The Brooding Stranger. Maggie Cox
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He turned away, not even bothering with goodbye, and for reasons she couldn’t begin to analyse Karen found herself reluctant to let him go.
‘I’ve made some stew for supper.’ She faltered over the words as hectic colour suffused her face, fully aware that she had his attention more completely than a hunter fixing his sights on his prey before aiming his gun. Inwardly, she gulped. ‘There’s more than enough for two—that is if you haven’t already eaten?’
‘Is this a habit of yours?’
‘What? ‘
‘I mean do you normally extend spontaneous invitations to people you hardly know?’ Gray demanded irritably, booted feet firmly set on her doorstep like a captain at the helm of his ship.
‘You showed up the other day and came in without me inviting you. Is that any different?’
‘I asked you if I could come in and you said yes.’
‘Of course I did … you’re my landlord. So I do know you, don’t I?’
‘Damn it, woman, you’re on your own out here!’
He spoke as though she was far too relaxed about her personal safety for his liking. Karen was taken aback by the vehemence in his tone. Anyone who didn’t know them would think that he cared whether she was safe or not—which was utterly ridiculous when one considered the facts.
‘I know I’m perfectly safe here.’ She kept her voice deliberately soft. ‘I’ve only felt anxious once, and that was when I inadvertently crossed paths with the “big bad wolf” in the woods one day.’
For a moment a muscle tensed, then relaxed again in the side of Gray’s high sculpted cheekbone. One corner of his mouth quirked upwards in the beginnings of a smile. The gesture made him sinfully, dangerously attractive, and Karen had cause to question her wisdom at so recklessly inviting him to join her. Just then she remembered an adage she’d once read that the most dangerous wolves were the ones who were hairy on the inside. Maybe she’d be wise to remember that?
‘And he let you go?’ Gray parried dangerously.
Karen caught her breath. ‘Yes … he let me go.’
‘One day those big blue eyes are going to get you into a barrel full of trouble, little girl.’
‘I’m not a little girl, so stop calling me one. I’m a woman … a woman who’s been married, for goodness’ sake!’
‘Have you? Are you telling me you’re divorced now, then?’ With an impenetrable glint in his eye he shouldered past her into the sitting room.
Mentally counting to five, Karen slowly closed the door on the cold, rainy night outside. She shivered hard, but it was nothing to do with the weather. Glancing across at her visitor, she saw that he’d taken off his jacket and thrown it casually across the threadbare arm of the couch. Once again he moved across to the fire and held out his hands to its warmth—though Karen privately thought it would take a lot more than even a hundred blazing fires to warm the icy river that must pass for blood in Gray O’Connell’s veins.
‘I’m a widow.’ Finally commanding his full attention, she lightly shrugged a shoulder as he turned to survey her.
‘How long since you lost your man?’ It sounded almost poetic, the way he phrased it.
‘Eighteen—nearly nineteen months ago.’ She unfolded her arms to thread her fingers nervously through her hair, mentally bracing herself to receive some sort of barbed reply from this enigmatic man who clearly had so many defences that it was a wonder anything could pierce even a chink of his heavy armour. Not that she was looking for sympathy or anything.
‘Is that why you came here?’ His eyes raked her figure from head to foot, then returned to her face, where they reflected a provocatively unsettling interest in her mouth.
Karen grimaced uncomfortably. ‘Now, about that stew … I hope you’re hungry—’
‘How did he die?’ Though he stood-stock still, Gray’s relentless gaze ate up the distance between them as though channelling electricity—probing her reluctance to give him the information he sought with all the steely-eyed determination of a professional interrogator.
‘I don’t—I don’t really want to talk about it.’ She dipped her head, twisting her fingers into a long burnished strand of hair, then impatiently pushing it away again. Her troubled gaze studied the once colourful swirls woven into the homespun rug at her feet with exaggerated concentration.
‘I seem to remember you advising me that it sometimes helps to talk?’
Glancing up at him, Karen was inexplicably annoyed that he should throw what had, after all, been genuine compassion and concern back in her face.
‘You didn’t buy that idea when I offered it to you—why should you expect me to be any different in return?’
‘In my own case I knew it wouldn’t be of any use. You, however, are an entirely different case, Miss Ford. By the way, what is your first name?’
‘You obviously know that it’s Karen. You’re my landlord. The letting agents must have informed you.’
‘Perhaps I wanted to hear it from your own lips.’ Curling his fingers round the thick black leather belt he wore round his jeans, Gray seriously considered her. ‘You barely look old enough to have been married—let alone widowed.’
‘You know how old I am. I’ve already told you. And Ryan and I were married for five years. His death came as a terrible shock. There was no warning, so I wasn’t prepared. He hadn’t even been ill. He worked hard … too hard. Long hours, with not enough rest—but that’s the culture nowadays, isn’t it?’
Her eyes glazed over with distress. ‘The culture we’re all taught to so admire. As if there’s such virtue in working hard and dying young! My husband suffered a massive heart attack at the age of thirty-five. Can you imagine that? When he went, I wanted to die, too. So don’t stand there and tell me I don’t look old enough to be married, because in the space of those five short years with my husband I lived more life than most people do in ten times as long!’
She was shaking, emotion slamming into her like a train, appalled at giving in to such a passionate display in front of a man who probably regarded such outbursts as a certain sign of weakness … or at least a serious character flaw. If only she could take the words back, keep them private and unsaid, but it was clearly too late for that.
His handsome visage a cool, impenetrable mask of enforced self-control, Gray retrieved his jacket from the couch and wordlessly shrugged it on. As Karen struggled to regain even a shred of her former equilibrium, he came towards her, his expression grim. With her heart in her mouth she automatically stepped back. She saw the glimmer of disquiet in his gaze when she did, as if it took him aback that she might be afraid of him.
‘I’m sorry for your trouble, Miss Ford, and sorry that I clearly intruded where I had no right. I didn’t come here to make you revisit painful memories and upset you. I’ll see you in the morning as arranged—if that’s still all right? If not, we can leave it for another time that’s more convenient.’
Nodding miserably, Karen plucked the material of her soft wool sweater between trembling fingers, twisting it into a knot. ‘Tomorrow morning will be fine.’
‘Good. I’ll wish you goodnight, then.’ Gray’s glance greedily swept her pale solemn face, the distressed China-blue eyes with their long dark blonde lashes that reminded him of a fawn, and the full, almost pouting, trembling lips devoid of so much as a trace of lipstick. A man would have to go a long way to find such innocent unaffected beauty in a woman, he thought.
Karen heard him go to the door, lift the latch and step outside. As he went, her body seemed suddenly to move of its own volition, and she found herself hurrying after him. Out into the rainy night she ran, her eyes squinting up at the water that splashed onto her face,