… Claire …’
Claire! Her pursuer knew her name.
Trembling from head to foot, Claire turned round, her eyes widening in disbelief as she recognised Brad coming towards her.
Brad … Brad had been following her. A combination of nausea and fury gripped her by the throat, rendering it impossible for her to speak or move as Brad came up to her.
‘You’re soaked,’ she heard him saying to her. ‘Come and get in the car …’ He stretched out a hand, as though to guide her towards the waiting vehicle, but Claire shrank back from it, fury burning with fevered intensity in her eyes.
‘What is it …? What’s wrong?’ she heard him demand, impatience edging up under his voice as she pushed his hand into his own now damp hair, grimacing in disgust as the heavy droplets of rain ran down the inside of his collar.
‘“What’s wrong?”’ Claire stared at him in disbelief; her voice was cracked and harsh. ‘I thought you were following me,’ she told him.
She could see from his frown that he didn’t understand.
‘I was,’ he agreed. ‘I saw you coming out of the school. I was driving past on my way to the hotel …’
As he watched the way she backed off from him Brad was filled with guilty remorse. It had never occurred to him that she would mistake him for a stranger—the kind of pervert who preyed on solitary women.
‘Hey, look … it’s all right,’ he tried to comfort her. ‘I’m sorry; I—’
‘You’re sorry …?’ Claire’s voice was shaking as much as her body as she flung the words back at him.
‘Claire!’
‘No, don’t touch me,’ she demanded as she stepped back still further to avoid the hand that he was reaching out to her, only to be thrown heavily against him as a runner coming the other way whom she hadn’t seen collided with her, knocking her so off balance that she knew that she would probably have fallen if Brad hadn’t been there to prevent it.
The runner, obviously irritated by her and the fact that she had impeded his progress, muttered an ungracious curse before continuing on his way, leaving it to Brad to ask anxiously and quietly, ‘Are you OK? That was some speed he was running at—quite some speed …’
‘I’m fine,’ Claire fibbed.
The physical shock of almost being knocked to the ground and the emotional trauma of fearing that she was being followed, stalked, by an unknown man were both taking their toll of her. Her head felt muzzy, her thought processes were slow and confused, her hip-bone ached where the runner had cannoned into her, her stomach was still churning nauseously and the trembling which had begun when Brad had first called out to her had now become an open shivering.
Add to all that the fact that she was also extremely wet and cold and ‘fine’ was just about as far from describing her condition as it was possible to get.
Brad obviously thought so too, because instead of accepting her polite disclaimer as his British counterpart would have done he immediately rejected it, exclaiming curtly, ‘Like hell you are! You’re soaking wet through and shivering fit to bust. Come on … let’s get you into the car and home. What you need right now is a shower—a proper shower, good and hot and stinging, not these apologies for showers you have over here—followed by an equally hot, stinging drink … Are you OK?’ he added. ‘Can you walk as far as the car or would you like me to carry you?’
Would she like him to what?
Claire forgot for a moment that he still had both his arms around her, and her chin came shooting up proudly as she tipped her head back to look at him. Only it wasn’t his eyes which her own were on a level with. It was his mouth.
Dizzily Claire stared at it, her tongue-tip hesitantly touching her own, suddenly dry lips; a swarm of confusing and unfamiliar emotions invaded her dazed senses.
The rain had soaked her hair, causing it to curl in soft ringlet tendrils around her face, making her, although she didn’t know it, look closer to twenty-four than thirty-four. In the streetlight her skin had a luminous, transparent quality that made Brad want to reach out and touch it. British women had such delicate, pale skin, and Claire, with her fine-boned frame, had an added delicacy, a fragility almost, that aroused in him emotions …
The close contact with his body was warming her own, comforting it—an unfamiliar sensation to Claire and one that she instinctively responded to, luxuriated in on a level that was somehow beyond the jurisdiction of her normal strict self-control. Without realising what she was doing she nestled closer, exhaling her breath on a soft feminine sigh.
The hammer-blows of two different consecutive shocks had left her emotionally concussed, her senses and her emotions wandering blindly through an unfamiliar landscape where Brad was the only familiar landmark. Instinctively she clung to it … to him, her eyes huge and dazed in her pale face as she continued to focus on his mouth.
His mouth … It was strange to think that she had already been kissed by it. By him. Strange and dangerous and yet at the same time somehow headily exciting, alluring … with all the dark magic of something dangerous and forbidden.
She wanted to reach out and touch it, to trace its male shape, to …
The blare of a car horn on the opposite side of the road made her jump abruptly, bringing her back to reality, to normality.
Her face on fire with self-conscious anger and embarrassment, she tried to step back from Brad, shocked and confused by what she had been thinking—feeling.
‘Come on; let’s get you in the car,’ he told her firmly, his voice as matter-of-fact as if it was not a very unfamiliar or shocking thing for him to have a woman staring up at his mouth … as though … as though … But then, perhaps it wasn’t … She knew very little about him, after all, Claire reminded herself as she gave in and allowed him to walk her gently towards his car.
‘I’m sorry I gave you such a bad shock,’ she heard him apologising after he had helped her into her seat.
Claire couldn’t bring herself to look at him and instead busied herself trying to fasten her seat belt. Her fingers felt numb and stiff, her actions slow and clumsy.
‘It’s just that I was on my way back from the office and I saw you coming out of the school and—Here, let me help you with that,’ he offered, and without waiting for her agreement he gently pushed her hands away, leaning across her as he reached for the recalcitrant seat belt.
His hair was still damp and she could smell the cold, fresh scent of the rain on his hair and his skin. The nape of his neck, exposed as he leaned across her, was warmly tanned, unlike her own much paler skin. The rain had made his hair start to curl slightly.
A soft smile 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
