Melting Fire. Anne Mather
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her guardian; the man she had always regarded as the mentor in her life, and her eyes had opened, seeking wildly for some way to escape him, when she saw Alex Bishop watching them from the sliding doors of the garden room.
With a gulp she tore her mouth from Richard’s, taking a step backwards and saying jerkily: ‘He—hello, Alex.’
Richard seemed unperturbed, however. With a wry glance in her direction, he turned to Alex Bishop, loosening his tie as he asked: ‘Did you make the call?’
‘Yes.’ Alex, his face slightly embarrassed, stepped on to the patio. ‘I’m sorry if I interrupted anything …’
‘You’re not interrupting anything,’ declared Richard easily, smiling at Olivia, and she felt a ridiculous sense of relief. This was the Richard she knew and loved, and she was glad she had not embarrassed them both by treating his kiss as anything more than a demonstration of his delight in seeing her again. It was nine months, after all, since he had accompanied her to Paris and seen her safely installed at St Helena’s, and that was the longest parting they had had. It was natural that he should feel relieved to have her home again, safe and sound.
Listening to him giving Alex his orders, she relaxed completely, resuming her position on the sun lounger, and feeling an intense sense of contentment sweeping over her. Richard always gave her this feeling of warmth and security, and she lifted her shoulders in a little gesture of happiness. She wondered how long he was staying, and then dismissed the thought. She didn’t want to have to put a limit on their time together, and she looked up at him surreptitiously, thinking with detachment what an attractive man he was. Shelley Foster thought so, she knew that, the girl had told her so many times, but Richard wouldn’t marry her. Olivia guessed when he did marry it would be to someone like himself, rich and successful, the kind of woman who could run his home and be his hostess, and talk intelligently to the foreign guests he often brought to stay at Copley.
Curiously enough, the idea of Richard getting married didn’t particularly appeal to her. She guessed it was partly a selfish desire to continue to regard Copley as her home, which she would feel less able to do with another mistress there, but there was more to it than that. A wife would demand more of his attention than Olivia wanted to give, and she could never share her anxieties with him knowing he might go and confide them to his wife!
She sighed, and as she did so she lifted her fingers to her lips, still tingling from the pressure of his. Had it been her fault that he had kissed her that way? she wondered. Was that how he kissed the women he went out with? Had her experience with Jules affected her response? Certainly, until the Frenchman had taken her in his arms and taught her the more passionate aspects of kissing, she had been singularly naïve. But Jules had not aroused that feeling of panic inside her, he had not stroked her lips with his—an intimacy which even now brought a disturbing sensation that was half pain, half pleasure, to the pit of her stomach.
‘So—how was St Helena’s?’
Richard had rescued his glass and was speaking to her again, and glancing round she realised Alex had disappeared once more. Endeavouring to push her discomfiting speculations aside, she forced a smile to her lips and replied: ‘It was interesting. The girls were very friendly—particularly Michelle. I wrote you about her.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Richard nodded, raising his glass to his lips and draining its contents before continuing: ‘The girl whose family you stayed with at Easter. Tours, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s right,’ Olivia nodded. ‘How about you? Did you have a good time in Athens?’
Richard grinned. ‘It was—interesting,’ he teased, mocking her reply to his question. ‘The girls were very friendly.’ Then, as she coloured, he added: ‘Seriously though, I was sorry to be away when you arrived home, kitten. It wasn’t intentional, believe me. But you know how it is.’ He shrugged out of his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, the dark tan of his skin revealing that he didn’t spend all his time in the boardroom. ‘Have you been in the pool yet? It looks as if Thomas has made a good job of cleaning it out.’
Olivia looked towards the pale green water, shading her eyes against the glare. ‘No, I haven’t,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t bring my bikini downstairs, and I was too lazy to go and get it.’
Richard laughed. ‘Well, you’d better get it. Unless you want me to tip you in fully clothed.’
She looked up at him eagerly, her anxieties dispersing once more. ‘Are you going to swim?’
‘Try and stop me,’ he agreed, walking towards the house, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. ‘I’ll go and get out of these clothes. See you in a few minutes.’
Olivia waited only long enough to ensure he would have reached his bedroom, before following him up the stairs. She had heard Jess giving little wuffs of pleasure, and guessed the wolfhound had accompanied him. She was intensely loyal, and Richard had had her for a great number of years, which accounted for her lack of energy on days like this, Olivia supposed dryly.
In her room, she quickly found the brown bikini she had bought in Paris. Edged with gold beading and fringed below the bra, it accentuated the honey-gold of her skin, and she was pleased with the faintly reddish glow she found on her arms and legs. She would soon tan in this weather, she thought, but never as strongly as Richard. His skin was much darker than hers, matching the ebony dullness of his hair.
A towelling smock provided an adequate cover for the walk from bedroom to pool, but as she passed Richard’s room he emerged wearing only the frayed denim shorts he used to swim in. He raised mocking eyebrows at her modest appearance, and she dug him in the ribs playfully, before darting away down the stairs with him chasing her. Even Jess joined in the excitement, barking more noisily than before, and following them out to the patio.
Olivia tore round the pool, half afraid Richard would throw her in, smock and all, but he halted at the opposite side, allowing her to stand panting, facing him across the tinted water.
‘I can wait,’ he averred threateningly, and she gurgled with laughter as she pulled off the smock to expose her shapely body.
If, after what had occurred earlier, she had expected Richard to gaze at her, entranced, she was very much mistaken. Before she had dropped her smock on to the ground, he had dived cleanly into the water, the spreading ripples of his entry disturbing the calm water. He emerged just below where she was standing, his hand reaching for her ankle, and she skipped away from him just in time.
‘Come on,’ he said, treading water, ‘what’re you afraid of? Getting wet?
Olivia stepped to the rim and dipped her toe tentatively. ‘It’s freezing,’ she protested, hanging back, and again he swam to just beneath her.
‘Give me your hand,’ he suggested, stretching out his towards her, but she knew better than to trust him.
‘Go away and I’ll get in,’ she promised, and with a shrug, he did a backward somersault and swam obediently across the pool.
He came up, pushing back his hair from his eyes, and she watched him warily. When he grinned, the lines that bracketed his mouth were erased, and she thought how good it was to be seeing his harsh features again. He was not handsome, she conceded, not like Jules, who was the idol of hundreds of French teenagers, but there was something about his heavy-lidded eyes and strong cheekbones, his nose which had been broken once in an amateur boxing tournament, that she could see now was equally attractive. Certainly, she knew, there had been women in his life, and beautiful women at that, women sometimes whose husbands had been unaware of their wives’ penchant for the sexy chairman of the Jenner corporation. But until now, Olivia had not really assessed him in that way, and it was disconcerting to realise that she did not like the sensation. He was her stepbrother, not someone she was attracted to, and she wished she could forget the way he had kissed her and resume their old relationship.
‘What are you thinking about?’ he demanded now, growing impatient with the delay, and hurriedly she sat down on the side of the pool and dipped her legs into the water. She was hardly thinking about what she was doing, and