No More Lonely Nights

'It looks delicious. Thank you.'

'I'll be back for the tray later—would you like coffee? Or would it keep you awake?'

'No, I don't think I'd better drink coffee,' she said, wishing he wouldn't keep looking at her. Her nightdress was too revealing; her bare shoulders and throat seemed to fascinate him, and Sian felt like pulling the sheet up to her chin, but that would be to admit she found his gaze disturbing, and she wasn't going to do that. She didn't want him to know he had any effect on her at all.

He nodded and vanished, and she gave a long sigh of relief.

The omelette was as delicious as it looked. Sian ate it slowly, drank some of the chilled milk that had been sent up with it, then leaned back on the pillows and closed her eyes, yawning.

'Sleepy?'

His voice made her start; her lids flew up and she blinked to find him so close, inches away, although she hadn't heard him come into the room. He sat down on the side of the bed and her colour rose hectically. She looked aside, afraid of looking into his eyes.

'Very. It's been a long day.'

'How do you feel?' he asked, pushing aside a clinging strand of blonde hair which was hiding the bandage on her forehead.

'OK, thanks.' Sian felt him staring at her head, but kept her lashes lowered, wishing he would go.

'I hope you won't have a scar there.' Cass brushed the hairs back over the bandage, then slowly ran his hand down over her head, making a little shiver pass through her. 'Cold?' he asked, his fingers lightly stroking along her bare shoulder.

'I want to go to sleep,' she huskily said. 'Goodnight.'

'You ate the omelette—was it good?' He took no notice of her hint.

'Very, thank you. I enjoyed it.' He was gently playing with the lace-trimmed strap of her nightdress, pushing it down over her arm and up again, and Sian was nervously aware of everything he did.

'This room is perfect for you,' he murmured. 'All pink and silver, and your nightdress matches exactly, as if you'd known.'

'Your aunt will wonder what you're doing in here,' Sian said desperately, pushing his hand away as it strayed lower and his fingertips softly trailed over her half-covered breast.

'My aunt has gone to bed.' He bent closer and his lips touched the curve of her shoulder; it wasn't so much a kiss as the butterfly brush of a wing, gone almost before she had felt it, yet the impact of it made her gasp and, on a reflex action, close her eyes.

'Don't!' she whispered, trembling.

'You're quite a puzzle, Sian,' he said. 'Brisk career girl one minute, and then you sit there looking like a little girl and acting as though you'd never been kissed in your life! Every time I think I'm getting to know you, you pull another surprise on me—another rabbit comes out of the hat! I can see I won't be bored while you're around.'

Sian hid her smile, her head turned aside. 'I don't say I'm bored, Mr Cassidy, but would you mind leaving so that I can get some sleep?'

He laughed softly. 'Sometimes there's a touch of the cat about you, too! Quite a complex mixture, in fact.'

'Goodnight,' Sian insisted, and he got up, the bed springs making a squeaking protest.

'Goodnight, Sian,' he said, and bent quickly before she had warning of his intention. His mouth was warm and possessive; there was nothing tentative about the kiss, it was given with command and assurance, even though it didn't linger. Sian heard him collect the tray from the floor where she had placed it before he had come back, then he was gone, the door closing quietly.

She opened her eyes and the room seemed lonely, far too empty. She threw several pillows to the end of the bed and turned out the light before lying down with just one pillow under her head. Cass had said she was a puzzle, but he was just as bewildering to her. She wished she knew how he really felt about Annette. Why had he asked her to marry him? And had it been him driving the white sports car, or was he covering up for someone else?

Sian had picked up hints, clues—she suspected it might have been his sister, Magdalena, but why should Magdalena have forced her off the road, then driven on deliberately, leaving her in the ditch?

What grievance did Magdalena have against her? Presumably the same one Cass had—that she had helped Annette, then printed the story in the newspaper she worked for! Sian could understand why Cass might be burning with secret rage about that, and even understood that his sister could be very upset too, but surely Magdalena couldn't be angry enough to risk killing a total stranger? If Sian went to the police, Magdalena would be charged with hit-and-run driving, and face a stiff penalty. Would she have been so stupid? Come to that, of course, the same applied to Cass, but Sian found it increasingly hard to belie

ve he would have left her. It wasn't in character.

She slept very late next day, and only woke up when hammering started in the garden. At first, Sian wove the noise into her dreams and made it the crash of her heart in panic as she ran from some nebulous terror; then, as she began to wake, she thought her head was thudding as it had just after the accident. It was only when she opened her eyes and saw the strange room that she fully surfaced to remember where she was and what had happened. She lay there, staring around, one hand going up to her forehead to finger the bandage. Her head no longer hurt. She felt quite normal—except that she was saturated with sleep, heavy and stupid with it. She had been dreaming all night; fragments of strange dreams littered her memory, but when she tried to make sense of them she failed.

Cass had been in them. That much she was sure about. Cass had been in them all!

She pushed that aside hurriedly; she didn't want to think about Cass. Getting slowly out of bed, she stretched, lazy as a cat, then went to the window. Pulling the curtain aside, she warily peered out, but there was no sign of Cass or any of his family. There were people in the garden, all strangers, workmen in overalls and dungarees, in shirt-sleeves and jeans. They were putting up a giant green canvas tent on the billiard-table smooth lawn. Others were erecting stalls nearby. The hammering came from one big man without a shirt at all who was driving the tent-pegs into the ground, wielding a hammer as big as himself.