Wanting

‘I’m burning up for you, Heather,’ he muttered unsteadily against her skin. ‘You’re a witch, do you know that? I can’t remember when a woman last made me feel like this. Make love to me,’ he pleaded huskily. ‘Dear God, you can’t know how much I need to feel your hands and mouth on my body. Last night when I got home I couldn’t sleep for thinking about you; wanting you.’

He moved against her and Heather could feel the rhythmic urgency within him. Her own body seemed to surge in response, melting against him, her teeth biting into his shoulder, as his hands swept up her body and she was enveloped in fierce sheets of desire, her senses filled by the sight, smell and sound of him, wanting his possession.

She felt him move purposefully against her, the hard hunger of his body an urgent need, her gasp of pleasure as he licked her nipples making him mutter thickly into her skin. ‘I can’t wait much longer, Heather,’ he warned her, and the sound of his voice brought her wrenchingly back to her senses, fear, and the appalled, bitter realisation of what she was doing tearing through her. She jerked away instinctively, aware of his tensed disbelief and the frustrated rage emanating from him.

‘Something on account,’ she reminded him, hardly recognising her own voice, ‘that was all….’

She heard him swear and flinched beneath the explicitness of the words he used. Pulling on her clothes, her breathing ragged, her every instinct urged her to get away, to escape before it was too late, only one tiny inner voice protesting that it was already too late, much, much too late.

She reached the door before he could stop her, nearly bumping into the manservant who had let her in, in the hall. What on earth must he think, or was he used to half-dressed women coming out of his employer’s office? Had Race used the same ploy with others as he had on her?

The thought made her feel acutely sick. How could she have allowed him to touch her as he had? What on earth had happened to her. She loathed men like him; she hated any man touching her and yet in his arms she had… responded like an intensely passionate woman. She forced herself to admit it as her trembling legs carried her out in to the street.

There was probably a rational explanation. Her reaction could have been fuelled by her anger; anger was a primitive and intense emotion. Race was a skilled lover; it was her body that responded, not her mind, she told herself, but it was not particularly comforting. Neither her body nor her mind had ever responded like that before.

The first thing she did when she reached her flat was to pick up the phone and tell her agent that she wanted to pull out of the Rio contract. He tried to argue her out of it, but she remained steadfast.

‘I want you to ring them and tell them now,’ she told him, refusing to give any explanation for her decision. Once she had finished her call, she paced the flat, tense as a caged animal. She had to get away, to escape before Race found some other way of hunting her down and trapping her. She feared him. She acknowledged it now, and not simply because he wanted her. She feared her own reaction to him, the primitive desire for possession she sensed within him. She wasn’t short of money. She could go abroad… concentrate on her writing.

Yes, that’s what she would do, she decided feverishly. She would give up modelling for good… she could afford to. She was still pacing the floor when Jennifer came in. She took one look at her strained face and rushed over to her in concern.

‘What happened?’ she demanded.

‘Race Williams,’ Heather told her grimly. ‘No… I don’t want to talk about it. Jen, I’ve got to get away,’ she told her cousin. ‘He frightens me….’

‘You should be flattered that he’s showing such an interest in you,’ Jennifer told her. ‘You know, at first I thought he simply wanted to add you to his list of conquests, but now I’m not so sure. I think he’s really fallen for you, Heather.’

Her cousin’s incuarbly romantic nature made Heather groan. there had been no love in the way Race had touched her body; no tender adoration, only angry male need, and she, God help her, had responded to it, had been set on fire by it; the ultimate betrayal, but he would never know that he was the only man who had made her feel like that.

‘Why don’t you give him a chance?’ Jennifer urged. ‘You both got off on the wrong foot. He’s crazy about you, Heather. Terry says he was furious when you ducked out of the foursome the other night. I hadn’t realised he was so involved, but Terry told me that even before he knew we were cousins or that Terry knew you, he was interested in you….’

Through her involvement in the Rio contract, Heather surmised, guessing that she was correct when Jennifer asked ingenuously, ‘He’s even got some magazine pictures of you in his desk. One of the secretaries saw them. I’m sure he’s fallen for you. Just give him a chance! Okay, he frightened you with the sexy come-on, but he doesn’t know that….’

‘I’m still a virgin?’ Heather supplied grimly. ‘No, and I don’t want him to know. Promise me you won’t say a word about it? Promise me, Jen?’

‘Of course I won’t,’ her cousin assured her softly. ‘What do you think I am? But sooner or later you’re going to have to tell him,’ she said mischievously, ‘or he’ll find out for himself. You can’t keep him at bay for ever! Come on, admit it,’ she coaxed, ‘you aren’t entirely indifferent to him. You couldn’t be, no woman could.’

‘Perhaps I’m not,’ Heather agreed, ‘but I’ve no intention of becoming just another bow on his string of women.’

‘I’m sure if you just give him a chance you’ll find out he really cares about you,’ Jennifer assured her.

Heather said nothing, not even pointing out that her cousin had changed her tune. She felt drained of all emotion other than a primeval sense of fear. Race haunted her; every time she closed her eyes she saw his face, saw the passion in it and felt her own heated response. She couldn’t believe what was happening to her.

‘Jen, I’ve got to get away,’ she announced huskily. ‘I need time to… to think. I’ve told my agent to tell them I’m not interested in the Rio contract.’ She saw Jennifer’s expression and smiled. ‘Yes I know, I’ve left it a bit late in the day, but I thought I’d try to get away somewhere, concentrate on my writing….’

‘You mean run away from Race,’ Jennifer said acidly, ‘where will you go?’

‘I’ve no idea. Somewhere remote and quiet. Let me know if you get any ideas.’

‘You know you were saying about going away, Heather?’

Heather raised her head from her newspaper to glance at her cousin. Three days had passed since she had seen Race; three days during which her stomach had clenched each time the telephone rang or someone knocked on the door, but he had made no attempt to get in touch with her. That didn’t mean that he never would; she was sure he was just biding his time, waiting…. He had known she had responded to him. She couldn’t disguise that and like any hunter smelling blood he would track her down, pursuing his kill.

‘Do you still want to? Get away, I mean?’

Surprised Heather nodded her head. Jennifer had been totally against her going away when she first mentioned it. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘I thought you disapproved.’

‘Mm…. Well perhaps you ought to if it’s what you really want. It’s just that Terry has this cottage in the Highlands of Scotland. He uses it during the summer for fishing, and I’m sure he’d lend it to you if you wanted him to. He was talking about it yesterday, that’s what gave me the idea.’ She flushed as Heather looked at her. ‘I’m only trying to help,’ she assured her, ‘but if you don’t like the idea….’

The Scottish Highlands, all grim grandeur and sullen skies; the scenery suited her mood. ‘Have you discussed it with Terry?’ she asked.

Jennifer shook her head. ‘Not yet, but I’m sure he won’t mind. I’ll ask him tomorrow if you like.’ She seemed unnaturally tense, and Heather wondered if Race Williams had been questioning her again. Jennifer hadn’t mentioned him and Heather hadn’t asked.

‘It sounds tempting,’ she admitted.

‘Oh, Heather,’ Jennifer’s eyes were shadowed, ‘are you sure you’re doing the right thing? Why don’t you stay here, talk to Race….’

Stay and let him overwhelm her defences again? Never! She had to get away, she wasn’t strong enough to stay and fight. There was something about him that robbed her of her invincibility; she feared him and she feared the way he made her feel.

‘I can’t,’ she told Jennifer huskily, ‘I must get away. Ask Terry if I can use his cottage. Tell him I want peace and quiet to work on my book. After all, it isn’t a lie….’

‘Well, if you’re sure…?’

Heather frowned. Why was Jennifer hesitating. She had been the one to bring up the subject, and now that she was agreeing she seemed to be hanging back, trying to get her to change her mind. Probably because she was romantic enough to believe her own P.R. work on Race’s behalf. She wouldn’t put it past Jennifer to actually convince herself that he did feel something more than lust for her, but she knew that wasn’t true. No man with any real feelings could have behaved the way he had.

CHAPTER THREE

‘FOR heaven’s sake stop worrying! Of course it’s all right, but Terry said to warn you that you could find yourself snowed in, so take plenty of provisions. Fortunately the cottage has its own generator and all mod cons, so you needn’t worry about that aspect too much.’

‘And it’s perfectly all right for me to use the cottage? He doesn’t mind?’

‘Look, I’ve already told you a dozen times that he doesn’t,’ Jennifer said in exasperation. ‘Here’s the key, and I’ve rung Mum and she says you can borrow her Mini. She’s going to drive it up to Town on Sunday and stay over to do some shopping; check up on us both, so on Saturday we’ll go shopping.’

Her cousin was displaying a remarkable aptitude for organisation all of a sudden, Heather reflected wryly, listening to Jennifer. The more she thought about Terry’s cottage, the more it appealed. She had never been to Scotland; she could even perhaps set some of her novel there. She was planning a factional work, a blend of fact and fiction, using as her base the de Travers family who for centuries had been the local squires of the village where Heather’s aunt and uncle lived. The family had died out during the first world war, but the Hall was still there and the local library abounded with information about the family. Heather had been fascinated by their history for as long as she could remember and knew it off by heart. They had come over to England with Henry II, and their history was closely entwined with that of England, but the information she had about them was not so detailed that she couldn’t embroider relationships where she wanted to.

The week passed without her hearing from Race, but that didn’t lessen her acute state of anxiety. She had lost weight and her nerves were so on edge that even Jennifer had noticed. She could hardly sit still and felt as though she were living on top of a live bomb, just waiting for it to go off. She felt vulnerable, afraid, tense to the point of hysteria. Remembering how she had felt in his arms kept her awake at night.

Jennifer didn’t help either. On several occasions she had pleaded with Heather to change her mind about her trip to Scotland, veering from seeming pleased that she was going to almost begging her not to do so. Heather half suspected her cousin of playing the devil’s advocate, or being primed by Race, but once she got to Scotland she would be safe. It was too far for him to follow her; he couldn’t leave his new position as head of the Documentary Department on Southern Television, not so soon after taking it up, and she began to long for the sanctuary the cottage had come to represent.

She was planning to leave that weekend, and was just deciding what to take with her when she heard Jennifer’s key in the lock.

‘You’re home early.’

‘Um, my boss gave me time off. He’s taking me out to dinner tonight. Well, actually he wants to take us both out. Don’t look like that,’ she told Heather, ‘it isn’t a trick to get you to meet Race. Terry wants to talk, about the cottage, either that or he thinks he needs a chaperon to protect him from me,’ she joked, giggling as she added provocatively, ‘and he’d be right. I love him, Heather,’ she went on more quietly, ‘and I think he suspects it—damn him. No, he wants to see you tonight to make sure you know the way to the cottage, and, I suspect, to check that I wasn’t lying when I told him you weren’t a featherbrain like me.’

Terry picked them up at eight and drove them to a new Italian restaurant run by some friends of his. The atmosphere was friendly and relaxing, and Heather found herself responding quite naturally to his questions. She had always liked him, and suspected he was by no means as indifferent to her cousin as he pretended.

‘I’ve already mapped out a route,’ Heather told him when they reached the sweet course, showing it to him. ‘Jen’s warned me about stocking up with food etc. My aunt is lending me her Mini for the journey.’

‘A Mini? Umm…. The weather can be pretty devastating up there, you could quite easily find yourself snowed in, but Jen tells me you aren’t frightened of your own company.’

‘Not in the least,’ Heather assured him, asking quickly, ‘Have you owned the cottage long?’

He shook his head. ‘Not very, a couple of years, that’s all. I only have a half share in it, I bought it with a friend and we both tend to use it as a retreat. There’s only one bedroom, so we’ve come to a satisfactory agreement about timing our visits and it works quite well.’

‘Pity it’s only got one bedroom,’ Jennifer broke in roguishly. ‘I was going to suggest you took me up with you next time you go.’

‘Perhaps I will,’ Terry agreed, his eyes teasing as he added, ‘You could always sleep downstairs on the settee.’

Mmm, not indifferent to her cousin at all, Heather thought in amusement, but wise enough not to make the chase too easy for her. Jen could well find out that she’d taken on more than she’d bargained for ‘Come on, girls, I’d better take you home,’ he added. ‘I’ve got to be at the studio at six tomorrow morning. Think yourself lucky you don’t work Saturdays,’ he told Jennifer, adding to Heather. ‘By the way, there’s no phone at the cottage, although there is a farm with one about four or five miles away.’

Saturday was busy. They shopped in the morning, the mound of tinned and dried food stacked in the kitchen after their forays, making Heather wonder how she would get it all in the Mini.

‘Dried milk, flour, coffee, tea, butter, eggs—that’s the essentials at least,’ Jennifer commented ticking them off on their list, ‘and then you’ve all these tins.’

‘Mmm, they’ll do for the days when I’m too busy writing to stop to prepare a proper meal. Terry did say there was an emergency Calor gas stove in case the generator failed, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, and plenty of logs. Sounds rather primitive to me. Are you sure you want to go?’

‘Positive,’ Heather told her firmly. ‘In fact I’m looking forward to it. Now, what else? Oh, I mustn’t forget all my research books and my papers.’

‘Keep on going at this rate and you won’t have any room for your clothes,’ Jennifer told her sarcastically. ‘Let’s get some lunch and then we’ll go out again. What else do you need?’ She glanced at her list.

‘Some thermal underwear might be a good idea,’ Heather joked, ‘especially if I do get snowed in.’

‘You need new jeans,’ Jennifer told her, ‘and new sweaters. You can’t go on wearing the twins’ cast-offs for ever. I know a shop that stocks the most adorable hand-knits with the cutest designs on them.’

‘No doubt at the most adorable prices,’ Heather agreed, suppressing a sigh. She had been thinking more along the lines of chain-store clothes.

By the end of the afternoon her feet and legs were exhausted. Jennifer must have dragged her through every shop in London. She had spent far too much money—nearly all her Christmas cheque from her aunt and uncle, and all she had to show for it was half a dozen jumpers, two new pairs of cords, and some sensible fleecy-lined wellington boots, plus a thick padded jacket with a hood. She turned round, looking for Jennifer, grimacing faintly as she realised her cousin had disappeared yet again.

‘Here I am,’ Jennifer announced, touching her arm. ‘Just buying you a little goodbye prezzy.’ She was grinning, and Heather wondered uneasily what she had bought. They were back in the flat before she found out, gasping as she saw the delicate satin and lace underwear Jennifer spread out for her inspection. ‘Oh Jen, they must have cost the earth,’ she protested. ‘And there’s no use saying you don’t want them. The shop won’t take them back, and they won’t fit me. Look,’ Jennifer coaxed, ‘you’ll be wearing jeans and jumpers all the time you’re up there. Indulge yourself a little. There’s nothing for making you feel all woman like wearing sexy undies.’

‘Perhaps I don’t want to feel “all woman”,’ Heather told her tartly. She’d experienced enough of that particular feeling to last a lifetime in Race Williams’ arms, but Jen had only meant to be kind and it seemed churlish to refuse her gift, even though the delicate fabric and brevity of the garments she had bought would be completely out of place in the cottage environment, and totally impractical.

‘Mum should be here soon,’ Jennifer told her as they prepared the evening meal. ‘We’ll load the Mini tonight, so you can get an early start.’

True to Jennifer’s prediction, her mother arrived just as she was putting the finishing touches to the table. She kissed both girls warmly, stretching up to hug Heather, both of them laughing. Like Jennifer, her mother was small and dainty, and when the two of them were together Heather felt like a giantess. ‘It’s freezing out there,’ Lydia Murray announced as Heather served the soup. ‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing, Heather? I’ll worry about you, driving all that way.’ That was one of the nice things about her aunt, Heather thought warmly. She never differentiated between her own children and Heather, her love for all of them was unbounding. ‘I can’t understand why you want to go to Scotland,’ she fretted.

‘She’s running away,’ Jennifer said mischievously, adding with a sly grin at her cousin, ‘from a man.’

Her mother looked startled. ‘Jennifer!’ she expostulated as though unable to believe what Jennifer was telling her.

‘I said a man, Mother, that’s a… M-A-N.’ She rolled her eyes and laughed. ‘You know, the sort that makes you weak at the knees, a bit like Clark Gable,’ she teased her flustered parent, ‘and he’s finally made Heather realise that she’s human. Heather,’ she announced, disregarding the bleak look Heather was giving her, ‘has finally woken up and discovered sex appeal—with a vengeance—and now she’s running away.’

‘Jen, you mustn’t tease Heather like that,’ her mother protested, ‘and I’m sure she’s doing no such thing. She’s far too sensible.’

Sensible! A wry smile twisted Heather’s mouth. If only her aunt knew! All her life, because of her height and more serious nature, she had been dubbed ‘sensible’ and ‘practical’, but since her meeting with Race Williams she had been feeling neither of those things—far from it. And Jennifer was far too acute She was glad she was getting away from London, she wouldn’t put it past her to try and engineer another meeting between them if she stayed. Of course she wouldn’t do it from malice, Jen wasn’t like that, but to her there could be nothing more logical than for Heather to want to pursue her acquaintanship with Race. Jennifer thought her reluctance to see him again sprang from embarrassment and the discovery that she wasn’t immune to him. Her cousin had no conception of the fear and anguish rioting inside her; the sheer terror she experienced each time she remembered how he had made her feel. As long ago as adolescence she had told herself that no man was ever going to have the power to hurt her ever again, and that was the way it had been until… until Race Williams touched her and sent her up in flames, all her carefully constructed barriers turned to ashes at her feet.

She went to bed early, knowing she was going to have a long drive ahead of her, and was touched when both her aunt and Jennifer got up to have breakfast with her, coming to wave her off as she headed north.

Once on the motorway some of the tension that had been with her since she woke up disappeared. There had been a sharp drop in temperature overnight and she drove carefully, taking her time, stopping for lunch just before she reached the Lake District, the quiet village pub she found almost deserted.

The food and rest replenished her energy, but she hadn’t realised just how far she was going to have to drive, she reflected ruefully as she glanced at the snow-covered peaks of the Cumbrian mountains, brief flurries of snow dancing against the windscreen. The further north she got, the worse the weather, and when she eventually pulled off the motorway she felt concerned enough to check at the motel she came to, on the state of the roads and the weather forecast.

‘We’ve had it bad,’ the pump attendant told her. ‘Heavy snowfalls twice this last week, and they say there’s been more up past Fort William, but the roads are still open. Where are you going?’ Heather gave him the name of the village closest to the cottage. ‘Mmm—it’s pretty remote up there, hang on a sec, I’ll check with the weather centre. Why don’t you go and get yourself a cup of coffee, it won’t take long.’ When Heather thanked him he shrugged. ‘Better to be safe than sorry. We get too many inexperienced motorists coming up here, not realising how severe the weather can be. That last bad winter several lives were lost, partially through carelessness. Come back in about a quarter of an hour and I should have found out something for you.’

The coffee she ordered came quickly and was hot and reviving. After fifteen minutes had passed Heather returned apprehensively to the forecourt. Having come all this way she didn’t fancy having to turn back.

‘You’re in luck,’ the attendant told her. ‘But I hope you’re planning more than a weekend stay? There’s a blizzard on the way. Should hit tomorrow, so you’ve got plenty of time to get there.’

Thanking him for his kindness, Heather paused to check her tyres. She wasn’t going to take any chances. He smiled approvingly at her as she drove off, giving her the confidence to hold the small car steady on the thin black ribbon of road, alarmingly bordered by unending vistas of white.

It was dark before she reached Fort William, barely pausing there in her anxiety to reach her destination. She thought about staying overnight and then remembered what the garage attendant had said about the blizzard. It would be better to finish her journey tonight, tired though she was than risk having to turn back in the morning. And besides, it was only another twenty miles or so.

They must be the twenty longest miles in existence, Heather thought tiredly after what seemed like hours of driving through the darkness; the road almost deserted, the white silence of the countryside around her; the starkness of the scenery all combining to make her unusually edgy and nervous, Ben Nevis and the surrounding mountains towering above her, the pass along which her small car crawled unnervingly deserted. At last she found the signpost for the village, disturbed to find the road climbing steeply, but fortunately free from the snow which was banked high either side of her. The village, when she eventually came to it, was no more than a small cluster of houses, and a small shop, and garage, the latter illuminated. Thankfully Heather pulled into the forecourt. She wasn’t going any further until she had made absolutely sure of her directions. Even as she opened the door snow started to whirl down around her, and the man who emerged from the small office was quickly covered in the thick flakes as he strode towards her.

‘So it’s the MacDonald cottage you’ll be wanting?’ he asked in the soft sing-song of the Highlands. ‘I doubt you’ll get there in your Mini, lassie. The road’s been closed these two days past.’ Something of her disappointment must have shown on her face, because he said, ‘I’m not promising, mind, but it may be that the Land Rover will make it. Staying long?’