Too Scared to Love Page 6

  ‘Oh, no,’ Vanessa denied. She had a high, childlike voice which hardly seemed to match the experienced elegance of her face and body. Undemanding, Roberta thought uncharitably, the sort who says yes without a fight. ‘I knew Grant would still be at work, as a matter of fact.’ She paused, her eyes trying to draw Roberta into sisterly sympathy. ‘That’s why I came. I never get to see Emily. Her grandmother’s always around. And I just thought that Emily is part of his life, so I really should get to know her a little better.’ She glanced towards the door, and said in a low voice, ‘Though she is a bit difficult, don’t you think?’

  ‘No,’ Roberta said flatly.

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t, I guess.’ Vanessa sat back and ran her fingers through her long hair. It was the colour of corn, turning to gold as it caught the light. ‘I mean, you’re accustomed to dealing with kiddies. It’s your job.’ There was nothing nasty in her tone of voice, but even so it made Roberta’s hackles rise.

  I’ve now been relegated to the status of starchy governess, she thought, a nonentity with nothing to offer except a bit of insight into a rebellious teenager.

  Another thought followed swiftly on the heels of that one. Wasn’t that how Grant saw her as well? He had said often enough that she reminded him of his battleaxe of a schoolteacher.

  She didn’t much care what he or his girlfriend thought of her, but it was a little niggling to realise that, as far as they both were concerned, she wasn’t deserving of any fate other than to be stuck into a category. Prim little teacher. A little shadow that only came to life in Emily’s presence.

  She felt an almost malicious amusement watching Vanessa’s futile efforts at trying to extract conversation from Emily over the course of the next hour. Questions were met with monosyllabic grunts, interspersed with the odd yawn. Emily was clearly not interested in playing the game of getting to know the girlfriend. Not that that daunted Vanessa.

  As she stood to leave, Roberta had to grudgingly concede that she had persevered manfully in the face of opposition. The other woman must be intent on trapping Grant, she thought, and maybe it wasn’t such a bad ploy. Persistence, after all, could often persuade even the most reluctant of men into commitment. Good luck to her, Roberta thought, with conflicting emotions which she had no intention of analysing.

  ‘Does she really think I’m going to wear that dress?’ Emily asked with a downturned mouth, as Vanessa’s car throbbed into life and they shut the door behind her on the cold.

  ‘It was a nice thought,’ Roberta said automatically, meaning it. ‘She wants to get to know you. There’s nothing wrong in that.’

  ‘Pah,’ Emily muttered inarticulately. ‘I’m going to bed.’

  ‘Don’t forget the dress in the lounge.’ But Emily was already running up the stairs, taking them two by two, her black hair swinging around her shoulders, and Roberta sighed.

  She carried her coffee-cup into the kitchen, washed it, and then returned to the lounge for the dress. Was it any wonder that her bitterness over her relationship with Brian had flown out of her head the minute she had entered this house?

  She held the dress up to the light and absent-mindedly looked at it, trying to picture it on Emily’s angular frame.

  ‘Charming,’ a deep voice said behind her, ‘though it looks a little small for you.’

  Roberta swung around to see Grant lounging by the door, his hands tugging at his tie until it was undone, then unbuttoning the top buttons on his shirt.

  She stiffened, recalling with clarity those images of Vanessa in his arms. Those lean brown hands, she thought with pursed lips, had travelled all over the woman’s body. It was an effort to appear natural.

  ‘It’s not mine,’ she said succinctly, folding it and placing it on one of the side tables. ‘It’s your daughter’s.’

  He walked towards the bar, which was cleverly camouflaged in an old carved cabinet, and poured himself a drink.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said irritably, ‘and stop hovering there with that worried expression on your face. I’m not about to have you for dinner.’

  Roberta sat down and continued to look at him from under her lashes. Talk about treating people like puppets on strings, she thought, wondering why she had obeyed his command without question.

  ‘I’m relieved to hear that,’ she said lightly. He was in a funny mood tonight.

  He walked across to her and muttered conversationally, ‘I’m sure you are.’ He leant over her, supporting his body on both arms of her chair, and said, with a challenging inflexion in his voice, ‘Tell me, has anyone ever offered to eat you for dinner?’ He gave a short laugh and turned away, prowling around the room, pouring himself another drink. ‘So did the two of you venture out in this weather to do some shopping?’

  Roberta breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t feel up to coping with that habit he had of trying to antagonise her into a reaction.

  Far better to stick to safe topics, and what could be safer than the weather?

  ‘We couldn’t face the prospect of battling our way through that snow,’ she said. ‘Emily may be used to it, but I’m not.’

  ‘So where did the charming little flowered dress come from?’

  ‘Your girlfriend, as a matter of fact.’ She lowered her eyes.

  ‘Vanessa was over here?’ Grant asked sharply, and Roberta nodded.

  ‘What did she want?’

  ‘To see Emily,’ Roberta said innocently.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask her?’

  ‘I’m asking you!’ He swallowed his drink and poured himself another. Then he looked at her over the rim of the glass, his green eyes glittering like two dazzling, hard jewels. ‘So you can stop looking as though nothing’s going on in that head of yours. After what I told you last night about not wanting her to get ideas, the least you could have done was to avert this sort of situation.’

  Roberta’s eyes flashed angrily, but she kept her voice under control when she spoke. ‘She’s your responsibility. I didn’t come here to get mixed up in your private life. I came here to look after your daughter, and that was it!’

  ‘That’s not the song you sing when you’re preaching to me about setting a bad example,’ he mocked.

  ‘You’re right,’ Roberta agreed, thinking on her feet. ‘You and your daughter are inextricably linked. Which is why I happen to understand why Vanessa wants to get to know Emily.’

  ‘Very clever,’ he said drily, appreciating the twist in her logic. ‘And what was Emily’s reaction to Vanessa’s gift?’

  ‘You should ask her yourself,’ Roberta said, shrugging.

  ‘Maybe I’ll do just that. And maybe you’re right as well about Vanessa. I suppose I should be flattered. It shows how much she must want me, don’t you think?’

  ‘There’s no accounting for taste.’

  ‘That’s a rich remark coming from you,’ he drawled, moving to sit on the chair facing hers, and inspecting her through lazy, narrowed eyes. ‘After your sour relationship that made you run over here to escape, that is a rich remark indeed.’

  Roberta’s eyes flew to his face. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m talking about that man who let you down. The smooth-talking charmer you described in such detail to me the other evening.’

  Her face began to burn. Well, what did she expect? He was no fool. In fact, just the opposite. He had developed shrewdness into an art form. Did she really think that her description of Brian had gone unnoticed, even though no name had been mentioned and she had certainly not indicated that she had been describing someone close to her?

  There was no point denying it, so she remained silent, lacing her fingers together and unlacing them, keeping her eyes away from his face.

  ‘It must have been quite some experience for you to have flown thousands of miles across the water just to escape,’ he said casually, though the green eyes on her face were intent.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about him,’ Roberta muttered fin
ally.

  Grant shrugged his shoulders. ‘You’re entitled to your secrets,’ he drawled. ‘We all are.’

  She stood up, ready to leave, and he said lazily, ‘Aren’t you going to offer to get me something to eat?’

  ‘Would you like something to eat?’ she asked stiffly, and he nodded.

  ‘What can you cook?’

  ‘Mrs Thornson left some casserole in the oven for you. I can do some vegetables to go with it.’

  ‘Fine.’

  She headed towards the kitchen, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling as she was aware of him following her. Was he doing this on purpose? she wondered. Did he know how uncomfortable he could make her feel? She sincerely hoped not. She preferred to let him think that she was cool and in command, even though it was an image which he found laughable. Better that, than to think... To think what? Her pulses began to race in dizzy chaos. To think, she confessed to herself, her mouth dry, to think that she was attracted to him.

  Because she was, wasn’t she? The thought made her body go cold. You damn fool, she told herself fiercely, what was the point of anything if you just continued to make a habit of stepping into the same stupid traps?

  She switched on the microwave, and quickly and efficiently opened a can of sweetcorn, emptying the contents into a saucepan, her back to him, nervously aware that he was looking at her from where he was sitting at the kitchen table.

  She felt like a rabbit unwittingly caught in a fox’s lair. Just now the fox was replete, satisfied, but that didn’t quell the desire to run back to the safety of an underground burrow.

  She dished out his food, carefully spooning out the sweetcorn on to the plate.

  She handed him the plate, and he said demurely, but with wicked amusement in his eyes, ‘Thank you so very much.’

  ‘Well...’ she muttered, fidgeting and eyeing the kitchen door.

  ‘Talk to me. I’ve had a hard day. I need some relaxing conversation.’ He gestured towards the chair and she sat down. Lord, how she would have preferred to run, but instinct told her that running would only arouse his interested curiosity, and that was the last thing she wanted.

  ‘Why did you bother to trudge all the way back here?’ she asked, her hands folded on her lap. ‘Emily told me that your company has several flats in the centre. Why didn’t you stay there?’

  ‘The pleasures of hearth and home,’ he said, attacking his food with vigour. Most people had to watch what they ate. He, she thought, probably had some alien metabolism that changed food into muscle in a matter of seconds. ‘Besides, the flats were in use and my car’s more than capable of making the journey back here even in more severe conditions. Do you have a car in London? Do you drive?’

  She nodded. ‘I drive, but no, no car, I’m afraid. It’s a luxury in London. The underground is quite adequate and, besides, the traffic over there is horrendous, and finding somewhere to park is even worse.’

  ‘Do you miss it?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Are you homesick?’ He wasn’t looking at her.

  ‘I have no relatives,’ Roberta said lightly, her heart constricting as it always did whenever she thought about her mother. ‘So, no, I’m not homesick at all. I like it here, in fact. It’s much cleaner than London.’

  ‘I always think that a tidy city appeals to someone with a tidy mind,’ he said wryly, and she relaxed. She knew that like this, when he was at ease, was when she she should be erecting her defences most sturdily, but it was easy to forget.

  ‘You make that sound like an insult.’

  ‘Do I?’ He smiled, one of those rare, devastating smiles that took her breath away. ‘I don’t mean to. There’s a lot to be said for a tidy mind. Right now, mine feels decidedly cluttered.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I have some important deals going through at the moment— ‘

  ‘The Japanese one?’

  ‘Among others,’ he agreed. He had finished eating, and he took his plate to the sink, looking almost incongruous as he washed it and stacked it on to the draining-board.

  ‘You should have returned home a bit earlier,’ Roberta said, unable to resist the temptation to be snide. ‘Vanessa might have relaxed you.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ He turned to face her, and the expression on his face sent her pulses racing. ‘You’re doing quite well.’

  She stood up and he moved towards her. He hadn’t said anything, but he didn’t have to. It was written all over his face, and the worst thing was that she couldn’t move a muscle. She was hypnotised by those green, intent, vaguely amused eyes.

  He stood next to her and she looked up at him, uncertain what to say to break this electric atmosphere that had suddenly sprung up between them, not knowing even whether she would be able to get the words out of her mouth.

  ‘You look like a wild animal about to take flight,’ he murmured softly. ‘Why do I seem to have that effect on you?’ He cupped her face with one hand, gently stroking the side of her cheek with his thumb. A simple action which he somehow managed to invest with wildly erotic meaning.

  ‘I’m not Vanessa.’ She struggled to get control of her voice.

  ‘No, you’re not, are you?’ he mused, before his head swooped downwards and his mouth claimed hers.

  For the briefest of moments, she returned his kiss, melting under the persuasive impact of his lips, then she pushed him away, and her hands were trembling.

  ‘Don’t!’ she said sharply, stepping backwards. Reality had a way of bringing you crashing down to earth. For a while, as she had felt his body hard against hers, it had been temporarily suspended, but now she could see well enough that he was tired; he wanted her to help him unwind.

  She had been used once before, she certainly had no intention of repeating the experience.

  ‘Are you as virtuous as you’d like me to believe?’ he asked, his eyes cool. He wasn’t going to push her into anything, but he didn’t like being rejected, she realised.

  ‘You can believe what you like.’

  ‘Are you still in love with this man who ditched you?’ The question was so surprising that it caught her completely unawares, bringing a red stain to her cheeks.

  ‘I wish I’d never told you about...that,’ she threw at him bitterly. ‘I never would have if I had thought that it would have been used in evidence against me.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m doing,’ he grated impatiently, raking his fingers through his black hair.

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘You know it isn’t. And you still haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘And I won’t be,’ Roberta said, as angry with him as with herself for allowing her guard to fall so completely, even if it was for a very short time.

  ‘Do you know something? I’ve never met a woman as—’

  As what? She would never know, because just then the kitchen door was pushed open and Emily stepped into the hall, immediately sensing the current running between them. How could she fail to? It was intense enough to be almost tangible.

  She stared suspiciously between them. ‘I’ve come for a glass of water,’ she said, her hands on her hips, her eyes alive with curiosity. ‘Am I disturbing something?’

  ‘No!’ Roberta smiled reassuringly. ‘I was just about to go up to bed myself. I’ll wait for you, we can go up together.’

  ‘How touching,’ Grant muttered under his breath. He looked at his daughter. ‘And don’t I even get some sort of greeting?’

  ‘Oh, hello.’ Emily poured herself a glass of water and drank it in one gulp.

  ‘I’ve been told that Vanessa came round here to see you,’ he said, not looking at Roberta at all, and Emily nodded. ‘She bought you a dress,’ he persevered, and that received another nod.

  ‘She’s trying to buy her way into my affections,’ Emily said sourly. ‘You can tell her from me that it won’t work.’

  Grant grinned, and for a second Emily looked almost dazzled. ‘Sure,’ he said, and she reluctantly grinned back.

  From the
sidelines, Roberta was beginning to feel slightly redundant. It was as though father and daughter had reached across the waters and briefly touched each other.

  Then Emily looked at Roberta, back to her usual self. ‘Ready?’ she asked, and Roberta nodded.

  ‘Goodnight,’ Roberta said sweetly, quite in control now that she had managed to assert herself with him. ‘I do hope the weather’s a bit better tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, I do hope so too.’ He mimicked her very English accent, and nodded in Emily’s direction.

  As soon as they were out of the kitchen, Emily turned to her, her eyes bright with inquisitiveness. ‘What was happening in there when I came in?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Roberta murmured innocently, walking up the stairs, with Emily positively skipping by her side in childish frustration.

  ‘It didn’t look like nothing to me. Was he kissing you?’ she asked, and Roberta said quickly,

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘Do you fancy him?’

  That, she felt, she was far more comfortable with answering. ‘Your father’s an attractive enough man,’ she said, taking a deep breath, and wondering how she could channel the vast array of descriptions of him into a few succinct phrases, ‘but he’s definitely not my type. He’s built for women like Vanessa.’

  ‘I hope not,’ Emily said, branching off to her own bedroom, ‘because she’s the last person I intend to have as a stepmother.’

  Roberta let herself into the bedroom and sank heavily on to the bed.

  Between Emily and Grant, she felt as though she had lost control of her life altogether. It was not a pleasant sensation. Emily she could cope with, but there was no way that she was going to let Grant put her through any tug of war, either mental or emotional.

  She got up and went across to the window, staring outside at the white drifts of snow. The weather had not warmed sufficiently to instigate any kind of thaw, although the weather forecast did predict no fresh falls, at least for the time being. Not that weather forecasts could be taken as the gospel truth. She grinned to herself and thought about the last time the weather forecast had firmly denied hurricane warnings, only to have to admit their oversight with very red faces the day after.