Melting Fire. Anne Mather

nothing, thanks.’ Olivia shook her head. Then, as Eliza turned away, she added: ‘I’ll be at the pool, if you want me.’

      Leaving Jess to prowl in the shade, Olivia walked through the garden room and out to the patio. Richard had furnished the room which had been the previous owner’s breakfast room as a comfortable sun lounge, with sliding glass doors opening on to the tiled patio. On cooler days it was pleasant to use the garden room, combining all the benefits of a south-facing position with none of the draughts that sitting outside afforded.

      The pool area was sheltered by a circling trellis hung with rambling roses and other climbing shrubs, and the pool itself lay green-based and inviting, within its mosaic of terrazzo tiles. Olivia went and dipped her hand into its chilly depths, and shivered at its coldness. But it would be refreshing later, after she had let the sun overheat her too-pale skin.

      Dragging a striped lounger into the direct rays of the sun, Olivia rolled the legs of her jeans up to her knees and stretched her length. It was gloriously hot, and she closed her eyes against the glare, thinking how lucky she was. She could hear Thomas somewhere near at hand, using the motor mower, but apart from this there was no other sound except the steady humming of the insects that skimmed the surface of the pool

      She drowsed, occasionally lifting a languid hand to brush away the more daring insects who came to disturb her slumbers, and thought lazily that very soon she would have to go indoors in search of some protection cream.

      She wondered idly where Alex was this morning. She had not seen him since her arrival the previous afternoon, but that was not unusual. Although he stayed at the house, he seldom intruded on family meals, and when Richard wasn’t here he divided his time between Copley and London, handling all her stepbrother’s business affairs in his absence.

      The distant drone of a car’s engine seemed a long way away, and she assumed someone was going up the lane to the farm that lay beyond the estate. Arnold Foster farmed at Low Cross, and his daughter, Shelley, was a friend of Olivia’s. She supposed she would have to contact her within the next couple of days and let her know she was home, if Mrs Morrison hadn’t already spread the news, but for the present she was content just to relax for a while.

      Rolling on to her stomach, she untied the knot holding her shirt in place and wriggled out of it, dropping it carelessly on to the ground beside her. No one was likely to disturb her, least of all Alex, she mused wryly, and if anyone did come she could easily put it on again.

      The plastic cushion of the lounger yielded as she subsided again, exposing her shapely back to the sun. There was something rather sensuous about lying there half naked, and she wondered what it would be like to sunbathe without any clothes at all. It was not a circumstance she was likely to experience, she decided, unless she married someone who had a private beach somewhere. She didn’t think she would like to expose herself to all and sundry. That didn’t sound at all inviting.

      The drop of icy water that splashed on to the centre of her back almost brought her upright with a start. But in time she remembered her state of undress, and lay there frustratedly, wondering who would do such a thing. She twisted her head round and her eyes widened disbelievingly as they moved up over suede boots and long powerful legs, presently clad in fine grey worsted, lean hips where the lap of his jacket was pushed aside to allow one hand into his trousers’ pocket, a pale grey silk shirt and matching tie, pulled away from his unbuttoned collar for coolness, to the dark amused features of her stepbrother. He was holding a half empty glass of lager in one hand, and it was the condensation from this which he had deliberately allowed to drip on her spine.

      ‘Rich!’ she cried excitedly, and uncaring of propriety, she jack-knifed backwards and flung herself at him.

      ‘Hey!’ he muttered protestingly, keeping his balance with difficulty, as he endeavoured to retain the lager in his glass while preventing her from catapulting them both into the pool. ‘There’s no need to strangle me!’

      ‘I’m not trying to strangle you,’ she declared, drawing back from his involuntary embrace with reluctance to gaze eagerly up at him. ‘Oh, Rich, it’s so good to see you again!’

      ‘It’s good to see you too, kitten,’ he assured her dryly, but lazy green eyes, between the thickest lashes she had ever seen on a man, drooped questioningly to her uncovered bosoms. ‘Though I trust you don’t greet all our callers with the same permissiveness.’

      Only then did Olivia become aware of her breasts pressed against the silky texture of his shirt, the muscles of his chest hard beneath. Surprisingly, she wasn’t embarrassed, she realised. Richard had seen her unclothed on frequent occasions when she was younger, and in any case, it was too late now for false modesty.

      ‘I was sunbathing,’ she explained lightly. ‘I’m not embarrassing you, am I? You’ve seen me before, without protest, haven’t you?’ she teased. ‘Alex thinks I have a nice figure.’

      She winced in dismay when his hand suddenly closed about the nape of her neck, his thumb pressing her chin up so that she was forced to face him. ‘Bishop hasn’t seen you like this, has he?’ he demanded, and she could tell from his expression that he was furiously angry.

      His change of mood was so unexpected that she could only stare at him for several seconds, fighting back the tears of pain his cruel grasp was bringing to her eyes. Then, with a gulping sob, she wrenched herself away from him, snatching up her shirt and pulling it over her shoulders.

      ‘No,’ she retorted, and she was annoyed to find her voice was tremulous. ‘Of course he hasn’t. What do you take me for?’

      There was a moment’s silence, and then, as if having regained control of himself, Richard caught her arm and swung her round to face him as she struggled to tie the knot again. Brushing her shaking hands aside, he completed the operation, before taking a deep breath and saying: ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.’

      Olivia, whose gaze had been glued to her toes while he tied the ends of her shirt beneath her breasts, lifted her eyes reluctantly. She felt indignant that he should arrive home twenty-four hours after she had without a word of apology, and then get so angry just because she had spoken facetiously. It was she who should be angry with him, she thought, but looking up into his lean intelligent face, she knew she couldn’t be. She had so looked forward to seeing him, and now he was here, and already they were on the verge of a fight.

      ‘Oh, Rich!’ she mumbled helplessly, stretching out her fingers and twining one inside a buttonhole of his jacket, and he bent and deposited his glass on the table nearby.

      ‘Come on,’ he said dryly, ‘let’s kiss and make up!’ and with a rueful smile she lifted her face to his.

      His mouth came down on hers, his hands holding her shoulders, not cruelly now, but warmly, familiarly, the long fingers probing inside the sleeveless shirt to stroke the sun-warmed skin. He had kissed her before, many times, he liked to kiss her, she thought, and she liked him to be happy. But this time it was different, this time her lips parted in remembrance of Jules’s kiss, and Richard responded with an urgency that was alien to her. He kissed her deeply, lingeringly, and while her senses were spinning her mind was rejecting what her instincts told her. This was her stepbrother, her guardian; the man she had always regarded as the mentor in her life, and her eyes had opened, seeking wildly for some way to escape him, when she saw Alex Bishop watching them from the sliding doors of the garden room.

      With a gulp she tore her mouth from Richard’s, taking a step backwards and saying jerkily: ‘He—hello, Alex.’

      Richard seemed unperturbed, however. With a wry glance in her direction, he turned to Alex Bishop, loosening his tie as he asked: ‘Did you make the call?’

      ‘Yes.’ Alex, his face slightly embarrassed, stepped on to the patio. ‘I’m sorry if I interrupted anything …’

      ‘You’re not interrupting anything,’ declared Richard easily, smiling at Olivia, and she felt a ridiculous sense of relief. This was the Richard she knew and loved, and she was glad she had not embarrassed them both by treating his kiss as