No More Lonely Nights

Sian hesitated, though. She tiptoed over to check that Annette was actually there and saw the other girl's white face; a blur in the shadows. Annette had her eyes shut. She must have lain down fully dressed under a quilt, and she was breathing so quietly that Sian thought she might already be asleep. Well, she had had so many shocks today; she might have keeled over and fallen into a weary sleep. Sian tiptoed back to the door and returned to her own room.

She washed in the en-suite bathroom and put on Magdalena Cassidy's enchanting nightie, a floating creation of blue satin and lace by Janet Reger. She combed her hair and yawned, climbing into bed a moment later. She switched out the light and her eyes closed gratefully, only to open not long after-wards when she heard a creak on the landing outside the room.

Sian tensed, listening hard. Another creak, the rustle of someone's clothes. Was that Annette? Or was William Cassidy creeping past her room, and, if so, where was he going?

In a flash, she was out of bed and across the room. It was dark on the landing outside, but she saw a shadowy movement outside Annette's door. Sian did not want to wake the girl; she dared not make too much noise, so she hurried silently towards the shape she saw vanishing into the next room.

She caught up with him before he reached the bed, and grabbed his shoulder. He stiffened, spinning to face her.

'Outside!' Sian hissed, her eyes on the bed. Annette's face was buried in her pillow now; only her hair was visible, a drift of darkness on the white sheet.

William Cassidy hesitated, his own eyes on the bed, and Sian tugged at him, glaring.

'You shouldn't be in here,' she whispered. 'What do you think you're doing?'

At that he strode away, and she followed, softly closing the door behind her. He turned on her then, his face pale with temper.

'Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that in my own house?' His eyes flashed; she remembered Annette saying that he was like lightning ripping up the sky. That was how he looked now, those grey eyes violent, his tall body vibrating with a powerful tension.

'Sorry, but you asked me to look after Annette, and that's what I mean to do,' Sian said, hoping she didn't show how nervous he made her feel.

'I was making sure she was sleeping,' he said through his teeth.

'Don't you think I've checked? If she woke up and saw you by her bed she might have hysterics. She's had enough for one day, leave her alone.' She stood outside the room, her head thrown back, her eyes firmly meeting his. 'Go back to bed or do I have to sit in there all night?'

He spun on his heel and walked back past her room, and Sian followed after a pause, but as she got to her door he suddenly came back just as she was switching on her bedroom light. Startled, she faced him.

'What now?'

'You didn't really think I went in there to…' He stopped, his mouth twisting.

'Go to bed, Mr Cassidy,' said Sian, closing her door.

His foot stopped it and he shouldered through. 'You listen to me,' he said fiercely. 'As it happens, I'm too tired to rape anyone, but even if I weren't, I don't see myself hurting Annette. I'm not given to violence against women, although in your case I might be tempted.'

'Don't be,' Sian said coolly. 'Hit me and I'll hit back. You don't scare me!'

'Oh, don't I?' he said in a soft, angry voice, his mouth a white line.

'No, you don't,' Sian said with more assurance than she felt, trying to stare him down.

He slowly ran his eyes over her, from her ruffled blonde hair, down over the curve of her slim body in the clinging blue satin, to the pale, bare feet showing beneath the deep lace hem. Until then, Sian hadn't been self-conscious, but she began to feel heat flowing under her skin, and her body trembled. Aghast, she swallowed; what was wrong with her?

He was doing it deliberately, of course; his flickering gaze was intended to make her wildly conscious of being half-naked and alone with him at night, and it succeeded. Sian read the intention, the mockery, but she saw something else in those grey eyes: a real sensuality that made her go weak at the knees. Worse than that, she felt an answering emotion. She was attracted to him; it was pure chemistry she felt leaping between them, like a white flame. It made no sense; they had only just met and didn't know each other, he had just been going to marry another girl, and she was in no hurry to get involved with another man after her last emotional crash.

She knew what was behind William Cassidy's mood, too. He was in turmoil over Annette; jealous, hurt, bitter, he had gone into that room… to do what? Sian looked into his eyes and wondered. He had just said he was too tired to rape anyone; but what had been in his mind? What was in it now?

'Go to bed, Mr Cassidy,' she repeated, her voice icing over. 'This has been a bad day for you and I'm very sorry, but don't take it out on me. I'm not to blame. You say you're tired and I believe you. I'm tired, too. If I don't get some sleep soon I'll go out of my mind, so can we please stop playing stupid games?'

For a moment, he just stared at her fixedly, then the strange, harsh light dissolved in his eyes and he gave a twisted smile, and yawned.

'Cool, aren't you? And right, of course. Goodnight.'

He went so suddenly that it was another moment before Sian realised she was alone. She closed her door, then, listening to the soft departing footsteps until the house was silent again, she stumbled back to bed and lay down. Sleep didn't just come—it fell on her like a house, smothering her.

When she woke up it was morning; light filled the room and she lay in a state of confusion for a while until she remembered where she was and what had happened the night before. She slid out of bed in a hurry and ran at once to the next room. Annette still slept heavily, her breathing regular. Sian crept out again and came face to face with William Cassidy once more.

He was fully dressed, but differently. This morning he wore a black polo-neck sweater over a cream silk shirt and casual grey trousers. Sian wondered if he had slept at all. He had shaved, clearly; his skin was smooth and faintly damp, and so was his dark hair, as if he had recently showered.