in his glass while preventing her from catapulting them both into the pool. ‘There’s no need to strangle me!’
‘I’m not trying to strangle you,’ she declared, drawing back from his involuntary embrace with reluctance to gaze eagerly up at him. ‘Oh, Rich, it’s so good to see you again!’
‘It’s good to see you too, kitten,’ he assured her dryly, but lazy green eyes, between the thickest lashes she had ever seen on a man, drooped questioningly to her uncovered bosoms. ‘Though I trust you don’t greet all our callers with the same permissiveness.’
Only then did Olivia become aware of her breasts pressed against the silky texture of his shirt, the muscles of his chest hard beneath. Surprisingly, she wasn’t embarrassed, she realised. Richard had seen her unclothed on frequent occasions when she was younger, and in any case, it was too late now for false modesty.
‘I was sunbathing,’ she explained lightly. ‘I’m not embarrassing you, am I? You’ve seen me before, without protest, haven’t you?’ she teased. ‘Alex thinks I have a nice figure.’
She winced in dismay when his hand suddenly closed about the nape of her neck, his thumb pressing her chin up so that she was forced to face him. ‘Bishop hasn’t seen you like this, has he?’ he demanded, and she could tell from his expression that he was furiously angry.
His change of mood was so unexpected that she could only stare at him for several seconds, fighting back the tears of pain his cruel grasp was bringing to her eyes. Then, with a gulping sob, she wrenched herself away from him, snatching up her shirt and pulling it over her shoulders.
‘No,’ she retorted, and she was annoyed to find her voice was tremulous. ‘Of course he hasn’t. What do you take me for?’
There was a moment’s silence, and then, as if having regained control of himself, Richard caught her arm and swung her round to face him as she struggled to tie the knot again. Brushing her shaking hands aside, he completed the operation, before taking a deep breath and saying: ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.’
Olivia, whose gaze had been glued to her toes while he tied the ends of her shirt beneath her breasts, lifted her eyes reluctantly. She felt indignant that he should arrive home twenty-four hours after she had without a word of apology, and then get so angry just because she had spoken facetiously. It was she who should be angry with him, she thought, but looking up into his lean intelligent face, she knew she couldn’t be. She had so looked forward to seeing him, and now he was here, and already they were on the verge of a fight.
‘Oh, Rich!’ she mumbled helplessly, stretching out her fingers and twining one inside a buttonhole of his jacket, and he bent and deposited his glass on the table nearby.
‘Come on,’ he said dryly, ‘let’s kiss and make up!’ and with a rueful smile she lifted her face to his.
His mouth came down on hers, his hands holding her shoulders, not cruelly now, but warmly, familiarly, the long fingers probing inside the sleeveless shirt to stroke the sun-warmed skin. He had kissed her before, many times, he liked to kiss her, she thought, and she liked him to be happy. But this time it was different, this time her lips parted in remembrance of Jules’s kiss, and Richard responded with an urgency that was alien to her. He kissed her deeply, lingeringly, and while her senses were spinning her mind was rejecting what her instincts told her. This was her stepbrother, her guardian; the man she had always regarded as the mentor in her life, and her eyes had opened, seeking wildly for some way to escape him, when she saw Alex Bishop watching them from the sliding doors of the garden room.
With a gulp she tore her mouth from Richard’s, taking a step backwards and saying jerkily: ‘He—hello, Alex.’
Richard seemed unperturbed, however. With a wry glance in her direction, he turned to Alex Bishop, loosening his tie as he asked: ‘Did you make the call?’
‘Yes.’ Alex, his face slightly embarrassed, stepped on to the patio. ‘I’m sorry if I interrupted anything …’
‘You’re not interrupting anything,’ declared Richard easily, smiling at Olivia, and she felt a ridiculous sense of relief. This was the Richard she knew and loved, and she was glad she had not embarrassed them both by treating his kiss as anything more than a demonstration of his delight in seeing her again. It was nine months, after all, since he had accompanied her to Paris and seen her safely installed at St Helena’s, and that was the longest parting they had had. It was natural that he should feel relieved to have her home again, safe and sound.
Listening to him giving Alex his orders, she relaxed completely, resuming her position on the sun lounger, and feeling an intense sense of contentment sweeping over her. Richard always gave her this feeling of warmth and security, and she lifted her shoulders in a little gesture of happiness. She wondered how long he was staying, and then dismissed the thought. She didn’t want to have to put a limit on their time together, and she looked up at him surreptitiously, thinking with detachment what an attractive man he was. Shelley Foster thought so, she knew that, the girl had told her so many times, but Richard wouldn’t marry her. Olivia guessed when he did marry it would be to someone like himself, rich and successful, the kind of woman who could run his home and be his hostess, and talk intelligently to the foreign guests he often brought to stay at Copley.
Curiously enough, the idea of Richard getting married didn’t particularly appeal to her. She guessed it was partly a selfish desire to continue to regard Copley as her home, which she would feel less able to do with another mistress there, but there was more to it than that. A wife would demand more of his attention than Olivia wanted to give, and she could never share her anxieties with him knowing he might go and confide them to his wife!
She sighed, and as she did so she lifted her fingers to her lips, still tingling from the pressure of his. Had it been her fault that he had kissed her that way? she wondered. Was that how he kissed the women he went out with? Had her experience with Jules affected her response? Certainly, until the Frenchman had taken her in his arms and taught her the more passionate aspects of kissing, she had been singularly naïve. But Jules had not aroused that feeling of panic inside her, he had not stroked her lips with his—an intimacy which even now brought a disturbing sensation that was half pain, half pleasure, to the pit of her stomach.
‘So—how was St Helena’s?’
Richard had rescued his glass and was speaking to her again, and glancing round she realised Alex had disappeared once more. Endeavouring to push her discomfiting speculations aside, she forced a smile to her lips and replied: ‘It was interesting. The girls were very friendly—particularly Michelle. I wrote you about her.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Richard nodded, raising his glass to his lips and draining its contents before continuing: ‘The girl whose family you stayed with at Easter. Tours, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s right,’ Olivia nodded. ‘How about you? Did you have a good time in Athens?’
Richard grinned. ‘It was—interesting,’ he teased, mocking her reply to his question. ‘The girls were very friendly.’ Then, as she coloured, he added: ‘Seriously though, I was sorry to be away when you arrived home, kitten. It wasn’t intentional, believe me. But you know how it is.’ He shrugged out of his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, the dark tan of his skin revealing that he didn’t spend all his time in the boardroom. ‘Have you been in the pool yet? It looks as if Thomas has made a good job of cleaning it out.’
Olivia looked towards the pale green water, shading her eyes against the glare. ‘No, I haven’t,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t bring my
