Shattered Illusions. Anne Mather
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brushing softly against his skin. She viewed his half-naked appearance with evident enjoyment. ‘Was Sophie on the prowl again?’
‘No.’ Dominic bit off the word, wishing he didn’t have to explain who he’d been talking to. But Catriona wouldn’t be satisfied until she had the story from him, and it was obviously more sensible to be honest from the start. ‘I met your new secretary.’
‘Miss Harris?’ Catriona’s delicately tinted lips tightened, and Dominic prepared himself for the remonstrance that he was sure was to come. ‘What did you think of her, darling? Quite a change from Kristin, isn’t she? And such a frump! Is that what universities are turning out these days?’
He knew a quite absurd desire to defend the woman, but he suppressed the urge. So long as Catriona thought she was unthreatening, Miss Harris’s job was safe. Besides, it was only what he had thought, seeing her from the window. His later opinion had been influenced by a ridiculous awareness of her sexuality.
‘Who knows?’ he responded, grateful for the diversion. ‘She seems to admire your work, as you said.’
‘Mmm.’ Catriona absorbed the compliment indifferently, her attention focused now on his mouth. Her tongue circled her lips. ‘Kiss me good morning, darling. Then I’ll ask Sophie to serve us breakfast on the terrace. It’s not often we get the chance to be alone at this time of day.’
Dominic bent and brushed her mouth with his own, but when he would have drawn back again her slim arms circled his neck. ‘More,’ she whispered huskily, her small teeth nibbling at his ear. ‘I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we have breakfast in bed?’
Dominic’s hands on her shoulders propelled her away from him. ‘Not this morning, Cat,’ he told her flatly, even though the blood was racing through his veins. He’d wanted her for ever, it seemed; ever since his father had first brought her to this house. But he couldn’t despoil his father’s memory by making her his mistress. Not yet, at any rate.
‘Why not?’ Catriona looked sulky now, her thin lips drawn down in a frustrated curve. ‘When are you going to accept that we’ve waited long enough? Dom, Larry has been dead for more than a year!’
‘I know.’
Dominic lifted his vest and tugged it over his head, using the action to avoid her resentful eyes. Dammit, he knew better than anyone how long it was since they had buried his father, and of how mixed his feelings had been because Lawrence Redding was gone.
‘If you’re not careful, I shall begin to think you don’t love me anymore,’ Catriona accused him now, her eyes sparkling with more anger than grief. ‘I thought when you agreed to come here to recuperate that you’d realised we can’t go on like this any longer. I need you, Dom. I want to be with you. And I always thought that was what you wanted, too.’
‘It is!’
Dominic’s jaw compressed, and the urge to ignore his scruples and take her in his arms almost overcame his common sense. But for all he was desperate to make love to her this wasn’t the time. He owed his father much more than a lousy twelve months’ grace.
‘Then why—?’
‘Look, we’ll have breakfast together, right?’ he interrupted her tersely. ‘It’s too early in the day to have a conversation like this. I’ll speak to Sophie while you go and put some clothes on. Besides, didn’t you tell me you’d be having breakfast with your new assistant? You can’t let her down.’
‘But you can let me down, it seems,’ retorted Catriona coldly, tightening the cord of her robe about her slim waist. ‘You’re a cruel bastard, Dom. Sometimes I wonder why I care about you so much.’
Dominic sighed. ‘Cat—’
‘Don’t say anything more.’ Catriona held up a quelling hand, and walked haughtily towards the door. ‘And don’t bother joining us for breakfast. As you say, my work—or in this case my assistant—must come first.’
Dominic grimaced as she disappeared, but although he was sure he would pay for it later he didn’t regret having made a stand. During the past twelve months, his relationship with Catriona had developed faster than even he could have imagined, and he knew it was time to slow it down.
It was strange—he could remember the first time he’d seen Catriona as if it were yesterday. He’d been fifteen years old at the time, home from school in Boston, spending his summer swimming and sailing, and loafing around the house.
He’d been used to being on his own in those days. His mother had been killed in a freak skiing accident when he was only six, and his father had coped with his grief by burying himself in his work. The publishing house in New York, which Dominic’s grandfather had founded, had kept him busy, and Lawrence Redding had never really learned how to delegate.
Catriona—Markham, as she was known then—had been a young author from England. She’d written a couple of rather poor detective novels that hadn’t found a publisher, and her agent had sent her latest manuscript to Goldman and Redding in New York in the hope of appealing to the lucrative American market.
Dominic didn’t know if his father had considered that first manuscript might be worthy of publication, or whether, on meeting her, he’d just been blinded by the woman’s beauty. In any event, six months later she’d become Mrs Lawrence Redding, and six months after that her first romantic historical novel had been published under the name of Catriona Redding.
He knew it had been his father’s influence which had first made her books so successful. With the promotion he’d given that first book and Catriona’s own personality sparkling on every talk-show nationwide, it would have been hard to fail. Dominic knew from his own experience that it wasn’t always the book itself that put it on the best-seller lists. But it had been the second and all the subsequent successes that had made Catriona Redding a household name. In writing romantic historicals she had found her niche, and each new title had attracted more and more readers.
It would have been ungracious not to admit that Goldman and Redding had benefited greatly from the alliance, but, as Catriona frequently said when she was interviewed, she owed her success to Larry for pointing her in the right direction. And, although towards the end of her husband’s life Catriona had often spoken of the possible advantages of writing for a larger publishing house, she had never actually deserted her husband’s firm.
His own reaction to acquiring a new stepmother was not something Dominic was particularly proud of. He’d always thought she was too young for his father, and, at sixteen, he’d just been beginning to explore his own sexuality. He could—and had—defended his attraction to her by pointing out her own culpability. For all she’d remained faithful to his father, she had done nothing to diffuse his fascination.
Indeed, he’d sometimes wondered what she would have done if he’d had less respect for his father. There was no doubt that she’d enjoyed flirting with him, and she’d begun to regard him as a permanent fixture in her life. Although she was about ten years older than he was, she’d always behaved as if they had more in common than she and his father, and only when Lawrence was present had she behaved as a stepmother should.
It had been easier when he’d gone away to college. Away from Catriona’s influence, he’d begun to notice other women, and when he was twenty-two he’d married the sister of one of his college friends. Mary Beth was sweet and gentle, everything Catriona was not, and although his parents had attended the wedding Catriona had soon made it plain that his wife was not welcome at Copperhead Bay.
She hadn’t said it in so many words, of course. It was still his father’s house, and Lawrence Redding had taken quite a shine to his new daughter-in-law. But Catriona had disliked Mary Beth on sight, and had lost no opportunity to belittle her. Or to show her hostility, Dominic conceded grimly, so that even Mary Beth was made aware of it, and had refused to go where she wasn’t wanted.
It had made things impossible for him—as it had been intended to do—but instead of blaming Catriona Dominic had blamed his wife. He’d