Sweet Pretender Read online

  His fingers moved at the small of her back, as expertly he guided her though one smooth step after another, steps she hadn't supposed she could do. Her flesh quivered at his touch, and a film of dampness formed on her forehead and on her upper lip. It's only that he makes me nervous, she reminded herself, hoping he wouldn't notice. She took a deep breath and released it slowly, trying for an air of resignation, or at least of indifference. It came out more like a sigh.

  "That's better." His voice was a caress as he allowed his gaze to settle on her mouth. "You're an excellent dancer."

  "Thank you," she said, deciding not to return his compliment. He already knew he was good.

  Her nostrils flared involuntarily, and she turned her head dizzily to watch the other dancers when she found the little-girl romantic in her wondering how Jeremy's lips would feel on hers. They were perfect lips, wonderfully defined. They would be soft and yet firm. They would be yielding and warm—demanding. Her strength seemed to flow from her body to his. It was frightening. Again she considered breaking away. He wouldn't expect it now. He'd assume that she had fallen under his spell. She'd seek Brian out, tell him he'd been right, that she was ready to leave.

  No. She wouldn't. Jeremy had a wife, and maybe she wouldn't even want him if he were free. But for the moment she could only give in to what she was feeling. The animosity she had been building up for this man who held her was evenly matched by the attraction she felt for him. She would have liked the music to go on and on.

  Her limbs felt weightless as his thighs brushed hers rhythmically, again and still again. It struck her suddenly how akin dancing must be to lovemaking. A thin layer of clothing did little to prevent the heat of his body from reaching hers, as they sensed and moved to each other's movements. Trembling movements that aroused hunger without satisfying it.

  "You're out of sorts because of the row you had with your friend?"

  It was a jarring comment. Melissa tilted her head back to fasten him with the best glare she could muster.

  "I couldn't help but notice," he added.

  "If it were any of your concern, I'd answer."

  "A good host makes it his business to see that everyone has a good time."

  "How kind of you to sacrifice yourself to your guests' pleasure. Will every woman present be honored with a whirl around the floor with you?"

  With a jerking movement, he applied pressure with the hand that guided her. It was the closest he could come to shaking her without attracting attention. His lips tightened into a straight line and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why did you go to Eli's shack today?"

  "I wanted to see Murphy." She made her eyes wide and fearful. "Did I trespass again? Will you make a citizen's arrest?"

  "I might. If you don't behave yourself."

  "Oh, I will, sir. Forgive me, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

  "I thought you might have come to see me."

  "If it pleases you to think that, you may." The music stopped, but he didn't escort her from the floor. He held her as if they were still dancing, until the music started again. "I saw you on the beach before you made your climb."

  "I know. I saw you, too. And you were…" Flustered by her helpless physical response to his every move, she had to fumble for the word she wanted. "You were glowering." He laughed. "I was—what?"

  "Glowering. You were glaring at me as if you planned to leap down and toss me bodily into the water."

  "Was I?" His smile, not one-sided but wide and genuine this time, sent her senses reeling. Again she had to remind herself that he was a married man. It seemed that he needed reminding, as well. He was well practiced in the art of seduction and reveled in the feminine response. She'd known his type before. He was one of those contemptible men who felt it necessary to be adored. "That isn't what I was thinking of doing to you at all."

  There was no denying the implication of his words or the accompanying play of his fingers at the curve of her back. That did it. Calling on all her imagination, she attempted to see, not Jeremy, but one of the obnoxious office Don Juans holding her in his arms and refusing to take no for an answer. And so she answered as she would have answered a self-styled lady-killer who had just made an obvious pass.

  "Where is Mrs. York tonight?" she asked pointedly.

  "My mother travels a great deal. She's in Spain now. Why do you ask?"

  Melissa tasted victory. He knew which Mrs. York she meant. "I was referring to your wife. Is she here tonight? I'd like to meet her. How terribly generous she must be to share her husband's attentions with so many other women."

  He didn't answer at once, but rather studied her face as if he were trying to see behind a mask she wore. "Kathryn has been dead for six years."

  She couldn't have felt more shocked if he'd struck her. Her first impulse was to express her sympathy, but his unexpected answer had erased any words that might serve adequately.

  "I didn't know."

  "I would say we've danced enough to satisfy Jean," he said abruptly. "I'll take you back now."

  When he left her at the edge of the dance floor, Melissa felt abandoned. The music was blaring. The floor was too crowded and the room too warm. A faint throbbing began in her temples. A headache wanted to start. Before she could regain her composure her sister was beside her again.

  "What do you think of him?"

  "I hurt his feelings."

  "Todd? He didn't let on he was hurt. He thinks you're cute, in fact. Which reminds me. Hands off."

  "Not Todd. Jeremy."

  "I wouldn't worry about him. He's recovered. I saw him cozying up with Natalie after he left you. Personally, I think they've got something hot and heavy going, those two. Maybe he's what this trip is about."

  "I wouldn't be surprised."

  "Why don't you hunt Uncle Brian down?" Arlene suggested. "Get him on the dance floor. He only wants to be coaxed, poor baby."

  "Maybe later. Run along and enjoy yourself."

  "I plan to do just that. Natalie says I might get to perform later. A few people have asked. Be sure you try some of that greenish dip with the cauliflower around it. It's sensational."

  Melissa couldn't have cared less about dip. She wanted only to escape to some dark corner until everything was over. But a balding man introduced himself and asked her to dance. Then came a banker-type who pumped her arm in time with the music, followed by a youth of about seventeen, who was somebody's grand-nephew.

  By the time she was able to slip away, her headache was underway in earnest. She moved past the lavish banquet tables through the double doors, down the corridor and out onto the terrace. When she discovered she still wasn't alone, she walked down the steps and followed a stone path that led past a stand of willows to a charming little gazebo beside a duck pond.

  As the music grew more faint, her headache subsided proportionately. The air was sweet with the perfume of summer flowers, and there were more stars overhead than she could count.

  She'd almost reached the bench beside the pond when she realized to her chagrin that the shadows to her right weren't trees. Only a few feet away stood a man and woman.

  "It wasn't something I planned," the woman said huskily. "I refuse to feel guilty. Are you disappointed?"

  "How could I be?" he answered.

  The shock of realization rendered Melissa gelatinous. It was Jeremy and Natalie. How they'd failed to notice her already was beyond her comprehension, unless it was that they were so caught up in each other and the moment they were oblivious to all else. If only she could manage to reach the hedges, she thought frantically, she could squeeze through. She could then cut across the lawn and up the incline to the steps that would take her safely back to the terrace. She'd be home free.

  "What am I going to do?" Natalie asked. "There isn't much time."

  "I'll see to it."

  They would imagine she had intentionally followed them. That she was spying. Inching one foot back, then the other, she parted the shrubs, without regard for the branches that stung h
er arms and face as they snapped back into place. As she transferred her weight onto her other foot, the ground slid away beneath her, and she stepped into an oozing ditch. Her ankle turned as she fell, and she landed sprawling with one foot twisted under her. The pain was so sharp and unexpected, she wasn't able to prevent an outcry of anguish.

  "What in the world was that?"

  "We'll soon find out."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Afraid to move, Melissa huddled in the shadows, clutching her injured ankle, hoping it wasn't sprained and praying that she wouldn't be discovered.

  "Are you mad?" Natalie screeched. "Don't go over there. Have one of the servants investigate. Who knows what maniac could be lurking in those bushes?"

  "Whoever it is, we'll handle it."

  Melissa pressed herself deeper into the shrubbery as the voices came closer. But it was futile. Jeremy located her in seconds.

  "What the hell are you doing back there?" he thundered, his face looming toward her. "I've— Melissa? Is that you?"

  "I don't believe this," Natalie wailed, coming up behind him. "It's that pesky girl again."

  "Are you all right?" Jeremy dropped to one knee on the grass beside her. "Can you move your leg?"

  Melissa tried tentatively, then moaned a negative reply.

  "Miss Brandon, get up," Natalie ordered her.

  "She could be seriously hurt. My damned gardener didn't fill in the hole when he took out that diseased elm. He was in such a bloody hurry to get through."

  "How could he possibly know someone would be skulking around back here? What's the matter, Miss Brandon, couldn't you find a dancing partner?"

  "That's enough, Natalie." Jeremy touched a hand to the injured foot. "I'll have to get you into the house, Melissa. Slide your arm around my neck. Easy now. A little at a time. That's it."

  "You don't mean to carry her! She's head to foot with mud. She'll ruin your jacket."

  "To hell with my jacket. Okay, little one. Relax. I've got you."

  "I can walk," Melissa said helplessly, as he scooped her into his arms. "I just need a minute until—"

  "Didn't you hear her?" Natalie asked. "She wants to walk."

  "For the last time," Jeremy snarled, "will you shut up?"

  "Not in there," Melissa pleaded, as Jeremy started toward the house and the crowded ballroom. "I don't want to spoil things for—for Jean."

  "I'll take you through the library. Don't worry. No one will see us."

  "No. By all means, don't worry your pretty little head!" Natalie snorted, flouncing off in the other direction.

  "I'm terribly sorry," Melissa murmured.

  "I'm the one who should apologize. That hole had no business being there." Inside the library, Jeremy set her carefully on the couch and eased off first one shoe, then the other. "There's a doctor here somewhere," he said. "I'll have him take a look at you. Then I'll see you home."

  "You can't do that." She could imagine Natalie's reaction to his playing chauffeur and missing his own party. There would be a king-sized war she wasn't fit to wage. "I'd crawl first."

  He flicked on a table lamp and stood back, raking his fingers through his hair. It was disheveled and fell over his forehead now, as it had the first time she saw him. Frustrated, he made a clicking sound with his tongue. "You aren't used to anybody telling you what to do, are you?"

  Now that the pain had dulled to an ache and she was better able to consider what had happened, she felt like such an idiot, she couldn't stop the tears from welling in her eyes. "I'm not trying to be argumentative. I appreciate what you're doing. It's just that…" How could she explain, when she wasn't free to tell the truth? "It's just that this hasn't been the best vacation I've ever had. Tonight was—"

  "None of that now." He tore off his jacket and let it fall over the back of a chair. Then he loosened his tie, pulled a footstool close and sat down. The dim light from the lamp cast deep shadows on his face, accentuating its bone structure. "Your holiday isn't over yet, little one. It can still be salvaged. And I have a hunch that from here on, it's going to be all you hoped it would be."

  He leaned forward, putting his weight partly on the couch, and she noticed to her embarrassment that there was an ugly streak of mud on his shirtfront. His pants were muddy, as well. He couldn't possibly join the party again without changing.

  "Your clothes," she cried.

  "Nothing a trip to the cleaners won't cure. I don't believe the prognosis for your dress is so good, though."

  She regarded the wrinkled and torn dress that had once been a gown she'd coveted, then scrimped and saved to own. Her heart sank like a stone.

  "I'll buy you another," he offered, reading her thoughts.

  "You won't. It was my own foolishness that caused this." She adjusted the ripped place in her skirt that exposed far more leg than she'd realized and winced in pain at the sudden movement.

  He frowned. "Let me have a look at that ankle." pressing here and there, he examined her foot, turning it from one side to the other. "Nothing appears to be broken, but I'm not a doctor. It should be X-rayed."

  "If it isn't better tomorrow, I'll see to it."

  "Damn right you will. I'll pick you up and take you to a doctor myself in the morning."

  "No!" she said with more vehemence than she'd intended.

  He closed one eye. "Don't you ever say anything but no?"

  "Really, it'll be all right. My ankle's been twisted much worse than this before."

  "I'm not surprised, if you make a practice of creeping around beach houses and dark gardens at night. Tell me, what were you doing out there?"

  In the excitement, she'd all but forgotten the intimate scene she'd stumbled upon: Jeremy and Natalie huddled together in the shadows. Now it was fresh in her mind again, and she wondered if he was attempting to learn how much she'd seen and heard.

  "Maybe I'm a cat woman," she said, with equal parts humor and sarcasm. "Cursed by generations of other cat people to prowl at night, hunting down my victims."

  "Maybe you are at that," he said, falling in with her nonsense. "Now that you mention it, there is something definitely feline about you. It's in the tilt of your eyes, in your walk, and most of all, in the way you strike without warning."

  "I'm shamefully lacking in feline grace, though," she said, apologetically.

  "Should I be afraid of you?" He moved his tongue slowly across his upper lip. "Can I be transformed, too, by your touch?"

  "Maybe."

  "By your kiss?" The question was all but whispered.

  "I wanted some fresh air." She wriggled to set her back more comfortably against the smoothness of the leather couch and to put more distance between them. "It's a beautiful night and I felt like walking. There isn't anything mysterious or sinister about it."

  "Why are you always so defensive?"

  "I'm not—always."

  "Then I make you feel the need to defend yourself?"

  She considered his question and decided to give it an honest answer. "Yes, you do."

  "Mmm. I see. Why is that?"

  It was a demand for an answer, rather than a request. When she shifted her weight, he shifted his, as -well, and was now closer than ever. His nearness was disconcerting. It wouldn't allow her to give voice to her thoughts or to sort them out with any clarity.

  Besides, he already knew why. He only wanted the satisfaction of hearing her say it. This room was more suitable to her original picture of him, she thought, than was the rest of the house. The walls that weren't lined with books were gleaming dark wood panels, and the furniture was polished oak and leather.

  Without his jacket and in these less-pretentious surroundings he was almost the man she had met in Eli's shack. If only he could have been that man. If only there hadn't been Natalie Kerr and the ridiculous need to masquerade.

  If only…

  She gasped as he touched a hand to her face when she hadn't expected it. Never had she been so hyperreceptive, so alive with sensation—so aware of scen
ts, of textures and sounds. Jeremy's hand was rough. His palm was callused, though she wouldn't have expected it.

  "Tell me why, Melissa," he said, in a voice that reached deep inside her being, to touch something that had never been touched before.

  She was a challenge to him, she reminded herself with a new desperation, trying to still the throbbing within her, before he felt it, too. Before he noticed the high color in her cheeks and caught the telltale moisture that was forming on her forehead. She'd stood up to him, and that was intolerable after the treatment he was used to getting.

  Remember how changeable he is? Remember how he glared at you from the ledge? Remember how close he was to Natalie in the garden? Remember? Remember?

  "Tell me, Melissa," he repeated, making her name sound as it had never sounded on anyone's lips before.

  She had to search her mind to make sense of the question. "Because—because you always seem to be thinking so much more than you say."

  "You're very perceptive."

  "Why don't you come out and say what you mean, then?" It was a feeble attempt to put everything back into perspective. To make him angry, if necessary, so that the danger could pass.

  "Why don't I?" He moved from the footstool to the couch. The hard muscles of his thigh tensed against her, and the hand that had come to rest on her shoulder found its way to her back to support her and bring her nearer him. The room was warm, and the scent of him rose to her nostrils. "You want me to be more direct?"

  "Yes. No. I mean—yes." Her lips parted in anticipation of the kiss she'd thought about almost from the beginning. She could stop it, she knew. His was a fragile ego, though he tried to pretend otherwise. The wrong gesture, a sharp word, and the elemental battle she waged within herself would be won. Or would it?

  A tremor passed through her, and she released a pent-up breath, hoping he hadn't noticed. Then she realized that the tremor had been his. She had only been touched by its vibration. "You've ignited a spark inside me, little one," he said. "A spark I was sure had gone out long ago. But it isn't acceptable, is it, to tell a woman you've only just met that you want more than anything to make love to her? Aren't there formalities in the modern world? Rituals civilized society demands first?"