A Savage Adoration. PENNY JORDANЧитать онлайн книгу.
pale, set face.
‘I was driving slowly enough to be able to stop, and hardly anyone ever uses this lane,’ he pointed out calmly.
Christy knew that she was over-reacting, but it was the only way she could hold at bay her shock at seeing him. She had thought she had managed to avoid him, and it struck her now that she would have much preferred to face him again in the familiarity of her own home rather than out here like this, when she was at such a disadvantage. Again she cursed her own folly in being stupid enough to try and avoid him. Far better if she had stayed at home and greeted him in one of the elegantly expensive outfits she wore for work—outfits that said quite unmistakably that she was an adult.
His eyes monitored her pale face and shaky limbs, his forehead furrowing in a deep frown.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ He reached out to help her, and instinctively she recoiled.
‘Get in the car,’ he told her, still watching her. ‘I’ll run you home. It won’t take me a minute, and as your family doctor, I …’
‘You’re not my doctor!’
The passionate denial was out before she could silence it, leaving them staring at one another, her, tense with shock, and Dominic narrow-eyed with an expression she could not interpret.
‘Christy.’
His voice was clipped now, his dark eyebrows drawn together over those clear grey eyes, the dark head inclined towards her at an achingly familiar angle. ‘Look, it’s pointless us standing here arguing. It’s a good half-mile to the house. Even if nothing’s damaged, a fall like that can be quite a shock.’
Christy knew that it was pointless and childish trying to argue with him, especially with her nerve ends jumping like discordant wires and her heart beating so fast she could hardly draw breath. He was right, she was suffering from shock, but not because of her fall. With a brief shrug she moved towards his car—a brand new BMW, she noticed wryly, staring at the glossy paintwork. He moved towards her, his body brushing against hers as he opened the door. Instantly she stiffened and drew away.
‘What’s wrong?’
Did he really honestly need to ask?
‘Nothing. I just don’t like being touched, that’s all.’
Too late she registered his expression. What she had said was quite true, and it was an excuse she had used so often that she was barely aware of the import of it any more, but as she brushed the snow off her anorak she was suddenly aware of Dominic studying her with a curiously fixed intensity.
Suddenly his mouth twisted, giving him a faintly satanic air, and she coloured hotly, knowing what he must be thinking, but knowing equally that there was no way she could refute his thoughts, or stop him from remembering a time when she had wanted far more than just his touch.
Feeling sick with reaction, she pulled back from the car. ‘I don’t want a lift, Dominic,’ she told him huskily. ‘I’d much rather walk,’ and before he could stop her, she set off down the lane at a brisk pace, not daring to turn round in case she saw him following her.
It was an unnerving sensation, and one that turned her legs to rubber, but at last she made it to the garden gate, and it was only once she was inside that she heard the sound of Dominic’s car engine firing, and realised that he must have watched her walk the whole way.
Well, of course, as a doctor, he could hardly have it said that he had neglected any of his responsibilities. Her mouth curled bitterly as she limped towards the front door.
As she closed it behind her her father called out, ‘Christy, is that you?’ His study door opened and his eyebrows rose as he studied her wet clothes. ‘You’ve just missed Dominic. What on earth happened to you? You look as though you had a fight with a snowdrift and came off worst!’
‘You’re almost right.’
She saw him frown. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes … I fell over in the lane. Fortunately nothing’s damaged apart from my pride. How’s Mum?’
‘She’s coming along very nicely, so Dominic says, but you’ll be able to ask him for yourself tonight. He’s coming for supper.’ He looked guiltily at her. ‘Your mother invited him. She worries about him, living all alone in the Vicarage. You know what a fusser she is.’
So it was Dominic who had bought the Vicarage. Christy’s heart sank as she registered her father’s words. She could hardly fabricate an excuse to absent herself tonight.
‘You needn’t worry about what to cook. Your mother said to tell you that the freezer’s full. We miss Dominic’s parents. The four of us used to have some good times together …’
Guiltily Christy chastised herself for her selfishness. Dominic’s father had died four years ago, and then his mother had gone to live with her widowed sister in Berkshire. They had been her parents’ closest friends, but until now all she had been conscious of was her own relief that their absence meant that there was no longer any reason for Dominic to return to Setondale. But he had returned …
‘Is Mum awake? I thought I’d go up and see her.’
‘Yes, do. She’s complaining already that she’s getting bored, but Dominic has told her that she has to stay in bed at least another week.’
Her mother was sitting propped up against her pillows when Christy walked into her parents’ bedroom. Sarah Marsden was a striking-looking woman, with her daughter’s green eyes and the high cheekbones of the Celtic Scots. She smiled warmly as she saw Christy, and patted the bed. ‘There you are, darling. Come and sit down and talk to me. I’m bored out of my mind lying here, but Dominic insists.’ She watched her daughter carefully as she added, ‘You know, of course, that he’s back?’
Sarah Marsden had far more intuition than her husband, and she was well aware of her daughter’s reluctance to talk about anything or anyone connected with Dominic Savage. She knew about her adolescent crush on him, of course; it had been glaringly obvious, but Dominic had been at pains to treat her gently. She had never fathomed out what it was that had led to Christy’s abhorrence of the very mention of his name, and she knew her daughter far too well to pry. Instead she said calmly, ‘I invited Dominic to come round for supper. A man living on his own never eats properly.’
‘Nonsense, Mum,’ Christy interrupted crisply, ‘there’s no reason why on earth a man shouldn’t be able to take care of himself in much the same way as a woman has to.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t suggesting that Dominic wasn’t capable of looking after himself, Christy,’ her mother corrected gently. ‘I’m sure he can. But as a very busy doctor, I’m also sure that he doesn’t have the time to do more than grab the odd snack. There’s a ragout in the freezer; I thought you might give him that. It always used to be his favourite …’
‘Stop worrying about Dominic Savage and try and get some rest,’ Christy instructed her. Really, her mother was impossible at times! Here she was recuperating from major heart surgery and all she could think about was Dominic Savage’s stomach.
It wasn’t because she wanted to impress Dominic that she took particular pains with her appearance that night, Christy told herself, donning an elegantly sophisticated jersey dress that David had urged her to buy from a shop in South Molton Street.
The camel-coloured jersey, so dull on anyone else, on her was the perfect foil for her copper hair, the knitted material designed to cling lovingly to every inch of her body. Despite the fact that it covered her from throat to knees, it was undoubtedly a dress designed for women with men in mind. Which no doubt was why David had chosen it in the first place, she thought wryly, remembering her own doubts the day she had tried it on. That had been before David had told her how he felt about her. Her mouth compressed slightly as she busied herself blow-drying her unruly curls into sleek copper order.
Now her make-up: just the merest hint of green eyeshadow, and then mascara to darken