Susan Napier - Phantom Lover

‘My things?’ She was talking to his back as he strode out of the room. ‘What do you mean, get my things? Hey, where do you think you’re going?’

Everywhere, it seemed. ‘Getting her things’ translated as conducting a rapid search of the rest of her house, ignoring Honor as she trailed furiously in his wake, protesting every step of the way.

‘If this is the way you carry on, no wonder someone’s threatening you!’ she threw at him as he inspected the contents of the chest of drawers in her bedroom. ‘It’s a wonder no one brained you before now. And put that down! How dare you put your grubby paws on my underwear? If you don’t get out of here right this minute I’m calling the police!’

It was an empty threat. The last thing she wanted after today was another run-in with authority, and Adam seemed to know it. He merely turned, a pair of plain white cotton panties strung from his tanned fingers.

‘If you wear underwear like this I doubt you have to worry about it being pawed. Queen Victoria would definitely approve.’

Sarcastic beast! She whipped out some sarcasm of her own.

‘What are you, an expert? I suppose you’ll be raiding women’s clothes-lines next. Why should we dress like tarts just to pander to your sleazy male fantasies? And what I wear under my clothes is none of your business, thank you very much!’

Thank God he had skipped the top right-hand drawer.

Unfortunately, even as she sent up the grateful prayer, he remedied the omission. He stilled, staring down at the contents, then lifted his head to cast a taunting glance at her fiery face as he deliberately, slowly, stirred the frothy, multi-coloured confection of lace until a violet satin suspender spilled over the edge and dangled provocatively into space, swinging like a brazen pendulum measuring out each long second of her embarrassment. She lifted her chin and set her mouth, her hands clenching at her sides.

He didn’t say anything as he tucked it back. He didn’t have to. His smirking expression said it all. First he made slighting remarks about her everyday underwear just because it was practical, and now he made her feel as if possession of a few feminine fripperies were a criminal offence! Oh, why had she made that smart remark about sleazy fantasies? She might have known the wretched man wouldn’t overlook anything. Didn’t the fact that he dotted every ‘i’ and crossed every ‘t’ in his letters tell her anything?

‘At the moment everything about you is my business,’ he continued as if the silent interchange hadn’t occurred. He opened her wardrobe and hauled out a soft suitcase he found on the top shelf, and began tossing in random pieces of clothing from hangers and drawers. ‘By the time I’ve finished with you I’m going to know you better than you know yourself.’

‘What are you doing? Stop that!’ For a big man he was very quick on his feet, keeping his broad back to her and side-stepping each time she tried to move around him. He even raked a collection of cosmetics off her dressing-table into the gaping bag. ‘Adam, I’m warning you—’ She squeaked as he grabbed a blind handful from the top right-hand drawer and stuffed it into the bag. ‘If you don’t stop right now I’ll—I’ll—’

He zipped up the suitcase and turned so swiftly that she staggered back. ‘You’ll what?’

She frowned as she tried to think of a threat big enough to scare him. ‘I’ll call my lawyer.’

Some threat. Perhaps he guessed that she didn’t have a lawyer.

‘Fine. Call him from my phone,’ he said coolly, taking her elbow in a light but numbing grip that had all her nerve-ends screaming to obey him. ‘It’s tapped but then no doubt, in view of your claim of complete innocence, you won’t mind the police listening in.’

His phone? At last Honor forced herself to concede that he was not just trying to frighten her. He was succeeding!

‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’ Her feet contradicted her feeble protest as she trotted helplessly alongside him, steered by that implacably gentle, fingertip control.

She remembered now that he had mentioned in one of his letters that he had studied some obscure oriental form of self-defence in his teens and twenties. He probably knew pressure holds that would turn a six-foot body-builder into an obedient wimp, let alone a five-foot-three female of doubtful fitness. And she had fondly imagined he had engaged in the sport to compensate for an inferior physique, to bolster his self-confidence as a man. This man had self-confidence oozing out of every pore!

Back in the living-room he put down the suitcase, but not her arm, as he slotted the bolt on the French doors into place and turned to check the windows. ‘Where are your keys?’

‘On the hall table,’ Honor blurted out automatically before finding the energy to struggle briefly as he swept her towards the door. ‘You can’t be serious about this—’

‘I’m always serious.’ That was a lie; many of his letters had been deliciously light-hearted.

‘But—this is ridiculous.’

‘I’m not leaving you here. Not until I’m sure where you fit in—’

‘I don’t fit in anywhere!’ Honor wailed, as he scooped up her house-keys and hustled her out of her front door on to the uneven paved pathway.

‘Until I know that for certain I’m not taking any chances. I can’t afford to. There’s too much at stake. Not just my personal safety or that of my family, but of other people, too. Maybe you really do have no connection with the extortion; maybe you are just a rotten coincidence,’ he said, pocketing the keys after locking the door. ‘But whether it was planned or not you’re another source of pressure when I least need it, another distraction when I need to focus all my concentration and devote all my resources to my primary problem. At least if I know where you are I won’t have to worry about what you’re up to.

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