Substitute Lover Read online

  He shrugged. 'Repairs mostly, and they don't bring in an awful lot. I've taken on an agency for one of the national small yacht builders, and that brings a reasonable amount in commission, but it isn't enough.'

  He left her for a moment to go over and speak to the two men working on an upturned hull.

  The clean, salty tang of sea air assailed her nostrils.

  Almost against her will, Stephanie found her gaze drawn to the far horizon. It was a perfect day for sailing, just enough brisk wind ...

  'Fancy going out ?''

  She hadn't heard Gray coming back and she jumped, shocked that he could even make such a suggestion when he knew how she felt about the sea She shook her head, and felt his fingers bite deeply into her arm.

  'Paul's dead, Stephanie,' he told her harshly. 'Nothing's going to bring him back. Sooner or later you're going to have to face up to that fact and start re-building your own life. You've been living in a vacuum since he died,' he accused roughly. 'You've got to ...'

  He broke off, his eyes narrowing as a car drove into the yard.

  Stephanie turned to look at it, and her heart plummeted as she saw Carla stepping out of the passenger seat of a racy-looking Jaguar car.

  'Hi, there ...'

  The other woman was an excellent actress, she acknowledged grudgingly. No one could have guessed from the way she was smiling to include them both that she and Gray were anything other than merely friends.

  A tall, fair-haired man extricated himself from the driver's seat of the car and put his arm round her shoulders. He was older than Gray, somewhere in his forties, but lean and bronzed and very fit-looking.

  'That's Alex, Carla's husband,' Gray murmured to her.

  For some reason she found that she was moving closer to him, almost as though she wanted to protect him. Her, protect Gray? She grimaced to herself as the other couple came over to them.

  'Alex darling, I don't think you've met Stephanie before, have you?' Carla introduced.

  Alex Farlow's handshake was as firm as Stephanie had anticipated it would be. He did not look like a man whose wife was being unfaithful to him, and Carla certainly did not look like a woman who was cheating on her husband. Her arm was tucked through his and she was smiling up at him in a teasing, loving way, that made Stephanie unable to look at Gray, standing so tensely at her side.

  This must be purgatory for him, to see Carla with her husband, playing the part of a loving wife.

  'No, we haven't met before.' Alex Farlow smiled. 'But I certainly have heard a lot about you, Stephanie.' He grinned at Gray as he spoke, and to Stephanie's astonishment she saw a dull burn of dark colour stain Gray's cheekbones. Gray was embarrassed ... but why ...?

  'See, I told you that Gray wouldn't be in the mood for work today,' Carla announced, smiling up at her husband.

  'We're on our way to Southampton, and I just thought I'd call in to tell you that a guy from Yacht Owner will be coming down to interview you about the new boat—that should give us some good publicity.'

  The two men talked for a while about the progress on the boat, but then Carla tugged her husband away, exclaiming playfully, 'Alex, Gray doesn't often get the chance to spend time with Stephanie, and I'm sure he doesn't want to waste any of it talking boats ..

  Stephanie frowned as Carla drew her husband away. What was she trying to imply ? That she and Gray were more than merely friends? Why? Did Alex perhaps

  suspect her relationship with Gray?

  There had certainly been nothing remotely lover-like in their attitude to one another that she could see, and yet she couldn't help noticing that Gray was quick to detach Carla from her husband's side, as he walked with them towards their car. While Alex eased himself into the driver's seat, Carla and Gray stood talking, their voices too low for her to catch what they were saying, their heads close together. The pain inside her startled her. She was jealous . . . jealous of Carla! She shivered and told herself it was just the freshening breeze but, as Gray waved off the departing couple and came back to her, she felt as though somehow the brightness of the day had been inexplicably dimmed.

  Gray took her into the office. Nothing had changed; the same old battered filing cabinets, the same ancient typewriter. The paperwork generated by the business was minimal and shouldn't take too much of her time.

  She saw Gray glance at his watch.

  'The new boat will have to wait for another time. We'd better get moving if we're going to collect your stuff.'

  He was right. He was also withdrawn and almost distant with her, and her throat ached with compassion for him. Carla's brief appearance had done this to him.

  She reached out to touch his arm, and immediately he tensed, frowning down at her.

  'Gray, is there nothing I can do to help?' she asked him awkwardly.

  For a moment she thought he was actually going to deny knowing what she meant, but then his frown eased slightly to be replaced by an expression of such bitter cynicism that she could have cried for him.

  'It's no good. She'll never leave Alex. I know that now.'

  Stephanie bit her lip. It was wrong of her to feel so relieved, but she couldn't help it. That must have been what they were talking about. Carla must have told him their affair was over. Odd, but she hadn't struck Stephanie as the type of woman to indulge in casual affairs. If she hadn't known better, on this morning's showing she would have judged her as a woman who was deeply in love and perfectly happy with her husband.

  'They've got two children . . . both boys ... They're away at boarding school but ...'

  Stephanie pressed his arm in mute sympathy.

  'Did you really mean what you said about ... about wanting to help?'

  Gray's voice seemed to have become unfamiliarly thick. She glanced up at him, and saw that his skin was slightly flushed. It tore at her heart to see him looking so vulnerable, to have him in need of her help instead of the other way round.

  'Anything,' she told him softly, meaning it. 'You know that.'

  His mouth twisted in a strange smile.

  'It's hell on earth wanting a woman who doesn't want you. I need something or someone to strengthen my will-power . . .to stop me from doing something crazy ... You could be that someone, Steph.'

  For a moment she could do nothing but stare at him. When she did manage to speak, her voice was a muffled croak.

  'Me . .. but how ?'

  His mouth twisted again.

  'By the oldest method in the book. You could pretend to be my lover ...'

  For a moment she was too shocked to speak.

  'But that wouldn't stop you wanting her,' she said at last.

  'No,' Gray agreed bleakly, 'but it would help to salvage my pride ... and the boat-yard. Don't you see, Steph?' He grabbed hold of her arms, pulling her so close to him that she could see the dark irises of his eyes, the pupils enlarged with emotion and pain.

  'Having you as my make-believe lover will erect a barrier between us. It will help to stop me from running after her and making a complete fool of myself. And it will stop Alex from finding out ...'

  'That you're in love with his wife.'

  Why did saying the words cause, her so much pain ? She gnawed on her bottom lip, knowing there was no way in a hundred years she could play such a role convincingly.

  As though he read her mind, Gray released her and stepped back from her.

  'It's all right. I shouldn't have asked you. It's expecting too much to .. .'

  'No!' Her own denial startled her. She gave a shaky laugh and went on. 'I will do it, Gray. I owe you that much—and more .. .much more than I can ever repay. But I'm not sure that I'll be very convincing.'

  The pain in his eyes was almost too much for her. She felt her throat close up against the tears forming. She hurt for him.

  He had his back to her, but there was no mistaking the sarcasm in his voice as he said cruelly, 'You can remember how it was with Paul though, can't you ...?'

  The pain of his words shut off her
breath. She wanted to cry out against it, but the agony inside her was too great. She made a sound in her throat, something between a cry and a moan, and instantly Gray was at her side.

  'Oh God, Steph. I'm sorry.' He was rocking her in his arms, holding her so closely that she could feel the heat coming off his skin, and instantly she remembered how it had felt to have the aroused pressure of his flesh against her own.

  Immediately she tensed and recoiled from him, shocked by the surge of sensation engulfing her own body. She felt Gray release her, his expression shuttered as he looked down at her.

  'I'm sorry.' His voice was clipped. 'I didn't mean to hurt you.'

  And she wasn't sure if he meant physically or emotionally.

  They set out for London and Stephanie's flat after a snack lunch. Gray was driving his Range Rover. It was a pleasant change to make the journey with some degree of comfort. Her VW wasn't designed for long journeys.

  Conversation between them was desultory. Stephanie asked about his progress with the development of the new boat and how he and Alex intended to market it. There was a constraint between them that had not been there before, and when at last they were on the outskirts of the city, Gray said curtly, 'Look, if you want to change your mind and recall your offer of help, you only have to say so.'

  'I don't,' Stephanie told him quietly. 'Unless, of course, you 're having second thoughts.'

  A muscle twitched betrayingly in his jaw as he clenched his teeth and Stephanie knew how much it must be costing him to go through with the farce of pretending he no longer loved the other woman.

  'There'll be a certain amount of talk—gossip about us,' he warned her. 'It's unavoidable, living in such a small place.'

  Stephanie was startled. 'Why should there be? Everyone knows ,..'

  'That you're still mourning the death of your husband,' he jeered unkindly. 'Stephanie, that was ten years ago. You're an adult woman and you'll be living under the roof of an equally adult male. People are bound to jump to conclusions.'

  'I've stayed with you before and . ..'

  'This time it's different,' Gray interrupted.

  Stephanie had lived in London for too long to be concerned about the threat of unfounded gossip. She shrugged her shoulders. 'Does it really matter what people think? You and I ...'

  Gray looked at her. 'Well, if you're not concerned, I don't suppose there's any reason why I should be. I just thought I'd warn you.'

  'That people will look on me as your live-in lover?' She shrugged again. 'I can't believe that that's going to occasion much gossip these days!'

  She glanced across at Gray and was surprised to see that he was frowning as though for some reason her comment displeased him. Was he secretly still hoping that Carla would change her mind, and was this the reason for his reticence?

  She felt unable to question him too closely on a subject that was obviously intensely painful to him.

  They reached her flat without incident, parking outside the Victorian villa in which it was situated. Stephanie's flat was on the top floor, where the attic windows had an excellent north light, ideal for her work.

  The flat comprised a hall, sitting-room, dining kitchen, bathroom and two bedrooms, the smallest of which she used as a workroom and in which she had set up her easel and reference books, plus a desk and filing cabinet.

  As she had already warned Gray, he would have to sleep on her rather small bed-settee.

  Because she hadn't anticipated returning quite so soon, her fridge was empty, and Gray offered to go out and find them something to eat while she started to pack. She had taken the precaution of storing several heavy-duty cardboard boxes in the back of the Range Rover and Gray carried them upstairs for her, following her into her bedroom with them.

  She had decorated the room herself in muted neutral shades, livened with a sunny yellow and deep blue, and Gray glanced round appreciatively, his eyes lingering briefly on the narrowness of her single bed before he commented drily, 'No frills and feminine furbelows, that's my Stephanie.'

  For some reason his remark hurt her and she turned her back on him, snapping, 'I suppose Carla's bedroom is all pink and white with miles of lace!' And then she broke off, her face scarlet with mortification. What on earth had come over her? She bit her lip and looked uncertainly at Gray. 'I'm sorry, I ...'

  'I don't know what her room looks like,' he told her flatly. 'I've never been in it, but somehow I can't see

  Alex having a taste for pink and white, can you?'

  Oh God, how cruel of her, to remind him that the woman he loved did not sleep alone but shared her bed with her husband.

  She went over to him, laying her hand on his arm. 'Gray . . .'

  Immediately he jerked away from her.

  'Save it,' he advised her curtly, opening the bedroom door. 'I'll go out and see what I can dig up in the way of food.'

  After he had gone, Stephanie opened her wardrobe doors, and then stared blindly at the contents. How could she have hurt him like that ? But she simply hadn't thought. She had been so ... so hurt by his laconic comment about her bedroom that she had simply lashed out at him without thought.

  But why had she been hurt ? He had only spoken the truth. Why all of a sudden did she find her celibacy such a burden? Surely she had taught herself years ago to accept the fact that sexually she was a failure. Why now, of all times, did she have to start feeling like this?

  Like what? she asked herself wryly. Like she was jealous of Carla .. .jealous of the fact that Gray loved and desired her? She had always known that Gray didn't live the life of a monk, why on earth should it only start to bother her now?

  Perhaps because in the past Gray had never mentioned any of the women he was involved with, never introduced her to any of them, never intimated in any way at all that his mode of life was any different from her own.

  Was she so damaged that she actually resented the closeness of others? Was that what was wrong with her?

  Was she envious of Gray's ability to both give and receive the sexual fulfilment that had always been denied to her, or was her jealousy of a more intimate and dangerous nature?

  Such as . .. Immediately she stiffened, refusing to allow her thoughts free rein, flinging herself into a fever of activity to stop herself from pursuing trains of thought she knew instinctively would lead to danger.

  Gray was gone less than half an hour, returning with a Chinese take-away which they ate in front of her sitting-room fire.

  It was no longer possible to burn real fuel in the grate, but she had splurged on a very effective fake gas fire, which gave off both heat and the illusion of flickering flames.

  'Good, but not as good as the real thing,' Gray commented, looking at it. 'But then, nothing ever is.'

  There was something in his eyes as he looked at her that made her stomach churn with restless aching tension, although she didn't know what it was.

  She looked away from him and got up clumsily. 'I'd better get these things washed up.'

  'I'll do that. You carry on with your packing. I'd like an early start in the morning, if that's OK with you. We'll get all your stuff packed in the car tonight, and then we can leave right after breakfast.'

  Stephanie had no objections to his plans and, while he washed up from their meal, she continued with her packing, leaving Gray to carry the heavy boxes downstairs and store them in his car.

  By nine o'clock everything was in. Straightening her aching back, Stephanie grimaced. 'I don't know about you, but I'm whacked—and stiff as well.'

  'A hot bath will get rid of that.' Gray glanced at his watch. 'You go and have one, I'll make us both a hot drink.'

  There was no reason for her to feel self-conscious, and yet for some reason she did.

  She felt far too on edge to linger in the bath, getting out and drying herself quickly, and then pulling on clean clothes.

  Gray looked surprised when she emerged so quickly.

  'I thought you'd have a good long soak. You still look very
tense. Where is it sore? Here?' He reached out quite naturally, spreading his hand over her shoulder, his fingers gently massaging the back of her neck where the tension was the greatest.

  For one weak moment she thought about relaxing against their stroking pressure; about closing her eyes and ... Her eyelashes flickered and she felt the warmth of Gray's breath against her lace as he bent towards her.

  'You're losing weight.' His free hand cupped her face, pulling her round to face him, his thumb gently probing the shadow beneath her eye. 'I shouldn't have let you work so hard.'

  A dangerous lassitude was creeping over her, an aching need to simply lean against Gray's strength both emotionally and physically.

  'Gray

  His hand slid into her hair, soothing away the tension locking her muscles. She closed her eyes, relaxed by the proximity of him where before she had been alarmed by it, her senses soothed by the familiar scent of him.

  'What is it?'

  She looked up to smile at him, and then suddenly remembered Carla.

  When he held Carla in his arms, it would not be just to comfort her ,.. like a child.

  Abruptly she pulled away from him, terrified of pursuing the thought any further. She was becoming almost obsessed by his relationship with the other woman. Her skin burned with the intimacy of her thoughts and she felt as guilty as though she had actually observed them making love. In her thoughts she had pictured the two of them together... and to her that was almost as bad ... almost as much of an intrusion into their privacy.

  'Gray .. .I'm tired. I think I'll go straight to bed.'

  He let her go without a word, but as she walked to her room she was conscious of him watching her ... conscious that somehow, by drawing away from him so abruptly, she had created a coldness between them that had not been there before.