The Virgin's Seduction

Drying her hair later, she mentally ran through the contents of her wardrobe. Nothing very exciting there, she acknowledged. Skirts and blouses or sweaters for school; jeans and sweaters for home. For the rare occasions when she went out her grandmother had bought her a little black velvet dress, with long sleeves, a scoop neckline, and a skirt that skimmed her kneecaps. But this was not that kind of occasion, and she had no intention of attracting Cassie’s curiosity by wearing something totally unsuitable for the evening meal.

She was tempted to leave her hair loose, something she often did in the evenings after she’d washed it. But once again she decided against drawing attention to herself. She plaited the glossy black strands into the usual single braid, securing it with a narrow band of elasticated ribbon.

After far too much deliberation, she put on a V-necked top made of elasticised cotton. Bands of ivory ribbon hid the shaping both around her arms and above and below her breasts, contrasting with the rest of the garment, whose jade-green colour complemented her pale skin.

She almost took it off again when she saw how well it suited her. She’d bought the top on one of her infrequent trips to Newcastle, and had pushed it away in a drawer because she’d thought it was unsuitable for school. Now, looking at it again, she saw she’d been right. It was more in keeping with the teenage girl her grandmother had found subsisting in a draughty squat.

But it was too late to be having second thoughts now. Besides, she doubted she’d be eating with her grandmother’s guests. She had no intention of leaving the old lady to eat alone, or of playing gooseberry to Cassie’s tête-à-tête.

Zipping on a pair of black cords, she paused only long enough to stroke her lids with a dark brown shadow and run a peachy gloss over her mouth. Then, slipping her feet into heelless mules, she left her room before she could change her mind.

Watersmeet was a fairly large house, but over the years Eve had got used to it, and now she hardly noticed its high-ceilinged rooms and wide corridors. Some years before she’d come to live here central heating had been installed, but the boiler struggled to keep the place at an ambient temperature. Consequently, at this time of year, fires were lit in all the downstairs rooms that were used.

Eve went first to the kitchen, to see how Mrs Blackwood was coping. The elderly housekeeper wasn’t used to having guests, but very little fazed her. At present, she was rolling curls of homemade cream cheese in slices of ham, and an avocado dressing waited to be served in tiny ramekins to accompany each plate.

‘Her Ladyship won’t eat any of the dressing,’ Mrs Blackwood explained, when Eve commented on the arrangement. The woman meant Cassie, she knew. Her grandmother didn’t watch the calories these days. ‘Just hope she approves of the sea bass,’ she continued. ‘I asked Mr Goddard to deliver it specially. I know how fussy she is about eating meat.’

Eve smiled. ‘I’m sure it will be a delicious meal,’ she said warmly. ‘What have we got for dessert?’

‘Bread and butter pudding and ice cream,’ said Mrs Blackwood at once. ‘I know it’s fattening, but it is Mrs Robertson’s favourite. I thought she deserved something really nice, after having that fall and all.’

“Mmm.’ Eve nodded appreciatively. Mrs Blackwood’s bread and butter pudding, which she made with brioche and peaches, was famous in the village. She usually contributed individual puddings whenever the church had a coffee morning, and it always sold out at summer bakes and Christmas fairs.

‘You think your grandmother will approve, then?’

‘I think she’ll be delighted,’ Eve assured her. ‘Which reminds me, I’d better go and see how she is. I hope nothing’s been said to upset her.’

‘I shouldn’t worry.’ Mrs Blackwood looked up from her task as she made for the door. ‘Your grandmother’s a tough old bird, Eve. She’s had to be, if you get my meaning. I’m not saying she doesn’t love her daughter. Of course she does. But she’s known her too long to be upset by anything Cassie says.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

Eve let herself out of the door and headed for the stairs. The large entrance hall of the building struck her as chilly, after the cosy warmth of the kitchen, and she wondered if she ought to fetch a sweater while she was upstairs. But then, as she put her foot on the bottom stair, she realised someone was coming down. Looking up, she saw Jacob Romero descending towards her, and that thought went out of her head.

He’d changed his clothes, too, she noticed, though she quickly dropped her gaze and stood back to let him pass before starting up. Evidently Cassie had warned him that they didn’t dress formally for supper, but his fine wool camel-coloured sweater and black moleskin pants would have looked good in any company.

She supposed it was because they were expensive. Everything about him breathed money, which was par for the course as far as Cassie was concerned. Not that his dark good looks wouldn’t have played a part. Eve had seen from the way the other woman looked at him that she very much coveted his body as well.

She’d expected him to perhaps offer a smile and go on, but he didn’t. Instead, he stopped beside her, and she was instantly aware of his height. A tall girl herself she found she was usually on eye-level terms with the men she met, but Jacob Romero was several inches above her.

He was also much closer than she could have wished, and she had to steel herself not to step back from him. Was there a trace of cruel humour in the dark eyes? Was he as aware as she was of the effect he had upon her?

‘I just wanted to thank you for having me here,’ he said, the faint trace of some accent evident in his husky voice. Was he an American? If so, the intonation was very soft. Whatever, it only added to the sensual appeal of the man, and Eve couldn’t prevent a shiver of apprehension from sliding down her spine.

‘It’s not my house,’ she said quickly, aware that her tone had been much sharper than his. But, dammit, he disconcerted her, and she was pretty sure he knew it.

‘You live here,’ he murmured simply. ‘Cassandra says you teach in the village. Is that an interesting occupation?’

‘It’s a job,’ Eve responded, putting a hand firmly on the banister, making it fairly clear that as far as she was concerned the conversation was over.

He didn’t take the hint. ‘So—do you like living here?’ he asked. ‘It seems very—remote.’

‘Far from civilisation, you mean?’ she countered, aware that she was being unnecessarily blunt, but unable to help herself. He probably thought she was graceless as well as ignorant, she reflected. It wasn’t his fault that Cassie was such a bitch.

‘I meant it can’t be easy having only an elderly lady as a companion,’ he amended drily. Then, with a glint of humour tugging at his thin mouth, he added, ‘Who am I kidding? You obviously don’t want us here.’

‘I never said that.’ Eve was appalled that she’d betrayed her feelings so candidly. ‘Naturally, Cassie’s always welcome. This is her home.’

‘Yeah, right.’ He grinned at her discomfort, white teeth contrasting sharply with the dark tan of his skin. ‘But it’s not my home. I know.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’ Eve had been staring at him, but now she dropped her gaze. ‘You’re deliberately misunderstanding me,’ she said, concentrating her gaze some way below the shadow of beard already showing on his jawline. But the tight-fitting pants were just as disturbing to her present frame of mind, the velvet-soft fabric clinging lovingly to every line and angle of the bulge between his legs.

Dear God!

‘I’m trying not to,’ he said then, and his husky drawl scraped like raw silk across her sensitised flesh. He was much too close, much too male, and it was an effort to remember where she’d been going before this encounter.

‘I—I have to go,’ she declared hurriedly, attempting to move past him. ‘Um—Mrs Robertson will be wondering where I am.’

‘The old lady?’ As her breasts came up against the arm he’d put out to stop her, she recoiled in panic. But all he said was, ‘She’s not in her room. Cassandra said she insisted on coming downstairs to eat with us.’

Eve gathered her wits about her. The knowledge that Cassie had persuaded her mother to leave her bed, when she really needed her rest, just to join her and her paramour for supper was bad enough. But what had just happened had added a tension she really didn’t need.

Yet what had happened? she chided herself. It had obviously meant less than nothing to him. And was she so afraid of male attention that having her boobs accidentally crushed against his arm turned into a major event?

Once, she wouldn’t have considered it. Once, she would have fought off any attempt to get close to her, and any man who’d tried would have been nursing an aching groin for his trouble.

She was getting soft, she thought, aware that he was watching her with a strangely speculative look on his dark face. But, dammit, her nipples were still taut and tingling, and the unexpected contact with his body had caused a disturbing explosion of heat inside her.

Shaking her head, as if the simple action would clear her confusion, she said stiffly, ‘Where is she? My—Mrs Robertson, I mean.’

‘Your Mrs Robertson is in the library,’ Jacob Romero told her consideringly, and she guessed her slip of the tongue had not gone unnoticed. His brows drew together above his straight, almost aquiline nose. ‘Are you all right?’

Eve did step back then. This had gone far enough. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ she exclaimed, managing to sound surprised at the question. She smoothed her palms, which were unusually damp, down the seams of her cords. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and see if she needs anything.’

If she’d thought to escape him, she was disappointed. He accompanied her across the circular Persian carpet that occupied a prominent position in the centre of the floor. Double doors opposite opened into the library, which had been her grandfather’s study while he was alive, but now served as both estate office and sitting room.

It was a cosy room, the books lining the walls scenting the air with the smell of old leather. A fire was burning in the large grate and Eve’s grandmother was seated in her armchair beside it. A footstool supported her injured ankle, and although Eve thought she looked tired, she was defiantly holding a glass of red wine in her hand.

Cassie was there, too, occupying the chair opposite. In thin silk trousers and a matching sapphire-blue tunic, she looked blonde and elegant. Someone had dragged her grandfather’s old captain’s chair over from behind the desk in the corner, and it was pulled strategically close to Cassie’s; obviously with Jacob Romero in mind, thought Eve cynically. Which meant she was obliged to sit on the ladder-backed dining chair that Mr Trivett used when he came to discuss estate matters.

‘Help yourself to some wine, my dear,’ Ellie suggested when Eve made to sit down, but Jacob Romero intervened. ‘I’ll get it for you,’ he said, indicating the chair beside Cassie. ‘And sit here. My bones are more liberally covered than yours.’

Eve doubted that. There wasn’t an ounce of spare flesh on his body. And although she wanted to demur, it would have seemed uncharitable to do so. ‘Thanks,’ she said, and ignoring the irritation she could feel emanating from the woman beside her, she turned to Ellie. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’m feeling much better this evening,’ Ellie declared, despite the fact that her usually ruddy cheeks were pale. ‘Don’t look so disapproving, Eve. I didn’t struggle down the stairs on my own. Mr Romero carried me.’

Eve only just stopped herself from giving him an admiring look. Her grandmother was no lightweight, and he had to be fit if he’d carried the old lady down from her room.

‘Um—that was good of—of you,’ she murmured lamely, accepting the glass of wine he’d brought her, but she was aware that Cassie was now preening herself in his reflected glory.

‘Jake’s immensely strong,’ she said, her smile towards him warm and intimate. Her tongue circled her upper lip in a deliberately sensual gesture as he seated himself beside Ellie. ‘I suppose it’s because he gets plenty of exercise.’

The double entendre was unmistakable, but the object of her insinuation didn’t respond in kind. ‘My family owns a charter company in San Felipe,’ he offered smoothly, leaning forward, his arms along his thighs. His thumbs circled the glass he’d brought for himself. ‘I’ve been hauling masts and rigging sails since I was a kid, so lifting a lightweight like you, Mrs Robertson, was no problem.’

Ellie looked pleased. ‘San Felipe?’ she murmured, echoing the name as Eve absorbed the fact that he wasn’t an American after all. ‘Is that in Spain?’

‘It’s an island in the Caribbean, ma’am,’ he said, and Eve had an immediate image of white sands, blue seas and palm trees. No wonder he was so darkly tanned. She guessed he must be brown all over.

Now, where had that come from?

‘Jake’s family own the island, Mummy,’ Cassie put in smugly. ‘His father’s retired, of course, and Jake runs the company himself.’

‘How nice.’ Eve was pleased to see her grandmother wasn’t overawed by this intimation of unlimited wealth. ‘So what are you doing in England, Mr Romero? I’d have thought this was the time of year when most people visit the Caribbean.’

‘It is, of course.’ He sounded regretful. ‘However, I’m obliged to spend at least part of the year in Europe.’

‘Jake has business interests all over the world.’ Cassie was evidently determined to impress her mother. ‘We met last year at the Paris Boat Show—didn’t we, darling?’

‘I wouldn’t have thought sailing boats would interest you, Cassie,’ remarked Ellie drily. ‘You were always seasick whenever your father and I took you out on the water.’

‘That was years ago—’ began Cassie snappishly, but before she could say any more Romero explained.

‘Cassandra was one of the hostesses at the show,’ he said, smiling at her hostile expression. ‘She was very good at it, too.’

‘It was just a fill-in between parts,’ protested Cassie resentfully. ‘I don’t usually do that sort of thing.’

‘Don’t you?’ Her mother seemed to perceive that she suddenly had the upper hand. ‘Remind me, Cassie: what was the last part you played?’

Eve now found herself in the unlikely position of feeling sorry for her and, with unexpected compassion she said, ‘You had a role in the remake of Pride and Prejudice, didn’t you, Cassie? I think you played one of the Bennett sisters.’

‘You know I didn’t play one of the Bennett sisters,’ hissed Cassie, giving Eve a filthy look, but her mother only smiled.

‘Mrs Bennett, perhaps?’ she suggested, enjoying the moment. ‘You’d be unlikely to be cast as an ingénue, if that’s the term they use these days.’

‘So, did you and Mr Romero spend much time in Paris, Cassie?’ Eve asked quickly, realising her grandmother wasn’t about to back off, and this time Cassie seemed grateful for her intervention.

‘Just a few days,’ she said. ‘But Jake promised to look me up the next time he was in London,’ she added, giving him a forgiving look. ‘And that was six months ago, wasn’t it, darling?’

‘Something like that.’ Eve noticed that Romero didn’t respond to Cassie’s frequent endearments. But she was taken aback when he turned to her. ‘And my name’s Jake. Or Jacob, if you prefer.’

‘Yes.’ Aware that all eyes were on her now, Eve was forced to be polite. ‘Yes, right.’ Then, dragging her gaze away from his disturbing face, she managed to smile at her grandmother. ‘Um—I’ll go and see how Mrs Blackwood is getting on. Is there anything I can get you?’

‘Yes, you can get me another drink,’ said Cassie at once, holding out her glass as Eve got to her feet. ‘I’ll have whisky, if there is any.’ She glanced at her mother. ‘Your choice of wine isn’t to my taste.’

‘Nor are your manners to mine, Cassie,’ retorted Ellie, and Eve wished now that she hadn’t offered to go and see how the housekeeper was coping. There was an ominous atmosphere building in the room, and she dreaded what her grandmother might say next.

‘I’m not a child, Mother.’ Everyone must have noticed that the honeyed ‘Mummy’ had given way to the chillier term. ‘And I don’t like red wine, as it happens. But you knew that.’

‘I’d forgotten,’ declared her mother blandly. ‘Your visits here are so infrequent, Cassie. I can’t be expected to remember everything.’

Cassie’s lips tightened, and Eve guessed she was biting her tongue. She must know better than anyone that it would be unwise to antagonise her mother when there was a guest in the house. Particularly when that guest was someone she wanted to impress.

In the hope of avoiding any further argument, Eve set Cassie’s empty glass on the tray. Then, keeping her back to the room, she managed to sneak the whisky bottle off the tray and into the cupboard below. Swinging round on her heels, she said, somewhat breathlessly, ‘I’m sorry. There doesn’t appear to be any whisky here, Cassie. I expect there’s a new bottle in the kitchen. Why don’t you come and get it?’

The face Cassie turned to her was hardly friendly. Eve was sure the words, Why don’t you get it? were hovering on her lips. But politeness—or common sense—won out, and with a muttered, ‘Excuse me,’ to Romero, she pushed herself to her feet and flounced across the room to join Eve at the door.

She waited until the door was firmly closed behind them and they’d put the width of the hall between them and the library before speaking again. But when she did, her words were hard and accusatory.

‘What do you think you’re playing at?’ she demanded. ‘I saw the bottle of whisky on the tray when Mrs Blackwood was pouring us all a glass of the poor excuse for claret my mother insists on serving. Don’t think I didn’t see you spirit it away into the cabinet. I’d be surprised if anybody missed it.’

Eve’s lips twisted. ‘I should have known that nothing I did would please you,’ she said flatly. ‘And here I was thinking I was saving your sorry ass!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Are you for real?’ Eve stared at her. ‘Don’t you realise your mother is just waiting for a chance to explode this myth you’ve created about yourself? You’re a fool if you think she’s forgotten—anything.’

‘With your connivance, no doubt.’

Eve shrugged. ‘If you want to think that, I can’t stop you.’

‘Well, what else am I supposed to think?’ Cassie balled one fist and pressed it into the palm of her other hand. Then, less aggressively, she said, ‘She wouldn’t say anything.’ A beat. ‘Would she?’

‘If you persist in baiting her, I don’t know what she might say,’ replied Eve honestly.

‘But she’s baiting me!’ Cassie made a sound of frustration. ‘Am I expected to take whatever she wants to give without defending myself at all?’

Eve moved towards the passage leading to the kitchen. ‘I can’t answer that. I suppose it rather depends on how much you want your—guest—to know about you.’

Cassie’s mouth tightened. ‘Are you threatening me?’

‘No!’ The look Eve cast over her shoulder was incredulous. ‘Why should I threaten you? I don’t care what you do, do I? How you conduct your life means nothing to me.’

Cassie scoffed. ‘Little Miss Prim,’ she said contemptuously. ‘I wonder if my mother has any idea of the kind of life you were living before she arrived like a fairy godmother to whisk you away.’

‘She knows,’ said Eve, and without waiting to see if Cassie was going to follow her she pushed open the door into the reassuring light and warmth of the kitchen.

‘Does she?’ Cassie came after her, evidently deciding that if she couldn’t torment her mother, she would torment Eve instead. ‘Well, don’t talk to me as if you’re Goody Two Shoes! We both know you’d do anything to get a man like Jake to support you.’

Eve gasped. She was used to Cassie speaking as if Mrs Blackwood was just a cipher, but this time she’d gone too far. ‘You’re wrong,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve never prostituted myself to get any man, Cassie. And unless you’re prepared for me to expose all your dirty washing, I suggest you back off!’

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS still dark—and cold—when Jake got out of bed. The heating hadn’t kicked in yet, and he padded across to the windows to look out on a grey world, with only the silvery trace of a rime frost to soften the outline of the trees in the paddock.

He’d slept alone, much to Cassandra’s annoyance. He knew one of the reasons she’d invited him here was because she wanted their relationship to advance to another stage. But he wasn’t interested in that, and the fact that her mother had arranged for them to have separate bedrooms showed that she didn’t approve of them conducting any illicit dealings under her roof.

She’d even phoned him on his mobile, evidently deciding it was too cold to brave the chilly corridors of the house when she couldn’t be sure how he’d respond. Cassandra didn’t like taking no for an answer.

A flicker of light in the yard below caught his attention. His room overlooked the back of the house, and as he watched he saw a figure detach itself from the building and head off towards the cluster of barns and outbuildings that were just visible in the gloom.

Eve.

Her tall, slim figure was unmistakable. Dressed in jeans and a bulky sweater, the thick braid of dark hair swinging over her shoulder, she moved with an unconscious grace that stirred an unwilling awareness inside him. Which was crazy. She wasn’t beautiful in the way Cassandra was beautiful. Her features were too irregular, her mouth too wide, her nose too long. Yet she possessed an almost exotic allure that pointed to a Latin ancestry, and there was a wealth of knowledge in her smoky grey eyes. He’d found himself wanting to bring a smile to those full, sultry lips, to feel her warmth enveloping him instead of that argumentative old woman she worked for.

He hadn’t succeeded. Not yet, at least. For some reason she’d taken an instant dislike to him, and try as he might he couldn’t get her to relax. She’d been forced to be polite to him during the rather tense supper Cassandra and her mother had created, but he’d been conscious of her disapproval all through the meal.

He pulled a wry face. He would have to do better, he thought, without really understanding why he should want to. Nevertheless, he turned swiftly from the window and went into the adjoining bathroom. Leaving his shower until later, he had a quick wash, cleaned his teeth, and ran his damp hands over his hair. That would have to do for now, he decided, and with a grimace at his reflection he returned to the bedroom.

Pulling on his oldest pair of jeans, he shivered a little as the cold fabric encased his warm skin. Then, grabbing the cashmere sweater he’d worn the night before, he thrust his arms into the sleeves and jerked it over his head.

He left his room a couple of minutes later. He’d hooked his leather jacket over one shoulder, and his trainers made little sound as he strode along the upper landing. Downstairs, he hesitated in the chilly hallway, not absolutely sure which way to go. But then he remembered the direction Eve had been coming from the night before and, taking a chance, he headed along the corridor that he hoped might lead to the back of the house.

He was right. Or at least partly so. When he opened the door at the end of the corridor, he found himself in the kitchen. The housekeeper, who had just been about to take a tray of freshly baked rolls from the oven, looked round in surprise, and Jake guessed he was the last person she’d expected to see.

‘Mr Romero!’ she exclaimed, pausing uncertainly. But then, realising she had to complete her task, she hurriedly set the tray of rolls on the scrubbed pine table and closed the oven door. ‘Can I help you?’

Jake gave her a rueful grin. He hadn’t expected to encounter anyone else either. ‘I—er—I was going to take a walk,’ he said a little lamely. ‘I wanted to get out back of the house.’