‘Olivia…’
She heard him say her name, felt the warmth of his breath whispering against her lips, her body quivered, and then somewhere behind them in the trees a bird made a noisy shriek of protest.
Immediately the realisation of what she was doing, of what she was inviting jolted through her, and Livvy pulled back from him, her face on fire with shock and guilt.
It came as no surprise that he let her go immediately. What on earth had come over her? she asked herself as she hurried away from him to where she had left her jeans and trainers. Thank goodness that bird had disturbed them when it had… Otherwise…
Otherwise… She gave a small shudder, fiercely clamping down on the images her mind was taunting her with.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHAT on earth was happening to her? Livvy fumed helplessly as she rubbed her damp hair dry and then reached for her hairdryer; her face flamed as she recalled the scene by the river’s edge. Why, oh, why had she given in to that ridiculously childish impulse to strip off and resurrect that old childhood pleasure?
No wonder Richard had looked at her the way he had. He must have thought she had taken leave of her senses. Either that, or… Her flush deepened, a dazed, helpless look darkening her eyes and softening her expression. Her lips parted slightly as her heart missed a small beat and then she caught sight of herself in the mirror and instantly banished that dangerous, weakening feeling.
Later, dressed, her hair plaited, thankful to discover that she had the kitchen to herself, she took herself severely to task.
It simply would not do, this idiotic foolishness…this dangerous and reprehensible awareness of Richard Field as a man…a very male man…a man to whom, for some unfathomable reason, she was dangerously attracted.
Attracted to Richard Field…her? Impossible. Surely she was far too sensible, had her feet planted far too firmly and safely on the ground to allow her emotions or her body to be swayed by a man who her brain told her had none of the qualities she really admired.
Look at his attitude towards women for a start. She frowned as she placed a large pile of books she had brought downstairs with her on the kitchen table. She had come here to the Dordogne to work as well as relax. Whether or not she decided to take up the school’s offer of promotion, she still had next term’s work to prepare.
The head had demurred at first when she had suggested French conversation classes, but Livvy’s enthusiasm had brought him round and he had been generous in his praise at the end of the school year when it had been obvious that the conversation classes had had a beneficial effect on her pupil’s grammatical grasp of the French language.
Next term, Livvy had planned to take her more advanced pupils a step further forward, initially planning to set them modern French novels to read, but after consideration changing her plans and substituting instead French film videos.
It was no use expecting a class of modern fourteen-year-olds to wax enthusiastic over the French classics, she acknowledged, no matter how much she would have enjoyed re-reading them, which was why she had bought herself a selection of the more popular French paperbacks to read over the holidays.
Right now, though, what she wanted to do was to sit down and do some work on the things she wanted to cover during the next term, the first of the new school year.
And thinking about Richard Field and the way he had held her, the way she had felt when he touched her, the way she had looked at him and for one dizzying, breathless second had actually wanted, yearned and ached for the feel of his mouth on hers, was not going to be conducive to such work.
It took her over half an hour to successfully, if not exactly banish Richard from her thoughts, then at least manage to restrict him to a relatively distant part of her mind.
She stopped once to make herself some coffee and to eat some of the crusty fresh bread she had bought, wondering as she did so where Richard had gone to.
He must have left while she was upstairs getting changed and, contradictorily, instead of being pleased that she had the farmhouse to herself, she realised that she was actually missing his presence, wondering where he was…what he was doing…who he was with.
No doubt when he did come back and found that she had taken possession of the kitchen table, and with it the kitchen itself, he probably wouldn’t be too pleased, she reflected as she looked a little guiltily at the mass of books and papers she had spread over the table.
After all, where else could she work? The dim, dark sitting-room-cum-parlour had no table or desk in it, the other downstairs rooms w
ere virtually unfurnished, and besides, she felt more comfortable in the kitchen, with the comforting warmth and noise of the range and the cat, who had come inside with her, curled up asleep on the floor in front of it. For a farmyard creature, it was proving surprisingly adaptable to domesticity. Unlike a certain male. She nibbled the end of her pen thoughtfully. Why was he so antagonistic towards her sex?
She suspected that the curt, ‘I was. I’m not now,’ response he had made to her involuntary shocked, ‘You’re married?’ probably held the answers, or some of them.
What had his wife been like? she wondered. He must have loved her intensely for her to have hurt him so badly. How long had she…had they…?
‘Never get involved with a divorced man,’ Jenny had once told her with world-weary cynicism after the break-up of yet another romance. ‘They’re either so hung up on their ex-wives that they just can’t see anyone else, or they’re so bitter and resentful that they take it out on you. Either way, they’re trouble.’
Livvy’s frown deepened. She had laughed then, thinking that her friend was guilty of exaggeration. But people were affected by what they experienced in life, scarred sometimes…
She caught herself up quickly. How or why Richard Field had acquired his cynical and totally wrong-headed view of the female sex was nothing to do with her, and if she was wise she would make sure it stayed that way.
It should be easy enough after all. There was certainly nothing he had said or done that could have caused this anxiety she was feeling, this uncertainty whether she was capable of maintaining a sensible emotional distance between them. Nothing whatsoever.
Just because physically he had aroused her…just because this afternoon, when he had looked at her, touched her…