The colour flooded shamefully back when he countered, ‘You wanted it. When a woman uses physical force on a man she usually expects a physical response.’ His arms dragged her back into the curve of his body. ‘You asked for this, and you got it. So stop complaining.’ The wicked gleam of his eyes was hidden by the sweep of dark lashes. ‘Or isn’t this enough? Are you asking for more? Is that what you’re trying to tell me? Don’t be afraid to admit what you feel.’
‘No!’ Appalled, she pushed the denial out, and to her shame felt her eyes swim with tears of humiliation and shame. Had he been right? It didn’t bear thinking about, but she had never used her fists on anyone before. Had she unconsciously sought physical contact, using the small violence of her fists to provoke a response, taking it for granted that he wouldn’t punch her right back but use a far more devastatingly effective method of responding?
She shook her head to clear it of the awful selfknowledge and the tears brimmed and fell. And that was her salvation, because he put her gently aside, brushing the floury deposits from his shirt, his voice blank as he said, ‘I’ll make coffee. We could both use a cup.’
Bess scrubbed her wet eyes with her apron, too emotionally distraught to say a thing, and turned to the sink, trying to block out the rattle of china, the chink of a teaspoon, to shut down all her senses as far as he was concerned because she didn’t want to know what he was doing. She didn’t want to know he existed at all.
She shot out of the way as he came to her side to fill the kettle—right over to the other end of the room—just as Tom came through the door, rubbing his hands and wrinkling his nose appreciatively.
‘Jessica said you’d offered to make lunch. Smells good.’
His smile was so safe, so uncomplicated. Bess could have hugged him. But she wouldn’t display any emotion in front of Vaccari. She’d done too much of that already—to her everlasting bewilderment and shame. Instead, she said quickly, ‘You’ve timed it right. We’re just about to take a coffee-break.’ Which hadn’t been the right way to put it, she decided wearily as Tom’s face turned sullen, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as he watched the elegantly casual Italian take down an extra cup and saucer from the dresser.
‘Break from what?’
Bess swallowed a sigh. Tom would be remembering her hectic appearance after she’d danced with Vaccari last night. She could have said, He’s been manhandling me again. Do something about it. But she said no such thing. She knew, no matter how unjust it was, that the Italian would regard whatever outraged ferocity Tom was able to dredge up with no more trepidation than he would a bluebottle buzzing inside an upturned jar.
So she forced a smile, removing her apron as she walked over to the dresser.
‘A break from cooking. Luke’s just come in from a walk.’ She felt sneaky, and vilely guilty. Vaccari would know now that she was capable of lying to her finance, if only by omission. She took another cup from the dresser. ‘Take coffee up to Helen, would you?’ she asked the enigmatically smiling brute. ‘Tom and I will have ours in the sitting room.’
Thank heaven she sounded cool enough. And if her face was flushed then Tom would put it down to the heat of the kitchen.
But her attempt at appeasement hadn’t worked, she realised as Tom followed her through with the tray of coffee. He sounded peevish as he muttered, ‘Having Vaccari around is spoiling the whole weekend. I can’t think why your mother invited him to stay.’ He slumped down on the sofa, accepting the cup Bess handed him, stirring it irritably.
‘She didn’t. Helen brought him, remember? He’s her latest,’ she stressed. ‘Everyone thinks it’s serious because she’s never introduced one of her menfriends before.’ Colour touched her cheeks. She knew exactly why she’d made a point of mentioning that—forcefully reminding herself that Vaccari was Helen’s man. Though she shouldn’t need the emphasis, should she? She was happily engaged to Tom.
She made an impatient gesture with her hands, brushing the subject aside. She wanted to spend this time discussing her job offer. And for that she needed Tom in receptive mood, and enough time at their disposal to go into the pros and cons very thoroughly.
But the reminder that it had been Helen who had foisted the Italian on them seemed to have added to his displeasure. Bess couldn’t understand it. On the surface, Vaccari was pleasant enough. Tom couldn’t know what he’d said and done to her. And he couldn’t possibly care who Helen got serious about. He couldn’t stand her.
‘What were you thinking of, sending him to wake her?’ Tom grumbled, his face going red. ‘It’s like giving him an invitation to—well—’ He went redder. ‘It’s hardly proper.’ He lifted his cup and gulped at his coffee, as if he needed something to hide behind. Bess swallowed a smile.
Proper! He didn’t know how unintentionally funny he could be. He would hate it if he thought she was laughing at him. But his old-fashioned attitudes, his rock-like steadiness, were the attributes which had drawn her to him. He was comfortable, safe and utterly reliable.
‘Does it matter?’ She perched on the sofa, close to him. ‘Helen can take care of herself.’ The thought that taking care of herself would be the last thing on her sister’s mind right now made her breath snag in her throat and something painful claw at her midriff.
Hating her stupid reaction, she twisted her hands together in her lap, wondering why everything seemed to be going so wrong, and shook her head despairingly when Tom muttered dourly, ‘I just bet she can.’
‘I wish you could find some good in her,’ she sighed. Helen had her faults, but she had her good points too. But Tom would go to his grave believing that everything about her was suspect. ‘She’s my sister, after all. Family. And if you’re going to be at each other’s throats every time you meet it won’t be very comfortable for the rest of us.’
For a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer, but when he took her hand and squeezed it, making her ring dig painfully into her finger, she guessed it was an apology and suggested, ‘Let’s go for a walk after lunch. Just the two of us. There’s something I need to discuss with you.’ And there wasn’t time now, she realised. Not if she had to have lunch ready by the time her parents returned.
‘And that is?’ He carried his cup over to refill it from the coffee-pot on the tray and Bess wondered why he was distancing himself from her. He had never been demonstrative, yet on the all too rare occasions when they’d been alone together he’d always taken the opportunity to cuddle her, his tender kisses making her feel that she counted, was secure.
Could it possibly be that now they were officially engaged he had decided he had no more need to bother with physical assurances of his love and caring? She knew he wasn’t highly sexed, but—
Swallowing an unhelpful spurt of anger, she explained mildly, ‘I’ve had the offer of another job. It would be exciting and challenging, but there would be disadvantages. There’s not time to discuss it now, not with lunch to see to. That’s why I suggested a walk. I’m going back to town tomorrow afternoon and I have to give an answer on Tuesday.’
‘You have a job,’ he pointed out unnecessarily. He took his cup and stood with his back to the fire. ‘It isn’t as if you have a career, as such. You won’t be working at all once we have a family. Why bother to change, especially if there are disadvantages? Why put yourself through the hassle of having to adapt to a new employer?’
‘I won’t have to adapt—’ She bit off her explanation and stood up. She’d known she would have to discuss every detail, pick the subject over endlessly before he would feel able to give a considered opinion. But he appeared to be discounting it entirely without hearing the full story, and she hadn’t known he could be like that.
Moreover, he was looking at her as if he disliked her, and she didn’t understand what was happening. This should have been such a happy weekend but it had turned topsy-turvy, like a bad