His Cousin's Wife. Lynsey Stevens

Any vestige of youth that had remained when she’d last seen him had gone. The harder planes of his face made him look older than his thirty-two years.

      Yet it wasn’t age so much, part of her reflected almost unemotionally. He had the look of a man who had been pushing himself too hard for too long. The bright light she remembered that sparkled in his brown eyes had gone, as though some inner part of him had died.

      But she was being fanciful, surely. He was just as attractive, as tall, as broad, as potently masculine.

      His light sweatshirt moulded his well-developed shoulders and his dark denim jeans were hugging his muscular thighs. Shea’s mouth went dry and she raised her eyes guiltily from that part of his body to find his gaze resting guardedly upon her.

      ‘How are you, Shea?’ he asked softly, his deep voice playing over her like a mellow melody, so effortlessly familiar, arousing her with horrifyingly well-remembered ease.

      She shrugged in acknowledgement of his polite enquiry, and she found herself fighting an impulse to pat an imaginary escaped tendril of fair hair back into her loose chignon. Speech at that moment was an impossibility as her heartbeats thundered in her dry throat.

      The studied expressionlessness on his face gave her no insight into his thoughts but she just as suddenly sensed that perhaps he may not have approached her had it not been for good manners and family propriety. It would have looked strange if he didn’t speak to his only cousin’s wife.

      And what had she expected? she asked herself angrily. Did she think he’d go down on his knees and beg forgiveness? That his eyes would burn again with that same all-consuming passion?

      Fantasy, Shea Finlay, she chided. Pure fantasy. Well, his so obvious feeling of antipathy was most definitely mutual. Her stony coldness told him so.

      Yet inside she was a mass of contradictory sensations.

      ‘I had every intention of calling in to see Norah this afternoon,’ Alex was continuing evenly, ‘but I was held up at the house. I didn’t expect you’d be here at this meeting.’

      ‘I attend all of these meetings,’ she told him with a faint lift of her firm chin, guiltily shoving aside the knowledge that her attention tonight had rarely been on the business at hand. ‘I’m concerned about the future of the town.’

      He nodded. ‘More people should be.’

      David chose that moment to cough softly beside Shea, moving closer to her, his hand going to her elbow, and Alex’s eyes narrowed on the solicitous gesture.

      ‘This is David Aston.’ Shea reluctantly made the introductions. ‘He works for the major real estate agency here in town. David, meet Alex Finlay.’

      David released her arm and held out his hand. ‘Shea tells me you’re her long lost cousin.’

      Alex’s dark eyebrows rose imperiously as he slowly took David’s extended hand. ‘Cousins by marriage. We’re not blood relations.’

      Something in his tone made David shift self-consciously and he turned back to Shea. ‘Well, shall we go?’

      ‘I’d like to talk to you, Shea,’ Alex said, pointedly ignoring the younger man, and Shea glanced irritatedly at the time.

      ‘It’s late.’

      ‘Not too late,’ he cut in determinedly. ‘I’ll drive you home.’

      ‘Shea came with me,’ David stated, obviously piqued by the turn of events.

      ‘I’m sure you won’t mind this time, mate.’ Alex produced his practiced, disarming smile, which Shea noticed didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘I want to see Norah so it seems I can save you the trouble of dropping Shea off. I go that way anyhow.’

      David drew himself up to his full height, a few inches shorter than Alex, and was about to argue the point. Somehow, Shea knew he would come off second best to this older, so sure of himself Alex, and she put her hand apologetically on the young man’s arm.

      ‘It’s all right, David. I’ll go with Alex this time. But thank you for giving me a lift to the meeting.’

      David’s chin jutted belligerently but he relented and, with a curt goodnight, he reminded Shea he would be seeing her tomorrow and walked away, leaving Shea with Alex.

      ‘Shall we go, too?’ he suggested, motioning for Shea to precede him to the door and she could only do as he bade her.

      Appearances must be kept, she taunted herself disparagingly as she strode through the doorway and down the loose wooden stairs. And Alex was right behind her. She could feel him with every step she took.

      Shea quickened her pace, but once around the corner and into the parking lot she paused, looking about the semi-lit area for a car that Alex might be likely to be driving.

      Her breathing was shallow and she made herself move forward again until she put her hand shakily on the solidness of the first car she came to, as though the familiarity of its cool metal would help her keep a hold on her composure.

      His footsteps crunched loudly on the gravel as he caught up to her and her sensitised nerve endings vibrated until she could almost physically feel the touch of his body as he drew closer to her.

      He hesitated then, too, and in the cacophonous silence that swelled about them Shea felt her heartbeats accelerate until the sound of them rose to almost deafen her. And then he moved around her so tense body to unlock the front passenger door for her. He stood back just as the lights of another departing vehicle flashed over them, illuminating the dark and gleaming duco of a low-slung Jaguar XJS.

      Her lips twisted wryly. Alex had always wanted a Jag. It had been his teenage dream. Now he had one and his dream had become reality. It was a pity, she thought caustically, that he’d had to sell himself to get it.

      As she moved jerkily forward his hand went to her elbow in an unconscious gesture of assistance. That fleeting touch burned Shea’s skin and she drew a quivering breath as she all but fell into the seat in her haste to break that scorching contact. And then he was striding around the front of the car to slide into the driver’s seat beside her.

      Moistening her dry lips with her tongue tip Shea admonished herself as the silence screamed. Say something! Anything! She had to make an effort at mundane conversation, not sit there like a stuffed dummy. She had to show him how little his return meant to her. She had to be cool, civilised, unperturbed.

      Unperturbed? She bit back a laugh. Somehow she didn’t think a racing pulse, a tightness in the chest and paralysed vocal chords were exactly the most common signs of composure.

      It was a caustic, unpalatable pill to have to swallow, that Alex Finlay still had the power after all these years, after all he’d done to her, to scatter those hard-won remnants of self-possession to the four winds.

      And Alex seemed just as loathe to make an attempt at conversation. Glancing sideways at him Shea was unable to read anything into his shadowed features. The tilt of his chin, the line of his square jaw, only brought back aching memories and her. fingers balled into fists, nails biting into her palms.

      The heavy seconds stretched into a couple of interminable minutes that seemed like hours and the silence grew impossibly heavier. Now Shea felt instinctively that he was watching her. The electric tension sparked between them, flaming, growing, until Shea thought she could bear it no longer. Then he spoke.

      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘HOW’VE you been, Shea?’ he asked huskily.

      How did he think she’d been? she wanted to scream at him. Did he imagine a broken heart was fatal? Did he think she’d fallen apart, so far apart that she’d never be able to pick up the pieces? Well, she hadn’t. She very nearly had. But the pieces had been back in place long ago, super-glued, and she’d never let anyone do what he did to her again. Not ever.

      ‘I’m fine.’ She shrugged, her voice only