Shadows Of The Past. Frances Housden

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      This was the type of treatment her brothers dished out, they were as protective of her as Mamma and Papa. “If you insist, but my case really isn’t that heavy.”

      The house was a Victorian villa with a shotgun hallway that ran from front to back. Like a lot of others on Northcote Point it had been built long before Auckland Harbour Bridge had been a twinkle in the designer’s eye. She dashed into her room, grabbed her clothes from the wardrobe then dived across the hall into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. It wasn’t that she had any reason not to trust Franc, quite the opposite. But the business with Randy had made her look at every man in a new light.

      So, where were your senses this afternoon when you gave Tony a chance to paw you?

      After changing with the speed of a catwalk model, she whistled for Franc as instructed and discovered he hadn’t gone far when he appeared almost immediately, striding down the hall as if he owned the place. Some men carried an aura with them that made them at home anywhere. She guessed Franc was one of them.

      She pushed back her bedroom door and pointed. “That’s my case on the bed. As you can see it’s quite small.”

      His eyebrows shaped a V above the high bridge of his nose. “Are you sure you could get everything you need in there? We won’t drive halfway and discover you’ve forgotten something vital that means we have to turn around and fetch it?”

      Franc’s question was a big giveaway to the type of women he was used to dealing with. For sure they weren’t like her. If she forgot anything, she was the one who had to go back for it. “Don’t worry. I keep a lot of casual gear at home. Most of my clothes here are strictly for business.”

      Franc’s breadth made the bedroom walls close in on her. It was hard to be nonchalant about his presence beside her bed when what she wanted to do was quickly dodge past him to check that the windows were locked. She flicked a sideways glance at him from under her lashes, but his attention wasn’t on her. Following his gaze, she was mortified to see a pale pink lace chemise hanging out of the top drawer of the dresser, next to the bed.

      She was usually so tidy, tucking everything in place the way the nuns had taught her at boarding school. Franc’s presence in the house must have flustered her.

      And now her secret was out. Compared to the rest of her everyday wardrobe, her lingerie was hot.

      It hadn’t seemed to matter that no one knew as it meant no one saw the scars her beautiful silk scanties were too small to hide.

      Maria had been careful not to get into a situation that meant a man would expect to see her body, though the need to hide her scars hadn’t bothered her until now. Until Franc.

      “Nice…” She heard the grin in his voice though his face never twitched.

      She shaped her lips into a fierce grimace that only broadened his grin. “You never saw that,” she told him as she tucked the pink lace back where it belonged. “My mother would have a fit. She’s inclined to be old-fashioned.”

      “When it comes to daughters, most mothers are,” he answered, yet his eyes said more. Touched more. He was doing it to her again, taking her libido on a journey it had never traversed before. Something shifted inside her, a need, a wanting, an ache.

      She did her best to ignore it.

      Franc studied her single bed as he picked up her case to leave. Neat and virginal, with family photographs on the nightstand; under its flower-sprigged quilt was hardly the place to conjure steamy dreams in the middle of the night. Unlike in his bed last night. Dreams stymied until he confronted Maria and his bed in one and the same place.

      It didn’t seem to matter any longer that he’d first met her while she was looking for Randy. The last few hours made him certain that associating with Randy had done nothing to taint the innocence she exuded. How would it feel to have Maria surrender that innate innocence to him?

      For Franc Jellic, it would be an unmistakable first.

      Maria reached up to check the catch of the old-fashioned sash window closest to her bed. It was undone.

      Newly formed ice, at odds with the temperature inside the room, slicked over her skin as she swiveled the small lever into place. Her gaze landed on the drawer she’d divested of its lacy adornment. She never treated her clothes that way or left her room untidy. Her training was too ingrained.

      Her eyes searched the garden, focusing on the bushes Mimzie the cat had disturbed, unmoving now as if weighed down by the heat. Had someone been in her room? Randy?

      Or was her imagination working overtime?

      Wasn’t her journal farther over on the nightstand than she could easily reach from in bed? She grabbed it and put it in her purse. Hurrying to leave before Franc came back to look for her, she glanced over her shoulder, scanning the room, remembering the position of every ornament, every picture frame.

      No matter how terrifying the prospect, she just had to know if anyone came into her room and touched her things while she was away. Then, on an impulse, she turned back, reopening the drawer to scoop up an armful of silk and lace underwear. Quivering, she tossed every last piece into the laundry basket.

      Whether anyone had gazed at her ultrafeminine garments with lust in their heart she had no way of knowing, but the thought of it made her wonder what would happen if she told Franc. Would he help her see that Randy Searle got what was coming to him?

      Or would he put it down as a flight of her imagination.

      As she locked the door behind her, she remembered the cat next door sidling out of the bushes between the two properties. She still had the feeling she wasn’t alone and she wasn’t thinking of Franc.

      Her last thought as she slid into the passenger seat was a prayer that he wouldn’t follow her home.

      Chapter 3

      The journey north hadn’t taken Franc as long as Maria predicted, and because of that, he’d stopped the car on the brow of a hill at a scenic outlook where Maria said the view of the coast was at its loveliest.

      “I wish you could see the view properly. From this distance it’s muted around the edges, like an impressionist painting. I always think the best thing about going away is coming home again. How about you?”

      “The view looks fine to me. As for going home, give me until tomorrow to see if that’s true. This is my first trip away from my new apartment.”

      “Oh, I’m sorry.” Maria turned to face him, and something like sympathy flashed across her perfect features. “Is that why you wanted to stay home for the holiday? How long have you lived at Birkenhead Point?”

      “Three months. I haven’t done much to the place yet. I bought it as it stood along with most of the furniture.”

      “So that’s why it looks…?” She’d braved the kitchen and dining room and lounge of Franc’s apartment while he grabbed an overnight bag.

      “Don’t tell me it needs a woman’s touch. It was a woman who designed it. Once I’ve had time to collect СКАЧАТЬ