beguiling gentleness, Flynn Killane’s cold-blooded, deliberately sensual exploration of her lips had the shock of an assault. For a moment Sandie was frozen, unable to credit what was happening, then she began to struggle wildly, her body twisting against his as she tried to free herself, and heard him laugh, deep in his throat. His hands slid down her body, moulding her slender contours through the thin fabric of housecoat and nightgown, and her whole being seemed to burn with shame at his touch.
For a long moment he held her, then, totally unhurriedly, he lifted his head and released her, stepping back.
‘Take that to bed with you, darling,’ he said silkily. ‘And while you’re lying there, remember they’re my sheets you’re wrapped in.’ He paused. ‘Sweet dreams!’
She lifted her hand and slapped him as hard as she could across his tanned cheek, then she ducked her head, picked up the trailing skirts of her housecoat, and ran like a hare for the stairs and safety.
WHEN SANDIE OPENED her eyes the next morning, the sun was shining into her room from a clear sky.
She sat up, aware of a faint throbbing in her temples, and pushed her hair back from her face. For a moment she felt totally disorientated, then, as the events of the previous twenty-four hours rushed back to confront her in their entirety, she sank back against the pillows with a little moan of dismay.
She glanced towards the window and the untrammelled blue of the skies, and winced. ‘Hypocrite!’ she muttered.
She knew an ignominious urge to stay where she was, with the covers pulled over her head, rather than have to get up and face the inevitable repercussions of Flynn Killane’s unexpected return.
No wonder everyone had reacted as they had to her arrival if he was always as hostile and intolerant to people who were not there at his personal invitation! Yet surely someone of Crispin’s eminence in the world of music did not have to go cap in hand to ask his half-brother’s permission before inviting anyone to Killane.
Helpless colour flooded her face as she remembered the way Flynn Killane had spoken to her—the unequivocal inferences that he’d drawn from her presence. That had been quite bad enough without the appalling humiliation of that odious kiss.
It mortified her now to recall her own wistful fantasies about Crispin. It was as if a trail of slime had been laid across them, she thought, shuddering.
By this time, of course, everyone at Killane would know the owner of the house had returned. Flynn Killane was undoubtedly someone who could make his presence felt.
Sandie groaned and got reluctantly out of bed. Well, there was little point in delaying the inevitable.
Half an hour later, dressed casually but comfortably in her usual jeans and T-shirt, her hair twisted into one long braid, she went downstairs. It was essential, she thought, standing in the hall rather irresolutely, to find Crispin, and tell him what had happened.
As she paused, Steffie, followed by James, emerged from the dining room.
‘Hello there,’ Steffie was eating a thick slice of bread and marmalade. ‘Do you want some breakfast?’
‘I’m not very hungry,’ Sandie excused herself hastily. The way her stomach was churning, it would be a miracle if she ever ate anything again.
James gave her a speculative look, then glanced at his twin. ‘We’re away down to the paddock,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you come with us?’
Sandie hesitated. ‘I think I’d better stay here.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ Steffie said candidly. ‘Flynn and Crispin are having a terrible row in the study, shouting their heads off. You’re best out of it.’
‘Crispin’s doing all the shouting,’ James supplied. ‘Flynn’s talking in that quiet, cold voice that I don’t like.’ He turned to Sandie. ‘He wants you packed off back to England,’ he informed her.
Sandie’s heart sank. ‘Oh, no! But why?’
Steffie giggled. ‘Because he thinks you’re Crispin’s bit on the side,’ she said airily.
By rights, Sandie should have administered some well-chosen reproof, but she was too angry.
‘Well, he couldn’t be more wrong,’ she said curtly. ‘And what business is it of his, anyway?’
‘Oh, everything that happens at Killane is Flynn’s business,’ Steffie said sunnily. ‘After all, it’s his house, and Bridie says we’re only here on—on suffrage,’ she added doubtfully.
‘Sufferance,’ Sandie corrected automatically. But the twins were already heading for the front door, and after a moment’s hesitation, she followed.
What an autocrat! she thought, smouldering. What a petty tryant—king of his rundown castle, and determined to let everyone know it!
She had hoped that by now Crispin would have explained the situation to him, and got him to see some kind of reason. She’d even imagined some kind of apology coming her way, and had planned how she would accept it with icy dignity. But it seemed she had totally underestimated the depth of animosity between the brothers. And because of it, there would be no second chance for her. She was going to be shipped back to England as if she was in some kind of disgrace, when she was innocent of everything but wanting to be a professional pianist—and a little wistful thinking about Crispin. And what was really so shameful about that? she asked herself defensively.
Flynn Killane was probably just jealous, she thought, her nails curling into the palms of her hands. He might be a top man in his field, but he had none of the fame enjoyed by the rest of his family. Nor had he anything like Crispin’s good looks or charisma, she thought. In fact, he looked as if he knew more about street brawling than high finance.
The horses were already waiting at the paddock fence for their visitors. Sandie joined in the apportioning of carrot and apple, and other titbits, and patted the velvet noses which came snuffling inquisitively towards her.
‘Do you want to come for a ride?’ James asked.
Sandie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve come here to work—and to learn.’
‘Well, don’t expect a lesson from Crispin today. He’ll be slamming off somewhere in a temper like he always does.’ Steffie giggled. ‘I love it when Flynn comes home. There’s always hell to pay!’ She swung herself athletically on to the fence, and on to the back of the nearest horse, twisting her hand in its mane.
‘You’re not going like that. Aren’t you going to use a proper saddle—and a helmet?’ Sandie watched in alarm, as James also mounted bareback.
‘Oh, we have them somewhere,’ Steffie called back over her shoulder as she trotted off. ‘But Flynn says we were born to break our bloody necks.’
For such a critic of other people’s morals and behaviour, Flynn Killane’s own remarks in the hearing of his younger siblings could take some censoring, Sandie thought with disapproval.
She turned back towards the house,
