Merlyn's Magic
Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘HE says he doesn't want you to be his wife, Merlyn,’ the man seated across the restaurant table told her with barely concealed anger.

She had known when Christopher Drake took time away from the film he had almost finished directing to take her out for lunch that something had gone wrong with their plan to work together in six weeks’ time. Christopher was already way behind deadline, a fact that was reputedly making him harder to work with—and for, according to the cast and crew. He was a veritable demon, and as both producer and director, who demanded nothing less than perfection one hundred per cent of the time from those who worked for him, he must have been hell to be with these last few weeks of production.

Merlyn knew a lot of people considered her insane to feel this way, but she was actually looking forward to working with him. She had no doubt that he would live up to his reputation, but she had taken on difficult directors before and lived to tell the tale, and she had liked Christopher's looks from the first. He was tall and slim, the latter maintained by his barely leashed energy, with over-long blond hair that he constantly pushed off his forehead in impatient movements. It was an endearing habit, and Merlyn found herself resisting the impulse to smooth back those wayward locks herself.

But if what he said was true, then she wasn't going to get the chance to know him better, the prospect of working with him apparently in jeopardy. And knowing who ‘he’ was, she knew why.

‘Don't feel bad about it, Merlyn.’ Christopher scowled, obviously not pleased with the development at all. ‘You're the fourth he's turned down in almost a year.'

Tact and diplomacy didn't appear to be part of Christopher Drake's personality either, but after years of living and working with people in a profession full of affectations and insincerity, it was a refreshing change to meet someone so bluntly honest.

‘Who was my competition?’ she asked in an amused voice.

‘Not competition,’ Christopher dismissed disgustedly. ‘Just your predecessors. None of them got any further than this stage either.'

‘This stage?’ she prompted, toying with the scampi on her plate.

‘The film studio bought the screen rights to the book from the author but, unfortunately, she made the stipulation in the contract that her brother-in-law had to approve of the actress chosen to play the part of his wife.’ Christopher's disparaging tone told her exactly what he thought of that clause.

Merlyn shrugged, the long swathe of her shimmering red hair rippling halfway down her spine to her waist. ‘That seems only fair.'

Christopher's slender fingers tightened about his wineglass. ‘Not when he doesn't want the film made!’ Blue eyes glowered his displeasure. ‘Anne Benton forgot to mention that little fact when she signed the contract.'

Merlyn had read the book Anne Benton had written about her sister's short but eventful life, had been touched by the affectionate admiration the younger sister had for the elder. The book was poignantly tender, a fitting tribute to a warm and beautiful woman who had died too young. It must also be a heart-breaking reminder to Suzie Forrester's husband of his tragic loss.

‘That's that, then,’ she sighed, sitting back, her disappointment reflecting in the deep green of her slightly uptilting eyes. She had never met Suzie Forrester, but she had been attracted to portraying her as soon as she read the script, even more so since reading the book.

‘Not necessarily,’ Christopher said slowly.

She looked at him sharply. ‘If Brandon Carmichael doesn't want me in the part—–'

‘How does he know what he wants?’ the man opposite her dismissed impatiently. ‘He's never seen you! He didn't see any of your predecessors either, he just turned them down flat. Now if he could just meet you, and we could convince him—–'

‘Don't you mean I could convince him?’ Merlyn cut in hardly, easily able to guess the way his mind was working; he was far from the first completely ruthless man she had met in this profession. And she doubted he would be the last, either.

‘Why not?’ Christopher wasn't in the least abashed at the admission.

Merlyn gave him a pitying look. ‘Brandon Carmichael hardly sounds the type to be swayed by a pretty face!'

‘You aren't merely pretty, you're beautiful,’ Christopher stated, as a man used to dealing in nameless beautiful faces rather than personalities. ‘You're also a damned good actress,’ he added, just as practically. ‘Besides, there's only six weeks left until production starts, and I'm beginning to feel like Selznick looking for his Scarlett!'

Merlyn didn't like to disillusion him, was sure he believed that every film he made was a masterpiece, but she knew that however poignantly moving the film on Suzie Forrester was going to be, it was only Christopher's conceit that allowed him to in any way compare it to the legendary Gone With the Wind. He was hardly the enthralled producer David O. Selznick, and she certainly wasn't Vivian Leigh!

Christopher scowled at her sceptical expression. ‘For God's sake, I'm not asking you to sleep with the man, just convince him that we aren't all “ghoulish bastards”!'

She ignored the reference he had made to her using bedroom tactics to get Brandon Carmichael to agree to her playing the part of his wife in the film, knowing Christopher Drake was quite capable of asking that of her if he thought it would get the result he wanted. She was equally as sure what her answer to him would be! ‘Is that a direct quote?’ she asked ruefully.

Those deep blue eyes narrowed angrily. ‘That's one of the more repeatable remarks he's made about the film being shot,’ he confirmed harshly. ‘The man is so damned arrogant—–'

‘He did lose his wife, Christopher—–'

‘Two years ago,’ he put in in a disgruntled voice. ‘God knows she was a beautiful woman, but—–'

‘You knew her?’ Merlyn asked with interest.

Christopher shrugged. ‘I worked with her a couple of times. Any man would be upset at losing her, but it was years ago now.'

Merlyn's expression softened indulgently. It didn't take too much intelligence to know that in all of his thirty-six years Christopher Drake, for all that his intensity as a lover was as renowned as his ability as a director, had never been in love. She wasn't too familiar with the true emotion herself, but she had known enough of the untrue kind to appreciate that to have loved and lost must be infinitely more painful than never having known the emotion at all.

But Christopher saw this situation one-dimensional, could only see Brandon Carmichael as the man who stood in the way of his making his film and not as the man who had loved his wife so much her death had all but destroyed him. Time certainly hadn't lessened the man's pain.

‘What did you have in mind by way of convincing him?’ Merlyn arched auburn brows mockingly.

‘Well, I did invite him down to London to see you at the theatre, but—–'

‘He refused,’ she guessed dryly. ‘I really don't think seeing me play Kate would endear me to him!’ she derided, her title role in The Taming of the Shrew nothing at all like the vivacious but warmly beautiful Suzie Forrester. If Brandon Carmichael had seen her as Kate he would definitely have refused to let her take his wife's role in the film of her life!

He had turned her down anyway.

But being reminded of the latest role she had played during her year at the theatre, she was also forced to realise that she had turned down the offer of another contract so that she could start work on To Live a Little …, that she only had another week to go before her replacement took over. Originally, she had planned to take a month off before work began on the film, now it looked as if she were about to join the more than lengthy queue of the unemployed, and for someone who had rarely been out of work the last five years, that was going to be difficult to adjust to. But she had effectively closed one door and now another was being slammed in her face.

‘This is as important to you as it is to me.’ Christopher was shrewd enough to realise this as he watched the changing expressions on her face.

‘I want the part,’ she nodded. ‘And not just because I'm out of work without it,’ she added ruefully. ‘It really is something that appeals to me.'

‘It appeals to me too,’ Christopher grated. ‘We could pick up a few Oscars with it.'

The fact that their reasons were so different didn't surprise Merlyn, and she knew that Christopher's more mercenary attitude would in no way detract from his ability to make a fantastic film. But she had spent so much time during the last few weeks in learning the script and doing the research she felt necessary to get an all-round picture of Suzie Forrester, that she felt an affinity with the other woman, almost as if she had known her as a friend, even though they had never met. She would feel as if she were losing that friend if she didn't play Suzie.

‘I had in mind,’ Christopher paused, watching her closely, ‘your going to see Carmichael.'

‘Why?’ Merlyn frowned, getting ready to punch him on his arrogant nose if he so much as hinted again that she sleep with the other man. Although she didn't think he would, not after the way she had already reacted to the idea; Christopher certainly wasn't a stupid man.

‘To talk to him, of course,’ he said in exasperation. ‘Once he's met you he's going to realise we aren't all “ghoulish bastards”, that some of us are even quite decent.'

Merlyn looked sceptical. ‘According to the book written by his sister-in-law, he never liked or approved of his wife's career, and he's shunned everything to do with that world since her death. A visit from a woman who, in his mind, intends to capitalise on her death, isn't likely to endear me to him!'

‘Do we have any other choice?'

She knew that Christopher did, that he could shelve the film and just keep coming up with other Suzies until Brandon Carmichael accepted one out of desperation. On the other hand, she had no real choice, and Christopher knew that.

He turned to the waiter and nodded for their bill. ‘Let's go back to my place and discuss this further,’ he suggested, silkily soft, sure enough of his own attraction not to doubt her acquiescence.

Merlyn smiled as she answered him.

‘Mad dogs and Englishmen …’ Merlyn thought irritably. Only she was a woman, and it wasn't the ‘midday sun’ she had ventured out in but torrential rain. Nevertheless, the maxim seemed to apply.

Christopher had encouraged her to take this trip with a glowing description of the beauty of the Lake District, assuring her that even if her visit to Brandon Carmichael proved unsuccessful then at least she would have had an enjoyable break from the hectic pace her life had been lived at the last year while she had been appearing on stage.

Since leaving Manchester Airport in her hire-car over an hour ago, the rain hadn't stopped falling, and she was beginning to realise why it was called the ‘Lake’ District; lakes seemed to be forming everywhere, especially on the roads, several drivers having pulled off the road altogether as the driving conditions became more and more difficult.

The wettest English summer for years, the weathermen had cheerfully informed them. As if anyone needed telling that—summer this year having consisted of one week in early April!

Merlyn knew why she was feeling so irritable, and it had nothing to do with the weather. When she had decided on this month off between jobs it had seemed like a good idea but, after years of working constantly, the inactivity had gotten to her after only three days. The flat only took one day to clean thoroughly, another day to restock her freezer, and then another day to sit about with absolutely nothing to do. She ruefully acknowledged that Christopher had seen her restlessness and taken advantage of it.

That wasn't quite true, she accepted. She had still wanted the part of Suzie, and it had taken hardly any encouragement on Christopher's part to persuade her to make this trip to see Brandon Carmichael.

Anne Benton had been all for it, too. Although the two women had never met, Anne busy with the hotel she and her husband ran, Merlyn had spoken to her on the telephone, feeling an instant rapport with the warm-voiced woman. She had jumped at the chance of being a guest at the hotel when Anne suggested it, her brother-in-law living only a few miles away.

But Merlyn hadn't expected the delay in her flight because of fog, or the torrential rain that had greeted her when she went outside to get in her hire-car. It had been so bad when she first set out, the windscreen wipers proving ineffective, that she had contemplated staying in Manchester overnight and continuing her journey in the morning when, she hoped, the weather would have cleared somewhat. A telephone call to Anne had assured her that they had only a light drizzle falling up there, and so she had decided to make the drive after all. Unfortunately, the heavy rain had followed her all the way up!

Lake Windermere, as she drove past, was no more than fog-enshrouded greyness, the small town of Windermere itself deserted, the day-boats that were usually for hire, from the signs Merlyn saw up, had long-since closed down for the day. Who would have believed it could be August!

Anne's instructions for the location of the hotel had been explicit, but she hadn't allowed for the fact that Merlyn was used to driving in London, and that when told to take the first turning on the right she did exactly that, regardless of the fact that what had begun as a road soon tapered off as someone's driveway!

After twice getting soaked when she had to run to the house to ask for fresh instructions, the second time splattering the owner of the house with mud from his own driveway when she got stuck turning around and he had to push her out, she was near to deciding that the Lake District didn't like her and she didn't like it!

And then she saw it, The Forresters, the wooden sign beside the wrought-iron gates clearly discernible through the rain. She decided then and there to mention to Anne that her hotel would look infinitely more welcoming if the gates were left standing open, getting wet a third time when she ran out into the rain to correct the omission.

All of eight feet high, the gates groaned and creaked as she swung them back, the sneeze she gave as she hurriedly climbed back inside the car boding ill for the next few days. Maybe a nice long soak in the bath would rid her of the chill that was even now making her teeth rattle.

She drove through the gateway, slowing down after doing so, looking reluctantly in her driving-mirror. The rain seemed to be coming down heavier than ever, and the thought of going out into it again didn't appeal to her one bit but, on the other hand, a little voice at the back of her head kept saying something about the ‘country code’ and ‘always shutting gates after you'. A town girl born and bred, she must have read it somewhere, because in all of her twenty-six years the only time she had spent in the countryside had been when she was working in some provincial theatre, and then she hadn't had time to explore her surroundings. But that voice kept nagging, and besides, she couldn't get any wetter than she already was.

Water dripped down her neck and into her eyes as she turned back to the car, but for the first time she had a clear view of the hotel that stood at the end of the driveway. It only needed Edward Rochester to come thundering up behind her and the whole scene could have stepped straight out of Jane Eyre!

The shiver Merlyn gave as she once again climbed into the car wasn't completely one of damp and cold, and she chided herself for her imagination. It had been that imagination that had influenced her into seeking success in a career that her two doctor parents and lawyer brother had been scandalised about. Her mother still explained the insanity by telling people her daughter had received a concussion as a child!

Her poor mother had never recovered from the shock of finding herself pregnant again at thirty-seven, after deciding at the birth of her son eight years earlier that she wanted no more children, and had taken the necessary steps to ensure that. The interruption to the career she had entered only three years earlier, while she gave birth to Merlyn, had been a brief one—Merlyn, and Richard to a degree, cared for by a full-time nanny.

Nanny Sylvia had been kind, but she hadn't been their own mother, and the experience had left Merlyn with a desire to fill her own house with children if she married, and it wouldn't be the sort of house her parents had either, elegant but lacking warmth; she wanted a real home. Not that she was any closer to finding the man she wanted to share that with. After seeing Christopher for only a week, she knew he wasn't that man; she had known that after only a few minutes in his company. A wife and family would definitely not fit in with his lifestyle.

Still, he was fun to be with, and he really did want her to play Suzie Forrester. All she had to do was convince Brandon Carmichael into agreeing to it. All? Hah!

‘Hotel and country club’ Anne had described The Forest, and although there wasn't much sign of the country club at the moment the hotel looked to be very comfortable. Anne and Suzie had come from a wealthy family, and this had obviously once been the family home.

The service could use a little improving, though, the front door remaining firmly closed, no one outside to open her car door for her or to take in the luggage either, as there would have been at a London hotel. Well, she didn't mind opening her own door—she had done it enough already today for one more time not to count!—but someone would have to take in the large suitcase and vanity case she had in the boot of the car; she refused to get soaked again while she grappled with them.

She pressed on the car horn, looking expectantly at the huge oak doors at the side of her. The doors remained closed. Obviously they weren't expecting any guests in this downpour, but even so—! She hooted again, keeping her hand pressed down on it. It was an act guaranteed to make her unpopular, but she was feeling too cold and miserable to care.

Her hand faltered slightly as one of the doors swung open. She heard the crash as it hit the wall with force even with the doors and windows to her car closed and the sound of the rain falling. She had long since ceased pressing on the horn.

Her eyes widened with apprehension as a giant of a man filled the doorway, and she had the fleeting impression of immense power—and anger—before he strode out into the rain as if it were no more than a light drizzle falling. Merlyn caught only a glimpse of overlong black hair, an equally unkempt black beard, and the fiercest silver eyes she had ever seen, before he disappeared behind her car. She turned anxiously in her seat to see where he had gone, almost falling out on to the driveway as her door was suddenly wrenched open.

‘Have you ever heard of just ringing the doorbell like other people do?’ the man exploded. ‘I happened to be on the telephone when you arrived. What do you—–?'

Merlyn barely registered what he was saying, let alone the fact that he had broken off the tirade so suddenly. Their gazes were locked, green merging into silver, and where once there had been a damp chill to her body there was now a quivering heat that she had never known before. She couldn't even see the man's face properly beneath the beard and the overlong hair being whipped about his features by the fierce wind. She had always preferred slender elegance in a man to the muscles she could see beneath the thick black sweater and fitted cords he wore, and yet as she gazed—drowned!—in those silvery depths, she knew this man could have carried her into the house and up to his bedroom without a word of protest from her.

As she gazed into his eyes, Merlyn knew that she wanted him. Now!

The man seemed to shake off the spell that had been weaving about them, anger darkening his eyes. ‘What the hell do you think you're doing?’ he rasped harshly.

She still wanted him. Unless she was becoming feverish already from the numerous soakings she had received today! His next words seemed to say she had to be.

‘If you prefer to just sit there looking like a drowned cat than answer me then you can damn well do so!’ He slammed the car door back in her face.

‘No—please!’ He had reached the front door by the time Merlyn had managed to open her door and scramble out of the car to talk to him. He stood on the step looking back at her, oblivious of the rain streaming on his hair, over his face and body. Maybe if you lived with this weather long enough it did that to you! ‘I—Could you take my luggage inside—please?’ she added hopefully, feeling as if she had walked on to the set of Fawlty Towers and encountered John Cleese in his classic role as Basil Fawlty!

A dark scowl settled over those curiously light-coloured eyes. ‘Do I look like a porter?’ he scorned.

Merlyn chewed on her bottom lip. He was like no other porter she had ever met, possessed too much arrogance and authority for the—Oh no, this wasn't Anne's husband, James, was it? If it was she had committed a double gaffe, that of assuming he was one of his own porters, and of finding herself attracted to a married man, her own hostess's husband.

‘Well?’ He arched mockingly arrogant brows at her lack of response to his question.

Merlyn moistened her lips. ‘Er—I'm sorry if I made a mistake about your position here. I—–'

‘I would say that's the second mistake you've made in the last few minutes,’ he derided, his teeth gleaming very white against the darkness of his beard as he grinned at her discomfort.

Merlyn was so bemused by the unexpectedness of that grin that for a moment she was too mesmerised by the change it made in his appearance—his eyes a warm grey, deep grooves etched into the leanness of his cheeks—to realise exactly what he had said. But once she did realise, her gaze became wary. Had she shown so clearly the impact he had had on her? If she had she would never be able to look Anne Benton in the eye when they were introduced.

‘Oh?’ she queried with a casualness she was far from feeling.

‘You're looking for The Forest hotel, right?’ he drawled, arms folded confidently across the power of his chest, his stance challenging.

She frowned. ‘Yes …'

‘Well, you didn't find it,’ he seemed to take great pleasure in informing her.

‘Oh, but—–’ The sky seemed to open up at that moment, blinding Merlyn in its deluge so that she gave a start of surprise as lean fingers closed about her arm.

‘For God's sake,’ the man at her side exclaimed, ‘let's get inside where it's at least dry!'

It was ‘at least’ the most beautifully furnished house Merlyn had ever seen, the whole of the downstairs area that was visible from the entrance hall decorated in subtle greens, greys, and off-white. Huge cut-glass chandeliers adorned the high ceilings and the delicately ornate staircase in front of her was like something out of a fairy-story—or a film-set, Hollywood-style, that is; things weren't done as grandly in England. What was clearly apparent was that it wasn't a hotel but a family home!

Her dismay was obvious as her gaze returned to her reluctant host. ‘I'm sorry, I seem to have—Atishoo!’ The force of the sneeze made her shake uncontrollably, her eyes starting to water.

‘You seem to have caught pneumonia,’ her host remarked wryly. ‘Come on.’ He took her arm and pulled her towards the staircase.

‘Where are we going?’ Merlyn voiced her alarm. After all, what did she know about this man? She had no way of telling if he had any more right to be here than she did; he could just be taking refuge from the storm too. He certainly didn't look wealthy enough to actually own this house! Unless he was the caretaker? That was quite possible. If she had a house like this she wouldn't want to leave it unattended. But the man facing her didn't look the type she would entrust her lovely home to either! Well, maybe she would. After all, she suspected she could entrust her heart to him without too much encouragement.

‘Upstairs,’ he murmured softly. ‘Scared?'

The recipient of a lot of teasing from a much older brother, Merlyn had never liked to be mocked, her eyes sparkling challengingly. ‘Of you?’ she taunted in a derisive voice.

His mouth quirked. ‘Why not? As soon as I get you upstairs I'm going to rip all your clothes off,’ he stated calmly.

Merlyn stiffened, drawing herself up to all of her five feet five inches in height, aware even as she did so that the man seemed to tower over her by nearly a foot, and that he weighed at least a hundred and eighty pounds. As she had driven up she hadn't seen another house anywhere near this one, and she was well aware that she would stand little or no chance against his weight and size if he should decide to take advantage of her vulnerability.

Nevertheless, she stood her ground. ‘I might have something to say about that,’ she murmured.

Dark brows rose. ‘Judo expert, are you?’ he mocked.

‘I could be,’ she evaded determinedly.

‘Do you usually make this much fuss about taking your clothes off for a shower?’ he taunted.

‘Shower?’ she blinked. ‘You—–'

‘Yes?’ he teased softly.

There were two red spots of anger in her otherwise pale cheeks, her indignation apparent by the scathing look she was sending him, the whole effect ruined by the ignominious sneeze she suddenly gave.

‘No more arguments,’ he declared, pulling her up the stairs with little regard for her stumbling, pushing her into a bedroom and stripping her coat off her before she had time to stop him. She did manage to pull back as he began to unbutton her blouse. ‘What is it?’ He frowned at her modesty. ‘I have seen the unclothed female body before,’ he told her impatiently.

She didn't doubt it. There was a raw masculinity about him that bespoke an intimate knowledge with women and his power over them. But he hadn't seen her body before, and that was the one she was worried about. Her hands placed over his halted his movements. ‘I don't even know your name,’ said Merlyn in exasperation.

His brow cleared, the mockery back. ‘You mean that if we had been formally introduced you would have let me take your clothes off without protest?’ he drawled.

This time the twin spots of colour in her cheeks were from embarrassment. ‘No, I—–'

‘You can call me Rand.’ He sighed his impatience with her indignant anger. ‘And if you won't let me undress you then at least have the good sense to do so yourself, and then get into a hot shower. I'll be downstairs making us some coffee.’ He walked forcefully from the room.

Merlyn was left with the impression that she had just survived a whirlwind. She sank slowly down on to the bed behind her, until she realised her sodden clothes would be dampening the silky peach coverlet. She stood up to undress, her thoughts with the puzzling man downstairs.

Rand. It had a nice sound to it. Her glance fell to the bed beside her. How would it feel to be in that bed beside him, her body entwined with his, crying out his name as he possessed her? Because that man would possess, not merely make love. That warm tingling she had known when she first looked at him returned to her body as she envisaged his dark head next to her fiery one on the pillows. He—–

‘Here you are.’ Rand walked back into the room without warning, carrying her suitcase and vanity now, his eyes narrowing on the nakedness of her flesh beneath the dark blue of her unfastened blouse. Merlyn didn't need to look down to know that her flesh looked like pale ivory against the dark material.

Again that feeling of time standing still possessed her, and she made no effort to conceal the rounded curve of her breasts from his gaze. Instead, she made a rather provocative movement which brought the barely concealed nipples into thrusting prominence against the silky caress of the material.

Rand turned away abruptly. ‘I thought you might like a change of clothes,’ he bit out. ‘Come downstairs when you're ready. I'll be in the lounge.'

As the breath slowly released from her lungs, Merlyn became aware that she hadn't drawn a breath since the moment Rand had burst in with her cases. No man had ever had this effect on her, and she found the feeling very disquietening. She didn't go around thrusting her body at men she had just met either. But then, she had never wanted a man like this before! Something was definitely making her act out of character, because she came from a family that masked their emotions, that didn't make any overt shows of feeling. Thrusting herself at Rand had been positively blatant!

The hot shower she took soothed the chill from her bones, it also stopped her teeth from chattering, what it didn't do was dampen that inner heat she had known from the moment she set eyes on Rand, as if her body knew and recognised him.

It was so ridiculous, had to be part of some sort of fever. For the first time in her life she wished flu on herself— she certainly couldn't actually want to make love with a complete stranger.

Pointedly keeping her gaze averted from the bed that had given her such erotic thoughts a few minutes ago, she gratefully pulled on dry denims and a warm jumper, although in the centrally-heated house the latter would probably be too hot once she was thoroughly rid of the chill that still racked her body. Her hair was already part-way dry, and she brushed it loosely down her back, ruefully accepting that it would become a mass of thick curls without the use of her hair-dryer to style it. In a profession where appearances often counted for everything, she had forgotten the last time her hair had been allowed to dry in this wild way. Oh well, what was the point in worrying about that now, when there wasn't a thing she could do about it? And she couldn't possibly look any worse than she had when she arrived!

The door to the bedroom opposite hers stood open now and, her curiosity piqued, Merlyn couldn't resist a glance inside. Like the rest of the house it was a splendidly furnished room, very masculine, and obviously belonged to her reluctant host, the huge bed easily able to accommodate his large frame, the peach and brown decor warm but lacking any femininity. It was a man's room, and—–

Merlyn felt as if the breath had been knocked from her body as she stared at the photograph on the table beside the bed. It was of a beautiful, dark-haired woman with laughing blue eyes, love glowing in those eyes for the person on the other side of the camera.

Merlyn was drawn like a magnet to the inscription in the bottom right-hand corner of the photograph. ‘Darling, I love you'. It didn't say who darling was, but because it was Rand's bedroom it had to be him, there was no signature to the declaration, but there didn't need to be one; no one who had lived in England the last ten years could help but know the woman who had dominated both British screen and theatre for that time. Suzie Forrester …

He had said his name was Rand, but—Brandon? Was that man downstairs Brandon Carmichael, Suzie's husband?

It wasn't surprising Merlyn hadn't recognised him, the only photographs she had seen of him had him dressed like the millionaire businessman that he was; the man downstairs wore faded and old clothes, and he didn't look as if he had shaved or had his hair cut for years. Years? Two years? Since the death of his wife …

Suzie Forrester's illness and then tragic death had been a blow to everyone who had ever seen her act, but to her husband of eight years it had been a loss from which he was reported never to have recovered.

He was never going to believe that Merlyn's arrival here had been accidental. He was going to think the whole thing had been staged so that she could meet him!

CHAPTER TWO

SHE looked at her host with new eyes when she joined him in the lounge, able to see some remnants of styling left in the overlong dark hair, also able to see the grey among the black on closer inspection. She knew Brandon Carmichael, or Rand Carmichael as he seemed to prefer to be known by those he chose to admit into the intimacy of his friendship—and after the way she had blundered in here she doubted she would ever be admitted into that small circle—was thirty-nine years old and, despite the youthfully overlong hair and the lean muscularity of his body, he looked it!

He was watching her in return, those silver eyes narrowed speculatively as she eyed him nervously. ‘You'll want to telephone the hotel,’ he spoke with sudden impatience.

‘Will I?’ She blinked cat-like eyes, wondering where all her confidence had gone when she needed it so desperately. ‘I mean, I will. Of course I will,’ she dismissed, irritated with herself for acting like a bumbling idiot. ‘Anne will be worried about me.'

Those silver eyes glinted warily now. ‘You're a friend of hers?'

She wouldn't recognise the other woman if there were only the two of them in the same room together! But she didn't stand a chance of persuading this man into letting her play the part of his wife now, had ruined any chance of that the moment she struggled to open those iron gates and drove inside. She should have known a hotel wouldn't shut its gates in that way, and she probably would have done if she hadn't felt so wet and cold by that time that she just wanted to take shelter somewhere, anywhere. Christopher was going to be far from amused when she told him what she had done, she didn't find it all that amusing herself!

‘Sort of,’ she answered Rand evasively, avoiding going into the details of that acquaintance as she frowned up at him. ‘Is the hotel far from here?'

He shrugged. ‘A couple of miles. It's at the other end of the estate.'

Merlyn knew from her research on Suzie Forrester that the Forrester sisters had been the only children of wealthy land-owner John Forrester, and that his estate had been left jointly to his daughters on his death. As she had initially guessed, this was the main house, so Anne must have built her hotel on her half.

‘Don't worry,’ Rand mocked, positioned to the left of the fireplace, a cheery fire burning there in the chill of this mid-summer day. ‘You're far from the first person to make this mistake, this house is called The Forresters, the hotel, The Forest.’ He shrugged. ‘They're too similar. Although usually the wall and gates keep people out of here,’ he added dryly, seeming to imply as he did so that there was nothing ‘usual’ about her!

She was blushing more today than she had the last eight years, and she felt incredibly stupid. ‘I'm sorry,’ she grimaced. ‘I've driven up from Manchester, taken so many wrong turns that I must have added twenty miles on to my journey; I was just desperate to reach the hotel by the time I spotted your gates.'

He nodded. ‘I'll pour the coffee while you call Anne. You aren't going to be able to make it there tonight, I'm afraid.'

‘What?’ she gasped, her horror reflected in her eyes. ‘But you said it's only a couple of miles away.’ She shook her head. ‘I can leave straight after I've had my coffee.'

‘Unfortunately not,’ he drawled, pouring the coffee.

‘Why not?’ she attacked. She had driven up here, she could drive back out again!

‘You remember the ford you crossed about half a mile from here?’ He arched dark brows, down on his haunches beside the low table.

She had been so blinded by the rain by that time that she had been lucky to stay on the road, let alone remember crossing a ford; the whole road had looked like a river to her. But if he said there was a ford then she believed him; she doubted many people disbelieved what this man said. If they did they were fools.

‘It's flooded.’ Rand straightened, the silver eyes cold at her dismayed expression.

‘You mean it's completely impassable?’ she groaned, needing to have her worst fear confirmed rather than just imagined.

‘Unless your car floats, yes.’ He gave a mocking inclination of his head.

Is there another hotel near here?’ Merlyn could feel her panic rising at the thought of being stranded here and left dependent on this man. When she had to tell him who she was she would be lucky if he didn't throw her out into the rain again to take her chances!

‘The ford is on the private road to this house,’ Rand told her. ‘There is no other way out. You're stuck here until the river goes down again.'

She winced at his obvious displeasure as the realisation of her enforced stay struck him too. ‘And how long will that take?'

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘If the rain stops soon, probably tomorrow.'

Merlyn turned to look out of one of the long windows at the steadily pouring rain; it didn't look like it was ever going to stop!

‘Oh, it will,’ Rand assured her in an amused voice as she unwittingly spoke her dismay aloud. ‘Some time,’ he added mockingly, the expression in his eyes one of challenge.

She inwardly groaned her despair. Her feelings for this man had been bewildering enough before she knew who he was. Now that she knew he was the still-grieving widower of Suzie Forrester, they were absolutely ridiculous. And she only had to look at him to feel her temperature rise and her senses quiver into life in a way she had never known before.

‘You can use the bedroom you used earlier, opposite mine,’ he added softly, as if guessing her response to him was the reason for her dismay.

And why shouldn't he have realised how he affected her, her behaviour earlier had been rather obvious! ‘That's very kind of you—–'

‘Kindness doesn't have a damned thing to do with it,’ he rasped. ‘I don't have a choice.'

Neither did she, by the sound of it. And she couldn't blame him for resenting her intrusion either, he didn't come over as the sort of man who enjoyed having to be polite to a woman who had been stupid enough to get herself lost the way that she had.

‘I'll telephone Anne,’ she said quickly.

‘Do that,’ he nodded tersely, standing up to restlessly pace the room.

Merlyn watched him as she dialled the hotel number. He was prowling about like a caged lion, as if impatient with the confines even this large house offered. Continuous rain often had that effect on her too, and yet she sensed there was more to it than that where Rand was concerned; he and Suzie had shared this house all of their married life, so he must be used to the weather here after all these years.

She was prevented further speculation about him as she was put through the switchboard to Anne Benton. ‘It's Merlyn,’ she explained, looking questioningly at Rand as she heard his snort of disbelief as he heard her name.

‘Thank God.’ Anne's relief at hearing from her distracted her attention back from Rand. ‘I've been so worried about you; we expected you hours ago.'

‘Yes. Well, I—I got lost.’ She avoided Rand's mocking gaze at this understatement. ‘A—a neighbour of yours has kindly offered me a bed for the night,’ she added awkwardly.

‘A neighbour? But we don't have—Brandon?’ Anne realised suddenly. ‘Are you with Brandon?'

‘He says his name is Rand,’ she confirmed with a casualness she was far from feeling, relieved the other woman had guessed who the neighbour was and she didn't have to go into the details of her stupidity in front of this broodingly quiet man.

‘Oh dear,’ Anne groaned.

‘Yes,’ she agreed wholeheartedly.

‘What a mess,’ the other woman muttered.

That had to be even more of an understatement than the one Merlyn had made seconds ago; it was a catastrophe! From what Anne had told her, and what she had read herself about Brandon Carmichael, he was never going to believe she hadn't planned this whole thing, right down to the rain!

‘The ford is flooded, right?’ Anne guessed heavily.

Merlyn glanced at Rand as he crossed the room to pour himself a glass of brandy. ‘I'm afraid so,’ she answered the other woman.

‘Does Brandon—know, about you?’ The grimace could be heard in Anne's voice.

‘Not yet,’ she sighed, wishing she could be long gone from here before he did.

Anne drew in a ragged breath. ‘Do you want me to tell him?'

‘God, no!’ she protested; she had to spend the rest of the evening and the long night in the same house with this man!

‘No, probably not,’ Anne conceded ruefully. ‘You'll come up to the hotel and see us before travelling back to London?'

There was no point in either of them pretending there was any reason to go through with the visit now, and Merlyn was grateful for the other woman's understanding. ‘Yes,’ she agreed heavily. ‘I'll do that.'

‘Does Brandon want to talk to me?’ the other woman prompted with obvious reluctance.

Merlyn glanced across at him as he grimly swallowed down the contents of his glass. ‘Rand?’ She held out the receiver to him questioningly, shrugging as he shook his head. ‘He—he's busy at the moment,’ she excused his rudeness to his sister-in-law.

‘I'll bet,’ Anne said knowingly. ‘Merlyn, go easy with him today. It's—–’ The line went dead.

‘Anne? Anne!’ she questioned worriedly, shaking the receiver, as if it were its fault that the call had been terminated so abruptly.

‘The lines have gone down,’ Rand informed her without concern, confirming her worst suspicions. ‘I'm surprised it didn't happen before now in this weather,’ he told her in a calm voice.

She was completely alone, cut off here, with a man who would have reason to hate her if he realised who she was! Although her name hadn't elicited the response she had been dreading, only a mocking scepticism. Christopher had said Rand turned down every actress he proposed. Maybe, by the time they got to her, the fourth in line, they hadn't even got as far as the relating-her-name stage!

‘Merlyn?’ Rand looked at her scornfully.

She frowned, putting down the telephone receiver now that it was no longer of any use to her, running her hands nervously down her denim-clad thighs as she felt their damp palms. ‘Yes?'

‘No, I meant—Merlyn?’ He sceptically repeated her name.

The flush to her cheeks came from anger this time. ‘That is my name, yes,’ she challenged.

His mouth twisted, his eyes cold. ‘And can you do magic?’ he jeered.

‘I don't know,’ she answered. ‘I've never tried!'

He gave a bitter laugh. ‘There's no such thing as magic,’ he dismissed in a hard voice. ‘How on earth did you get a name like that?’ he derided harshly.

‘After the birth of my brother, my mother had herself sterilised,’ Merlyn told him quietly. ‘She was more than surprised to find herself pregnant again eight years later.'

‘Magic!’ acknowledged Rand hardly.

‘Considering my parents rarely saw each other enough to make love, it was all the more of a shock,’ Merlyn nodded. ‘My father was the one sent for an operation this time.'

He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Poor bastard!'

She shrugged. ‘I don't think he was all that thrilled to find himself a father again at forty-six, either!'

Rand turned away. ‘Would you like a drink?’ he bit out, pouring himself another one while he waited for her answer.

‘The coffee will be fine—–'

‘It will be cold by now,’ he dismissed.

‘I'll make some more,’ she offered, picking up the tray. The way he was knocking back the brandy he was going to be needing a lot of black coffee soon! Unless this was how he spent his days now—she knew that he left the running of his considerable businesses to a number of assistants.

‘Could you manage to “conjure” up some dinner for both of us?’ he prompted. ‘The only household staff I have come up from the village each day,’ he explained abruptly. ‘And I gave them all the day off.'

Considering the weather, that had been a very wise decision; Rand might have ended up with a houseful of unwanted guests instead of just one! As far as Merlyn was concerned, that might not have been a bad thing. ‘I'll see what I can find,’ she nodded. Food might help to counteract the alcohol he had been consuming, too.

It was a delightful kitchen, obviously belonging to a time long-gone, with its huge open fireplace, copper pots and saucepans hanging from hooks along its ledge. But Merlyn quickly discovered that although the charm and character had been maintained in the room it was also filled with every modern convenience, from a dishwasher to an electric knife.

The freezer was stocked with already prepared meals that just had to be defrosted in the microwave and then heated in the oven, and Merlyn mentally thanked the absent cook as she placed the beef casserole in the oven to warm through, making the mixture for dumplings before dropping them into the already warming meal, its aroma mouthwatering.

The kitchen at her flat was adequate, but it was nothing like the luxury of this one, and Merlyn was humming softly to herself as she put an apple pie in the oven with the beef. The humming stopped abruptly as she straightened, her face flushed from the heat of the oven, to find Rand Carmichael leaning against the wall just inside the kitchen, watching her every movement.

‘As I haven't seen you since you brought up the fresh coffee almost an hour ago, I thought perhaps you had made your escape out the back door while you had the chance,’ he drawled.

Merlyn frowned a little as he made it sound as if she were a prisoner here, although considering the state of the roads and the broken telephone lines perhaps that was what she was! ‘That would have been ungrateful of me,’ she dismissed, with an effort at her usual confidence, although just knowing who he was made that difficult, if not impossible.

‘But perhaps wise.’ He straightened. ‘I was near to being drunk.'

‘Was?’ She frowned at the past tense; he had seemed pretty far gone to her.

He gave a mocking inclination of his head at her bluntness. ‘I drank a couple of cups of black coffee and then took a shower. I can assure you I am now completely sober.'

That he had taken a shower was obvious by his still-damp hair, although even now it was drying back into those riotously dark curls. But the reckless glint had gone from his eyes, the anger from his expression, and in its place had come a weary look, almost of defeat.

‘I hope you like what I've chosen for dinner,’ she said lightly, some of her tension dissipating now that she was sure she didn't have a drunken host to contend with; she had a feeling this man could be dangerous enough, without that. ‘There's a beef casserole, with baked potatoes, and apple pie—–'

‘I'm sure it will be fine,’ he dismissed as a man not much interested in the food he ate, ingesting it only through necessity.

‘Yes.’ She eyed him frowningly. ‘Well, if you would like to wait in the lounge—–'

‘I wouldn't,’ he cut in softly.

Merlyn was filled with a new wariness now as she sensed the speculation in his gaze as it moved slowly over her body, the hair on her nape seeming to stand on end as a ripple of awareness flowed down her spine, her nipples suddenly taut against the softness of her jumper.

‘Come here,’ Rand suddenly instructed throatily, his stance one of challenge.

Her gaze flew to the hardness of his face. ‘What?’ she said breathlessly.

His brows rose slightly at her obvious nervousness. ‘I said come here,’ he repeated slowly, his gaze lowering pointedly to the hard thrust of her nipples beneath the clinging wool.

She felt like a puppet having her strings pulled as she crossed the room to stand in front of him, her eyes a dark stormy green as she stared up at him, her breath caught in her throat as she waited for the master to dictate what her next move should be.

Rand returned her look with narrowed eyes, the slight rise and fall of his chest indicating the shallowness of his breathing. The bell of the timer on the microwave broke the spell, anger flaring in Rand's eyes—white hot fury turning them from grey to platinum. ‘You have flour on your nose,’ he declared harshly, turning away.

Her hand rose shakily to wipe away the flour. The gesture was mechanical as she was still watching Rand as he strode forcefully from the room, knowing he had brought her to him for quite a different reason, a reason that he had instantly regretted once he realised what he was doing.

If there had been any women in his life since his wife's death then no one but he—and they—knew about it. Before his marriage to Suzie Forrester he had often been mentioned in the gossip columns, had been a highly eligible bachelor, with numerous women in his life. During his marriage to Suzie, his actions had been just as newsworthy, but since her death he might as well have disappeared, never going to London, and certainly not involved in any of the social whirl he and Suzie had seemed to enjoy so much during their marriage.

But a few seconds ago there had been a physical hunger in his eyes—for Merlyn.

He was drinking brandy again when she brought the casserole up to the dining-room, although he joined her in a glass of wine with their meal, and he didn't go back to the brandy after they had eaten.

‘So,’ he sat across the room from her, ‘you can do magic after all.'

‘What?’ She blinked up at him, startled by the comment.

‘The meal you “conjured” up was very nice,’ Rand's voice was mocking.

She moistened her lips, relaxing slightly. ‘Thank you, but your cook did most of the work, I just defrosted.'

‘You're from London.’ It was a statement, not a question.

Merlyn instantly realised it was a mistake to ever relax around this man. ‘Yes,’ she confirmed warily.

‘Decided to get away from the rat-race for a few days, hm?’ His scornful tone told her exactly what he thought now of London and the social life there.

‘I decided I'd like a change of scenery, yes,’ she answered dryly. ‘I could have stayed there and had weather better than this.'

‘Touché.’ His mouth quirked as he glanced out of the window where the rain could still be seen and heard. ‘Are you in business in London?’ The sharpness in those silver eyes belied his relaxed state as he lounged in the armchair.

This time Merlyn was ready for the directness of his questioning, meeting that narrowed gaze steadily as she answered him. ‘No.'

Dark brows rose. ‘You're a little cagey, aren't you?’ he taunted softly.

‘No more so than you, surely?’ she challenged with cool confidence.

Rand's mouth tightened. ‘I'm not in the habit of relating my life-story to complete strangers!’ he rasped.

‘Neither am I,’ Merlyn returned softly. ‘Besides,’ she added as she sensed he was about to demand that she tell him exactly what she did in London, ‘as you've already guessed, I'm here for a break. And when I get away like this I like to forget all about my work.'

‘You're making your profession sound very mysterious.’ He sipped at the coffee she had poured him, watching her over the cup's rim.

Merlyn's movements were deliberately controlled. ‘I didn't mean to,’ she dismissed coolly.

‘It isn't the oldest profession for women, is it?’ Rand taunted, deliberately provoking her.

She suspected that women had been acting in one way or another since the beginning of time, that they were only now allowed to show they were as capable as men, but she realised that wasn't the ‘profession’ he referred to. ‘Women wouldn't need to provide that service if men didn't want it,’ she snapped waspishly. ‘It's a question of supply and demand!'

Rand eyed her angry expression with amusement. ‘You speak as if from personal experience.'

Her eyes flashed like emeralds. ‘I'm twenty-six years old, Mr Carmichael, and I've met my share of—–'

‘You know my name.’ His eyes were narrowed on her suspiciously.

She instantly realised her mistake, although years of training kept her expression bland. ‘Anne mentioned that her neighbour had to be her brother-in-law, Brandon Carmichael.'

He didn't look convinced. ‘You didn't know who I was before you came up here?'

She arched auburn brows. ‘Who are you, Mr Carmichael?’ she mocked.

Surprise widened his eyes, and then his mouth quirked self-derisively. ‘I think I deserved that!'

‘I think so, too,’ Merlyn nodded, relieved the danger seemed to have passed.

He ran an impatient hand through his hair. ‘It's just that since this damned film on Suzie has been announced I've had several reporters trying to find out who I'm sleeping with now!'

Merlyn had received her own share of bad press over the years, although nothing as personal as that. She would have felt as angry as he obviously was, would probably have felt as resentful towards the film and everyone connected with it, too.

‘You aren't a reporter, are you?’ he grated as she seemed to pale a little.

‘No,’ she laughed gratefully.

‘I hope not,’ he scowled. ‘Because rain or no rain you would be thrown out in it right now if I even suspected—–'

‘I'm not a reporter, Rand,’ she repeated firmly. ‘But I did realise who you were before Anne told me, although looking as you do now I had trouble recognising you.'

‘Looking as I do now?’ he challenged.

She shrugged. ‘The long hair and beard; they went out of fashion years ago.'

‘And when they were in fashion I was too damned busy trying to make my fortune to be able to indulge myself in such frivolity!’ He stood up. ‘But as long as you aren't some damned snooping reporter—–'

‘I can assure you I'm not,’ she said coolly.

‘Then I don't give a damn what work you do,’ he frowned. ‘Or even if you work at all!'

He was being insulting again, and Merlyn couldn't help but smile. ‘Are there still such things as “kept” women?’ she taunted.

Rand looked at her coldly. ‘I'm not impressed by women's so-called independence from men,’ he replied heatedly.

Merlyn frowned at his vehemence. ‘I don't believe I was trying to impress you,’ she snapped. ‘Some of us don't have any choice but to be independent!'

‘And how you all love it,’ he jeered.

She shook her head. ‘I don't think I know you well enough to discuss this rationally—–'

‘We aren't likely to get to know each other any better than this,’ he bit out.

‘Perhaps that's as well.’ Merlyn glared at him defiantly.

‘Perhaps it is.’ Rand's nod was abrupt. ‘Now if you'll excuse me,’ he added scornfully, ‘I have some work to attend to in my study.'

Merlyn felt the tension slowly ease from her body once he had left, aware that confrontation about her profession had only just been avoided, although at what cost. Rand had been married to a woman already well-established in her career long before they met, and yet he seemed to resent women having careers. Had their marriage not been as happy as all the stories about them had indicated? No, she couldn't believe that. A man could resent some aspect of a woman's life and still love her. She was sure Rand had loved Suzie. Just as she was sure that any ‘work’ Rand had to attend to in his study would include a bottle of brandy. A man didn't drown his sorrows in alcohol if he hadn't loved the woman he had lost.

Merlyn would have felt a little better about the precariousness of her own position here if she could have talked to Anne again on the telephone at least, but the line was still dead when she lifted the receiver to check. Probably the other woman was as worried about the situation here as Merlyn was!

Having now met Brandon Carmichael, she was surprised that the other woman had had the courage to put her sister's life-story on to paper when Suzie's husband was obviously still so bitter and upset at his loss. She knew it had to be because of Anne's affection for him that the two of them had somehow managed to remain friends, that Rand hadn't cut the other woman from his life for what she had done. Merlyn had a feeling she was going to like Anne Benton very much, knew she had to be a very special lady for Rand to have accepted her book about Suzie.

Anne's book had more or less covered her sister's life from the time she was born, her childhood here, her first love affair, her determination to become an actress against family opposition—something Merlyn could sympathise with—her success in that profession, her marriage to Brandon Carmichael. She had spared Rand nothing in the telling of the latter, had written of his feelings of inadequacy against his wife's obviously wealthy background when his childhood had been spent in an orphanage, his wealth fought for with a ruthlessness that swept many weaker men behind him. That he loved Suzie before everything else in his life had been obvious, as had Suzie's love for him. They had been the golden couple, extremely happy together, Suzie's illness and the battle she had fought to overcome it almost killing Rand too.

It was a battle Merlyn wasn't sure he had yet managed to win.

She envied Suzie Forrester for having known a love like that, had given up any idea of finding such a love herself after the disillusionment of loving unwisely, her dream of having a husband and a houseful of children becoming exactly that. Against her will she was becoming as much of a career-woman as her mother was.

On that depressing thought she took herself up to bed.

It was a strange house, a strange bed, the rain sounding very threatening against the window of her bedroom, and she wasn't sure of her host's frame of mind either, but after the long and tiring day she had had, Merlyn fell asleep almost as soon as her head sank into the downy softness of the pillow.

She woke up just as suddenly!

She had heard a loud crash, instantly fearing that it had something to do with the storm still raging outside. Perhaps one of the towering pine trees that surrounded three sides of the house had come crashing down on top of it; the wind howling against the window sounded gale-force. She had to go and make sure Rand was all right!

His bedroom door still stood open, the room empty, although the tangle of bedclothes showed that Rand had occupied the bed at least part of the night even if he weren't there now. Maybe he had gone downstairs to investigate the sound of that crashing noise?

She heard another crash, the sound of broken glass accompanying it, and it was coming from downstairs. God, the house was being crushed beneath those monstrous trees! As she rushed down the stairs to find Rand, she became aware of a strange sound coming from the direction of the lounge, like an animal whimpering in pain. She hadn't realised Rand possessed a cat or dog, maybe—

Her hand froze in the action of switching on the light as she realised those mournful groans weren't coming from an animal at all, that it was Rand making those muffled sobbing sounds as he knelt in all his naked glory in front of the fire still burning in the hearth, his face buried in his hands. On the carpet in front of him lay a broken picture frame, only ‘Darling, I—’ left of the inscription on the half-burned photograph of Suzie Forrester, that and the smile that had to be just for Rand.

Merlyn didn't know whether to go or stay, knew that she was intruding on this man's personal grief. The smashed frame and burnt photograph couldn't have been an accident, not when that same photograph had been standing on Rand's bedside table earlier. He had to have brought it downstairs with him.

Then she saw what had caused the first sound of crashing glass, a brandy bottle lying in several pieces in the hearth, and from the lack of brandy with it she guessed the bottle had been empty before it was thrown. But why had Rand got himself so drunk that in his rage he had destroyed the photograph of his wife? Whatever his reason, she knew he would deeply resent her intrusion, and she was turning to leave when she realised that the heart-breaking sobbing had stopped. Her lashes slowly raised as she looked up to find that silver gaze fixed on her.

A sob caught in her own throat for the ravages this man's grief had made on his face, his eyes dull with his private pain, tears still dampening the soft dark lashes, lines etched into his face, a face white with emotion.

A shudder racked his body as she looked at him. ‘Rand …?’ She half ran to him, and then stopped, not knowing what he wanted her to do. She wanted to go to him, put her arms around him, and comfort him in any way that he would let her.

As he slowly stood up, the magnificence of his body bathed in the glow of firelight, she knew there was only one way she could comfort him tonight, that mere words alone wouldn't be enough.

She walked farther into the room, stopping a short distance from Rand, her hands snaking slightly as they moved up to slip the straps of her nightgown from her shoulders, pushing the material down over her breasts, the nipples already taut and inviting, the silky garment becoming a splash of black at her feet as it slid down over her hips to the carpeted floor. She stepped over it and into Rand's arms.

CHAPTER THREE

IF anything the anguish on Rand's face had deepened by the time Merlyn raised her face from pressing feather-light kisses across his chest, and she pulled away hesitantly.

‘No,’ he groaned, holding her close. ‘I want your magic tonight, Merlyn. I need it!'

She could feel the trembling of his body beneath her hands as they rested lightly on his shoulders, could feel the fierce hardness of his desire pressing against her stomach, trembling a little herself as she sensed the force of that desire should it be unleashed.

‘You came to me in the midst of a storm, Merlyn.’ He swung her up into his arms against his chest with little effort. ‘Like a temptress stepping into my darkness.’ He placed her gently on the carpeted floor, away from the shattered glass, but close enough for them to feel the fire's flames against their nakedness. ‘I want to burn in your fire for just a short while.’ He buried his face against the brightness of her hair. ‘Warm me, Merlyn. Make me feel you!'

The wanting she had experienced when she first met him hadn't lessened, and yet as she smoothed the tousled hair back from his brow and opened her mouth to his, it was compassion that warmed her. She wanted to ease his pain, even if it meant experiencing pain of her own.

Their mouths moved moistly together, learning, seeking, possessing, the fierce thrusts of Rand's tongue giving her a pleasure she had never dreamt of. Rand had forgotten his living nightmare now as he lost himself to the magic of her body, caressing and knowing every inch of her, one of his hands protectively cupping the downy softness that shielded her womanhood. At the same time his head moved down her body until his mouth closed moistly over the turgid peak of one nipple.

Merlyn arched her back pleadingly as his mouth released her to trail moistly down the curve of her breast, gasping her ecstasy as he claimed the other pouting nipple.

Every inch of her trembled with need and, although he had been the one to plead with her, he was now the master, had become the conqueror without receiving the smallest resistance.

But Merlyn needed to touch him too, her hands sliding down the dampness of his back to his buttocks, her nails scraping lightly across his taut skin, feeling the quiver of his flesh beneath her caresses, knowing how to please him instinctively.

She moved determinedly, the aggressor now as Rand lay beneath her, controlling his entry as she moved on top of him, feeling the hard swell of him slowly move inside her, hoping he would put this delay down to an effort on her part to prolong his pleasure. His head was thrown back, his jaw clenched as she lifted herself up before lowering herself for a second time.

‘Now, Merlyn,’ he gasped his need. ‘Don't play any more, take all of me!'

She was trying to. God, she was trying to! But she had never been with a man before tonight!

Rand felt like velvet against her, and she knew her body cried out for him, but the barrier of her virginity had to be overcome first, and it was proving more difficult than she had imagined. The books described it as a sharp pain and then, if your lover was considerate enough, the pleasure began. She didn't remember any of them saying it was like this.

Desperation had replaced passion as she once again lowered herself on to Rand, frustration making her sob as the barrier once again stopped his full entry. She wanted this man, needed him inside her as much as he needed to be there, and yet—She bit into her lip until she tasted her own blood in her mouth as Rand lost patience with what he thought was her game and took matters into his own hands, grasping her hips to guide her down on to him, filling her, engorging her.

After the pain came the most incredible feelings, as if Rand filled every space inside her. She felt overwhelmed, as if she belonged to this man, as if she would always be a part of him now. The tears that ran down her cheeks now were of happiness.

And then the pleasure began, Rand showing her how to move above him to give them both the maximum fulfilment, his eyes gleaming their satisfaction as she gasped weakly at this assault on her aroused senses.

The pressure building within her made her feel like crying and laughing simultaneously, the tumult rising inside her thrilling and frightening her at the same time. What was it going to be like, this physical satisfaction singing along her veins and clamouring for release?

And then she knew. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before.

Warmth, and aching, and fire burst free from the core of their joined bodies, Rand's teeth rough against her breast as he lost control in the river of her convulsions, his hands clenched into her buttocks as he quivered again and again inside her in his own spasmodic release.

They had reached their pleasure in unison, and even in her ignorance Merlyn knew how unique that was in a relationship of familiarity let alone during a first encounter.

Her lips were moistly open, her breathing ragged, as she languorously kissed every inch of his face, from the dampness of his forehead, the tautness of his cheeks, to the pliancy of his mouth. They had shared something so beautiful Merlyn never wanted this moment of closeness to end.

And then she realised that Rand no longer seemed aware of her at all, that he wasn't even looking at her any more but at the fireplace—at the half-burnt photograph of his dead wife. There was a dull, lifeless expression in his eyes that told Merlyn none of his thoughts.

But she didn't need to know them, had known when she offered herself that she had just been fulfilling a need for him. It wasn't his fault that she had broken the rules and felt as if she never wanted to be parted from him again!

He turned back to her with darkened eyes, frowning heavily. ‘Did I do that to you?’ He gently touched the swollen tenderness of her bottom lip where she had bitten into it at the moment of his possession.

She ran her tongue along the jagged soreness. The bleeding seemed to have stopped now, most of the blood having fallen on Rand's shoulder. ‘No, I did,’ she dismissed, wondering how on earth she was supposed to untangle their bodies without embarrassing both of them.

Compassion softened the harshness of his face. ‘I never meant for that to happen, you know.'

Of course she knew! ‘Neither did I,’ she said huskily. ‘But it's done now.'

‘Yes,’ he rasped.

She swallowed hard. ‘I think I'd better go back to my room.'

‘Yes.'

Tears filled her eyes as he made no effort to release her. ‘Now,’ Merlyn urged desperately.

His gaze held hers as he slowly turned her on her side away from the fire so that she lay beside him, darkness enfolding her as his broad shoulders blocked out most of the glow given off by the flames. ‘I'm sorry,’ he said suddenly.

She drew in a ragged breath, feeling bereft now that his body was no longer joined to hers. ‘I came to you,’ she reminded him.

‘Because you pitied me—–'

‘No!'

He swung away from her to stand up and cross the room to once again stare broodingly into the fire. ‘It's the usual reaction when you find a man crying in front of you like a child!'

‘Rand—–'

‘Go back to your room—please,’ he encouraged with a harshness that brooked no argument.

She hadn't been able to help him at all. All she had been able to do was give him a few moments of forgetfulness in her arms and then more pain. He felt as if he had betrayed his wife; he didn't need to tell her that, she just knew.

Merlyn's bedroom looked just as she had left it, the bedside lamp still on, the bedclothes thrown back where she had hurried to see what was happening. But she had changed. Since her disillusionment with Mark she had avoided any real closeness to men. She went out with them, she had a good time, but at the end of the day she always went home alone. God knows she had had her chances for it not to be that way, Christopher Drake only the last in a long line of men who wanted her to share their bed. But she had never found any difficulty in resisting those physical entanglements that in the end brought nothing but heartache.

Until Rand Carmichael. But she had felt no hesitation as she went to him, had felt that it was meant to be, as if she had known that from the moment she first saw him. Could it be that she had been so deeply involved with her research of Suzie Forrester these past months that for a brief time she had thought she was her? But that was ridiculous. Wasn't it …?

* * *

Merlyn was already in the lounge when Rand came downstairs the next morning. She had found the broken glass gone from the hearth, the room looking innocent of the stormy lovemaking it had witnessed the evening before.

Merlyn wished she felt as innocent! Her body ached, the slight soreness she was experiencing not alleviated by the lengthy soak in the bath she had indulged in earlier. Her bottom lip was swollen and painful, and she felt altogether irritable. The only good thing about the day seemed to be that the rain had stopped falling some time in the night and with luck the water level on the ford would have gone down enough for her to get out of here. She was going to walk to the hotel if she still couldn't drive there; she certainly couldn't stay on here when she and Rand were so embarrassed about last night.

It was after nine when she heard him coming down the stairs, standing up to move nervously in front of one of the tall windows, the bright daylight behind her giving a golden halo to the red flame of her hair, her slender body warmed by fitting black denims and a royal-blue coloured jumper.

She looked warily at Rand as he hesitated just inside the doorway before fully entering the room, completing the task of tucking the black shirt he wore into the waistband of fitted grey trousers as he did so. Now that the confrontation had come, Merlyn didn't know what to say to him. What does a woman say to the complete stranger she made love with the night before! Although he hadn't seemed so much of a stranger then.

Rand was eyeing her just as warily. ‘Has Mrs Sutton arrived yet?’ he asked abruptly.

‘No one's arrived.’ She shook her head. She had been going to say they were still completely alone, but in the circumstances that didn't sound right at all.

He frowned. ‘I wonder—–'

Both of them were startled when the telephone began to ring, Rand striding across the room to answer it. Merlyn watched him beneath lowered lashes, still finding it incredible that she knew his body more intimately than she knew her own. Any magic that had taken place last night had to have been instigated by Rand!

‘Yes,’ he was speaking to the caller now. ‘Okay, we'll see you soon.’ He rang off, shrugging slightly as he met Merlyn's questioning gaze. ‘Anne,’ he provided abruptly. ‘She's driving over.'

Oh God, Merlyn thought shakily, how was she supposed to face Suzie's sister after what had happened in this very room the night before! Rand seemed to guess at her dismay.

‘About last night—–'

‘Do we have to talk about it?’ she cut in raggedly.

‘Not if you don't want to.’ He frowned in his effort to read her expression with the daylight reflected behind her. ‘But—–'

‘I don't,’ she snapped, her hands moving together nervously. If this was the way a woman felt the morning after going to bed with a man she was glad she had avoided such encounters; she had never felt so uncomfortably out of place in her life!

He ran a hand through his loosely curling black hair. ‘I'd been drinking—–'

She had known that, had tasted the brandy on his lips and tongue, colour flooding her cheeks as she vividly recalled their insistent probing. ‘If that's supposed to make me feel better, it doesn't!’ Her eyes flashed deeply green.

‘I'm not trying to make you feel better—–'

‘That's good—because you weren't succeeding!’ She was so tense her usual control had gone. ‘You see, I hadn't been drinking!'

Rand sighed. ‘I'm out of practice with the niceties of these bedroom games, and I'm sorry if all of this is coming out the wrong way.’ He didn't notice how pale Merlyn had become as he moved to pour himself a cup of coffee from the pot Merlyn had made earlier. ‘Believe it or not, I was faithful to my wife for the eight years of our marriage—–'

‘Why shouldn't I believe it?’ she snapped. ‘You loved her.'

‘Yes, I did,’ he grated bleakly. ‘But it isn't fashionable in her world to be faithful to a spouse.'

What was he saying, that Suzie had been unfaithful to him? Merlyn had seen too many show business marriages fall apart because of the long separations and the loneliness their work often necessitated. But she wouldn't believe that of Suzie Forrester.

‘We were both faithful.’ Rand seemed to mock her indignation. ‘And since her death—–’ He made an impatient movement, as if it still hurt him to admit she was dead. ‘I'm just trying to explain to you why the age-old platitudes of “how good it was” and “you were wonderful” don't trip lightly off my tongue—–'

‘It wasn't that good,’ Merlyn cut in hardly, knowing that as far as she was concerned she lied; it had been beautiful. ‘And I wasn't that wonderful,’ she scorned self-derisively.

Rand's eyes had narrowed. ‘You weren't that bad either. Look, I'm not trying to give you a rating from one to ten, I just wanted to make you understand that I don't usually extract that sort of payment from unexpected guests, that last night was just—the circumstances were—–'

‘Unreal,’ Merlyn supplied softly. ‘They were completely unreal, as if they happened to two other people and not us at all.'

He blinked at her. ‘Yes,’ he confirmed in a puzzled voice. ‘That's exactly the way it seems. I don't remember the last time I—–’ He turned towards the front door as the bell rang, his expression grim. ‘That will be Anne.'

Merlyn swallowed hard, dreading her meeting with the other woman now, feeling as if she had betrayed Anne's trust in her. ‘Please don't let her realise about last night—–'

Rand glared at her. ‘Do you think I want that any more than you do?’ he snapped. ‘God knows we've had our disagreements in the past, but making love to one of her friends would not be acceptable to Anne at all.'

Merlyn released her breath raggedly as she waited for him to admit the other woman. She wasn't a friend of Anne Benton's, but she had wanted to be, and she knew that if Anne realised what had happened in this room the night before that she, too, would wonder at Merlyn's motives. She doubted anyone would believe her only ‘motive’ have been to be with the man she had wanted so desperately from the first. Mistaking this house for the hotel had been bad enough, but making love with Rand had ruined any chance she might have had of convincing him to let her appear in the film, especially as that chance had been slim to start with.

The woman who entered the lounge at Rand's side wasn't at all what Merlyn had been expecting. Anne was a short blonde woman of about thirty who, if one were being generous, could be called cuddly, and if one weren't, would be called plump. Suzie had been tall, ethereally slim, and dark-haired, and her sister came as something of a surprise.

Anne couldn't exactly be called beautiful either, with her even features, but as she smiled Merlyn realised she had something much more than mere surface beauty, that her warm blue eyes glowed with her inner serenity and gave her a charm that couldn't be bought or applied and would never fade.

‘Merlyn!’ she greeted warmly, crossing the room to hug her, unzipping the anorak she wore over a powder-blue jumper and denims as the heat in the room hit her. ‘You're just as beautiful as I thought you would be,’ she complimented without envy. ‘You really—–’ The glow left her eyes as she frowned up at Merlyn. ‘My God, what happened to your mouth?’ she gasped, moving Merlyn out of the light of the window. ‘You didn't mention anything yesterday about an accident—–'

‘I wasn't in an accident,’ Merlyn refuted reluctantly, knowing Anne had seen what Rand hadn't; the black and purple bruising about the cut she had made on her bottom lip.

‘But you look as if someone punched you in the— My God,’ she breathed dazedly, turning slowly to look at Rand. ‘You didn't!’ She shook her head disbelievingly. ‘Brandon, you can't blame Merlyn for any of this, it was my idea that she come up here. You didn't have to do this.’ She looked again with horror at the bruising to Merlyn's lip.

‘I didn't,’ he dismissed abruptly. ‘What was your idea? And if Merlyn is a friend of yours how is it that you didn't know how beautiful she is?’ His eyes were narrowed with cold suspicion.

Merlyn gave a negative shake of her head as Anne looked at her enquiringly, knowing the other woman had expected her to have told Rand who she was by now. Maybe she should have done, but he was already unfriendly enough without that, and she had had no idea how long she was going to be stranded with him in this way. Cold indifference she could live with, armed warfare was something else! She would have told him the truth before she left, Merlyn knew she owed him that. Although she probably wouldn't have told him in quite this way.

‘Because—–'

‘Because Anne and I have never met before,’ Merlyn cut in firmly, giving the other woman a reassuring look before meeting Rand's challenging gaze at her admission. ‘I'm an actress, and I—–'

‘Want to appear in that damned film they intend making about my wife,’ he finished thunderously. ‘I should have known,’ he scorned. ‘Arriving here in the storm with some tale about thinking this was Anne's hotel, when all the time—–'

‘That wasn't a tale,’ Merlyn defended herself heatedly. ‘Do you really imagine I wanted our first meeting to be made that way?'

‘Yes, I think that's exactly what you wanted.’ He looked at her in contempt. ‘I think you planned yesterday down to the last detail!'

All the colour drained from her face at his silent implication that she had intended that they should make love last night all along, that if the opportunity hadn't presented itself the way that it had then she would have made it happen. It was completely unjustified, but she had known who he was and she had made love with him, and that was all Rand could see at the moment.

‘Brandon, please.’ Anne shot Merlyn a concerned glance. ‘Merlyn only wanted—–'

His icy gaze silenced his sister-in-law. ‘I know you want this film made, Anne, but I'm sure even you don't realise the lengths your “friend” Merlyn went to to try and persuade me—–'

‘Anne, would you mind waiting for me outside?’ Merlyn cut in shakily before Rand could list those ‘lengths'. She was avoiding looking at him. ‘I just have a few things to say to your brother-in-law, and then I intend getting as far away from here as I can!'

‘But—–'

‘Perhaps that would be best.’ Rand's voice was harsh, his gaze fixed relentlessly on Merlyn. ‘Merlyn and I have a few things to say to each other that might shock your sensibilities,’ he added with a sneer.

Anne looked at them each in turn, finally settling on Merlyn. ‘I'll be waiting in the Range Rover,’ she said gently. ‘You'll have to leave your car here and collect it another time, I'm afraid; I only just managed to get through with the four-wheel drive.'

Merlyn had no intention of ever returning to this house, for any reason. It was a hire-car, she would pay the extra for the hire company to come and pick it up. She certainly couldn't see Rand Carmichael again, for any reason. ‘I won't be long,’ she assured the other woman.

‘An actress!’ Rand scorned as soon as they were alone. ‘You should be given an award for your performance last night and this morning.’ He paced the room, glaring at her. ‘A damned actress!’ he repeated disgustedly, his contempt obvious.

‘I'm not a “damned” anything,’ she snapped. ‘And actress isn't a dirty word!'

‘You're the latest of Christopher Drake's offerings, aren't you?’ he accused, ignoring her anger. ‘Did you go to bed with him, too, to get even this far?'

In the circumstances it was an accusation which could have been expected, but that didn't make it any more acceptable. She may have been stupid last night, even more impetuous than she had ever been before in her life, but one thing she was not was promiscuous!

‘What a stupid question,’ Rand derided himself. ‘Of course you've slept with him!'

‘You were the one who wanted me last night,’ she reminded him chokingly.

‘Yes,’ he confirmed. ‘I wanted you. Do you have any idea why?'

She frowned at the violence of his aggression. ‘You seemed upset—–'

‘Upset!’ he repeated with derisive mockery. ‘A man kneels before you sobbing like a baby and you think he was just upset!'

Merlyn moistened her lips. ‘You didn't seem to want to explain—–'

‘And you didn't want to ask!’ he scorned hardly. ‘You just walked naked into my arms!'

She drew in a ragged breath, knowing she deserved his accusations; she hadn't wanted to probe into why he had been crying, she had just wanted to be with him. ‘You didn't seem in the mood to talk—–'

‘No—I'm as susceptible to the beauty of a woman's naked body as the next man!’ He looked at her with dislike. ‘And when a wanton throws herself at you like that you don't stop to ask questions, you just take!'

‘It wasn't like that!’ She shook her head protestingly. ‘I only wanted—–'

‘What you wanted you got,’ he rasped. ‘And you enjoyed every moment of it! But there was something you overlooked in all your greedy little plans—yesterday was the second anniversary of Suzie's death!'

The room swam dizzily before Merlyn's eyes for several seconds. The second anniversary of his wife's death! Anne had started to tell her something on the telephone yesterday just before the line went down, and she knew it had to have been this. If only she had realised. But these last few weeks she had been so intent on researching the living Suzie that the actual date of her death hadn't registered as being yesterday. But if she had known would she really have acted any differently when she found Rand sobbing so brokenly last night?

‘Unless of course you did realise,’ that silky voice cut in, dangerously soft, ‘and decided I would be malleable on a day when Suzie's death was so vivid to me!'

‘You know that isn't true,’ Merlyn gasped, shaking her head in denial. ‘I wouldn't do a thing like that. You—–'

‘I don't know a damn thing about you—except that you can drive a man wild enough in your arms for him to forget everything else for a short time!’ His eyes were narrowed ominously. ‘I don't need to know any more than that about you. The answer is no, Merlyn. N.O.—No! Even if I were ever to agree to this travesty being made I wouldn't let a woman like you defile Suzie's memory!'

Merlyn would take his other insults, but not that one. Suzie Forrester had been a beautiful and lovely woman, but Merlyn wouldn't accept being told she wasn't fit to portray her! All she had done wrong was to want this man, and she wasn't even sure that had been so wrong. She had gone to him when he needed someone, and at the time he hadn't seemed to mind.

‘You know all these things you're saying about me aren't true,’ she challenged him angrily.

‘I told you, I know nothing about you—and I don't want to know!'

‘You know something about me you aren't willing to admit to yourself,’ she bit out. ‘Why is that, Rand?’ she cried bitterly. ‘Does it make it difficult to put the blame for last night on me?'

His eyes were cold, angry slits between lush lashes. ‘I don't know what you're talking about.'

‘You may have been a faithful husband, Rand, but you had plenty of years before you met Suzie to experience every type of lovemaking there is. And although you haven't admitted it, you have to know that last night was my first time with a man!'

CHAPTER FOUR

‘I KNOW it had been a while for you—–'

‘The first time,’ she insisted.

It had troubled her last night that Rand hadn't been aware of her innocence, and then she had been so lost to the ecstasy they were sharing that she had put it from her mind. But she knew he had to have been aware of that barrier he had breached, of the reason for her tears.

She continued to watch him challengingly.

‘You're an actress—–'

‘I couldn't fake something like that!’ she protested.

‘Of course you could, it's done all the time in the marriage bed,’ he taunted.

Merlyn shook her head disbelievingly. ‘Do you really think that?'

‘Yes!'

‘Then I pity you—–'

‘I told you last night, I don't want your damned pity—–'

‘After you had already taken it,’ Merlyn shot back. ‘If Suzie could only see you now!'

He became deathly still, his body taut with tension. ‘What do you mean?'

She sighed, accepting that he would never believe he had been her first lover—or he just didn't want to believe it. ‘I feel as if I've come to know her rather well since reading Anne's book—–'

‘It was incomplete,’ he rasped.

‘It was written from your wife's notebooks; you gave them to Anne yourself.'

‘Notes only tell a person's random thoughts, not what the person was really like.'

‘Anne knew her sister well enough to know what she was “really like”, and I've come to know her as well as I could without actually meeting her. And I know she would be disappointed in you—–'

‘Because I refuse to acknowledge the dubious virginity of a woman who gave herself to me for gain?’ he scorned viciously.

‘You didn't just bury your wife two years ago,’ Merlyn told him shakily. ‘You put your ability to care for other people in beside her!'

His mouth twisted. ‘This isn't a scene from some B-movie with some hackneyed happy-ever-after ending where the hero throws himself into the heroine's arms as he realises he's fallen in love with her! And I've heard all the lectures I need to from Anne.'

She flinched at his scorn; she hadn't expected her criticism to suddenly transform him into a man who could love again, she wasn't that naïve, but she had hoped that his cynicism wasn't so deep-rooted that he wouldn't even listen when someone was concerned about him.

‘Because she cares for you—–'

‘And what's your angle, Merlyn?’ he jeered softly. ‘Or do I really need to ask!'

It was useless trying to reason with this man, she didn't even know why she felt the compunction to try. And yet she felt as if she had let down Suzie's memory in some way by not being able to reach Rand through the barrier of his bitterness.

‘Anne's waiting,’ she said abruptly. ‘I hope you don't mind if I leave my car here until I can arrange to have it picked up. I—I hope you realise Anne knew nothing about—about the things you're accusing me of?’ She looked at him anxiously, having done enough damage without ruining his relationship with his sister-in-law too.

Grey eyes looked at her coldly. ‘Anne could never be involved in anything that sordid, I'm well aware that it was all your own idea.'

He was meaning to be insulting, and he was succeeding more effectively than he could guess. The last thing she would ever be involved in would be sleeping with anyone to get herself a role on screen or stage. And if Rand had known anything about her at all he would have realised that.

But he didn't know anything about her, as she really knew nothing of the man he was now. Two years ago he had been the loving husband of Suzie Forrester, had been her constant support as she struggled with the illness that wanted to take her away from him; God was the only one that knew what he had become in the interim. Merlyn and Rand were just two strangers who had made love, primitively, mindlessly. She had broken all of her own rules with a man who cared nothing for her, a man she had wanted in a way that was totally alien to her cautious nature, and she would just have to learn to accept that and get on with her life.

Nevertheless, she had to try one more time to explain her actions to this man. ‘I didn't plan what happened last night—–'

‘Would you just get out of here?’ he cut in disgustedly. ‘And tell your friend Drake not to send any more of the hitherto unknown actresses up here who have shared his bed to get their chance at the big-time; the next time my physical reaction might be a violent one! If it makes you feel any better,’ he added contemptuously, ‘you could probably have played Suzie; you certainly felt like her when I was inside you!'

Merlyn blanched at his cruelty as he revealed what she had feared, that he had imagined she was Suzie as he made love to her!

She turned blindly and stumbled out of the room, out of the house, her eyes swimming with unshed tears as she climbed up beside Anne in the Range Rover.

‘I put your case—Merlyn?’ Anne frowned at her worriedly. ‘My God, Brandon didn't hit you, did he?'

Not anywhere that it showed. Inside, where it mattered, she was battered and bruised, her last shreds of self-respect stripped from her with Rand's last deliberately cruel taunt.

She blinked back the tears. ‘Could we just get away from here? I—I really don't feel like talking about it right now.'

‘Of course.’ Anne still looked concerned, putting the Range Rover in gear, driving the large vehicle with a confidence born of familiarity. ‘Merlyn?’ she prompted gently once they had been driving in silence for several tension-filled moments. ‘I know Brandon can be impossible at times—–'

‘He's a cold, calculating bastard,’ she stated flatly, feeling as if he had stripped the very soul from her body.

Anne gave a ragged sigh. ‘He's that, too,’ she acknowledged heavily. ‘But he hasn't always been this way.'

‘I'm sure even he was a pleasant baby,’ Merlyn allowed, feeling numb from the heart up.

The other woman gave a rueful smile. ‘I meant a little more recently than that.'

She knew exactly what Anne meant, knew that Rand Carmichael had changed on the death of his wife. But he wasn't the only person ever to lose the one he loved in that tragic way, and it didn't give him the right to hurt her as he had, intentionally, coldly.

‘I understand all that, Anne,’ she said flatly, her eyes revealing her inner pain. ‘But it doesn't help me at the moment, maybe later …'

Anne frowned. ‘What did he do to you?'

Last night was going to be buried as far back in her memory as she could push it, never to be thought or talked about again. ‘Nothing,’ she bit out. ‘Let's just say this trip was a mistake, that I failed in what I set out to do, and leave it at that.'

‘If that's what you want,’ Anne agreed slowly. ‘But once Brandon's anger has calmed down—–'

‘I'm the one who's angry, Anne,’ she cut in forcefully. ‘And I certainly won't change my mind!’ Nothing was worth the humiliation she had suffered at Rand Carmichael's hands.

‘I'm sorry,’ the other woman said with genuine regret. ‘Still, that doesn't have to stop your staying on at the hotel with us for a few days; I'd like to get to know you after we spoke so much on the telephone.'

And Merlyn just wanted to get away from here and never think of Rand Carmichael again! But Anne had been friendly and kind to her from their first telephone conversation, and maybe if she just stayed on overnight and left in the morning it would placate the other woman.

‘Maybe I will.’ She didn't commit herself to the few days Anne had mentioned, turning to stare out of the window, making a determined effort to admire the spectacular countryside about her that hadn't been visible yesterday through the fog and the rain. High mountains dipped down into lush green valleys as far as the eye could see, and in those valleys Merlyn knew the lakes would be nestled, trees growing along their edge in abundance.

‘Here we are,’ Anne said with satisfaction as she turned the Range Rover into a narrow driveway much like the ones Merlyn had taken by accident the day before, the scent of pine from the towering trees surrounding them coming in through the partly-opened window next to Anne.

A long sprawling building much like a very large log cabin stood gracefully beside a large lake, its mellowed pine structure giving an air of warmth and beauty even before one entered.

‘It's lovely!’ Merlyn told her incredulously, seeing by the pleased expression on the other woman's face that her impulsive praise was appreciated.

‘James designed and organised the building of it all himself.’ Anne's pride in her husband's undoubted accomplishment was obvious. ‘Come inside and see the rest of it,’ she invited.

The inside was all pine too, warm and mellow, the main building housing all the entertainment, from the two restaurants, the club house, pool and sauna, to the health and beauty salon. And then at the back, not visible from the entrance, were two additional buildings, exact replicas of the main building, attached to it by two totally glass and pine constructed corridors that gave unhindered views of the surrounding mountains. These two outer buildings were the living accommodation, and Anne showed Merlyn to her room herself. The furnishing was more expensively comfortable than anything Merlyn had ever seen, from the thick brown carpets to the soft beige leather suite.

‘James says that if you're going to do something you should always do it with style!’ Anne laughed her enjoyment at Merlyn's awe-struck expression.

‘This is style with a capital S!’ She sank down on to the quilt-covered bed in the adjoining room to her lounge. ‘I can't wait to meet the man who master-minded all this.'

Anne's eyes glowed merrily. ‘Give me a few minutes to change out of these clothes and get back into my “hotel proprietor” garb and then join James and me at the pool for coffee; we usually get together there this time of day. And I know he's looking forward to meeting you, too.'

Thoughts of Rand were kept firmly at bay as Merlyn unpacked her suitcase, changing into tailored red trousers with their pleated waistline, tapering at the ankle, and a black silk blouse which tucked in at the belted waistline. She looked coolly elegant, and more confident of herself than she had felt since she left home yesterday morning with such high hopes of this visit to the Lake District.

Yesterday morning? It seemed much longer ago than that, she realised with a suppressed shudder.

She had no trouble finding her way back to the main building, the whole place geared for simplicity, including finding your way about. She was glad she had chosen to wear a blouse, instead of the jumper the weather called for, as the heat from the pool enveloped her. She seemed to have arrived before Anne, and—–

‘Looking for someone?’ an amused male voice cut in on her reverie.

She turned to face the man, feeling as if she could drown in the liquid warmth of his deep brown eyes. Dark hair brushed away from the face of one of the most handsome men Merlyn had ever seen, the white shorts and open T-shirt he wore moulded to the lean fitness of his body. The tennis-racket he carried was indicative of at least one of the ways he maintained that fitness. At any other time she might have felt interested enough to pursue the acquaintance, but not when she was still raw from her encounter with Rand.

Her smile was coolly dismissive. ‘As a matter of fact, I am,’ she nodded, her attention returning to the pool where several adults and children were cavorting in the heated water oblivious to the dismal weather outside.

‘Could I offer you a cup of coffee while you wait?’ the man suggested, indicating the coffee pot and cups that stood on the table beside them for anyone to help themselves to after their swim. Several tables were placed about the pool's side, the padded chairs around them covered in a restful green material that exactly complimented the abundance of foliage about the room.

Her smile was frosty this time. ‘No, thank you,’ she bit out with emphasis.

‘Then perhaps I could—–'

‘No!'

‘You must be new here today, I haven't seen you about before,’ he smiled pleasantly.

And she was sure he made a point of meeting all the women young enough to find his looks and charm appealing. He had chosen the wrong woman this time! ‘Please,’ she sighed her impatience, ‘I'm waiting for—–'

‘Ah good.’ Anne hurried out to her, the design of the royal-blue dress suiting her ample curves perfectly, the high heels on her sandals giving her extra height. ‘The two of you have already introduced yourselves.’ She beamed her pleasure.

‘No, we—–’ The man Merlyn was rapidly suspecting of being James Benton returned her gaze with the same dawning realisation. ‘Merlyn!’ He grinned at her discomfort, holding out his hand.

She limply returned his firm handshake, deciding that the next stranger she met she would presume was the last person she had suspected; she certainly hadn't even guessed that this was Anne's husband James.

She grimaced—cringed, actually. ‘I'm sorry if I seemed rude to you just now—–'

‘You didn't.’ He gave her an understanding smile, those brown eyes twinkling merrily.

‘What did you do?’ Anne frowned her confusion as they all sat down.

‘What did I do,’ her husband corrected ruefully. ‘I thought I was playing the concerned hotel manager, and Merlyn thought I was trying to pick her up!'

Merlyn blushed as he put into words what she had already realised, all of his friendliness a few moments ago made in an effort to make her feel at home. ‘It wasn't quite like that. We—–'

Anne grinned at her discomfort too now, sharing a look of intimacy with her husband. ‘That makes a change, it's usually the female guests who try to pick James up!'

Merlyn was well aware of the fact that not by a word or deed had James given the impression he was trying to be more than helpful, that she had just assumed— If Elizabeth Taylor walked in here right now and told her she was Beth Jones she would take her word for it! Her judgment was sadly off beam lately.

‘I really am sorry if I seemed rude to you,’ she grimaced at James.

‘Hey, after a run in with Brandon you're entitled to feel a bit jumpy,’ he sympathised. ‘And I'm not exactly dressed for the part of debonair hotel manager,’ he agreed wryly.

This man would look someone of authority no matter what he did or didn't wear, possessing an animal grace that bespoke confidence in himself and his abilities.

Merlyn complimented him on the design of the hotel, avoiding the subject of Rand Carmichael and the night she had spent at his house as his unwelcome guest.

If the truth were known she didn't feel all that well. Her throat was sore, her nose felt ticklish and irritated, and her head ached. But after the mess she had already made of her visit, she felt the least she owed the Bentons was to be sociable now that she had arrived, joining them for dinner in their private lodge a short distance away from the hotel through the trees.

Just being with the other couple was enough to show Merlyn how wrong her first impression of James as a flirt really was; the married couple were obviously very much in love, constantly touching with a warmth that bespoke intimacy, their expressions rapt as they gazed into each other's eyes. After the cool respect her parents showed for each other, the Bentons’ relationship was quite an eye-opener for her.

But she felt even more ill by the time James walked her back to her suite, her eyes stinging too now, and she knew it wasn't just from the cold she could feel coming on. Anne and James had the closest, most special relationship she had ever seen, and the nearest Merlyn had ever come to feeling that sort of love herself had been when she looked at Rand Carmichael for the first time and knew she wanted him. And that wasn't the same thing at all.

‘What happened between you and Brandon last night, Merlyn?’ James spoke in the darkness.

Her face drained of all colour, and the pounding in her head became stronger. She swallowed hard. ‘He made it clear he doesn't want anyone, least of all me, portraying his wife,’ she explained huskily.

‘That was this morning, I'm talking about last night.'

Merlyn kept her face averted, knowing those deep brown eyes could become hypnotic if she let them, and that beneath the gentleness of his love for Anne he could be as ruthless as the next man. She shrugged. ‘What makes you think anything happened?'

His mouth quirked at her evasion. ‘It may have escaped your notice, but the rest of us call him Brandon.'

‘So?’ she challenged, having noticed that discrepancy herself, but putting it down to the fact that last night he had wanted to forget who he really was as he made love to her.

‘So you tell me,’ James prompted softly.

‘He let me sleep in his spare bedroom because he had no choice,’ she dismissed hardly.

‘Is that all?'

‘What else were you expecting?’ She forced lightness to her expression as she turned to face him on their entrance to the hotel reception.

He made a rueful expression. ‘Well, I haven't seen too much of Brandon lately; his choice not mine,’ James added hardly. ‘But he always used to be able to appreciate a beautiful woman.'

‘Appreciate, James?’ she mocked with raised brows.

‘Enjoy,’ he drawled.

Her eyes flashed. ‘The most enjoyment Rand found with me was this morning when he told me to get out of his life and stay out,’ she related bitterly, knowing she spoke the truth. He hadn't found physical release with Merlyn Summers last night, he had made love to Suzie, his wife.

‘I'm sorry.’ James took her hand in his. ‘He wasn't always like this.’ His head shook regretfully. ‘The four of us used to have a lot of fun when we were together.'

‘You and Anne, and Rand and Suzie,’ Merlyn said abruptly.

‘Yes,’ he sighed, seeming lost in thought. ‘It feels like another lifetime.'

Merlyn had no wish to hear about the cosy foursome they had made. ‘You had better get back to Anne, she'll be wondering where you are,’ prompted Merlyn lightly. ‘And I want to get a good night's rest before going back to London tomorrow.'

‘You're sure we can't persuade you to stay on a few more days?’ said James regretfully.

They had been trying all evening, ever since she had told them she would be leaving in the morning. ‘No one could do that!’ she told James vehemently.

As it happened it wasn't a someone that prevented her leaving but a something; she woke up in the morning with a raging temperature, a rasping sore throat, and legs that refused to support her to the bathroom let alone all the way back to London!

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