Ruthless Husband, Convenient Wife Page 12

  The party did not start to break up until well past midnight. Snow had started to fall again, and it was that, more than anything, that made guests start thinking about the road home.

  In the general confusion of guests finding coats and bags, exchanging kisses and farewells, Ariadne hurried up to Penny.

  ‘You’ll never guess,’ she said with sparkling eyes. ‘The Rays have offered me a lift home in their limo!’

  ‘Nice,’ Penny said. Ariadne always managed to organise things.

  ‘I’m going to ask them to drop me off outside the pub,’ she giggled. ‘Can you imagine everyone’s faces? Me, being dropped off from a limo, after an evening with Cameron Ray and Lenka Manchester!’

  ‘I love it.’

  ‘And they’re such an adorable couple!’ Ariadne hissed, dashing off. ‘I wish I’d known you mixed with such famous people!’

  Penny smiled as she watched her friend leaving with the movie stars. Cameron, for all his good looks, was a selfish and vain philanderer; Lenka, desperately hoping for a baby to keep her wandering husband at home, was growing increasingly neurotic; but Ariadne saw none of that. She saw only their star quality. Mixing with ‘such famous people’ was just like mixing with un-famous people—there was good and bad in all of them.

  She started pulling on her own coat, ready to leave. Ryan walked up to her, smiling. ‘Have a nightcap with me.’

  He was wearing jeans and a dark blue shirt. The colour suited him, making him look warm and sexy. She considered his offer. ‘OK,’ she agreed, hanging her coat back up again, ‘but just one.’

  ‘Good.’ He poured them both a whisky on the rocks, and then stretched out his hand to her. ‘Come. I want to show you something.’

  Penny took his hand, feeling his warm fingers twine possessively around her. He led her upstairs.

  ‘Your table setting was the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, Penny, magical and lovely.’

  ‘There was a Christmas dinner in this house in 1899. It was very special, because the new century was going to begin in a few days. The flowers that night were the same—chains of sweet peas, wreaths of ivy, a display of arum lilies and hellebores.’

  ‘Now, how on earth do you know that?’

  ‘I’ve been doing some research into Northcote. The owners have sold so many of the treasures that used to be here. I want to know what it was like in its glory days, so I can restore it properly.’

  ‘Are there records?’

  ‘Of course. If you look hard enough. Local newspaper archives are especially useful. This house was always in the news, and there are lots of descriptions of parties and receptions. Lots of photos, too. Then there are books on art history with references.’

  ‘You amaze me,’ he said. ‘And I love the things you’ve bought. The crystal, the dinner service, the candelabra, they’re all absolutely perfect.’

  ‘I’m happy that you’re happy. It was a fun evening,’ she said.

  ‘And you handled that little squirt perfectly,’ Ryan smiled. ‘If he wasn’t the best-looking man in Hollywood, I wouldn’t consider inflicting him on Lucinda. But the truth is, they will go perfectly together in the final cut.’

  ‘I agree.’

  Ryan led her to the window of his bedroom. They looked out.

  Snow was drifting down steadily and silently. But there was a gap in the clouds, and through it a full moon was shining down with silvery brilliance.

  Snow had carpeted the lawns, blurring the contours of the land. The huge trees, many of them planted by Capability Brown in the early eighteenth century, and now two centuries old, wore veils of white. The sweep of parkland had an unearthly beauty. The landscape appeared to glow in the strange light.

  ‘Isn’t it ravishing?’ he murmured, holding her close.

  ‘You’ll tire of it,’ she predicted. ‘You can’t pop round the corner to Harrods’ Food Halls for caviare and crackers.’

  ‘I’ve stopped lunching off caviare and crackers,’ Ryan said. He was holding her close in his arms. ‘More importantly, children can’t play in the Brompton Road. Here they can run free.’

  ‘Children?’ she repeated uneasily, remembering what Flavia Pollini had said to her a few hours earlier.

  ‘This is a grand mansion, as you once said. But much more than that, it’s a family house. The moment I saw it, I knew this would be a wonderful place to bring up children. To make a home.’

  She pulled out of his arms uneasily. ‘You don’t want children. You don’t want any ties.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s too soon for you to understand,’ he said gently. He looked into her eyes. ‘Do you want to stay the night?’

  They were standing by the four-poster bed. Its cream feather quilt was laid open invitingly. ‘No, thank you,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m going to go home.’

  He did not argue, merely smiled faintly and nodded. ‘Whatever you want.’

  She drained her glass and handed it to him. ‘Thanks for the nightcap. And I’m glad you liked my work and the things I’ve bought. Goodnight, Ryan.’

  She kissed him briefly on the cheek, catching a hint of his cologne.

  ‘Please drive carefully this time,’ he said.

  ‘I will, I promise. And they’ve cleared the roads today. You don’t need to follow me.’

  And then she was hurrying down the stairs.

  Penny emerged from the warmth of the house into the cold, yet somehow soft air of a snowy night. An owl hooted in the trees.

  She walked to her van. She glanced over her shoulder as she opened the door. The windows of the great house glowed like jewels.

  It was a strange feeling to be leaving. A very strange feeling.

  She was doing something she had never done in her life before—walking away from Ryan.

  Not running. Walking away.

  And he was not chasing after her.

  She opened the door and got into the van. She had done it. She had made a dignified exit. Said goodnight. Kissed his cheek. Left.

  She was in control.

  It was as easy as that.

  Now all she had to do was drive through the cold, dark night, get to her cold, dark cottage, and get into her cold, dark bed. Alone.

  Penny watched the snowflakes drifting down onto her windscreen for a while, feeling the hollow place open up inside her.

  Then she got out of the van, locked the door, and walked back into the house.

  He was standing where she had left him, beside the bed. His beautiful grey eyes met hers with warmth, but no mockery.

  ‘I changed my mind,’ she said simply.

  ‘It’s your choice,’ he replied in a quiet voice.

  ‘Are you glad I did?’ she asked, slightly hesitant.

  For answer, he held his arms out to her. She went to him, and he drew her close against his muscular body. He kissed her mouth, and she felt herself melt in his arms.

  It was a long, sweet kiss, filled with yearning and tenderness. Her heart was pounding in her temples. Goose-bumps washed along her arms and tightened her nipples.

  Ryan laid her down on her back on the bed, and reached under her skirt to slide her panties off. He kneeled at the side of the bed while she lay back.

  ‘I need you so much,’ he whispered.

  Ryan slipped her slim thighs onto his shoulders and leaned forward to kiss the pink orchid of her sex. His mouth was so warm and so sensitive. The pleasure he gave her was so intense, and yet so tender.

  He knew her responses as well as though he had looked into her secret mind. He knew how to be patient when she needed more time, he knew how to prolong her delight to the utmost, and then start all over again before she even knew she was ready.

  When the ache to have him inside her grew too much, she called to him, and he came to her. The weight of his body, the way his desire thrust deep inside her, these were things that drove away fear and doubt, as though when he made love to her there was no room for the panic that so often rose in her when she was with him.


  They climaxed together, as they always did, and then lay still, their bodies ravelled together like driftwood smoothed and tangled by the sea. The moon shone brilliantly in at their window.

  ‘Now,’ he whispered to her, ‘is a perfect time for me to do some learning. So talk to me, Penny. Tell me all about you.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IT WAS not exactly a great insurrection, she thought wryly. She had only got as far as her car before turning back and going to Ryan’s arms.

  But the important thing was that it had been her decision. Her decision to leave, which he had not disputed. Her decision to go back to him, which he had welcomed. That made a big difference. For the first time, silly as it seemed, Penny felt that she was not being driven along by the force of Ryan Wolfe’s personality. There was space for her and her decisions.

  It had also made a difference that Ryan had asked her to talk about herself, and had listened while she spoke. It had not been long before she’d drifted off into sleep, of course. She’d been too tired for any great heart-to-heart revelations. But it had been a start.

  Over the weeks that followed, Penny’s time was increasingly taken up with Northcote Hall. The job was far bigger than she had dreamed of when she’d decided to accept Ryan’s invitation. Northcote had eight bedrooms, ten bathrooms, four reception rooms, a library, a huge kitchen, a music room, a games room—not to mention half a dozen utility rooms of various kinds, and a large guest cottage.

  ‘I made the owners an offer yesterday,’ Ryan told her.

  She had opened her eyes at that. ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes—a good one, too. Just a little less than they are asking. I don’t believe in trying to haggle for something I really want.’

  ‘Then they should accept,’ Penny had said, looking up into his magnificent face.

  ‘If they have any sense, they will,’ he’d agreed.

  ‘Ryan, this is a huge step for you,’ she had said seriously. ‘It’s very different from a few paintings or a new kitchen. I know you’re a rich man, but if you change your mind you might not be able to sell a house this size for a long time. You’d have a lot of money tied up.’

  ‘I’ve made my mind up,’ he’d replied simply.

  Decorating this house was going to be a long-term job. Early on, she took the decision to start with the essential rooms, and get them finished before considering the rest of the huge house. From the point of view of Ryan’s work, that meant the kitchen, the dining room and the reception rooms. He could continue camping in the master bedroom and living out of a suitcase until the rest of the house was finished.

  True to his word, Ryan gave her a cheque-book and a credit card to make purchases for the house. Using his credit card brought back some strange memories.

  She used his money to good effect, ordering a custom kitchen from one of the most reputable firms, comfortable furniture for the reception room, and a selection of handsome antique pieces.

  She hoped that Ryan had meant it when he’d told her the budget was large; the bill was already mounting steeply—she was buying the very best of everything.

  But she knew what Ryan wanted to do with Northcote. He was planning it as the centrepiece of his business, a beautiful place where his friends and business associates could meet in relaxed, luxurious surroundings to discuss projects, away from the bustle of the capital.

  Northcote soon filled with workmen, some commissioned by Penny, others by Ryan himself. The stables were being refurbished, and soon there would be horses available for guests to ride through the beautiful parkland.

  One of the reception rooms was already being set up as a private movie theatre with plush seats and the most hi-tech equipment available.

  A seminar room was being installed in the office, with international video-conferencing facilities.

  Through it all, Ryan kept on working. The Other Side was now taking shape. Having secured his two stars, Ryan now had real interest from the independent studios. They were bidding against each other to produce this film.

  The potential of the film was becoming clear—it would be the sort of lush, sexy, poignant production that garnered both critical acclaim and box-office success. Visitors kept coming to Northcote, and Penny had to arrange three big dinner parties in two weeks.

  She and Ryan were together every day—and almost every night.

  He was true to his word. He had changed in a subtle but definite way. Though she consulted him about all the major decisions, he had meant it when he’d told her she would be mistress of Northcote; she was free to shape the house as she saw fit.

  Though his lovemaking was still the overwhelming storm of pleasure and passion it had always been, she no longer felt that she was being carried along like a helpless passenger on a locomotive.

  After the dinner party one Sunday night, they went up to Ryan’s bedroom with a nightcap of a whisky on the rocks. It had become their custom to do this. Ryan, who had been wearing a dark grey Armani blazer, took it off and draped it over the back of a chair.

  ‘When are you going to start working your magic on our bedroom?’ he asked, smiling at her. ‘It’s still as bare as ever it was.’

  ‘For one thing, it’s not our bedroom, it’s your bedroom,’ she replied tartly. ‘And for another, I’m keeping my priorities straight. You can keep pigging it here, out of sight, but you need to be able to entertain your glittery friends!’

  He slipped an arm round her waist and kissed her mouth. ‘Whatever you say,’ he said, his breath warm against her neck. ‘You’re the boss.’

  ‘And don’t you forget it,’ she said, closing her eyes as his kisses trailed round the sensitive skin of her throat to the delicate line of her jaw.

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t. I know my place.’ His mouth brushed hers, a delicious kiss like the touch of an angel’s wing. ‘I saw those oil paintings you hung in the corridor. They’re beautiful.’

  ‘They should be. You paid a fortune for them.’

  He laughed softly. ‘They’ll be here forever. Like me.’

  ‘You’re really staying forever?’

  ‘Definitely. The place is growing on me.’ He kissed her mouth in the same way as before, except this time the angel’s wing hovered a little longer on her susceptible lips.

  Then he kissed her eyelids, one after another, making her shiver with sensual hunger. ‘I want you, Penny. Can I have you?’

  ‘Maybe,’ she replied. ‘Talk me into it.’

  ‘As if you were a studio chief?’

  ‘A studio chieftainess,’ she replied.

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said, with a glint in his eyes. ‘Well, Miss Watkins—or may I call you Penny?’

  ‘I think “Miss Watkins” will do for the time being,’ she said coolly.

  ‘Miss Watkins, I have a project in mind.’ His fingers were caressing the curves of her breasts through the silk shirt she wore—and somehow, her buttons were being deftly unfastened. ‘A project that really excites me so much.’

  ‘We’re already committed to several new projects, Mr Wolfe,’ she replied. ‘I doubt whether we can consider anything new this year. Perhaps in a couple of years’ time.’

  ‘Oh, Miss Watkins, I would hate to think of you missing the boat.’ His mouth brushed hers delicately. ‘This is truly something special. I chose Watkins Productions because you’re so wonderful with thrusting new ideas like this one.’

  ‘What’s it all about?’ she asked, tilting her head back as he opened her shirt and kissed her throat.

  ‘It’s a love story,’ he said quietly, kissing the curve of her breasts, while his fingers unfastened the belt of her trousers. ‘About two people who are absolutely, insanely in love with one another.’

  ‘Sounds like old hat to me, Mr Wolfe.’

  ‘It’s the oldest hat there is,’ he agreed. ‘As old as Adam and Eve. And just as successful.’

  ‘Have you got a good script?’

  ‘The script is wonderful, Miss Watkins. The sweetest sto
ry you ever heard. There’s just one thing. It’s not finished yet. It’s still being written.’

  ‘And when will it be finished?’

  ‘Maybe never,’ he said. He unzipped her trousers and slid them down over her hips. ‘Mmm, Miss Watkins, may I compliment you on this underwear? It’s very, very pretty. What colour is that?’

  ‘The box said, “Wild Cherry,”’ she said, feeling goose-bumps wash over her skin as he caressed her.

  ‘It makes your skin look like cream,’ he whispered. She was wearing only the deep pink underwear now. He stripped off his own clothes, his splendidly muscled body rippling in the firelight.

  Then he came to her. His skin was hot against hers and she could feel his strength just below the velvety surface.

  ‘You were talking about the project, Mr Wolfe, not my underclothes!’

  ‘The project and your underclothes are intimately linked, Miss Watkins,’ he said with a smoky smile. ‘You might say the one cloaks the other. And I think I can guarantee that this will be very fulfilling.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Oh, yes. It will be the best decision you ever took. I promise you’ll be pleased with the final result, very pleased indeed.’

  ‘How can I be pleased when the project will apparently never be finished?’ she demanded.

  ‘You’ll never want it to finish.’ Ryan reached around her back to unfasten her bra. Her nipples brushed his chest as he kissed her mouth, not like an angel’s wing this time, but like a lover claiming his mate. ‘That’s what’s so special about this one,’ he whispered hotly in her ear. ‘Other projects all come to an end. Not this one. This one will last forever.’

  He had slipped his thumbs into the waistband of her panties, and now he pulled them down so that they slipped down to her ankles. She stepped out of them. ‘Is this part of your usual approach, Mr Wolfe?’

  ‘I believe in getting to grips with my subject, Miss Watkins.’

  Penny snorted. There was deceptive strength in her slim body, and she used it to push him onto the bed on his back. Pressing her palms on his broad, muscled chest, she slid her thigh over his and straddled him. Amusement and desire were swirling into a dangerous cocktail in her heart. She wanted him, yet she wanted to dominate him, the way he had dominated her. ‘You’re a persuasive man, Mr Wolfe!’