish curls, to straighten them… was so alien to her, to everything that she was, that she could hardly believe she had actually been about to do it.
It took Brad’s anxious, ‘What’s wrong? Is it your hip? I saw how hard he knocked you when he ran into you. It’s bound to be bruised…’ to bring her to her senses.
Claire felt the relief flooding through her as she realised that he thought her tension came from physical pain and hadn’t understood…
‘It’s fine. I’m fine,’ she told him brusquely.
‘No, you’re not,’ Brad corrected her gently.
He was still leaning over her, looking directly into her eyes, and her heart gave a fierce bound as she tried unsuccessfully to look into his.
‘You’re probably as sore as hell… You’ve had a pretty nasty shock… a very nasty shock, I should say,’ he amended, ‘if the way you reacted earlier is anything to go by. Tell me, do you—?’
‘I… I just don’t like being touched,’ Claire blurted out, terrified of what he might be going to ask her, to force her to reveal…’Some people just don’t…’
She was willing the betraying colour not to seep up under her skin as she made herself meet his steady scrutiny and willing herself as well not to remember the way she had practically snuggled deeper into his arms such a very short time ago, praying at the same time that he wouldn’t say anything about that either.
To her relief he didn’t, saying only, ‘No, some people don’t,’ before giving her seat belt a small testing tug to make sure that it was fastened and then turning away from her to secure his own and start the car.
‘I’ll walk you to the door,’ Brad announced after he had completed the short journey to her house.
But Claire shook her head quickly, her voice slightly huskier than normal as she said, ‘No, no, it’s all right…’
As he hesitated she added quickly, ‘It’s still raining and there’s no point in you getting wet again. I’ve got my keys here and…’
For a moment Claire thought that he was going to insist on going with her; his body tensed and hers did too, but then he seemed to change his mind, simply telling her, ‘Don’t forget that hot shower or that drink. I’m not sure what time I’ll be through with the hotel in the morning but I’d like to bring my stuff over before lunch if that fits in with your schedule. I’ve got an appointment with our bankers in the afternoon and then in the evening we can talk terms.’
‘Yes. Yes, morning will be fine,’ Claire confirmed.
As he watched her run towards her door through the still heavy rain Brad wondered if he was doing the right thing. There was no denying that the feeling she aroused in him, his desire for her, was more than just a subliminal male impulse.
Earlier, holding her in his arms in the street, watching the way she had looked at him… at his mouth…
Come on, he warned himself; you haven’t flown right the way across the Atlantic ocean to mess up your life with those kinda complications, to get hung up on a woman who may or may not be involved with another man.
And he wasn’t the sort to want to indulge in some kind of casual, no commitment, no future type of sexual fling. Nor, he judged, was she. Which meant… which meant that he’d better put the thoughts and desires which had been running wild through his head virtually ever since he had met her way, way back in the darkest and most unreachable recesses of his mind, he told himself firmly as he saw the door close behind Claire’s retreating figure.
After a brief pause he put his hire car into gear and backed out of the drive.
‘No!’
The sound of her own voice uttering the sharp, high-pitched, frantic protest brought Claire abruptly awake, to sit upright in her bed, hugging her arms around her knees as she tried to control her body’s frantic shivering.
Dry-eyed, she stared fiercely into the darkness, willing the nightmare to relinquish its hold on her.
It was not as though it was something she had never experienced before, even if over the years its frequency had decreased so that now it was something that occurred only when she was under some kind of stress.
No, the reason for the agitation that she was fighting so hard to banish now wasn’t so much the fact that she’d had a nightmare—it was over now, after all, and she was awake—but that somehow it had developed a new plot—a new and extremely upsetting ending.
In the past it had always followed a familiar and recognisable pattern. The man… the darkened room, his hands reaching for her… his anger when she rejected him, her escape and his pursuit down narrow, dark, wet streets in which she was completely alone and unprotected, the only sounds those of her own terrified breathing and the pounding, ever closer footsteps of her pursuer.
In the past she had always managed to escape… to wake up before he caught up with her, but this time… this time…
Her teeth chattered together as her body gave a deep shudder.
This time she had not escaped; this time he had caught up with her, his hand… both his hands… reaching for her, holding her prisoner.
She had fought frantically against the horror of his remembered and loathed touch, finally managing to turn round to face him, to plead with him for mercy.
Only when she had turned round the face she had seen had not been the one she had expected. Instead it had been Brad who had looked back at her, and inexplicably, as she’d recognised him, somehow the touch that had felt so terrifying and so loathsome had become comforting and even more disturbing, actually welcome to her body.
Relief had filled her sleep-sedated body as her fear had turned to joy, and she’d actually stepped towards him, welcoming the firm warmth of his arms around her, the scent of his skin as he’d held her close, his jaw against her hair as his arms had tightened around her and his voice had soothed her.
‘It’s you,’ she had said softly, breathlessly as she’d pressed her trembling body against his, drawing support from his proximity and strength, luxuriating almost in the closeness of him, in the knowledge that with him she was safe and protected, trembling between laughter at her foolishness in ever having been afraid and tears because of the memories that had caused that fear.
As he’d cupped her face in his hands and bent his head to kiss her she had responded eagerly to that kiss, tightening her own arms around him, opening her mouth beneath his, anticipating in her mind the sensual pleasure of feeling his naked body against her own—a pleasure which, in her dream, both her body and her mind had recognised as one with which it was already familiar. They had not been new lovers unaccustomed to one another or unaware of one another’s needs; there had been a harmony between them—an acceptance, a knowledge…
He had been so tender with her, so gentle, wiping away her tears, sharing with her her emotional relief that he was there holding her and that she had nothing, after all, to fear, that with
