still wanted him. Unless she was becoming feverish already from the numerous soakings she had received today! His next words seemed to say she had to be.
‘If you prefer to just sit there looking like a drowned cat than answer me then you can damn well do so!’ He slammed the car door back in her face.
‘No—please!’ He had reached the front door by the time Merlyn had managed to open her door and scramble out of the car to talk to him. He stood on the step looking back at her, oblivious of the rain streaming on his hair, over his face and body. Maybe if you lived with this weather long enough it did that to you! ‘I—Could you take my luggage inside—please?’ she added hopefully, feeling as if she had walked on to the set of Fawlty Towers and encountered John Cleese in his classic role as Basil Fawlty!
A dark scowl settled over those curiously light-coloured eyes. ‘Do I look like a porter?’ he scorned.
Merlyn chewed on her bottom lip. He was like no other porter she had ever met, possessed too much arrogance and authority for the—Oh no, this wasn't Anne's husband, James, was it? If it was she had committed a double gaffe, that of assuming he was one of his own porters, and of finding herself attracted to a married man, her own hostess's husband.
‘Well?’ He arched mockingly arrogant brows at her lack of response to his question.
Merlyn moistened her lips. ‘Er—I'm sorry if I made a mistake about your position here. I—–'
‘I would say that's the second mistake you've made in the last few minutes,’ he derided, his teeth gleaming very white against the darkness of his beard as he grinned at her discomfort.
Merlyn was so bemused by the unexpectedness of that grin that for a moment she was too mesmerised by the change it made in his appearance—his eyes a warm grey, deep grooves etched into the leanness of his cheeks—to realise exactly what he had said. But once she did realise, her gaze became wary. Had she shown so clearly the impact he had had on her? If she had she would never be able to look Anne Benton in the eye when they were introduced.
‘Oh?’ she queried with a casualness she was far from feeling.
‘You're looking for The Forest hotel, right?’ he drawled, arms folded confidently across the power of his chest, his stance challenging.
She frowned. ‘Yes …'
‘Well, you didn't find it,’ he seemed to take great pleasure in informing her.
‘Oh, but—–’ The sky seemed to open up at that moment, blinding Merlyn in its deluge so that she gave a start of surprise as lean fingers closed about her arm.
‘For God's sake,’ the man at her side exclaimed, ‘let's get inside where it's at least dry!'
It was ‘at least’ the most beautifully furnished house Merlyn had ever seen, the whole of the downstairs area that was visible from the entrance hall decorated in subtle greens, greys, and off-white. Huge cut-glass chandeliers adorned the high ceilings and the delicately ornate staircase in front of her was like something out of a fairy-story—or a film-set, Hollywood-style, that is; things weren't done as grandly in England. What was clearly apparent was that it wasn't a hotel but a family home!
Her dismay was obvious as her gaze returned to her reluctant host. ‘I'm sorry, I seem to have—Atishoo!’ The force of the sneeze made her shake uncontrollably, her eyes starting to water.
‘You seem to have caught pneumonia,’ her host remarked wryly. ‘Come on.’ He took her arm and pulled her towards the staircase.
‘Where are we going?’ Merlyn voiced her alarm. After all, what did she know about this man? She had no way of telling if he had any more right to be here than she did; he could just be taking refuge from the storm too. He certainly didn't look wealthy enough to actually own this house! Unless he was the caretaker? That was quite possible. If she had a house like this she wouldn't want to leave it unattended. But the man facing her didn't look the type she would entrust her lovely home to either! Well, maybe she would. After all, she suspected she could entrust her heart to him without too much encouragement.
‘Upstairs,’ he murmured softly. ‘Scared?'
The recipient of a lot of teasing from a much older brother, Merlyn had never liked to be mocked, her eyes sparkling challengingly. ‘Of you?’ she taunted in a derisive voice.
His mouth quirked. ‘Why not? As soon as I get you upstairs I'm going to rip all your clothes off,’ he stated calmly.
Merlyn stiffened, drawing herself up to all of her five feet five inches in height, aware even as she did so that the man seemed to tower over her by nearly a foot, and that he weighed at least a hundred and eighty pounds. As she had driven up she hadn't seen another house anywhere near this one, and she was well aware that she would stand little or no chance against his weight and size if he should decide to take advantage of her vulnerability.
Nevertheless, she stood her ground. ‘I might have something to say about that,’ she murmured.
Dark brows rose. ‘Judo expert, are you?’ he mocked.
‘I could be,’ she evaded determinedly.
‘Do you usually make this much fuss about taking your clothes off for a shower?’ he taunted.
‘Shower?’ she blinked. ‘You—–'
‘Yes?’ he teased softly.
There were two red spots of anger in her otherwise pale cheeks, her indignation apparent by the scathing look she was sending him, the whole effect ruined by the ignominious sneeze she suddenly gave.
‘No more arguments,’ he declared, pulling her up the stairs with little regard for her stumbling, pushing her into a bedroom and stripping her coat off her before she had time to stop him. She did manage to pull back as he began to unbutton her blouse. ‘What is it?’ He frowned at her modesty. ‘I have seen the unclothed female body before,’ he told her impatiently.
She didn't doubt it. There was a raw masculinity about him that bespoke an intimate knowledge with women and his power over them. But he hadn't seen her body before, and that was the one she was worried about. Her hands placed over his halted his movements. ‘I don't even know your name,’ said Merlyn in exasperation.
His brow cleared, the mockery back. ‘You mean that if we had been formally introduced you would have let me take your clothes off without protest?’ he drawled.
This time the twin spots of colour in her cheeks were from embarrassment. ‘No, I—–'
‘You can call me Rand.’ He sighed his impatience with her indignant anger. ‘And if you won't let me undress you then at least have the good sense to do so yourself, and then get into a hot shower. I'll be downstairs making us some coffee.’ He walked forcefully from the room.
Merlyn was left with the impression that she had just survived a whirlwind. She sank slowly down on to the bed behind her, until she realised her sodden clothes would be dampening the silky peach coverlet. She stood up to undress, her thoughts with the puzzling man downstairs.
Rand. It had a nice sound to it. Her glance fell to the bed beside her. How would it feel to be in that bed beside him, her body entwined with his, crying out his name
