Part-Time Father

Oh, my God, thought Kimberley weakly. He’ll come and find me. And what if I can’t—what if I just can’t resist him? What will a man who despises me offer other than instant heartbreak?

Unless she somehow contrived to make him despise her so much that he’d leave her alone forever.

She gave a small, smug half-smile, and allowed the kind of cold, calculating look which she knew he would be expecting to come into her eyes.

‘This—er—financial incentive you’re offering,’ she purred. ‘How much are we actually talking about?’

Some light in his eyes died. If she had thought she’d read scorn and derision there before, it was nothing to the look which now replaced it. He looked at her as though her very presence contaminated the air surrounding him.

He mentioned a sum, and she allowed a rapacious little smile to curve her lips upwards as she nodded. ‘I’ll do it,’ she told him. ‘On one condition.’

He shook his head, the contempt hardening his mouth into an unforgiving line. ‘No conditions, sweetheart,’ he drawled coldly. ‘Unless I make them.’

She shook her head. ‘I won’t do it unless you agree not to tell Duncan anything about what’s happened here this afternoon. I want to tell him— to break things off—in my own way.’

He stared at her incredulously. ‘Do you really think I’d hurt my brother like that? And, much though I’m tempted to tell him about his lucky escape, I’m really not cruel enough to disillusion him with the knowledge that he fell in love with a cheap little tramp. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Perfectly.’ She held out a slim white hand, which was miraculously free from tremor. ‘And now, if we can conclude our business.’

She saw his barely concealed shudder of distaste as he took a cheque-book out from the inside pocket of his suit and began to write.

What she hadn’t expected was that it should hurt quite so much…

Kimberley raked her hand roughly through her hair, as if the frantic movement could somehow magically dispel the image of Harrison which burned on her mind’s eye as if it had been branded there. After more than two years, she thought despairingly, it shouldn’t be quite so vivid. She wasn’t naïve enough to have expected to forget a man like Harrison Nash, but surely by now just the merest thought of him shouldn’t be enough to make the heat rise up in her blood with its slow, insistent throb?

She picked the tea-tray up to carry it back through into the sitting-room where her mother was waiting.

Why remember all that now?

Because she remembered it every time she came home; it was one of the reasons why her visits were more infrequent than either she or her mother liked. This place was tainted with memories of Harrison Nash and that one fateful kiss.

The day after he had kissed her she had done several things. Firstly, and most importantly, she had gone to Duncan and gently given him back his ring. He had not railed or argued with her; he had quietly accepted her stumbling explanation, saying that deep in his heart he had not been completely surprised.

The following day Kimberley had fled to stay with an aunt in Scotland, where she had remained for a fortnight, quietly licking her wounds. She had also cashed the cheque which Harrison had given her and given the money to charity. More importantly, as she’d handed the huge wad of money over to the bemused representative of Save the Children, she had made a solemn vow. That she would put Harrison Nash out of her mind forever.

And so far, at least, it hadn’t worked.

‘Kimberley!’ came her mother’s voice. ‘Where’s this cup of tea you promised me?’

‘Just coming!’ Fixing a smile on to her face, Kimberley took the tray and biscuits in, and poured out two cups.

The Earl Grey tea was deliciously refreshing, but Kimberley, though hungry, took only one bite out of a biscuit then left it—still ruffled about remembering that extraordinary day.

Forcing her mind back on to safer subjects, she offered the plate of biscuits to her mother. ‘How are you going to manage with your foot bandaged?’

‘Oh, I expect I’ll be all right,’ her mother replied unconvincingly.

Kimberley hid a smile. Her mother, love her, was like an open book! ‘Would you like me to come and stay with you until you’re up on your feet properly again?’ she asked.

Mrs Ryan’s smile could have lit up Oxford Street. ‘Oh, would you, dear? I’d be so grateful!’

Kimberley’s mind skipped along. She could telephone her bank later. She was a conscientious highflyer in the merchant bank where she’d worked for the past five years—she doubted whether they’d mind her taking a break at such short notice. ‘Of course I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘But I’ll have to drive back up to town to get some clothes.’

‘That’s fine, dear,’ said her mother contentedly as she eyed the teapot. ‘Is there another cup in the pot?’

Kimberley poured her mother another cup. ‘So, who’s Duncan marrying?’ she asked, glad that the boy she’d been so fond of had found someone else to love.

‘Some girl he met in America—an heiress, apparently.’

‘That will please Harrison,’ commented Kimberley acidly.

Her mother gave her a shrewd look. ‘I don’t know why you won’t hear a good word said about that man. He’s actually very charming.’

‘Charming?’ About as charming as a snake-pit! Kimberley gave a forced little laugh. ‘That’s the last adjective I’d use about him!’

‘But why do you dislike him so much?’

‘How can I dislike him—I’ve barely met the man?’ said Kimberley dismissively, then relented. ‘If you must know he stands for everything I hate— all that arrogance! He thinks he’s God’s gift to women——’

‘A lot of women tend to agree with him,’ cut in Mrs Ryan in amusement. ‘Or so I’m told.’

Kimberley resisted the temptation to scream. ‘I’d better leave now,’ she said hurriedly, in order to stop her mother from regaling her with any anecdotes about Harrison’s life. ‘If I set off now, I can be in London and back before dark.’

Her mother frowned. ‘Well, do drive carefully, won’t you, dear?’

‘Don’t I always?’

‘Do you? You’re a little too fond of the accelerator, in my opinion!’

But Kimberley was a good, careful driver—though she was slightly on the fast side. She made good time to London, and just over an hour later her scarlet sports car drew up outside her delightful honeysuckle-covered cottage in Hampstead.

She phoned her office and spoke to her boss, who told her to take as long as she liked off work.

‘Seriously, James?’ she laughed.

‘No! Take all that back—I’ll miss you too much!——’

‘I’ll call you when I get back—I should only be a few days!’

‘Call me sooner, if you like. That’s if you need a broad, manly shoulder to lean on.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind, James,’ said Kimberley, before ringing off.

James had never made any secret of his admiration for her, but he was confident and rich and handsome enough not to take her laughing refusals to go out on dates with him to heart. She had told him she never dated people she worked with, which was true. Although she actually had a reason for not dating anyone who happened to ask her.

She had tried dating, and it didn’t work. She couldn’t cope with the physical thing. The unfortunate legacy of her brief kiss with Harrison was that no other man moved her in any way that even remotely resembled the way she’d behaved in his arms that day.

Which was a good thing, she reasoned, since she had been so disgusted with herself afterwards. If passion turned you into a wild, mindless creature at the total mercy of your body—then you could keep it! Kimberley would manage just fine with her brain!

She emptied her fridge, cancelled the milk and switched on the answerphone, threw her suitcase into the back of her MG, and set off back up the motorway.

Her journey was uneventful, save for the episode when a low, black and infinitely more powerful car than her own forced her to move over into the middle lane and then roared off spectacularly into the distance. For Kimberley, who took some pride in her driving and was fiercely competitive, this proved irritating.

Obviously a man, she thought, slightly unfairly. Probably someone who’s into phallic symbols to compensate for his own weediness.

She saw the car again, parked outside the one really up-market restaurant in the village, which was a few miles from her mother’s house and well off the beaten track—not a tourist trap at all. And she wondered vaguely who, round here, was driving such an expensive piece of equipment.

She arrived back at her mother’s, unpacked and then concocted some supper from the food she’d brought with her. The two women were just enjoying a quiet glass of wine when Mrs Ryan dropped her bombshell.

‘Er—Kimberley?’

How well she recognised that voice! Kimberley felt a bubble of amusement welling up inside her. ‘Mother?’

‘I’d like to ask you a favour, dear.’

‘I somehow thought that you might. Go on—ask away.’

‘Er—it’s a little difficult to know how to put it.’

Obviously a very big favour, thought Kimberley. ‘Mmm?’

‘You know I mentioned that Duncan’s got engaged?’

Kimberley smiled. Mothers could be so transparent! ‘Yes, Mum—and I don’t mind, honestly!’

Mrs Ryan gave her a severe look. ‘I wasn’t imagining for one minute that you did—since you were the one to break it off. Still, better before the marriage than after, I always say.’

Kimberley sighed. ‘You were saying?’

‘Oh, yes. Well, the thing is that he’s due to arrive in a couple of days’ time and, with my leg and all, there’s no one to get the place ready for him…’

Kimberley put her wine-glass down on the table and looked incredulously at her mother. ‘I’m not sure what you’re getting at, exactly.’

‘Well, I was wondering if you could help me out?’

‘Help you out?’

‘Just stand in for me—until my leg is better.’

‘You mean—clean Brockbank House for you?’

‘That’s right, dear.’

Kimberley shook her head. ‘I’ll pay someone from the village to stand in for you.’

Mrs Ryan shook her head. ‘But I doubt you’d get anyone at this short notice, and so near to Christmas. Besides, you know how fussy Margaret Nash is—she won’t let just anyone near all those antiques.’ She caught a glimpse of her daughter’s expression. ‘You wouldn’t have to do much, darling,’ she said hastily. ‘Just hoover the place and flick a duster around. And the kitchen floor could probably do with a bit of a wash. I mean’ she gave Kimberley another stern look ‘—look on it as a kind of atonement, if you like.’

Kimberley blinked in astonishment. ‘Atonement?’

‘Mmm. It would be rather a nice gesture, wouldn’t it—after jilting Duncan? Getting the house nice for him. Unless, of course, you’re not being entirely truthful with me. Perhaps you are a tiny bit jealous…?’

Kimberley stared at her mother very hard, before throwing her head back and laughing loudly. ‘You know, Mum, for sheer cheek you’re world-class!’ Then she thought of something else. ‘But surely Mrs Nash wouldn’t want me near the place?’

‘Oh, no, dear—she’s quite happy to have you there. She likes you, you know—she always has. She always said that she thought you were quite wrong for Duncan.’

Interesting. She hadn’t said a thing at the time. ‘Oh, did she?’

‘Will you do it, then?’

Kimberley sighed. ‘I suppose so! Anything for a quiet life. But only on one condition.’

‘Yes, dear?’

‘Where’s—Harrison?’

‘Oh, he’s in France or Germany or somewhere. Living there while he takes over another company. His mother says he works himself into the ground. She says——’

‘Fascinating as I’m sure you and Mrs Nash find it,’ Kimberley interrupted coolly, ‘I really have absolutely no interest in hearing about Harrison.’

Her mother’s face said, Well, you did ask me!— but to her eternal credit she didn’t utter another word.

It was just unfortunate that hearing about him was one thing, but trying not to think about him was another—and the moment she set foot over the threshold of Brockbank House more memories of that hateful, scheming man came flooding back to haunt her.

Kimberley wondered how she could have allowed herself to be talked into doing this particularly distorted ‘favour’ for her mother. She hadn’t been near the house, not for over two years, not since that dreadful day when Harrison had given her the cheque.

Despite her mother’s assurances she had been dreading seeing Mrs Nash, but Duncan’s mother held her hand out immediately she opened the front door. She was a tall, graceful woman, with Duncan’s soft brown eyes; Harrison, Kimberley knew, was the image of his father who had been killed in a yachting accident when both boys were quite small.

‘Hello, Kimberley,’ said Mrs Nash. ‘It’s good of you to help me out.’

‘It’s no trouble. Really. Mother insisted I stand in for her.’

Mrs Nash smiled. ‘Eleanor’s so terribly conscientious. I really don’t know what I’d do without her.’ There was a pause. ‘She told you that Duncan’s getting married?’

‘Yes, she did.’ Kimberley hesitated. ‘I’m very happy for him, Mrs Nash. Really, I am.’

Mrs Nash smiled. ‘I rather thought you might be.’ She laid her hand on Kimberley’s arm. ‘Won’t you come and have some tea with me?’

Kimberley shook her head. ‘Another time, perhaps. I’d rather get started, if you don’t mind.’

‘I understand.’

Did she? thought Kimberley. Not really. She imagined that even the fairly liberal Mrs Nash would be shocked if she knew the real reason for Kimberley’s reluctance to linger any longer at Brockbank House than she needed to. What would she say if Kimberley told her that the sight of that framed silver photograph of Harrison on the hall table was playing havoc with her equilibrium?

She stared at it, trying to view it objectively. It was just a face, after all. The features weren’t particularly even—the eyes were too cold and the jaw much too harshly defined ever to be called handsome. The photographer had caught him smiling, but it wasn’t a sunny, happy smile. It was nothing but a cynical upward curve of those hard, sensual lips.

Kimberley turned away from the photo, removed her coat, and set to work immediately. She’d tied her hair back and was wearing a pair of ripped jeans with her oldest T-shirt, which seemed to have shrunk slightly with repeated washing. Once black, it was now a sort of washed-out grey colour, and it revealed about two inches of her midriff.

She couldn’t find a mop, so she filled up a bucket with hot soapy water and set about cleaning the floor the old-fashioned way—on her hands and knees!

There was something curiously relaxing about seeing the floor clean up beneath her cloth. Her busy life in London meant that she employed someone else to clean her house, but actually it was really quite satisfying to do it yourself, she decided—if you had the time.

She was just about to wring out her cloth when she heard the kitchen door open. Kimberley looked up, expecting to see Mrs Nash, her smile of greeting fading into frozen disbelief as the longest pair of legs she had ever seen swam into her field of vision. She let her gaze wander up into a hard and cruel face.

And the cold grey eyes of Harrison Nash.

CHAPTER TWO

‘WELL, well, well—how the mighty have fallen,’ came the sardonic drawl.

His voice sounded exactly the same—-rich and deep. And as contemptuous as it had ever been. Kimberley dropped the cloth and it splashed water on to the front of her T-shirt.

‘Do you know,’ he continued, in that same, silky tone which sent prickles of excitement and dread down her spine, ‘I rather like to see you in such a subservient position, Kimberley? Rather fetching. And, funnily enough, I was never particularly turned on by wet T-shirt competitions—but I can now see that I’m going to have to revise my opinion.’

His cool grey gaze had travelled to her sopping T-shirt, where the water had cruelly outlined the rounded swell of her breasts with detailed precision. Under his gaze she felt the nipples tighten immediately into those exquisitely painful little peaks, and she felt a hot weakness kick at the pit of her stomach. She saw the flash of hunger which darkened his eyes and he moved the tip of his tongue over his lips in a gesture which shrieked pure provocation.

Remember what he did to you.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she demanded as she flung the cloth back into the bucket and scrambled to her feet.

‘I really should be asking you that question, don’t you think? Are times hard for merchant bankers? Supplementing your income with a spot of charring——’

‘My mother happens to do the charring in this house,’ she cut in icily. ‘God knows why she does it, but she does—and I will not have you insulting her.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of insulting your mother, whom I both like and respect.’ His eyes narrowed; she could barely see them. ‘Unlike her little madam of a daughter. Tell me, did you hatch a plot to get back into this house, somehow—anyhow? What are your intentions—to try to ruin Duncan’s life a second time?’

Kimberley stared at him, wondering genuinely if his memory was defective. ‘You’re mad! What are you talking about?’

‘I’m talking about your motives for being here.’

‘My motives? You really aren’t making yourself at all clear, I’m afraid, Harrison.’

‘Then allow me to elucidate,’ he said softly. ‘My brother is returning from America, where he went after you dumped him, and he’s bringing with him his new fiancée. And now you’re here. Again. I’m just interested to know what you’re up to. Do you want him back? Or do you just want to rub in what’s he’s been missing all these years? Are you planning to flaunt that beautiful, hot, rapacious little body around him?’

‘You are mad,’ she said scornfully. ‘If your memory serves you as well as mine, you will recall that you were the one determined to break our relationship up.’

He gave her a ruthless little smile. ‘You think so? If you’d really loved him you’d have told me to go to hell! As a matter of fact, that’s what I expected to happen.’

Kimberley’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Expected? Are you telling me that you were calling my bluff? That it was some kind of little test which I had to pass to be allowed to marry your brother?’

He inclined his head. ‘If you like. When a rather wild young man—who stands to inherit the kind of money Duncan will one day have—announces he’s about to marry, it’s wise to put the commitment of both partners to the test.’

It was unbelievable! The man was living in the Dark Ages! Kimberley shook her head slowly and incredulously. ‘Did your mother know this—that you were conducting this barbaric little experiment?’

He gave her a bored smile as he ignored her question. ‘As I said—I expected to be sent away with a flea in my ear. Instead of which you went out of here clutching a big, fat cheque in your greedy little hand. But that was nothing to what you very nearly gave me. Was it, Kimberley?’ he mocked.

Kimberley blushed scarlet. Only someone as hateful as Harrison Nash would take such pleasure in reminding her of her behaviour that day.

He moved a little towards her and instinctively she stiffened, her head held proudly high, her eyes slitted into glittering blue shards.

‘So what did you spend the money on, hmm? Easiest bit of money you ever made in your life, wasn’t it, Kimberley?’ He gave an empty-sounding laugh. ‘My God—you stand there so cold and so damned beautiful, as though ice were running through your veins instead of blood, and yet I only have to touch you and you go up in flames—don’t you? Tell me, Kimberley, do all men have that effect on you, or is it just me? It could prove quite embarrassing, surely?’

She fixed him with a frosty smile, though her heart was beating like a bass-drum in her ears. ‘I rather think you overestimate your own attraction, Harrison.’

He gave a half-smile. ‘You think so? Perhaps I do, but I’m pretty confident in your case. Maybe we should put it to the test.’

She saw the hungry intent on his face, and understood his meaning immediately. ‘Don’t you dare try!’

He came one step closer, totally ignoring what she was saying. ‘But you want me to, don’t you, Kimberley? We both know that. You hate me, yet you want me…’ He pulled her into his arms, not roughly but not gently either.

‘If you dare continue, then I’ll scream as loudly as——’

There was no scream. Not even the smallest attempt at resistance, which would have left her with some dignity. But there was no resistance, and no dignity. Just an overpowering reaction to him which took all her will away, sapped her strength and her resolve and left in their place the swamping, unbearable cocktail of desire and frustration as she let him kiss her.

And, as she’d done once before, she opened her mouth wide beneath his—so wide because she wanted to eat him up, to lick him all over. She gave a little moan as she found her hands winding themselves around his broad back, and she clung on to him as though she were clinging to life itself.

‘Oh, baby,’ he murmured into her mouth. ‘Yes. Show me. Show me just how much you want me…’

She didn’t know what he wanted her to do. She was responding through pure instinct, kissing him back with frantic fervour as though she had never before been kissed. As indeed she hadn’t.

Not like this.

‘Or shall I show you?’ he whispered, and pulled her into him, as close as it was possible to be. She felt his arousal immediately; no garment in the world had yet been designed which could disguise how hard and hot and turned on he was.

Her hips swivelled in instinctive excitement against him, and he gave a low laugh. ‘You want that, don’t you? Don’t you?’ He kissed her again, and one hand slid to her back, underneath her Tshirt, and he rubbed his hand sensually against the silky bareness of her skin, a soft, tantalising caress, a tiny circular movement which cajoled an instinctive response, and she felt as though her veins were being transfused with thick, sweet honey.

‘Oh, baby.’ He dropped his head to whisper against her hair. She felt him shudder—such a wild and uncontrolled shudder of excitement—and it made her realise that he teetered on the very edge of control. She pulled away from him, afraid of what might happen if she didn’t. He stopped kissing her immediately, and she almost gasped as he stared down at her, for she barely recognised him, the stark hunger on his face turning him into a stranger.

But he is a stranger, she thought. What do you know of Harrison Nash, other than the fact that he represents nothing but a wild and elemental danger?

‘You were wise to stop me,’ he said, in a flat, deliberate voice. ‘Because I’m afraid that if we carried on kissing then I would not have been responsible for my actions. Much more of that and I would have been unable to stop myself from removing every single item of clothing from that beautiful body of yours and taking you right here, because all my reason seems to have deserted me.’

And then he shook his head in some kind of despairing disbelief. ‘Dear God!’ he exclaimed. ‘What am I saying? What am I doing? My mother could have walked into the kitchen. The gardener’s outside——’

She’d had enough of his self-disgusted confession, and every word he uttered only added to her own despair. ‘Let me go——’

‘No.’

She stared up at him, her mouth quivering, on the brink of tears. ‘Harrison, please.‘

His eyes narrowed at her trembling state. ‘Kimberley—this thing between us——’

She shook her head distractedly, as if trying to remove a very heavy burden which simply refused to budge. ‘It’s sex!’ she asserted. ‘Nothing but sex! That’s all. Just some unfortunate accident of nature—a chemistry between two people who happen to loathe one another. And I hate it, if you must know.’