‘You mean the conditions? Don’t worry—I’ve driven in a great deal worse.’
A few more minutes and they were passing through the dark and sleeping village of Paddleham. An occasional streetlamp lit up the driving rain, and strung high across the roadway a saturated banner announcing a St Valentine’s dance at the village hall flapped dementedly in the wind.
The Yew Tree came into sight, its inn sign swinging on the supporting chains. ‘We’re almost there,’ Loris said, making no attempt to hide her relief. ‘Just past the church there’s a turning off to the left, then about half a mile down the lane, also on the left, you’ll see the entrance to Monkswood. The gates should be open.’
The black and gold wrought-iron gates were open wide, and the Tarmacked drive was well-lit. Several sleek cars were parked on the paved apron in front of the house.
Jonathan drew up beneath the ornate lantern that hung over the porticoed entrance and, leaving the engine running, came round to help Loris out.
She couldn’t fail to notice that, parked between a Porsche and a Mercedes, the ordinary little car looked out of place.
Key in hand, she had opened the door by the time he had retrieved her case. A chandelier in the hall, and one at the top of the grand staircase, had been left on, but the rest of the house was dark and still.
‘I can’t thank you enough for bringing me,’ she said, as he handed over her case.
‘It was my pleasure.’ Briskly, he added, ‘Well, everyone seems to be in bed, so I’ll say goodnight and let you join them.’
As though her subconscious had already decided, she found herself saying, ‘Please, won’t you stay? I’d hate to think of you having to drive all the way back to town on a night like this.’
‘I wouldn’t want to put you to so much trouble.’
‘It’s the very least I can do. And it really is no trouble. Do stay. You can have Mark’s room.’
Though he never moved a muscle, Loris sensed his surprise. Obviously he’d presumed that she and Mark shared a room.
‘In that case I’ll be happy to.’
Crossing to the car, he switched off the engine and doused the lights before joining her in the hall and relieving her of her case once more.
When she had closed the door behind him, and shot the heavy bolts, she turned and led the way up the richly carpeted stairs and through a decorative archway to the right.
‘This is my room.’ Taking her case from him, she put it inside before crossing the wide corridor to open a door opposite. ‘And this is Mark’s.’
Switching on the lights, she led the way into a comfortably furnished bedroom decorated in masculine colours of blue and grey.
‘He doesn’t leave clothes here, so I’m afraid I can’t offer you any pyjamas.’
‘That’s all right.’ Jonathan smiled. ‘I don’t use them.’
Feeling her colour rise, she said hastily, ‘But you should find a new toothbrush and everything else you need in the bathroom cabinet.’
‘Thank you.’
A thought struck her, and she added regretfully, ‘Except a shaver, that is. I’m sorry.’
He shrugged. ‘Don’t worry. Though I can’t see myself with a beard, in an emergency I have been known to wear designer stubble.’
‘Well, goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, Loris,’ he said gravely.
Feeling curiously restless and unsettled, she went back to her own room and was about to prepare for bed when she thought of her stepbrother.
Though Monkswood was virtually Simon’s second home, he wasn’t going to be here this weekend. Consequently, in his bathroom, there would almost certainly be a razor that their last-minute guest could borrow.
Without further ado she hastened barefoot along the darkened corridor to Simon’s room and went in quietly. Sure enough, on the bathroom shelf was an electric razor. If Jonathan Drummond hadn’t already gone to bed, she could give it to him now, ready for the morning.
As she reached his room she saw through the multicoloured fanlight above the door that his light was still on. Bearing in mind that not too far away people were sleeping, she tapped softly. When there was no answer, she tried again. Still no answer.
Perhaps he was in the bathroom?
She opened the door a crack, and could just make out the sound of the shower running. Deciding to leave the razor where he couldn’t fail to notice it, she slipped inside and tiptoed across the room to put it on the bedside cabinet.
Turning back to the door, she gave a half-stifled gasp. Just emerging from the bathroom, Jonathan was in the act of pulling on a short white towelling robe. His hair was wet and rumpled, and drops of water still clung to the fine golden fuzz on his legs.
Without undue haste or self-consciousness, he adjusted the robe and fastened the belt.
Thrown by how irresistibly sexy he looked, and feeling a sudden potent attraction, she stammered, ‘I—I did knock, but you must have been in the shower. I’ve brought you Simon’s razor. He won’t be wanting it this weekend.’
A well-marked brow rose. ‘Simon?’
‘My stepbrother.’
‘Ah, yes…’
Embarrassed to realise she was still standing goggling at him like a fool, Loris prepared to make her escape. Only to find that, somehow, Jonathan was between her and the door.
‘I’ll say goodnight again.’ She was aware that she sounded breathless.
He took her hand, while green eyes smiled into gold.
Wits scattered, she stood gazing back at him like someone mesmerised, before making an effort to free her hand.
When he failed to release it, she said huskily, ‘I must go.’
‘Must you?’
Without realising how provocative it looked, she used the tip of her tongue to moisten lips gone suddenly dry.
Using the hand he was holding to draw her closer, he said softly, ‘This time I think I’ll take you up on the invitation.’
His free hand slid under the fall of dark silky hair to cup the back of her head, and a second later his mouth was covering hers.
Loris found his light kiss both pleasurable and exciting. But though it sent a tingle right down to her toes there was nothing alarming about it, nothing to warn her that she was in any danger.
While part of her mind pointed out that she shouldn’t be letting this happen, another part answered that, as kisses went, it was relatively innocent.
She wasn’t caught up, wasn’t involved… She could walk away whenever she pleased.
But she hadn’t reckoned on the seductive sweetness that, almost without her realising it, made her want the kiss to go on, made her want to kiss him back.
As her lips parted, his tongue-tip stroked along the velvety-smooth inner skin, making her quiver, before he deepened the kiss.
Mark’s kisses were ardent, hot-blooded, sometimes bruising in their intensity. They totally lacked the finesse, the subtlety and imagination of this man’s lovemaking.
He explored her mouth with a kind of delicate enjoyment that sent little shudders running through her, while, almost unnoticed, his free hand traced her slender curves.
When it found the soft swell of her breast and his thumb brushed coaxingly over the nipple, she knew it was time to call a halt.
But the sensations that the thistledown-touch was arousing were so