Sleeping Partners

Did he expect to be asked in to continue what they had begun in the car? she asked herself as they moved hastily to the steps of the house which were separated from the pavement by three feet of paved front garden behind small iron railings.

She glanced up at him as they reached the bottom step, her eyes huge. And, if so, what was she going to do?

The raindrops made her blink and it was through a misty haze she watched Clay’s face coming closer, and then their mouths were fused again and the rest of the world disappeared. The kiss was fierce and tender at the same time and it touched the quintessence of her being with its sweet potency. And then they

had drawn apart and Robyn had no idea how long the embrace had lasted. All she knew was that now it was over she felt bereft.

She gulped for air, staring at him as he took a step backwards away from her. ‘Don’t forget to make that call,’ he said thickly. ‘I’ll set it up for tomorrow.’

‘Call?’ He could have been talking in a foreign language.

‘Mike. Mike Robinson.’

It took a moment or two but then she managed to say, ‘No, no, I won’t,’ as her brain engaged again.

He nodded, and they looked at each other through the foot or so of space between them for what seemed like an eternity before he turned away, walking back to the car.

He was going. She stared after him, knowing she ought to turn and open the door rather than remain on the doorstep but it was as though brain and body were unconnected.

He raised a hand in brief salute before sliding into the car but she was incapable of responding to the casual gesture, and then the engine started and the car pulled out into the road before disappearing like a streak of lightning down the street. As though he couldn’t wait to get away.

The last thought permeated the fog of her mind and she stiffened, her eyes widening. Oh, no, no, what had she done? Had she thrown herself at him again in a ghastly repeat of years ago? Had he felt obliged to kiss her in the car and then again on the doorstep because she had made it clear she was expecting it? Desiring it?

The little moan from deep within brought her fumbling for her key, and once inside the house she stumbled straight upstairs to the kitchen, switching on the kettle automatically. Coffee. Lots and lots of coffee to help her think. That potent cocktail and then the wine had clouded her senses and her judgement, that was it. She hugged the thought to her, drawing on it as her heart pounded alarmingly in her breast. That was all it was. She was just a bit tipsy.

She drank the first cup of coffee hot and black, and if nothing else the shot of adrenalin helped her face the fact that she was as sober as a judge. The problem here wasn’t a momentary lapse due to alcohol; the problem was Clay Lincoln. She clenched her hands together and then purposefully forced herself to relax her fingers one by one before fixing another cup of coffee.

Had she invited him to kiss her? Conscripted it even? She played the tape over in her mind and took a big gulp of the burning liquid as the answer hit. He might well have thought so from the way she’d behaved. But there had been something there in the car when they’d looked at each other, something Clay had felt too…hadn’t there? Or was she fooling herself?

She dragged in a deep swig of air and stared at the sculptured cream tiles on the wall. She hadn’t wanted the kiss to end. She gave a little groan of humiliation. Something Clay Lincoln would have been only too aware of with his experience. No doubt he was congratulating himself this very minute that he had made her eat her words as soon as they were uttered. And it had been him who had drawn away, had taken a mental as well as a physical step backwards. History had a very nasty habit of repeating itself at times.

She straightened, willing herself not to cry nor shout nor scream. This was nothing, she had to get it into perspective. They’d exchanged a kiss, that was all, and now he was off to the States and she probably wouldn’t see him again for another twelve years. And if she did, if this business venture caused their paths to cross some time in the months ahead, she’d make darn sure nothing like tonight was repeated.

When the telephone extension rang on the kitchen wall right at the side of her she nearly jumped out of her skin, and she grimaced at her jumpiness as she reached for the receiver. Cass no doubt, or Drew.

It was neither. ‘Robyn?’ Clay’s voice was soft and deep and smoky, and her breath strangled in her throat. ‘It’s Clay.’

She made a noise that didn’t sound like anything and then coughed once before she lied, ‘Sorry, a mouthful of coffee went down the wrong way. Is anything the matter?’

‘I was just ringing to say I’d like to do this evening again some time,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m back in the country in a few weeks so can I give you a call then?’

Her heart gave an odd, painful little jump but without him there in front of her it was easier to say, her voice firm, ‘I don’t think so, Clay. You’re an extremely busy man and I’ve got more than enough on my plate, and if we’re going to be business partners—’

‘I’m only going to be your sleeping partner, Robyn.’

Why did he have to keep putting it like that? She blinked, pressing her lips tightly together for a second. ‘Nevertheless, I don’t believe in mixing business with—’ she hesitated just the merest fraction of a moment ‘—my social life.’

‘Pleasure, Robyn.’ The dark voice was merciless. ‘The word you’re looking for is pleasure, and it has eight letters, not four. You can actually use it in polite company.’

She had been right, he was just loving this! Well, he could take a running jump… ‘Whatever,’ she snapped tartly. ‘Goodnight, Clay.’

She replaced the receiver without waiting for a reply and then stared at it for a good thirty seconds, her heart racing. It was another thirty seconds before she realised she was willing him to ring again, and that realisation was enough to propel her out of the kitchen and into the bathroom, where she began to run herself a bath, her hands shaking.

She wasn’t going to waste another thought on Clay Lincoln. It would be weeks before he was back in the country again, and if—by chance or design—their paths should cross then, she would have had plenty of time to have herself firmly under control.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘SO WHAT is it you’re mad about exactly?’ Cassie asked in the sort of soothingly patient tone she used with the children when they were being truculent for no good reason. ‘All’s well that ends well as far as I can see. You’ve got your backer, and one who’s not likely to interfere with the business in any way, and now you can afford to take on extra staff and go for more work which is what you’ve been gagging to do for months.’