House of Storms Read online

  'Please—' She bit her lip. 'Be serious—'

  'Isn't a kiss a serious business?'

  'I think so, señor, but I'm not so sure that you do. Let me pay for the repair.'

  'I've told you the price.' His entire air was inexorable as he stood over her and she knew he would stand there the rest of the day if she didn't do as he asked. She raised her face and offered her lips, and then gave a startled cry as he pulled her upright and made her yield to him.

  Why pretend that she hadn't longed for the heat of his skin against hers . . . why deny that it wasn't a pleasure to feel his lips devouring hers . . . why fight when she longed to surrender?

  Yet fight him she did, wrenching aside her head so his lips slid against her neck. 'What a little vixen you are.' Yet he was almost smiling as he looked down into her eyes. 'What are you going to be like, I wonder, when a man really has you at his mercy?'

  'I'll see that I don't get caught,' she retorted.

  'Aren't you caught right now?' he mocked. 'You are still in my arms and I am quite strong. I think I have you cornered, vixen.'

  'To my way of thinking, señor, you seem to be breaking a rule of your house.' It took every ounce of nerve for Debra to defy his eyes. 'Didn't you say that while I'm employed here I'm safe under your roof?'

  'So you don't consider yourself safe in my arms?'

  'I've never felt so unsafe.'

  'Do you mean to flatter or offend me?'

  'Take your pick, señor.'

  'By the devil, you're a cool young woman.' He released her, holding wide his arms so she could make her retreat, which she safely did to the other side of the desk.

  'I—I'm pleased to have back my pearl and chain,' she said. 'I value them very much— thank you.'

  'They become you.' He took out his cheroot case and casually lit one. 'Wear the pendant tomorrow evening—Midsummer Eve is quite an event in this part of the country and after we've dined a fire is being lit on the headland in order to drive evil spirits away from the house. The event should appeal to you. I feel sure you believe in things supernatural.'

  She wanted to laugh in a cool way and deny his assertion, but the thought of a huge bonfire flaming on the headland and throwing big sparks into the sky made her eyes glisten with fascination. She knew it to be a pagan custom and when the fire died down people leapt the embers in order to show the Devil a quick pair of heels.

  'I should like to see the bonfire,' she admitted.

  'And see it you shall.' He drew on his cheroot. 'The signal fire for all the other fires is lit on Carn Brea and the chain extends from Land's End to the Tamar. In some regions the bonfire is crowned with a broomstick for the belief is that the flames drive the witches and devils into hiding.'

  A smile brushed Debra's mouth. 'Will it be wise, señor, for you to attend the ceremony?'

  'So I'm a devil in your eyes, eh?' He spoke sardonically as if never for a moment had he thought himself a saint. 'Will it please you if I evaporate in a cloud of smoke on Midsummer Eve? Will you then feel free of me?'

  She lowered her gaze to the pearl and chain glistening in her fingers. 'I'm not bound to you, am I? I thought we had settled the matter, that we are free of each other and there never was any foundation for your proposal. It was a piece of theatre, wasn't it? I think all the Salvadors are fond of drama, that's why Zandra sent her mother to my bedroom in order to create a scene.'

  Debra raised her gaze once more to his face, gone a little brooding through the smoke of his cheroot. 'I survived that scene, but I wouldn't want to face another like it, so please—'

  'Please?' he interjected.

  'Y-you know what I'm trying to say, señor.'

  'You don't want me near you, is that it?'

  She nodded, for if she actually spoke the words they might choke her with their dishonesty. To look at Rodare was to see the dark fires smouldering in him, beckoning the palpitating moth to scorch body and soul in his flame. There might be ecstasy in his arms, but of the kind that burnt fiercely and then left ashes . . . ashes scattered to the wind from the high cliffs.

  'Who do you want near you?'

  She gave him a startled look. 'I don't want—'

  'Don't lie to me or yourself.' He swept his eyes around the den as if visualising her alone in here with Jack, the two of them deep in discussion and very much a part of the world of books. 'My brother and Pauline were a misalliance from the start, two people from different worlds who didn't know what to talk about when the kissing stopped. But with you it's different, is it not? He's never lost for words when he's with you—you've crept under his skin, haven't you?'

  'I—I don't know what you mean—'

  'Don't pretend to be dumb.' As he gestured, ash spilled down on some of the typed sheets of Jack's book, and when she reached forward to shake off the ash Rodare gripped her by the wrist. 'I could shake you,' he breathed.

  'Let go of me—' She tried with her free hand to unlock his fingers, but he had suddenly thrown away the key of his temper and he remorselessly held her where she was.

  'Do you think I can't read you?' he jeered. 'You're transparent through and through. You see Jack as a tragic hero who needs a shoulder to rest on. He doesn't realise how tender, does he? Silky smooth to the touch, sloping beneath the hand and leading to even more pleasant places—ah, how I can touch you on a nerve, pequeña. Can my brother do to you what I do—I think not!'

  'Your brother respects me,' she shot back at him. 'When I'm alone in this room with him I—I don't need to be all on edge, wondering if he's going to grab hold of me. Why don't you play your game of cat and mouse with Miss Chandler?'

  'With her a game such as this wouldn't be quite so entertaining,' he said shamelessly. 'You react, Miss Hartway. Just a word or a look from me and you are ready to dash into your mousehole—I just can't resist pursuing you.'

  'Oh, let me go!' She struggled valiantly and knew that when she was close to him she had two enemies, and one was herself. A traitorous part of her wanted his closeness . . . wanted the sensual awareness of his dark-gold skin over pliant flesh and firm bone . . . wanted the warmth and weakness that enveloped her when he touched her.

  'What if I know what you are thinking,' he said softly. 'What if I can read those large imploring eyes of yours?'

  'Y-you obviously think you can read every woman,' she retaliated, her heartbeat un-nervingly quickened by his insinuation.

  'I don't wish to read the eyes of every woman, but yours are a book that titillates me.'

  'Titillate?' she took him up. 'What do you mean?'

  'You know well enough.' His eyes ran over her, knowing her beneath the neat dress in a delicate shade of green. 'To all outward appearance you are the demure and dutiful editor of my brother's book, but there are depths to you, little madam, which I'm aware of, and it's my awareness which you resent and which you fight. You prefer to hide your secret self.'

  'Don't you as well?' She flung a defiant look at him. 'I don't think you'd want anyone delving into your personality to see what you've got hidden away. You think because you walk tall and look over their heads you have people at a disadvantage, but I may not be fooled by your haughtiness.'

  'The thought makes me tremble,' he mocked, but his eyes glittered as they swept her face. 'I guard my secrets well, señorita, and you are a little too young and guileless to be good at divining the male of the species, least of all a Spaniard. How many Spaniards have you known?'

  'Only you,' she admitted.

  'In fact,' he drawled, 'how many men have you known?'

  'Very few, señor.'

  'And I believe you, señorita.’

  'You didn't when we first met.'

  'You believe I took you for a seductress?' Tiny specks of flame seemed to burn and dance in his dark eyes.

  'I—I don't think you were too sure of me.' His amusement made her flush; he made her feel a naive plaything in his hands and she longed to show him that she wasn't a puppet he could pull in and out of his arms o
n emotional strings. 'I think we know each other a little better, don't you, señor? First impressions are never reliable, are they?'

  'So you don't intend to rely on your first impression of me?' His eyes quizzed her face, alert and just a little dangerous. 'You thought I might be an actor, didn't you?'

  'Yes.' How vividly she remembered that first moment when she had looked into his eyes, and then, as now, they had captivated her against her will.

  'And now you know me a little better, I wonder what you think?'

  'I think you're self-willed.'

  'True enough.'

  'As ruthless with yourself as you are with others.'

  'Ah, there you make an interesting observation.'

  'A valid one, señor.' Debra ran her gaze over his face, seeing the power of his features and the passion brooding in his eyes. He was of his mother's people and hot blood ran in his veins, and Debra felt sure that if desire had carried him beyond restraint with his brother's wife, then somewhere deep inside he burnt with guilt. He stared down at her and then, as if glimpsing in her look a question in fear of an answer, he let go of her and turned away so he was looking out of the window.

  Debra rubbed her wrist where his fingers had gripped, then seating herself at the typewriter she put on her spectacles and fed a sheet of manuscript paper into the machine. She felt him stir and from her nape downwards she was conscious of him behind her chair, brimming with the power to disquiet her as no one else ever had. His very silence sent a thrill of emotion through her flesh to the bone ... it was a silence heavy with the thoughts of a man who didn't share his troubles very easily, and if the source of that trouble was Pauline, then Debra didn't want to know.

  Her nerves jarred when the door of the den opened to admit Jack, who broke off in midspeech as he noticed Rodare by the window. 'I hope you aren't disturbing Debra,' he said brusquely.

  'As if I would disturb this jewel of efficiency.' Rodare spoke with irony. 'Knowing this to be the inner sanctum where the two of you confer on the great book, I merely strolled in to get a whiff of the magical air. I haven't disturbed you, have I, Miss Hartway?'

  'Not in the least.' She managed to sound composed but didn't know how she achieved it. 'When I'm absorbed in my work I'm unaware of minor interruptions.'

  Jack gave a laugh and shot an approving look at her. 'That puts you in your place, brother.'

  'Ah, yes, Miss Hartway is the embodiment of the cool career girl, always neat as a pin and just as sharp when she feels like it. You are so lucky to have her working for you, and isn't this den the perfect place for the high priest of fiction and his acolyte.'

  Jack's amusement abruptly faded. 'When you use that tone of voice, Rodare, I get a whiff of mischief. Is there something on your mind that you want to air?'

  'Should there be, hermano?' He used the Spanish term for brother.

  'Several things.' Jack stood frowning in a ray of sunlight which picked out and set glimmering the silver in his hair. When together, Debra noticed, the two men were as different as a rapier and a lance, each in his own way a man to be reckoned with and not always in tune. Right now they were eyeing each other like opponents, as if Jack still harboured a very personal grudge against Rodare, who knew of it and had to be on the defensive.

  'Name one,' Rodare challenged.

  'The girl at that desk,' Jack said deliberately. 'I hope she's made it clear to you that she doesn't consider herself under any kind of matrimonial obligation? She ran away from the very notion of it!'

  'And she returned,' Rodare drawled.

  'In my company,' Jack rejoined. 'I've told Mama, and I'm telling you, Debra is under my protection.'

  'How gallant, Jack, and how that must put to rest Miss Hartway's girlish fears that I shall cause her to take fright again. I wonder what it is about me that gives her nervous palpitations? The fact that I resemble our esteemed ancestor who plucked himself a piece of girlish booty and took to sea with her?'

  He abruptly swung a look at Debra and caught her staring wide-eyed at him through the tortoiseshell rims of her glasses. They gave to her face, those rims, a vulnerable look, intensifying its heart shape.

  'Afraid I shall repeat his performance, señorita?'

  'You look capable of it.' She had made her reply out of pure defensiveness rather than spite, but she knew how he would take it.

  'If you know that,' he said, his voice edged with meaning, 'then next time you're alone on the beach you had better take care or history might repeat itself.'

  'You lay a finger—' Jack started to say, but Rodare was on his way to the door.

  'Will it be swords at dawn, hermano?' The words were flung over Rodare's shoulder as he walked out of the den and slammed the door behind him.

  Debra looked at Jack and saw him gritting his teeth. 'I wish the devil would go back to Spain and stay there! I don't know what gets into him, but I can understand your reaction to him, Debra.'

  'My reaction—?' She gave Jack an anxious look; she didn't want anyone to guess how she reacted to Rodare and she had hoped that she kept her feelings concealed and under control . . . those turbulent feelings that were her awakening to the urgings of the body rather than the heart.

  'You're a sensitive girl,' Jack said, and he came round to her side of the desk and laid a hand upon her shoulder, 'and Rodare's buccaneer manner must alarm you. I can just imagine how he must have overpowered you with his arrogance the night he proposed to you—anyway, I think it's now been made plain to him that he isn't your type of man, though I can quite understand why he should want you.'

  Debra caught her breath and gave Jack a startled look. He smiled down at her.

  'Modest as well, aren't you, child?' He ran his gaze over her hair, so neat at her nape, yet its colour took fire against her skin. 'Despite Rodare, are you glad to be back at Abbeywitch?'

  'It's a wonderful house,' she replied, sitting there carefully with his hand upon her shoulder, remembering what Rodare had said about how she regarded Jack ... a tragic hero who needed a tender shoulder to lean on.

  'Are you glad that we're now working together?'

  'Yes, the book is really coming along and should be ready on schedule.'

  'All the same,' Jack's hand moved and seemed to hover above her hair, 'all work and no play isn't fair on a young woman. Each evening you seem to vanish into your turret, but I think you should let your hair down for Midsummer Eve and I'd like you to dine downstairs and take part in the festivity. This evening Mick, my brother and myself are going to build the bonfire and when it's set alight tomorrow evening it will be a beacon that will be seen across the water. It's quite a sight!'

  'Your brother mentioned the bonfire and I would like to see it,' she said, and added warily: 'But I won't dine at the family table—I much prefer to take my meals alone.'

  'Because of my mother?' Jack exclaimed.

  'Yes—you know how she feels about me, and you have guests in the house.'

  'Sharon will be delighted to get acquainted with you,' he said at once. 'She's a bright and friendly girl and not in the least uppish.'

  'I'm sure she looks very nice, but my last attempt at socialising with your family and friends was a disaster.' Debra raised an imploring face to Jack. 'I'm here to work for you and it's better that I hover in the background—'

  'Just because you're self-conscious about that business with Rodare?' Jack looked obstinate. 'Don't think I'm unaware of your feelings, but as well as being my secretarial editor you are also my friend—at least, Debra, I hope you are?'

  'I—I'm pleased to be anybody's friend—'

  'Right, and I'm as entitled to have a friend of mine at the family table as Zandra is to have hers.'

  'Your mother likes Stuart, but she regards me as only a notch above the housemaids—oh, how can you know how humiliating it was that night, to have her thinking that I was about to get into bed with your brother! She said such things—that was why Rodare sprang his proposal.'

  All at once, overcome
by a mixture of emotions, Debra sank her face into her hands and let the wave sweep over her. Since her return to Abbeywitch she had suppressed emotion as much as she could, but suddenly it overwhelmed her. It wasn't so much that she felt like weeping, it was that she felt like crying out in distress.

  'Child, don't do that!' Jack gathered her upright into his arms, and this time he didn't hesitate to fondle her hair. 'You're always such a composed girl and it worries me to see you like this—it was Rodare coming in here, wasn't it? What did he say to upset you so, damn him?'

  'No,' she shook her head against Jack, 'it isn't anything he said. It's just that I don't want to get into another situation like the last one and I—I feel better about working here if I'm left to myself when I leave off work. I want to be—'

  'Alone and preferably invisible,' he broke in, his fingers gently stroking her hair. 'I do assure you, Debra, that my mother has calmed down considerably now I'm back at Abbeywitch. She realises that she made a mistake where you're concerned—won't you try and forgive her, for my sake?'

  Debra didn't know how to reply to him. The way he touched her hair, the way he spoke to her, soothed and reassured her, but could she really find the boldness to face Lenora Salvador again? Since her return to the island she had taken pains to avoid Jack's mother, and now he asked her to sit at the same table.

  'If you go on hiding yourself away,' he said, 'everyone will think you have something to hide.'

  'You know I haven't—'

  'I want the others to know it as well.'

  'But,' she drew back and gave him a perplexed look, 'why should it matter to you what your family thinks of me?'

  'It does happen to matter.' His jaw was set. 'I don't intend to say more than that at the present time, but it does matter. I want the rift closed between you and Mama and I'm more or less ordering you to join us tomorrow evening.'

  'I see.' Debra raised her chin and gave the rim of her glasses a little shove. 'You're exerting your authority over me?'

  'Yes, if you like to put it that way.'

  'Will you send me packing if I refuse to obey you?'

  'No.' He shook his head. 'But I shall be disappointed in the girl who came so spiritedly to The Cap And Bells and showed me where my duty lay. Such spirit, matching that wonderful hair of yours.'