Desire #1 (2 page)

He knelt beside me, and I reached out.

“Not so fast,” he said. “You first. Take off your top.”

I gulped. I looked around quickly double checking we were really alone, then with shaking hands, I lifted my shirt over my head.

I heard him exhale softly in what I hoped was approval.

“Now take off your bra.”

Holy crap. I had no idea why, but this was making me so hot. I’d have been more than ready for him to pounce on me as soon as I’d sat down on the mossy ground, but this was exquisite torture. He hadn’t touched me yet and the anticipation was making me crazy.

My hands reached around my back to unclasp my bra. I took my time, feeling shy. But one glance into his burning eyes made me forget my inhibitions. I slid the straps over my arms and laid the bra on the ground beside me. I leaned back, the moss spongy and cool against my skin.

Was I really going to do this?

He put a hand on either side of my head and held himself above me. Staring down at me, his gaze ran over my breasts. My nipples hardened further under his stare, and as the cool breeze brushed against them, I let out a small breathy moan. When was he going to touch me? Surely he wasn’t going to just look?

He lowered his head to my right breast and circled my nipple with his tongue. I moaned again, my hands reaching up to touch his chest.

Abruptly, he sat up, and his head snapped to the right.

“Quick, someone’s coming,” he said and started to bundle up our clothes.

“Huh?” I protested. I couldn’t hear anyone. I wanted to feel his mouth on me again.

“Quickly,” he said pulling me to my feet.

Then I heard footsteps and the snap of a twig. I gasped in horror and crossed my hands across my chest to cover my naked breasts. The horror of what I was doing washed over me. I had been just about to have sex with a man I’d just met when I was supposed to be working. Holy hell. What had come over me?

I allowed him to pull me behind a tree. He offered me my bra and t-shirt, watching with amusement as I hurriedly put them on.

I heard a panting and then a golden retriever appeared by the tree, looking up at us, wagging his tail happily.

Then I heard a voice, “Rex? Rex? Where have you gone, you blasted dog?”

I froze and looked up at my companion in horror. I recognised that voice. It belonged to Carter, who worked as the butler for the Easton estate. He was a snob, and I hadn’t warmed to him during my time at the estate. He didn’t like me either, always looking down his nose at me and tutting as if my presence at Cliff House was a great hindrance.

I held my breath. If he found me here like this, I’d be out of a job. I looked up, my eyes wide with terror.

My companion grinned and then pushed me back against the rough bark of the tree and lowered his mouth onto mine.

Despite the fact we might be discovered at any moment, my body quickly responded. My lips opened as his tongue explored my mouth. All too soon, he pulled away and stroked my cheek with one finger.

“To be continued,” he said in his impossibly sexy voice.

Before I could respond, he snapped his fingers at Rex and started to walk away in the direction of Carter the butler. Rex followed him obediently, while I cowered behind the tree.

Would Carter realise what had been going on?

I eased forward as far as I dared and listened.

“Hello, Carter,” he said.

“Oh, sir, I didn’t realise it was you. Rex must have sniffed you out,” the butler said with a chuckle.

I frowned. Well that was a first. I’d never heard Carter the butler laugh before. I wouldn’t have believed he knew how. And why did he call the gardener “sir”?

I waited as their voices and footsteps gradually faded away and then looked at my watch. Eight am already. Crap. I was late.

Chapter 2

I high-tailed it back to the grand house, my cheeks burning as I thought about what had just happened in the last half an hour. What was wrong with me? I could have jeopardised my whole career over this and embarrassed my friend Suzanne who had gotten me this job. I couldn’t start over again. It had been bad enough last time, having to leave a thriving business and start from scratch. I had to be more careful.

I grabbed the brushes I needed from the truck and the box of varnishes and hurried up the stone steps to the entrance of Cliff House. At the imposing oak door, I paused and rang the bell, then tried to arrange my features into a blank expression. My friends always told me my face was like an open book, and right now I did not want Mrs. Wicker to notice anything was different.

“Bright and early as usual, Kate,” Mrs. Wicker said and opened the door, smiling warmly at me.

Mrs. Wicker was the housekeeper at Cliff House, and she had overseen most of my work so far. I guessed she was around sixty years old. She always had her steel grey hair clipped in a bun and wore a very prim navy blue dress. I supposed it was some kind of uniform as I had never seen her wearing anything else.

“Good morning,” I said, giving her a quick smile, then I dipped my head and scurried onwards towards the Great Hall.

Despite my distraction, the grandeur of the hall took my breath away. The enormous room was two storeys high and at least fifty feet wide. My shoes tapped on the expensive, gold-flecked marble. I felt as if I was entering a museum. I had never seen a private residence as vast as this one. Most of the other mansions in the area had been taken over by the Newport Preservation Society. Cliff House, owned by the Easton family, was one of the few buildings that remained privately owned.

Mrs. Wicker didn’t seem to notice my desire to be alone. She entered the Great Hall with me and beamed up at the mural, which was almost complete.

“You’ve done a marvellous job with it, Kate.” She walked closer to the mural, gazing intently at the small cherubic figures.

When Mrs. Wicker had shown me the intricate mural on the wall of the Great Hall on my first day at Cliff House, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. The beauty and intricacy of the painting just blew me away.

Over the years, the paint work had faded and taken on a slight yellow discolouration. But as a professional art restorer, I had no problem fixing that. I had beamed at Mrs. Wicker and told her I foresaw no difficulties in finishing the restoration in two weeks as requested.

She looked a little anxious then beckoned me over to the other side of the hall and pulled back a white screen that had been hiding an identical mural. Identical in every way, except for the scarlet paint splashed across the surface.

I actually gasped and clapped a hand against my mouth. I couldn’t believe this could have happened accidentally, but how could anyone have so little respect for such an exquisite piece of art?

Mrs. Wicker had nodded sagely at my response. “Yes. An absolute tragedy.”

When I asked her how the damage had occurred, she was quick to brush me off and change the subject. I told her there was no way I could finish the repair in a fortnight. I was good at my job. I’d trained long and hard at it, but I wasn’t a miracle worker.

Mrs. Wicker pursed her lips and said, “It must be finished in two weeks, Katherine. Mr. Easton is holding a gala dinner, and he insists the mural be ready for display. How would it look if the guests were to see the mural in this state?”

She promptly doubled the amount of money on offer if I would agree to have it finished in time. It didn’t take me long to decide. I was broke, and I hadn’t had a restoration job in six months.

I was glad Mrs. Wicker was pleased with my progress. I hoped she might spread the word about my work. I could really use her help in landing a few projects to get me up and running again. Since I’d left Miami, things had been pretty tough.

“Thank you,” I said and looked up at the mural. I’d managed to get rid of all the surface red paint. All I had to do now was to add layers of varnish and be careful not to dislodge any of the gold leaf.

“Are you okay, Kate? You look a little distracted.”

I blinked and shook my head. “Oh yes, everything’s fine. Just, you know, got to concentrate.”

Mrs. Wicker nodded and looked pleased. “I understand. An artist needs peace and quiet to work. I’ll tell you what. I’ll bring you a pot of coffee then leave you to work. How does that sound?”

“Thank you,” I said. “That sounds great.”

I watched Mrs. Wicker leave and exhaled heavily. So far so good. Now I needed to keep my mind on work for the rest of my time here.

The event this morning with the gardener … I stopped in my tracks as I realised for the first time I didn’t even know his name. I’d been about to get down and dirty with a man in the great outdoors, and I didn’t know anything about him. What was I thinking? I supposed that was the problem – I
hadn’t
been thinking. Well, it wouldn’t happen again.

I took a deep breath. Perhaps I could give him my phone number and arrange to see him after I’d finished work at the estate. That would be okay. I shivered as I imagined all sorts of naughty things we could get up to once I’d finished the restoration project.

“Here we go.”

Mrs. Wicker’s voice startled me, and I turned to find her standing behind me, with my coffee.

I thanked her, took the tray and set it down on my small fold-out table.

“Oh I almost forgot. Mr. Colin Easton will be here this afternoon. I imagine he is very keen to check on your work. He is very interested in the family art collection.”

I nodded and took a sip of my steaming coffee. I’d met Colin Easton just before I’d started working on this project. He was a man of around forty, with sandy-blonde hair and a perpetually flushed face. He’d been very kind and interested in the methods I would be using to restore the mural. I thought he’d be impressed with my progress, so I wasn’t worried about his imminent arrival. He wasn’t
the
Mr. Easton, the head of the Easton Empire. I got the impression he was some sort of distant relation, who liked to keep a firm hold on his genetic ties to the place.

I had never met the head of the family, my employer. All my dealings had been through Mrs. Wicker or Mr. Colin Easton. I thought it was sad that such a beautiful house wasn’t enjoyed by his owner. What was the point in owning property like this if you were never here to enjoy it? It didn’t make any sense to me.

After Mrs. Wicker left me with my coffee, I tried to concentrate on my task for today. I looked closely at the mural, judging relative colours and trying to decide which varnish would work better on different areas. But my mind kept flipping back to this morning. That man, his strong hands, those smouldering eyes… I groaned in frustration and picked up my brush.

Chapter 3

Once I finally focused on my work, the morning passed quickly. On the surface, it looked like the bulk of the work had been finished, but the true skill of a restoration artist came at the end of the project. It made the difference between a mediocre result and a spectacular one.

By one o’clock, I was getting a slight headache from the chemical fumes of the varnish. Over the past couple of weeks, I’d taken my sandwiches down to the Cliff Walk at the boundary of the estate and eaten lunch looking out over the ocean. But today I was a little nervous about making my usual walk down to the path. What if I saw the gardener?

I tried to convince myself I was being ridiculous. If I did see him again, I would give him my number with a witty remark and ask him to call me after my work here was finished.

Despite the little pep talk I gave myself, I still looked around anxiously as I descended the stone steps. I scoured the lawns and pretty gardens, but there was no sign of him. I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach.
For goodness sake, get a grip, Kate
. Annoyed with myself, I strode off around the side of the house.

At the back of Cliff House, the gardens were even more impressive. The lush, green lawn stretched right to the edge of the property and met the sparkling blue of the Atlantic. The scent of roses mingled with the briny tang of the sea, and I took a deep breath, savouring the fresh air. I smiled at the sight in front of me and quickened my pace.

Cliff House was one of the most majestic properties in Newport, Rhode Island, and with the Vanderbilts’ mansions in the area, that was really saying something. Most of these houses were owned by old money or donated to the Newport Preservation Society, so people could pay their dollars to hear about how the other half had lived opulently a century ago.

I reached the cliff path and began to walk along it. I wanted to be out of sight of the main house. I’d walked the length of it a couple of times and even walked along the beaches below, but today I didn’t have time for a long lunch.

I settled on a grassy mound, placed my sandwiches on my knees and began to unwrap them. I stared out at the water, which was softly rolling into shore today.

I bit into my chicken sandwich and puzzled over my problem. My work here was almost finished, and I would be paid well, but with rent and a truck to run, it wouldn’t be long before money started running low. I needed to get another job. I’d only managed to get this one through my friend Suzanne. So much in the art restoration world depended on contacts and recommendations, and since I’d fled Miami in the middle of the night months ago, I didn’t have any of those things. I couldn’t even work under my own name.

I put the sandwich back in my brown paper lunch bag. I’d lost my appetite.

When I returned to Cliff House, Carter, the butler, hovered by the doorway, looking down his long, pointed nose at me.

“Do you have to use
that
entrance?” he asked in his low nasal voice.

“Mrs. Wicker told me to.”

Carter sighed heavily. “It’s not right. You should be using the tradesman’s entrance. Traditions must be upheld.”

I ignored him and got back to work. He wasn’t any more obnoxious than usual, so I was pretty sure he hadn’t seen me in flagrante delicto this morning. I began to think I’d imagined the whole thing. The hot gardener was nowhere to be seen either.