Innocent Sins. Anne Mather
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mother, you mean?’ she asked tersely, plunging the saucepan into cold water before snatching up a dishcloth to mop the stove. Anything to avoid looking at him, she thought, though she was perfectly aware of how attractive he was.
‘Possibly,’ he said now, and she wished she hadn’t jumped so childishly to her own defence. She had told herself that if—when—she saw Oliver again she would behave as if the past was another country. She had no wish to go there; no wish to resurrect his memories of the naïve teenager she’d been. He set down his canvas rucksack and draped a garment bag over the back of the old rocking chair that stood on the hearth. ‘Anyway, I was sorry to hear about your father. It must have been a terrible shock.’
‘Yes. Yes, it was.’
Laura didn’t look at him. She merely lifted her shoulders before continuing to scrub the burnt-in stains off the hob.
‘It was a shock for me, too,’ he added softly. ‘Your father and I might not have always seen eye to eye about things, but in recent years I like to think we grew to respect each other’s views.’
Laura stiffened her spine and forced herself to glance in his direction. ‘In recent years?’ she echoed, as her eyes took in the fact that he was broader. But it only served to give his lean frame an added maturity without adding any fat to his long bones. ‘I didn’t know you spent so much time at Penmadoc.’
‘I don’t.’ He sucked in a breath. ‘But you were in the States whereas I was available. He used to come up to London occasionally and, less frequently, I’d come down here.’
Laura tried not to feel any resentment. After all, it wasn’t as if her father hadn’t wanted her to come home. But, after her marriage to Conor broke up, it had seemed to her that she was a failure. At that, as in everything else, she mused bitterly. And Stella would never have let her forget it.
‘He didn’t tell me,’ she muttered now, turning back to her cleaning, but she was aware of Oliver crossing the room to open the fridge door.
‘Why would he?’ Oliver asked, peering inside. ‘I doubt if he thought you’d be interested.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Is there anything to eat around here?’
Laura permitted herself to view his broad shoulders. ‘Didn’t you have any dinner?’ she asked, and he swung the fridge door shut again with an impatient snort.
‘Dinner?’ His amusement was bitter. ‘What dinner?’ He gave a grunt. ‘I just got back from Singapore late this afternoon. Ma had apparently been ringing for hours, trying to get in touch with me. I only stopped long enough to take a shower before driving down.’
‘Singapore?’ Laura’s curiosity was showing and she quickly changed what she had been about to say. ‘Haven’t you had anything to eat at all?’
‘Soup. And a sandwich.’ Oliver glanced into the fridge again. ‘Don’t people eat any meat these days?’
Laura hesitated. Then she said, ‘I expect Aunt Nell has the freezer stocked. She always used to do a weekly shop at the supermarket in Rhosmawr.’
‘So she did.’ Oliver gave her a sideways glance. ‘I guess I’ll have to make do with another sandwich.’ His mouth took on a humorous twist as he looked at what she was wearing. ‘That new?’
Laura held up her head. ‘Don’t you recognise it?’ she asked coldly, and had the dubious satisfaction of seeing a trace of colour enter his lean cheeks. The fact that her own face was red, too, offered little compensation, however. Once again, she’d betrayed what she was thinking and laid herself open to his contempt.
But instead of making some sarcastic comment Oliver merely closed the fridge again and leaned back against it, arms folded across his chest. ‘Okay,’ he said quietly. ‘Let’s start again, shall we?’ His green eyes were narrowed and glinting with suppressed emotion. ‘I don’t want to argue with you, Laura. I know this can’t be easy for you—’
‘You flatter yourself!’
‘I mean losing your father,’ he interjected harshly. ‘For God’s sake, can’t you think of anyone but yourself? I know you don’t like me, Laura, but this is one occasion when I’d have thought you’d have put other people’s feelings before your own.’
Laura trembled. ‘It’s late—’
‘Yes, it is. But not too late, I hope!’ he exclaimed impatiently. ‘Look, like I said, let’s try and come to some kind of compromise, shall we? For—well, for your aunt Nell’s sake, if no one else?’
Laura dropped the dishcloth into the sink and tightened the belt of her robe. ‘Very well,’ she said, and heard his resigned intake of breath.
‘Very well?’ he mimicked drily. He cast his eyes towards the beamed ceiling. ‘Oh, Laura, don’t make it easy for me, will you?’
‘I said—’
‘I know what you said.’ He straightened away from the door. ‘Okay.’ He held out his hand towards her. ‘Friends?’
Laura moistened her dry lips. She didn’t want to touch him. Dear God, she’d have done just about anything rather than put her hand into his. But that was stupid! Stupid! Did she want him to think she was afraid of him, that she hadn’t got over that childish infatuation that had almost ruined her life?
‘Friends,’ she got out, almost gagging on the nausea that had risen into the back of her throat, and his strong brown fingers closed about her hand.
His fingers were cold but the impact Laura had was one of heat, a fiery heat that spread up her arm and into her breasts, making them tingle with an unwelcome awareness. The warmth of his breath invaded the neckline of her robe and she felt as if she was enveloped by his scent and his masculinity. An image of how he’d looked, lying naked and unashamed on his bed, flashed briefly before her eyes, and she suppressed a groan. But it was all she could do to prevent herself from jerking her hand out of his firm grasp.
‘Hey, you’re shivering,’ he said, and Laura had to bite her lip to silence the instinctive denial. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, you know.’
‘You didn’t.’
But her voice was high and strained and he seemed to sense it. With an odd expression playing about his mouth, he lifted his hand and stroked the backs of his fingers down her hot cheek, and this time she couldn’t prevent her automatic response. With a strangled sound, she jerked back from him, bruising her hip against the corner of the scrubbed pine table that occupied the centre of the floor.
‘Laura!’
His irritation was evident, but she suspected neither of them was prepared for his reaction. Instead of letting her go, he went after her, his hand closing on the nape of her neck now, his thumb forcing her face up to his.
‘Is this what an unhappy marriage has done to you?’ he demanded, and she realised incredulously that he thought she was reacting to some lingering torment from her relationship with Conor. That the panic she was barely controlling was something to do with her ex-husband.
As if!
‘I—’ She didn’t know what to say. Her head was swimming with the emotions his hard fingers were arousing inside her, and blaming Conor for feelings he had never been able to inspire seemed a cruel deceit. But… ‘Just let me go, Oliver,’ she said weakly. ‘I—I’m tired.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ His thumb was caressing her ear now and she thought how incredible it was that he thought he could give her any comfort. ‘Poor Laura. Do you have any idea how young you look in that robe?’
Laura felt faint. ‘Please,’ she said unsteadily. ‘Please, Oliver…’
‘It’s okay. I know.’ But just when she thought he was about to release her he changed his mind and, instead of moving aside, he pulled her into his arms. ‘You can rely on me, baby,’ he said