In Her Secret Fantasy Read online

  “What happened?” he asked quietly, and Hugh fell back with relief.

  “He was charging around the house, in and out of rooms, and we couldn’t calm him down. Then he tried to get up the stairs.”

  And found he’d forgotten how. Aidan swallowed and crouched down by his floundering parent. “How far did he fall?”

  “He lost his footing on the first step,” Hugh said miserably. “I’m sorry, Aidan, I couldn’t stop him without physically dragging him, and it just didn’t seem right.”

  “I know,” Aidan said. “Thanks, Hugh.”

  So far as he could tell, his father’s only physical injury was a slight cut to the temple, as if he’d hit the banister on his way down. As he got a grip on his dad and heaved him to his feet, at least Aidan understood what was in his father’s fading mind. He’d been trying to go to the toilet. Aidan took him, changed him and cleaned the cut on his head. Then, since the old man was falling asleep by that stage, just helped him into bed.

  When he went back downstairs, he found his mother sitting by the fire in the living room. She looked up when he approached, a haunted look in her eyes that broke his heart. Aidan went and sat beside her, took her hand and squeezed it.

  “You can’t cope with him anymore, Mum.”

  “I know. It’s all falling on Louise. And you, since you’re home.”

  “Louise is struggling.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “But what’s the alternative, Aidan? When he started getting so bad, I did suggest we look at nursing homes, but Louise wouldn’t hear of it. She still won’t.”

  “I know. She wants to give back what you did for us.”

  His mother nodded and smiled faintly. “And she knows I’d miss him. I would. Even now, I would.”

  “Mum. I think you’re missing him already.”

  A tear escaped the corner of her eye. “It’s hard to be old, Aidan.”

  And the real tragedy was to be old before your time.

  He put his arm round her, hugged the frail lady who’d once carted him around the village on her hip as if he’d weighed no more than a bag of potatoes. “We’ll sort it out together. We’ll make it better.”

  Somehow.

  “The fatal flaw in your plan,” Chrissy told Aidan the following morning, “is that I can’t report the boys’ comings and goings when I’m out here.”

  No one had gone farther than the village, yesterday, and most had remained on the estate.

  Aidan, who was steering the boat out of the harbour with the help of an outboard motor, smiled faintly. “Well, you wouldn’t be lurking in your office all weekend anyhow. Would you?”

  “I might. My life might really be that sad.” She spoke with humour, since the beguiling ease of friendship seemed to have sprung up between them again.

  She thought this was to do with Aidan rather than her. The sea was like his home. It seemed to reflect in his deep blue eyes. She could almost see the care and tension draining out of him.

  “Is it?” he asked.

  “Is it what?” she countered, and he glanced towards where she sat on the bench just a foot away from him.

  “That sad. Your life.”

  She smiled. “No. I like it. My work’s a pleasure, because it comes with a social life readymade. Believe it or not, I like the lads. They’re fun.”

  “Not many girls want to socialize with ten or more big brothers all the time.”

  “They’re wee brothers,” she said humorously. “I keep them in order.”

  “That’s one thing I meant to ask you. You said yesterday they look out for you. Are there so many occasions they’ve had to?”

  She shook her head. “No. Except the time Glenn beat up Raymond Kemp for me. Although that was more for Izzy, and he did have it coming. And you didn’t hear any of that from me.”

  “Then how do you know they’re looking out for you? Apart from Glenn, whom I’ve seen in action.”

  She shrugged impatiently. “Just little things. We’ve been drinking in some rough places. And then there was New Year, when Len didn’t know the line he shouldn’t cross, and Rab dragged him off me so fast I barely noticed it had happened. All with a joke so neither of us would feel uncomfortable.”

  They’d cleared the harbour and the waves were growing a bit bigger although still calm enough. She felt Aidan’s gaze on her face and deliberately kept it averted. She wished she hadn’t brought up New Year. She’d just wanted to show Aidan how the boys weren’t the scummy, selfish neds he thought they were.

  “What did Len do?” he asked mildly. “To cross that line?”

  “New Year’s kiss,” she said hurriedly. “No big deal, but it was a bit of a lunge and he went for the lips. We don’t do lips. Len knows that now, and it wasn’t even me who had to tell him.”

  “This Rab. He’s the woodworker, yes? Has he got a thing for you?”

  “God, no.” She turned and looked him in the eye while the icy wind swept back her hair and cut into her skin. “Were you just criticising me for mixing work and social life?”

  “I might not advise it as a lifestyle, but I wouldn’t be so hypocritical as to criticize it. I’m the master of that art.”

  “Cops do socialize together. I’ve seen them, sitting around talking shop.”

  “I don’t socialize with other cops. I’m not that kind of a policeman.”

  She blinked, remembering that neither Glenn nor any of the other old lags at the house had smelled him out as police. “What kind of a policeman are you, then?”

  “Undercover.”

  She felt her eyes widen. But it made perfect sense. “Wow. Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Off and on, but my point is, it makes for a very hairy social life.”

  “I can imagine.”

  He smiled faintly, as if he hoped she couldn’t.

  She said, “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Wouldn’t it have been better to infiltrate the project? Oh wait, you have. Glenn and I appear to be working for you.”

  “Yes,” he said calmly, “it would have been better. But there was no time to get anyone in there—these drugs are killing people now—and I had a good reason to be home, while I’d have been rumbled in seconds if I’d come anywhere near the village in the guise of an ex-con. Everyone knows I’m a policeman.”

  “So you invented your resignation to throw everyone off the scent?”

  “Oh no. I resigned before this came up. They just wouldn’t accept it until I did one more job. This one. Then I’m free and clear.”

  “Not sure Iraq’s very free or clear,” she observed. “But to each his own.”

  She gazed out at the gently heaving sea, liking the feel of the boat weaving under her. If there were seals in the water, they were well hidden.

  After a little, Aidan let go of the wheel and cut the motor. Then he climbed over bits of rope and equipment and fiddled with the sail before easing himself down beside her on the bench.

  “Cold?” he asked in a voice that sounded oddly contented. He liked being here.

  “Freezing,” she replied. “You?”

  “Nah. I’m too manly to admit it. I’d be in my shirt sleeves if you weren’t just a girl.”

  “It’s all right. I’ll tell everyone you were.”

  “Thanks. My reputation is saved. I brought some coffee. We can go below to have it, if you like.”

  “No, here’s good just now.”

  Considering how churned up and angry and confused she’d been over the last few days, the companionable silence in which they drank their coffee from the thermos’s plastic lids and watched the seagulls circling and calling overhead was rather unexpected.

  She’d almost not come. When she’d run down the hill anyway, suddenly afraid of being late and having to watch him sail into the distance without her, she’d still been sure she’d regret coming. And yet now she was savouring the cold and the wind and the movement of the boat, and the unspoken thrill caused by his presence. His nearness felt like a gift
, generating gentle, contented butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Strange to feel so much excitement and peace at one time. She was fairly sure no other man could inspire it.

  Over her cooling coffee cup, she watched him scanning the sky and the water, reaching up to make some minor adjustment to the wheel and then going back to some more gazing.

  “What?” he said. “Have I dipped my hair in the coffee?”

  “Not yet,” she threatened. She smiled faintly. “This is your sanity, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “It always was.”

  “Do you have another boat? Wherever it is you live?”

  “No. I don’t really live anywhere for very long. Though I did get to stay on an assassin’s yacht once. At least I could talk nautica with him.”

  “Nautica isn’t a word.”

  “Then it should be. We talked nautica.”

  “Did he try to kill you?”

  “No. He was a nice chap in some ways. I stepped off his yacht in the Grand Harbour of Valetta and never saw him again.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “They arrested him within half an hour, weapons and all.”

  There was a half-dreamy, half-mechanical tone to his voice.

  “And what happened to you?” she blurted.

  His lips curved. It wasn’t a smile. “I can’t remember. I think I went to London to live with football hooligans. They never killed anyone, but they were a lot less fun to be with than my nautical assassin.”

  “Is that why you resigned?”

  He turned his head with deliberation and met her gaze. “Are we having that talk? It was meant to be about you.”

  “I believe mine was brought forward by the suspicion of murder.”

  A shadow crossed his face, but he didn’t look away. “I didn’t mean it to be like that. I just had to know. I couldn’t hold them off you without an alibi.”

  “Then you never thought I’d killed that man?” She couldn’t quite keep the indignation out of her voice or, probably, her expression.

  He only smiled, a hint of gentleness if not quite amusement in his difficult eyes. “I didn’t actually care whether or not you’d killed him. Just that you could be found out.”

  Shock dropped her jaw.

  He lifted his plastic cup in a mocking toast. “And that is why I resigned.”

  She was almost afraid to move in case he stopped talking. Her heart beat as fast as if she were under threat. She said, “You don’t mean that you started to let your friends off with crimes, do you?”

  “I don’t really know who my friends are now. Or why. And crime is becoming a little…elastic. I don’t understand right and wrong anymore. It’s all blurred. Like me.”

  His gaze flickered. He shook the dregs of his cup over the side and fitted it to the top of the flask. “Occupational hazard of undercover work. There’s a danger in identifying too closely with your targets. I decided I was better out of it. For everyone’s sake.”

  As he reached for her empty cup, she caught his hand until he met her gaze. Then she released his hand and touched his cheek. Understanding flooded her, made her ache. He didn’t know who he was anymore. He’d been playing so many unsavoury roles for so long, empathising with so many people whom he’d helped to put away—or even killed, she didn’t know—that he imagined he’d lost himself, his identity. He couldn’t remember, or couldn’t find, the human being he’d once been.

  And yet from the moment she’d met him, his personality had dwarfed everyone else. He might have been broken, but he wasn’t lost.

  “You’re just you, Aidan. You never left.”

  His hand covered hers on his cheek. “You’re very sweet, but you’ve only just met me. You can’t know who I was, what I’ve done or become. What I can do.”

  And that, she thought, scared him more than anything.

  “That’s life,” she said urgently. “Experience. It changes all of us, but it doesn’t kill who we are inside.”

  He searched her eyes. “Are you pitying me, Chrissy Lennox?”

  “No. Maybe. I think I’m empathizing. Does that make you hate me?”

  He shook his head, and the roughness of his cheek rubbed against her palm. “No. It makes me want to kiss you. On the lips.” He brushed them with his thumb, and they parted with shock. “While none of your minders are here to pull me off.”

  No one was here to pull him off. It shouldn’t have excited her. But her breath hitched. She even gave a little upward thrust of her chin, and he smiled and bent his head until his mouth covered hers.

  It was different from last time. Then, she’d almost attacked him, a quick hard kiss that he’d taken control of and made last and last. This one was all on his terms, soft, exploratory, entirely unhurried. His lips felt warm in the cold, tender, seeking, while his hand cupped her cheek, caressing. His tongue slid delicately along her lower lip and inside her mouth. She met it with hers, and the kiss deepened. The butterflies in her stomach swooped and dived as her mouth opened wide for him, kissing him back with an urgency she hadn’t known she possessed.

  They were both breathless when the kiss broke. He glanced at the sea ahead, at the sail and the sky, and then, without a word, returned to kissing her.

  The deck surged beneath her feet. The sea rolled on its way, rushing against the boat while the gulls called their plaintive cry. She tasted salt and coffee on his lips, and something that was purely, deliciously Aidan.

  “Chrissy,” he said against her lips. “Tell me… Am I your aversion therapy?”

  “I’m not averse to you,” she said shakily, and took back his mouth. He gave it with enthusiasm until the kiss reached a natural break.

  “Then, would you like,” he murmured, “to make love with me?”

  She gasped. Her fingers grasped the back of his head, and she buried her face in his throat. It struck her that no words had ever sounded so beautiful.

  “I’m a mess,” she whispered.

  “No, you’re not. You’re the most together person I know. Underneath the mess. Anyway, I like the mess. We have a fellow feeling for each other.”

  She choked a laugh into his throat, then brushed her lips against his skin. “Two days ago, you rejected me.”

  “I don’t want you from anger. Though if you make me wait long enough, I might be reduced to grabbing even that.”

  She raised her head to look into his face. The cold—and perhaps lust—had tinged his cheeks with a ruddy glow. His lips, well kissed, were the most sensual things she’d ever seen. He was sexy, beautiful and all hard, physical male. She melted with lust, trembled with it while he made jokes.

  “Are you serious?” she blurted. “That is, not do you want to marry me, just…do you mean it?”

  He took her face between his hands. “That I want you?” he breathed. “Fuck, yes.” And he took her mouth again with clear intent, a harder, overtly sexual kiss that devastated her from head to her toe. His tongue thrust into her mouth and swirled, left her panting for more. “From the moment I saw you. Every time you look at me or speak to me. Even while you’re shouting at me or hating me. Especially when your eyes laugh. And most especially when you kiss me like that.”

  Enchanted, she kissed him some more, until he dragged his mouth free and hugged her close.

  “So, here’s my plan,” he said into her hair. “In twenty minutes or so, we’ll be close enough to the seal island. We can drop anchor and see if the seals come over for a look. And while we’re waiting, we could go to the cabin below, where there’s a warm and not uncomfortable bed. I could make love to you there. If you want it. I want it so much it’s killing me, but if you don’t, that’s all right too. We can wait, or not bother—your call, Chrissy. Always yours.”

  She swallowed, hard. Although his delicacy warmed her, she didn’t want to wait even the twenty minutes he was offering her to be sure. She wanted to be swept away by the immediate urgency of his kisses and her own lust.

  “It’s a good plan,” she whisp
ered. “But it could be better.” She pulled back, rising to her feet, drawing him with her. Her hands shook.

  His eyes darkened, anxiety warring with naked lust. “Chrissy—”

  “Please.”

  His Adam’s apple wobbled, then, with a jerk, he leaned over and pulled something, and she heard the clattering of a chain. Dropping the anchor. Triumph soared along with massive excitement and something that felt a little like fear. She tugged him towards the cabin entrance. He paused, yanking on a rope that drew in the sail, then opened the door and led her through.

  Chapter Nine There was a short ladder leading down to the cabin. Before she reached the third step, he seized her by the waist and lifted her, as if he couldn’t wait any longer. She fell against him, and his mouth was hot on hers, his hands pushing between them, dragging down the zip of her jacket. She shrugged it off. It landed on the floor at the same time as his, and he smiled against her lips.

  “At last,” he murmured as she wound her arms around his neck. “I get to hold you without that damned coat on.” His hands swept over her back and shoulders and ran down her sides, over the curves of her breasts and waist to her hips, drawing her closer in to him. “Oh yes…”

  She gasped as his erection pressed against her tummy, so big and thick, and he plundered her open mouth, still holding her hips, letting her feel the strength of his lust, giving her the time to get used to it. Although she loved his care of her, she wanted, needed more. It was she who swayed against him, stroking his erection with her body, standing on tiptoe, flinging one leg over his thigh to fit the hardness closer to her hot, aching core.

  She tugged at the neck of his sweater, and obligingly, he broke the kiss to tear it off. Then, his breathing just a little ragged, he held her gaze while he slid his hands under her sweater, slowly lifting it as his palms caressed upward over her breasts. They paused, letting his fingers stroke the aching peaks of her nipples. She closed her eyes in bliss, and then his hands moved on, raising the sweater over her head.

  Beneath it, she wore an old, comfortable top that clung to her rather more closely than was suitable for work. Work and life had merged so much in the last year that her old love of creative dressing had taken a backseat.