Between The Sheets

Copyright © 2008, Colette Caddle

The right of Colette Caddle to be identified as author of this
work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78
of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

For my three wonderful men

As always my warmest thanks to all those that helped get this book from an idea in my head to a place on a shelf.

First I must thank Ian Chapman and everyone at Simon & Schuster, for their usual professionalism. I must single some people out, though, for a special mention.

There were times when it felt that I would never finish this story, and I was tempted to change the title to Thank God That's Over! For practically carrying me across the finishing line, thank you to my lovely editor Suzanne Baboneau and the talented and patient Libby Vernon.

My sincere and heartfelt gratitude to the voice of reason, my agent and friend Sheila Crowley and all the team at AP Watt.

To a copyeditor extraordinaire, thank you Clare Parkinson. To Lizzie Gardiner and Lucy Truman for a wonderful cover — they say you don't judge a book ..., but we all know the truth!

To the many people involved in getting my book to stand out from the crowd — Amanda Shipp, Nigel Stoneman and their teams in marketing and publicity.

To Julie Wright, Charlotte Robertson, Grainne Reidy and all the UK sales team for getting the book out there. Also to Gill Richardson and Gill-Hess for everything they do to sell my books in Ireland — believe me, it's a lot!

Thanks to the distributors and shop staff everywhere who get my books on the shelves.

And to you the reader for taking the book back off again — my humble gratitude.

And finally, thanks to the Caddies and the Lynotts. To my wonderful mother who has been completely neglected while I wrote this book but as supportive as ever. To my beloved sons who remind me daily of what's really important in life. And to Tony whose tolerance knows no bounds.

Victor Gaston watched as Bobbi released the clip on her hair, allowing it to tumble in Titian curls around her shoulders.
7
must say I'm not used to this. My pilots are usually quite gruff and very hairy.'

She laughed as he reached up to pull off her tie and slowly open the buttons of her starched white shirt. 'At Prestige Airlines we aim to please. Do you know that you can even specify which pilot you want?'

'I definitely want you,' he groaned, pulling her down on to his lap.

'We don't have long,' she warned. 'I'm flying to Vienna in an hour.'

'Then, Captain, prepare yourself for take-off,' he said, his mouth coming down hard on hers ...

'Dana, couldn't you at least pretend that you're interested?' Gus hissed in his wife's ear.

Dana De Lacey snapped back to the present and realized that the speaker had finally come to the end of his long, tiresome story. She quickly joined in the round of polite applause and flashed her husband an apologetic smile. 'Sorry, but he was particularly boring,' she whispered back.

When Gus replied he too was smiling, but there was a steely note in his voice. 'The Society of Architects' Dinner is only once a year and it will all be over in an hour. I don't think that's too taxing even for you.'

'I said I'm sorry.' Dana suppressed a sigh and smiled ingratiatingly at the elderly man opposite. God, Gus was grumpy tonight. In fact he'd been a right grouch for weeks and had gone completely mad when she'd tried to wriggle out of tonight's dinner.

They had been sitting in the kitchen of their large farmhouse in west Cork at the time and she had been nursing a bad hangover. She'd only got out of bed at noon and then it was just to crawl downstairs and curl up on the sofa. After some persuasion, Gus had made her a cup of camomile tea and she'd sipped it gingerly as he sat working on his laptop at the old oak kitchen table.

'How come you're not sick?' she'd complained, taking in his bright eyes and healthy colour. 'You had just as much to drink as I did.' They had been out to dinner with a local builder who was also a good friend and it had turned into a long night.

'A pint of water before bed and a three-mile jog this morning,' he'd replied with a smug grin.

She'd shuddered. 'Masochist.'

He'd laughed. 'We should go for a long walk along the beach; that would make you feel better.'

She'd shaken her head as she checked her watch. 'I need to go and pack. I want to get the four o'clock train back to Dublin.'

His fingers had paused over the keyboard and he'd stared at her. 'Oh, come on, Dana, stay a few more days. The weather forecast is excellent and we could do with a bit of downtime, just the two of us.'

'Sorry, but I have too much to do.'

'You can write here,' he'd protested.

'You know I can't.'

He'd looked past her at the sun glinting on the blue waters of Bantry Bay. 'I can see that it might be hard to find inspiration.'

'Ha ha. It's because I don't have my stuff around me, you know that.'

'I know that,' he'd agreed.

'I'm sorry for being so anal.' She'd smiled apologetically. 'Please don't let's fight, I'm really not up to it.'

'I'm not going to,' he'd promised, sounding resigned. 'I won't be back in Dublin for a few days. I have some business to attend to down here.'

'So much for downtime!' Dana had retorted, and as she'd stretched and risen to her feet she'd missed the look of annoyance that crossed her husband's face. 'Shall I book a taxi to take me to the station or will you drive me?'

'Of course I'll drive you.'

'Thank you.' She'd put a hand on his shoulder as she passed.

He'd reached up to cover it with his own. 'I wish you'd stay.'

She had bent to drop a kiss on his head and he'd pulled her close. 'Next time,' she'd promised. 'Don't stay down here too long; that bed feels very empty without you.'

'I'll be back at the weekend and don't forget we're going out on Sunday night.'

She'd frowned. 'We are?'

'It's the Architects' Dinner, Dana.' He'd shaken his head impatiently. 'I told you and Sylvie about it weeks ago. It's in your diary.'

'Do I have to go?' she'd moaned. 'Tom and Ashling will be there; you don't need me as well.'

'Ashling is having a lot of back pain at the moment so they're bowing out this year.' His eyes had hardened. 'Don't let me down, Dana; it's only once a year.'

'All right, all right, I'll go.'

The atmosphere had been tense as they drove to the station and Gus had hardly responded when she'd kissed and hugged him goodbye. Things hadn't been much better since he'd got back. She hadn't a clue what was wrong. He was usually such a good-humoured man.

And now here she was at the dreaded dinner, and it was every bit as boring as she'd anticipated. How, she wondered, did a man as charismatic and dynamic as her husband have anything in common with these people? She looked around and tried to imagine any of the grey, two-dimensional characters in this room being as creative and innovative as Gus, and couldn't. It was no wonder he and Tom won award after award; they were without doubt in a league of their own. She turned her head slightly so she could study Gus, and smiled at the attentive way he was listening to the president's speech. God, he did look sexy tonight. The dark-blue velvet dinner jacket complimented his eyes, and wearing it with the open-necked white shirt and jeans he looked both cool and sophisticated. It was this effortless and unconscious style, confidence and lazy grin that had attracted her from the moment they met.

She could still recall the electricity between them that first day. She had just bought the farmhouse in Cork, except then it had been a damp and dark stone building with nothing going for it but its amazing view. Her agent, Walter Grimes, had thought she was completely mad but said if she insisted on proceeding with the venture, she should at least hire a good architect. And so, after talking to his numerous contacts in the UK and Ireland, he'd introduced her to Gus Johnson of the esteemed Johnson and Cleary Architects in Dublin.

Dana smiled now at the memory of how she'd felt when Gus had first taken her hand in his. His grasp had been cool and firm and when he had smiled into her eyes, her heart had skipped a beat. From that moment, Dana didn't really care what kind of an architect he was, he had the job. Within weeks they were an item, he moved in two months later and they'd married the following year. They had made a striking if incongruous couple. While Gus was tall, with red-blond wavy hair, blue eyes and a smattering of freckles across his nose, Dana was tiny, sallow-skinned and had huge, black-brown eyes. 'Little and large,' he'd joke when she'd go up on her tiptoes to kiss him. 'Beauty and the beast,' she'd retort.

The speeches were over now and people were starting to circulate. The blonde across the table was laughing too loudly at something Gus had said and Dana found herself automatically putting a possessive hand on his arm. She leaned close to him, her lips almost touching his ear. 'Can we go now? I'm tired and I just want to have you all to myself.'

Gus sighed. 'Fine, we'll go.'

He helped her to her feet and Dana smiled around the table, her eyes finally connecting with the blonde's. 'Goodnight, then, lovely to meet you all.'

As they crossed the foyer, her mood already lightening, she said, 'Let's go to a club.'

'I thought you were tired.'

'I've got a second wind.' She smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

He didn't return her smile. 'I have an early start.'

Dana's shoulders slumped as she followed him back to the car. 'You're just no fun lately, you know that?'

As they drove home in silence, Dana's thoughts once again turned to
The Mile High Club,
her nineteenth novel. The main character, Bobbi Blackwell, was now in the cockpit, expertly flying the private plane to Vienna, her skin still tingling from the touch of her new lover. Victor Gaston was turning out to be a good character, Dana thought. He was sexy and funny and she was quite pleased with the way he and Bobbi worked together on the page. All in all, the novel was going quite well, which was a relief as her publishers were talking about using it to launch their Passion imprint in the UK and Ireland. Dana was excited at the thought of finally being in print in her own country but at the same time she wondered if Ireland was ready for her brand of spicy literature and the exploits of Bobbi Blackwell both on and off the ground. Her agent assured her it was. 'Your books may be a little raunchy but they still have class and humour. You are the perfect way for Peyton Publishing to introduce their Passion imprint to Europe. You're their number-one author in that genre, you're local and you're beautiful too.'

Though Dana was grateful for Wally's encouraging words she wasn't sure she believed them. Her work might go down okay in the UK but she wasn't at all sure how it would be received in Ireland. She was the daughter of a famous and acclaimed Irish poet and the first thing the press would do was compare father and daughter, and she would be found lacking.