Wildcat Wife Page 7

  And all this from someone who firmly disbelieved in casual sex, prided herself on it, and genuinely believed her first relationship would lead to marriage? Saffron, Saffron, she chided herself. Don't let this get out of hand!

  She fell asleep again eventually, to be woken by the sound of a key in her door. And, in procession, came Fraser Ross, a waiter pushing a trolley and a bellboy pushing a wheelchair. There was also bright sunlight flooding the room.

  Saffron sat up, pushed the hair out of her eyes then pulled the sheet up hurriedly, her green satin nightgown only having shoestring straps and a rather revealing neckline.

  If anyone noticed, they didn't betray it by so much as a twitch of a muscle.

  'What—?' she began.

  'Morning, Saffron,' Fraser said amiably. 'Brought you breakfast. How are you?'

  'Fine, but—'

  'And here it is, ma'am,' the waiter enthused, pushing the trolley right up beside the bed and removing covers from die plates. 'If there's anything else you'd like, please call us. Bon appetitV He left, ushering the bellboy out.

  'I could have come to breakfast' Saffron protested.

  'Then you left it a little late.'

  She stared at him owlishly.

  'It's ten-thirty.'

  She lay back then sat up almost immediately. 'It can't be. I never sleep in.'

  He came to the bed and showed her his watch. 'Would you like to freshen up first?'

  'I—thanks.' She accepted the matching satin robe that had been lying across the bottom of the bed and struggled into it. Then she got out of bed and hopped awkwardly to the bathroom where she washed her face and brushed her hair, and wished heartily that she didn't have an audience waiting for her.

  She said as much as she hopped back and sank down into the chair he'd pulled up to the trolley. 'I'm not at my best first thing in the morning.'

  'Who is?' he responded with a grin. 'But I was beginning to worry.'

  Saffron grimaced and tackled a small fruit platter as well as downing a glass of orange juice. Then she chose some wholemeal toast from the bread basket and buttered it, and took in his appearance. He wore white shorts, a sky-blue T-shirt, white canvas loafers and his thick hair was damp. He also looked fresh, penetratingly alert and almost too much of a fine physical specimen to bear—if you had only just got up yourself and somewhat precipitately at that.

  'I suppose you've been up and about for hours?' She pulled a delicious-looking ham and tomato omelette towards her.

  'Long enough to have a game of tennis and a swim before I had my own breakfast.'

  Saffron looked interested. 'Who did you play with?'

  'I happen to know the coach at the Racquet Club. He put together a set of mixed doubles.'

  'Mixed?' She raised an eyebrow at him.

  'Yes. Funnily enough with two stewardesses, one of whom you went out of your way to warn me off, Saffron.'

  'Aha! What a small world it is!' Saffron continued to eat her omelette imperturbably.

  He laughed and pulled up a chair opposite her. 'You're so right. May I pour your coffee? I ordered some for myself.'

  'Thanks.' She pushed her plate away. 'I was starving.'

  'I believe you,' he murmured. 'May I also bring these fine blueberry muffins to your notice?' He unfolded a linen napkin.

  'No, thanks,' she responded ruefully. 'I'm not really a glutton. So—how did she play?'

  'Well enough. We won.'

  'And did you get an opportunity to inspect her for her wifely qualities?'

  'No. Don't be bitchy, Saffron.' His eyes glinted with satire. She drew a breath but relented suddenly. 'OK, I won't say another word on the subject! By the way, there's no way on earth I am going to allow you to trundle me around in a wheelchair,' she added as her gaze fell on the offending object. 'I was actually wondering whether we shouldn't try to go home today.' She eyed him seriously.

  'Not a chance.'

  'What do you mean?' Her seriousness turned to irritation.

  'I don't feel like going home today,' he replied easily. 'I want to go over to the house again for one thing. As for the wheelchair, there's no reason why you shouldn't enjoy a bit of this wonderful, tropical sunshine, have a swim in the pool and relax today. Of course I could always carry you about. Is that what you'd prefer?'

  Saffron shot him a dark look. 'No. I could also stay here—'

  'How is your ankle feeling?' he interrupted. 'Perhaps it's up to walking on properly. Why don't you give me a demonstration? Your earlier ones weren't very convincing.'

  She bit her lip and glared at him.

  'Then don't argue, Saffron.' He stood up. 'I've never met such a shrew. I'll be back in half an hour to take you down to the pool.'

  It took her a while to recover from the 'shrew' remark but on the whole she enjoyed her sojourn down at the pool—at least the first part of it. The sun was lovely, die sound of the sea was soothing, the loungers were comfortable. And Fraser Ross helped her to repair some of the deficiencies in herpacking. He wheeled her first to the shopping mall where she bought a hat, some sunscreen, a pair of sunglasses, and on impulse a gauzy shirt to wear over her bikini instead of the T-shirt she had on. She also purchased a book to read, and then, to carry it all, a raffia bag.

  'Do you always have to do this along the way?' he queried with a grin as he wheeled her to the pool.

  'I wasn't really thinking of holidaying,' she replied.

  'Well.' He lifted her effortlessly out of the chair and put her gently down on a lounger. 'You look like the complete holiday-maker now, albeit a wheelchair-bound one.'

  She grimaced, stuck the peaked cap on her head, donned the sunglasses, picked up her book, and chuckled suddenly. 'You're so right!'

  He sat down next to her and stripped off his shirt. 'Why not do the same?' he suggested casually.

  Saffron hesitated and looked down at her T-shirt. 'When I warm up.'

  'OK.' He lay back and closed his eyes. 'Give me a call when you feel like a swim.'

  'Do you often do this?' she asked about ten minutes later. He opened one eye. 'Do what?'

  'Get comatose in the sun?'

  'No. Not often enough,' he answered ruefully. 'Why? Aren't you enjoying it?'

  'Yes, but...' She hesitated. 'Not as much as you, obviously. You know—' she sat up and crossed her legs '—no one would take you for a millionaire madly busy businessman at the moment.' She eyed him curiously.

  'What do you think they'd take me for?'

  'I'm not sure,' she answered slowly. 'It's quite difficult to put you against a background, Fraser. I don't suppose I've ever seen you in executive mode, for one thing. I've never seen you at home, for another.'

  'Homes haven't ever been terribly important, I guess,' he said after a slight pause. 'But I live in an apartment on the south bank of the Brisbane river, if that helps at all.'

  'Oh! That sounds nice. You mean those blocks close to Southbank and the Lyric theatre? The art gallery?'

  'The same. And, if I may pre-empt you, I have no idea who decorated it. It was another "spec" deal.'

  Saffron chuckled. 'You're a lost cause in some respects, aren't you?'

  He sat up and she took a slightly unsteady breath at the way his muscles flowed beneath the tanned skin of his shoulders and back. 'I thought I was remedying that by hiring you, Saffron.'

  'That's true,' she conceded. 'I hadn't thought of it quite like that, but—'

  'So there's hope for me yet?' He looked at her with a wicked kind of gravity. She grimaced and sighed.

  'What now?'

  'Nothing! Well...' She shrugged and looked around.

  'You're champing at the bit to get back to work,' he filled in resignedly.

  'No, not really, but I suppose I do find it hard to relax.'

  'The book's no good?'

  'I don't know,' she confessed sadly. 'I just can't seem to get into it.'

  'Then we'd better have that swim now. Perhaps you need to be tired out a bit before you can relax
.'

  Saffron heaved a sigh then sat up determinedly and shed her hat and her shirt. 'I can—' she began, swinging her legs over the lounger. But she got no further as he scooped her up and carried her into the pool. And the sheer shock of the cooler water temperature made her cling to him as well as gasp as he sank them both beneath the surface up to their chins.

  'Only way to go,' he murmured, his eyes wicked and laughing. 'Getting in by degrees prolongs the torture, don't you agree, Saffron?'

  Her teeth chattered. 'You're a sadist, Fraser Ross!'

  'No, I'm not.' He lay on his back and punted them through the water gently.

  'It's not that cold; it's just that you'd got pretty hot, body temperature-wise. Can you swim?'

  'Of course I can swim.' But for some reason she didn't pull free. For some reason her body, in its pretty but scanty pink, green and white floral bikini, seemed loath to leave the security of his arms, the nice feeling of closeness and the way her skin felt satiny and so smooth against his.

  'Saffron?' he said gravely. 'Not entertaining any of those pirate thoughts?'

  Her eyes locked with his, and perhaps he saw the little flare of shock in the depths of hers that was tantamount to an admission because he resisted her sudden attempt to break free.

  'There's nothing especially terrible about it, is there?' he said softly at the same time. 'We're actually consenting adults, not captor and captive.'

  She twisted out of his arms this time, but he caught her around the waist and advised, 'Go slowly, my little wildcat. It's always best to be honest, you know. Think what happened to you on the beach last night.' He drew her closer, so their bodies were touching under the water.

  'How...I wish you wouldn't,' she said exasperatedly, then stopped frustratedly.

  'Wouldn't read your mind?' he hazarded softly, and moved his hands down to the neat, taut little curves of her buttocks. 'Perhaps it's because we're so often of the same mind? Such as right now. Such as...' he paused and looked wickedly into her wide, fixed gaze '...how much I would like to peel this bikini bottom off your lovely, jaunty little hips, and how much you would like me to. So tell me, what would be so wrong about it, Saffron?'

  Her lips parted and her slender body moved beneath his hands, but the moment was broken by someone swimming up to them, calling his name gaily. Someone Saffron recognised even out of her smart stewardess uniform.

  'Everything,' she said through her teeth, and pulled away successfully. CHAPTER FIVE

  SAFFRON elected to have lunch in her room.

  She had in fact swum quite a few lengths of the pool, revelling in the freedom of movement after the restrictions her ankle placed on her on land, then simply floated in what was actually a heavenly temperature as the heat of the day built up.

  It had become quite a lively party around the pool, with both stewardesses and the tennis coach joining them. Fraser had ordered long, cool, exotic drinks, and plans for lunch and the afternoon had been made. The tennis coach—a friendly man called Bob of about the same age as Fraser and obviously an old friend, had made it known it was his afternoon off. The stewardesses, Gloria and Cathy—Cathy was the one Saffron remembered from the flight—had made it known they would be happy to be included in any activities at all.

  And Fraser had invited them all to accompany him to his island that afternoon. Cathy had also, in a rather delicate aside, sought to establish just what the relationship was between Saffron and Fraser at one point.

  'Oh, I'm only his interior decorator,' Saffron had replied, and added with no delicacy at all, 'Please don't hold back on account of me.'

  Unfortunately, a lull in the convivialities had caused this remark to be audible to all. Cathy had blushed and Fraser had allowed a suddenly hard, dark glance to play over Saffron. She, on the other hand, had lain back on her lounger unaffectedly, and closed her eyes to the sun.

  And that was when things had broken up, ostensibly so they could all get ready for lunch, and Fraser had wheeled her back to her room.

  'Thanks,' she said briefly as the door closed behind them, and got out of the wheelchair, only to have her ankle collapse beneath her. She muttered beneath her breath and staggered to the bed.

  'I'm almost tempted to say serves you right, Saffron,' Fraser Ross drawled as he came to stand in front of her.

  'For what?'

  'For being as recalcitrant as only you can be,' he said softly but with a dangerous glitter in his eyes.

  'I'm not being recalcitrant,' she denied coldly. 'I'm being honest if anything. And I've told you once before, I don't play games. I'm here to work and work I shall.'

  'You're also spitting with jealousy, Saffron.'

  Her face was already pale from the pain of her ankle, but it paled further at this. She made a huge effort, however, to contain herself. 'Think what you like,' she said casually. 'And by all means go ahead and enjoy yourself this afternoon. I can't join in even if I wanted to; it's quite simple.'

  'But you don't want to either?'

  'No. I'm perfectly happy to spend the afternoon preparing some more sketches. It's really time we got down to brass tacks, Mr Ross,' she said formally. 'I'll need your approval to go ahead now and place some orders.'

  He regarded her as she sat on the bed in her new blouse with her fists plonked beside her and the light of battle, although latent, in her eyes. 'All right,' he said mildly. 'What about lunch?'

  'I'll order it to be sent up here.'

  'That mightn't be a bad idea,' he observed thoughtfully.

  'I'm glad you approve, but why?' she couldn't help answering.

  'I have the feeling you're just dying for the opportunity to be even more recalcitrant.'

  'The recalcitrant decorator? Dear me! Why—?'

  'No, the reluctant lover, Saffron. OK, have fun; I'll check in some time this evening.' He swung on his heel and walked out.

  Saffron stared towards the doorway for several minutes then lay back on the bed and felt thoroughly at odds with herself.

  But a few moments later she got up and made a phone call to Delia, and received something of a surprise at the end of it. Delia, it transpired, had been invited to have dinner with Bernard Ross that night.

  'Why?'

  'Well...' Delia hesitated down the line '...he's just asked me, that's all. We...yesterday he asked me out to lunch, then we went to the movies, and had dinner too.'

  Saffron blinked several times as this sank in, and made some quick calculations. Bernard Ross would be about sixty, she judged, and was distinguished-looking, and, not only that, nice. Could it be possible...?

  'Look, have a lovely evening,' she said warmly because her very real affection for Delia made her long to see her find happiness. All the same as she put the phone down her mind was buzzing. How would Diana react to a stepmother? How would Fraser? Just let them do anything to upset Delia, she thought hotly, then had to smile weakly. It was only a dinner date...

  She shrugged and resolutely turned to work.

  She had only one interruption during the afternoon.

  The nurse came up to see her, bringing an ice pack and an elasticised ankle guard.

  'Mr Ross rang me to say you were still in quite a lot of pain,' she revealed.

  'These should help. I also brought a walking stick I managed to lay my hands on. By tomorrow you might be able to use it instead of being pushed around.'

  'Oh, thank you,' Saffron said with real gratitude. 'I do hate being pushed around.'

  At six o'clock she sat back with some satisfaction at the final sketches of the main entertaining areas of Fraser Ross's holiday home plus plenty of notes. She yawned and decided to have a shower. It was dark by the time she was dressed again in shorts and a T-shirt and she sat on the verandah, staring out to a sea she couldn't see. And feeling—she couldn't deny it—lonely and sad. Not that she wanted to be taking part in any of the partying she had no doubtwould be planned for the evening, but for the first time for several years she didn't want to be alone...


  You fool, she thought. He's not for you and you're not for him. If you had any sense, the last thing you'd be doing would be prolonging the matter by getting carried away over Zanzibari doors. He is a man women flock after; he can take his pick, and I'm sure he does.

  But she sat like that for another ten minutes, unable to shake her mood. Then there was a tap on the door and she steeled herself to ignore it, but it opened and she realised the nurse must have neglected to lock it when she'd left. She turned cautiously, knowing it would be him but unable to see until a lamp sprang on.

  'Saffron?'

  'I...I'm here.' She swallowed.

  He wore the same khaki trousers and checked shirt that he had the night before and he looked bronzed from the sun, dark, tall and terrifyingly attractive. He paused then walked to the verandah doorway. 'All right?'

  'Yes. Fine, thanks.' But it came out more huskily than normal. He narrowed his eyes and watched her for a moment—the way she sat, deliberately upright, the cloud of russet curls framing her small face, her hands clenched in her lap, her unconsciously rigid expression. Then he grimaced and pulled up a chair to sit down beside her. 'Did you get the ice pack?'

  'Oh, yes. It...I...it was very thoughtful of you. How was your afternoon?'

  'Nice.' He reached over, prised her hands apart, and took one in his. 'How was yours?'

  'Very productive,' she said after a moment. 'It's all set out there on the table, but we can go over it tomorrow.'

  'We can go over it now if you like.'

  'No. You're probably on your way to dinner—'

  'I'm not.'

  'And— What did you say?'

  'I'm not on my way anywhere. I have no plans for this evening, in other words.'

  Saffron's lips parted and she searched his eyes. 'But I thought...' She stopped confusedly.

  'You thought Bob and I had set ourselves up with a couple of willing birds?'

  he suggested.

  'Well...' She looked embarrassed and licked her lips. 'I...suppose so.'

  He smiled briefly. 'So I gathered. But it was pure coincidence that I met up with Gloria and Cathy this morning. And it was...' He paused, thought a little wryly about certain words he'd uttered on the subject of honesty earlier, and continued, 'Pure malice that prompted me to organise the outing this afternoon.'