Lovelink (6 page)

She wrenched open the car door and fled, desperately searching through her handbag for her front door key. She was aware of him following behind her, calling, “Vicky, wait. Please, Vicky.”

But it wasn't his words which stopped her in her tracks. Covering her mouth with her hand, she gasped, “Oh my God, I don't believe it!”

Chapter Five

Vicky was trembling.

“This can't be happening to me.”

Hot tears splashed down her cheeks as her mind reeled with the implications of this latest, most macabre trick.

Who was doing this to her? And would they only be content when they'd not only chased her out of Brookleigh but also sent her out of her mind?

After weeks of coping with all the problems at Lovelink, the stress and the strain she'd been harbouring suddenly threatened to overwhelm her. She could only take so much.

She stared at her awesome discovery, mesmerised by the sight, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

Nailed to her front door, was a black wreath.

“Vicky, whatever's going on?” It was Marcus.

His voice reminded her he was still there. She'd momentarily forgotten his presence, her mind concentrated solely on the wreath.

Blindly, she turned to him, forgetting instantly that she'd a reason to flee him. A reason that only minutes previously had been so very real and important. It paled into insignificance. Now she was desperate only for comfort, security. Someone she could rely on.

He didn't disappoint her. Wrapping his arms around her shivering body, he held her tightly. She allowed herself to cry, sobbing relentlessly against his broad chest, releasing some of the tension of the past few weeks. Tricks, practical jokes she could handle. This was something else. Terrifying and too close to home.

“Come on, Vicky. Let's get you inside. You're shaking.”

She tensed. For once she wasn't eager to go inside the cottage. She was scared the wreath wasn't the only outrage they'd committed. Petrifying images of what they might have done to her beloved home whirled through her mind's eye.

She shuddered.

Marcus must have sensed her reluctance for he said quietly to her, “It'll be all right. I'm with you.” He gave her shoulders a comforting squeeze.

Hesitating for just a moment longer, she then nodded and handed him her front door key.

“Who did this?” Marcus said, taking the wreath off the door and looking at it with disgust. “Kids, I suppose.”

Vicky was reminded of the locksmith's words only a few days earlier.

“No, I…I don't think so.”

He turned to look quizzically at her but didn't ask her anything further.

Once inside the cottage, he switched on the lights and sat her in the armchair. Although it was summer, Vicky always kept the makings of a fire, laid in the grate, in case it was needed. Marcus bent down and lit it.

If only she could stop shaking she was sure she'd feel better.

“This is sick,” he said, standing on the hearth rug with feet astride and arms firmly crossed. “Who'd send you a wreath with Lovelink, RIP, on it?”

Vicky didn't answer him, instead she just hugged her arms around her knees and rocked. She felt dazed and very frightened. He seemed to accept her silence and didn't push her any further. He left her then, quietly busying himself in the kitchen. A few moments later, he was beside her again, offering her a steaming cup of coffee.

“Here, drink this. It'll make you feel better.”

He sat on the arm of the chair, cradling her against him. She started to drink the coffee, grimacing when she realised that he'd found her brandy and amply laced the hot drink with it.

“Go on, drink it. It'll do you good. You've had a nasty shock.”

Yet again he'd taken control of the situation and was telling her what to do. For once, she was glad to obey him.

However, she found she was still trembling so much she couldn't hold the cup without the risk of spilling the liquid.

“Here, let me,” he said and took the cup from her. He held it, tipping it so that she could take sips of the hot drink. “Better?”

She nodded.

She sat, held in his arms for a long time. Eventually the shivering subsided and she felt slightly stronger. Sensing she might be ready to talk he said, “Right, what's all this about? I think it's time you told me.”

It was the one question she'd been dreading he'd ask.

“I…I don't know. Kids, I guess. Like you said.” She didn't dare look at him, in case he could see she wasn't telling the truth.

He placed his hand under her chin and gently tilted her face so that she had no option but to look up at him. She saw the concern in his blue eyes.

“No, I'm sorry, Vicky, I don't believe that. I was wrong to suggest it. Think about it. Children wouldn't go to all the trouble and expense of nailing a personalised wreath to your door. And I don't believe it's the act of a disgruntled customer, either. It was someone who knew the effect it would have on you. Someone who knew you'd gone out for the evening, the very first time since coming to Brookleigh. No, this is the work of someone who's planned every move.”

Tears started afresh and once more he held her tightly against him. She could feel his strength, his power and it gave her comfort. It was as if he could protect her against the world and all it threw at her.

“Look, Vicky, I know something's wrong and I wish you'd realise I'm a friend of yours and I care what happens to you. So trust me and tell me what's going on. From your reaction, I'd suspect there's more to this. It's not an isolated incident now, is it?”

Mutely, through a haze of tears, she shook her head.

“Please, let me help you,” he said, tenderly wiping her wet cheeks dry with his handkerchief as he tried to coax her once more to tell him.

As she looked at him, no longer austere and cold, she knew it would be so easy to confide in him. Perhaps he'd be able to help her. Sort it out. Make sense of the terrible mess she was in.

For a moment, she teetered on the brink of telling him everything…

But then something prevented her. She realised simultaneously that she couldn't confess to him. How could she tell him, when she'd suspected he was behind it all in the first place? And dreadful though the admission was, as kind as he'd been to her this evening, she still suspected him.

Whoever had nailed the wreath to her door, knew that although her Metro was parked outside, she wasn't in. It was the first time, since moving to Brookleigh, she'd gone out socially for the evening. There weren't that many people who were aware she was going to the party at Nuneton tonight. As she mentally ticked them off, she realised that Marcus Foster's name was on that short list.

Maybe that was why he'd been so insistent that he drove her home, so that he could see the effect his latest trick had had on her. Maybe he'd even kissed her in the car so that she might least suspect him. And when she thought back to it, wasn't he nearly always about when something happened to her?

Her mind spun with accusations and explanations.

Oh, she just didn't know anymore. What was going on? Who could she trust?

Slowly, she shook her head.

“No, Marcus. I'm sorry but I…I can't tell you what's been happening. I can't tell anyone. I'm just not sure I even know myself what's going on. Please, don't make me.”

He studied her for what felt like ages and then sighed, pushing a hand though his dark tangle of hair.

“All right but if you don't trust me then maybe you'll feel better talking to the police. They should be involved. Someone obviously wants to wreck your business. I've gathered that much. Now they're using scare tactics. I don't like the idea of you being here alone. You're too accessible. Whoever it is has proved tonight they know where you live.”

Vicky was surprised at his suggestion to call in the police. Surely, if he was guilty, as she suspected, then he would hardly want the police to be involved.

But was he bluffing? Was this just another of his clever tricks to try to lull her into falsely believing she could trust him? Either way she didn't want them to be contacted. Violently, she shook her head, seizing on a viable explanation she could give him.

“Please Marcus, don't call the police. They'll have won then anyway if you do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. Would you go to a dating agency if it was anything but confidential? I base my business on being able to keep everything totally private. If the police are involved, it'll put people off. I've got to keep the business running.” She sounded desperate even to her own ears.

He sighed and then said, “Okay I see your point but I don't want you staying here alone tonight. Come back to Nuneton House with me. We've plenty of room.”

Once more, she declined his offer.

“Thank you, Marcus. It's kind of you to suggest it but I don't want to leave my home. They aren't forcing me out of my cottage. Anyway if I leave here tonight, I might be too scared to come back again. This is where I live. I've got to feel safe here.”

“Okay but I'm not leaving you, yet.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Marcus.”

Long into the night they sat together, side by side on the sofa, in the cosy lounge. They didn't speak much, Vicky's thoughts were too jumbled to be able to share them with anyone. But it was good to know that if she needed to talk, he'd be there.

So much had happened tonight that it was difficult for her to take it all in—the evening at Nuneton; Marcus kissing her; the wreath; Marcus comforting her.

As she sat beside him, she marvelled at how they'd managed, through all the events of the night, to have reached a new understanding, a closeness. She remembered the pressure of his kiss and how instantaneously her own body had responded to his touch. She'd tried so hard to keep the vow she'd made to herself that she wouldn't allow him to affect her but her body was devious and wouldn't let her obey so readily.

How she wanted him, she thought as she studied his profile, highlighted only by the flickering light from the fire. Why did she have to feel this way towards him when it was such an impossible attraction?

He looked at her then, almost as if he could sense her thoughts. Hurriedly, to protect herself, she asked, “Do you want to phone Caroline? She might be wondering where you've got to.”

He smiled wryly and said, “She'll be all right. She won't worry.”

Vicky blushed, thankful he couldn't see in the dimness. It sounded like Marcus spending a night away from home was anything but unusual.

He fixed her another coffee, again laced with some more of her brandy and she found, after drinking this one, she was beginning to relax. She vaguely wondered what time it was. That was her last conscious thought.

The next thing she knew, she was waking up. Her heart thumped dully and she was aware that things weren't quite right.

Then the memory of last night came flooding back and she sat up with a jerk. Instantly, a pain shot through her temple. Massaging her forehead with her fingertips, she shook her head, trying to clear her mind.

It was then that she realised that she was in her own bed. Funny, she couldn't even remember climbing the stairs last night. She glanced down and saw she was still wearing her underwear. She never went to bed like that. A hot wave of embarrassment spread over her as she realised that she hadn't put herself to bed last night. It must have been Marcus and he'd undressed her!

She stared in horror at her wispy bra and scanty knickers. But she didn't have time to be shocked because the next thing she heard was a crash followed by a loud expletive.

Marcus was still here and from the sound of it, directly below her in the kitchen.

Hauling on her dressing gown, she made her way downstairs. As she reached the landing, the smell of toast and freshly ground coffee hit her, making her aware of just how ravenously hungry she was.

“Ah, there you are. Sorry, did I wake you? I've just dropped this plate and broken it.” He smiled sheepishly at her as he held up two halves of a china plate. “I hope it wasn't part of a set.”

She shook her head. “It doesn't matter.”

Somehow all that mattered to Vicky right now was that Marcus was still here.

“Breakfast is almost ready,” he said.

He was still dressed in his dinner suit although he'd discarded the bow tie. The dark shadow of stubble bearding his face made him look unbearably sexy. This coupled with his black hair made him more resemble a Romany than a wealthy, successful horse trainer.

“Have I time to take a quick shower and freshen up first?”

He nodded. “Don't be long.”

She smiled at his tone. Did he always have to have the last word?

As Vicky stood under the jets of hot water, she found that the shower made her feel even more refreshed than she'd hoped.

Afterwards, she wrapped herself in a huge bath towel, ready to make her way to her bedroom to dress quickly. As she opened the bathroom door, on to the tiny landing, she bumped into Marcus. Her towel slipped dangerously. She raised her hand to clutch at it.

“Vicky, I …” he said.

She saw a strange expression in his eyes and then, in an instant, he was pulling her to him, kissing her.

Once more she responded in a way she'd never felt with anyone else. He held her, murmuring her name into her ear over and over. Gently, he kissed the droplets of moisture from her shoulder, sending shivers of delight coursing through her.

“Oh, Marcus,” she said, as he bent to lift her easily and swiftly into his arms.

He moved towards the bedroom door, pushing it open with his foot.

Once in her room, he laid her on the bed as he pulled at his shirt. Never had she wanted a man so much than at this moment and yet, a voice somewhere deep inside her, told her that this was wrong. This wasn't how she wanted it to be between them. A moment of passion snatched while they were alone together. She already knew he wasn't free. After last night it would be so easy to make love to him, take what little of himself he could give to her but was that all she truly wanted? Would she be content with only that?