Sweet Tempest Page 6

  Pulling on her wrap, she moved silently down the hall to the bathroom, and after a few minutes she came up with an empty foil strip at the back of the only drawer likely to hold such medication.

  Damn! Now she'd have to go downstairs.

  Suiting thought to action, she padded towards the stairs, her bare feet making no sound on the carpet. She didn't bother switching on any lights until she reached the kitchen, and with the ease of familiarity she opened the appropriate cupboard and extracted the necessary tablets.

  What she needed was a stiff brandy, she grimaced with retrospect. Or maybe two. At least then she could collapse into bed in a heap and let the alcohol take effect!

  Tablets in hand, she moved through to the lounge and crossed to the drinks cabinet. Selecting a glass, she poured a generous measure of brandy and took a tentative sip, grimacing as the neat spirit burnt the back of her throat. How could anyone profess to like such a vile taste? Even with ice there was no measurable improvement. There was some ginger ale which should successfully dilute it, and after adding some she had to concede that the contents of her glass were more palatable. So much so, she poured another.

  'Well, well,' a cynical voice drawled, 'what have we here?'

  Stephanie slowly turned, letting her eyes swing up to encompass his dark inscrutable gaze before sliding down to rest on his mouth. It was a very— oh, what was the word for it? Sensual, she decided after a seemingly endless deliberation. Wondering how those lips would feel on hers set up an irregular tattoo in the region of her breast that all too quickly seemed to reverberate in the pulse at her throat. Her temples began to throb, and she actually felt a slow delicious ache begin in the pit of her stomach. The brandy must be infinitely more potent than she thought!

  'I couldn't sleep,' she enunciated carefully, then wondered why she felt the necessity to speak so slowly. 'What are you doing up? I thought you'd gone to bed.'

  His eyes narrowed fractionally. Thad.'

  'So why are you here?'

  'I heard someone moving around and felt I should investigate.'

  She raised the glass in a mock salute. 'You can relax—I'm no burglar.'

  'So I see.'

  'Do you really?' she retorted deliberately, and saw the edge of his mouth lift with sardonic amusement.

  'I think you should go back to bed.'

  'Oh, I will. Just as soon as I've finished this drink.'

  'Now, Stephanie,' he inclined softly, with just a hint of steel, and she laughed. 'My, my! Are you usually so masterful?'

  He took the few steps forward necessary to bring him within touching distance. 'Come on, there's a good girl, hmm?'

  She smiled, a slow wistful smile that held, if she did but know it, infinite pathos. 'I really need the effect this will have.'

  'That bad?'

  Her eyes widened. 'You can't know.'

  'The best part of an argument is making up,' he told her with a lopsided smile. 'Young Bryant will undoubtedly be on the phone before breakfast begging forgiveness.'

  She eyed him carefully. 'He won't, and—I won't. Forgive him—ever,' she declared slowly.

  'Finish your drink,' Jake instructed quietly. 'Then I'll see you upstairs.'

  'Good idea.' She lifted the glass and tossed back the remaining contents with considerable panache, then spoilt everything by giving an unladylike hiccup. 'I think—' she didn't wait to finish, and with a groan she moved past him and broke into a run, just reaching the downstairs bathroom in time to be wretchedly ill.

  Afterwards she washed her face and cleaned her teeth, then lifted shaky fingers to brush back the hair from her face.

  'Are you all right?'

  She hadn't heard a thing, and she jerked with surprise at the sound of Jake's voice so close behind.

  Was she? Certainly she felt better, physically, but her emotions were torn to shreds. For some idiotic reason she felt like crying, but to resort to feminine tears now would be the ultimate humiliation. It took considerable bravado to raise her eyes to meet his, but she managed it. 'I'll survive.'

  His eyes became hard, and far more discerning than she wanted. 'Suppose you tell me what happened?'

  Her nerves screamed in angry rejection. 'I'd like to go to bed.'

  A hand reached out and took hold of her chin, lifting it high as he examined the delicate planes of her face, the dark hollows beneath her eyes, the long-fringed lashes veiling her expression.

  'My headlights picked you out as I came up the drive, running from Bryant's car like someone possessed, then Bryant took off with more speed than care.'

  Her eyes closed for a few mere seconds, then slowly opened. 'What do you want, Jake? A blow-by-blow account?'

  The imprecation he muttered brought a rush of colour to her cheeks, but he offered no apology.

  After a long time she said quietly, 'I'm all right—really.' For some reason she couldn't look away, and with mesmerised fascination she let her eyes widen fractionally to meet his intent gaze, glimpsing some indefinable emotion in those hard brown eyes that was successfully masked within seconds by sardonic cynicism, and she swallowed convulsively as she struggled to summon her voice. 'It's late,' she managed evenly, moving to one side so that she could pass him. 'Goodnight.'

  He didn't say a word, and she could feel his eyes following her all the way down the hall until she reached the stairs. By the time she reached her room the entire length of her spine was tingling, and as she closed the door behind her it took every ounce of resolve not to burst into ignominious tears.

  Slowly she crossed to her bed and slid in between the covers, then reached up and switched off the lamp.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  'Jake Stanton, please.'

  The voice was melodious, its trans-Atlantic accent huskily attractive, and Stephanie felt her fingers instinctively tighten on the receiver.

  'Mr Stanton is in surgery,' she told him. 'Can I help you?'

  'What time will he be finished?'

  'The last appointment is at five o'clock.'

  'Thank you.'

  The line went dead, and Stephanie slowly replaced the receiver. No ordinary caller, she perceived, and unless she was mistaken, not the owner of a prospective patient. Her imagination ran riot, wondering if the projected image matched up to the voice.

  It wasn't long before she discovered that it did. At exactly five the door slid open and a vision of sheer beauty entered the waiting room.

  Tall and willowy, attired in the latest fashion from the tips of her Italian-made shoes to the signature scarf knotted carelessly at her neck, her burnished auburn hair perfectly groomed, she swept towards reception in a cloud of exotically expensive and instantly recognisable perfume. A red Irish Setter reared up from its lolling position at its master's feet, nose quivering, ears and tail alert, to subside seconds later with a pitiful whine. The only other animal occupant, a seal-point Siamese, lifted its head to ascertain if there was any immediate threat, then maintained an unblinking surveillance.

  Stephanie looked at the perfectly made-up face and immediately became aware of her own shortcomings by comparison. She didn't need to look in a mirror to see that she'd retained only a tinge of lipstick, the thin film of powder over her nose had disappeared, and that her hair had resorted to a riot of curls.

  'Can I be of any assistance?'

  A slow curving smile widened the skilfully painted mouth. 'I doubt it,' she drawled with a seductive laugh. 'Will I disrupt things too much if I wait here .for Jake?'

  It had to be Jake, Stephanie thought silently, wondering at her own stupidity in surmising otherwise. Aloud she murmured, 'By all means take a seat.'

  Five minutes later Michael ushered out a patient and its owner, picked up the next file from Stephanie's desk, then glanced across the room. His expression was comical for the scant second it took him to successfully mask it, and the look he cast Stephanie was positively dazed.

  It would be interesting to see how Jake handled the appearance of his—friend? The descr
iptive was far too tame. Such self-assurance only came with the knowledge of infinite possession.

  The waiting room gradually emptied, and as the last patient retreated from the clinic's waiting room Stephanie felt her eyes drawn towards the surgery door. Michael emerged and bade her goodnight, then a familiar broad frame filled the aperture, and she almost held her breath as his gaze skimmed across to the woman seated on the far side of the room.

  There was no surprise evident, not even a flicker of emotion on those dark saturnine features. Looking at him, Stephanie could hardly believe he could appear so unmoved.

  His hands pushed into the pockets of his trousers, and his stance took on a peculiar stillness, rather like that of a jungle animal assessing an unknown entity.

  'Hello, Jake.' Every movement was elegance personified as she rose to her feet, and she stood waiting, a soft hesitant smile parting her lips.

  'Alana.' The acknowledgment bore finely-edged mockery, and Stephanie was aware that she was suddenly an unwanted spectator.

  'If you'll excuse me?'

  Jake spared her a swift enigmatic glance. 'I'll lock up.'

  Stephanie placed the cover over her typewriter, then proffered a slight -smile that was meant to encompass them both, but probably went unnoticed. Certainly it wasn't acknowledged, and she moved towards the door with a sense of unreality, almost as if she were detached from the scene.

  The few dozen steps separating the clime from the house had never taken so long, and once indoors she moved to the kitchen where she automatically checked the meal Mrs Anderson had prepared, then went about setting the table.

  Fool, she scolded silently. Jake wouldn't be eating in tonight. Not with that vision of loveliness his willing supplicant.

  Who was she? Girl-friend? Lover? Fiancée? Surely not wife? It didn't take much imagination to deduce she'd followed him here.

  Damn. It was none of her business. Why should she care, anyway?

  Suddenly cross with herself she moved back to the kitchen and plugged in the electric kettle. A cup of coffee would do much to restore a modicum of common sense.

  She had just finished it when she heard the side door close, and she looked up as Jake entered the room.

  'I'll be away for a few hours,' he told her without preamble- 'No dinner—I'll eat out.'

  What could she say? What right did she have to say anything? At that precise moment even a single word would have stuck in her throat.

  Afterwards she served up a solitary meal and spent ten minutes forking the contents around her plate, eating little more than a mouthful or two.

  She couldn't concentrate on anything, and even a favourite television programme failed to capture her interest. At eleven she locked up, switched on the outside light, then climbed the stairs to her room.

  In bed she turned the pages of a book without reading so much as a line, then placed it on the pedestal and determinedly switched off the lamp. Endeavouring to relax in order to summon an envied somnolent state proved hopeless and she tossed and turned, even resorted to counting sheep, without success.

  It was late when Jake returned, very late. Two-thirty-five, to be precise. The powerful beam of the Lamborghini's headlights illuminated her room as it swept up the drive, and in the still night air Stephanie heard the faint clunk of the car door closing, and sensed rather than heard him enter the house.

  Breakfast was a strained meal. Stephanie couldn't think of one sensible topic of conversation, and escaped the instant she finished her coffee. If Jake noticed her discomfiture he gave no sign. He didn't even look tired, damn him, she decided peevishly. She was nursing a headache, and worse, a strange ache in the region of her heart.

  It was mid-afternoon when Stephanie took that fateful phone call, and she recognised the faintly husky, feminine voice at once.

  'I'd like to speak to Jake, please.'

  'He's attending a patient at the moment,' Stephanie explained carefully. 'Can I have him call you?'

  Silence echoed down the line for a few seemingly long seconds. 'Ask him to phone his wife. He has the number.' Then the line went dead.

  Wife? A hundred different thoughts vied for supremacy, and none made any sense. There was nothing to be gained from Jake's expression when she relayed the message, for he merely gave a curt nod in acquiescence.

  He missed dinner again, and returned equally late. It gave Stephanie a small dart of satisfaction to glimpse the faint edge of weariness tinging his broad-chiselled profile as he ate breakfast.

  'If there are any personal calls for me, take a message,' Jake slanted as she excused herself from the table, and she looked at him in surprise.

  'Very well,' she answered stiltedly.

  It required all Stephanie's skilled tactfulness to deal with the beautiful Alana when she rang, not once, but twice during the course of the day, and it was really no surprise at all when she swept into the clinic's waiting room a few minutes before five.

  Looking like something out of Vogue, Alana Stanton spared Stephanie a slight smile before taking a seat. She didn't have long to wait, for a minor miracle had occurred in that their list of appointments had kept surprisingly to the scheduled timetable with no emergencies to provide a disruptive factor.

  Michael took one glance at the almost empty waiting room, then swung his expressive gaze towards Stephanie. 'I'm off, see you in the morning.'

  Jake appeared within minutes, and there was no mistaking the slight tensing of his jaw as Alana rose to greet him.

  'Darling—I thought I'd surprise you,' she effused with sparkling warmth, and her eyes moved towards Stephanie in silent query.

  Taking the cue, Stephanie quickly placed the cover over her typewriter and uttered a slightly strangled 'goodnight'.

  'I need some files,' declared Jake, turning slightly, and she had a difficult time controlling her surprise.

  'Yes, of course.' She endeavoured to keep her voice even as she moved towards the large set of filing drawers. 'If you'll tell me which ones, I'll get them.'

  'Oh, Jake,' Alana protested with soft remonstrance, 'you're not working late, are you? I thought we'd go somewhere for dinner. We have so much to talk about.'

  His eyes bore a remoteness that was chilling. 'We did all the talking necessary last night. Now, if you'll excuse me?'

  Stephanie couldn't believe her ears, and only quick reflexes saved her from catching her fingers in the heavy filing drawer.

  'Jake, I drove down especially!' Alana protested.

  'Then you should have saved yourself the trip.' He took a few steps towards the reception desk, and his features were devoid of any expression as he checked the following morning's appointments in the book, 'Robinson, Sullivan and Peters,' he indicated. 'Bring them in, and don't bother switching the phone over to the house. I have a few calls to make first.'

  The atmosphere was so electric Stephanie hardly dared draw breath, and she watched with mesmerised fascination as Alana reached out and placed a perfectly manicured hand on his sleeve.

  'Jake—please!'

  There was a flicker of emotion visible as he looked down at the fingers resting on his arm, then very carefully he removed them. 'Go home, Alana,' he said quietly.

  'Can't we talk alone?'

  'To what end?' He turned towards Stephanie. 'I need your assistance here for half an hour. Dinner can wait.'

  'You're having dinner with her?' Alana demanded incredulously.

  'Yes.'

  'At the house?'

  'Why not?' he drawled sardonically, his expression becoming ruthlessly implacable. 'It's where we both stay.'

  'You're living there—together? Alana queried, her eyes narrowing speculatively as she swung her attention towards Stephanie. 'I don't believe it!'

  'It happens to be a fact,' Jake assured her silkily.

  The other woman gave a sharp intake of breath. 'Obviously you've taken leave of your senses.'.

  She could be right, if it were true, Stephanie thought wryly. Jake possessed an arresti
ng masculinity, which coupled with rugged good looks, ensured that he would always have his pick of women. Why, when he could have someone as lovely as the beautiful Alana, would he elect to give his attention to her? If it wasn't so ludicrous it could almost be funny.

  'You think so?' he asked deliberately.

  'How can you be so heartless?' Alana pleaded, and there was a shimmer of tears clouding those beautiful eyes as she gazed beseechingly at him.

  'Go back to Melbourne, Alana,' he directed quietly. 'If you've any sense, you'll catch the next plane home to the States.' Without a word he picked up the files Stephanie had placed on the desk, then turned towards the surgery. 'Stephanie?'

  'Jake!'

  His gaze was totally merciless. 'Goodbye, Alana.'

  'I won't give you up—I can't!'

  'We're divorced—remember?'

  Stephanie suddenly had trouble! with her breathing.

  'I made a mistake,' Alana cried, stricken, and his expression became wholly cynical.

  'It's too late.'

  'I don't believe that!'

  'If you don't leave now,' Jake declared in a dangerously soft voice, 'I'll have no choice but to have you forcibly removed from the premises. I'm sure you want that even less than I do.'

  'All right, I'll go.' Her eyes suddenly became hard and glittery. 'But I'll be back. What's more, I can promise you haven't heard the last of me!'

  Stephanie watched in mesmerised fascination as the older woman turned and swept out the door, and within seconds an engine roared to life, then leapt down the driveway with a spurt of flying metal and squealing tyres.

  Almost as if the past ten minutes had never been, Jake moved towards the surgery. 'Shall we dispense with work?'

  'As you disposed of your ex-wife?' The words were out before she could halt them, and she experienced inexplicable fear as his eyes hardened with an icy rage.

  'That's none of your business.'

  'I know,' she admitted without remorse. 'But you were unnecessarily cruel in letting her assume we share more than the house.'