Lovelink Page 7

  How she wanted him, she thought as she studied his profile, highlighted only by the flickering light from the fire. Why did she have to feel this way towards him when it was such an impossible attraction?

  He looked at her then, almost as if he could sense her thoughts. Hurriedly, to protect herself, she asked, “Do you want to phone Caroline? She might be wondering where you’ve got to.”

  He smiled wryly and said, “She’ll be all right. She won’t worry.”

  Vicky blushed, thankful he couldn’t see in the dimness. It sounded like Marcus spending a night away from home was anything but unusual.

  He fixed her another coffee, again laced with some more of her brandy and she found, after drinking this one, she was beginning to relax. She vaguely wondered what time it was. That was her last conscious thought.

  The next thing she knew, she was waking up. Her heart thumped dully and she was aware that things weren’t quite right.

  Then the memory of last night came flooding back and she sat up with a jerk. Instantly, a pain shot through her temple. Massaging her forehead with her fingertips, she shook her head, trying to clear her mind.

  It was then that she realised that she was in her own bed. Funny, she couldn’t even remember climbing the stairs last night. She glanced down and saw she was still wearing her underwear. She never went to bed like that. A hot wave of embarrassment spread over her as she realised that she hadn’t put herself to bed last night. It must have been Marcus and he’d undressed her!

  She stared in horror at her wispy bra and scanty knickers. But she didn’t have time to be shocked because the next thing she heard was a crash followed by a loud expletive.

  Marcus was still here and from the sound of it, directly below her in the kitchen.

  Hauling on her dressing gown, she made her way downstairs. As she reached the landing, the smell of toast and freshly ground coffee hit her, making her aware of just how ravenously hungry she was.

  “Ah, there you are. Sorry, did I wake you? I’ve just dropped this plate and broken it.” He smiled sheepishly at her as he held up two halves of a china plate. “I hope it wasn’t part of a set.”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Somehow all that mattered to Vicky right now was that Marcus was still here.

  “Breakfast is almost ready,” he said.

  He was still dressed in his dinner suit although he’d discarded the bow tie. The dark shadow of stubble bearding his face made him look unbearably sexy. This coupled with his black hair made him more resemble a Romany than a wealthy, successful horse trainer.

  “Have I time to take a quick shower and freshen up first?”

  He nodded. “Don’t be long.”

  She smiled at his tone. Did he always have to have the last word?

  As Vicky stood under the jets of hot water, she found that the shower made her feel even more refreshed than she’d hoped.

  Afterwards, she wrapped herself in a huge bath towel, ready to make her way to her bedroom to dress quickly. As she opened the bathroom door, on to the tiny landing, she bumped into Marcus. Her towel slipped dangerously. She raised her hand to clutch at it.

  “Vicky, I …” he said.

  She saw a strange expression in his eyes and then, in an instant, he was pulling her to him, kissing her.

  Once more she responded in a way she’d never felt with anyone else. He held her, murmuring her name into her ear over and over. Gently, he kissed the droplets of moisture from her shoulder, sending shivers of delight coursing through her.

  “Oh, Marcus,” she said, as he bent to lift her easily and swiftly into his arms.

  He moved towards the bedroom door, pushing it open with his foot.

  Once in her room, he laid her on the bed as he pulled at his shirt. Never had she wanted a man so much than at this moment and yet, a voice somewhere deep inside her, told her that this was wrong. This wasn’t how she wanted it to be between them. A moment of passion snatched while they were alone together. She already knew he wasn’t free. After last night it would be so easy to make love to him, take what little of himself he could give to her but was that all she truly wanted? Would she be content with only that?

  He was leaning over her, the warmth of his chest against her skin. Gently, she pushed at him.

  “I’m…sorry, Marcus. No…please.”

  He raised his head to look at her. She saw the flame of passion in his eyes, flicker and then die. Sighing, he moved away from her.

  Silence filled the room.

  Vicky put a hand out to him, touching his bare shoulder. “I’m sorry, Marcus.”

  He turned to look at her and amazed her by smiling. “Not as much as I am. Your refusing me is becoming quite a habit. Careful, you might shatter my delicate ego…No, you’re right. It would’ve been wrong. I promised myself I wouldn’t take advantage of you. It’s not fair…Come on, downstairs, before I change my mind again. There’s a breakfast waiting to be eaten.”

  He pulled on his shirt again, giving her time to slip on a dress and then he reached for her hand, helping her off the bed.

  As she followed him down the narrow staircase, watching the way his back muscles moved under the thin material of his shirt, Vicky thought of Jan and what she would say if she’d witnessed the last scene between them.

  She’d tell me I’m mad, Vicky thought. What girl refuses a man like Marcus Foster? She could hear her saying it.

  But it was no good. Vicky knew in her heart of hearts she was right. But if that was so, why did she feel so wretched?

  Once they were in the kitchen again, he ordered, “Sit down.”

  Would she ever get used to his dominant ways, how he had to take complete control over everything?

  “Did…did you stay here last night?” she asked, desperate to fit all the pieces together and talk about anything other than what had just happened in her bedroom.

  “Yes, and before you can accuse me of being unscrupulous, I slept down here on the sofa. As you were in no fit state, after all the wine and brandy you drank last night, to put yourself to bed, I did so, keeping my eyes firmly shut when I undressed you.”

  She laughed then at the mental picture she had of him trying to undress her in the dark with his eyes closed.

  “That’s better,” he said. “Now drink this while I dish up the breakfast.”

  As she watched him hunting for things in her kitchen, she was amazed at yet another facet to his personality. She was reminded of how he’d looked after Caroline and thought it was no wonder she’d made such a good recovery if this had been how well he’d taken care of her.

  She discovered for the first time how very agreeable it was to share breakfast with a man, especially if he was as charming early in the morning as Marcus. Normally, she ate snatched pieces of burnt toast washed down by mugs of lukewarm tea. No, this was a pleasant change. Something she could get used to, she thought.

  It was when they’d finished breakfast that he again asked her to tell him what was going on.

  “I’m trying desperately hard to prove to you that you can trust me,” he smiled at her.

  But could she trust him?

  True, he’d just taken care of her, made sure she was all right. Even stayed here last night on the sofa, which she knew was uncomfortable to sleep on, rather than leave her here alone.

  But then nothing fundamental had really changed, she reminded herself. She still didn’t know who the culprit was.

  After a good night’s sleep she wasn’t quite so frightened, not now she’d had time to become accustomed to it all.

  No, the safest thing was to trust no one, not even Marcus. She’d have to take care of this the same way she’d taken care of everything else in the last six months. Alone.

  “Thank you, Marcus…but I can handle it.” She spoke slowly almost certain of the
impact her words would have on him.

  She wasn’t wrong. He was livid. She watched as dark fury inked the sapphire blue of his eyes to black.

  “Good God, woman. What’s the matter with you? Here I am willing to help you and you don’t want to know.” He was shouting at her now and she was anxious to pacify him.

  “It’s…it’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’ve done for me…”

  “Then what is it? I give up.” He sighed.

  She longed to reach across the table, go to him, and be held in his arms as she told him everything. But she couldn’t. There was too much dividing them.

  She’d already made up her mind. She’d moved to Brookleigh to stand on her own two feet. She’d managed it so far and she’d do so again. She remembered bitterly what had happened to her the last time she’d put all her trust in a man. Peter had almost destroyed her.

  “I looked after you last night. Doesn’t that count for anything in that screwed up mind of yours?” he said.

  Pushing back the chair, he stood up, towering over her. The noise of his chair, scraping across the floor, coupled with her headache, shortened her temper.

  “If there are conditions attached to you looking after me, then I wish you hadn’t bothered,” she said, hotly.

  “It’s more than you not trusting me. It’s almost as if you…you suspect me.” He’d ended this comment with a look of disbelief but then she saw his expression change. “That’s it, isn’t it? You think I was involved somewhere in all of this?”

  How could she deny it? She watched as pain and then anger crossed his face.

  Frightened, in case she blurted it all out to him, she didn’t want this conversation to continue. She was also afraid they both might say something for which they’d be sorry. Something which might shatter the delicate relationship they’d started to build last night.

  Fixing him with a cool stare, she said, “I think it’s time you left.”

  His eyes blazed and he opened his mouth as if to say something then pursed his lips and said, “Yes, I was just thinking the same thing. Good day to you, Miss Lewis.”

  He grabbed his jacket and walked out of the kitchen, slamming the back door behind him. The sound rang in her ears long after he’d left.

  The instant he’d gone, she regretted what she’d done.

  Dozens of times that morning she’d reached for the telephone to call him and apologize but she didn’t. He was angry that she suspected him and she did think that, in some ways, it proved his guilt. But if he was to blame, would he have so readily suggested calling in the police?

  Maybe he’d only been bluffing when he’d said it…

  Oh, she was so confused. How could she suspect him when he’d been the one person whose kindness had got her through last night?

  She sighed. Now they’d argued yet again. It was no good, whenever they were together they only succeeded in antagonising each other.

  She didn’t feel like any lunch and as it was a sweltering day, she spent a lazy morning, pottering about in the garden. When she noticed that her arms were prickling in the heat and closer inspection revealed they were starting to tan, she decided to sunbathe instead. But that proved to be no good as she had nothing on which to concentrate her mind other than the row with Marcus. She stood up, determined to go indoors to find something to do even if it was only more paperwork.

  It was when she was walking towards the back door that she noticed the wreath poking out of the dustbin. She picked it out of the rubbish and stared at it, not entirely sure what to do with it. Throw it away or else keep it as evidence, in case, at a later date, she did involved the police. She shivered, knowing that meant she was expecting even more than this to happen to her.

  As she stared at it she wondered which florist had sent it.

  That’s it! she thought. If I could find the florist who made it up then maybe they’d tell me who’d ordered it. Although it was obvious to her that all florists sold lots of wreaths, this one was very distinctive. It was an ordinary laurel wreath which had been sprayed black. It should be fairly easy for her to trace.

  She rushed indoors to consult the phone directory. It was the lead she’d been after. Scanning the names of the florists listed, she found that there were just three in the area. She decided that tomorrow she’d visit all of them and see if she could unravel the identity of the troublemaker once and for all.

  She felt better for having a definite plan of action but still at the back of her mind was the nagging worry that she’d hurt Marcus just when they seemed to be getting on well.

  He’d been so caring towards her last night. Why did something always have to spoil any progress they ever made?

  And she did have to admit that he had every right to fell indignant. If he’d treated her like that then she’d have reacted in much the same way.

  She smiled. Perhaps that was their problem. They were too alike.

  No, the sooner this mess was sorted out, the better. She wanted more than anything, not only to discover who was behind it all, but also, more importantly, to prove that Marcus hadn’t been involved on any level. She’d be able to explain everything to him and then maybe they could start by being friends again.

  As dusk settled she remembered all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Most of all, her mind returned to the time when he’d kissed her. She shivered as she recalled the sensation of his firm mouth on her lips. How she’d wanted him, longed for him. Had she really found the strength to refuse him, push him away when her body was screaming out for his touch?

  She now knew he found her attractive but equally she realised that they was no future in it. He was with Lucinda and there couldn’t be any room in Vicky’s life for Marcus unless he was free.

  It was Monday morning and she was dialling the telephone number at Lovelink.

  “Good morning, Lovelink,” Jan’s breezy voice came down the line.

  Vicky bit her lip. She had to lie to Jan now and the prospect of this didn’t please her.

  “Hi, Jan, it’s only me.”

  “You’re cutting it a bit fine, chief.”

  “I know. Listen, could you hold the fort for me. I’m not feeling too good. I think I’ll try and see the doctor this morning.”

  “Oh dear. I hope your weekend wasn’t spoilt. I know how much you were looking forward to the party at Nuneton.”

  “No, I had a lovely time. I’m just a bit under the weather. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  “Sure. Take as long as you need. But remember I retire in about forty years’ time,” she laughed.

  Vicky drove over to Churchton to visit the florists on her list.

  As she parked the car behind the town hall, she had the strangest feeling she was being watched. She looked all around her but she couldn’t see anyone acting suspiciously. There were just mothers pushing prams and shoppers milling about.

  The first florist told her that they couldn’t help her as they’d not had anyone ask for anything like it.

  “Black wreaths are very unusual. The florist might not even have been the one who sprayed it black. It might have been an ordinary laurel wreath your friends bought and then painted it later themselves.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Vicky said.

  She left the shop, crossing the name of the florist off her list.

  The next one was a short walk through the shopping area so she set off hoping for better luck.

  She passed the boutique where she’d bought her black velvet dress only last week. That shopping trip had been so much fun, she thought—a stark contrast to her mission now.

  She glanced over her shoulder. It was ridiculous but she’d the oddest feeling she was being followed. She scanned the crowd again. No, there wasn’t anyone acting shadily as far as she could see. Maybe she was becoming paranoid, she thought. However she stil
l felt unnerved and as her heart beat faster so her feet quickened their pace.

  She reached the second florist and again felt embarrassed when the assistant looked rather incredulously at her saying, “No, I’m sorry. We haven’t made up anything like that. Black, you say?”

  Her younger assistant sniggered, trying to hide her amusement by bending down to re-arrange some carnations.

  “Yes, it was. Never mind. Thank you for your help.”

  Vicky felt cross. They’d treated her like an imbecile. Because of their attitude she wasn’t too keen to visit the last florist but knew she had to as it was her only lead, her only chance of sorting things out. It had suddenly become very important to her to prove whether Marcus was involved at all.

  She was vaguely aware of someone calling her name. She ignored them, still angry with the last florists and pushed her way through the shoppers.

  “Vicky! Vicky! Wait.”

  She turned but couldn’t see who was calling her name.

  If it was Marcus, she had no intention of speaking to him. She had some pride. The last thing she wanted was to have a showdown with him in the middle of Churchton’s busy High Street. She started to walk more briskly. She’d almost reached the entrance to the last florist when a hand grabbed her arm.

  “Vicky!”

  She turned and had yet another devastating shock.

  “Peter!”

  Chapter Six

  Many, many times in the past six months Vicky had wondered what it would be like when she met Peter Elliott again.

  She’d known that somehow their paths were bound to cross in the future but she’d always expected it to take place back home in York, maybe when she’d visited her parents. The impact she’d expected that meeting to have on her emotions had been the main reason why, for so long, she’d avoided travelling home to see her parents. Only when she was certain that she was strong enough to face her ex-fiancé had she promised herself that she’d be able to go back to York.

  Now that chance meeting had happened right here in Churchton. It was ironic. This was where she’d run to. Where she’d gone to avoid Peter.