A Forbidden Desire. Robyn Donald
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think there’s much call for history masters outside the halls of academe.’
Why was she so—so nervous about her plans, so secretive? Because she didn’t yet know whether they were possible—and because she didn’t like the prospect of appearing a fool. ‘Probably not,’ she agreed, feeling ineffectual and foolish.
Goaded by his measuring look, she added, ‘Actually, the Master’s degree is a promise I made to my mother.’
There, that would show him she wasn’t just drifting.
‘And you always keep your promises?’
‘Yes.’
Without haste her unwilling host surveyed her face, his vivid blue gaze roaming the thick, now untidy mass of her hair, its damp curls clinging to the margins of her high forehead.
Heat burned through her skin. Straight copper brows drawn over her long nose, she met his scrutiny with defiance, knowing that the golden specks in her eyes would be glittering against the green matrix.
Starry Eyes, her mother used to call her when she was a child.
She could read nothing in Paul’s scrutiny beyond a cool assessment that prickled her skin and tightened her muscles in a primitive reflex, but when his glance moved to her wide, soft mouth she jutted her chin, fighting back a response in which anger and a forbidden excitement warred.
She didn’t want this overwhelming physical attraction. It was something she’d never experienced before, and it was dangerous.
Paul’s enigmatic gaze didn’t drop any further—and that, she thought angrily, was just as well. Although his scrutiny was too impersonal to be a leer, he’d checked her out beyond the bounds of politeness.
‘“Mine honour is my life”,’ he quoted.
Shakespeare, of course. An equivocal note in his voice scratched at her nerves again. ‘Something like that,’ she said curtly:
Each word dropped into the tense silence that stretched between them—humming, she thought edgily, with unspoken thoughts, with emotions she didn’t intend to examine.
Just when she thought she was going to have to break it, he drawled, ‘Very worthy.’
‘Hardly.’ She wondered why his words should sound like a warning. ‘Every child learns the importance of keeping promises.’
‘But children often forget as they grow older.’
Too late Jacinta remembered Aura, who had broken her vows to him in the most dramatic way. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—then closed it again when a covert glance at his shuttered expression warned her that nothing she could say would help ease the tension.
He asked her about the new fee structure at the university, and while they discussed the implications Jacinta forgot her reservations, forgot that almost insolent survey of her face. His astute, acerbic sagacity made her think hard and fast, and his understanding of people’s motives startled her with its blend of tolerance and cynicism.
‘Gerard seems to think you’ll get honours when you do your MA,’ he said, the blue eyes indolent behind his lashes.
Some obscure note in his voice made the comment ambiguous. ‘He’s a bit prejudiced,’ she said stiffly. She might be Paul’s guest, but she didn’t owe him any more revelations.
‘We’re always inclined to be prejudiced about the people we’re fond of,’ Paul McAlpine said.
She looked sharply up, but those eyes, so transparent she could drown in them, hid his thoughts very effectively.
‘Or those people we’ve taught,’ she returned, just as pleasantly. ‘I’ll unpack now. Shall I take the tray through to the kitchen?’
‘I will;’ he said, getting to his feet and lifting the tray.
Although Jacinta always noticed hands, it was uncanny that the sight of his sent a tiny shudder of sensation chasing down her spine. Walking back along the hall, she felt an odd weight in her breasts, a kind of tingling fullness that embarrassed and irritated her.
Oh, be sensible, she told herself with self-derisory crispness, trying to be blase and objective. It was hardly surprising that she should be attracted to him. He was magnificent—a splendid figure of a man. There was something about him that made her think of sanity and freedom and enviable, disciplined self-assurance.
Paul McAlpine would probably never find himself in a situation he couldn’t control.
Lucky man, she decided crossly, blinking as she stepped from the shaded verandah into the bright light of the sun.
CHAPTER TWO
EVERYTHING Jacinta owned except for some stored furniture was contained in two suitcases. In the back seat of Gerard’s car, neatly strapped in by the seatbelts, were a computer and printer, and on the floor several boxes of books.
Not a lot for almost thirty years, she thought wryly as she began to ease a suitcase out of the boot.
‘I’ll take that,’ Paul said from behind.
Jacinta didn’t quite stop herself from flinching, but hoped that her swift step away hid her involuntary reaction. ‘Oh—thanks,’ she said vaguely.
The sun gleamed on his fair hair, gilded his tanned skin. When he picked up the second case in one steady lift, muscles flexed smoothly beneath the fine cotton of his shirt. Oddly breathless, Jacinta reached into the back seat, fumbling with the seatbelt that held the computer in place.
A seagull laughed mockingly, its wings catching the light so that it shone silver, a mythical bow in the sparkling sky. Jacinta hauled the computer out and set off with it after the man who walked so easily up the white path and into the cool shadow of the house.
He put the suitcases onto the floor of the room she’d chosen and said, ‘I’ll bring in the printer.’
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I can do it; you must have work to do.’
‘Not today,’ he said gravely.
Frankly helpless, she stood in the centre of the room with the computer in her arms and watched him go. Oh, lord, she thought dismally, walking across to the desk. Biting her lip, she turned and settled the computer into place on the desk.
He looked like a white knight, handsome and easygoing, a golden man—if you could ignore that strong jaw and the hint of hardness in his chiselled mouth. But from behind he looked like a Viking, walking with steady, long-legged, distance-eating strides across a world that trembled before him.
And although imagination was a prime requisite for her next venture, at that moment she wished she didn’t possess quite so much of it.
He brought the printer in, and watched while she set it up. She did that because there was no way she’d open her suitcases in front of him. As it was, she was beginning to think that agreeing to stay here had not been a good decision.
While the test pattern ran through she said tentatively, ‘I think we should discuss some sort of—of arrangement while I’m here.’
Those intimidating brows lifted again. He didn’t say anything.
Jacinta imagined rods of steel going from her head to her heels. ‘Money,’ she said succinctly.
Eyes the same colour as a winter sky, cold and clear and piercing, moved from the screen to her face. ‘You are Gerard’s guest,’ he said, his voice as unyielding as his expression. ‘He asked me to make sure that you were all right while you were here. Money doesn’t enter into it.’
She tried again. ‘Nevertheless I’ll pay for my food.’
He shrugged, his unreadable gaze never leaving her face. ‘If it’s that important to you, work out some sort of board payment with Fran,’