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‘Maine?’ Ralph raised an eyebrow.
Harry answered. ‘Donkey’s years ago I bought a lumber company and several paper mills up there. Nick takes time from his own business affairs to look after them for me.’
Nick smiled. ‘An occasional trip to Maine is no hardship. It’s a wild, beautiful state, well worth a visit. How about if we all go?’
Harry shook his head. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to count me out.’
‘What’s it like?’ Ralph asked his nephew.
‘Lakes, mountains, a spectacular rocky coastline with hundreds of small islands, charming little towns, white clapboard churches, quaint fishing villages, hidden harbours and colourful lighthouses... A lot of the sparse population live near the coast and make their living from the sea.
‘Northeast, towards Canada, is the Allagash—a wilderness of forests and swamps and waterways, where most of the logging is done.’
‘Sounds marvellous,’ Ralph said, ‘but I think I’ll stick with Boston.’
‘Why don’t you two young ones go?’ Harry suggested.
‘How about it, Raine?’ Midnight-blue eyes caught and held green:
A trip alone with Nick would be as exhilarating as jumping out of a plane at thirty thousand feet without a parachute—and as dangerous.
‘I’d love to,’ she said, and if he noticed the quiver in her voice, hopefully he would put it down to excitement.
The next day they caught an early flight up to Bangor. Then Nick, piloting the company’s small plane, which had been specially fitted with dual landing gear—wheels and floats—and extra fuel tanks, took them to the Maine wilderness.
They were to visit the site offices of the lumber company, and landed on a graded road, following a huge truck piled high with massive tree trunks held in place by chains.
Seeing that Raine was startled, Nick told her, ‘There are no airstrips out here. Either we land on water, or on one of these logging roads that belong to the company.’
He steered the plane over uneven ground and they bumped through enormous wire mesh gates and into a kind of compound, where there were several long prefabricated buildings.
Climbing the steps to what was obviously the office block, they were greeted by a short, plump, balding man, wearing a hairy checked shirt and rimless glasses. Nick addressed him as Elmo.
Raine was ushered to a hard wooden chair and plied with strong black coffee and thick slices of cake while Nick sorted out the problem that had taken him there.
Business completed, he returned to say casually, ‘We have a log cabin over at Owl Creek. Would you like to stay there for a few days and see something of the backwoods? Or would you prefer to go somewhere more civilised? ’
Without hesitation, she burnt her bridges. ‘Oh, stay at Owl Creek.’
They flew over forests of spruce, fir, pine and birch, interlaced with gleaming waterways, and landed on the mirror-like surface of Owl Lake, disturbing its evening cloud reflections.
Ringed by hills clothed in the scarlet and gold, green and bronze of ash and maple, tamarack and cedar, it was the most beautiful place Raine had ever seen.
The substantially built, single-storey log cabin was on the lakeshore about half a mile from Owl Creek. Set well back from the water, it was in the centre of a wide clearing and raised on piles, with an open veranda running along three sides and a screened porch.
Nick opened the heavy door, and, having stooped to put a match to the stove, left her to look around while he brought their luggage from the plane.
The kitchenette was fairly basic. Apart from a sink and an old-fashioned hand-operated washing machine, it had a gas cooker, which was connected, and a gas fridge, which wasn’t. But the larder was stocked with all manner of dried and tinned goods, including tins of butter and malted brown bread.
Beyond the kitchenette was a small, separate bedroom and next to that a bathroom—luxurious, Raine guessed, by backwoods standards—with a porcelain sink and bath, a shower cabinet and a flush toilet.
But most of the space was taken up by a large, attractive, open-plan room on split levels.
The living area was simply furnished with two long bookcases, a coffee-table and a comfortable black leather suite. There were boldly patterned cushions and curtains, and matching Aztec-type mats were scattered on the polished wooden floor. The huge wood-burning stove stood in a stone fireplace, and in front of it lay a shaggy bearskin rug.
To one side, on a curved, slightly raised dais, were a stripped pine wardrobe, a dressing-table, a blanket chest and a large divan.
The air was cold and held the faint mustiness of a place that had been shut up for some time, but already crackling flames were devouring the kindling and licking around the pile of split logs in the stove.
‘Like it?’ Nick asked as he carried in their cases.
‘Love it,’ she answered lightly, trying to ignore the tension between them—a sexual tension which had been growing ever since she’d agreed to come here. ‘Incidentally, the bathroom surprised me.’
He grinned briefly. ‘I’m old enough to prefer a certain standard of comfort.’
‘But how do you manage it?’
‘The water’s pumped from a well, and bottled gas provides heating and lighting. Speaking of which...’
Dusk was falling rapidly, and, after bending to light a taper, Nick touched it to the gas mantles, which lit with little plops and blossomed into yellow flowers. That done, he drew the heavy curtains over the windows, making the place cosy and intimate.
‘I’ll cook tonight,’ he said. ‘Your turn tomorrow. But first we’ll have a drink.’
While she stood by the stove, enjoying the blaze, he brought a bottle of Chablis from the larder, and, having opened it, poured two glasses and handed one to her.
As she accepted it his fingers brushed hers, and she caught her breath audibly.
Their eyes met and held. Something deep and primitive flared in his—a look that was at once a challenge and a statement of intent.
She knew without a shadow of doubt that if she didn’t want him, now was the time to make that plain. All she had to do was break eye contact and step back.
But she did want him—with a passion that made her blood run through her veins as hot and impatient as molten lava. Green eyes drowned in blue, she took a step forward.
Removing the glass from her nerveless fingers, he set it carefully on the table.
But, instead of leading her to the bed, he laid her down in front of the stove with a cushion beneath her dark head, and, stretching out beside her, kissed her eyes and her throat and her mouth with a passionate hunger that turned her very bones to water.
She was his to take then, and he must have known that, but, keeping his own desire leashed, slowly, unhurriedly, with enjoyment and finesse, he set out to rouse hers to fever-pitch.
The fire-glow gilded her creamy skin as he slowly undressed her, savouring each new discovery, erotically exploring her exquisite, sensuous body with eyes and hands and mouth.
High, perfectly shaped breasts with dusky nipples firmed enticingly to his touch, offering themselves as tempting morsels for a hungry mouth. A slender waist asked to be stroked and spanned by two strong hands. Curving hips invited leaner hips to fit into their seductive cradle.
‘You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,’ he told her huskily as he stripped off his own clothes. ‘You enchant me.’
Her body responded to his without shame, arching to his touch, welcoming him, holding nothing back.
He was a skilful, considerate lover, and, though she was a virgin, there was no pain, only a joyous acceptance and a growing, spiralling delight that finally ended in a climax so intense that she felt as if her body had imploded into a white-hot core of pure sensation.
She was lying in his arms, her head on his shoulder, her heartbeat and breathing slowly returning to normal, when he queried softly, ‘First time, Raine?’
Wondering if he preferred experienced women, she asked, a shade hesitantly, ‘Do you mind?’
‘Mind? I feel like a king!’
After that first rapturous coming together they made love morning, noon and night, as though they were on their honeymoon, leaving the bed they shared only to shower or to eat, to take an occasional walk or a canoe trip on the lake.
Nick called her, ‘My green-eyed witch,’ and told her how lovely she was and how much he wanted her.
He never said the three words Raine was longing to hear, but it was only a matter of time, she felt sure—just an initial reluctance to admit to the deepest and most binding human emotion of all.
Neither wanted that idyllic week to end, but when, all too soon, the weekend came, he sighed and said they had to return.
They got an early start. During the journey home Nick seemed silent and abstracted, but, transported by love, Raine travelled back to Boston on cloud nine, deliriously happy with the present, glowingly confident about the future.
On reaching Mecklenburg Place, they found that Harry and Ralph had gone to a ball game and that an urgent message from Nick’s secretary was waiting.
‘Damn!’ he muttered, frowning. ‘I need to talk to you—to tell you something—but I’d better go into the office first. There are some important papers I have to look through and sign.’
Taking both her hands in his, he gave them a squeeze. ‘I shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours at the most. Will you be all right on your own?’
‘Of course.’ She smiled at his concern.
He claimed her mouth in a hard, almost savage kiss, and, before she could even kiss him back, he was gone.
Wondering what he wanted to tell her, hoping she knew, she went up to her room and unpacked the small case she’d taken to Maine, blushing a little to think how few clothes she’d worn for most of the time—how few either of them had worn.
She was on her way back to the big, sunny living room when Mrs Espling appeared in the hall and asked pleasantly, ‘Can I get you anything, Miss Marlowe? A tray of tea, perhaps?’
‘Oh, thank you. That would be lovely.’
Raine was just pouring a second cup and finishing one of the housekeeper’s delicious blueberry muffins when, without warning, the door burst open.
Looking up, a glad smile on her lips, she was surprised to see a slender, dark-haired woman, perhaps a year or two older than herself.
‘Hi!’ the newcomer said cheerfully. ‘I’m Tina. You must be Nick’s cousin. When he spoke to me on the phone he told me you and your father were coming over... Is he home?’
‘No, he’s gone into the office.’
‘On a Saturday!’ The bright brown eyes clouded with disappointment. ‘Any idea how long he’ll be?’
‘He said possibly a couple of hours.’
‘Then I’ll have plenty of time to go home and unpack.’
‘Do you live far away?’ Raine asked politely.
‘Just next door—’ Tina dropped into the nearest chair, obviously quite at home ‘—so I’m used to seeing Nick most days. Now it seems ages since I saw him—and gosh have I missed him!’
Then, by way of explanation, she went on, ‘For the last three weeks I’ve been staying in New York with an old schoolfriend. I’ve only just this minute got back. Nick was coming to the airport to meet me, only the—’ She broke off abruptly, then went on, ‘Only I found I could get home a day earlier than I’d expected, so I decided to surprise him.’
She was pushing back a stray dark curl when Raine noticed the sparkling sapphire on her left hand, and, with a sudden premonition, she remarked through stiff lips, ‘What a beautiful ring.’
Tina’s pretty pale face lit up. ‘Yes, isn’t it? I wanted a diamond solitaire, but Nick said it wasn’t my style and he chose this one.’
Feeling as though she was being shut in an iron maiden, Raine asked, ‘How long have you been engaged?’
‘Nick proposed to me and we went to buy the ring the day before I left for New York.’
Getting to her feet, Tina headed for the door. ‘I’ll go and unpack his present. I bought him a watch from Tiffany’s. I want it to be a surprise, so if he gets back before I do, don’t tell him.’
‘I won’t be seeing him,’ Raine said, and it was a prayer. Her voice controlled, even, she added, ‘Something’s cropped up and I need to go home, so I’ll be off to the airport myself in a minute or two.’
‘Well, so long, then.’ Tina gave her a wide, friendly smile. ‘I hope you’ve enjoyed your visit. Have a good journey home.’
As soon as the door had closed behind the slim figure Raine phoned for a taxi. Then, hurrying upstairs, she threw her belongings into her suitcase with desperate haste, scrawled a note for her father, telling him that she was needed at home because Martha was poorly, and one for her uncle, thanking him for all his kindness, and was outside waiting as the cab drew up.
Luck was with her and she managed to get a seat on a plane that was leaving for London within the hour. Throughout the flight she sat pale and tense, dry-eyed, though her heart wept tears of blood.
Once a concerned stewardess touched her shoulder and asked, ‘Are you feeling ill? Can I get you anything?’
Grateful for the kindness, Raine shook her head and said, ‘No, I’m fine, thank you. Just tired.’
Tired and bitter and disillusioned, and swamped by such pain that, unable to bear it, she struggled to whip up anger to take its place.
What a fool she’d been. What a blind, stupid fool! All he’d wanted was a little light dalliance, some casual sex while his fiancée was away, but she’d given him everything she had to give—her heart as well as her body.
And how eagerly she’d offered that. Responding with a passionate sensuality she hadn’t realised she was capable of. She’d acted like a wanton.
And what if she was pregnant? Pregnant by a man who had only wanted an easy exchange of pleasure with no commitments. A sophisticated man who had no doubt presumed that she had taken precautions.
Horror filled her, causing her entire body to flush with heat. She felt her face and throat burn and a trickle of perspiration run down between her breasts.
A feverish calculation reassured her that her stupidity was unlikely to have dire results.
Aware of just how much the knowledge of her behaviour would upset her father, she felt sick with relief. Now he would never need to know.
Though that was pure luck. She flayed herself with the thought. Nothing could alter the fact that she had behaved like the worst kind of fool. A fool who had given in to passion, presuming that because she loved Nick he must love her, and that marriage and a home and family would automatically follow.
But she’d learnt a painful, mortifying lesson and learnt it well. Never, never again would she allow passion to rule her.
She had scarcely arrived home when a phone call from her father, enquiring how Martha was, threw her into a panic. Unused to lying, she found herself stammering, ‘Sh-she doesn’t seem too bad...’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’m not sure... Some kind of flu...’
‘Then you can cope? You don’t need me back?’
