Price of Passion Page 2

‘Are you stalking me?’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘STALKING you?’ Kate widened her eyes in amused disbelief. ‘You do fancy yourself, don’t you?’

  Her teasing tone made Drake’s mouth thin. ‘Stop playing games, Katherine,’ he growled. ‘How did you find me?’

  She sipped her tea and mused on the question. ‘I’ve always found you to be borderline paranoiac, and now it looks like you’ve inched over the line. Maybe the men in white coats should be coming for you…’

  ‘Very witty—and very evasive.’

  She might have known that he’d notice. Words were his business, his strength and his talent…interpreting nuances and assigning subtle layers of meaning to every line of dialogue and paragraph of prose. He would tie her up in verbal knots if she let him. Her best chance was to make simple statements that could be neither proved nor disproved, and then just stick to her guns. Or better still, say nothing at all.

  ‘You’re surely not going to claim that it’s just pure coincidence that you turned up on my doorstep?’ he accused, taking an aggressive stance, legs astride, hands fisting on his hips, a poster-boy for one of his disaffected heroes. ‘What’s going on, Katherine?’

  A tremor of weakness shimmered through her bones. Oh, if only you knew! She looked into his moody countenance and felt the familiar, powerfully seductive tug of physical attraction that was the source of all her current turmoil. She still found it amazing that such a bold, passionate and charismatic man had reacted with such intensity to her ordinary, unremarkable self. That it had also taken him by surprise was evident from his hypersensitivity to any hint of possessiveness, and his thinly veiled restlessness whenever they had been together for any length of time. Sophistication had been the name of the game, and for a while she had actually carried it off.

  She caught herself up before she could begin to wallow in bittersweet memories, her determination hardening. Oh, no, she wasn’t going to let herself fall back into that trap! She was no longer that woman—willing to pander to his genius at the expense of her own needs and goals.

  ‘What’s going on is that I’m taking a long-overdue holiday,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve accrued so much extra leave over the past two years that my boss was forced to point out a clause in my contract that says I have until next month to use it or lose it—’

  ‘Marcus?’ he interrupted sharply, latching onto the notion that his New Zealand publisher was involved. His eyes kindled with fury at the treachery. ‘Enright sent you to find me?’

  ‘Nobody sent me to find you—Marcus has no idea where I am,’ she insisted with perfect truth. Her reputation as a dedicated employee who could always be relied upon to work above and beyond the call of duty to support good client liaisons had taken a knock with her abrupt decision to take all the accumulated weeks owing on such short notice, and it had dived even further when she had rejected Marcus’s belated offer of a compensatory bonus if she sacrificed the accrual. Enright Media was a very tightly run ship, and it had entailed a lot of fast juggling of favours to get others to take on her responsibilities as well as their own while she was away, but as a researcher she was in a good position to know where the bodies were buried, and how and on whom to apply pressure. A disgruntled Marcus had been forced to concede that he had no legal grounds for insisting she break up her holiday allowance into smaller units, particularly as it meant she would be on deck over Christmas, when staff with young families were clamouring to jump ship.

  ‘I told you, I’m on a holiday. That’s when normal people take a break from their workaday lives to rest, travel or zonk out on a beach somewhere.’

  ‘And you expect me to believe that of all the holiday homes in all the beach resorts in all the world, you walk into this one?’ he demanded, his deep, velvet-smooth voice steeped in sarcasm.

  The paraphrase of the famous line from Casablanca struck a painful chord. It had been Kate’s ability to recognise quotes from old movies and obscure film noir classics that had captured his attention two years ago, when they had met at one of Marcus’ champagne-drenched book-launch parties. They had spent the early part of the evening trading one-liners, Drake’s fierce competitiveness challenged by her phenomenal memory for trivia and cool capacity to carry a bluff. Their feuding banter had become increasingly provocative as the night had worn on and Kate had shocked everyone, herself included, by leaving on his arm.

  ‘Coincidences do happen,’ she pointed out, relaxing deliberately back against the bench and taking another sip of her tea.

  His handsome face rearranged itself into sharp angles of contempt. ‘If I tried to use that tired old cliché in a book it would be laughed off the shelves.’

  ‘Which is why they say that truth is stranger than fiction,’ she said lightly, regarding him over the rim of the chunky mug. For once she almost felt in control of the relationship as she watched him vibrate with frustration. She was aware of a repressed violence in his nature, but for all his physicality she had never felt threatened by his considerable strength. At thirty-three, he had the maturity and experience to handle his inner demons. Whenever he exploded, it was with clever words rather than crude muscle.

  ‘The strange truth being that less than four weeks after I leave Auckland you “just happen” to choose Oyster Beach for a sudden holiday and then you “just happen” to rent the place next door to mine?’

  ‘Well, gee, I don’t usually bother to check out the ownership of neighbouring properties wherever I go, to make sure I’m not inadvertently going to intrude on your precious privacy,’ she said, matching him for sarcasm.

  His eyes narrowed as he pounced on the perceived slip. ‘Then how do you know I’m the owner?’

  ‘The rabid territorialism you’re displaying is a dead give away,’ she said drily. ‘Given your reclusive writing habits and erratic timetable, I doubt that you’d feel comfortable working anywhere but your own space. Someplace where you can come and go at will without attracting notice. And it’s not as if there’s a big choice of long-term rentals if you want something right on the beach…or so the travel agent told me,’ she added swiftly.

  ‘So how did you find out about this one?’ He jerked his beard-roughened jaw at their surroundings. ‘Internet? Newspaper ad?’

  She almost agreed before she saw the potential trap. For all she knew the rental had never been actively advertised.

  ‘Serendipity?’ She smiled limpidly. ‘I read a magazine story about some people who camp at Oyster Beach every Christmas, and then asked around. I am a researcher, you know.’

  His jaw tightened. ‘And something of an actress, too. You didn’t even show a blink of surprise when I opened my door; almost as if you were expecting to see me. Yet you appeared not to recognise me.’

  ‘I was shocked,’ she said truthfully. The little electric pulses that zipped through her veins every time she saw him had intensified rather than faded with time. Her hyper-awareness was simultaneously exciting and inhibiting.

  ‘So you just went ahead and trotted out your cheerful little spiel as blandly as if I was someone you’d never met before rather than the man you’ve been sleeping with for the past two years.’

  Colour touched her haughty cheekbones. ‘We’ve never actually slept together,’ she corrected him with a crisp exactitude that would have made her mother proud. ‘And in the rather awkward circumstances, I thought you would prefer me not to presume on our relationship—’

  ‘Presume?’ he echoed incredulously, dropping his hands from his hips. ‘Am I really that much of a ogre?’

  ‘Quite frankly, yes,’ she punctured his scornful amusement. ‘You made it very clear from the very beginning that there are situations and subjects which are strictly off limits between us—’

  ‘I thought that was a mutual arrangement,’ he cut in roughly. ‘We’re two very independent people, and, as I remember it, you’re the one who’s uncomfortable with the idea of us sleeping together. You never want to stay in my hotel room and you’ve certai
nly never invited me to spend the night at your house…’

  Behind her back, Kate’s hand gripped the sharp edge of the bench, using the small, cutting pain in her palm as a means of controlling the larger pain. Did he think that she hadn’t been aware of the conflicting signals he had given out in those first few weeks? The reckless rush of passion that had precipitated them into an unlikely affair had caught them both off guard. Drake had been between books at the time and making the most of his freedom, and Kate had thought that once he plunged back into his creative cycle his interest would inevitably wane. Not having his experience in the etiquette of conducting casual romantic liaisons, Kate had quietly taken her cues from him. She had seen the way he shied away from gushing, clingy women, had noticed that, although he had a large circle of acquaintances, he had few real friends. He was quick to charm but slow to trust, so she had been very careful never to step over the invisible boundaries that his own behaviour had marked out, or to demand more than she was certain he was prepared to give. The reward for her restraint had been to hold his interest far beyond the usual few months his well-publicised affairs generally lasted. The price of loving Drake Daniels, she had discovered, was not to love him.

  She smothered the hot words of protest that tingled on her tongue.

  ‘We’re getting off the point—’

  ‘And what is the point?’ He cocked his head. ‘Oh, yes, that’s right—your ridiculous pretence not to know me just now.’

  If that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black!

  ‘Maybe I was simply scared you might jump to the arrogant conclusion that I had followed you down here, and accuse me of stalking you! A normal person might shrug it off as just one of life’s little amusing quirks, but with you there’s no assumption of innocence; no, “Hi, Kate, great to see you—what on earth are you doing in this neck of the woods?” Your paranoid obsession has to build it into some big conspiracy theory centred solely around yourself.’

  Temper kicked up a brooding storm in his eyes as he realised she had deftly outmanoeuvred him. ‘That was what you meant by “rather awkward circumstances”?’

  She hesitated, and lightning comprehension flashed in the storm-dark eyes. ‘Ah…I suppose that was a reference to my being with Melissa…?’

  Kate cursed herself for giving him the opportunity to torture her with more self-doubts. She was not going to betray the slightest interest in his half-naked companion.

  She tilted her chin and gave him a coolly uncomprehending look. ‘I meant the fact that I know you hate any interruptions while you’re writing—’ Except by the mysterious Melissa, an evil voice whispered in her ear. ‘But if nobody knows where you are, I don’t see how they can be expected to know which places to avoid. Perhaps if you were less secretive you might find out that people actually want to avoid you.’

  ‘If you want to avoid me, Katherine, there’s an easy solution. Pack up and go elsewhere for your holiday. If the rent isn’t refundable I’ll reimburse you. Hell, I’ll even book you in at a five-star resort somewhere.’

  Anywhere but here—he really was desperate to get rid of her! Kate smiled through a thin red veil of rage. ‘Thank you, but I’ve never accepted expensive gifts from you before, and I don’t intend to start now. I’ve already settled in and I’m quite happy with my choice,’ she said, safe in the knowledge her bulging suitcases and bags were hidden behind the closed door of the master bedroom, where she had flung them before hurrying next door. She strolled over to sit down at the table with her tea, letting him know that she was unworried by his looming presence. ‘I’m looking forward to being able to step out of the house straight onto the beach every day…’

  ‘That’s if it stays fine. You’re a city girl, you’ll get bored here by yourself. There’s nothing for you to do if the weather turns—no shops, no cafés or restaurants, no entertainment—’

  ‘Luckily I brought along my own brain,’ she said drily, ‘an essential accessory for the modern single woman. I’m sure I’ll be able to keep myself amused. And I doubt the rest of the local community will be as standoffish as you. Perhaps I’ll meet a handsome young fisherman who’ll offer to show me the sights,’ she added flippantly.

  A muscle flickered alongside his compressed mouth. His restless eyes fell to her cup and his dark brows formed a straight line. He sniffed the air like a hound on a fresh scent. ‘Is that tea? I thought you said that you were making coffee.’

  Her stomach gave a commemorative lurch as another lie come home to roost. ‘I changed my mind.’

  ‘I didn’t know you drank tea.’ He frowned.

  ‘There’s a lot you evidently don’t know about me,’ she pointed out.

  ‘So it would seem.’ His gaze shifted to her face and subjected her to a darkly probing look. ‘Well, since I brought you the sugar, perhaps you could offer me a cup?’

  She barely stopped her mouth from falling open. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘But not tea—I’d rather have coffee.’ He began to prowl around the kitchen. ‘Where are your beans?’ He opened the fridge to inspect the shelves. ‘God, this all looks depressingly healthy—where’s all those lovely, full-fat soft cheeses you’re so addicted to…and there’s no wine, or stash of chocolate. Prunes? Who takes prunes on holiday? Don’t tell me you’re on one of those new faddy diets you said your mother is always suggesting you take. What is it this time—South Pacific Colon? Kidney-cleansing Vegan?’ He closed the fridge and headed for the pantry.

  ‘Do you mind?’ Kate got there first and whipped out the small jar of coffee, pushing it into his chest before he could see the full container of sugar that had been sitting behind it. She shut the cupboard and stood in front of it with folded arms.

  ‘Instant?’ He looked pained as he cupped the jar in his big hands. ‘What about fresh ground?’

  ‘It’s all I’ve got. Take it or leave it,’ she said tartly. At home she had always made sure she had the blend of beans he liked and had taken pains to brew it to his personal taste.

  ‘What in the hell is this? “Decaffeinated?”’ he read off the label, as outraged as if he had discovered her keeping a dead body in the pantry.

  ‘It’s gentler on the stomach.’

  ‘That’s a contradiction in terms; coffee is supposed to kick you like a mule. Is this part of the new diet—some form of aversion therapy?’

  ‘Well, it certainly seems to be working so far,’ she muttered, glaring at him in dislike.

  His dark head jerked up, eyebrows notching. How could a man who wrote such thrilling, emotionally dense prose be such a blind, insensitive swine? Kate could feel delayed reaction biting deep into her fragile self-control. Next thing he would be wanting her to invite his flame-haired companion over for a bonding drink!

  ‘So I take it you won’t be staying for that drink after all?’ she said smoothly, sitting back down to her steaming brew.

  Still holding her gaze, he unscrewed the lid of the jar, broke the new seal and inhaled the aroma, wrinkling his patrician nose.

  ‘I suppose your tea is decaffeinated too?’

  Her hands curled possessively around the mug, drawing it towards her. ‘No. But I didn’t make a pot, I just used an ordinary tea bag.’

  His snobbish palate ignored the blatant discouragement. ‘Well, I suppose that’ll have to do, then.’ She watched in dismay while he snagged a mug from the row of hooks under the cupboards and dropped in one of the tea bags from the open cardboard box on the counter.

  ‘Make yourself at home,’ she commented sarcastically as he re-boiled the kettle.

  ‘Thanks. I am,’ he said, filling his cup, his quick grin of genuine amusement setting off alarm bells. What had made him so good-humoured all of a sudden?

  Kate wished she hadn’t made it so obvious that she wanted him to leave, for now it seemed he was going to punish her by lingering.

  ‘Any biscuits?’ he asked, returning the milk to the fridge and scooping a teaspoon out of the cutlery drawer.

&
nbsp; ‘No. I thought you were anxious to get back to—’ She broke off as he dropped into the chair opposite, his long calves brushing her bare legs under the table, sending a shiver of goose-pimples scooting up her inner thighs. She quickly crossed her legs, swivelling her hips sideways so that she was well away from his unsettling touch, tucking the short, flared skirt neatly under her bottom.

  ‘Back to Melissa?’ he completed her question helpfully, heaping sugar into his tea.

  Kate’s face ached with the strain of not reacting to his casual twist of the knife.

  ‘To your writing,’ she said. ‘I know you’ve got deadlines to meet.’ She was pleased to see that her hand was rock-steady as she raised her cup to her lips.

  ‘Is that what Marcus told you?’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t talk shop while I’m on holiday,’ she said coldly. Let him believe that she was here at someone else’s behest, if that was the way his mind was tracking. It would take some of the heat off her and, in reality, it was close enough to the truth not to cause her undue guilt.

  He blew across his tea, wreathing his dark head in curls of steam: the devil in a domestic setting. ‘Then what shall we talk about?’ he invited in the deep voice that haunted her dreams.

  Her stomach tightened and she lowered her lashes to hide a violent upsurge of emotion. ‘What do we usually talk about?’

  ‘Everything.’

  And nothing…They never spoke about the disjointed nature of their affair—the weeks of passionate closeness interspersed by months apart, with little or no contact. In a mutual conspiracy of silence they could argue the state of the world, but never the state of their own feelings.

  The only place their communications were truly uncensored was in bed, where actions spoke louder than words and their bodies were perfectly attuned to each other’s needs. Drake was a generous lover, and Kate found a fierce rapture in his arms that helped carry her through the long, lonely periods of empty yearning.

  The things that she ached to say to him were suddenly dammed up behind a thick wall of resentment. He didn’t really want to talk, he simply wanted Kate to answer his questions…questions that she didn’t yet have answers for herself!