Laura Martin - Living With The Enemy

‘Alex!’ Her voice sounded thin and unnatural, echoing against the whitewashed walls. She tried again, her heart sinking when there was no response.

Perhaps something dreadful had happened. Once upon a time she had been like everyone else, imagining that nothing bad would ever touch her. Then she had married Paul and she had seen the stupidity of such naive assumptions.

Lucy heaved a steadying breath. She was being silly and she knew it. Calm down! she told herself. Go and find your reluctant host; he’ll be here somewhere.

She started off at a steady pace, walking briskly but calmly along the passageway, hugging her robe around her as she descended the stairs.

The kitchen was empty. The clock on the wall told her that it was almost nine o’clock, and there was no sign of dinner. No sign of anything or anyone.

‘Alex!’ Her voice was stronger now, but the response was still the same. Silence.

She ran outside. The heat had subsided and it was a beautiful evening. Orange trees glowed in the dusk, laden with ripe, juicy fruit. Lucy brushed by them unseeing, scanning the terraces, hurrying down the steps to the pool, discovering around a corner a walled vegetable garden that was as beautiful and as deserted as the rest of the place.

Stirrings of panic were starting to take a real hold. Desertion, mugging, death—every possibility ran through her mind. Where was Alex Darcy? How could he do this to her?

She ran back towards the house. Her feet were bare and she cried out in pain as she stepped on a sharp stone and fell forward, sprawling on the sitting area close to the house, where bright geraniums grew in terracotta pots and orange trees shaded the terrace.

‘What on earth are you doing?’

She saw his feet first, clad in well-worn loafers; then Alex crouched down and she saw more of him: his legs, tanned and muscular, dusted with a covering of curly black hair; his strong hands resting on his knees; well-worn navy shorts; his broad chest straining against the cotton material of his polo shirt.

‘I...I thought you’d gone,’ Lucy murmured unsteadily, cursing her foolishness. She scrambled to her feet.

‘Gone?’ He helped her up, putting one hand around her waist, the other under her arm for support. ‘Where would I have gone?’

She swallowed, suddenly breathless. She wasn’t sure if it was due to the physical exertions of her search, or relief, or because Alex Darcy was close, holding her with an ease and familiarity that was disturbing and exhilarating all at the same time. She glanced swiftly up into his face, met the stunning eyes and handsome, angular features and looked away again. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘But the house was so quiet, and when I saw the time...’ She shook her head, feeling inadequate under the dark, piercing gaze. ‘I thought you’d be in the kitchen, getting dinner,’ she mumbled. ‘But there was no one there.’

‘Is it that late?’

‘Nine o‘clock.’ Lucy looked briefly across to where the sun, blazing like an orange ball, was slipping steadily below the horizon. ‘I slept for five hours.’

‘Sorry. I tend to forget the time. Whole days slip by without me being aware of it.’ The attractive mouth curled. ‘It’s OK; I’m not a closet alcoholic,’ he added with a smile. ‘I’ve been locked away in my study working. Are you very hungry?’

‘Yes,’ Lucy admitted quietly. He was still holding her. She could feel the strength of his touch through the thick fabric of her robe—demanding, powerful fingers that showed he thought nothing of holding her, nothing of the effect that such a touch could have. ‘But it’s all right; I can get something for myself,’ she added stiltedly. ‘If...if you want to carry on with whatever you were doing. Charles did warn me that you were a workaholic.’

‘Did he indeed?’ Dark eyes slid over her face in amusement, sparkling momentarily. Lucy felt her stomach give a little jolt of excitement. ‘No, don’t worry, I’ve had enough for tonight.’ Casually Alex released his hold. ‘I should stop. Besides, it wouldn’t be very hospitable to ask you to eat alone on your first evening here, would it?’

‘I wouldn’t mind,’ she assured him quickly, anxious to make amends for her juvenile behaviour. ‘Now I know that you’re ... that I’m not alone,’ she amended swiftly.

‘You thought something might have happened to me? Is that why you looked so panic-stricken?’ Alex queried. ‘How...’ he hesitated, searching for the right word ‘...sweet. I glanced out of my study window and saw you running hell for leather across the terrace—I had no idea such frantic activity was on my account.’

‘I called your name and you didn’t answer,’ Lucy retorted sharply, annoyed by his amusement. ‘Anything could have happened.’

‘Anything?’ The firm mouth curved a little more. ‘What had you in mind?’

‘Oh, I don’t know!’ She shook her head, irritated with herself for revealing another of her weaknesses. ‘I suffer from a vivid imagination, that’s all!’

‘Instant pictures, instant panic?’

Lucy nodded reluctantly. ‘Yes, that sort of thing. It can make things difficult at times.’ She swallowed and felt the lump in her throat.

‘It maybe contributed to your... illness?’

She hadn’t expected him to bring that up so openly. Emerald eyes flashed in defensive anger. ‘You mean my breakdown?’ she queried defiantly. ‘You can come right out and say the word, you know,’ she added fiercely. ‘It won’t bite!’

‘Yes.’ She saw a hint of steel in his eyes. ‘Your breakdown.’

‘I...I don’t want to talk about it!’ she flared angrily, aware of the contradiction. ‘I don’t even want to think about it!’

‘I wasn’t aware I had suggested you do either,’ Alex drawled with infuriating smoothness. ‘Although, of course, if you feel you want to talk—’

‘I won’t!’

‘You’re sure about that?’ Stunning eyes disrupted Lucy’s rigid expression. ‘I’m here. I’m willing to listen.’

‘No!’ Fear sharpened her voice. ‘Of course I don’t! You think I would want to dwell on my own failings? To talk about intimate, personal things with you?’

‘It crossed my mind. Unburdening yourself can be a great relief. No one can be strong all the time.’

‘What would you know about it?’ Lucy looked up at him scornfully. She was hiding behind anger again. She hadn’t meant the conversation to take this turn. She hadn’t expected him to be so open, so...forthright.

‘Forget dinner!’ she replied. ‘I’ll get myself a sandwich. You go back to your work.’

Strong, tormenting hands took hold of Lucy’s arm, preventing her from rushing past. ‘Don’t tell me what to do in my own home!’ It was said with absolute calm, but there was an unmistakable inflexion of steel m the deep voice.

Lucy looked up into the ruggedly attractive face and tried to calm the thudding of her pulse.

‘Perhaps now is the time to get one thing straight,’ Alex continued crisply. ‘I expect a degree of courtesy whilst you are a guest here. I realise you have had a rough time, but that doesn’t mean I will tolerate bad manners.’

Lucy’s green eyes widened in shock. She was about to reply, but he continued before she could even open her mouth.

‘You’ve been treated with kid gloves by Charles, by the staff at the hospital. That was understandable in the early days, but you cannot expect that sort of treatment indefinitely—’

‘I don’t!’ It was humiliating being spoken to like this. Lucy wished that the patio would open up and swallow her whole. ‘It’s just—’

‘I don’t want excuses, or even reasons,’ Alex continued with infuriating ease. ‘I’m just stating the way things should be from now on. I want you to have a pleasant stay here. I want our relationship to be civilised—’