Raising himself up on one elbow, he pushed her hair back from her face. “What’s going on, Rebecca? You’re upset.”
She pushed his hand away. “Come on, Max, what did you expect? Why are you pretending? I’m trying my hardest here. You know—to do the responsible, grown-up thing and accept it.” She wavered, hating the betraying tremor in her voice. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t act the part of sulky brat, but it was hard not to when he studied her, his bemused expression on
why are you acting silly?
“Look, I know you’re doing this for my own good—ha, ha, joke—but as much as I know you want what
you
think is right for me, it hurts. It still feels like rejection, and sometimes I hate you for that rational, adult mind of yours.”
“Rebecca—” Reaching out, he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.
“Will you please stop touching me? How can I be mad with you if you keep doing that? You don’t play fair, and let me finish. You always have to have the last word.” She took a gulp of air. “You want to know what hurts most. You couldn’t tell me first. You could have at least let me stay another couple of weeks. I know you’re busy, but I didn’t expect you to be with me all day. A couple of hours would have been fine, and now… I don’t know what this means.” With clenched fists, she wiped away the telltale tears. “Are you sending me away for good? Is this it? Is this all it was? I’m so confused.”
“That makes two of us, my darling.” Encasing her in his arms, he held her tight. “As used as I am to your ramblings, I’m afraid you have me at a loss.”
“Don’t you dare laugh at me, or patronize me, or whatever it is you’re doing, and stop kissing me.”
“But I like kissing you.” Indulgent smile curving his too-enticing lips, he lowered her back down against the pillows. “I am kissing you because I have just figured out why you have reverted to the Rebecca Harding hates Mr. Jackson approach. Would that envelope lying scrunched up on the floor have anything to do with your unwarranted distress? I bet you didn’t even read it, did you?”
Lips on her neck, he played with her shirt buttons.
“What’s there to read?” She faltered for two reasons. One, his touch made it a tad hard to concentrate, and two, she had a niggling suspicion she might, in true Rebecca impulsive style, have made a huge mistake.
“Now, Miss Harding. You disappoint me.” Resting up on one elbow, he reached down to the floor, scooped up the dratted envelope and switched on the bedside lamp. “Did I not instill in you the importance of reading all your notes carefully? It’s so easy to miss something. Open it, please.”
Feeling about as small as a bug and twice as stupid, she ripped it open.
“Well?” He lay back, arms folded behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m waiting. Come on. Dazzle me with your brilliance. A quick synopsis will do.”
“It’s a booking confirmation.” She mumbled, “Quantas Flight No. QF 319. Departing 15:30.”
“Go on. I am not yet dazzled.”
“
Lead name
… Oh.” She let the paper drop to the bed and brought her hands to her mouth. “Oh.” She let out a nervous titter. “Lead name—Mr. M. Jackson. Oops, silly me.”
“Definitely oops, silly you.” Rolling over, he pinned her to the bed, laughter dancing in his eyes. “Did you really think you could get rid of me so easily?”
For a second, Rebecca’s reservoir of coherent thought ran dry. “You’re coming back with me? But I don’t understand? I thought you had to be here.”
“Not anymore.” He slipped his hands under her top and caressed her back. “I don’t want any part of running this company. Rebecca, darling,” he murmured against her hair, “I’m walking away. As of this morning, Peggy is now CEO. It’s all now in her hands, and I’m sure she’ll make a much better job of running it than I ever could.” He chuckled. “Don’t look so shocked. I told you. You are all that matters to me, and I won’t risk losing you.”
Rebecca reeled. “You did this for me?”
“I did it for us. I’m not cut out to be a tycoon, and you, my love, are not ready to be a tycoon’s wife. I wouldn’t want you to be. I love you as you are. I don’t want this life here, Rebecca. I want simplicity. I want to live in a little cottage somewhere down a muddy country lane. I want to make love to you by an open log fire every night and not just when my schedule can fit you in, if you pardon the pun. I don’t want to have to share you with this world. I want us to be happy—me, you, and my friend, Wally. I only want to be with you. Nothing else is important.”
“Oh, Max,” she took his face in her hands and covered him with kisses, laughing and crying at the same time, “I-I don’t know what to say.”
“Now there’s a first.” He raised his eyes to the heavens. “Thank you, God. At last, I have silenced the incorrigible Rebecca Harding, but one more thing, no more discussion about quitting college.”
“Done.” She couldn’t stop kissing him. “I’ll be the best student in the university. I’ll take six degree courses as long as I can come home to you every night.”
“In that case,” reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small, blue velvet box, “I suppose I’d better give you this now. I was going to wait until we were on Fiji, which is where we are going for two weeks, but then if you’d bothered to read on further, you would know that. Anyway, I hope it doesn’t offend your tomboy sensibilities, but I really would be honoured if you would accept this obscenely exorbitant ring.” He flipped open the lid.
Speechless, Rebecca gaped at the exquisite diamond and gold band glittering in the glow of the bedside lamp.
“Now, I am trusting my mother on this.” He took her trembling hand and slipped it on her finger. “She told me you would love it. She says it’s the only classy thing my father ever gave her, and she wants you to have it. So, it’s official. You are now the future Mrs. Jackson. Does that sound okay to you?”
Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her. His lips trembled against hers, and she knew he was overcome by emotion.
“I think I can live with that.” She clung to him, breath sliced from her lungs.
“And now, tell me. How
do
you feel about colonials now?”
“I feel that they are so worth loving, and I will love you forever.”
I was born in Reading UK in 1958. My father is English, and my mother is French. I was educated at various schools before completing Sixth Form College at St Peter’s Huntingdon. I somehow managed to collect A levels in English, French, and History, and I subsequently won a place at Sheffield University where I decided to read Classical Civilization. In 1984, my first husband and I parted ways amicably, and I decided to visit the Ionian island of Corfu to celebrate my new freedom. It proved to be a life-changing decision. I decided that there was more to me than being a mother and wife (although, I hasten to add, it is a worthy assignment.) In 2004, I finally got my head down and began to write seriously. Writing has become my passion. I have always been a "Romantic", often accused of not living in the real world, but who wants to do that? I like to call my work Romance with a quirky, humorous Brit twist, and I am always striving to make my characters real, characters we can all relate to. I hope you all enjoy my world.
* * * *
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MuseItUp Publishing
Written in Stone
Dumped five days before her wedding, Cassandra Hall decides not to waste the honeymoon. She sets off to London. What was supposed to be her dream week turns into a nightmare time of introspect, self-doubt. Then she meets James, literally falling at his feet in an attempt to save his Afghan hound from colliding head on with the traffic.
James is witty, charming, too good-looking and also—not available. Despite this, Cassie is captivated by him. What follows is a week of fun, companionship and a bonding Cassie has never experienced.
James, sensing Cassie’s unhappiness, goes out of his way to make up for her jerk of a fiancé’s rejection. He is drawn to her vulnerability—something he finds disturbing, threatening to shatter all he thought he knew about himself.
Cassie, he senses, is falling in love with him. He ought to back away but cannot. Cassie bravely makes her true feelings known and when he rejects her, he knows he has broken her heart. He is left confused, guilty because…James has a secret.
Chapter One
Cassandra Hall stared across the park. A fresh autumn breeze teased at her shoulders, cool fingers determined to infiltrate the gap between neck and coat. Hastily, Cassie pulled up her collar.
The day was September mellow. Trees whispered to one another, shedding their tiresome load of brown and russet, mocking the aged park attendant as he struggled to keep up with the deepening blanket of leaves. A gentle sky, cream and blue-tinged, held a warm sun. The rays danced upon her knees, and yet Cassie shivered. Her toes felt numb inside her new, wildly expensive boots, but then she was numb all over.
She raised her head, gaze caught by a line of Prussian blue weaving and skipping across the expanse of lush green. Cassie smiled. The frustrated teacher called out, pleading with her pupils to maintain a straight, orderly line, but the excited children ignored her, giggling into gloved hands. A day out in the park was obviously an exhilarating break from the tedium of the classroom. Sighing, Cassie turned her head away. Oh to be five again, innocent, happy, and carefree.
Her gaze drifted across to the lake where lovers made the most of the Indian summer. Gaudily painted rowboats dotted the pewter water, trailed by a lone duck taking his final swim before boarding the last flight south for winter. Cassie wished she could go with him.
The wind picked up, whipping at her hair, carrying with it the infectious laughter of some love-struck couple. Cassie felt sick. Everywhere she turned, reminders of love reared up to slap her in the face. Love. Now that was funny. The way she felt had little to do with love. It was all about betrayal, humiliation. So what could she do about it? Not much. Go home maybe? Cut short her week in London? She dug her hands deep into her coat pockets, clawing at the lining, resentment battling with humiliation in her soul. Martin had paid for this week, and as he oh so generously had pointed out, it would be a shame to waste it. “You should go,” he’d urged her. Generous? No. Insensitive? Definitely.
Jane’s caustic remark bounced around in Cassie’s head. Her best friend had acidly pointed out Martin was just trying to ease his conscience. So be it. A week in London, although alone, beat the alternative hands down. Walking through her home village of Ambury, stoically trying to deflect well-intentioned arrows of sympathy was something she could do without. Besides, Cassie had a sneaking suspicion the villagers’ show of compassion masked their true sentiment. Triumph. Cassandra Hall—prettiest, most popular girl in school—had finally got hers and then some.
“Sod them!” Cassie kicked at a fallen conker. “They can all go to hell.”
Her bravado was short-lived, and a wave of misery crashed over her, seeping into every pore. She wanted to scream out with the unfairness of it all. Once again, she focused on the innocent grey-blue lake. How easy it would be. It must be fairly deep, ten meters or twelve maybe? Who would hear her call out as frigid waters spilled over her head? Would anyone care as the icy depths devoured her?
“Madonna!”
A frantic yell pierced her cloak of self-pity, and she jerked her head around in time to catch a flash of silver-blond disappear into a copse of graceful willows.
“Wait until I get my hands on you, you ungrateful bitch!”
Cassie watched, fascinated, as a man dressed in paisley pyjamas crashed between the trees, desperately trying to catch up with his four-legged prey. She would have laughed except Madonna executed a textbook three-point turn and veered to the right…to the park gates. Cassie’s heartbeat accelerated as imminent tragedy unfolded before her eyes.
He’d never catch up. The dog was much too fast, too agile, as graceful as a gazelle in flight. Gaze flitting to the cacophony of traffic beyond the park fence, Cassie didn’t waste time thinking it through. The glorious silver mane brushed against her legs, and she propelled herself off the bench with hot rod thrust.
Clearly, Madonna didn’t appreciate the heroic gesture. As Cassie and dog rolled among the mulched leaves, the canine yelped its frustration at this undignified rugby tackle. Conveying her pique, she sank sharp teeth into Cassie’s arm.
“Christ!” Cassie gasped. “You little...”
It was evidently a case of “sticks and stones.” The dog strained to get away, her aristocratic head whipping round ready to inflict more incisor damage. Cassie’s arm throbbed, and her knees smarted from being dragged along the ground. But she wasn’t about to give in, and she clung to her prize with pterodactyl tenacity.
“Oh God…hell...bugger!”
Tanned hands deftly unwound her fingers from blond locks and dragged the haughty, unrepentant beast over to the bench seat. Cassie tried to stand, but her legs gave way, and with a painful thump, she fell back onto her backside. Air struggling to fill her lungs, she watched the stranger slide the slip lead over the dog’s patrician head before threading it through the wrought iron latticing.
“Stay there, you revolting animal!”
Madonna, by now, looked bored.
“I’m so sorry…”
Cassie took in a gulp of steadily chilling air and looked up into cerulean blue eyes. Legs still shaking, she took the offered hand and stumbled to her feet.
“Are you hurt?”
His voice was deep, melodious and tender...making her feel curiously vulnerable.
“No.” She bit back a sob of pain. “Yes.”