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He pretended to think a moment. “Of course we’d love to have you, Chrissy. It’s been so very long. But we’ll take no notice of that. I suppose you’re keen to get back to the Big Apple. And that guy—what’s his name?” He made his tone admiring.
“I don’t have a guy,” Christine retorted with determined cheerfulness, recognising the taunt. How could she when the same old feelings for Mitch were smashing through her? Wave after wave of white-water thrills, going deeper and deeper into her body, leaving her feeling shaky and so vulnerable. Mitch had always been good for that. Wonderful, glorious thrills.
Now he smiled affectionately at his mother. “Let’s refresh your memory. What’s his name, Mum? You showed me his picture in some magazine.”
“Oh, sure. I know. Ben Savage,” Christine cut in, before Julanne could answer. “I don’t see Ben any more.”
“That’s sad. What happened?” He faced her, neatly trapping her gaze.
“None of your business, Mitch.”
He gave her a slow smile, dangerous, taunting. “Except there was something familiar about the guy…”
“The first thing that drew me to him was his resemblance to you.”
“Hell, I would have thought it was enough to condemn him!” The tension between them was mounting so quickly it was monstrous, nearly physical, startling them all.
“Ah, Mitch.” Christine gently moaned, she felt so bad. “Ben’s very nice. Just like the character he plays. Warm, caring, comforting.”
His eyes rested compulsively on the small velvety beauty spot high up on her right cheekbone. He’d always loved it. Nothing had changed, however much he wanted it. His heart, for all its loneliness and isolation hadn’t frozen over. “Then why the break-up?” he asked.
“When I figure it out you’ll be the first to know.”
“I’d appreciate that, Chrissy.”
“Listen, children,” Julanne intervened hurriedly, flustered by the frozen sparks, “be nice to each other. You’re friends, not enemies. I’ll leave you to say goodbye. Please be in touch, Christine.”
“I’ll call you,” Christine promised, very nervous now that Julanne had moved away.
Mitch laughed sardonically in his throat. “Some day Mum’s going to wake up to the fact we’re not kids any more. No longer girlfriend and boyfriend heading towards the altar.”
“Mothers do that all the time. Some mothers,” she added, reflecting for a minute on her own. “What about you, Mitch? How have you managed to stay a bachelor?”
“I get offers all the time,” he said flippantly.
“Have you any idea why?”
Even her voice, with its acquired layer of American accent, glittered. Just like the old days whenever he’d rattled her. “Touché!” He gave a short laugh. “I want you to know I’ll reject any offer of yours.”
“You sound like you’re expecting me to make one.”
“Believe me, I’m considered eligible and you’re not getting any younger. Must be about time to have thoughts of settling down, Chrissy. You can’t stay a top model permanently. I make it you’ll be thirty in two years’ time.”
“Did you get my card for your thirtieth?” She’d been in London at the time, for an important shoot.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Stupid me. I must have forgotten to send it.”
“Chrissy, darling, that’s bloody obvious. Hard to believe we were once best friends. I’d say lovers, only I’d bite off my tongue.”
“I haven’t forgotten, Mitch,” she said quietly, her blue eyes finding his.
“Please!” His voice had a contemptuous lilt. “Spare me the long poignant look. I’m Mitch, remember? The poor fool who used to love you? For years I couldn’t seem to stop, but eventually the heart sickens.” He could have kicked himself; it had come out way too bitterly. “I was the one left broken up, Chrissy. I figure you got what you always wanted. To be someone.”
She looked away from his taut, exciting face. The old Mitch had been so sweet, so carefree. “If you feel this bad I shouldn’t visit.”
He responded with a decided edge in his voice. “Listen, Chris, we might hate each other, but Mum loves you, and my mother is very dear to me. If she wants you to visit, I want you to visit. I swear I’ll be on my best behaviour, no matter how great the effort.”
“That might present a few problems.” Even so she knew nothing would stop her.
“A dilemma.” His agreement came swiftly.
“And to think I brought you home a present.” She had searched for something to please him.
“I swear I won’t open it.”
“Then you can burn the damned thing. Really, Mitch, I don’t mind.”
“Such a world of sorrow in a dead love!” he lamented. “Some heroine you were! Remember, I was your knight? I was going to save you from the fire-breathing dragon. Or dragoness. Your grandmother. Well, now she’s gone.”
“Poor Gran,” Christine said. “No one mourns her.”
“That would be kind of silly, wouldn’t it? She hurt so many people.”
“Of course she did.” Even now Mitch didn’t know the whole truth.
“Let’s forget Ruth, even if it is her wake. How long are you staying?”
“I’ve got nothing to hurry back to.” She wasn’t about to tell him her career had palled. Just how many designer outfits could she continue to get in and out of? How many more photographic shoots could she bear? Freezing in summer clothes in the middle of winter! That might get a cruel laugh. The old Mitch had never been cruel.
He just looked at her. “What does that mean?”
“It seems to me I’ve worked long and hard enough to deserve a holiday.” She did her best to sound casual.
“Aren’t you worried they might find a fresh face, in the meantime, a great body to match it?”
“No.” She answered with truth. “To become a top model wasn’t the reason I ran off.”
His expression was downright scornful. “Chrissy, you amaze me! I distinctly remember your saying that was all you were good for, and it was so patently untrue. It wasn’t just Kyall who shone at school. You did too. Though I know apart from Kyall and your father the rest of your family took no damned notice. You could have been anything you wanted to be. I’d have waited.”
“No, you wouldn’t!”
That burst from her, and she couldn’t call the fiery taunt back. It was her first show of anger, the first indication he was getting to her. By sheer force of will she pulled back.
“You had to have what you wanted,” she said bleakly. “It just so happened you wanted me all gift-wrapped and home-delivered. But I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t breathe. Not in my own home. Not anywhere. I was too stressed out, mentally and emotionally. You didn’t really understand. How could you? You come from a happy, loving family, full of respect and mutual admiration. You were born self-confident, sure of your place in the world. I was pretty well abandoned, just like poor Suzanne. I’ve got to do something for her.”
“Thank God she’s too short to move into the modelling world,” he retorted brutally, out of a kind of bewilderment and grief.
“You didn’t have to say that.”
‘No, I didn’t. I’m sorry. Anyway, you saved me from having a real guilt trip about not being supportive enough.”
“We were too young to get married, Mitch.” She turned her palms up helplessly, her beautiful face imploring.
“I wish my memory of it was that good.” Bitterly he concentrated on her hands, not the powerful seduction of her face. That too was a mistake. He remembered how those long fingers had felt on his skin, the way she’d used them to excite him. “Like a fool, I thought you were as madly in love with me as I was with you. You could have warned me. In those days I must have been a total dolt.”
She laughed aloud. Not out of humour. “You may not want to hear this, but, yes, you were. It was important for me to find myself. I was so immature, dependent. I couldn’t rush into marriage.”
“Very wise,” he returned acidly. “Maybe you’d be kind enough to tell me—have you found yourself now?”
“Have you?” They were two beats away from a first-class public row.
“I don’t know what I needed to find,” he answered, his voice cool and cutting. “I thought I had you. We could have taken it slowly if that was what you wanted.”
“Slowly? We were mad for each other. We made love all the time. You couldn’t wait to have me. We were bits of kids and you were pushing for marriage.”
“Weren’t you?” he asked, half savagely. “How many times did you tell me that? You couldn’t stand not being with me. You were sad and angry all the time we were apart. Was that all lies.”
“Not lies,” she muttered with quiet desperation. “I was afraid, Mitch. I had problems. I couldn’t face them at home. I had to get away. I had to be separate from my mother and grandmother. Even from you. Like I said, I had to find myself.”
“I understand a lot, Chrissy. I was there. But you had my proposal of marriage. My first and my only. I would have done anything for you. Protected you. Loved you. But you said no. That was your decision. I suppose I should say thank you for it now, but at the time it wasn’t good for a guy’s ego.”
“Not one as big as yours, Mitch Claydon—Golden Boy.” She gave him the full battery of her hostile sapphire eyes.
“What you see is what you get.” To her utter surprise he laughed. He knew of old how she used her eyes as weapons. “Now, a few people are looking our way. I don’t think this is the day for us to show animosity towards one another, is it, Chrissy? I’m a man who enjoys a peaceful life.”
“Pity you can’t get it.” She averted her head to acknowledge a departing mourner.
“Not with you around, old chum!”
“Is that what we were?” Her reaction was to stare back in open challenge. “Chums? Even when we were best friends we used to fight.”
“And forget it the next minute. We couldn’t stand to fall out.”
“I feel pretty much the same now,” she said. Mitch, with his golden mop of hair and star-spangled eyes. He had been such a handsome, engaging boy, full of vitality and high spirits. He wasn’t that Mitch any more. “I haven’t come back to upset you, Mitch.”
“Are you sure?” His voice seared.
“I’m sure.” Little ripples of excitement chased themselves down her spine, sliding over bone and muscle, reaching her legs. Excitement had always been part of their relationship.
“That’s good, because as it turns out you can’t,” he informed her. “Losing you taught me a lot, Chrissy. It wasn’t a pleasant episode in my life but it was a valuable lesson all the same. I’m damned if I’ll ever pay homage to you again.”
“When did I ever ask for it?”
“Every goddamn time you were in my arms.” Mindful of where they were, he let his voice remain low, but it was freighted with anger.
“I loved you, Mitch.” She turned her face up to his, her beautiful skin a perfect foil for the black sombreness of her outfit.
“In a pig’s eye you did,” he retorted crudely, looking at her with open disgust.
She knew she turned pale. “How can I possibly visit Marjimba with you there?”
“Hell, Chrissy, I’ll make sure we’re not alone together.” He so desperately wanted to grab her, carry her off. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Today we’re just clarifying the situation. Don’t ever give me the ‘I loved you’ bit. I fell for it once. I won’t again. Just telling you makes me feel better. I’ll be sociable when you visit. There’s no end to the things I’ll do for my mother. She always did have a soft spot for you, so please do accept her invitation.”
“In that case I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” She drew a deep, steadying breath, feeling his condemnation like a spear in the heart. “I can see hugs and kisses are clearly out of the question, so take my hand,” she said with determined civility.
For an instant it seemed he would refuse. “People are watching, Mitch. You’re one of the good old boys, remember?”
He hesitated again, taut and afraid, before he wrapped his strong golden-brown fingers around hers.
Electricity crackled, spat, burned. They might have been alone in a room where everyone else had vanished in a puff of smoke.
A great deep thrust of primitive desire slammed into his body. She had known that was going to happen. He broke contact immediately, his callused hands feeling seared. Had he really thought anything could change? He couldn’t control this. He’d wanted her then. He wanted her now. Beyond that ever more aching want.
Hell, what a sorry plight!
CHAPTER TWO
CHRISTINE’S family were at dinner after what had been, all in all, an extraordinarily upsetting day. It was strange to see her mother take pride of place in her grandmother’s huge carver chair at the head of the long antique table. Both of them small women, somehow her grandmother had dominated the large space, whereas her mother looked as if her feet dangled clear off the ground.
For once her father occupied the elaborately carved mahogany carver at the other end, having been asked by Kyall to do so. “Take your rightful place, Dad,” Kyall urged as they all went to sit down in the places Ruth McQueen had allotted them in her lifetime. “You’re head of the family. Everything about the way Gran treated you was terrible.”
His mother, ever one to hide her head in the sand, gasped aloud. “Kyall, how can you possibly say that?”
“Because it’s true, Mum,” he responded bluntly. “I’m sorry if that word isn’t in your dictionary.”
“Really, Kyall, it doesn’t matter,” Max intervened.
“It does matter, Dad.” At the end of this long strange day, Kyall’s normally controlled temper was at flashpoint. “I think we can stop all this stupid business of Kyall McQueen as well. I’m your son, Dad. I love you. I’m a Reardon.”
“Bravo!” Christine dared to put her hands together. “Then you can acknowledge I’m your sister as well.”
“Don’t be silly, Chris.”
“Don’t take it personally.” She smiled at him. “You had nothing to do with it. It was Gran and Mum.”
Enid looked angrily towards her daughter. “Excuse me, Christine, but your father and I agreed Kyall would be christened Kyall Reardon-McQueen. Didn’t we, dear?” Enid appealed to her husband as a good solid mate should.
“We did.” Max looked back down the table at her. “We didn’t plan on the Reardon being dropped, though, did we?” he pointed out gently.
“It was the town.” Enid picked up her wine glass. “The double-barrelled name was too much of a mouthful.”
“And God forbid the town should have dropped the McQueen.” Christine rolled her eyes at her brother. “After all, the McQueens own it.”
“Why is it that you always start something, Christine?” Enid asked, her cheeks flushed a dull red. “You’re only just home and you’re—”
“Leave her alone, Enid,” Max said, his handsome face composed into firm lines.
