Terms Of Possession. Elizabeth Power

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       CHAPTER THREE

      WHEN Nadine awoke the sun was shining through a chink in the heavy floral curtains and, curious to see exactly where she was, she clambered out of bed.

      The room obviously faced east, she realised as she pulled back the curtains, squinting from the dazzling rays of the sun. It was reflected almost blindingly by the gleaming bodywork of the Mercedes, which was parked beneath her window in the lane. On the other side, beyond a five-bar gate, fields stretched away to forestry and gently rolling hills, while in the immediate meadow-partly flanked on the lane-side by a row of chestnut trees—two horses grazed, coats brown and sleek, at one with the still, peaceful morning. No wonder Cameron had said it was a good place to unwind!

      A tap on her door made her turn sharply, suddenly conscious of her short white lacy nightie. And she must have hesitated too long with her quiet, tentative, ‘Yes,’ or might simply not have been heard, because suddenly Cameron was coming in, although he stopped instantly when he saw her.

      ‘I thought you’d still be in bed,’ he remarked, obviously surprised. His glance over the feminine nightdress that she knew revealed far too much of her legs lifted to the tousled riot of auburn hair. ‘I didn’t bring you a tray as I wasn’t sure how much you could stomach in the mornings, but if you feel like something more than just dry toast it’s all prepared.’

      This caring, domesticated side of him was so different from the hard antagonist who had left her the previous night that the disparity threw her for a moment. That, and the fact that the light cotton T-shirt he was wearing with pale, well-tailored trousers showed the muscular strength of his chest and broad shoulders, emphasising the hard, lean line of his waist.

      ‘No. J-just toast,’ she stammered, although remarkably she didn’t feel too bad this morning, she realised, as quickly she tagged on, ‘And it’s all right. I’ll be down.’

      ‘Why? Does my being in your room make you feel uncomfortable?’ he quizzed, with that sensual mouth curving sardonically. Hitting the nail on the head! she thought as he turned and went out before she could even think of a suitable response.

      He didn’t appear to be around when she came down into the sunny breakfast-room, although the round oak table was laid for two, with the second place having already been cleared. The smell of freshly toasted bread hung appetisingly on the air. She could see three slices in the toast-rack. And there was a freshly made pot of tea steaming under a padded cosy, even though she could still smell the lingering and rather nauseating aroma of coffee he had obviously made for himself. Clearly he’d remembered her saying yesterday how her pregnancy had given her an aversion to it, she thought, with a reluctant gratitude to him for that much at least.

      He didn’t reappear before she had eaten two slices of the toast with honey and almost drained the teapot, and, having finished, she got up from the table, tugging at the rather tight waistband of her jeans. Soon she would have to leave them off for something a little more comfortable, she realised with a grimace, but at that moment there was something more pressing on her mind. Something she should have done last night, if she hadn’t been so exhausted, and which she could do more easily now while Cameron wasn’t around.

      Crossing the little passage to the sitting-room and the phone that stood on the table behind the door, feeling like a criminal, afraid of being caught, quickly she dialled the number of the convalescent home.

      ‘Hello. It’s me, Nadine.’

      The sister, a bright, breezy woman, informed her that Dawn Kendall was out, undergoing a routine appointment at the hospital, and instantly launched into a comforting patter on how the rehabilitation exercises were helping her immensely, telling Nadine that she shouldn’t worry.

      ‘Thanks. You don’t know what that means to me.’ She smiled, visibly relaxing, and then, hearing a sound along the passage, said quickly, much more quietly, ‘I’ve moved out of the flat, but you can reach me at this number—’ hurriedly she conveyed it to the sister ‘—if you need to call me at all.’

      She tried to put the phone down quietly, and only succeeded in dropping it into its cradle with a noisy little clatter, realising how guilty she must have appeared as, with a little gasp, she whirled round to see Cameron watching her from the doorway.