‘What the hell are you doing? Dreaming about Paul? He’s dead, Stephanie. Dead. And for all the living you do, you might as well be, too. Hasn’t there been anyone in these last ten years?’
‘I don’t want that sort of relationship in my life. You know that.’ She had to turn her head so that he couldn’t look at her.
As his arms dropped away from her, he said flatly, ‘We … you can’t go on living like this, Steph. It’s not …’
‘Not what? Not “natural”? Is that what you’re going to say, Gray? That I’m not “natural”?’
Her overwrought nerves shrieked in protest as she flung the words at him.
He seemed to be looking at her with an odd mixture of pain and defeat in his eyes. Her breath locked in her throat, tears not far away. What on earth was happening to them? She and Gray had been so close, such good friends, and now … and now they seemed to be teetering on the brink of destroying all that they had shared.
He made a slight movement, a reaching out towards her from which she immediately recoiled, her expression proud and tortured as she cried out painfully, ‘You want the truth, Gray? All right, I’ll give it to you. I don’t have the least interest in sex.’ She took a deep, rather shaky breath. ‘I’m frigid, Gray.’ There, she’d said it; she’d admitted at last the agonising lack of sexuality that had caused her so much pain.
‘Steph!’
She heard the shock in Gray’s voice, but she couldn’t respond to it; couldn’t listen to any more questions now, however well meant. Gray cared for her as a friend, and would want to help her, but this was one problem that no one else could help with.
Suddenly she had an overwhelming need to be alone.
‘I … I think I’d better find somewhere else to stay tonight, Gray, I …’
She saw from the look on his face that she had hurt and angered him. So many gulfs were springing up between them, so many barriers that couldn’t be crossed.
She made a dash for her room and privacy, coming to an abrupt halt as Gray’s fingers tightened round her wrist, holding her prisoner. Shock had darkened his eyes to dense sapphire, his mouth a hard line of disbelief as he shook her.
‘What the hell is this, Steph? Is that really what you think? That you’re frigid?’
‘Isn’t it what you think?’ As she stood there, trembling, Stephanie wondered frantically what on earth had happened between them to promote this conversation. Talking about her relationship with Paul and the flaws in her femininity wasn’t something she had ever wanted to do, least of all with Gray, who, friend though he was, was also so undeniably male that he made her acutely aware of the pathetic shortcomings in her own personality. Instinctively, without knowing how she possessed that knowledge, she knew that as a lover Gray would be both skilled and tender.
Dragging her mind away from such provocative thoughts she saw that he was frowning.
‘I don’t make those kind of assumptions without some hard facts to back them up. As I haven’t been to bed with you, I don’t know, do I?’
It was what he hadn’t said rather than what he had that shocked her speechless.
‘I’ll wash and then we’ll have something to eat. I’ve got a lot to talk over with you.’
His calm words broke the spell that had held her silent.
‘Won’t Carla object to your spending the evening with me?’
His eyebrows lifted. ‘Why should she? She knows that we’re old friends.’
To her chagrin, Stephanie realised that he was looking amused.
‘Why don’t you go down and make us some coffee? And then over dinner I’ll show you the plans of the new boat I’m working on.’
This was the Gray she knew … her friend. The tension that had engulfed her earlier eased. Feeling relieved, she hurried downstairs to the kitchen.
Mrs Ames, Gray’s daily, had left a casserole ready-prepared in the fridge, and one of her famous apple pies.
Although the cottage had a pretty dining-room, normally when she came to stay they ate off trays in the sitting-room. It was more cosy.
It didn’t take long to make the coffee and, wanting to make amends for her earlier childishness, Stephanie poured some into a mug for Gray and took it upstairs.
His bedroom door was open. She could smell the clean, pine-fresh scent of his soap, and from behind the closed door of his bathroom she could hear him singing.
Her mouth curved into a brief grin as she recognised the familiar sound of an old sea shanty. It was one Gray only sang when he was feeling particularly happy. Perhaps she had been wrong about there being some serious problem with the boat-yard.
Knocking briefly on his open door, she walked into his bedroom. She had been silly to get so upset simply because he had asked about her as a friend. Not knowing the truth, he had simply thought that she had grieved for Paul for long enough.
But now that he did know the truth … he had not exhibited the shock she might have expected. Lost in thought, she gnawed worriedly at her lower lip.
The door to Gray’s bathroom opened and he walked into the bedroom, plainly unaware that she was there. His hair was damp and he was towelling it roughly. The rest of his body … Scarlet faced, Stephanie stood rooted to the spot, totally unable to move, as she slowly absorbed the details of his nude body.
Gray only realised that she was there when he threw down the towel. Transfixed with shock and embarrassment, Stephanie gulped as he walked past her and gently closed the bedroom door.
‘I … I brought you a cup of coffee.’
Her voice was a thick, unfamiliar croak, but at least speaking freed her from her momentary paralysis. She turned to flee and discovered that somehow Gray was standing in front of the door.
‘Thank you.’ He said it gently, casually reaching out to take the mug from her. Hideously embarrassed, Stephanie looked everywhere but at him. Why, oh why had she walked into his bedroom in the first place? She had known that he was having a shower.
‘What’s the matter, Steph?’ His voice was as soft as silk, but still she couldn’t look at him. ‘You’ve seen me working on the boats wearing not that much more.’
‘That … that was different.’ She was having difficulty in swallowing.
‘Not that much surely. I’m the one who should be embarrassed, you know.’
Maybe he should be, but he certainly wasn’t. Why on earth didn’t he put some clothes on?
As though he read her mind, he moved to one side, opening a drawer and casually pulling out socks and underpants.
‘Pass me that shirt on the bed, will you?’
He sounded so casually at ease that Stephanie found she was doing what he asked almost without thinking. By the time she had handed it to him, he was already wearing the brief dark-coloured underpants.
‘The sight of a nude male surely can’t be so shocking, can it? After all, there was Paul … the two of you were married, even if you are claiming that his death made you frigid. You must have known what boys look like.’
The hint of teasing in his voice made her skin burn. She was too stunned to correct his mistaken assumption that her frigidity was the result of Paul’s death. ‘Boys, yes, but … but you aren’t a boy, Gray.’
He didn’t say anything, but Stephanie had the distinct impression that he smiled faintly before he pulled his shirt on.
Watching his fingers move deftly