Wild and Willing! (4 page)

This comment seemed to rob Adam of the breath he’d just recovered. ‘You were trespassing,’ he said eventually as he extracted a twig from his water-darkened hair.

‘I was using a legitimate right of way, and if you consult your deeds I think—no, I
know
—you’ll find I’m right.’

‘Are you telling me a public footpath runs through my garden?’ he demanded, momentarily sidetracked.

‘It’s not used too frequently.’ She was beginning to shiver as the cold and damp penetrated her bones. ‘But I wouldn’t recommend leaping on everyone using it. It isn’t the way we do things in the country.’

‘Yes, a
very
friendly place, the country.’ His voice was heavy with sarcasm. ‘I’m down here because someone’s
been breaking into the place, trying to strip it of every original feature. The mouldings in the drawing room are already gone and if the culprits hadn’t been interrupted last night the fireplace in there would have vanished too.’

‘Not the lovely sandstone one?’ Anna wailed, genuinely distressed by this news.

‘It seems you know the house.’ His brows shot up at her look of horror. ‘If you hadn’t been lurking and looking so damned furtive I wouldn’t have grabbed you. You looked as guilty as sin.’

She felt a guilty colour seep up her neck until her face felt aflame. He’d hit the nail directly on the head. Guilt was exactly what she had felt. Guilt at kissing a married man and imagining in the darkness of her irresponsible dreams doing a great deal more. She silently wished Adam Deacon had stayed in the city.

‘Come on,’ he said impatiently. ‘You can’t stand there dithering. Come inside and dry out.’

Not exactly gracious, but it was the best offer she had. The idea of walking the best part of a mile home frozen to the bone with her shoes and everything else squelching was not appealing. Her docile acquiescence had nothing whatever to do with her curious and unhealthy desire to prolong this encounter, she told herself.

Why did everything about this man fascinate her? she wondered angrily, following him up the steep bank. He stopped at one point and she thought he was going to offer her his hand, but instead he pushed it deep into the pocket of his saturated jacket and gave her an uncompromising view of his broad back.

He was probably embarrassed that she had been witness to the lapse in his fidelity. Perhaps I live a bit too close to him for comfort, she thought with disgust as they entered the kitchen.

‘The kitchen’s the only place that’s warm; I slept here last night.’ He nodded in the direction of a neatly folded
sleeping bag on a saggy old sofa and closed the door behind them. There were no fitted units in the high-ceilinged, stone-floored room, just an old pine table and an ancient Aga which was efficiently belting out the heat.

Anna pushed back her hood with stiff, cold fingers. She touched her hair self-consciously, aware of the shifting expression in his brooding regard. She knew she must look like a skinned rabbit with her hair plastered to her skull. She was unaware of how well her fine bone structure and clear skin stood up to critical scrutiny.

‘I thought you were a boy.’

‘And you prefer to leap on boys? Your secret’s safe with me.’

‘Are you always so glib?’ he enquired harshly.

She could hardly say, Only with you, could she? The man made her so bloody defensive she couldn’t seem to stop herself making facile remarks.

‘Thank you, I’m not hurt,’ she fired back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. It wasn’t the only thing dripping; a pool of water was slowly spreading around her feet.

Adam glared at her and shrugged off the waterproof he’d been wearing. Underneath he had no shirt on, just a pair of faded jeans. His bare feet were stuffed into a pair of trainers which would probably never be the same again after their immersion. Neither would she be after seeing his torso without having the opportunity to build any sort of defences, she reflected, trying unsuccessfully not to stare.

The soberly suited consultant with the aloof air of mystery was about a million miles from this rawly masculine creature whose impressive muscles glided smoothly beneath his evenly tanned golden skin. The pulse in her neck felt as if it might explode as her eyes ran covetously over the flat tautness of his belly. There was nothing bulky about the clearly defined musculature;
he was greyhound-lean and firm. She swallowed hard and dragged her eyes higher.

His own were glittering fiercely with some indefinable emotion and her breathing grew more laboured. The fierce shrill of the kettle sitting on the hob broke the spell.

‘I was making a pot of tea,’ he recalled tersely, ‘when I saw this highly suspicious character casing the joint. What the hell were you doing if you weren’t—? Ouch!’ He winced as he picked up the kettle with his bare fingers, and when he swung around he caught her involuntary grin. ‘If you aren’t part of the gang that’s been plundering this place?’ He sucked his scalded thumb and glared at her as though she were responsible for that injury too.

Physician heal thyself, she thought unsympathetically. ‘I was taking a short cut home.’ From broad shoulders his back tapered to lean hips that couldn’t fail to look spectacularly good in wet blue denim, or just about any fabric you could mention, she pondered distractedly.

‘Nice weather for it,’ he observed witheringly. ‘Do you always venture out fully armed? Could it be there’s something the estate agent didn’t tell me about this peaceful, rural oasis? Do armed gangs regularly patrol this vicinity? So far I’ve been ripped off before I’ve even moved in, and mugged.’

‘Mugged!’
she hooted. ‘Just a bit of a scratch,’ she concluded dismissively, flicking a glance at the raised welt along the side of his face.

He gave an involuntary laugh. ‘You really are priceless! What the hell were you lugging around if it wasn’t the latest in house-breaking equipment?’

‘A placard,’ she said in a tone that implied anyone but the most ignorant would have realised that.

‘I might have known it; you’re one of those types who protest about everything!’

A truculent expression crept over her face and her chin automatically went up.

Adam gave a scornful laugh. ‘All in keeping with the fringe medicine, I suppose,’ he concluded, a faint sneer curling his lips. ‘Do you sit in a pyramid and meditate? Or don’t you venture out if Pluto isn’t in the ascendant? I suppose you think anything modern is automatically bad?’

‘It’s called having a social conscience,’ she spat back, infuriated by his scorn. He was so typically Establishment! ‘I believe in doing something about my convictions; that doesn’t make me a freak. I wouldn’t expect a surgeon whose answer to everything is the knife to understand that!’

‘If you had a shattered leg which would you prefer—my knife or your oils? I’ve always suspected professional crusaders must have a big gap in their personal lives to fill.’

‘Because
we’re
not prepared to let faceless bureaucrats run the world? Because
we
actually care about the future? I suppose a smug, narrow-minded, terminally selfish individual might think that—’ Her impassioned outburst was cut short by a fierce bout of sneezing.

‘For God’s sake, woman, don’t stand there preaching; you’ll catch cold. Get out of those things!’

‘I don’t preach.’ She sniffed and rubbed her already pink nose. ‘And I don’t like being ordered about,’ she added mutinously. ‘Besides, I thought a cold was a virus. I can’t contract a virus from wet clothes,’ she pointed out pedantically.

‘You sound like a spoilt four-year-old. Do as you’re told!’

‘If I don’t?’ she asked from between gritted teeth.

‘Are you always so belligerent? Just for the record, if you don’t voluntarily remove those clothes I will feel impelled to do it for you.’

She gave a small, startled gasp even though she’d deliberately
needled him into making the threat. She pushed aside a very vivid image of his shapely fingers moving in slow motion over her own flesh, sliding beneath her wet shirt to cup one shamelessly swollen breast in the palm of his hand, and replied derisively, ‘In the interests of my health, of course.’ There was a husky rasp in her voice. Adam had noted it before and he liked it.

The tingle down Anna’s spine made goose bumps break out over her cold skin. She wondered with deep mortification whether he had any inkling of the sinful thoughts that kept entering her head. She’d always been quite smug about resisting temptations she knew were morally wrong. She was forced to acknowledge it could be that she’d never faced a temptation she’d actually not wanted to resist before!

‘Well, it wouldn’t be to satisfy my curiosity, would it? That little number you wore the other night left very little unrevealed. Personally, I find mystery a little more alluring.’

‘The way I recall it my blatant flaunting didn’t seem to do your ardour much harm,’ she flung back, incensed by his complacent criticism.

The flare of colour across his cheekbones revealed that her comments had found their mark. ‘I think I should be able to restrain my baser instincts if that’s what’s worrying you.’ He made the prospect of him not being able to sound insultingly close to a joke. ‘There’s some clothes in that bag.’ He indicated the open holdall on the floor. ‘You should be able to find something adequate to cover the essentials while those things dry. I’ll turn my back, if you’re feeling modest.’

Why should the idea of me having modesty be so humorous? she thought indignantly. ‘I’ll use the bathroom if it’s all the same to you.’ Her frigidly dignified tone made him grin, and reminded her she wasn’t really in any position to carry off dignity.

She rumbled through the bag, trying not to notice personal items, and selected a pale blue denim shirt that ought to make a passable dress on her. With a toss of her head she stalked from the room.

After wringing out her clothes in the bath and combing her hair with her fingers, she donned the shirt, which came down to her knees, and padded barefoot back downstairs, her feet echoing on the bare boards. She tried the water to wash off the muddy stains, but it was icy cold and faintly brown.

She was shivering when she re-entered the kitchen. Adam was sipping a cup of tea. He didn’t seem to be feeling the cold but at least he had put on a shirt.

‘Hang your wet stuff up there.’ He indicted the old-fashioned drier suspended above the Aga. His wet jeans were already hanging there. In her absence he’d exchanged them for a drier and shabbier pair. She tried not to stare at a strategic tear in the seat of them. The effort made her cheeks pink.

Hands still full of wet clothes, she looked at the pulley system that lowered the contraption with indecision.

‘Here, let me.’ He took the clothes from her hands before she could object and began to arrange them on the drier, not needing to adjust the height with his advantage of at least a foot.

She tried to hide her embarrassment as he shook out the more private items of her outfit; beneath the cotton drill jeans and shirt, she’d been wearing a frivolous satiny matching set of bra and pants in pale peach.

‘Very
you
.’ His large hand casually stroked the scrap of fabric.

‘How typical!’ she said in disgust, wishing desperately her colour wouldn’t rise so easily at the provocation. ‘And so boringly predictable. Men are nothing but large schoolboys. The mention of knickers is enough to send them into paroxysms.’

His dark brows shot up at her heated reaction. ‘I just meant your underwear reflects your personality.’

‘Let me guess—tawdry.’ She decided to beat him to the punchline.

‘Erotic,’ he contradicted her firmly. His eyes held a very definite glitter that made her knees feel odd. ‘Cup of tea?’

Distracted by this casual assessment, she had trouble replying to his mundane question, so accepted a cup in silence. She winced as the liquid scalded her tongue. ‘It’s hot,’ she gasped, sitting down on a packing case pulled up to the table as a makeshift seat. Adam was seated on its twin, his long legs stretched out before him.

‘You seem pretty familiar with the layout here. You knew the way to the bathroom,’ he pointed out as she looked up.

‘The place has been empty for quite a while. I had a look around, perfectly legitimately, with the agent. So you can stop looking so suspicious. I’ve always liked the place, and the previous owners didn’t mix much, so I was satisfying my curiosity.’

‘Current or old boyfriend?’ he enquired drily. ‘Or don’t you differentiate? The estate agent,’ he elaborated as she looked blankly at him.

‘I like to keep on good terms with all my old friends.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘If it brightens up your drab existence I’m glad to be of service. Personally, I don’t like to live vicariously, but then
I’m
not tied down.’ He seemed to need reminding that he was occasionally, she thought, glaring at his handsome face disapprovingly.

‘The original free spirit.’

‘I have no ties;
I’m
entitled to be free.’

‘Why do I think that statement is unfinished?’ he said, contemplating her with weary resignation.

‘Married men who go around kissing women other
than their wives don’t have much room to sound so smugly sanctimonious.’

‘I’m not married.’

This outright lie made her furious. She slammed her cup down on the table, slopping the liquid over the brim.

‘You expect me to believe that?’ she said scornfully.

‘Believe what you like. As the man said, I don’t give a damn.’ He clicked his fingers to emphasise the point.

‘You bought this house to fill the bedrooms with all your non-existent children, I suppose?’

‘There are children, but I inherited them rather than participated in their conception. And, for the record, I’m engaged, not married.’

She felt a little deflated by this information, but nonetheless very righteous. ‘The principle is the same,’ she persisted. ‘How do you inherit children?’ she added, consumed by curiosity.

‘My brother and his wife were killed in a climbing accident,’ he supplied unemotionally.

‘Sorry,’ she said, giving the standard, inadequate reply. Her tender heart ached for his loss but she instinctively knew he didn’t want her sympathy. Adam Deacon was one of those self-contained people who didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. It must be terrible to love someone like that, be married to them, she reflected. Loving was as much about giving as receiving.