AMANDA BROWNING - Trail Of Love

Ben Radford, however, smiled with feigned interest. ‘I’m sure...Kay has a wealth of interesting stories to tell. Perhaps I’ll look her up some time and have a chat myself?’ There was no perhaps about it, as far as Kay could see.

‘If you’re trying to make a date, Ben, do it on your own time. Kay is my guest. Besides, she doesn’t have time to chat to you. If I don’t get her back to Winterbourne and Stonely in five minutes, she might be out of a job.’

It was extremely unlikely, but Ben Radford didn’t know that. The thought obviously pleased him, even if his words belied it. ‘We can’t have that, even though I’m sure Kay has her sights set on something higher than being a mere hireling all her life.’ With which parting salvo he sauntered away to a table by the window and proceeded to ignore them.

Kay knew in her bones that she hadn’t heard the last of it. Ben Radford had been paying lip-service to his partner. His true feelings were that she had ignored his warning and now woe betide her! Which thought caused her lunch to sit heavily on her stomach all afternoon.

By the time she returned to her flat that evening, she had developed a nagging headache, but as she had a date for dinner with Lance’s parents she hastily swallowed some aspirin and hoped they would do the trick. It was all due to the tension produced by one man. Waiting for Ben Radford’s appearance was like waiting for the axe to fall.

Making herself a snack of cheese on toast, she wished she could stop thinking about him. Just to mention his name conjured him up in her mind. Conjured up memories of his kiss, too, and how she wished she could make that vanish, never to return!

She lingered under the shower and felt better for it, and, after drying herself on a large fluffy bath sheet, donned sheer silk and lace bra and panties. Once it had seemed nothing more than an extravagant luxury that her underwear and night clothes were sinfully feminine, while her outer clothes were the ultimate in primness. Now, with the advent of Ben Radford, her wardrobe took on a hidden significance, her passionate nature concealed beneath a plain outer shell.

It was as if she had been lying to herself for years—and that made her extremely uncomfortable as she slipped on a simple black jersey dress, with its contrasting white bolero jacket. Stepping into low black pumps, to lessen her height—Lance was shorter than her and conscious of it—she checked her hair and make-up in the mirror. She was pleased with her appearance, and knew she would be approved of, but was also aware that that was due to her projecting negative sexuality. She realised she didn’t like that at all.

Such ambivalent thoughts made her even more unsettled, and so did Lance’s reaction to her when he arrived on the dot of seven-thirty. Not a second early or late, so that Kay had the unworthy idea he had been outside, checking his watch to make sure of the exact moment to ring the bell. Schooling her features not to show any doubt or irritation, she answered the door.

‘You look very nice, Kay, as always,’ he flattered, brushing his lips over her cheek.

Kay had a fleeting wish that he would sweep her off her feet instead of the customary kiss on her cheek, then mentally rapped her knuckles, knowing whose fault that thought was. Lance, with his wings of grey in his hair, and conservative grey suit, would consider it an insult to her. Besides, the disloyal thought ripped at her, being beneath his dignity.

‘Mother’s arranged dinner for eight. We’d better not keep her waiting,’ Lance urged moments later, and Kay obediently collected her handbag.

But these unsettling thoughts didn’t make for an enjoyable evening, although she did try. However, for the first time ever she allowed Mrs Young’s narrow-minded statements to draw her into an argument, which left that lady in a mood of high dudgeon and Lance bad-tempered, a fact which almost had her picking an argument with him, too. Which wasn’t like her at all. So that by the time they left, her relief was palpable. Lance saw her to her door, as always the perfect gentleman. Out of sorts, Kay felt the need to apologise. Unlocking the door, she turned.

‘I’m sorry I was such a grouch, Lance. Put it down to a headache. Did I utterly spoil your evening?’

He wasn’t to be so easily mollified, though. ‘You should have told me you weren’t well, instead of taking it out on Mother. We could have left hours ago,’ he said testily, then, clearly feeling he’d made his point, relented. ‘I won’t come in. You’ll be better off in bed with some hot milk.’

Irritably, Kay thought he sounded just like his mother, then retracted the awful thought and its implications. She’d always liked Lance for his consideration. ‘You’re right, of course. Goodnight, Lance,’ she murmured.

He took her in his arms and his embrace was everything she expected—pleasurable, but unexciting, and when he let her go she felt disappointed and hated herself for it.

‘I’ll ring you tomorrow,’ Lance promised and left, his footsteps echoing down the stairs.

‘Damn,’ Kay muttered, annoyed at her own ambivalence. Turning to go inside, she shot round in alarm as a scraping sound came from the shadows at the end of the landing.

‘What didn’t you fancy, the milk or him?’ an all too familiar voice queried mockingly, and a darker shadow rose from the next flight of stairs and came towards the light from her door. Ben Radford stepped into the beam, eyes glittering in a way that set her whole system on edge. ‘That was Lance, I take it?’

She chose not to answer either question. Because the shocking truth was that she hadn’t wanted Lance’s kiss at all, but this man’s. Now here he was, tempting and taunting her with every breath he took. She didn’t know who she loathed most—him or herself.

‘What do you want?’ she countered ungraciously, although she could guess.

His slow smile said he knew. ‘To have that chat I promised. Aren’t you going to invite me in?’

KAY’S first instinct was to shut the door in Ben Radford’s face, but then she realised if she did that he would only keep on coming back until she did agree to see him. Better to get it over with now than have it looming over her head like the sword of Damocles.

‘It’s a little late for a social call,’ she pointed out acidly, yet reluctantly stepped back and allowed him to precede her inside.

Closing the door made her feel as if she had locked herself into the cage with the tiger. She took several deep breaths before she joined him in the lounge. He seemed to grow in proportion to the room shrinking. It was impossible for her to be anything other than vitally aware of his presence. He would dominate any room, but she was determined he wouldn’t dominate her. Which meant keeping some measure of control over the proceedings.

‘Could we keep this short? As you obviously overheard, I have a headache.’ She spoke to his back as he studied his surroundings.

He swung around then, the action smoothly graceful for all that his hands were tucked into the pockets of his trousers. He must have left his coat in his car for he was in shirt-sleeves, the cuffs tantalisingly turned back. It in no way minimised the effect of his presence—rather, it magnified it.

‘An interesting love-life you two will have, what with hot milk and headaches,’ he observed with lashings of irony.

To her chagrin, Kay felt her cheeks flame. ‘That’s none of your damn business.’

Her temper was water off a duck’s back to him as he shrugged. ‘Just making conversation.’

She snapped her teeth, tossing her handbag on to the couch. He was being deliberately provocative, and rising to his bait was simply playing into his hands.