Sleeping Partners

Their hugs and kisses masked Robyn’s shock and despair; everyone took her tears as emotion at Cassie having married, knowing how close the two sisters were.

And then Guy’s brother called that he’d brought the car round to the front of the hotel and they all poured through reception and out onto the drive. Guy’s brother and cronies had done a good job on Guy’s Cavalier, with shaving foam, ribbons and a supermarket-load of tin cans, and soon the happy couple were off in a hail of rice and confetti and ribald shouts from Guy’s football cronies, some of which made her mother’s face tighten.

Robyn stood stiff and still looking after the departing lights of the car, willing herself not to give way to the storm of emotion that was like a great hot ball in her chest. She had to get through this with a modicum of dignity, she told herself silently. No one, no one must guess what had happened, not a hint. She wouldn’t be able to bear it. She wouldn’t.

The whole episode hadn’t been Clay’s idea. She had followed him out to the lake when he had made it perfectly clear all evening he didn’t want to have anything to do with her. She had thrown herself at him, quite literally—offered herself on a plate. No, not even offered, she corrected painfully—forced herself on him more like. She’d instigated everything, everything. What had possessed her? And now he thought she was loose, anybody’s…

And then his voice sounded just behind her, saying coolly, ‘Robyn, we need to talk.’ His hand took her elbow, turning her to face him. His face was closed, inscrutable.

‘Let go of me.’ Her voice surprised her: she didn’t expect it to be so firm or so cold considering what she was feeling like inside. ‘Don’t you dare touch me.’

He complied, instantly.

‘I’ve nothing to say to you, Clay, beyond that I’m as sorry as you at what happened tonight,’ she said tautly. ‘So, can we leave it at that?’ She stepped away from him as she spoke.

The other guests were moving back inside and her mother approached them, sniffling loudly as she gushed how wonderful Cassie had looked and how desperately they were going to miss her. Robyn took her mother’s arm, making some light comment that she was quite proud of when her heart and her pride were in tatters, and once inside the hotel she slipped into the ladies’ cloakroom, locking the door of one of the cubicles behind her. She stayed in there some time, sick and numb with agonising misery and shame, and when she emerged Clay had already left.

She discovered the next morning, listening to her parents chat over breakfast, that Clay had apparently had a plane to catch having pulled off some big deal in the States. Her father was full of it, declaring they had been lucky to see him at all considering the way Clay’s particular star was rising in the world of business since his father had died.

‘He’ll go places, that young man,’ Mr Brett stated firmly. ‘He might have been born with something of a silver spoon in his mouth but he’s not your average, spoilt rich kid, not Clay Lincoln. He’ll go to the very top, you mark my words.’

Robyn knew exactly what Clay Lincoln was, and also the place she would like him to go. Shame and disillusionment and pain ate her up for months on end and she buried herself in working for her A levels, refusing all offers of dates from any young hopefuls and keeping herself strictly to herself.

Time passed. She gained first-class grades in her examinations and went to university with the wounds having healed to some extent. But she was wary, extremely wary, of the opposite sex. The odd date, a casual friend or two was fine; anything other than that and she wasn’t interested. It wasn’t that she purposely shut her mind and heart to love and commitment, more that it would take a special man to give her the confidence to become vulnerable again.

The special man hadn’t come along, the years had passed, and now she was twenty-eight and liked her life the way it was.

She sat up suddenly in the bath, angry that she had so completely indulged herself with memories that were difficult even now to come to terms with. They said that time heals all wounds… Robyn grimaced to herself as she stepped out of the bath and wrapped a big fluffy towel round herself, sarong fashion. Maybe, in ninety-nine per cent of cases that was true, but where Clay Lincoln was concerned the scar tissue was almost raw. But that was her problem.

Her soft mouth tightened, and the chocolate brown eyes fringed by thick black lashes that drew so many male glances on a day-to-day basis lost their velvet warmth and became as hard as iron as they narrowed reflectively.

She had thrown herself at him that day so many years ago and had probably got exactly what she had deserved. She had come to terms with that years ago, but it had taught her a lesson about the ruthless, hard quality of the opposite sex she had never forgotten. He had made her feel less than the dirt under his shoes that night, and however stupid she had been—and she had been stupid all right—she still didn’t think she’d deserved that. She’d only been sixteen for goodness’ sake.

But it didn’t matter. She walked through to the bedroom, sitting down at her small but exquisite dressing table that had been her grandmother’s. She stared into the misty mirror at the large-eyed girl staring back at her, and nodded defiantly. No, it really didn’t matter. Clay Lincoln was a figure from the past; it had been Cassie’s talk of him that had triggered these reflections. He was in a different world from her now.

He had had the meteoric success in the business world her father had predicted, his star dazzling, and she had caught glimpses of it now and again in the newspapers and had heard reports from Cassie and Guy who still saw him very occasionally. But she had made sure their paths never crossed. It had been better for everyone that way.

She had known when he had got married in the States to an American girl a short time after that fateful night at the lake, and also when his wife had died some years later, but she never pursued a conversation about Clay Lincoln. She had told Cassie and Guy she didn’t like him, pretending it was just that she found him abrupt and cold and that she disapproved of the playboy image he had adopted after the death of his wife. If Cassie had ever wondered at her animosity regarding Guy’s old friend she had never said so.

Robyn breathed in deeply, reaching for the rich moisturising cream in front of her without taking her eyes off the ones staring back at her from the mirror.

She neither wanted nor needed to see Clay Lincoln again. Not ever. And nothing would ever make her change her mind on that point. And as for Cass’s suggestion of approaching him with a view to him having a stake in her business, her own special baby—she would rather go bankrupt!

CHAPTER TWO

‘ROBYN, you remember Clay Lincoln, don’t you? Guy and Clay were at university together.’

Robyn had just stepped into Cassie’s large open-plan lounge where her sister’s dinner guests were gathered in celebration of Guy’s thirty-fifth birthday. She had been smiling as she’d walked into the room but in the last moment the smile had been wiped off her face with shock. According to Cassie there had been three couples Robyn knew quite well invited to dinner tonight, along with Guy’s brother whom Robyn was partnering due to Cassie’s sister-in-law being away in Blackpool at a conference the bank she worked for had organised and which Beryl had been unable to get out of.

But the tall, lean man in front of her was definitely not dear old Jim. And the photos she had seen of Clay in the newspapers over the last years had failed to do him justice. Twelve years ago he had been pretty stupendous; now he was easily the most handsome man she had ever seen in spite of the jet-black hair she remembered now being liberally streaked with silver.

He was bigger—broader—than he had been at twenty-three but only in the breadth of his shoulders and chest; the leanness that had always given his good looks an almost animal quality was still there, but made all the more powerful by maturity.

The youthful face had changed into one in which cynicism had scored deep lines which annoyingly only heightened his attractiveness; the silver-blue eyes were piercing in the deeply tanned skin and his mouth was possessed of hard worldly sensuality she was sure had not been there twelve years ago.

It was a disturbing face, magnetic in quality but almost too male, even cruel. But why was his face—along with the rest of him—present in Cass’s house tonight? Robyn took a deep, hidden breath, silently thanked the guardian angel who had prompted her to make a special effort to look her best tonight, and said carefully, ‘Hello, Clay; it must have been years since I saw you last,’ as though she wasn’t aware of the exact date or circumstances.

‘Yes, it must.’ His voice was the same—dark, smoky—and it caught at her nerve endings making them tingle. ‘Cassie and Guy’s wedding I believe, so that’s all of twelve years in a couple of months time,’ he said easily.

‘Really? That long?’ How could Cass do this to her? Robyn was intensely, almost painfully, aware of the narrowed blue eyes taking in every detail of her appearance, but the expensive cream shot-silk chiffon dress and matching sandals, and the sparkling Cartier diamond studs in her ears which had been her twenty-first birthday present from her parents, more than stood up to the piercing scrunity. Which was a darn sight more than her legs felt able to do right at this moment!

She knew her face was flushed—she had always blushed easily, it went with the red hair and creamy skin—but there was nothing she could do about that and perhaps he wouldn’t notice.

Clay, on the other hand, was as cool and contained as she remembered, his handsome, finely chiselled face faintly smiling above the designer summer-weight suit and blue silk shirt and tie he was wearing, and the tall, lean body relaxed. She could have kicked him. Hard. Very hard.

‘I…I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight?’ As soon as she’d said it she realised it was a mistake. It suggested he was important enough to be mentioned in advance.

‘Didn’t I mention it?’ Cassie entered the conversation now from her vantage point of interested spectator, and her voice was suspiciously offhand. ‘I meant to give you a ring a couple of days ago, Robyn, but the twins are still playing up at night and with the way I am…’ She laid a hand over her rounded stomach in a silent plea for sympathy. ‘I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on,’ she added with a winsome smile at Clay.

Believe that, believe anything. Their conversation of six days ago was suddenly crystal clear in Robyn’s mind and she knew, she just knew, this was one of Cass’s ruses. Her sister had decided that Clay would be the perfect business associate and had acted accordingly. Cass never let the grass grow under her feet.

‘Jim got the opportunity to join Beryl at the conference—all expenses paid—so he rang us to explain, and it just so happened Clay was in town…’ Cassie’s voice dwindled away happily.

‘How fortuitous,’ Robyn said stolidly, her eyes holding her sister’s until Cassie had the grace to look slightly discomfited. But only slightly. Still, Cass had no idea of the true state of affairs between she and Clay, Robyn reminded herself silently. Perhaps she should have told her a little of what had transpired all those years ago to avoid just such a situation as this one. He was her partner for the evening. As disasters went, it was a biggie.

‘I’ll leave Clay to look after you, then. I just need to go and check a couple of things in the kitchen.’ Cassie managed to look faintly preoccupied as she drifted away although Robyn knew full well everything in the kitchen would be working like clockwork. Occasions like this were her sister’s forte and always went like a dream due to painstaking preparation and careful planning.

‘Let me get you a drink, Robyn. What would you like?’

If she told him what she would like—namely for him to be transported somewhere, anywhere, but here—it would be the death knell on poor Guy’s birthday celebration. She could feel that her cheeks had cooled a little and she hoped her voice was several degrees below its normal warm tone when she said, ‘A glass of white wine would be lovely, thank you.’

How had she allowed herself to be manoeuvred into such a truly horrific situation? As she watched Clay cross the room to the large circular marble table where all the drinks had been laid out for everyone to help themselves, Robyn’s thoughts were racing. She was stupid. No, no not stupid, she corrected in the next moment. Too trusting. But then that implied that Cass meant her harm and she knew that was untrue. Whatever Cass had done she had done it with the very best of intentions.

Robyn’s lips twitched ruefully. Cass was the epitome of the happily married housewife, blissfully content with Guy and the twins and over the moon at the prospect of a third child. The fact that Guy had the sort of job which meant his wife didn’t have to work unless she wanted to suited her sister down to the ground. Cass was utterly domesticated; she even made her own bread on occasion and grew raspberries and strawberries, along with her own vegetables, in the garden, claiming she wanted her family to eat produce she knew was safe and wholesome. Their mother had often said Cass should have been born in the middle of the country—she’d have made a wonderful farmer’s wife.

But… Robyn’s eyes narrowed on Clay’s tall frame as he poured the wine. Her sister’s habit of viewing the world through rose-coloured spectacles had distinct disadvantages to those around her at times, and never more so than now.

And then Clay straightened and turned and looked straight at her before she could blank her face, and she knew, when she saw the hard firm mouth twitch slightly, that he was well aware of her dislike and, worse, that it didn’t bother him an iota.

‘One glass of white wine.’ His gravelly voice was very even and quiet as he handed her the drink on reaching her side, and Robyn forced hers into like mode as she answered, ‘Thank you, Clay,’ making sure her hand didn’t inadvertently touch his.

‘It is chilled.’ The devastating eyes held hers with no effort. ‘Although that’s barely relevant in your case.’

‘I’m sorry?’ She raised her chin a fraction.

‘You’re frosty enough to take the wine down a good few degrees all by yourself,’ he said pleasantly.

She stared at him, shocked by the suddenness and speed of the confrontation which—for one stunned moment—had robbed her of all coherent thought. And then she raised her small chin further in an angry movement which wasn’t lost on the tall figure in front of her, and said, her voice crisp and steady, ‘That’s very rude, Mr Lincoln, considering we haven’t met in years and I barely know you.’

“‘Mr Lincoln” is going to go down like a lead balloon during the social repartee an occasion like this merits, and although we might not have met in years I’d say we know each other fairly well, all things considered,’ he returned smoothly.

‘Really?’ Robyn could feel her face burning.

‘Yes, really.’ He smiled, his voice silky. ‘I think you were about twelve years’ old when Guy first introduced me to your family, so I’d say the next three or four years count as a pretty good “knowing” period, wouldn’t you?’

She was saved the effort of searching for an adequately scathing reply by one of the other couples who joined them at that precise moment, but as she made small talk and joined in the laughter and social niceties she was furious to find she couldn’t ignore Clay as she wanted to.

The last years had evaporated as though they’d never been and she was like a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl again, conscious of his every movement, the low husky quality of his voice, the sheer physical appeal of him. The suit he was wearing couldn’t even begin to disguise the unequivocally tough and hard male body inside it, and his closeness was playing havoc with her senses. Which was as ridiculous as it was humiliating.

There were at least eight other people in the room besides Clay and herself, but it was his warm male scent surrounding her, his voice that made her pulse race, his body that she was painfully and rawly aware of. She could feel the attraction so strongly she wouldn’t have been surprised if the air had begun to crackle, but Clay seemed quietly relaxed and at ease as he chatted at her side to the other couple.

Mind you, there was no reason for him to be otherwise, she reminded herself tartly as she smiled and nodded at the woman opposite her who was regaling them with the latest achievement of the wonder child she had given birth to a few months previously.

She couldn’t bring herself to believe he had forgotten the events of that awful evening twelve years ago—much as she would like to—but the whole thing obviously had meant absolutely nothing to him. If she had stayed in his memory at all, which she seriously doubted, it would have been as a ridiculous little girl who had overstepped the mark and in doing so had embarrassed them both. If he had been embarrassed, that was. Which she seriously doubted. Icebergs didn’t embarrass as far as she knew.

‘…at the moment, Robyn?’

‘I’m sorry?’ She came to with a jolt to realise May Jarvis, the wife of one of Guy’s oldest friends, had asked her a question amid all the ramblings and she hadn’t heard a word of it.

May’s smile dimmed a little. ‘I asked you if there was anyone special on the horizon at the moment?’ she repeated.

Why was it that happily married matrons of her sister’s age always seemed to assume they could ask any pertinent question they liked at dos like this one? Robyn asked herself tersely, before her innate sense of fair play made her feel guilty. May was only trying to include her in the conversation and make small talk, she reminded herself quickly, and normally she would have passed off such a question with a light, amusing comment. But tonight wasn’t normal, and she was all out of light, amusing comments! She just wanted to go home.

‘No.’ She could feel the muscles at the back of her neck were as tight as piano wire and she had only been here ten minutes or so. How was she going to get through a whole evening?

‘Oh.’ May had clearly expected more and now she glanced across at her husband rather helplessly, who stared back at her with a face that seemed to say, What do you expect me to say?

It was Clay who spoke into the moment, his voice soothing and cool as he said quietly, ‘I understand from Cassie that all Robyn’s energies have been tied up in the business she’s involved in. Is that right, Robyn?’ he added smoothly.

Cass hadn’t. She hadn’t, had she? She wouldn’t have mentioned the refusal of the business loan and everything surely? ‘Yes, that’s right,’ she agreed evenly, gratified her voice was showing no sign of the turmoil within. She’d never forgive Cass!

‘Oh, really? How interesting.’ May was gushing but it was well-meant. ‘What sort of business is it?’

‘PR.’ She couldn’t just leave it at that, not after her abruptness before. ‘I formed my own business a couple of years ago so it’s pretty time-absorbing. If you want to get a foot on the ladder you have to put in all the hours it needs,’ Robyn said quietly to May without looking Clay’s way. ‘There’s plenty of competition who will be only too pleased to do it if you don’t.’

‘I can imagine.’ May was genuinely sympathetic. ‘I was involved in advertising before I had the baby and that’s the same. Of course I didn’t have my own company,’ she added quickly, ‘so I suppose the incentive wasn’t quite the same. How many people do you employ?’

‘Just one at the moment.’ She would have given the world to massage the taut muscles at the nape of her neck but she didn’t dare with those icy silver eyes watching her. ‘But I’m hoping to expand in time of course.’

‘So you’re a career girl.’ Clay had moved fractionally closer, his spicy aftershave subtly touching her oversensitised nerves, and Robyn willed herself to show no reaction at all. ‘Funny, but I’d got you down as a hearth-and-home type back in the good old days,’ he drawled with silky innocence.

‘Oh, so you two go back a long way?’ May was all ears.

‘We don’t go back at all,’ Robyn said politely but firmly, wondering how suave and debonair Clay would look with white wine dripping off the end of his nose. ‘Clay was at university with Guy, that’s all, and he used to come and see Cass and Guy in the holidays sometimes when I was just a kid.’ It was dismissive.

She knew the dark, handsome face was surveying her with mockingly raised eyebrows and for that reason she didn’t let her eyes connect with his. She wasn’t the young, starry-eyed sixteen-year-old any more and she was darned if she would let him call the tune tonight. He had purposefully got May interested, she knew it, with his pointed reference to the good old days. The good old days! She gave a healthy snort in her mind. Good for whom? Not for her, that was sure.

Once Cassie had got them all seated at the table and the first course—baby spinach, avocado and crispy pancetta salad—had been served, it wasn’t quite so bad.

Clay was sitting opposite her for one thing, and the few feet of space across the elaborate dining table which was a picture of glittering crystal and snowy-white linen and silver, was very welcome. May’s husband was on one side of her and was quite attentive, and she knew Guy’s friend, John, on her left, well, so she concentrated her conversation on them without being too obvious.

Nevertheless she noticed, with acid amusement, that Clay was charming the two women either side of him with no apparent effort on his part. They were twittering and giggling like teenagers! Still, from all she had heard over the last years he’d had plenty of practice at being a ladies’ man since his young wife had died. Love ’em and leave ’em reputation, according to Guy. Which was fine, just fine if that was the way he wanted to live his life, Robyn thought nastily. A tom-cat always finds its own level.

Guy served a particularly delicious red wine with the main course of pan-fried pork fillet with sage and spring onion mash, and the excellent food and good wine produced a calmingly mellow effect on her racing nerves. Especially when John refilled her glass twice. By the time Cassie brought out the triple-chocolate torte, along with an Eve’s Pudding topped with caramelised sugar, Robyn was telling herself she was quite adult enough to handle this evening with dignity and aplomb. Clay Lincoln didn’t bother her!

She’d got off on the wrong foot maybe, she admitted silently to herself, but nothing was lost, not really. The worst thing she could do, with an egoist like Clay Lincoln, was to let him think he affected her in any way. She would treat him just the same as she did everyone else: she’d be friendly, charming, amusing—everything one was at occasions like this. Once the meal was over a little polite chit-chat, a laugh or two, and then she would bow out gracefully as soon as the first couple made a move to leave and that would be that. Easy.

Cassie brought in Guy’s pile of birthday presents from family and friends during the cheese and biscuits and, as Robyn left the table briefly to help Cassie in the kitchen with the coffee, her sister whispered, ‘You’ll never guess what Clay’s given us for Guy’s thirty-fifth. I still can’t believe it. Once the baby’s born and I’m feeling okay he’s going to fly the five of us out to his beach house in Florida for a couple of weeks, all expenses paid. What do you think about that?’

‘Really? That’s wonderful, Cass.’ Robyn was thrilled for them, really thrilled, but she couldn’t help wishing it had been someone else who had provided the trip. Anyone else.

‘Apparently you just step off the front porch straight onto white sand, but there’s an indoor pool as well and the use of one of Clay’s cars for the fortnight, and a housekeeper who will do all the cooking. It’s just too good to be true,’ Cassie beamed happily. ‘It really is.’

Bit like Clay Lincoln, then.