Innocent Sins. Anne Mather

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      Laura held up her head. ‘Don’t you recognise it?’ she asked coldly, and had the dubious satisfaction of seeing a trace of colour enter his lean cheeks. The fact that her own face was red, too, offered little compensation, however. Once again, she’d betrayed what she was thinking and laid herself open to his contempt.

      But instead of making some sarcastic comment Oliver merely closed the fridge again and leaned back against it, arms folded across his chest. ‘Okay,’ he said quietly. ‘Let’s start again, shall we?’ His green eyes were narrowed and glinting with suppressed emotion. ‘I don’t want to argue with you, Laura. I know this can’t be easy for you—’

      ‘You flatter yourself!’

      ‘I mean losing your father,’ he interjected harshly. ‘For God’s sake, can’t you think of anyone but yourself? I know you don’t like me, Laura, but this is one occasion when I’d have thought you’d have put other people’s feelings before your own.’

      Laura trembled. ‘It’s late—’

      ‘Yes, it is. But not too late, I hope!’ he exclaimed impatiently. ‘Look, like I said, let’s try and come to some kind of compromise, shall we? For—well, for your aunt Nell’s sake, if no one else?’

      Laura dropped the dishcloth into the sink and tightened the belt of her robe. ‘Very well,’ she said, and heard his resigned intake of breath.

      ‘Very well?’ he mimicked drily. He cast his eyes towards the beamed ceiling. ‘Oh, Laura, don’t make it easy for me, will you?’

      ‘I said—’

      ‘I know what you said.’ He straightened away from the door. ‘Okay.’ He held out his hand towards her. ‘Friends?’

      Laura moistened her dry lips. She didn’t want to touch him. Dear God, she’d have done just about anything rather than put her hand into his. But that was stupid! Stupid! Did she want him to think she was afraid of him, that she hadn’t got over that childish infatuation that had almost ruined her life?

      ‘Friends,’ she got out, almost gagging on the nausea that had risen into the back of her throat, and his strong brown fingers closed about her hand.

      His fingers were cold but the impact Laura had was one of heat, a fiery heat that spread up her arm and into her breasts, making them tingle with an unwelcome awareness. The warmth of his breath invaded the neckline of her robe and she felt as if she was enveloped by his scent and his masculinity. An image of how he’d looked, lying naked and unashamed on his bed, flashed briefly before her eyes, and she suppressed a groan. But it was all she could do to prevent herself from jerking her hand out of his firm grasp.

      ‘Hey, you’re shivering,’ he said, and Laura had to bite her lip to silence the instinctive denial. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, you know.’

      ‘You didn’t.’

      But her voice was high and strained and he seemed to sense it. With an odd expression playing about his mouth, he lifted his hand and stroked the backs of his fingers down her hot cheek, and this time she couldn’t prevent her automatic response. With a strangled sound, she jerked back from him, bruising her hip against the corner of the scrubbed pine table that occupied the centre of the floor.

      ‘Laura!’

      His irritation was evident, but she suspected neither of them was prepared for his reaction. Instead of letting her go, he went after her, his hand closing on the nape of her neck now, his thumb forcing her face up to his.

      ‘Is this what an unhappy marriage has done to you?’ he demanded, and she realised incredulously that he thought she was reacting to some lingering torment from her relationship with Conor. That the panic she was barely controlling was something to do with her ex-husband.

      As if!

      ‘I—’ She didn’t know what to say. Her head was swimming with the emotions his hard fingers were arousing inside her, and blaming Conor for feelings he had never been able to inspire seemed a cruel deceit. But… ‘Just let me go, Oliver,’ she said weakly. ‘I—I’m tired.’

      ‘Yeah, I know.’ His thumb was caressing her ear now and she thought how incredible it was that he thought he could give her any comfort. ‘Poor Laura. Do you have any idea how young you look in that robe?’

      Laura felt faint. ‘Please,’ she said unsteadily. ‘Please, Oliver…’

      ‘It’s okay. I know.’ But just when she thought he was about to release her he changed his mind and, instead of moving aside, he pulled her into his arms. ‘You can rely on me, baby,’ he said huskily, pressing her face into his throat so that Laura could scarcely breathe. ‘I’m here for you. I just want you to know that.’

      ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

      For a moment, Laura wondered if it was she who’d spoken. It was what she should have said, she knew that, but although the hand that had been stroking her shoulder slid away she sensed Oliver was reacting to a stronger will than hers.

      A suspicion that was reinforced when Stella Williams’ shrill voice continued, ‘For God’s sake, Oliver, have you taken leave of your senses? She’s not back in this house for five minutes before she’s trying to cause trouble between us.’

      Laura’s jaw dropped. ‘I hope you don’t think that I—that I—was encouraging him—’

      ‘So what are you doing down here at this time of night?’ demanded her stepmother scornfully. She sniffed. ‘And what’s that awful smell?’ Then, turning to her son without waiting for an answer, she said, ‘I suppose you got her to let you in. Why didn’t you come to the front door? I told you I’d wait up.’

      ‘I did come to the front door,’ retorted Oliver shortly, giving Laura a studied look in passing. ‘I thought no one was up. There were no lights that I could see.’

      Stella pursed her lips. ‘I must have fallen asleep for a few moments,’ she said peevishly. ‘Goodness knows, I’ve had little enough sleep since Griff passed away.’ Her eyes glittered as they turned towards her stepdaughter. ‘Just because some people seem perfectly able to forget why they’re here—’

      ‘Forget it.’ Oliver’s voice was harsh as it broke into her provocative tirade. ‘Laura couldn’t sleep either. She came down to get herself a hot drink and I disturbed her. That’s why the milk boiled over. It was my fault. That’s what you can smell. Burnt milk. Nothing else.’

      ‘If you say so.’ Stella gave Laura a disparaging look. ‘Don’t you have anything else you could wear?’

      Laura shook her head. She had no intention of getting into a discussion about her appearance with her stepmother. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she said, not caring whether they did or otherwise, and, putting his mother between her and Oliver, she made for the door. ‘I’m going back to bed.’

      It was easier than she’d thought. Neither of them offered any objections as she slipped out into the hall. The smouldering embers in the hall grate lit up the door of her father’s study, giving her a moment’s pause. She was briefly tempted to go in there and try and calm her racing blood.

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