Captive In Eden

‘As far as I am concerned it’s not a problem at all. I consider it a wonderful professional opportunity.’

He nodded. ‘But Sean found it a problem,’ he surmised.

‘Yes, he did, and it’s none of your business.’ He was beginning to annoy her severely. She didn’t like that gleam in his eyes—an odd mixture of amusement and suspicion. She couldn’t figure out what he was thinking and feeling about her and it threw her off-balance.

He gave her an assessing look. ‘Sean felt he couldn’t live without you for that long. He could not imagine that you would choose to go on a trip to Mexico over being with him.’

She felt a rush of anger. ‘Oh, so he told you, did he?’

He gave a half-smile. ‘No. I’ve known Sean for a while and it’s simply an educated guess. Why are you going to Mexico?’

‘A friend of mine is leading a small research team and I’ve been asked to come along as the photographer. There’s not much money in it, but the experience is worth a lot and it’ll be a new environment for me, and that’s always very inspiring.’ She bit her lip, feeling a pang of bitter pain. ‘Unfortunately, Sean does not think my work is very important. He said as much yesterday.’ Her voice wobbled suddenly and it made her angry.

‘And you do not take that kindly.’

‘No,’ she said tightly. ‘I told him I wasn’t going to tolerate his disrespect and…’ She hesitated and stopped.

‘And what?’ he prompted.

Suddenly it was hard not to smile. ‘I told him he had a big title and a big salary and a small mind. He didn’t like that. I think leaving without me was his idea of revenge.’

‘How very childish of him.’ Chase smiled a lazy smile. ‘So, here you are, stranded,’ he concluded. He seemed to find the idea amusing.

She finished her coffee and pushed the cup away from her. ‘If you wouldn’t mind telling me directions to this place, I’ll ask my mother to come and get me. I wasn’t paying attention where we were going yesterday.’

‘You live with your mother?’

‘No. I have my own place, but my parents don’t live far.’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘And what is your mother going to think when she arrives here and sees you like this?’

Sky shrugged. ‘I’ll tell her what happened and she’ll think it’s hilarious. She has quite a sense of humour. Besides, my mother doesn’t worry about my morals.’

‘She doesn’t? Why is that?’

She sighed. ‘Because there’s nothing to worry about.’

He nodded. ‘I’m glad to hear that,’ he said piously and she wanted to throw her coffee at him. She managed to control herself.

‘None the less,’ he went on, ‘let’s not inconvenience your mother this morning. I’ll drive you home.’

‘That’s not necessary. I live almost an hour’s drive from here.’

‘No problem. First we’ll have breakfast.’

She stiffened. She didn’t want him to drive her home, but it didn’t seem as if she had much choice. It was clear that he was a man who did what he wanted to do and arguing was going to get her nowhere.

‘I don’t want any breakfast, thank you. I’d just as soon get going so I can get out of these clothes and into the shower. I feel stupid sitting here in this ridiculous dress.’

‘You can get out of the dress and into a shower here.’ He held up his hand as if to ward off a refusal. ‘Please be my guest, since you are already, anyway.’

‘I don’t have any clothes to change into. I didn’t come prepared for this…excursion, even if you do think so.’

‘I’m sure we can find you something. Come along. You take that shower while I cook us some breakfast.’

‘Why don’t you just take me home?’

He shrugged lightly. ‘I’m in no hurry.’ And I call the shots, his eyes said. Without me you’re going nowhere.

She was at his mercy.

‘I hope you’re enjoying this little power game,’ she said with cold disdain.

One dark brow lifted sardonically. ‘Power game? Let’s not be melodramatic, shall we? I simply prefer to have some breakfast before starting my day, and I’m offering you the same, as well as a shower and a change of clothes. I’m only trying to be a good host.’ He smiled politely and gestured at the open kitchen door. ‘Come with me.’

She followed him up the curving staircase, feeling frustrated and out of control. She didn’t like feeling out of control. The man’s attitude displayed a confusing mixture of charm, suspicion and politeness and it was difficult to deal with.

He threw open the door to a large bedroom. ‘The bathroom is through there,’ he said, pointing across the room. ‘Help yourself to whatever you need.’ He opened a wardrobe. ‘There are clothes in here.’ He gave her a quick, assessing look. ‘I’m sure you’ll find something that will fit.’

She glanced at the clothes. Expensive, fashionable clothes. ‘Whose are these? Your wife’s?’

He gave a half-smile. ‘No. If I had a wife, believe me she would not have her own room or her own bed. She’d share mine.’

‘She’d have to want to,’ she blurted out. Oh, God, why couldn’t she control her tongue?

His green eyes met hers. ‘Oh,’ he said slowly, meaningfully, ‘she’d want to.’

Against her will she had to admit that this was probably true. Disturbing images flooded her mind and she pushed them away with an effort. ‘Sure of yourself, aren’t you?’ she asked, putting a good dose of mockery in her voice.

He smiled. ‘Oh, very.’ He glanced around the room. ‘This is my—er—sister’s room.’

His—er—sister’s room. Sure it was. She gave him a sceptical look and his green eyes gleamed. He moved back to the door. ‘I’ll start breakfast. Do you have any particular dislikes or allergies?’

Yes, you, she wanted to say, but didn’t.

‘No. I like everything.’

‘A woman after my own heart,’ he said, and for the second time in minutes she was tempted to throw something at him. He closed the door and was gone.

‘All men are scum’, a fifteen-year-old cousin had told her not long ago, trying to sound important and world-wise. Well, Sky was beginning to think the kid was right. All men except Josh, she amended automatically as she glowered at the closed bedroom door. But Josh was dead. Josh had not been scum. Josh had been wonderful. They’d shared a marriage licence, a tiny apartment, a cosy bed, very little money and a wealth of dreams.

It would never be like that again. She was no longer the starry-eyed teenage bride. There would never be another Josh. She did not expect there to be, of course. She was older now, she had a career, and her life had moved on. The men she met were older and established in a career.

She glanced around. The bedroom that belonged to the—er—sister was beautiful. It was the sort of room you saw in expensive, glossy magazines. A huge canopy bed commanded the room, the bedlinen lacy and white. The furniture in the room was all antique and gleamed with good care and lots of polishing.

The bathroom was sumptuous with a gorgeous, claw-foot bath and shiny white tiles. An enormous, luxuriant fern cascaded down from a hanging pot. It looked so perfect, she had to touch it to see that it was real and not silk. It was real. Open shelving revealed stacks of fluffy cotton towels in pale jadegreen, soft rose and white. Bathroom toiletries abounded—expensive soaps, bubble bath, shampoos, talcum powder and body lotions.

Having a bath here would be no punishment; she might as well get to it.

As she sat in the steaming, fragrant water, she contemplated men, more specifically the men she had known since she had become a widow at nineteen. It was not encouraging. None of them had taken her career as a nature and wildlife photographer very seriously. It was a nice hobby and certainly it was nice that she earned a little money with it, but their own careers were so much more important and serious and so much more lucrative. The more money you made, the more prestige and status you had.

Well, she liked money well enough and earning more would not hurt her feelings, but she resented having her career being judged by some monetary value standard.

She’d known an architect, a business consultant and now Sean, who was the managing director of a computer-systems design firm. All of them had been nice and charming and had taken her out to lovely dinners and given her roses and wanted to sleep with her. All of them had thought she was beautiful and amusing and enjoyed her company. All of them had thought she took pretty pictures and why didn’t she move out of that rustic barn and into a decent town house somewhere closer to the civilised world like Washington or Richmond? Surely she could take pictures there? It would be so much more convenient.

Why did she always end up with the wrong men? It was a curse. She stared morosely at the bubbles. She was not going to find another man who was right for her. She should just give it up, stop hoping for the impossible. As a single woman she could live a rewarding life; the magazines said so. Marriage was not the only road to happiness. Sometimes it was the road to hell. She should keep that in mind, always.

She’d forget about men and focus all her energies on her career. Eventually she would be recognised for her exceptional work—her creative visions, her artistic interpretations. She would get big assignments and travel all around the world. She’d have exhibits in prestigious galleries. Her first exhibit was already behind her and had been very successful. Surely others would follow. This last year had been very promising.

She didn’t need a man in her life.

It sounded so brave, so in control.

But why didn’t she feel brave? Why did she feel alone and scared? Why was she sitting here in this warm, bubbly bath with the tears running down her face?

Half an hour later she emerged from the bathroom, fragrant and clean and back in control of her wayward emotions. She wrapped a dry towel around herself and went back into the bedroom in search of something to wear.

Inspecting the clothes a little more carefully, she tried to imagine the woman who owned them. There were clothes for every possible occasion, from evening gowns to jeans and leggings, all of them with very impressive labels—if that sort of thing impressed you. The owner of the clothes was young, no doubt beautiful and had great taste—classy but with an obvious touch of whimsy. She was also, miracles of miracles, small like Sky herself.

Sky selected a pair of white leggings and an oversized black T-shirt that hung halfway down her thighs. It obliterated most of her shape and the colour black seemed appropriate for the occasion. She slipped on a pair of black canvas trainers and glanced in the mirror. She looked casual enough for an overcast Saturday morning in May, and she had no desire to wear somebody else’s expensive silk shirt and designer jeans. She’d probably spill something on them and ruin them and then feel obliged to replace them, which would cost her a fortune she didn’t have.

Wonderful smells wafted forth as she opened the kitchen door—bacon, toast. She was ravenous.

Chase was standing at the stove and turned as he heard her come in. His gaze skimmed over her in amused surprise.

‘Black?’ he enquired. ‘After that exuberant parrot dress, you put on something black?’

‘I’m in mourning,’ she said and sat down.

His mouth quirked. ‘And for whom or what are you in mourning?’

‘The death of an illusion,’ she said theatrically. ‘I’m giving up men.’

One corner of his mouth turned up. ‘You do have a sense of the dramatic.’ He poured her a glass of orange juice. ‘Sean really got to you, didn’t he?’

‘It wasn’t just him. There were others just like him. I have a fifteen-year-old cousin who says all men are scum.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I’ve come to the sad conclusion she’s right.’

‘I can see it breaks your heart,’ he said, deadpan.

He had no idea what was in her heart, and she was going to leave it that way if she could help it. She took a drink from her orange juice. ‘Actually, come to think of it, it’s a great relief to finally come to that conclusion.’ She smiled breezily. ‘Now I can just put it all behind me and go on. No more men. Period. Tomorrow I will wear red and rejoice my freedom.’

He shook his head slowly. ‘Such a barren life. Such long, lonely nights. No hugs and kisses.’ He looked into her eyes and her heart went wild. There was something undefinable in those eyes that made her feel suddenly light-headed. She struggled for composure and shrugged lightly.

‘There’s more to life than sex,’ she said loftily.

He gave her a look of mock-surprise. ‘Really? What?’

Dreams, she thought silently.

She groaned. ‘Can we please change the subject?’

‘I’m quite enjoying myself.’

‘Well, I’m not. I think you ought to tell me about that lawsuit.’

Silence. There was an instant change of atmosphere. The air turned chilly. His eyes narrowed, the smile vanished. ‘I’d rather not. It would ruin my appetite.’ His mouth twisted in distaste.

She tensed. ‘I have a right to know what you’re accusing me of.’

‘I haven’t accused you of anything.’

‘All right, you’re suspecting me of something!’

He shrugged. ‘Forget it.’

She didn’t want to forget it, and he wasn’t going to forget it either, she was sure, but she doubted she was going to get anything out of him. All she had to do was look at the tough line of his jaw and the inscrutable expression on his face and know that he wasn’t going to do a thing he didn’t want to do. She twisted the juice glass between her hands. One moment he was warm and smiling, the next he was cold and inscrutable. It was a dangerous combination.

She sipped her juice, deciding she’d better not push the subject. ‘Tell me about your business,’ she suggested. ‘How many hotels does your company own?’

He took some eggs out of the refrigerator. ‘I’d rather have you tell me about your business. Do you work for a company or organisation?’

His reaction surprised her a little. Given a choice, most people preferred talking over listening. ‘I work freelance,’ she answered. ‘I take assignments as they come. For magazines and organisations, whatever, and I’m represented by a stock company which sells my photos to magazines, calendar companies, audio-visual firms, and whoever needs pictures.’

‘Do you like your work?’

‘Oh, yes. I wouldn’t want to do anything else.’ She glanced out of the window. It was still grey and cheerless outside and the sun was having no luck whatsoever. Clouds hung low in the sky and the general gloom seemed to fit her mood.

A few minutes later breakfast was ready and Chase sat down across from her. The eggs were done just right, as was the bacon and toast. There was a jar of orange-blossom honey and one of blackberry preserve.

‘I’d expected a flock of servants in this place,’ she commented as she buttered the hot toast.

‘They’re on vacation, except Mrs Lumpkins, and she’ll be in later.’

The phone rang. ‘Excuse me,’ he said and reached for the receiver hanging on the wall and gave his name. ‘Hello, Michelle? Is that you?’

Michelle. A woman’s name. Sky watched him as he talked.

‘I didn’t hear you.’ A pause. ‘No, I was not asleep. I’ve just finished breakfast. How’s Rome?’

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