Red Rose For Love Read online

  When he had finished with her he stood up to dress, not even looking at her as she huddled beneath the sheet, her body bruised all over from his rough treatment of her.

  He knotted his tie with meticulous care, once again the debonair man he had been when he arrived an hour ago. God, she thought, had it only been an hour! It had seemed like an endless nightmare, leaving her with her body violated. But the scratches she had given him made him a marked man.

  He seemed to think so too, as he studied them in the mirror, a dark scowl to his face. 'Helen will give me hell about this,'

  he muttered furiously, turning to glare at Eve. "What the hell am I supposed to tell her?'

  She was sobbing quietly, feeling as if her body were unclean. 'Why don't you tell her the truth?' she said dully. He gave a tight smile. 'That a little wildcat scratched me? I think she'll guess that. It wasn't a very wise thing to do, Eve, Helen's family have some important connections. I'll have to do penance for weeks to make up for this.' He sat down on the bed, lightly touching her cheek before she flinched away. 'It probably means I won't be able to see you for a few weeks, just until the hue and cry dies down.'

  Eve recoiled from his touch, her disgust for him evident in her eyes. 'You mean you—you intend coming back here?'

  'Of course,’ he laughed throatily. 'You were a bit rough tonight, Eve, but I liked it.'

  'I was rough?' she gasped.

  'Okay, I was too,' he shrugged. 'But you started it.'

  He kissed her hard on the mouth before standing up. 'I'll call you when I can manage to get away. Take care, hmm?’ He walked confidently out of the room.

  'Carl...?' she called after him, but he seemed not to hear her, and the door closed quietly as he left. How .long she lay there in frozen silence she never afterwards knew, and then suddenly she began to cry, deep pain-racked sobs that shook her whole body.

  And her humiliation hadn't been over either; there had been much more to come, humiliation of another kind this time. She had finally fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning, just too weary to leave at that time, confident in the knowledge that Carl wouldn't be back tonight. She had been woken by the insistent ringing of the doorbell, and pulled on her robe and went to answer the door. It couldn't be Carl; he would never ring, she had discovered yesterday that ^e had his own key. A delivery boy stood outside, a huge bouquet of red roses in his hand. 'Miss Meredith?' he asked brightly. She clutched her robe to her, aware of how bedraggled she must look, the cut and swelling on the side of her mouth making it look as if someone had punched her, bruises on her arms and throat.

  'Yes?' Her voice came out husky, her throat sore from all the crying she had done during the night; she seemed to have cried even in her sleep.

  'These are for you.’ The boy held out the roses, waiting expectantly.

  Eve took them dazedly, turning back into the room to find her purse, handing the boy a tip before slowly closing the door. The roses were from Carl, of course, an apology for his behaviour the night before. 'Sorry, darling,’ the card read. 'I love you. Call you soon.’

  He loved her, after the way he had treated her? His idea of love and hers differed greatly, and the sooner she got away from him and out of this apartment the better she would feel. She left the roses on the table untouched, then called Rosemary, one of her old roommates.

  Of course she could sleep over with them, Rosemary had assured her, although she would have to sleep on the sofa, as they had already let her old room. Eve hadn't cared where she slept, it could have been on the floor for all she cared, as long as it wasn't in this apartment, like the kept woman she undoubtedly was.

  She was halfway through packing when she heard the key in the lock. Carl! Heavens, he was back already! What was she going to say to him? What could she do?

  She wiped her hands nervously down her denims, looking very young and vulnerable as she walked out into the lounge. She gasped as she saw the woman who stood there. Helen Prentiss, Carl's wife!

  The woman turned, cool blue eyes raking over Eve's casual appearance with obvious disdain. Her own appearance was impeccable, from her sleek shoulder length hair to the pale blue leather shoes that exactly matched the colour of the fitted blue dress she wore.

  She arched an eyebrow at Eve, glancing fleetingly at the roses, her mouth twisting derisively. 'Miss Meredith?' she drawled, her voice huskily attractive, her precise English accent obviously acquired at a private school. Eve licked her lips, wondering when this nightmare

  was going to end, or if indeed it ever would. 'Yes,' she confirmed shakily. Helen Prentiss picked up the card that lay beside the roses. 'So I see,’ she scorned. 'He's sorry?' she said with amusement.

  'After the mess you made of his face I would have thought you would be the contrite one.' Hard blue eyes suddenly probed Eve's pale face.

  ‘You're the one who did that to Carl, aren't you? My God,' she gave an abrupt laugh, 'don't tell me he's cheated on both of us!'

  ‘No,' Eve bit her bottom lip, 'I—I did it.'

  'Really?' Those hard blue eyes narrowed, a frown marring the beautiful face. 'Strange, you don't look the violent type. Oh well,' she shrugged in a bored voice, 'you never can tell. Would you mind if I sat down?' she asked calmly.

  'I—No. Go ahead,' Eve invited awkwardly.

  The other woman did so, crossing one shapely leg over the other. She was a really beautiful woman, aged about thirty, and Eve couldn't understand why Carl felt the need to be unfaithful to her. Helen Prentiss looked up at her. 'Now what do you intend to do about my husband?'

  Again Eve licked her dry lips. D-Do?' she repeated, shaking her head. 'I don't know what you mean.'

  The other woman sighed. 'How old are you, my dear?'

  'Almost twenty,' she answered awkwardly.

  'You're the youngest to date,' Helen Prentiss drawled in that bored voice.

  'Youngest...?' Eve repeated dazedly.

  'Yes.' The other woman gave an amused laugh. 'You don't think you're the first, do you?'

  ‘I ---_Well, I—I hadn't--'

  'Hadn't thought about it,' the other woman finished dryly. 'Well, to my knowledge you're the sixth one in this apartment.'

  Oh God! Eve dropped into a chair, feeling suddenly faint. She wasn't even the first woman Carl had kept in this way, she was just one in a long line, although by the determined tilt of Helen Prentiss's chin she could be the last. She frowned. 'Don't you mind?'

  Helen Prentiss shrugged. 'The first dozen or so times I did, now I'm past caring. But I have the children to think of. I wouldn't want them to know what a bastard their father is.'

  'I—How old are they, your children?'

  'Nine, six, and four. The last two were attempts at reconciliations,' Helen explained bitterly. 'Not very successful ones.'

  She snapped open her handbag, and took out her cheque-book. 'Now, how much do you want to disappear from my husband's life?' She held a gold pen poised ready to write.

  Eve went even paler, standing agitatedly to her feet. 'I don't want any money,' she choked. 'I'm leaving anyway. I was just packing when you arrived.'

  'Very well.' Helen Prentiss put the cheque-book away, standing gracefully to her feet. She stopped at the door, her expression softening somewhat. 'I'm sorry I had to do this, Miss Meredith.'

  She shook her head. 'You didn't do anything—I told you, I was leaving anyway.'

  Helen Prentiss nodded, her blue eyes shadowed. 'He's a brute, isn't he?' she said resignedly, and left as silently as she had arrived.

  Eve must have broken all records packing her suitcase and leaving that hateful apartment. Carl had telephoned her several times at the fiat, had even come round himself once, only to be turned away by an angry Rosemary. Yes, she had learnt her lesson about men the hard way, but she had learnt it. And now she had another spoilt rich man pursuing her, a man who also sent red roses. But Bartholomew Jordan wasn't going to get anywhere with her, she would make very sure of that.

  CHAPTER THREE
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br />   EVE slept in late the next morning as Derek had said she could, spending a leisurely hour in the bath once she got up. Would Bartholomew Jordan be there again tonight? She had a feeling he would be. The roses arrived as usual, signed 'Bart?' this time. She had to admire his nerve!

  Yes, he was there as she began the concert, his behaviour exactly the same as before, those steady green eyes enigmatic as he watched her. This time he stayed for the full concert, getting up and leaving only as the rest of the audience applauded.

  Eve had felt better tonight, although the feeling of weakness once again washed over her as she left the stage, and that cold clammy feeling was back. Derek caught her as she swayed.

  'What is it?' he asked worriedly, looking down at her pale face.

  'I—I don't know,' she managed to murmur through suddenly stiff lips, the world suddenly seeming very far away, everything looking as if it was at the far end of a telescope. 'I feel—weird.'

  'I would say Miss Meredith is suffering from strain.' Bartholomew Jordan spoke authoritatively from behind them, instantly taking charge of the situation. 'Have my car brought round to the back entrance,' he ordered Derek. 'I'm taking Eve home.'

  'No!' She struggled to free herself as Bartholomew Jordan took over her support, his arm about her waist as he led her effortlessly down to her dressing-room. 'My car should be here in a moment,' he told her as he lowered her into a chair, his quick gaze taking in everything about the room at a glance, the roses he had sent still in their Cellophane wrapping.

  Her legs and arms felt so heavy, her whole body lethargic, the world fading and returning in waves. She was even too weary to fight this man as he seemed to take control, of her and the situation. He came down on his haunches in front of her, rubbing her chilled hands, very attractive in a dark evening suit that made his hair appear even more golden, his tan even deeper. ‘How long have you been like this?' he demanded in that husky voice that spoke of authority.

  She shook her head, trying to clear the fog that seemed to be taking over her brain. 'I—Only just now,' she licked her lips, their dryness making it difficult for her to speak. 'I—I was fine—out there,' she waved her hand in the general direction of the stage.

  His eyes were narrowed to green slits. 'You looked far from fine to me. You've been bordering on this collapse for days,' he added grimly.

  'I didn't collapse!' she roused herself enough to protest. I'm just tired, that's all.'

  'Like hell you are!' he exploded, standing up forcefully. 'Derek had no business letting you continue in this state.'

  Her eyes sparkled deeply blue as she fought back the fog that threatened to overtake her. 'It wasn't a case of

  "letting" me do anything, Mr Jordan. I'm twenty-five years of age, I control my own life, my own actions. And I can find my own way home!'

  'You can take your choice, Eve,’ he said hardly. 'You either go by ambulance or in my car.'

  'I'm going by car----'

  'Then I'm taking you,' he told her firmly, his tone

  brooking no argument.

  'I don't want you to. I-------' Suddenly she started to cry, frowning surprise at her own weakness. What on earth was the matter with her? She never cried, never!

  But she was crying now, the mascara that was supposed to be waterproof running in black streaks down her white cheeks. And she couldn't stop herself, crying and crying, until her body shuddered with exhaustion. Bartholomew Jordan grasped the tops of her arms and shook her gently. 'Stop it, Eve,' he ordered in a commanding voice. 'Come on, pull yourself together.'

  'Pull myself together?' She began to pummel his chest with her fists. 'It's all your fault, all your fault!' she accused brokenly, collapsing against his chest.

  Derek appeared hi the open doorway, frowning his concern. The car is here,' he told Bartholomew Jordan vaguely, his attention on Eve as she huddled against the other man. 'Eve...?'

  'Leave her,' Bart ordered, swinging her up into his arms and striding over to the door. 'I'll want to talk to you later,'

  he muttered to Derek, his expression grim.

  He was infinitely gentle as he made her comfortable in the back of the car, tucking a blanket about her suddenly cold body.

  'Here, you'll need this.' Derek handed him the key to his fiat. 'I can use Judy's,' he added, his worried gaze fixed on Eve's still form.

  'Judy?' the other man rasped.

  'My wife. We'll be along later. I just have to settle things here first.'

  Bartholomew Jordan nodded tersely. 'Very well. I'll stay with Eve until you arrive home.' He climbed into the car next to Eve, at once pulling her into the protective curve of his arm.

  She didn't have any fight left in her, finding comfort in the even rise and fall of his chest, his aftershave sharp and tangy, a nice smell, as was the aroma of the cheroots he smoked.

  She snuggled against his firm warmth, just wanting to rest for a while. He was warm, warm and comfortable, and

  . . . When she woke up the limousine had come to a halt outside Derek's apartment building and Bartholomew Jordan was lifting her out of the car.

  'I can walk,' she told him weakly.

  'I'm sure you can.' His face was only inches away from her own as he carried her inside, the cleft in his strong chin on a level with her ruffled dark hair.

  Adam accompanied them, dismissed back to the car once he had unlocked the fiat door and switched on the lights.

  "Which room?' Bart asked her abruptly.

  'That one.' She lifted her head long enough to point him in the right direction, dropping back weakly into his arms once the deed had been done.

  He marched into the bedroom, not seeming to be bothered by having already carried her up three flights of stairs, the muscles in his arms and chest flexed tautly against her. He lowered her down on to the bed. 'I presume Derek and his wife have the other bedroom,' he said dryly.

  'Yes,' she admitted huskily.

  His mouth twisted derisively. 'So he isn't your lover?' he taunted.

  'Certainly not!' she replied indignantly.

  His mouth quirked into a smile now, the harshness that surrounded him like a cloak instantly dispersing. 'But you enjoyed letting me drink he was,' he drawled.

  'Why not?’ she snapped irritably. 'It was what you wanted to believe.'

  He gave a husky laugh. 'You know damn well it wasn't,' he chided softly. 'Which room is the bathroom?' he asked briskly.

  Eve frowned. 'Next door,' she told him in a puzzled voice.

  He nodded. 'I'll be back in a moment.'

  He was gone more than a moment, finally coming back with a flannel and towel, sitting down on the side of the bed to slowly wash her face with meticulous care. Eve struggled against this added humiliation, but Bart just gave a soft triumphant laugh.

  When he had finished he sat back with a satisfied smile on his face. 'You look wonderfully sexy with all that makeup on,' he told her huskily. 'But without it you look—beautiful.'

  She turned her face into the pillow, feeling suddenly stripped naked. 'I look sixteen,' she mumbled, wishing she had the strength to get away from this man, or at least the words to make him leave.

  'Exactly,' he nodded. 'This is the real you.'

  'I'm all the real me!' She looked up at him defiantly. 'And as you've started you may as well finish,' she snapped,

  'You'll find some cream and cotton-wool in the bathroom cabinet—I need them to stop my skin drying out,' she explained. 'No matter how men like to believe women have naturally soft skin we usually need a helping hand,' she added derisively.

  Long tapered fingers came out to smooth her peachy-cream cheeks. 'You have wonderful skin, Eve,' he murmured, his head bending slightly as he kissed her slowly on the cheek. He sat back, grinning widely. 'Before you put all that gunk on it,' he teased before disappearing into the bathroom again, coming back with the requested cream and cotton-wool.

  Eve was aware of him watching her as she deftly cleansed and creamed her skin, her cheeks bright red fro
m the kiss he had just given her. No man had ever kissed her like that before, an undemanding brotherly kiss. Thank you,' she said huskily as he disposed of the cream and cotton-wool.

  ‘Now for the clothes.' He returned determinedly to the bed.

  'No!' She cringed back against the pillows, her arms folded defensively across her body. 'I can do that myself. I'm grateful for your help, but?-—'

  'We can talk about gratitude some other time,' he dismissed. 'Right now you're going to get undressed and then you're going to sleep.' He helped her to sit up, unzipping the front of the blue cat-suit.

  'Stop it!' Her hands covered the nakedness of her breasts, the snug fit of the cat-suit not allowing for underwear. 'I can do this myself,' she protested at his insistence. '

  He pulled the suit down to her waist with cool detachment. 'I've seen a woman's body before,' he taunted. 'And not all of them as skinny as you,' he told her as he pulled the suit off completely. She glared up at him. 'I am not skinny!'

  'You are, you know,' he frowned as he looked down at her naked body. 'Much too thin,' he added almost to himself.

  "Where's your nightgown?'

  Eve hastily covered herself with the quilt. 'Under the pillow,' she muttered.

  'Lift up, then,' he ordered. 'And for goodness' sake stop acting like an outraged virgin. I doubt I'm the first man to see you without your clothes.'

  Colour flooded her cheeks.. Only Carl had ever seen her naked, and he hadn't been interested in admiring her body but in possessing it. He had only wanted to hurt her, and he had done that, so much so that she had never wanted another man to see her naked again. And now Bartholomew Jordan was looking down at her with calm green eyes, her lack of clothing meaning nothing to him. Except to tell her she was too skinny!

  She sat up, her mouth set stubbornly. 'I can put my own nightgown on, thank you.'

  'Yes.' But he still put the cotton nightgown over her head, pulling it down to cover her body.

  'Shouldn't you be getting home to your wife, Mr Jordan?' she snapped as he looked mockingly at the sack-like nightgown. 'I'm sure her night attire is infinitely more attractive than mine,' she added waspishly. One eyebrow quirked with amusement. 'I don't have a wife, Eve,' he drawled. 'But if I did her night attire would consist of—me,' he finished softly.