Fated Attraction. Carole MortimerЧитать онлайн книгу.
WHAT on earth …?
Where was she? Jane felt panicked as she awoke fully and didn’t recognise her surroundings. She had been on her way to a hotel—but this wasn’t a hotel, she felt sure of it.
God! The pain when she tried to move …
And with the pain came the return of her memory. The headlights of the car. The pain in her ankle as she turned to hurry back on to the pavement, then the terrible jarring of her hip as she made contact with the hard road.
Raff Quinlan …
She remembered everything about him too now—the way he towered over her in the darkness, his arrogance, his rudeness, the way he had insisted on bringing her to his home despite her protests …
She was almost afraid to look beneath the bedclothes, had a feeling she already knew what she was going to find. Nevertheless she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and lifted the sheet.
Naked.
Completely.
Even the peach-coloured underwear was missing now.
There was something vaguely disturbing about the thought of someone undressing her when she was unconscious from the effect of pain-killers and tiredness because of shock—unfair somehow, and it gave Raff Quinlan an advantage over her that she didn’t like. At the hospital she had been wearing no less than if she had been on a beach, but being stripped naked when she could do nothing to prevent it was—well, it was underhand.
And Raff Quinlan was responsible, somehow she felt sure of that. After all, he had admitted he didn’t have a wife who could have done it.
She looked up sharply as the bedroom door opened after a brief knock.
‘Ah, good morning, my dear!’ A tall woman in a tailored blue dress with a pristine white collar bustled into the room carrying a silver tray that held what looked like a pot of coffee. ‘I hope I didn’t wake you.’ She smiled brightly before putting the tray down on the bedside-table and straightening, a perplexed frown appearing between her eyes as she looked down at Jane.
‘I didn’t realise—— For a moment you looked so much like——’ She broke off, shaking her head. ‘I’m sorry, for a moment you looked so much like—someone I used to know.’
Her smile was only a little strained now. ‘I haven’t even introduced myself,’ she scolded self-derisively. ‘I’m Mrs Howard, Mr Quinlan’s housekeeper.’
And she had obviously never seen Jane before this moment, confirming that she hadn’t been the one to undress her the evening before!
But, remembering the evening before, Jane realised she had started a deception with Raff Quinlan that she would now have to carry on. ‘Jane Smith,’ she supplied gruffly.
‘Cream and sugar?’
‘Sorry?’ She looked up with a frown, the frown clearing as she realised the housekeeper was pouring her a cup of coffee. ‘Oh. Both. Thank you,’ she accepted with a tight smile.
What was that saying, ‘When first you practise to deceive’ …?
Sitting up to actually take the offered cup of coffee wasn’t as easy as it should have been, either. Every movement caused her pain, and there was her nakedness to consider. Not that she was at all shy about that, she just didn’t know what explanation Raff had given this woman for her being here, and her nakedness might look a bit suspect, in the circumstances. If Raff had felt he owed his housekeeper an explanation at all! Somehow she doubted it.
‘Jane Smith?’
Her frown returned as she looked up from securing the sheet more firmly about her breasts, not quite as awake as she would have liked to have been, the pain-killers seeming to have left her with a slightly muzzy feeling in her head.
She took the coffee-cup from the other woman, spilling some of the hot liquid into the saucer as her hand shook slightly. ‘Sorry,’ she grimaced. ‘This is much appreciated.’ And it was, for her mouth felt like sandpaper.
She decided to ignore the reference to her name; it had already been discussed enough, one way or another! But sipping the coffee made her realise she had a sudden urgency to find a bathroom!
Her suitcase was just visible behind the bedroom chair, and she had no reason to suppose any of her things had been unpacked and placed in the spacious drawers of the dresser. And, unfortunately, the last time she had seen the wrap she had brought with her it had been strewn across the road soaking up muddy water like a sponge. In fact, most of her clothes had been doing the same thing. But she could hardly stay in this bed forever!
In fact, she couldn’t stay in it another minute longer, with her predicament becoming more and more desperate by the second!
‘My dear?’ Mrs Howard seemed to sense her discomfort, if not the reason for it.
Jane’s smile was strained. ‘I don’t seem to be wearing a nightgown, and—well, I need to …’
‘Oh, my dear, how thoughtless of me!’ The other woman instantly looked contrite. ‘Your things are all laundered downstairs. Mr Quinlan explained about the catch breaking on your case, and all your beautiful clothes getting muddy. I’ll just pop down and get them,’ she reassured her.
Jane waited only as long as it took the other woman to leave the room before struggling out of bed and into what she could see was the adjoining bathroom.
She was more than a little shaky on her legs, and each movement across the room was an agony, but she finally made it, her relief immense once she had done so.
She could think clearer now too and, although her accident the night before had delayed her returning home to Jordan, it had only done so for that one night; now she would have no choice but to go back. She had been so sure she could succeed on her own a week ago, but now she was defeated, knew he was right—that she needed him and the money to survive.
She closed her eyes in shame at the pained memories of the last week—of one rejection after another, one humiliation after another. She had been so sure she could look after and support herself, and instead she had found how ill-fitted she was to do the latter, at least. And without the qualifications and means to support herself she wasn’t capable of being independent.
Of course, there were a lot of young women in London who couldn’t get a legitimate job and who therefore found some other means of supporting themselves, but even going back to Jordan had to be better than that alternative. Better the devil she knew than ones she didn’t know, she had decided last night when she’d packed up to go home. Much as she hated the thought of Jordan’s gloating self-satisfaction in being proved right about her dependence upon him.
The housekeeper still hadn’t returned to the bedroom by the time she had finished in the bathroom, and so Jane hobbled as best she could across the room, giving a gasp of horror as she caught sight of her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. Her hip seemed to have turned all the colours of the rainbow now, the bruising having spread further and deepened.
She might not want to stay in bed, but she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to bear the pressure of normal clothing against her tender flesh.
She looked at her reflection critically, trying to see her body from a man’s point of view. Her skin was quite tanned—it was summer, after all—and she had the usual smattering of freckles that most people with her colouring were afflicted with, although not so many that it could be thought unattractive. Firm breasts were tipped with delicate coral pink, fuller than her other slenderness would imply, but proudly uptilting. Her waist was slender, her hips boyish, her legs surprisingly long and well-shaped for her five-feet-two-inch height. Like a long, leggy filly, Jordan always said.
Jordan. Jordan. Jordan.