Melting Fire

‘Oh, Rich!’ she mumbled helplessly, stretching out her fingers and twining one inside a buttonhole of his jacket, and he bent and deposited his glass on the table nearby.

‘Come on,’ he said dryly, ‘let’s kiss and make up!’ and with a rueful smile she lifted her face to his.

His mouth came down on hers, his hands holding her shoulders, not cruelly now, but warmly, familiarly, the long fingers probing inside the sleeveless shirt to stroke the sun-warmed skin. He had kissed her before, many times, he liked to kiss her, she thought, and she liked him to be happy. But this time it was different, this time her lips parted in remembrance of Jules’s kiss, and Richard responded with an urgency that was alien to her. He kissed her deeply, lingeringly, and while her senses were spinning her mind was rejecting what her instincts told her. This was her stepbrother, her guardian; the man she had always regarded as the mentor in her life, and her eyes had opened, seeking wildly for some way to escape him, when she saw Alex Bishop watching them from the sliding doors of the garden room.

With a gulp she tore her mouth from Richard’s, taking a step backwards and saying jerkily: ‘He—hello, Alex.’

Richard seemed unperturbed, however. With a wry glance in her direction, he turned to Alex Bishop, loosening his tie as he asked: ‘Did you make the call?’

‘Yes.’ Alex, his face slightly embarrassed, stepped on to the patio. ‘I’m sorry if I interrupted anything …’

‘You’re not interrupting anything,’ declared Richard easily, smiling at Olivia, and she felt a ridiculous sense of relief. This was the Richard she knew and loved, and she was glad she had not embarrassed them both by treating his kiss as anything more than a demonstration of his delight in seeing her again. It was nine months, after all, since he had accompanied her to Paris and seen her safely installed at St Helena’s, and that was the longest parting they had had. It was natural that he should feel relieved to have her home again, safe and sound.

Listening to him giving Alex his orders, she relaxed completely, resuming her position on the sun lounger, and feeling an intense sense of contentment sweeping over her. Richard always gave her this feeling of warmth and security, and she lifted her shoulders in a little gesture of happiness. She wondered how long he was staying, and then dismissed the thought. She didn’t want to have to put a limit on their time together, and she looked up at him surreptitiously, thinking with detachment what an attractive man he was. Shelley Foster thought so, she knew that, the girl had told her so many times, but Richard wouldn’t marry her. Olivia guessed when he did marry it would be to someone like himself, rich and successful, the kind of woman who could run his home and be his hostess, and talk intelligently to the foreign guests he often brought to stay at Copley.

Curiously enough, the idea of Richard getting married didn’t particularly appeal to her. She guessed it was partly a selfish desire to continue to regard Copley as her home, which she would feel less able to do with another mistress there, but there was more to it than that. A wife would demand more of his attention than Olivia wanted to give, and she could never share her anxieties with him knowing he might go and confide them to his wife!

She sighed, and as she did so she lifted her fingers to her lips, still tingling from the pressure of his. Had it been her fault that he had kissed her that way? she wondered. Was that how he kissed the women he went out with? Had her experience with Jules affected her response? Certainly, until the Frenchman had taken her in his arms and taught her the more passionate aspects of kissing, she had been singularly naïve. But Jules had not aroused that feeling of panic inside her, he had not stroked her lips with his—an intimacy which even now brought a disturbing sensation that was half pain, half pleasure, to the pit of her stomach.

‘So—how was St Helena’s?’

Richard had rescued his glass and was speaking to her again, and glancing round she realised Alex had disappeared once more. Endeavouring to push her discomfiting speculations aside, she forced a smile to her lips and replied: ‘It was interesting. The girls were very friendly—particularly Michelle. I wrote you about her.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Richard nodded, raising his glass to his lips and draining its contents before continuing: ‘The girl whose family you stayed with at Easter. Tours, wasn’t it?’

‘That’s right,’ Olivia nodded. ‘How about you? Did you have a good time in Athens?’

Richard grinned. ‘It was—interesting,’ he teased, mocking her reply to his question. ‘The girls were very friendly.’ Then, as she coloured, he added: ‘Seriously though, I was sorry to be away when you arrived home, kitten. It wasn’t intentional, believe me. But you know how it is.’ He shrugged out of his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, the dark tan of his skin revealing that he didn’t spend all his time in the boardroom. ‘Have you been in the pool yet? It looks as if Thomas has made a good job of cleaning it out.’

Olivia looked towards the pale green water, shading her eyes against the glare. ‘No, I haven’t,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t bring my bikini downstairs, and I was too lazy to go and get it.’

Richard laughed. ‘Well, you’d better get it. Unless you want me to tip you in fully clothed.’

She looked up at him eagerly, her anxieties dispersing once more. ‘Are you going to swim?’

‘Try and stop me,’ he agreed, walking towards the house, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. ‘I’ll go and get out of these clothes. See you in a few minutes.’

Olivia waited only long enough to ensure he would have reached his bedroom, before following him up the stairs. She had heard Jess giving little wuffs of pleasure, and guessed the wolfhound had accompanied him. She was intensely loyal, and Richard had had her for a great number of years, which accounted for her lack of energy on days like this, Olivia supposed dryly.

In her room, she quickly found the brown bikini she had bought in Paris. Edged with gold beading and fringed below the bra, it accentuated the honey-gold of her skin, and she was pleased with the faintly reddish glow she found on her arms and legs. She would soon tan in this weather, she thought, but never as strongly as Richard. His skin was much darker than hers, matching the ebony dullness of his hair.

A towelling smock provided an adequate cover for the walk from bedroom to pool, but as she passed Richard’s room he emerged wearing only the frayed denim shorts he used to swim in. He raised mocking eyebrows at her modest appearance, and she dug him in the ribs playfully, before darting away down the stairs with him chasing her. Even Jess joined in the excitement, barking more noisily than before, and following them out to the patio.

Olivia tore round the pool, half afraid Richard would throw her in, smock and all, but he halted at the opposite side, allowing her to stand panting, facing him across the tinted water.

‘I can wait,’ he averred threateningly, and she gurgled with laughter as she pulled off the smock to expose her shapely body.

If, after what had occurred earlier, she had expected Richard to gaze at her, entranced, she was very much mistaken. Before she had dropped her smock on to the ground, he had dived cleanly into the water, the spreading ripples of his entry disturbing the calm water. He emerged just below where she was standing, his hand reaching for her ankle, and she skipped away from him just in time.

‘Come on,’ he said, treading water, ‘what’re you afraid of? Getting wet?

Olivia stepped to the rim and dipped her toe tentatively. ‘It’s freezing,’ she protested, hanging back, and again he swam to just beneath her.

‘Give me your hand,’ he suggested, stretching out his towards her, but she knew better than to trust him.

‘Go away and I’ll get in,’ she promised, and with a shrug, he did a backward somersault and swam obediently across the pool.

He came up, pushing back his hair from his eyes, and she watched him warily. When he grinned, the lines that bracketed his mouth were erased, and she thought how good it was to be seeing his harsh features again. He was not handsome, she conceded, not like Jules, who was the idol of hundreds of French teenagers, but there was something about his heavy-lidded eyes and strong cheekbones, his nose which had been broken once in an amateur boxing tournament, that she could see now was equally attractive. Certainly, she knew, there had been women in his life, and beautiful women at that, women sometimes whose husbands had been unaware of their wives’ penchant for the sexy chairman of the Jenner corporation. But until now, Olivia had not really assessed him in that way, and it was disconcerting to realise that she did not like the sensation. He was her stepbrother, not someone she was attracted to, and she wished she could forget the way he had kissed her and resume their old relationship.

‘What are you thinking about?’ he demanded now, growing impatient with the delay, and hurriedly she sat down on the side of the pool and dipped her legs into the water. She was hardly thinking about what she was doing, and a gulp of dismay escaped her as he swam strongly back to her and caught her ankles, jerking her into the water.

She floundered and came up choking, spitting her words at him. ‘You—you rotten pig!’ she gasped, threshing about wildly. ‘Oh, it’s icy. I’m chilled to the bone!’

‘Then get moving,’ he advised evenly, from the middle of the pool. ‘Come on—I’ll race you from end to end. You can swim to the side, and I’ll stay here so that you’ve got half a length start on me.’

‘Big deal!’ she muttered sulkily, twisting her hair into a coil at her nape. ‘I suppose you think you’ll win.’

He laughed. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, and her pursed lips accepted the challenge.

In the event, she beat him, but not convincingly. She suspected he had slowed his pace to suit her rather laborious crawl, and it was a hollow victory. Nevertheless, it did warm her up, and they swam and played in the water for another half hour before Richard said he had had enough.

Afterwards they lay on adjacent loungers, and Olivia talked more fully about her work at the Academy. Her aptitude for languages pleased him, and he spent some time speaking to her in both French and German, assessing her ability in both. She was at ease with him again, and half tempted to tell him about Jules, and her decision to get a job, but she was loath to disrupt the harmony of the moment.

The morning was soon over, and it seemed no time before Bella appeared to announce that lunch was ready when they were. Olivia’s flesh was feeling quite prickly by that time, the sun having dried the pool water on her, and without lotion to soothe it, her skin was burning. While Richard got to his feet to greet his old nursemaid, Olivia rescued her smock, and was quite glad of the protection it afforded.

Lunch was a cold meal, and while Richard went to change, Olivia took a quick shower before applying some cream to her overheated arms and legs. She came down to the dining room feeling rather like a tomato oiled ready for frying, and resented the amused stare Richard subjected her to. He was annoyingly cool, black jeans clinging to his lean hips, a black sweat shirt accentuating his tan.

‘You’ve overdone it,’ he remarked impatiently, surveying the rosy picture she made with critical eyes. ‘Why on earth didn’t you ask me to rub some cream into your arms? You’re going to find it pretty painful at bedtime.’

‘Thank you, Dr Jenner!’ Olivia retorted sarcastically, ‘I am aware of the discomfort, you know. But as I’m the one who is suffering, I see no reason for you to get upset.’

‘Now, Olivia …’ Bella was already seated at the table beside an enormous platter of salad and dressing, colour-fully adorned with red and green peppers. Bella usually ate with the family, except when there were guests, and Alex Bishop was standing waiting for Olivia to sit down, a look of sympathy on his face. ‘Richard’s only concerned about you, you know. Now, do sit down so that the men can join us.’

The dining room was cool. Bella had slatted the blinds, and as it was at the side of the house, the sun had not yet entered the room with any strength. Pale green walls added to the illusion of coolness, and the long polished table was very attractive with its slatted cane place mats, and wooden-handled knives and forks.

There was melon to begin with, juicy-sweet and sprinkled with ginger, and then Bella’s special salad, together with a cold meat pie, spiced with herbs and decorated with parsley. There were crisps, and potato sticks, and a variety of vegetables served in different sauces, with a delicious fruit salad to finish. They had wine with the meal, and for the first time Olivia was able to appreciate it, thanks to the course she had taken in wine appreciation during her stay at St Helena’s. It was a white wine, light and only slightly sweetened, but heady after the morning in the sun.

‘Did you give Mr Raynor his jam?’ Olivia asked, as she forked melon into her mouth, and Bella turned her attention from asking Richard what flight he had taken and what time he had got back to say:

‘Yes, and delighted he was with it.’ She tilted her head reprovingly. ‘Mrs Morrison asked how you were, and wondered why you hadn’t gone with me, but I explained that you were too tired after your journey.’

Richard’s eyes twinkled as Olivia attacked her melon with more aggression than enthusiasm. ‘I wasn’t tired,’ she retorted, feeling herself assailed on all sides. ‘I just didn’t feel like answering the catechism today.’

‘Olivia!’ Bella was shocked. ‘That—that’s blasphemy!’

Olivia hunched her shoulders. ‘No, it’s not. You know what I mean. She asks too many questions.’

‘She’s interested in you, that’s all,’ protested Bella, glancing to Richard for support, but it was Alex who chose to speak next.

‘I think Olivia has a point, Miss Ponsonby,’ he declared, earning himself a grateful look. ‘The vicar’s wife is inclined to gossip——’

‘What do you know about it?’ Bella was not in the mood to mince her words. ‘I’ve known Amy Morrison for eight years, and I’ve never had cause to complain about her—natural interest in the affairs of the village.’

Richard poured himself more wine. ‘I gather you invited Olivia to join you, Bella,’ he observed, studying the contents of his glass with a critical eye, and she hastened to explain that she had ridden into the village to visit Mr Raynor.

‘Naturally, I called at the vicarage with some flowers for the church,’ she added, casting another injured look in the girl’s direction. ‘Olivia didn’t want to accompany me, and I understood she was tired after her journey. I didn’t know she was too ashamed to admit what an ungrateful girl she is!’

Olivia gasped, and even Alex looked taken aback at this statement. But it was Richard who asked her to explain herself, the mildness of his tone not fooling Olivia for a minute. He was furiously angry, and she could have slapped Bella for deliberately landing her in this situation.

However, now Bella chose to be obtuse, perhaps regretting the impulse to repay Olivia for her impertinence, and when Richard asked what she meant by ingratitude, she tried to evade the question.

‘After all I’ve done for her!’ she declared, urging Alex to try some of the potato salad, but Richard wasn’t satisfied with that.

‘You said—Olivia might be too ashamed to admit what an ungrateful girl she was,’ he reminded her tautly. ‘I want to know exactly what she’s done to warrant such a remark.’

‘Oh, Rich …’ It was Olivia who spoke now, still hoping to avoid the inevitable with an alternative explanation. ‘You know what Bella’s like. She always exaggerates. I may have said something to hurt her, I don’t know. Whatever it was, it’s not important, so eat your lunch.’

She had never noticed how cold green eyes could become, with the glacier quality of packed ice. They stared into hers unblinkingly, and unwillingly she felt the betraying colour flooding her cheeks. Thank goodness for sunburn, she thought weakly, but it was a brief respite. Her interpretation of Bella’s remark was not accepted, and his voice was as icy as his eyes, as he said:

‘You might as well tell me, Olivia, because I mean to know. In what way have you convinced Bella that you’re ungrateful?’

‘Because I want to get a job!’ she declared with a rush, and then sat back, aghast, at the realisation that she had actually told him.

There was a pregnant silence, like the one that had followed his anger with her that morning, and then, with immense control, he asked: ‘What kind of a job?’

Olivia expelled her breath on a shaky sigh. ‘I—I’m not sure. It depends what’s available. I—I’m good at languages. I thought I might be able to use them in some capacity.’

Richard nodded slowly, thoughtfully, almost as if he was considering her suggestion on its merits. Then he looked at her again, and although his eyes were still emotionless, the glittering coldness had gone.

‘Good,’ he said, and she almost sank through her chair in amazement, but her relief was also shortlived. ‘You can work for me. I need a social secretary, someone who can play hostess when I have guests, and speak their own language. It was a suggestion I was going to make, not immediately perhaps, but eventually, and now you’ve taken the decision out of my hands——’

‘No!’ Olivia stared at him across the table, her eyes wide and indignant. ‘No, Richard! I—I don’t want to work for you. I want to be independent. I want a job that I’ve managed to get on my own merits, not a position created by you to keep me occupied.’

Richard’s fingers smoothed the stem of his wine glass. Their caress was almost sensuous, and Olivia’s eyes were drawn to their sensitivity and their strength. They could snap the stem with only the lightest of pressures, and intuitively she knew he could have snapped her neck as easily.

‘This is not a contrived solution, Olivia,’ he stated at last, and she knew that he was deliberately slowing his words to keep her in suspense. ‘It was my intention all along that you should become my hostess, and mistress of Copley. Bella knows as well as I do that I intend you should learn the management of the estate from every angle, so that when she retires in a couple of years you’ll be able to take over.’

‘No——’

‘Yes.’ He was adamant. ‘You don’t imagine I sent you to St Helena’s for the good of your health, do you?’ His lips thinned. ‘The girls who attend academies like St Helena’s do so to learn the art of entertaining, of being a good hostess. They learn about food and wine, and how to handle people—languages, too, if they have an aptitude.’

‘Richard——’ Olivia was conscious of Alex’s eyes upon them, as well as Bella’s, and his embarrassment was almost as great as hers.

But Richard was undeterred. ‘Listen to me, Olivia,’ he said, ‘because I only intend to say this once; you owe it to me to stay here. For the past fifteen years I’ve been grooming you to this position. I didn’t spend all that money on expensive boarding schools and an even more expensive finishing school to have you go and waste it all in some pitiful little bid for independence! You belong to Copley, Olivia, and don’t you forget it. And to me!’

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