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Falling In Love
CHARLOTTE LAMB
Dangerous in the DarkComfortable was the way Laura described how she felt about her engagement to Patrick. After all, with a thriving career in public relations and two children, the kind of breathless passion she craved was simply impractical. Until Josh Kern's powerful kiss shattered her composure and planted doubts she didn't want or need.Not that her attraction to Josh made any sense - he was domineering, arrogant, much too sure of himself. But could any of those things, including the wildness of her own response to him, really prevent her from falling in love?
Falling In Love
Charlotte Lamb
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u23fb0686-3e5f-5d3c-99f2-8e424bbeabb7)
CHAPTER TWO (#u88eca975-bd2f-5196-8520-d45f7e26b30b)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
THE March day had begun with showers and cool weather, but as Patrick Ogilvie walked across the bridge into the centre of York the sun came out and the air suddenly smelt of spring. He was about to walk into Laura’s office when he realised that the sweet scent came from the buckets of flowers standing on the pavement outside a florist’s shop across the street. On impulse he ran across and bought an armful: fragile white narcissi, great yellow daffodils and spears of deep blue hyacinth, their fragrance so strong that when he walked into the office block the receptionist in the lobby stared and sighed.
‘Oh...aren’t they lovely? Now I know it’s spring!’
He pulled a few of the flowers out of the armful and offered them to her, smiling.
‘I wasn’t hinting...’ she said, looking pink and startled, which secretly amused Patrick, who hadn’t expected to get such a reaction from her. Julia Wood wasn’t a girl, after all; she was a woman in her early thirties, dark and serious, with a warmly rounded figure. Julia had had to come back to work after years out of the workforce, because her husband had died young of a heart attack, leaving her with two children aged twelve and ten. At first she had been very shy and nervous, but she had been working here for six months now and Patrick had been fascinated to watch her self-confidence grow.
‘I know you weren’t hinting, Julia,’ he half teased. ‘I’ve got masses of them here, take them! And don’t forget to put them into water before they wilt, will you?’
She took the flowers, looking down at them with a dreamy little smile, but said anxiously, ‘I hope Miss Grainger won’t be cross when she hears you gave me some of her flowers, though! Is it her birthday?’
He shook his head. ‘No, that’s in July. I bought these because they meant spring had really started, and it’s been such a long winter. She won’t mind at all. In fact, I should have thought of it before—you ought to have flowers on your desk, it would make a good impression.’
Julia beamed. ‘Oh, that would be lovely. I think it would look good! Thanks, Patrick, you’ve made my day.’
He nodded. ‘Not at all. I won’t forget to mention it to her. It will be just the touch to make the clients feel welcome.’
He walked away, towards the lift, and Julia watched him a little wistfully. Just now he had reminded her of her husband: the quick smile, the kind gesture, the warmth. John had had all those; they were what she missed most—the little gestures which had made their life together such a happy one. Of course, he hadn’t been as good-looking as Patrick Ogilvie, not that that had mattered to her. She had loved the way he looked: his direct blue eyes and happy grin, his floppy brown hair, broad shoulders and the way he...
She broke off, eyes brimming, got up and fumbled to pick up the flowers Patrick had given her, her head bent to hide her face.
‘Fred, will you watch my desk? I’ve just got to put these in water,’ she said huskily as she ran to the cloakroom, just in time before the tears came.
Laura’s secretary, Anne, was working intently when Patrick walked into her office, but she broke off, looking up, her face lighting up at the sight of him. Women always smiled at Patrick like that; he was not merely accustomed to it, he expected it and would have missed it if he didn’t get those bright-eyed glances.
‘Good morning, Anne, how are you?’ Patrick asked as if he really cared, which he did. He liked people and it made him happy to know that all was well with them. If Patrick had a flaw it was that he preferred life on the sunny side and tended to avoid anyone who might depress him.
Anne never did. She told him gaily that she was fine, how was he?
‘Great,’ he said. ‘Is anyone with her?’ he added, looking at the door on the left which led into Laura’s office.
Anne shook her head. ‘No, but don’t go in yet—she’s talking on the phone and said she wasn’t to be disturbed.’
Patrick shrugged amiably, and took a seat on the edge of Anne’s desk. ‘You look very pretty today—new dress?’ he asked, running his blue gaze over her. ‘That colour is perfect for you; you should wear it more often.’
Anne’s flush deepened; she looked down, smoothing a hand over the pink wool dress, suddenly aware, under his gaze, that the way it clung to her breasts and hips made her thin body look far more feminine and that the colour warmed her sallow skin.
‘Thank you, Patrick.’ It was typical of him to notice and to comment; she secretly glanced at him through her lashes, sighing. If only he weren’t in love with Laura Grainger! Or if only she worked for him and could see him every day. That would be heaven.
She had been half in love with Patrick Ogilvie from the first time he walked into the office, but with Laura Grainger around Anne knew he would never look at anyone else. No man would. Laura Grainger was a knock-out: the sort of blonde men dreamt about. Popular myth had it that blondes were dumb. Not Laura. She was not only clever, she was street-smart, too. A devastating combination. No wonder she had been so successful at her job. Anne knew she would never get as far in the public relations field as Laura Grainger had—she was neither street-smart nor brainy—but she didn’t envy her boss’s success in work half as much as she coveted her boyfriend.
Anne had always loved tall men, and Patrick was a good six feet, not a spare ounce of flesh on him, with smooth dark brown hair and a charm that surely only a stone-hearted woman could resist. Anne couldn’t, anyway, especially when his face had that little-boy look it sometimes wore.
Every woman in the office block was crazy about Patrick Ogilvie, in fact. With all the attention and fuss he got, it wouldn’t have been surprising if he had been totally spoilt and selfish, but that was the most amazing thing about him. Patrick was warm-hearted, caring, kind and endlessly thoughtful. When Laura was busy, he did her shopping for her. Sometimes he even tidied up her flat and often cooked her meals. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.
Anne liked her boss, but sometimes she wished Laura Grainger didn’t exist. Maybe then Patrick might look her way?
A buzz made Anne jump. Hurriedly, she flicked down a switch on the console of her desk. ‘Yes, Laura?’
‘I’ve finished my phone call, Anne,’ Laura Grainger’s clear, cool voice said. ‘Any messages?’
‘No, but—’
Laura didn’t give her a chance to finish that sentence. ‘I wonder why I haven’t heard from Barry yet? Oh, well, before I forget, Anne, I have to see Mr Eyre on Tuesday, ten o’clock. I’ll probably be there all morning and it might stretch into lunch. If I have another appointment, make sure it’s shifted to some other time, would you?’
‘Yes, of course. Laura, Patrick is here,’ Anne said, scribbling hurriedly on her pad with a frantic air.
‘Send him in, then get the Courtleys Agency on the line for me, will you?’ Laura’s voice was businesslike and didn’t alter at the news that Patrick was there. How could she be so casual when the mere mention of his name made Anne’s heart leap like a salmon fighting its way upstream?
Anne’s brown eyes wistfully watched Patrick depart, his long legs moving gracefully and fast, as though he couldn’t wait to see Laura. He didn’t even look back. Anne sighed, then the phone rang and she picked it up.
‘Dudley and Grainger Public Relations, Miss Grainger’s office. Mr Dale? Oh, yes. I’ll see if Miss Grainger is free to talk to you.’
Patrick was walking towards her desk when the phone rang and Laura automatically picked it up, flicking a look at him, her green eyes smiling, and mouthed ‘Hi!’ before saying aloud, ‘Who? Mr Dale? Yes, put him through. Hello, Mr Dale—have you found anything interesting for me?’
Patrick opened his arms and let spring flowers tumble down all over her desk; their scent by now had been intensified by the central heating in the building and it filled the room with the fragrance of spring.
Laura looked down, startled, looked up again, her wide mouth curling in soundless laughter, and blew him a silent kiss.
‘Yes, quite right,’ she said into the phone.
Patrick walked round her desk, picking up a narcissus as he did so. He stood behind her, his slim body leaning on the back of her chair, and began stroking her clear-skinned face with the flower.
She gave a stifled snort of laughter.
‘Stop it! That tickles!’ she whispered, covering the mouthpiece of the phone with her hand, pushing the narcissus away and then speaking into the phone. ‘No, I haven’t had time to look at what you sent me, Mr Dale. I’ve been too busy, but I’ll get round to it this evening.’
Patrick let the flower trail lightly down her chin to her throat, leaving a faint trace of golden pollen on her pale skin. When he began to stroke her breasts with it, his breathing quickening, Laura captured the narcissus and removed it from him, still talking calmly on the phone.
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I’ve been looking for! When can I see it?’
Patrick gave an audible sigh and sat back on the edge of her desk, watching her profile, half wryly, half with passion. Her pale gold hair shone in the spring sunlight, a light, wild mass of curls framing her elegant, fine-boned face. Sometimes he wondered if he would ever see her eyes light up with the same passion he felt for her.
‘This afternoon?’ Laura said, frowning. She was very aware of the way Patrick was looking at her and knew him far too well not to know what he was thinking. She shouldn’t have stopped him touching her, just now; he had that hurt look in his eyes and Laura hated to feel she’d hurt him. ‘No,’ she said absently. ‘That isn’t possible, I’m afraid. Any time during the weekend would suit me better. Tomorrow? Yes, eleven o’clock, Saturday, at your office, then; thank you, Mr Dale.’
She hung up and turned to Patrick, her eyes a vivid green in the sunlight. ‘That was Dale, the estate agent; he says a new place just came on to the market, just what we want. Can you come on Saturday morning? We could see this cottage, then have lunch somewhere in the country.’
‘Good idea.’ Patrick nodded, brightening. ‘Where is this cottage? Far from York?’
‘Quite a drive, apparently, and it’s not a straight run. That’s why we’re meeting Mr Dale at his office in Malton; he’ll show us the way there, and take us over the cottage. He said you drive from Malton as if you were going back to York, then take the Castle Howard road, and it’s six or so miles further on from Castle Howard itself, right out in the country. It was a farm cottage once. It’s isolated—some miles from the nearest village—but the farm is just across a field, Mr Dale said.’
Patrick looked a little dubious. ‘Do we want somewhere that isolated? Is there a road to this cottage, or is it in the middle of a field? Why do I get the feeling that I’m going to have to drive miles every day to get milk and bread?’
‘If the farm is that close, we’ll be able to get our milk and eggs fresh every day, and no doubt we could buy other things from them.’
‘Did Mr Dale tell you the price?’
‘A little below our maximum figure!’ said Laura triumphantly, and he made a disbelieving noise.
‘Well, that’s a first! All the others Dale suggested were above our maximum.’
‘Exactly. But we’ve been disappointed too often—I’m not getting too excited until I see it.’ She absently glanced down at the spring flowers on her desk and began to laugh, throwing back her head. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing, buying all those flowers, you crazy man? What am I supposed to do with them all?’ She bent her head to inhale their fragrance and her blonde hair fell in ringlets and coils all over her face. ‘Mmm...gorgeous; you do think of the nicest presents! I love them!’
‘Never mind them—how about me? You’re supposed to tell me that you love me!’
‘I don’t need to; you already know I do!’ Laura said, green eyes looking at him through her long hair.
He pushed the hair back from her face to kiss her. ‘I’m so crazy about you,’ he whispered passionately against her mouth, and his hand ran up her spine, pressing her closer, his body touching her.
Laura kissed him back, gently, clasping his face between her palms, but when his caresses became more heated she pulled back, rather flushed. ‘Not in the office, Patrick!’ she muttered. ‘If a client walked in it could be embarrassing!’
Patrick gave a little grimace. ‘I know, sorry, but...you go to my head. OK, shall we go to lunch?’
She gave him an apologetic look. ‘Darling, I’m sorry, but—’
‘Laura, we had a date—I’ve booked for lunch at the Apollo!’
‘I know, and I’m sorry,’ Laura said ruefully. ‘I just can’t spare the time. I have to talk to the agency and fix a shoot with these girls for next week and then talk to the photographer again. There’s been a lot to do today. Look, let’s ring up and cancel the table and eat lunch up here. I’ll send out for sandwiches and fruit and some coffee.’ She kissed him on the nose, hugging him. ‘And I’ll sit on your knee while we wait, how’s that?’
‘I see! Bribery and corruption,’ he said, laughing and relaxing again. ‘Sounds good to me, although I can think of something I’d like even better.’
‘Don’t you ever think of anything else?’ she asked, half exasperated, half amused.
‘Don’t you ever think of it at all?’ Patrick muttered, and wasn’t really joking; a silence fell between them and Laura gave him a stricken look.
‘Patrick! You know I love you! It’s just that I’m not as...well...I suppose as highly sexed as you are... Sex isn’t on my mind all day.’
‘It’s on mine whenever I see you,’ he said, huskily, sending a wave of regret through her.
‘Oh...I’m sorry, darling—if I—’
Anne buzzed her at that second. ‘I’ve got the agency on the line for you now,’ her voice said tinnily, and Laura couldn’t quite suppress a sigh of relief.
‘Right. Put them through, then go down to the snack bar across the street and get us sandwiches, fruit, and cans of diet cola out of the fridge. Then you can go to lunch.’
Patrick listened and watched her, his mouth wry. Sometimes he was jealous of her job, of this firm. Sometimes he felt afraid, suspecting that the job meant more to her than he did, got far more of her attention. His own work meant a lot to him, but Laura mattered ten times more. Since they’d first met she had filled his life until nothing else meant much to him. He wished she felt the same about him, but sensed that she didn’t. There was some sort of irony in that for Patrick, who had all his life been able to bowl women over and make them his devoted slaves.
He was twenty-nine, and until he’d met Laura he had had a wonderful time with a constantly changing succession of pretty girls. He had liked them all, but never fallen in love with any of them. Why, when he did fall in love, had he fallen like a ton of bricks for someone who was so cool and in command of herself? At times he almost felt Laura treated him more as a brother than a lover. Oh, she was affectionate, loving, almost indulgent with him, but the passion he felt for her was never reflected in her eyes when she looked back at him.
He wished she would agree to fix a date for their wedding. Once they were married he might feel more secure. He might stop being scared she would meet someone else.
The following morning Patrick woke up late, with all the symptoms of flu. He was shivering, his throat hurt and his head ached. After taking aspirin and deciding to skip breakfast, since his appetite had vanished, he gloomily rang Laura.
‘Oh, poor darling,’ she said with instant sympathy. ‘Shall I come round?’
‘Better not,’ he croaked. ‘Don’t want you to catch it. But it means I shan’t be able to come to see the cottage.’
‘Never mind, I’ll go, and report back to you later. Sure you don’t want me to come and hold your hand when I get back?’
He laughed hoarsely. ‘I’d love it, but I’ll probably sleep all day; I’m having trouble keeping awake.’
‘Best thing for you!’ she agreed. ‘Look after yourself, take plenty of liquids, and stay warm.’
She rang off after blowing him a kiss and ruefully looked out of the window. Typical. The weather was glorious, wouldn’t you know it? They could have had such a wonderful day. She took another look at the cloudless blue sky. Well, it would still be a very pleasant drive; far better to be out in the countryside on a day like this, instead of sitting around in an office!
Laura lived in a small apartment on the fifth floor of a modern block of flats a short walk from York Castle. She had a good view of the river from her sitting-room window. Her tiny bedroom looked out over roof-tops but gave her a glimpse of the world-famous medieval Minster.
She liked uncluttered rooms, with lots of space, so there was a minimum of furniture—only what she really liked and felt she needed. Most of it had been bought in antique shops or at sales over the years she had lived there, or had been given to her by a relative. Laura preferred to live with graceful old furniture which had been well loved for years before she owned it. Fortunately, she had generous relatives, most of them living in Yorkshire. Hers was a very close family; she saw them all often: her parents, who lived in a tiny village fifty miles away, her married sister in Harrogate, or one or other of her grandparents. Sometimes they came to York to visit her, especially her parents, who loved their visits to the city.
Laura always put them up in her flat, insisting on giving them the bedroom while she slept in her sitting-room on a couch, and she took them out to restaurants, to the theatre or a cinema. It gave her pleasure to see them enjoying themselves, but she knew that they were happy to get home again, back to the village where they had lived all their lives.
Laura missed the village, too, and the moorland landscape she remembered waking up to each morning. When she had inherited a large sum of money from an uncle a year or so back, she had decided to buy a cottage within easy driving distance of York so that she could spend weekends in the countryside. Of course, the landscape would be different—softer, less rugged than the one she had grown up with—but she wanted to hear birds singing, escape the everlasting sound of traffic and the smell of petrol fumes, go for Sunday morning walks across fields, through woods.
When she and Patrick had got engaged, he’d been delighted with the idea of a country home after they were married, because he was tired of living in the city, too, but since he worked from home, as a freelance artist, he wouldn’t be driving to York and back each day, and somewhere in the real countryside would also suit him better. He would sell his flat, and live entirely in the country, but Laura had decided to keep hers. It would be more convenient for her to live in York during the working week and her family would still be able to make their occasional visits to the city.
‘I can do any redecorating necessary. I prefer to do it myself—most decorators don’t have any taste,’ Patrick had predictably said.
