The Garnett Marriage Pact Page 8

  As she paused outside his door, half of her hoped that he had taken his medication and succumbed to the drugging effect of it already, and yet even though caution warned her against it, she still pushed open his door and went in.

  The curtains were closed to block out the afternoon light, but although the room was dim, it was still light enough for her to see. The air inside the bedroom was thick and cloying; a legacy of the oppressive heat outside, and Jessica made a mental note to get her own lightweight fan.

  She knew that differing atmospheric pressures could be one of the things that could trigger off a migraine attack, and she paused for a moment to weigh up the advantages of the coolness provided by the fan against the disturbance the sound of it would make, before going over to the bed.

  As she approached it and looked down at Lyle’s sprawled body her stomach lurched uncomfortably, thoroughly unnerving her. He was lying on his front, breathing heavily, his eyes closed, his eyelids vulnerably waxy in contrast to the thick darkness of his lashes. She had never observed a man asleep so closely before and it had the strangest effect on her, a welling up inside her of sensations she was at a loss to understand, other than that they were a combination of a strange yearning, tenderness, mingled with the same compassion she felt for Stuart when he was being his most stubbornly proud and difficult.

  Lyle had discarded his shirt. It lay on the floor at her feet, the waist of his jeans low on his hips, revealing that she had been right to think that he had lost weight.

  His skin was faintly olive, and he was, she saw, sweating heavily. Not sure whether she felt glad or sorry that he was asleep, she started to turn round.

  ‘What is it?’

  His voice, slurred and painfully exhausted, halted her. She turned round and looked at him. His eyes were still closed, the pallor of his face now replaced by a heavy, feverish flush along his cheekbones.

  ‘I brought you a cup of tea. My mother used to suffer from migraine and she found it helped her system to absorb her medication.’

  The grunt he gave could have meant anything, but it did not seem indicative of any desire to retain her company, and she turned back to the door again.

  ‘What else did she find helpful?’

  The question surprised her. She looked at him and found that this time his eyes were open, although so dark and hazed with pain that she actually felt something twist uncomfortably inside her in sympathy.

  ‘She liked me to massage her neck and shoulders,’ she told him absently, overwhelmed with guilt for having disturbed him. She should have listened to that first warning voice and left him in peace.

  Again he grunted what she thought was a noncommittal response, a strange, electrifying shock rippling through her as he demanded, ‘Do you think it might work for me?’

  Slowly picking her words, she looked at him. ‘I suppose it depends whether your migraine is tension-induced or springs from some food or atmospheric intolerance.’

  ‘The weather doesn’t help, but primarily it’s tension.’ He moved restlessly, and closed his eyes. ‘God, I feel as if my damn head’s about to explode.’

  His voice was a tiny thread of sound, and instinctively, without having to analyse what she was doing, Jessica reached out and placed her hand against the back of his neck.

  The corded, tight muscles gave back their own story, and automatically she began to knead the taut constrictions, her fingers instinctively remembering the expertise she had learned with her mother.

  Imperceptibly she felt him start to relax, his breathing slowing, easing. When she stopped and looked at him, without opening his eyes he muttered hazily, ‘That feels good, don’t stop.’

  Slowly at first, and then with gathering confidence as she felt the tension slide out of his muscles, Jessica continued with her ministrations. It was hard work, and after ten minutes she had to stop and take a deep breath. She was perspiring almost as much as Lyle, her thin top sticking uncomfortably to her skin, her scalp prickling with heat.

  He made a sound deep in his throat, the moment her hands left his skin, that her senses recognised as a form of protest, and automatically she bent towards him again, this time working on his shoulders and the mass of compacted muscles just below them, her fingers cautious at first and then firmer as she felt the slight slackening in tension that registered his body’s acceptance of her touch.

  It was hot, hard work; much harder work than massaging her mother, whose muscles had not possessed the unyielding hardness of Lyle’s. The overpoweringly muggy heat of the afternoon didn’t help and the perspiration that had prickled her scalp now ran damply over her skin to gather in a single bead that dropped down onto to Lyle’s shoulder as she bent over him.

  Not wanting to break the soothing rhythm of her fingers to wipe it away, in an uncalculated, automatic movement Jessica bent her head delicately absorbing the moisture with her tongue.

  Her reaction was governed only by an instinctive need not to break the relaxed tenor of his breathing, nor to disturb what she knew would be oversensitive nerve endings, but the moment her tongue touched the hot flesh of his shoulder she knew how misinterpreted her actions could be. She had forgotten for a moment that he was an adult male, and one moreover who had been coldly clinical about his lack of desire for her, his vulnerability and pain arousing inside her much the same sort of compassion and concern she felt for Stuart and James, but these weren’t things she could easily explain to him, she realised sickly as she felt his body tense beneath her fingers, his head lifting off the pillow and turning so that his eyes were looking directly into her own, dark with…with what? Anger? Disbelief? Distaste?

  She was just about to apologise and try to explain when he said in a voice that was curiously light and totally devoid of all emotion, ‘I think you’d better go.’

  His eyes were already closing, blotting out the sight of her, Jessica thought numbly, horribly aware of the tide of scarlet heat surging up through her body. Did he think that she had been trying to make him aware of her? To arouse him? As her fingers left his skin she shuddered in a mixture of despair and anger. Surely he knew her well enough by now to know that she simply wasn’t that sort of woman? That to invade his privacy when he was ill and defenceless, especially for so stupid and senseless a reason, simply was not in her?

  But what other interpretation could he put on her actions? Now what she had done, far from being an automatic instinctive reaction, seemed to be the most crassly foolish thing she had ever done in her life. As she straightened up and moved away from his body, fully aware, despite the fact that his eyes were closed, that he was far from being asleep it came to her on a wave of anguish that by her stupidity she had destroyed the rapport that had been building up between them over the last few weeks.

  She was outside his room, closing the door quietly behind her before it occurred to her to ask herself why she should feel such acute pain at the thought of losing what at best was no more than a cool acceptance of her.

  It was a question she did not wish to answer, instead spending what was left of the evening constructing various explanations of the truth which she could offer him once he was fully recovered, but knowing that she would be far better advised simply to let the matter drop. It was far more sensible; far, far safer simply to pretend indifference to his opinion and reaction, and to wait instead for him to bring the matter up if he chose.

  * * *

  ‘JESSICA?’

  She recognised Justine’s voice immediately she answered the phone.

  ‘How’s everything going?’ her sister-in-law enquired when they had exchanged ‘hellos’.

  ‘Better than I’d hoped, at least as far as the boys are concerned.’

  ‘But that brother of mine’s giving you problems, is that it?’ Justine sympathised. ‘He always was a stubborn so-and-so, and could never admit to being in the wrong. I remember when he married Heather. I told him then it would never work out. She was so obviously not the sort of girl to be put on a pedestal. She
wanted a career, not the life of a housewife with babies, but Lyle would never admit that I was right—at least not until after the divorce. He tried everything to make that marriage work, but Heather just wasn’t interested. I suspect that’s what makes him a bit ‘‘anti’’ where our sex is concerned, but I had hoped by now that he would have come to realise the benefits of being married.’

  ‘Oh, I think he does accept that there are benefits,’ Jessica responded guardedly. ‘In fact I suspect it’s more the loaded revolver that was held to his head that he resents.’ That and the fact that it was her he had had to marry, Jessica added mentally, but that was something she was not prepared to admit to Lyle’s sister, no matter how well they got on.

  ‘Oh dear, still sulking, is he? I’d hoped he’d be over that by now. Oliver, my husband, is due home tomorrow, it’s his birthday on Saturday and I’m trying to arrange a party for him. I was hoping that all of you could come over, and your sister and her husband too, if they can. With the weather being so good, I’ve been thinking in terms of a barbecue in the garden, kicking off about lunchtime and going on for as long as we feel like it.’

  ‘Well, I’d certainly like to come,’ Jessica told her, ‘and so I’m sure will the boys. I’m not so sure about Andrea and David. David normally plays golf at the weekend, and of course Lyle could well be on call, but I’ll check with him.’

  A little to her surprise, Andrea when the invitation was passed on to her rang back within half an hour to announce that both she and David would be there.

  ‘After all we haven’t met any of Lyle’s family yet,’ she pointed out to Jessica, making the latter smile a little to herself.

  ‘Well, since we’ve been married for two months now, it’s a little late to start checking into his background,’ she teased her sister.

  Lyle too confirmed that he would be free that afternoon. The slight coolness that had sprung up between them since he had his migraine attack made Jessica feel nervously hesitant about approaching him; the way his mouth tightened slightly in derision whenever she had to ask him anything betrayed his own awareness of her edginess. He had never once referred to what had happened that evening but it lay between them, a sword, sharp and dangerous to whoever should try to pick it up, and yet Jessica would have liked to talk about it, if only to clear the air.

  She became suffused with heat and guilt every time she considered the interpretation he must have put on her actions and was now doubly careful about keeping her distance from him. Only this morning their fingers had touched accidentally as she was handing him his coffee and she had retreated from the contact as though burned, hating the derisory smile that curled his mouth as he watched her.

  It said a great deal for the progress she had made with Stuart and James that both of them had quite cheerfully agreed to attend the barbecue lunch, Stuart albeit less readily than James. It cheered her to see how much both of them had grown in self-confidence and security, especially Stuart, who had been so prickly and withdrawn the first time she had seen him.

  ‘Will you always be with us?’ he had asked her only that morning and she had replied as honestly as she could.

  ‘I hope so, Stuart. I want to be.’

  How could she explain to him that she doubted that his father wanted her as a permanent feature in his life? It had depressed her to see the small shadow of pain and wariness momentarily darkening his eyes.

  He seemed to have recovered quite quickly though, and had been cheerful enough when she took them both swimming later.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE HEAT STILL HUNG in the summer air like a miasma on Saturday morning when Jessica got up. The kitchen felt oppressively hot and she half wished she had not offered to contribute a raspberry soufflé to the barbecue lunch.

  Lyle had some calls to make and disappeared immediately after breakfast. As always, Jessica experienced an easing of her disturbing inner tension when he had gone, and after shooing both boys out into the garden she started making her soufflé. She was just about to pour the mixture into its collared soufflé-dish to set when Stuart came in.

  ‘It’s too hot to play,’ he complained, scowling as he added, ‘do we really have to go to Aunt Justine’s? I’d rather stay here.’

  Putting down her bowl, Jessica studied his down-bent head. She was aware of the problems that had existed between Justine’s son and his cousins, and could well understand Stuart’s reluctance to return to the scene of the crime so to speak, and even sympathised with it to some extent, but this was one of those occasions when for his own good she knew she would have to be firm.

  ‘If you stay it would be rather rude, especially as your uncle will be there. He hasn’t seen you for a long time, has he? I know it’s hot,’ she continued, smiling a little as she added persuasively, ‘how would you like it if we went in my car? We could put the hood down and that will help you to cool off.’

  She could see that he was tempted, and was glad that she hadn’t fallen into the trap of insisting that he should accompany them.

  ‘What’s that you’re making?’ he asked her, changing the subject.

  ‘Raspberry soufflé. Want a taste?’

  When he nodded his head, she found a clean teaspoon and scooped up some of the mixture, handing the spoon to him. The look of sheer pleasure on his face as he licked it clean made her laugh, and she was still smiling when Lyle walked in through the back door.

  ‘God, it’s hot out there. We’re in for a storm soon, I suspect. What time are we due at Justine’s?’ he asked, frowning slightly as he glanced at his watch.

  ‘Twelve,’ Jessica told him, deftly pouring the soufflé into the dish and carrying it across to the refrigerator. By the time they were ready to leave it would be set, and just to be on the safe side she would put it into a coolbag to transport it.

  ‘Dad, just have a taste of this,’ Stuart exhorted his father. ‘It’s great.’

  ‘Raspberry soufflé,’ Jessica explained in response to the enquiring look Lyle gave her over his son’s head. ‘Justine asked me to make it.’

  ‘Let Dad taste it,’ Stuart urged her.

  Feeling unaccountably nervous, Jessica got a clean teaspoon and scraped it along the side of the empty bowl. Lyle had come to stand beside her, and as always she felt her muscles clench, her nerve endings vibrating in acute awareness of his proximity.

  She had intended merely to hand Lyle the spoon, but somehow as she tried to pass it to him, his fingers became entangled with hers, closing firmly over them. Even so, the shock of being touched by him made her hand shake so much that half the contents of the heaped spoon ended up on her fingers. Unable to pull away, she tried not to watch the slow curl of Lyle’s tongue as he cleaned the spoon, her stomach abruptly compressing with shock as he removed the spoon and then lifted her sticky fingers to his mouth, first licking away the spilled soufflé and then slowly sucking her fingers clean.

  A sensation unlike anything she had ever experienced in her life before sheeted through her, her body paralysed as she simply stood there in amazed shock, unable to move away. She felt as though her entire body had turned to liquid, as though she was about to dissolve completely and escape the material cage of her flesh.

  It seemed unbelievable that such a simple and automatic reaction on his part should have such a devastating effect on her senses. The minute his tongue had touched her skin her stomach had dropped like a high-speed lift, while her pulse rate had accelerated way, way past its normal level.

  Now as he released her hand it was impossible for her to look away from him, even though she desperately wanted to conceal from him what she had experienced.

  Stuart might just as well not have been there for all the attention Lyle paid him as he said softly to her, ‘Now we’re equal.’

  Equal? What was he talking about? Her brain felt sluggish and heavy as though somehow it had been drugged. Stuart had to speak to her twice before she realised he had said anything, and even then it was several seconds before she could
pull herself together sufficiently to agree that it was time that he and James went upstairs to shower and change.

  ‘Don’t forget you promised we could go in your car,’ he reminded her as he shot out into the garden.

  Lyle was watching her. She could tell, even with her back to him, simply by the way the skin at the base of her skull prickled.

  ‘It isn’t nice being aroused when you can’t do a damn thing about it, is it, Jessica?’

  She spun round staring at him, shock coursing through her veins. ‘Now you know how I felt the other day,’ he continued harshly. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing? Surely you can’t have forgotten the rules already?’

  His voice was so bitterly derisory that it took her some time to realise what he meant, and when she did her face flamed hotly. He didn’t think that she had deliberately… But he did, she realised swiftly, and what’s more he was so furiously angry about it that he had deliberately set out to punish her.

  Anger fought with guilt and shock as she tried to blot out the fierce surge of desire that had kicked through her body when he touched her, wanting to deny to herself how she had felt but totally unable to do so.

  The silence in the kitchen seemed to stretch interminably as she searched feverishly for the right response. One that would make it plain to him that she never had, nor ever would have any desire to arouse him, but somehow she could not find the words, and had to content herself with a tightly defensive, ‘You’re quite wrong, but I don’t suppose it matters what I say, you won’t believe me. Anyway,’ she added almost childishly, ‘you told me before you married that you weren’t capable of being aroused.’

  ‘A bad mistake,’ he agreed cuttingly. ‘I’d forgotten your sex’s unfortunate predilection for anything even remotely resembling a challenge. You must either like making things difficult for yourself or be so sure of your skills that you felt the need to add a handicap if you ever seriously believed it might be possible to arouse a man in the state I was in.’