A Rogue And A Pirate. Carole Mortimer

steely. ‘I don’t make mistakes, Caity. I want you. And a minute ago you wanted me too——’

      ‘No,’ she denied heatedly.’ I told you, it was a mistake. I have to go in now.’ She swallowed hard, wishing she had found the strength to go in earlier, much earlier.

      He gave an abrupt inclination of his head. ‘I’ll be seeing you——’

      ‘No,’ she told him sharply, haltingly turning to look at him, realising how wrong she had been to let him know where her home was. He could cause so much trouble for her if he chose to! ‘I don’t want to see you again.’

      ‘I’m afraid that’s impossible.’ He shook his head. ‘You see, I——’

      ‘You aren’t listening to me! Can’t you take no for an answer?’ she snapped impatiently.

      ‘You weren’t saying no to me a few minutes ago,’ he shrugged.

      ‘Well, I’m saying it now,’ Caitlin rasped. ‘I don’t want to see you ever again, Mr McCord. Do I make myself clear?’

      ‘Very,’ he drawled, very relaxed as he sat back in his seat watching her.

      ‘Good.’ Her eyes flashed before she stepped out on to the gravel driveway. ‘Once again, thank you for the lift home.’

      ‘Believe me, it was my pleasure,’ he mocked. ‘All of it.’

      She slammed the door in his face, standing on the top step to watch the car—and Rogan McCord!—go out of the driveway before turning to enter the house.

      As she had known they would be, her parents were still in the lounge, both of them night people, enjoying a game of chess together as she entered the room. They looked so endearingly familiar, her father so big and strong, her mother so small and feminine, that for a moment she was able to banish the madness she had known in Rogan McCord’s arms as she returned their warm smiles.

      When her mother smiled she didn’t look much older than Caitlin, her hair as red as her daughter’s despite her fifty years, her face beautiful and unlined. ‘Did you have a nice evening, darling?’

      ‘Not particularly.’ She went on to tell them of the disappointing time she had had—omitting the part about Rogan McCord. That had been disturbing, not disappointing!

      ‘What a shame,’ her mother sympathised.

      ‘Damned thoughtless, I call it,’ her father bit out, he was a big bluff man of fifty-five, his hair having been iron-grey for as long as Caitlin could remember. Her brother Brian was hoping his brown hair would go the same colour so that he could look as distinguished as their father. ‘Gayle could have called you,’ he added with a frown.

      Exactly what she had thought! ‘I think I’ll get off to bed now; I have a hectic day tomorrow.’

      ‘Of course, dear.’ Her mother smiled her sweetly serene smile.

      The conversation with her parents had helped calm her a little, and she held off thoughts of Rogan McCord while she showered and changed for bed, although once she lay in the darkness he wouldn’t be banished as easily; warm green eyes haunting her mind, that firmly sensuous mouth that could wreak such havoc with her senses, making her behave in a way she hadn’t believed she was capable of.

      She turned over with a sob, her breathing coming to a ragged halt as the moonlight gleamed on the white dress that hung outside her wardrobe. A wedding-dress. Her wedding-dress.

       CHAPTER TWO

      IT had been a long and tiring day, her last at work for some time; she and Graham were going away for a two-week honeymoon after their wedding. But at least these two weeks with her new group of children for the year had helped cement a relationship that she hoped the children would remember until she returned. And by that time her name would have changed from O’Rourke to Simond-Smith. It was quite a mouthful for small children, but Graham’s family wouldn’t hear of using just Simond or Smith.

      The last few weeks had been so hectic, but the weekend would see the culmination of all their plans. Saturday was her wedding day to Graham.

      Caitlin had tried so hard not to think of Rogan McCord today, but it was difficult not to remember her wanton response to the man. She had wanted him to go on kissing and caressing her. Who knew where it might have ended if she hadn’t come to her senses! She had blushed profusely at lunch-time when Paul Raymond had delivered her car to the school and asked if she had got home all right.

      After that thoughts of Rogan had been impossible to put from her mind, and the last thing she felt like facing tonight was a family dinner party. But her mother had made the arrangements weeks ago, and she couldn’t disappoint her. Besides, she needed this time with Graham, to sort out her feelings for him. God, it was a bit late in the day to start having doubts about their marriage now! But the disturbing memory of her response to Rogan McCord wouldn’t go away.

      ‘You look lovely, darling,’ her mother complimented, entering Caitlin’s bedroom after a brief knock.

      She knew the black of her dress set off the fire of her hair, although that had been subdued to a burnished bronze by the loosely swept-up hair-style that left several loose tendrils framing the oval of her face. ‘So do you.’ She put her arm companionably through the crook of her mother’s, several inches taller than the tiny woman at her side.

      ‘Brian and Beth have arrived, but Graham rang a short time ago to say he would be slightly late; he’s been delayed at the office,’ she frowned. ‘He and his parents should be here soon, though.’

      Why did Graham have to be late tonight of all nights, when she needed to see him so badly!

      ‘—your father was sure you wouldn’t mind,’ her mother was saying.

      ‘I’m sorry, Mummy.’ She shook her head with a guilty grimace. ‘I wasn’t listening.’

      Her mother gave her an indulgent smile. ‘Thinking about Saturday?’

      ‘Yes,’ she confirmed shakily.

      Her mother squeezed her arm. ‘You’re going to be a beautiful bride.’

      What woman wouldn’t in the gown that had cost a small fortune? Oh God, if only she had never met Rogan McCord!

      ‘I was just explaining earlier that—well, you can see for yourself now,’ her mother said brightly as they entered the lounge.

      ‘See what for myself?’ She frowned her puzzlement. ‘Mummy, what——.’

      ‘I think your mother was just trying to tell you that I’m their guest,’ cut in an arrogantly mocking voice that she had hoped never to hear again!

      All the colour drained from her cheeks as she turned to face her tormentor. Rogan was wearing a black dinner-suit and snowy white shirt tonight, but even those trappings of civilisation couldn’t disguise his rakish, rather than polished, attraction.

      What was he doing here? How had he managed to wangle an invitation to a family dinner from her father? By the look of the half empty glass in his hand he had been here for some time!

      Before she could make any comment to his mocking statement Rogan put out his hand. ‘I’m Rogan McCord,’ he introduced himself unnecessarily. ‘A business associate of your father’s,’ he added derisively.

      He wasn’t going to give her away to her family! Why wasn’t he?

      A business associate of her father’s, he said. Since when? Today, perhaps? She looked at him suspiciously.

      ‘Poor Rogan has been staying at a hotel the last few days,’ her father put in sympathetically. ‘I wouldn’t hear of that continuing once he told me; I insisted he stay on here until our business is concluded.’

      The