Anne Mather - Shattered Illusions

‘Harris,’ she corrected him at once, one hand reaching to circle her throat. ‘Um-Jaime Harris,’ she appended, the unbuttoned sleeve of her shirt falling back to reveal the vulnerable curve of her elbow. ‘Mr—er—’

He was curiously reluctant to tell her. ‘Redding,’ he supplied briefly. ‘Dominic Redding. Catriona’s—stepson.’

‘Oh!’ Was it his imagination or did that information cause a little of the tenseness to leave her face? ‘How do you do?’

So formal!

His lips curled. ‘Reasonably well, mostly,’ he replied, with a wry smile. ‘How about you?’

‘Oh—I—yes. I’m fine,’ she stammered, her tongue appearing to moisten her lips, and Dominic was surprised to find himself studying her features with rather more discrimination.

His first impression had not been entirely wrong, he decided. She was older than Kristin had been, and decidedly more reserved in her approach to men. But there was some merit in those wide-set grey eyes, which avoided his gaze more often than they met it, and her mouth, for all its nervousness, had a surprisingly sensual lower lip.

All in all, she was not what he had expected, Dominic mused, half wishing he hadn’t effected the introduction. Catriona wouldn’t approve of his socialising with the paid help, and for all he seldom obeyed her dictates he didn’t want to make life any more difficult than it already was.

‘Do you live here, Mr Redding?’

While he had been brooding over past mistakes, she had evidently gained in confidence. Her question caught him unawares, and although he guessed it was innocent enough he objected to being interrogated.

‘Sometimes,’ he answered obliquely, and he could almost sense the way she took in his reply, and stored it away for future reference. He had been right, he thought again. She was nothing like Kristin. He wasn’t altogether sure he trusted her.

‘Sometimes?’ she echoed now, in that diffident way she had of speaking. ‘It’s not your home, then?’

‘It was my father’s house. I live in New York,’ declared Dominic, not quite knowing why he suddenly felt so defensive. He turned the tables. ‘Tell me, Miss Harris, why would someone with a degree in English, and an obviously secure job in a London university, give it all up to come and work as Catriona’s secretary?’

That seemed to baulk her. But only briefly.

‘Why—I’m a great fan of your stepmother’s!’ she exclaimed, with rather more spirit than she had shown thus far. ‘It was a wonderful opportunity.’

Was it?

Dominic’s mouth drew in. Her enthusiasm seemed genuine enough, and yet there was something about the way she’d said the words that made him doubt her sincerity. But what other reason could she have for coming to the island? Why was he looking for problems, when there were none to find?

‘Well, I hope it lives up to your expectations,’ he averred, deciding to curtail their conversation. She was here. Catriona had employed her—temporarily, at least. And he intended to return to New York in a few days anyway.

‘Thank you.’

She seemed to sense his irritation, for after allowing him a polite look from beneath thick, gold-tipped lashes she moved towards the colonnade that led back to her apartment.

But, as he was reaching to pull his vest over his head, preparatory to taking a swim, her voice drifted back to him. ‘Your father’s dead?’ she asked, and Dominic jerked the top down again, and turned to regard her with dark, angry eyes.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I’m sorry.’ Her nervousness didn’t seem feigned now. Quite the opposite. ‘But you said—you said it was your father’s house. Is Miss—Mrs—Redding a widow?’

Dominic’s nostrils flared. ‘That would seem a fair assumption,’ he responded curtly. ‘Why?’

‘Oh—no reason.’ A faint smile brushed across that sensual mouth. She gestured towards her rooms. ‘I’d better go and get ready for breakfast.’

And get rid of those ugly trousers, thought Dominic grimly, tossing off his vest and reaching for the zip of his cut-offs. But then his hand stilled. Dammit, he wasn’t wearing any swimming shorts. It wasn’t that he was bashful. He was long past the age of feeling any callow modesty about his body; it was simply that he didn’t care for the idea of her watching him. There was something about Miss Harris that disturbed his equilibrium.

His mood completely soured now, Dominic snatched up his top and strode back to the terrace. Slamming the patio door aside, he plunged into the house—and came face to face with his stepmother.

With his eyes still dazzled from the sunlight outside, Dominic was even less inclined to be tolerant. ‘Dammit, Cat,’ he muttered, pulling back from her reaching hands, ‘what the hell are you doing up at this hour of the morning?’

His stepmother regarded him with cool indulgence. In a coral-pink satin wrapper, she was slim and elegant, her make-up light, but faultless, despite the early hour.

‘I heard voices, darling,’ she defended herself silkily, her nails brushing softly against his skin. She viewed his half-naked appearance with evident enjoyment. ‘Was Sophie on the prowl again?’

‘No.’ Dominic bit off the word, wishing he didn’t have to explain who he’d been talking to. But Catriona wouldn’t be satisfied until she had the story from him, and it was obviously more sensible to be honest from the start. ‘I met your new secretary.’

‘Miss Harris?’ Catriona’s delicately tinted lips tightened, and Dominic prepared himself for the remonstrance that he was sure was to come. ‘What did you think of her, darling? Quite a change from Kristin, isn’t she? And such a frump! Is that what universities are turning out these days?’

He knew a quite absurd desire to defend the woman, but he suppressed the urge. So long as Catriona thought she was unthreatening, Miss Harris’s job was safe. Besides, it was only what he had thought, seeing her from the window. His later opinion had been influenced by a ridiculous awareness of her sexuality.

‘Who knows?’ he responded, grateful for the diversion. ‘She seems to admire your work, as you said.’

‘Mmm.’ Catriona absorbed the compliment indifferently, her attention focused now on his mouth. Her tongue circled her lips. ‘Kiss me good morning, darling. Then I’ll ask Sophie to serve us breakfast on the terrace. It’s not often we get the chance to be alone at this time of day.’

Dominic bent and brushed her mouth with his own, but when he would have drawn back again her slim arms circled his neck. ‘More,’ she whispered huskily, her small teeth nibbling at his ear. ‘I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we have breakfast in bed?’

Dominic’s hands on her shoulders propelled her away from him. ‘Not this morning, Cat,’ he told her flatly, even though the blood was racing through his veins. He’d wanted her for ever, it seemed; ever since his father had first brought her to this house. But he couldn’t despoil his father’s memory by making her his mistress. Not yet, at any rate.

‘Why not?’ Catriona looked sulky now, her thin lips drawn down in a frustrated curve. ‘When are you going to accept that we’ve waited long enough? Dom, Larry has been dead for more than a year!’

‘I know.’

Dominic lifted his vest and tugged it over his head, using the action to avoid her resentful eyes. Dammit, he knew better than anyone how long it was since they had buried his father, and of how mixed his feelings had been because Lawrence Redding was gone.

‘If you’re not careful, I shall begin to think you don’t love me anymore,’ Catriona accused him now, her eyes sparkling with more anger than grief. ‘I thought when you agreed to come here to recuperate that you’d realised we can’t go on like this any longer. I need you, Dom. I want to be with you. And I always thought that was what you wanted, too.’