‘Come on, Matthew,’ his fiancée encouraged, pulling him towards the door. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, Stacy.’

  ‘And tell you how good you were,’ Matthew muttered as a parting shot.

  Stacy was able to relax once more when they had gone, the boring serial which had been showing when they arrived now replaced by an old film. This one was older than most, the storyline almost non-existent, the dialogue deplorable, the only reason for the film being made at all being that the hero managed to make a constant show of his biceps.

  Nevertheless, Stacy watched it, and several other programmes that held no interest for her. Sandy came in about twelve-thirty and went straight to her bedroom; their other two flatmates at an all-night party.

  Somewhere between the double late night bill of horror films Stacy somehow managed to fall asleep in the chair. She woke up to the toneless hum of the television, a glance at her wrist-watch telling her it was almost three o’clock in the morning. The girls should be back from their party soon—and she hadn’t even been to bed yet!

  She rose stiff and cold from the chair to switch off the television, frozen in the act by the banging on the door. Helen and Sheila must have forgotten their key. God, the noise they were making, they were going to wake the whole building!

  Jake stood on the doorstep, swaying unsteadily on his feet, and if Stacy had changed so had he. He looked terrible, really haggard. Of course the drink didn’t help, the strong smell of whisky almost choked her. But it was more than that; he was much thinner, deep lines of strain etched either side of his nose and mouth, his dark hair much too long and showing more grey at his temples. But it was his eyes that were the worst, his deep blue eyes that had once glowed with desire for her now showed only cynicism and disillusionment.

  ‘My God, Jake,’ she said chokingly. ‘Is this any time to call?’

  ‘What the hell does the time matter?’ he rasped. ‘You obviously hadn’t gone to bed yet.’

  ‘Come in, for goodness’ sake!’ She pulled him inside. ‘You’ll disturb all our neighbours.’ She watched him as he weaved his way into the lounge to sit down on the sofa, with a creaking protest from the old springs at his weight descending on them. ‘You didn’t drive here in this state?’ she demanded.

  He leant back against the sofa, his eyes closed. ‘I got a taxi,’ he mumbled.

  ‘But what are you doing here?’ She still stood hesitantly in the doorway.

  The blue eyes flickered open. ‘You weren’t at the premiere, so I had to come to see you. Why weren’t you there?’ His words were slurred, even more evidence of his heavy drinking.

  ‘I didn’t want to go.’

  ‘You didn’t want to see me,’ he mocked.

  ‘You place too much importance on yourself,’ she retorted heatedly. ‘I simply didn’t feel like going.’

  ‘I wanted to see you.’ He was talking softly, almost as if in conversation with himself. ‘Did you know that I love you?’ he asked matter-of-factly.

  Stacy paled, swallowing hard. ‘Wh—what did you say?’

  ‘I said I—’ The room grew suddenly quiet.

  Stacy looked at him in horror as she saw his head droop to one side, his deep breathing evidence of his sleeping. She couldn’t believe this! Jake had come here at three o’clock in the morning, had calmly told her he loved her, and now he had passed out on the sofa!

  CHAPTER TEN

  SANDY came into the kitchen yawning tiredly. She was dressed in a long nightshirt and brown mules, her shoulder-length hair permed into a long Afro-style. She wordlessly poured herself a mug of coffee before sitting down opposite Stacy at the breakfast table.

  ‘The man in the lounge,’ she said tiredly.

  ‘Mm?’ Stacy sipped her own coffee.

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Jake Weston.’

  That brought a slight spark of interest into Sandy’s otherwise hazy blue eyes. ‘The author?’

  ‘Mm,’ Stacy nodded.

  ‘Oh.’ Sandy stood up to flip-flop her way back out to the lounge. She was back a few seconds later. ‘Handsome devil.’ She sat down again.

  ‘Mm,’ Stacy said again.

  ‘Does he belong to you?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘No?’ Sandy’s eyebrows rose, the colour of them denoted by her name. ‘One of the others, then?’

  Stacy decided she had better make an effort to explain Jake’s presence here, even if she wasn’t sure of his reasons herself. ‘He’s here to see me, but he doesn’t belong to me.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t mean literally. I’m just not used to finding strange men flaked out of the sofa. Has he been there all night?’

  ‘Since about three,’ Stacy confirmed.

  ‘And you’ve been sitting up with him all night.’ Sandy indicated Stacy’s crumpled jeans and jumper.

  ‘I dozed in the chair a bit. But I couldn’t just leave him there, he could have wandered into any of your rooms.’

  Sandy smiled. ‘I don’t think any of us would have minded. I know I wouldn’t.’

  ‘Maybe that’s what I was afraid of,’ Stacy said dryly.

  Sandy stood up. ‘I’m going back to bed.’ She refilled her mug with coffee. ‘Your author was beginning to wake, by the way. I caught a glimpse of deep blue eyes through those marvellous long lashes.’

  ‘Oh God!’ Stacy jumped to her feet. ‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’ she demanded angrily.

  Sandy shrugged. ‘He was only just beginning to move. Besides, he doesn’t look as if he would get very far.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’ Stacy remembered Jake’s inebriated state of last night and imagined he must have quite a hangover this morning.

  By the time the two of them entered the lounge Jake had managed to pull himself into a sitting position, his eyes still half-closed as if in pain. Stacy had removed his shoes the night before and placed a blanket over him, although this had since been pushed off.

  ‘Good morning,’ Sandy called to him goodnaturedly.

  ‘Hi.’ Jake grimaced at the effort just this little word took, raising his hand to his aching temples. ‘God, my head hurts!’

  Sandy grinned before going into her bedroom and closing the door. Stacy looked at Jake uncertainly. She seemed to have done nothing else but look at him all night, feasting her eyes on him as he slept.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ she said unsympathetically.

  He blinked to clear his vision, slipping out of his crumpled jacket and releasing his bow-tie. ‘I could use some coffee,’ he mumbled.

  Stacy pointedly sat down, her legs tucked beneath her in the chair. ‘The kitchen is over there,’ she said callously, her chin high as she determined not to look at him.

  He ran a hand round the back of his stiff neck, a dark growth of beard on his chin. ‘You won’t get me some?’

  ‘I’m not a servant!’

  ‘All right.’ He stood up wearily, his clothes very creased from his night’s sleep in them. ‘Over there, you said?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said tight-lipped.

  She could hear him opening and shutting cupboards as he looked for the coffee and a cup to put it in. She felt herself weakening towards him as she heard him swearing softly to himself, feeling guilty as he continued to mutter.

  He appeared to have got no further than putting the kettle on by the time Stacy got out there and, pushing him out of the way, she made two fresh cups of coffee. It seemed to be the only thing that was keeping her awake at the moment. She had started to drift off to sleep about six o’clock but had been woken up again when Helen and Sheila came in from their party.

  ‘Thanks.’ Jake took a huge gulp of the strong brew. ‘I guess I must have passed out on you last night.’

  ‘You guess right.’ Stacy carried her own drink through to the lounge and sat down again.

  Jake followed her, obviously feeling slightly better after drinking the reviving coffee. ‘You aren’t in a good mood when you wake up.’

  Her green eyes flashed like emeralds. She was well aware of the picture she must make with her hair tied back untidily and the dark circles around her eyes in her pale face. ‘When I wake up I’m usually in a good mood,’ she told him sharply. ‘I don’t happen to have just woken up, I’ve been awake most of the night.’

  ‘You have?’ He raised dark eyebrows. ‘I slept very well.’

  She gave him an angry glare. ‘Mainly because you were unconscious for most of it!’

  He slowly put down his empty mug. ‘Do you think I was drunk last night?’ he asked slowly.

  Stacy gave a harsh laugh. ‘I don’t think it at all, I know it. You were absolutely stoned when you arrived here, or I would have called a taxi and had you taken to your hotel.’

  ‘I wasn’t drunk, Stacy,’ he told her softly. ‘I’d been on the plane for hours, gone to a premiere it turned out I needn’t have attended, and spent two hours at a party that bored the pants off me. I have to admit I had a couple of drinks there, but—’

  ‘A couple!’ she snorted her disbelief. ‘More like a couple of dozen! You arrived on my doorstep at three o’clock in the morning, then talked incoherently for several minutes before going unconscious.’

  Jake came to stand in front of her, his firm muscular thighs on a level with her eyes. ‘I wasn’t drunk, Stacy,’ he repeated steadily. ‘I was exhausted. I’d taken a couple of pills to keep me awake and the whisky on top seemed to put me in a coma. I could feel the effects of it on the way over here, but I had to see you. And I don’t think I was talking incoherently at all. I seem to remember I told you I love you.’

  Colour flared into her otherwise pale cheeks. ‘The ramblings of a drunken man don’t mean a lot to me.’

  ‘I wasn’t drunk, damn you!’ His fingers bit into the soft flesh at the top of her arms as he pulled her to her feet. He held her immobile against the stirring of his thighs, his head bent on a level with her own. ‘I love you, Stacy. I love you!’ He shook her roughly.

  She took a deep breath. ‘And when did you make this startling discovery?’ She had to scorn him or she would simply have melted against the urgency of his body, not caring what he felt for her as long as he made love to her. She closed her eyes against the total maleness of him, fighting the betrayal of her own body.

  ‘It wasn’t startling at all,’ he contradicted gently. ‘I’ve known for a very long time.’

  She couldn’t believe him, she wouldn’t believe him. He was playing some new game with her—and she wasn’t going to play. ‘Really?’ she said disinterestedly.

  ‘What the hell is the matter with you?’ he rasped angrily, shaking her once again. ‘What’s happened to you?’

  She wrenched away from him. He was what had happened to her, him and the love she felt towards him, the love that was slowly destroying her. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me, I just don’t understand your reasons for being here.’

  ‘Don’t understand … Haven’t I just been telling you?’ Jake sounded exasperated. ‘Or do you have men making those sort of declarations every day, so that it means nothing to you if one more fool does it? Oh hell!’ he ran a hand roughly through his dark hair. ‘I didn’t come here with the intention of throwing out those sort of insults.’

  Stacy hadn’t flinched at his barb, expecting it as a mouse expects torment from a cat. ‘Why did you come here?’ she asked dully.

  ‘To tell you I love you!’ He searched her cold hard features, shaking his head dazedly. ‘It doesn’t seem to mean much to you.’

  She could have told him that nothing seemed to mean much to her lately, nothing seemed to break through the numbness and depression she felt. She loved this man and he said he loved her, and yet she knew there could never be any happiness for them together. Apart from him she was barely alive, but if she accepted the little he was prepared to give she would be subjecting herself to a living hell. This man had no trust in any woman, and it would destroy her in the end.

  ‘I’m flattered, of course—’

  ‘Flattered!’ he cut in angrily. ‘I don’t want you to be flattered, for God’s sake! I want to know how you feel about me.’

  ‘I feel nothing for you,’ she lied.

  His face darkened with anger. ‘I wouldn’t say the way you tremble against me was nothing,’ he snapped.

  Stacy sighed. ‘I’ll admit to a certain amount of physical attraction.’

  ‘You’ll admit to a damn sight more than that!’ he said grimly, making a threatening move towards her.

  ‘No!’ She backed away. ‘Please, remember where you are. I have three flatmates, any one of whom could come out here at any moment.’

  ‘But they won’t,’ he said with a certainty that surprised her. ‘Not if they have any sense. I wouldn’t like them to be embarrassed.’

  Stacy fought against him as he pulled her effortlessly into his arms, trying to evade his searching mouth but knowing the temptation to feel the full possession of this man, just once to be wholly his.

  His mouth was gentle on hers, his hands beneath her sweater as he strained her against the hard throbbing of his thighs. ‘Kiss me, Stacy. I need you to,’ he groaned.

  She couldn’t resist his pleadings, and her mouth flowered beneath his as she felt him deepen the kiss. They lay side by side on the sofa, Jake’s shirt completely unbuttoned, Stacy’s sweater pushed up so that their naked torsoes moulded together. She hadn’t been able to say no as he had kissed and caressed her, and she wished now that they were completely alone in the flat so that their consummation could be complete.

  ‘Your body is beautiful,’ Jake groaned against one rosy nipple, smoothing her skin with trembling passion. ‘I want to love you,’ he rasped. ‘All of you.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ she moaned her own pleasure. ‘Oh, Jake, why did you have to leave me?’

  ‘You left me,’ his mouth teased her breasts to full pulsating life. ‘I asked you to stay, I almost begged you.’

  ‘And you know the reason I couldn’t.’ She lay weak and pliant in his arms. ‘I don’t want to be your mistress, Jake. I just don’t want that.’ And yet she knew that if he chose to take her right now that was exactly what she would become.

  ‘I not asking it, you silly child,’ he chided gently. ‘I want you to marry me.’

  ‘No!’ she pushed against his chest. ‘You—you can’t mean that.’

  He held her easily beneath him. ‘Why can’t I?’

  ‘Because I—You don’t want to get married, not after—not after Margaret.’

  Her words acted as a douche to his ardour, and swinging his legs to the floor he began to button his shirt. ‘Do you know why I was originally late on the film set?’

  She shrugged. ‘Something held you up in America, something personal.’

  ‘Very personal,’ he acknowledged grimly. ‘Margaret killed herself just before I was due to leave.’

  ‘Oh no!’ She could see how affected he had been by his wife’s death. ‘I didn’t know,’ she said gently.

  ‘I was planning to divorce her at the time. Oh, not that she knew about that, it was still just an idea. She didn’t kill herself on purpose, she just took one pill too many on top of one drink too many.’ He turned to look at Stacy’s hand as it rested on his thigh, picking it up to kiss her palm with probing lips. ‘And then I came to England and met you, fell in love with you—and all you seemed to be doing was pushing your other men down my throat.’

  Stacy hung her head. ‘You said I reminded you of your wife.’

  ‘Under great provocation.’

  ‘Perhaps. But—’

  ‘You’re nothing like her, nothing at all! Will you please marry me, Stacy?’

  She took a deep breath to answer no, but the words wouldn’t come. She wanted to be his wife, wanted that above all things. How wonderful to wake up in the morning and find Jake beside her for the rest of her life, to know he was her husband, this marvellous, fascinating man that she loved her own husband. But the reason for her leaving him in Cornwall still applied, his terrible temper when he thought her interested in another man.

  She stood up, wringing her hands together as he watched her, a completely vunerable expression on his usually arrogant features. ‘It wouldn’t work,’ she said evasively.

  Instantly he was on his feet in front of her. ‘Why wouldn’t it? You know everything about me that could possibly harm any marriage we have. Brad told me that he’d explained to you about Danny and Margaret.’

  She smoothed his furrowed brow. ‘I was so sorry to hear about your son. He would have been my age by now.’

  Jake shrugged. ‘I loved him, but it hit Margaret much harder than it hit me. I’m convinced that after he died she was on a course of self-destruction she just didn’t want to stop. Why wouldn’t our marriage work, Stacy? Am I so unlovable?’

  ‘No,’ she admitted shakily. ‘Far from it.’

  ‘Then why?’ He tenderly touched her cheek. ‘I love you, I want to marry you. What more can I say?’

  She shook her head. ‘Absolutely nothing. And don’t think I’m not grateful for your love, but I—’

  He shook her roughly. ‘Will you stop using words like “grateful” and “flattered”,’ he said disgustedly. ‘I want you for my wife. It would work between us, I’m convinced of it.’

  ‘It may do, until your next flare-up of jealous temper.’

  He turned away. ‘So that’s it. I can’t help my jealousy where you’re concerned. It rises up like a red tide and takes over.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But that’s only because I’m so uncertain about you,’ he explained pleadingly. ‘God, you led me to believe it was Day you really wanted, and I still believed it until I saw him with Juliet last night. They told me they’re getting married soon.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Was everything you said about him a lie?’

  Stacy gave him a startled look. ‘Everything?’

  ‘You know what you implied that last day in Cornwall, you wanted me to think he was your lover. But you’re innocent, aren’t you?’ he probed.

  ‘Innocent?’ she queried.

  ‘A virgin.’

  ‘Not in thought.’ How many times had she imagined being made fully his!