Heath swore softly and shook his head. 'You're totally irresponsible, aren't you?'

'Because I made a mistake-'

'Because you made several mistakes,' he grated grimly. 'Not least in letting Fox pick you up in the first place. Wait until I see Ormerod! He should have made sure the tank of the bike was filled. If you hadn't got yourself stranded, you'd never have got into tonight's difficulties.'

'It wasn't Miles' fault.' Helen looked at him mutinously. 'And nothing happened. What's the matter? Don't you trust me?'

'Can I?' He stepped nearer to her, and her breathing quickened at the awareness of his brown skin only inches from her hands.

'You know you can,' she got out chokingly.

'Even when you disobey my orders.'

'What orders?' Helen looked up at him, and his eyes narrowed as he surveyed her puzzled face.

'Last week,' he said, his wine-scented breath stirring the tumbled curls on her forehead. 'When I phoned last week, Angela knew how I felt about Nigel Fox. Didn't she relay that message to you? Didn't she tell you I disapproved?'

Helen shook her head. 'No ...'

'But she did tell you I rang?'

'Mrs Gittens told me actually. Angela-Angela was in bed when I got back.'

'Really?'

'Yes, really.' Helen moistened her dry lips, the pink tip of her tongue unknowingly provocative. 'I wasn't particularly late. It was only about half- past ten. I-I spoke to her in the morning, and we talked about your call then.'

Heath tipped his head back, but his eyes didn't leave hers. 'And what did she say?'

'Well-' Helen was nervous suddenly. 'Nothing about you disapproving of Nigel.'

'Perhaps I didn't make my feelings clear enough,' he declared flatly.

'It's more likely that she wanted me to get into trouble again,' Helen contradicted him fiercely. 'She said if I had a boy-friend, you might start to regard me as an adult.'

He inclined his head towards her. 'Now why should she say that?'

'You tell me.' Helen's eyes were fixed on the fine dark whorls of hair that were visible above the opened neckline of his shirt. 'Perhaps she's jealous.'

'Jealous?' he echoed harshly. 'Angela has no reason to be jealous.'

'Then perhaps you should tell her that,' said Helen tensely. 'She-she told me why you'd really brought her here.'

'And why was that?' he asked distantly.

'To-to be a chaperone,' said Helen at once. 'Or maybe I'm the chaperone, who knows?'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

Heath was regarding her bleakly, and Helen realised she had gone too far to draw back now. 'Oh, I should have thought it was obvious,' she declared, lifting her slim shoulders in a careless gesture. 'Angela's a very attractive girl. Not quite up to your usual standard, perhaps, but acceptable nonetheless. There was no need to invent an occupation for her-I would have understood. I may be naive in some ways, but after living with you for more than fourteen years, I have learned the facts of life!'

Heath's hand curled round the back of her neck with the speed of a rattlesnake. 'What did you say?'

'You heard what I said,' protested Helen, shocked by his unexpected aggression, but trying hard not to show it. 'And-and you're hurting me!'

'I can hurt a lot more than this,' retorted Heath, his fingers imprisoning her throat in a vice-like grip. 'Since when do you think you have had the right to speak to me in that patronising tone? My girl, I should break your b.l.o.o.d.y neck!'

She looked up at him defensively. 'You're not in love with Angela, then?

'In love with Angela?' His mouth twisted impatiently. 'Of course, I'm not in love with Angela. For Pete's sake, where did you get that idea?'

'You like her.'

'She's all right,' Heath shrugged indifferently.

'You always have more time for her than you do for me.'

He swore. 'No, I don't.'

'You think I'm a nuisance,' persisted Helen tremulously. 'Before you went away, you even said you felt sorry for me.'

'Sorry for myself perhaps,' muttered Heath abruptly, releasing her. 'Well, I think you'd better go to bed, Helen.' He steadied himself with an effort. 'Like I said, I'm in no state to have this kind of conversation with you tonight. I'm not entirely sober and you're much too-too-'

'-desirable?' she breathed huskily, and his lips twisted.

'Vulnerable,' he declared grimly. 'Go to bed, Helen. I'll overlook what happened this evening. Just-go to bed.'

Her lips parted. Heath's words were strange, unexpected, disturbing in the unspoken things they hinted. Was it possible? Was it credible? Did Heath really find her attractive after all? Was that why he had released her so abruptly? Because he was aware of his own susceptibility?

Hesitating, she ventured: 'You're not still angry with me, are you, Heath?'

'No.' He spoke flatly.

'You've forgiven me?'

He sighed. 'I've said so, haven't I?'

'Then why are you sending me to bed?' she asked softly, taking a step towards him, and he turned to look at her tormentedly as she hovered at his elbow.

'Isn't one experience enough for one evening?' he demanded harshly.

'Helen, I'm asking you for the last time-leave me, please. I don't want to hurt you, but I may not be able to prevent myself.'

She quivered. 'Nothing you did could hurt me, Heath,' she breathed, feeling the tension like a tangible force between them. 'But if you want me to say goodnight, then naturally, I will.'

'Dear G.o.d, Helen-'

He closed his eyes against the provocative curve of her breast, just visible above the lapels of her wrapper, and she took an unsteady breath before turning away. Heath always had control of the situation, she thought painfully. She was wasting her time imagining that she might ever persuade him to do anything against his will.

She had reached the door when he came after her, and her fingers fell nervously from the handle as his fists slammed against the panels. Turning, her back against its solid frame, she faced him steadily, and he supported his weight on either side of her, looking down into her slightly flushed features with narrowed disturbing eyes.

'I suppose you want to go now,' he challenged her grimly, but she shook her head. 'Then you should,' he added, his thumb probing lightly at her collar. 'And I should let you.'

She drew a deep breath. 'Would you?' she tendered huskily, her fingers brushing the fine silk of his shirt, and she felt the flesh tense beneath her featherlight touch.

'Helen-' he groaned, his eyes moving urgently over her face. 'You don't know what you're doing-'

'I think I do,' she countered softly. 'Aren't you going to kiss me? That is what you're thinking about, isn't it?'

Heath's harsh laugh was self-derisive. 'Oh, yes,' he agreed harshly, his eyes moving possessively down over the rounded curves of her body, 'that is what I'm thinking about. You're right. That, and the awareness that I'm rapidly going out of my skull-'

When his head bent towards her, Helen's lips parted eagerly, but Heath's lips sought the hollow dimple below her left ear. His tongue explored the tiny depression, moving on to search the clefts and contours of her ear itself, his warm breath moistening her skin and causing little frissons of antic.i.p.ation to slide along her spine. She had never known such sensuous sensations in her life, and her shoulder arched involuntarily to meet his probing mouth.

His lips moved on, over the heightened colour in her cheeks to the flickering uncertainty of her eyes, closing each one with kisses, and causing vivid images of his dark face to dance inside her eyelids. Each delicate caress awakened a ma.s.s of quivering senses, arousing her deepest emotions; each succeeding salutation leaving her weak and longing for more.

By the time his lips found her mouth, Helen was desperate for his touch.

Her mouth opened to his like a flower to the sun, and his experimental restraint gave way to a searching sensuality. His lips no longer teased, they possessed, and when he lowered his weight against her, Helen felt as if she was drowning in the taste and the smell and the feel of him. But it was a pleasurable sensation, a thrilling intimacy to feel the swollen muscles between his legs hard against her stomach, and her senses swam dizzily as he slid the silk wrapper from her shoulder.

'Are you wearing anything under this?' he muttered unsteadily, his hands moving up from her waist to the pointed arousal of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and Helen shook her head.

'I was going to bed,' she said huskily. 'You know I don't wear anything when I go to bed. You've seen me.'

'Not like this,' he told her thickly. 'Never like this!' and pressing the silk gown down from her shoulders, his hands sought possession of her body.

She had never had a man touch her like this before. She had never felt a man's hard fingers moulding her firm beauty, filling his hands with her fullness and her softness, feeling her nipples crest into hard peaks against his palms. With trembling fingers, she separated the b.u.t.tons of his shirt and pressed herself against him, her emotions roused to fever pitch by the hair- roughened abrasion of his taut skin.

His hands were at her waist suddenly, loosening the restraining cord and allowing her robe to fall unheeded to her feet. Now when he reached for her, his hands were on her hips, lifting her yielding body to meet his thrusting masculinity, making her aware of how impeding his garments were.

'I want you,' he said against her hair, his breathing as tortured as hers was now, his hands holding her against him with urgent intensity. 'Dear heaven, I've got to have you. You're tearing me apart!'

Helen's answer was to reach up for his mouth, her bare arms around his neck driving him on to that ultimate surrender. With a groan of anguish, he dealt ruthlessly with his own clothes, kicking his boots and socks aside as he lifted her into his arms.

He laid her on the long sofa below the windows, where she had sat the evening after he had delivered the spanking, listening to his and Angela's conversation. Now there was no conversation, only an irresistible need, and the overpowering need to a.s.suage it.

'I'm going to hurt you,' he muttered, cupping her face in his hands and parting her lips with his thumb. 'Forgive me,' he added, covering her mouth with his, and the involuntary cry she uttered was stifled by his pa.s.sionate caress.

For a moment, she panicked, the full realisation of what she was doing- of what she had done-causing her to buck against his crushing weight. But the probing sensuality of his mouth against her parted lips was intoxicating, and the awareness of their undeniable intimacy turned all her limbs to water.

When he started to move, she wanted to protest, half afraid he was going to leave her, but he didn't. Instead, he covered her face with urgent kisses, and his lean frame incited a rhythm she was powerless to resist. What began as an instinctive response to his movements soon became a compulsive lure, a throbbing, expanding need inside her, that only Heath could fulfil. She didn't know what he was doing to her she didn't know where he was taking her, but her limbs grew moist and her scalp felt damp as she surged to meet his demands.

The sudden satiation was unbelievable, a shattering fragmentation of herself into Heath and Heath into her, and he slumped heavily against her, his shuddering body eloquent that he had experienced it, too.

'Oh-I love you,' she breathed, turning her face against his neck, and although he didn't answer her, she was content that he must feel the same.

It was fantastic, she thought disbelievingly; that Heath should have held out for so long. She was meant for him, they were meant for each other, and they must never ever be parted again.

The heavy rhythm of his breathing grew deeper, and turning her head, she saw to her surprise that he was asleep. The arduous journey he had made, added to the amount of alcohol he had consumed, plus the exertion of their making love had all combined to exhaust him, she reflected tenderly.

What a pity they weren't in bed. He could have slept until the morning.

'Heath,' she whispered, endeavouring to wriggle free of him. 'Heath, wake up. You can't stay here.' But no amount of shaking would dislodge him, and although she disliked having to do so, she was forced to extricate herself from beneath him.

He slumped on the couch where she had been without stirring, and she crossed the room quickly to pick up her wrapper. She picked up Heath's clothes, too, folding them carefully before placing them on a chair, and then regarded him anxiously as she considered her options.

Eventually she came to a decision, and letting herself out of the library, she hurried back up the stairs. Heath's room was empty, his bed turned down as Mrs Gittens had left it, and gathering up the embossed cream quilt, Helen carried it back downstairs.

Once Heath was covered with the quilt, she had no further reason to linger. If only he hadn't fallen asleep like that, she thought regretfully. If only they had had a chance to talk together and discuss what they were going to do. As it was, she felt lost and a little tearful, and reluctant to return to her own empty bed ...

It was early when Helen went downstairs the next morning, but her hasty glance into the library proved superfluous. Heath had gone; his clothes, and the quilt she had used to cover him, had all disappeared, and the room was as unoccupied as it generally was at this hour.

Frowning, she made her way to the morning room, only to halt in surprise at the sight of the man she was looking for seated casually at the table.

Heath was eating toast, the morning's paper propped against a jar of marmalade, the remains of a cooked breakfast pushed carelessly to one side.

Helen was astonished that he was up so early when he must still be suffering from jet-lag, but she was delighted to see him. Without waiting for him to greet her, she went quickly across the room to his side, sliding her arms round his neck from behind and bestowing a warm kiss on his ear.

'For Pete's sake, Helen!' His reaction made her wonder if he hadn't observed her after all, and had hoped she would go away again. 'What the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing? Do you want Mrs Gittens to think I've taken leave of my senses?'

His hands about her wrists extricated himself, and he got abruptly to his feet, putting the width of his chair between them. His face was dark with anger, eloquent of the tight rein he was having to put on himself, Helen decided, and she gazed at him uncomprehendingly as he continued to keep her at bay.

'It doesn't matter,' she exclaimed. 'It doesn't matter what Mrs Gittens thinks, does it? After today, she'll know all about us, won't she? I imagine she'll be surprised, but not entirely outraged.'

Heath's mouth tightened. 'What do you mean-after today? What has today got to do with it?'

'Well, we'll be telling her, won't we?' declared Helen reasonably. 'She'll have to know sooner or later. It's not a secret, is it?'

His hands clenched on the back of the carved chair. 'What's not a secret, Helen?'

She bent her head. 'Don't make me say it, Heath. You know what I'm talking about. Stop pretending you don't.'

Heath drew in his breath wearily, and then turned away. 'Oh, yes,' he said harshly. 'Yes, I know. I wish fervently I didn't, but that's hardly relevant now, is it?'

She felt as if someone had just delivered a sharp blow to her solar plexus.

'You-you wish fervently you didn't?' she echoed faintly. 'I'm-I'm afraid I don't understand...'

'You must,' said Heath heavily, turning to face her from some feet away.

'You can't believe that what happened last night is in any way forgivable? For heaven's sake, Helen, why did you let me do it?'

'Why did I-?'

'Oh, yes, yes.' Heath raked his scalp with his fingers frustratedly. 'I know I can't blame you exactly. It was all my doing. But you knew it was wrong.

Why on earth didn't you get the h.e.l.l out of there while you had the chance?'

Helen gulped. 'I didn't want to go, Heath. I-I love you. For me, it was a marvellous experience. Why are you spoiling everything now, when-'