Shadowed Stranger. Carole Mortimer
frowned. ‘For what?’
He sighed his exasperation. ‘For—for this!’ His head lowered and he caught up her lips with his, moving them slowly against her in a slow, drugging kiss.
It was so unexpected that Robyn just froze, accepting the kiss although not exactly responding to it. She had been kissed in the past, although never by an expert as this man obviously was. His hands rested possessively on her hips, holding her to him, the pressure of his mouth increasing now, becoming more demanding. And she wasn’t able to meet that demand; her inexperience held her back.
Rick sensed her lack of response, raising his head to move savagely away from her. ‘I told you I was insane,’ he ground out. ‘Now I’ve just proved it.’
She blinked hard to clear her head. ‘How did you do that?’ she asked huskily.
‘Use your head, Robyn,’ he snapped, running his hand through his already untidy hair. ‘What I just did was totally out of character—–’
‘Kissing me?’
‘Kissing the child you still are,’ he corrected harshly. ‘God, I have to get back to civilisation!’
She swallowed hard. ‘But—–’
‘Would you leave?’ He turned his back on her, his shoulders rigid.
‘Rick—–’
‘Now, Robyn!’
‘But your supper—–’ she said dazedly.
‘I can see to that myself. Will you just go!’ He raised his voice enough to make his point forcefully.
She went. What had happened in there? One minute they had been arguing as usual, the next Rick had been kissing her with a hunger that had made escape impossible. Not that she had really wanted to. That kiss had been devastating to her peace of mind, in fact she was still trembling from the contact of his hard body, his muscular thighs bruising against hers.
But he was hiding something, or from someone. Whichever it was he wasn’t the ideal man to be attracted to. And she was attracted, had been since the moment she first saw him, blazing anger and all. The harshness, the bitterness, shielded the natural sensuality of his nature—that much had been obvious from the way he had kissed her just now. That he rarely gave in to that sensuality was also obvious.
She would be curious to know what work he had done before coming here, what sort of life he had led. Whatever it was it had been vastly different from the way he was living now.
‘You’re looking a little flushed, love,’ her mother said worriedly when she arrived home a few minutes later.
Robyn blushed even more. ‘It’s just from the walk, Mum.’
Billy looked up from doing his homework on the dining-room table. ‘Sure it isn’t a case of loveitis?’
She frowned. ‘A touch of—–? No, it isn’t!’, she snapped angrily, blushing bright red after the intensity of the kiss Rick Howarth had just given her.
‘I bet it is,’ her brother taunted, sitting back in his chair to eye her mockingly. ‘What have you been doing over at Mr Howarth’s place all this time?’
‘Mind your own business!’ Robyn said tautly.
Billy’s interest quickened. ‘Why are you so defensive if he didn’t—–’
‘Shut up!’ she ordered shrilly, still in a state of confusion, remembering firm lips on hers, the warmth of Rick Howarth’s tongue as it ran tantalisingly over the sensitivity of her lower lip. The memory of that was too private to share with anyone, especially her tormenting little brother.
‘Robyn!’ her mother reprimanded.
She bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. But he goaded me,’ she glared at Billy.
‘Boys will be boys,’ her mother sighed.
And men would be men! And at the moment Rick Howarth was a man seriously in need of a woman. His impatience with her inexperience had been evidence enough that it wasn’t really her he had been kissing, just a presentable female with a passable body. If he was married, as she suspected he was, then he would be used to—to a certain physical relationship, and that he was missing that relationship was obvious.
Billy grinned mischievously. ‘I only wanted to know if you and Mr Howarth—–’
‘Billy!’ his mother cut in. ‘Take your books and do your homework upstairs.’
‘Oh, but, Mum—–’
‘Go on,’ she ordered. ‘And you aren’t going anywhere until it’s finished.’
He collected up his books and moved to the door, poking his tongue out at Robyn as he moved out of sight of their mother. Robyn couldn’t really blame him, though. Normally she could take any amount of his teasing without complaint, usually gave back as good as she got. But not tonight, and not about Rick Howarth, not when she was feeling so raw about him.
‘Anything wrong?’ her mother asked gently.
‘Er—no. No, nothing is wrong,’ she managed a casual shrug. ‘I was a bit delayed getting back from Mr Howarth’s because I—I offered to get him his supper. He’s a bit helpless around a cooker.’
‘So I noticed, by the food he ordered. Everything out of a tin or packet.’ Her mother shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t do for your father.’
Robyn felt sure it didn’t really ‘do’ for Rick either. There was an air about him, a feeling that he usually demanded and received perfection in everything. Oh, she Wished she knew what the mystery was surrounding him!
They were particularly busy at the library the next day, this being the day for the local market, something guaranteed to bring more people into town, and consequently into the library. Robyn was on the check-out desk, stamping the books and taking in the cards, finding herself with a constant stream of people, so she was quite relieved when morning coffee-break came round, less pleased when she saw it was Selma and another girl in the staff-room.
‘Did he come round last night?’ Selma asked instantly.
Robyn wished, and not for the first time, that the other girl wouldn’t take quite such an interest in her love-life. By all accounts Selma had enough trouble keeping up with her own stormy relationships, apparently having found herself yet another boy-friend. Besides, Robyn was conscious of Joan’s interest in this conversation.
‘No, he didn’t,’ she replied stiffly, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
Selma shrugged dismissively. ‘Find yourself another one.’
She wished it were as simple as that. She just couldn’t get Rick Howarth out of her mind. He said he had to get back to civilisation—did that mean he would be leaving today, have disappeared from Sanford as suddenly as he had appeared? She knew she didn’t want him to do that, knew that for all her antagonism towards him she found him fascinating.
Things were still hectic after her break, and Mr Leaven took her off the front desk and put her on to tidying the non-fiction shelves. After Monday he seemed reluctant to allow her anywhere near the fiction section. He knew very well the medical section wouldn’t interest her at all, especially when she dropped one of the huge volumes on her toe.
She swore loudly, receiving a reproving look from Mr Leaven as she picked up the book, muttering to herself as she replaced it on the top shelf.
‘What did you say?’ Selma stood behind her, eyeing her flushed face curiously.
‘I said damn Oliver Pendleton. He wrote this book,’ she explained. ‘And I just crushed my toe with it.’
Selma tutted. ‘Never mind that now. He’s here,’ she announced triumphantly.
Robyn frowned. ‘Oliver Pendleton?’