The Tycoon She Shouldn't Crave Read online

  “It’s too early to say yet,” the other girl said dismissively.

  Was Sarah slightly defensive? Chris could not tell, but she knew that her dislike was reciprocated when Sarah added curtly, “You know that neither Slater or I want you here? You can’t do anything to help Sophie. She needs expert care and attention.”

  “Her mother appointed me as her co-guardian,” Chris interrupted quietly, determined to keep her temper and not allow herself to be rattled by the way Sarah banded Slater and herself together, and firmly placed Chris as their enemy.

  “Her mother!” Sarah smiled with derision. “Natalie never gave a damn about the child…she hated her from the moment she was born. If she ever thought of Sophie at all it was simply as a pawn she could use against Slater.”

  “You seem to know an awful lot about my cousin and her husband.” Chris spoke before she could stop herself, hating the triumphant gleam shining in Sarah’s too pale blue eyes as she returned, “Slater and I are old friends…”

  Old friends and new lovers? Chris wondered, stunned by the spearing pain jolting through her body.

  When Mrs Lancaster returned with Sophie, she was glad of the excuse to escape.

  “I’ll take you up to your room now,” the housekeeper offered. “It does have its own bathroom.”

  On the landing she walked past Sophie’s room and the two other doors, hesitating for a second outside one before passing on to a third, and opening the door into a pleasantly decorated guest room. Chris’s case was already on the bed; the room had attractive views over the gardens, the adjoining bathroom decorated in a similar style to the bedroom.

  How long would she be staying here she wondered? How long could she endure to stay here? An unpleasant thought struck her. If Sarah and Slater were lovers, did she stay here?

  Why should it concern her, she asked herself hardily. She had no romantic interest in Slater now. That was all dead. But was it?

  More to distract her thoughts than anything else she asked Mrs Lancaster briefly, “Slater and Natalie…which room…”

  “Mrs James had her own room,” Mrs Lancaster told her non-committally—“the door next to this…” She fidgeted for a moment and then added anxiously. “All her things are still in there, I was wondering if you could possibly sort through them…”

  “But surely Slater…” Chris protested, still trying to come to terms with the fact the Slater and Natalie had apparently had separate rooms. At whose instigation? Mrs Lancaster had already intimated that Natalie spent a good deal of time away from the house, but how long had Slater and Sarah…

  “Mr James just told me to get rid of everything and close up the room, but I felt I couldn’t. Some of her clothes were very expensive…”

  Chris could understand Mrs Lancaster’s dilemma. “Of course I’ll go through them,” she agreed, thinking that distasteful though the task promised to be, it was something she owed her cousin.

  Chris did not see Sarah go. Mrs Lancaster came out into the garden to tell her that lunch was ready and explained that the other woman had left.

  Sophie was very subdued over lunch, keeping her eyes fixed on her plate. What had happened that was so traumatic that it had stopped her from talking? And not just from talking, Chris acknowledged, covertly watching her. Sophie was a very withdrawn little girl, flinching away from almost every physical contact, locked up inside herself.

  After lunch Mrs Lancaster explained that she was going shopping. Sophie normally went with her but when Chris suggested that the little girl might want to stay behind with her, she was both surprised and pleased to see the fair head nod.

  “She’s taken to you,” Mrs Lancaster told Chris when Sophie went upstairs to clean her teeth. “Apart from those brown eyes she’s the spitting image of you too.”

  “Umm, genes are a funny thing,” Chris agreed. She had spotted a pile of children’s books in the sitting room. The afternoon was sunny and warm, and after choosing a book for herself from Slater’s well-stocked bookshelves she headed back to the dining room, where as she expected, Sophie was waiting. Just because the little girl refused to speak it didn’t mean she did not hear—and understand, Chris reminded herself. She couldn’t force Sophie to accept her, to give her her confidence, but… Coming to a decision she began speaking, talking, quietly, addressing her comments to herself.

  “It’s such a lovely afternoon I think I’ll go out into the garden. If I can find a deckchair somewhere I could sit down and read. Perhaps I’ll find one in the garage.”

  Without looking to see Sophie’s reaction she headed for the kitchen and the back door, pleased to see that the little girl was following her. The drab, oversize dungarees she was wearing did nothing for her thin, tense little body, and Chris made a mental note to go out and buy her some new clothes. Perhaps she might even be able to take Sophie with her.

  As she had expected she found some garden chairs in the garage, picking one up, she strolled round to the large back lawn, Sophie at her heels.

  All the time she was walking she kept on talking—about the house and village—about the changes she had found—about her aunt and her own childhood, but never mentioning Sophie’s mother.

  When she finally sat down and opened her book Sophie was still beside her.

  “Umm this looks a good story.” She flicked a glance at the silent child as she opened one of Sophie’s books and started to read aloud from it.

  Sophie was standing six feet away watching her. Chris read slowly and patiently, occasionally lifting her eyes from the page to remark on her surroundings. Sophie gave no signs of responding, but she was still there, watching her motionlessly.

  Chris was more than halfway through the book before she felt Sophie move. Her heart leapt tensely. Had she got bored and walked away or… She dare not lift her eyes from the printed page, and was only able to expel her breath properly when the child’s shadow fell across her lap as Sophie crept nearer. She was still standing beside her chair when Chris came to the end of the story.

  At least she had established contact with Sophie if nothing else, she thought elatedly. The little girl had not rejected her as she had feared. What had Natalie told Sophie about her if anything? Had she drawn comparisons between them? Sighing frustratedly Chris picked up another of Sophie’s books. There was so much that was a puzzle to her and it was one she had no way of solving without Sophie’s co-operation. She had reached automatically for the next book in the pile, and was startled when Sophie’s brown fingers pushed her hand away and then extracted another book thrusting it towards her.

  The book was old and tattered, and suddenly unbearably familiar. It was one of her own Chris recognised. A book she had received from her parents on her last birthday before they died. Carefully smoothing over the battered cover she remembered how precious the book had once been to her—a symbol of all that she had lost. She had left it behind at the cottage when she left along with all her other treasures. But where had Sophie got it from?

  Frowning slightly, she suddenly realised that the little girl was watching her, her eyes imploring. With an unexpected movement she opened the book as it lay on Chris’s lap, pointing to where Chris had long ago inscribed her name.

  Sophie knew! Somehow the little girl had divined what had been in her mind and this was her way of showing her that she did know who she was. Emotion overwhelmed her, and reacting without thinking Chris did what she had promised herself she would not do, reaching out to hug the tense wiry body braced against her. Too late she remember that she had told herself she would let Sophie be the one to do the approaching. “Oh Sophie…” She released her shakily, brushing the fair hair out of the brown eyes. “Yes that was once my book,” she told her, trying to sound calm. “My parents gave it to me when I was a little girl—before I went to live with your mummy, but where did you get it?”

  Instantly Sophie tensed, her brown eyes frightened and wary. Dear God, Sophie thought she was going to be cross with her. “No no, darling,” she s
aid softly, “I’m not cross. I’m glad you found it. Do you want me to read to you from it?”

  The fear retreated and Sophie nodded her head guardedly, leaning against the side of Chris’s chair as she started to read. The warmth of her slight body was a reminder to Chris of all she herself had never had.

  Slater’s child, Chris thought painfully glancing at her downbent head, and yet she could see nothing of Slater in her. Because perhaps she didn’t want to?

  She stopped reading and looked at Sophie, remarking softly, “You know I think you would be much more comfortable sitting on my knee, What do you think? Would you like that?”

  She held her breath, half expecting rejection. She was amazed that Sophie had responded to her as well as she had, but when the fair head nodded she managed to conceal her elation and say very calmly. “Come on then, let me lift you up.”

  She was still there an hour later when Mrs Lancaster returned, the older woman’s eyebrows lifting when she came into the garden and she saw them.

  “She’s asleep,” Chris told her smiling at her.

  “My goodness, you’re honoured, but then I could tell she’d taken to you right from the start. Never left you, her eyes didn’t yesterday.”

  “I can’t help wondering what Natalie told her about me,” Chris felt drawn to confide in the other woman. “She and I never got on. She used to say I was ugly…”

  “Aye, she had a nasty way with words when she wanted,” Mrs Lancaster agreed. “Many’s the time I found the kiddie crying after she’d had a go at her.”

  “Slater doesn’t seem to think that Sophie’s trauma is as a result of her mother’s death. He seems to think there’s something else.”

  “I must admit I didn’t expect her to take it so hard. After all she didn’t see that much of her, but then you never know with kiddies.”

  Not wanting to seem too curious about her cousin’s private affairs Chris did not ask any more questions, letting the housekeeper continue indoors.

  Tomorrow she would make a start on Natalie’s room, she decided as she carried Sophie inside a little later on.

  She heard the ’phone ring as she walked inside, and then it stopped as Mrs Lancaster answered it.

  “That was Mr James,” she told Chris ten minutes later. “Said he wouldn’t be in to dinner tonight and that you were to eat without him.”

  “Did he say when he would be back?” Did her voice tremble betrayingly Chris wondered, hating herself for asking the question. What business of hers were Slater’s comings and goings?

  “No, he didn’t.”

  So Slater wouldn’t be eating with them tonight. Why should that make her feel so restless and tense. Was he taking Sarah out to dinner perhaps. White-hot shafts of pain burned through her flesh. What was the matter with her, Chris asked herself. Surely she wasn’t jealous?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHRIS woke abruptly from a deep sleep, completely disorientated and not knowing why she had woken until she heard the thin keening sound again. It shivered through her, raising goosebumps of flesh on her body, compelling an automatic reaction that had her on her feet and hurrying towards her bedroom door.

  The sound was one of an animal in pain and terror—or a small child and Chris headed instinctively for Sophie’s room, not bothering to switch on the lights in her haste to reach the little girl.

  A nightmare scene greeted her. Sophie’s curtains were open, moonlight picking out the rigid figure of the little girl as she sat bolt upright in her bed; her eyes wide and staring, a tormented almost unearthly sound issuing from her throat, making Chris shudder in sympathetic response.

  As she reached the bed, Slater’s authoritative voice said curtly from behind her, “Leave her… don’t touch her. I’ll handle this.”

  He pushed past her, and sat down on the bed, taking Sophie in his arms, murmuring soft words of comfort to her, until the rigidity left her body. Chris expelled her own breath in reaction, not realising how tense she had been until she did so. Very gently Slater laid the sleeping child back on the mattress, watching her broodingly for several seconds before drawing the covers up over her. Sophie’s eyes were closed now, her body relaxed and at peace. For the first time Chris became aware of the thinness of her own muslin nightdress. She had responded automatically to Sophie’s distress, not bothering to pull on a robe. Unlike Slater. Against her will her eyes were drawn to the open vee between the white lapels of the loosely belted towelling robe he wore, her pulses thudding out an unmistakable message to her.

  The robe stopped short at Slater’s knees, the unmistakable shape of his hard thighs easily distinguishable beneath the fabric as he came towards her, ushering her out of the room, and then swiftly closing the bedroom door after them.

  “What happened?” Chris asked him in a distressed voice. “I heard the most awful sound…”

  “Sophie has these nightmares,” he told her in a clipped tone. “It’s the only time she ever uses her vocal chords. They had been getting more infrequent.”

  The inference was that somehow she was responsible for their re-appearance and Chris flushed angrily. She had been so thrilled by the rapport she seemed to have established with the little girl, and now Slater was making her feel guilty, as though in some way she were responsible for Sophie’s distress.

  “The theory is that in her nightmares Sophie comes face to face with whatever trauma prevents her from speaking. During the day she’s able to keep her fears at bay, but at night…” he shrugged, pain etching sharp lines alongside his mouth and Chris ached with sympathy for Sophie and her mental agony.

  “If she could just talk about it…” she whispered, more to herself than anything else, but Slater caught the words and grimaced sardonically.

  “If she could…yes all our problems would be solved and Sophie’s with them, but unfortunately she can’t.”

  They had been walking down the passage as they spoke, Chris reluctantly conscious of Slater’s proximity as his thigh occasionally brushed against hers. Outside her door she halted, turning to face him, her heart leaping into her throat with a bound that almost suffocated her as she saw the way he was looking at her. The moonlight through her open door had her trapped in its beam, tracing the outline of her body beneath the thin cotton of her nightdress in faithful detail. She held her breath as Slater’s gaze slid slowly over her, trying to quell the tension building up inside her. In the past he had never looked at her like that. He had desired her yes, but he had been conscious of her youth and experience. Now he was studying her with a blend of raw sexual appreciation and contempt that urged her to escape.

  “That’s a very fetching garment you’re wearing,” he drawled softly at last. “Are you sure you got up purely on Sophie’s account, Chris?”

  “What do you mean?” The breath hissed from her lungs with the question, her skin colouring with anger as she interpreted his question.

  “Oh come on Chris,” he continued, watching her, “I may not be a member of the jet set crowd you hang around with but I am well aware of the kind of woman you are. Quite a challenge I should imagine, to see if you could come back and take up where you left off, but I’m afraid your reputation’s gone to your head my dear I…”

  Too furious to guard her tongue, Chris interrupted him. “You know nothing of the woman I am, Slater.” She virtually spat the words at him, her eyes gleaming bright green in the moonlight, her smooth skin flushing with the onrush of adrenaline to her veins. “And as for what you’re implying, I wouldn’t touch you if you were the last man on earth. You do nothing for me,” she hurled at him recklessly for good measure. “You never have and you never will.”

  “Oh no?” His fingers gripped her wrist as she reached for the door, imprisoning it almost painfully. He was close enough now for her to be aware of the angry rise and fall of his chest, and of the dark fury burning his eyes to molten amber. “It’s high time someone shook that pedestal you’ve place yourself on lady,” he ground out against her ear as he bundl
ed her into her room. The moment they were inside, Chris turned on him, reacting instinctively to the fear racing through her, darting for the door as she sought to evade the punishment she sensed he had in mind, but he was too fast for her, leaning against the closed door as she raced for it and using the impetus of her flight to pull her hard against his body, almost knocking the breath from her lungs. His hand left her wrist to grip her waist. She was trapped between his hands, every angry squirm of her body bringing her into closer contact with his unyielding hardness. She could almost feel the rage vibrating inside him.

  “I’ve waited a long time for this opportunity Chris.” His fury almost stunned her. She was at a loss to understand the reason for it. She was the one who had been betrayed; who had been so badly hurt that she had had to completely change her life in order to escape the pain, and even then she had not succeeded. “You owe me…”

  “I owe you nothing.” Somehow she managed to bring out the angry denial, all too aware that the increased pressure of Slater’s hands was forcing her breasts against his chest, the roughly angry movements of his breathing exerting a sensual stimulation that hardened her nipples into provocative invitation and increased her pulse rate. Why was she reacting to him like this when so many other men had left her cold?

  Why? Because quite simply her body had never forgotten his touch; had never forgotten the promise implicit in his lovemaking; once long ago she had been programmed to react passionately to his touch, and she was no more able to stop what was happening to her than she was able to understand his motivation.

  “Like hell.” He almost snarled the words into her mouth as he bent his head towards her. “When you left here, you were still a virgin—one of the biggest mistakes I ever made. You won’t fool me so easily again Chris.”

  Her virginity, that was what he believed she owed him? That was what this was all about? In Slater’s eyes she was the one who got away and he bitterly resented that fact. Wasn’t he content with the fact that he had seduced her cousin and impregnated her with his child? Was his conceit so colossal that he regretted that she had not shared Natalie’s fate?