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Audrey had forgotten about the power cut. But even if she had to rub two sticks together to make a fire she would do it rather than go anywhere with him. ‘I’ll be fine. The fire will be enough. I’m only staying the one night.’
He continued to look at her as if he thought a white van and a straitjacket might be useful right about now. ‘What about your thing with spiders?’
How like him to remind her of her embarrassing childhood phobia. But she had no reason to be ashamed these days. She’d taken control. Ridiculously expensive control. Twenty-eight sessions with a therapist that had cost more than her car. She would have done thirty sessions but she’d run out of money. Her income as a library archivist only went so far. ‘I’ve had therapy. I’m cool with spiders now. Spiders and me, we’re like that.’ She linked two of her fingers in a tight hug.
His expression looked as though he belonged as keynote speaker at a sceptics’ conference. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. Really. I’ve had hypnotherapy so I don’t get triggered when I see a spider. I can even say the word without breaking out in a sweat. I can look at pictures of them too. I even draw doodles of them.’
‘So if you turned and saw that big spider hanging from the picture rail you wouldn’t scream and throw yourself into my arms?’
Audrey tried to control the urge to turn around. She used every technique she’d been taught. She could cope with cobwebs. Sure, she could. They were pretty in a weird sort of way. Like lace...or something.
She was not going to have a totally embarrassing panic attack.
Not after all that therapy. She was going to smile at Incy-Wincy because that was what sensible people who weren’t scared spitless of spiders did, right?
Her heart rate skyrocketed. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Beads of sweat dripped between her shoulder blades as if she were leaking oil. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Her breathing stop-started as though a tormenting hand were gripping, then releasing her throat. Grip. Release. Grip. Release. Grip. Release.
What if the spider moved? What if this very second it was climbing down from the picture rail and was about to land on her head? Or scuttle down the back of her dress? Audrey shivered and took a step closer to Lucien, figuring it was a step further away from the spider even if it brought her closer to her arch-enemy Number One. ‘Y-you’re joking, right?’
‘Why don’t you turn around and see?’
Audrey didn’t want to turn around. Didn’t want to see the spider. She was quite happy looking at Lucien instead. Maybe her therapist should include ‘Looking at Lucien’ in her treatment plan. Diversionary therapy...or something.
This close she could smell his aftershave—a lemony and lime combo with an understory of something fresh and woodsy. It flirted with her senses, drugging them into a stupor like a bee exposed to exotic pollen. She could see the way his stubble was dotted around his mouth in little dark pinpricks. Her fingers itched to glide across the sexy rasp of his male flesh. She drew in a calming breath.
You’ve got this. You’ve spent a veritable fortune to get this.
She slowly turned around, and saw a spider dangling inches from her face.
A big one.
A ginormous one.
A genetically engineered one.
A throwback from the dinosaur age.
She gave a high-pitched yelp and turned into the rock-hard wall of Lucien’s chest, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in the cashmere of his sweater. She danced up and down on her toes to shake off the sensation of sticky spider feet climbing up her legs. ‘Get rid of it!’
Lucien’s hands settled on her upper arms, his fingers almost overlapping. ‘It won’t hurt you. It’s probably more frightened of you.’
She huddled closer, squeezing her eyes shut, shuddering all over. ‘I don’t care if it’s frightened of me. Tell it to get some therapy.’
She felt the rumble of his laughter against her cheek and glanced up to see a smile stretching his mouth. ‘Oh. My. God,’ she said as if witnessing a life-changing phenomenon. ‘You smiled. You actually smiled.’
His smile became lopsided, making his eyes gleam in a way she had never witnessed before. Then his gaze went to her mouth as if pulled there by a force he had no control over. She could feel the weight of his eyes on her mouth. She was as close to him as she had been to any man. Closer. Closer than she had been to him at the last wedding reception. Her entire body tingled as if tuning in to a new radar signal. Her flesh contracting, all her nerves on high alert. She could feel the gentle pressure from each of his fingers against her arms, warm and sensual.
His fingers tensed for a moment, but then he dragged his gaze away from her mouth and unwrapped her arms from his waist as if she had scorched him. ‘I’ll take care of the spider. Wait in the kitchen.’
Audrey sucked in her lower lip. ‘You’re not going to kill it...are you?’
‘That was the general idea,’ he said. ‘What else do you want me to do? Take it home with me and handfeed it flies?’
She stole a glance at the spider and fought back a shudder. ‘It’s probably got babies. It seems cruel to kill it.’
He shook his head as if he was having a bad dream. ‘Okay. So I humanely remove the spider.’ He picked up an old greetings card off the bookshelf and a glass tumbler from the drinks cabinet. He glanced at her. ‘You sure you want to watch?’
Audrey rubbed at the creepy-crawly sensation running along her arms. ‘It’ll be good for me. Exposure therapy.’
‘Ri-i-ight.’ Lucien shrugged and approached the spider with the glass and the card.
Audrey covered her face with her hands but then peeped through the gaps in her splayed fingers. There was only so much exposure she would deal with at any one time.
Lucien slipped the card beneath the spider and then placed the glass over it. ‘Voila. One captured spider. Alive.’ He walked to the front door of the cottage and then, dashing through the pelting rain, placed the spider under the shelter of the garden shed a small distance away.
He came back, sidestepping puddles and keeping his head down against the driving rain. Audrey grabbed a towel from the downstairs bathroom and handed it to him. He rubbed it roughly over his hair.
She was insanely jealous of the towel. She had towel envy. Who knew such a thing existed? She wanted to run her fingers through that thick, dark, damp hair. She wanted to run her hands across his scalp and pull his head down so his mouth could cover hers. She wanted to see if his firm mouth would soften against hers or grow hard and insistent with passion.
She wanted. Wanted. Wanted the one thing she wasn’t supposed to want.
Lucien scrunched up the towel in one hand and pushed back his hair with the other. ‘This storm looks like it’s not going to end anytime soon.’
Just like the storm of need in her body.
What was it about Lucien that made her feel so turned on? No other man triggered this crazy out-of-character reaction in her. She didn’t fantasise about other men. She didn’t stare at them and wonder what it would be like to kiss them. She didn’t ache to feel their hands on her body. But Lucien Fox had always made her feel this way. It was the bane of her life that he was the only man she was attracted to. She couldn’t walk past him without wanting to touch him. She couldn’t be in the same room—the same country—without wanting him.
What was wrong with her?
She didn’t even like him as a person. He was too formal and stiff. He rarely smiled. He thought she was silly and irresponsible like her mother. Not that her two tipsy episodes had helped in that regard, but still. She had always hated her mother’s weddings ever since she’d gone to the first one as a four-year-old.
By the time Sibella married Lucien’s father for the first time, Audrey was eighteen. A couple of glasses of champagne—well, it might have been three or four, but she couldn’t remember—had helped her cope reasonably well with the torture of watching her mother marry yet another unsuitable man. Audrey would be the one to pick up the pieces when it all came to a messy and excruciatingly public end.
Why couldn’t she get through a simple wedding reception or two or three without lusting over Lucien?
Another boom of thunder sounded so close by it made the whole cottage shudder. Audrey winced. ‘Gosh. That was close.’
Lucien looked down at her. ‘You’re not scared of storms?’
‘No. I love them. I particularly love watching them down here, coming across the fields.’
He twitched one of the curtains aside. ‘Where did you park your car? I didn’t see it when I drove in.’
‘Under the biggest oak tree,’ Audrey said. ‘I didn’t want it to be easy to see in case the press followed me.’
‘Did you see anyone following you?’
‘No, but there were recent tyre tracks on the driveway—I thought they were Mum and Harlan’s.’
‘The caretaker’s, perhaps?’
Audrey lifted her eyebrows. ‘Does this place look like it’s been taken care of recently?’
‘Good point.’
Another flash of lightning split the sky, closely followed by a boom of thunder and then the unmistakable sound of a tree crashing down and limbs and branches splintering on metal.
‘Which tree did you say you parked under?’ Lucien asked.
Audrey’s stomach lurched like a limousine on loose gravel. ‘No. No. No. Noooooo!’
CHAPTER TWO (#u15b71535-6762-5c72-b168-bd844b99e700)
LUCIEN HAD TO stop Audrey from dashing outside to check out the state of her car by restraining her with a firm hand on her forearm. ‘No. Don’t go out there. It’s too dangerous. There are still limbs and branches coming down.’
‘But I have to see how much damage there is,’ she said, wide-eyed.
‘Wait until the storm passes. There could be power lines down or anything out there.’
She pulled at her lower lip with her teeth, her expression so woebegone it made something in his chest shift. He suddenly realised he was still holding her by the arm and removed his hand, surreptitiously opening and closing his fingers to stop the tingling sensation.
He usually avoided touching her.
He avoided her—period.
From the moment he’d met her at his father’s first wedding to her mother he’d been keen to keep his distance. Audrey had only been eighteen and a young eighteen at that. Her crush on him had been mildly flattering but unwelcome. He’d shut her down with a stern lecture and hoped she would ignore him on the rare occasions their paths crossed.
He’d felt enormous relief when his father had divorced her mother because he hadn’t cared for Sibella’s influence on his father. But then three years later they’d remarried and his path intersected with Audrey’s again. Then twenty-one and not looking much less like the innocent schoolgirl she’d been three years before, she’d made another advance on him at their parents’ second wedding. He’d cut her down with a look and hoped she’d finally get the message...even though a small part of him had been tempted to indulge in a little flirtation with her. He had wanted to kiss her. He’d wanted to hold her luscious body against his and let nature do the rest. Sure he had. He had been damn close to doing it too. Way too close. Dangerously close.
But he’d ruthlessly shut down that part of himself because the last thing he wanted was to get involved with Audrey Merrington. Not just because of who her mother was but because Audrey was the cutesy homespun type who wanted the husband, the house, the hearth, the hound and the happy-ever-after.
He wasn’t against marriage but he had in mind a certain type of marriage to a certain type of woman some time in the future. In the distant future. He would never marry for passion the way his father did. He would never marry for any other reason than convenience and companionship. And he would always be in control of his emotions.
Audrey rubbed at her arm as if she too was removing the sensation of his touch. ‘I suppose you’re going to give me a lecture about the stupidity of parking my car under an old tree. But the storm had barely started when I arrived.’
‘It’s an easy mistake to make,’ Lucien said.
‘Not for someone as perfect as you.’ She followed up the comment with a scowl.
He was the last person who would describe himself as perfect. If he was so damn perfect then what the hell was he doing glancing at her mouth all the time? But something about Audrey’s mouth had always tempted his gaze. It was soft and full and shaped in a perfect Cupid’s bow.
He wondered how many men had enjoyed those soft, ripe lips. He wondered how many lovers she’d shared her body with and if that innocent Bambi-eyed thing she had going on was just a front. She wasn’t traffic-stoppingly beautiful like her mother but she was pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way. Her figure was curvy rather than slim and she had an old-fashioned air about her that was in stark contrast to her mother’s out-there-and-up-for-anything personality.
‘Once the storm has passed I’ll check the damage to your car,’ Lucien said. ‘But for now I think we’d better formulate a plan. When was the last time you spoke to your mother?’
‘Not for a week or more.’ Her tone had a wounded quality—disappointment wrapped around each word as if her relationship with her mother wasn’t all that it could be. ‘She left the invitation and a note at my flat. I found them when I got home from work yesterday. I got the feeling she was coming here with your dad from her note when she mentioned the daffodils. I’m not sure why she didn’t text me instead. I’ve texted her since but I’ve heard nothing back and it looks like my messages haven’t been read.’
Frustration snapped at his nerves, taut with tension. What if his father had already married Sibella? What if there was a repeat of the last two divorces with the salacious scandal played out in the press for weeks on end? He had to put a stop to it. He had to. ‘They could be anywhere by now.’
‘When did you last speak to your father?’
‘About two months ago.’
Audrey’s smooth brow wrinkled. ‘You don’t keep in more regular contact?’
Lucien’s top lip curled before he could stop it. ‘He’s never quite got used to the idea of having a son.’
A look of empathy passed over her features. ‘He had you when he was very young, didn’t he?’
‘Eighteen,’ Lucien said. ‘I didn’t meet him until I was ten years old. My mother thought it was safer to keep me away from him given his hard-partying lifestyle.’
Not as if that had changed much over the years, which was another good reason to keep his father from remarrying Audrey’s mother. They encouraged each other’s bad habits. His dad would never beat the battle of the booze with Sibella by his side. The battle became a binge with a drinking buddy when Sibella was around. She had no idea of the notion of drinking in moderation. Nothing Sibella Merrington did was in moderation.
‘At least you finally met him,’ Audrey said, looking away.
‘You haven’t met yours?’
‘No. Even my mum doesn’t know who it is.’
Why did that not surprise him? ‘Does it bother you?’
She gave a little shrug, still not meeting his gaze. ‘Not particularly.’
He could tell it bothered her much more than she let on. He suddenly realised how difficult it must have been for her with only one parent and an incompetent one at that. At least he’d had his mother up until he was seventeen, when she’d died of an aneurysm. How had Audrey navigated all the potholes of childhood and adolescence without a reliable and responsible parent by her side? Sibella was still a relatively young woman, which meant she must have been not much older than Lucien’s father when she’d had Audrey.
Why hadn’t he asked her how it had been for her before now?
‘How old was your mother when she had you?’
‘Fifteen.’ Her mouth became a little downturned. ‘She hates me telling anyone that. I think she’d prefer it if I told everyone I was her younger sister. She won’t allow me to call her Mum when anyone else is around. But I guess you’ve already noticed that.’
‘I have, but then, I don’t call my father Dad, either.’
‘Because he prefers you not to?’
‘Because I prefer not to.’
She considered him for a long moment, her chocolate-brown gaze slightly puzzled. ‘If you’re not close to him then why do you care if he remarries my mother or not?’
Good question. ‘He’s not much of a father but he’s the only one I’ve got,’ Lucien said. ‘And I can’t bear to see him go through another financially crippling divorce.’
Resentment shone in her gaze. ‘Are you implying my mother asked for more than she deserved?’
‘I’m now his accountant as well as his son,’ Lucien said. ‘Another divorce would ruin him. I’ve been propping him up financially for years. It won’t just be his money he’ll be losing—it will be mine.’
Her eyebrows rose as if the notion of his generosity towards his father surprised her. ‘Oh... I didn’t realise.’ She chewed at her lip a couple of times. ‘In spite of my mother’s success as a soap star, she never seems to have enough money for bills. She blames her manager and he blames her.’
