means to get away.
‘Will you let go of me?’ she demanded, resisting the almost overwhelming impulse to fight free of him. ‘You can’t browbeat me into agreeing with you. I’m not Maura!’
It was unforgivable, and she knew it. Throwing his dead wife’s name at him like that was indefensible, and she was quite prepared for him to deliver an equally ugly response.
But, to her shame, Ben didn’t say anything. He just looked at her, his green eyes searching her defensive features with stark deliberation. And, as he looked at her, his expression changed, the jade eyes narrowing and darkening in their intensity.
Jaime’s resistance wavered. She told herself it was because she felt guilty about what she had said, but deep inside her she knew it was more than that. It might be more than fifteen years since Ben had held her and looked at her in quite this way, but in an instant her awareness of him was threatening to destroy all her hardwon independence.
And, as if sensing victory, Ben’s eyes dropped to her mouth, to the vulnerable curve of her lower lip, and the pink tip of her tongue that appeared, and then darted nervously out of sight. His own mouth flattened, and the remembrance of how his lips had felt, moving possessively on hers, was suddenly an almost tangible memory. She remembered the first time he had kissed her as if it were yesterday. She remembered its urgency, and its sweetness, and the foolish belief she had had that he loved her. She had felt so protected in his arms—so safe. Had she ever been either?
But his reaction towards her was changing. She could see it. She could feel it. His hands were no longer bruising her shoulders. Their grip had become gentler, sinuously abrading the cloth, so that the silk jersey rubbed sensuously against her skin. It made her want to tear the garment from her flesh and let his seductive fingers do their worst, and when he looked down at the shadowy hollow, visible between the wrap-over folds of her dress, the blood started hammering in her ears. He was going to touch her; she knew it. Not as he was touching her now, but sexually, intimately, and there was not a thing she could do to stop him…
‘He’s mine, isn’t he?’
The incredulous exclamation was like being doused in cold water. Jaime swayed, momentarily in fear of losing consciousness. Had he really said what she thought he had said, or was it simply a continuation of the crazy fantasy she had been indulging? She blinked, gazing at him through shocked eyes, and his hands, which only moments before had been caressing her shoulders, applied a bruising pressure.
‘He is, isn’t he?’ Ben said again, harshly, accusingly. ‘My God! Why didn’t you tell me?’
It was difficult to think, let alone answer him. Jaime felt as if she had been standing on the edge of a cliff and someone had just pushed her over. She had the same feeling of precipitation, of being out of control, of having nothing to hold on to. Dear God, this couldn’t be happening, she told herself. But it was.
‘Mum? Mum? Are you all right?’
The tentative tapping at the door, and Tom’s anxious enquiry brought her to her senses. Even if Ben’s hands hadn’t immediately dropped from her shoulders, Jaime knew she would have found the strength then to escape him somehow. Like a tigress protecting its young, she wrenched open the door, and much to Tom’s surprise—and embarrassment—she pulled him into her arms.
‘Of course I am, sweetheart!’ she exclaimed, only allowing him to release himself with reluctance. But she kept a possessive arm about his shoulders, as she added with unnatural brightness, ‘Your—your uncle was just leaving.’
Her eyes challenged Ben’s to deny that, to repeat the accusation he had just made to her, and run the risk of alienating Tom’s loyalties once and for all. But, of course, he didn’t. As she had hoped—no, known—he wouldn’t. Whatever he thought of her, Tom was the innocent party here, and Ben was far too shrewd to try to expose her to her son without proof.
‘Oh, were you, Uncle Ben?’ Tom asked now, shaking off his mother’s arm, and giving the man a rueful look. ‘Couldn’t you stay and have some supper? I’ve made some sandwiches.’
There was a moment’s silence, which for Jaime seemed to stretch into eternity, and then Ben made his excuses. ‘I’m afraid not, Tom,’ he declined, and although Jaime had been avoiding looking at him she couldn’t prevent an automatic glance at his dark features.
But Ben’s face was unreadable, the green eyes opaque between their thick veil of lashes. Perhaps he looked a little paler than he had done earlier, but she refused to believe that that was anything more than the vagaries of his fever. For he was running a temperature; she was unwillingly aware of that. Though her desire to ensure that he was looking after himself had suffered a distinct relapse in the circumstances.
‘But we will be seeing you again, won’t we?’ Tom persisted, as his mother backed into the hall, and Ben came towards them. ‘I mean, now that you live in Kingsmere—–’
‘Oh, yes.’ Ben’s confirmation was like the death-knell to all Jaime’s hopes. ‘You’ll be seeing me again, Tom.’ He smiled, but only Jaime noticed that it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘You can depend on it.’ He paused, and then added, deliberately, ‘After all, we are family.’
‘Family!’ Tom echoed the word with obvious satisfaction. He grinned. ‘Yes, we are, aren’t we? How about that, Mum? Even if Dad doesn’t want to have anything to do with us, Uncle Ben does.’
Jaime felt physically sick, but she had to say something for her son’s sake. ‘I—I’m sure—Uncle Ben is just being polite, Tom,’ she murmured, making a final bid to appeal to Ben’s humanity. But it was wasted.
‘On the contrary,’ he said, ‘I’m looking forward to showing Tom where I’m going to live. As you probably know, I’ve bought the old Priory, and I’m hoping to move in within the next few days. I’ve had quite a few alterations made, and I’m sure Tom would like to take a look at the gym and the pool-house.’
‘An indoor pool!’ echoed Tom disbelievingly. ‘And a gym!’ He gave his mother a bemused look. ‘Holy shit!’
‘Tom!’
Jaime was glad she could focus her anguish on something other than the man, who was so effortlessly baiting her, but her son was too excited to pay any attention to the reproof.
‘I’ll be in touch with you next week,’ Ben promised, ignoring Jaime, as he passed her on his way to the front door. ‘And apologise to your girlfriend for me, won’t you? Tell her I’m sorry if I spoiled her plans for the evening.’
‘Hey, no sweat,’ declared Tom carelessly, as Jaime exclaimed,
‘He doesn’t have a girlfriend!’ But no one was listening to her.
‘It’s been good to meet you, Tom,’ Ben said instead, pausing at the door. ‘You remind me a lot of myself, when I was young.’ He offered the boy a grin which only Jaime knew was malevolent. ‘See you—both!’
Jaime slept badly, when she slept at all, and she was up at six, making herself a strong cup of tea. Thank heavens it’s Sunday, she thought, as she seated herself at the kitchen table, and wrapped her hands around the cup. She would have hated to have to go into work this morning and face Felix’s inquisitive gaze.
Not that he was likely to know anything about Ben’s visit. Not yet, anyway. But he would want to hear
