Engaged to Jarrod Stone Page 5

  But that didn’t stop her feeling attracted to him now, didn’t stop her being completely aware of him. She should have remained adamant when she had handed him back his ring and not been browbeaten into putting it back on. But she wouldn’t marry him, no matter how she had committed herself in the hearing of all those people. She wouldn’t be strong enough to hold out against him, and she had no intention of being his wife while he had the other woman as his mistress.

  She looked away from the warmth in his grey eyes. ‘Your family want you to get married?’

  ‘My brother and sister consider me quite ancient not to have settled down, as they put it, with a family of my own. I’m sure you think the same way, you’re about their age,’ he said almost thoughtfully.

  ‘You could hardly marry when the woman in your life is already married,’ she put in bitchily, still reeling under his potent attraction—and resenting every moment of it.

  ‘That’s true,’ he agreed mildly. ‘I think my family are going to like you. You have my mother’s way of thinking, black is black and white is white and grey is just a lighter shade of black.’

  ‘I wouldn’t consider you grey, Mr Stone. You’re definitely black.’

  ‘As the devil, hmm?’ he mocked.

  ‘Himself,’ she nodded agreement.

  ‘My mother is going to love you,’ he smiled. ‘She considers my behaviour reprehensible.’

  ‘I think I’m going to like your mother too.’

  Jarrod watched her closely, that smile still on his lips. ‘You’re not at all as I imagined you to be.’

  ‘As you—as you imagined me to be?’ She sounded her surprise. ‘I didn’t think you even knew I existed.’ This conversation was proving interesting.

  ‘Oh yes.’ He settled back more comfortably in his seat, stretching his long legs out before him. ‘Can you see me missing a beautiful woman?’ he taunted. ‘You always looked a cool little thing, sitting there behind that huge desk, always neat, always tidy.’

  ‘I’m not little,’ she said crossly. ‘You keep calling me that.’

  ‘You seem little to me, you must be at least a foot shorter than me.’

  ‘I should think so, you’re at least six foot two.’

  ‘Six four actually.’

  ‘Well then. At five foot two I consider myself medium height for a woman.’

  ‘You see what I mean, your appearance is deceptive. You’re a fiery little thing, quite surprising really.’

  ‘I have a temper like anyone else, but I’m not fiery,’ Brooke denied.

  ‘Oh yes, you are. I never would have thought it with those pansy blue eyes of yours.’ He sat up suddenly, his look cool again. ‘Isn’t it time you disappeared like Cinderella?’

  Brooke stiffened. ‘I don’t consider myself to be in the least like Cinderella. But I mustn’t keep you from your—your friends. It’s only eleven-thirty, I’m sure you have no intention of going to bed yet—at least, not your own.’

  ‘You see, another surprise.’ He didn’t appear to be angered by her words, more amused. ‘I wouldn’t have thought the sweet little thing I considered you to be capable of such terrible thoughts. Charles Howard may be away from home, but I have no intention of sharing his wife’s bed in his absence.’

  Brooke turned to open the car door. ‘Then maybe it will be your own bed you occupy, but not alone.’

  ‘I never sleep alone,’ he told her softly. ‘I have a rather large cat called Rupert who insists on sleeping at the foot of my bed.’ He laughed openly at her indignation. ‘You shouldn’t jump to conclusions, little girl.’

  ‘Will you stop calling me that!’

  Jarrod shook his head slowly. ‘I think perhaps I should keep reminding myself that’s what you are. You can be quite attractive when you’re angry. But I don’t play with little girls,’ he added hardly.

  She thrust the door open far enough for her to get out. ‘Goodnight, Mr Stone!’

  ‘Brooke!’ He stopped her just as she was about to slam the door shut behind her.

  ‘Yes?’ she asked tautly, deliberately averting her head.

  ‘I’ll pick you up at two-thirty tomorrow, that way we’ll arrive in time for tea,’ he informed her.

  ‘How nice,’ she retorted sarcastically. ‘Are you sure that when it comes to dinner I’ll know which knives and forks to use?’

  With a slam of his own car door he came quickly round to her side, wrenching her startled face round to meet his look. ‘You can dislike me all you want, Brooke, but leave my family out of this vendetta you have against me. I won’t have you being sarcastic about any member of my family. Don’t you think it’s time you snapped out of this persecution complex of yours, stop thinking everyone is putting you down all the time?’

  ‘Why, you—’ Her hand flew up, but it never made contact with his arrogant face, his fingers passing round her wrist and squeezing so tightly she felt sure he had cut off her circulation. ‘You bast—’

  ‘Don’t say it, Brooke,’ he threatened. ‘That’s the foulest word in the English language.’

  Her eyes were purple with feeling. ‘Then it suits you perfectly!’

  ‘You little hellcat!’ he said fiercely. ‘If you have to hate me I might as well give you a damn good reason for it!’

  He pulled her roughly against him, bending his head to loom over her for several long seconds. Brooke watched him as if in a dream, watching as he slowly lowered his head, his lips claiming hers in a kiss that was totally savage. He forced her lips apart, his arms like steel bands as she struggled to be free.

  He persisted in that kiss until all the fight went out of her, her whole body feeling bruised. Against her will she found herself responding, her mouth moving beneath his as the kiss became gentler, Jarrod’s mouth caressing now rather than demanding.

  Her arms moved up about his neck, his hands moving searchingly across her back. This was incredible! Jarrod Stone was kissing her, and she liked it, loved it even. His mouth and body had taken possession of her in a way that was totally masterful.

  He put her away from him as quickly as he had pulled her into his arms. ‘Get inside!’ he ordered harshly. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Brooke made her way slowly up to her flat, still dazed from his unexpected kiss. That he was a master of the art she had no doubt, and her burning anger soon turned to something completely different. Instead of making her hate him he had just confirmed that she was in love with him!

  * * *

  Brooke had been very nervous about meeting Jarrod again, but she needn’t have bothered; he was acting as if nothing had happened between them. If anything he was acting cooler than ever towards her, not having spoken more than a few sentences to her since she had got in the car.

  He was looking vitally attractive in cream trousers and a black fitted shirt, turned back at the cuffs to expose a tanned length of arm, the hair here lighter than the raven sheen of his head. His clothing was more casual than anything else she had ever seen him wear, and it made her all the more aware of him.

  Not that she needed to be made any more aware of him; her senses were already heightened to the ripcord muscle beneath his shirt, the strong column of his throat and that strong handsome face that made her heart flutter just to look at him.

  But his eyes could be so chillingly cutting, so disdainful, and she hadn’t forgotten what his own temper could lead them to. Not that she had minded that part of his anger.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘I was just thinking about your family,’ she lied. ‘Do your brother and sister work?’

  He gave her a hard look as if doubting this had been her thoughts at all. ‘My sister is at college—art,’ he added in disgust. ‘Dave’s at medical school.’

  ‘What’s your sister’s name?’ Anything was better than their former silence.

  ‘Angie,’ he supplied shortly.

  ‘And is Angie good at art?’ she continued, trying to draw him out.


  He gave a slight smile. ‘She says she is.’

  ‘And is she?’

  ‘Not bad, I suppose. Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of opportunity to judge for yourself. I have no doubt she’ll show you round her studio. Dave will probably want to know your medical history. Don’t tell him,’ he warned. ‘By the time he’s finished with you you’ll wonder how many days you have left. Angie and Dave are an incorrigible pair. But you’ll soon find that out for yourself.’

  ‘They sound—frightening.’ And they did to someone who had been an only child brought up by a maiden aunt. Brooke had always been a little shy with people her own age, never having mixed with a lot of other children out of school hours.

  Jarrod gave a throaty chuckle. ‘That’s the one thing they aren’t. A highly spirited pair perhaps, but not frightening.’

  ‘What have you done with your cat this weekend?’ she asked.

  ‘I have a housekeeper.’

  ‘Oh, of course,’ she blushed. ‘I should have guessed.’

  ‘I’m a lousy cook,’ he offered by way of explanation. ‘Egg and bacon is about my limit. Besides, it beats having a wife.’

  ‘One of your own anyway,’ she put in softly.

  His mouth tightened. ‘I don’t want any of those comments in front of my parents,’ he told her angrily. ‘They wouldn’t understand your reason for doing it.’

  ‘As long as you do.’

  ‘I know why you think you’re doing it. But none of this in front of my family, agreed?’ he quirked an eyebrow at her.

  ‘I suppose so. I don’t want to make the weekend any more difficult by having your family dislike me. That I can do without.’

  ‘Mm, it could prove difficult if we let it.’ he agreed. ‘A little bit of acting on your part and it could all pass off quite smoothly. I told them we’d stay until after lunch tomorrow.’

  Brooke felt a sense of apprehension. ‘When you say acting, you mean …?’

  His look was cruel. ‘I mean a little of that show you put on for my secretary yesterday morning. My family would appreciate it more than she did,’ he said dryly.

  She shook her head. I couldn’t—I couldn’t do that. Yesterday I did it because—well, because—’

  ‘Because you wanted to get back at me,’ Jarrod finished for her.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed unhesitantly.

  He swung the car down a long gravel driveway, a huge red-brick building standing in the midst of sweeping green lawns and neat flower beds. The front door of the house stood open in the heat of the day, and a young girl ran out to greet them as Jarrod parked the car in the driveway.

  ‘Jarrod!’ she squealed. ‘It’s so lovely to see you!’ She launched herself into his arms.

  Brooke supposed this must be Angie. She was quite lovely to look at, her hair as raven black as her brother’s and brushed in glowing waves down to her shoulders. She also had the same grey eyes as Jarrod, but whereas his were often cold and chilling hers were full of warmth and an underlying sense of mischief.

  Angie was dressed much more informally than herself, in denims and a checked shirt. Very tall and slim, she carried herself with a self-confidence that was inborn in her, turning from greeting her brother to appraise’ Brooke with curious eyes.

  It wasn’t a disapproving stare, but nevertheless Brooke felt relieved that she was at least smartly dressed. She had gone out this morning and bought herself a new casual day dress, packing an evening dress in case the Stones dressed for dinner. The day dress she had bought was a lemon and black flower print, fitted at her slim waist and finishing just below her knee.

  She felt quite good in it and she met the younger girl’s gaze unflinchingly, almost sighing her relief as Angie’s face broke into a welcoming smile.

  She came forward, her hand outstretched. ‘Hi, I’m Angie.’ She gave Jarrod a rueful look. ‘For once this brother of mine seems speechless.’ She grinned at him teasingly. ‘You must be in love!

  He had a relaxed smile on his face. ‘It isn’t a case of being in love, you just haven’t stopped talking since you came out of the house.’

  Angie grimaced. ‘I hope he doesn’t bully you like this.’

  Brooke laughed at her expression. ‘All the time, but I’m getting used to it.’

  ‘Surely not all the time? He seems to have taken time out to ask you to marry him.’ Angie put a friendly hand through the crook of Brooke’s arm. ‘Can I see, your ring?’ she asked excitedly.

  Brooke held out her hand for inspection, avoiding Jarrod’s mocking gaze in her direction as his sister admired the ring. The two girls left him to bring in the small amount of luggage they had brought with them, Angie taking her in to the lounge where the rest of the Stone family were waiting.

  Brooke hung back in the doorway. Angie had proved to be just as nice as Jarrod had said she would, but that didn’t mean the rest of his family would be as welcoming. After all, Jarrod was an important man, and his family would be expecting something a little bit special in his intended wife. The fact that it would never come to that wasn’t important; they didn’t know that.

  ‘Little coward!’ Jarrod muttered in her ear as he entered the room ahead of her, his firm grip on her wrist impelling her forward.

  His taunt was enough to give her courage and she stood sileptly by his side as he greeted his family, making the introductions with practised ease. First of all his mother, a small neat woman towered over by the rest of her family.

  ‘At least I won’t get a crick in my neck talking to you,’ her grey eyes twinkled. ‘It’s like living in the land of the giants,’ she explained.

  She wasn’t half as daunting as Brooke had expected her to be and she found herself smiling naturally, being made to feel as if she already belonged to this family. But she mustn’t forget this was only a temporary arrangement, she mustn’t become too involved. Never having had a family of her own she could find that all too easy.

  Jarrod’s father came next and it was obvious where his son got his looks from. His eyes might be the deep grey of his mother, but the rest of him was all Clifford Stone. Tall and lean like his son, the black hair winged with grey at the temples, Clifford Stone was still a very attractive man, although Brooke guessed he must be well into his sixties.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, my dear.’ He bent to kiss her cheek warmly. ‘I’m glad to see that Jarrod has chosen wisely.’ He shook his son’s hand.

  ‘You’re not at all what I expected,’ said the fourth and last member of the family. ‘The type of girl Jarrod usually goes about with—I expected you to be completely different.’

  ‘David!’ his father reprimanded sternly.

  ‘How different?’ Brooke queried softly.

  ‘Oh, you know—heavy perfume, so beautiful you almost don’t look real, and so sophisticated it just isn’t true,’ he grimaced.

  Brooke looked at Jarrod, her eyes mocking him. ‘His taste must have changed.’

  ‘Definitely for the better,’ Dave said approvingly. ‘You’ve picked a real winner, Jarrod.’ He slapped his brother on the back. ‘Not that I’m sure you deserve her.’

  Jarrod grinned goodnaturedly. ‘Oh, I’m sure Brooke thinks I deserve her.’

  ‘Definitely,’ she agreed firmly, his family not aware of their double-edged conversation.

  ‘Would you like to take Brooke upstairs and show her her room?’ his mother suggested. ‘I’ve put her in the one next to yours,’ she informed him.

  ‘Fine. Ready, darling?’ He quirked one dark eyebrow at her.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied huskily, the endearment embarrassing her.

  Once upstairs in the room prepared for her Jarrod threw her case on to the bed before sitting down in the bedroom chair. It was a lovely room, beautifully furnished without losing any of its character, the gold and brown decor warm in appearance.

  Brooke cleared her throat nervously, ever conscious of Jarrod watching her through enigmatic eyes. ‘You have a nice family.’

  �
��And that surprised you.’ It was a statement, not a question.

  ‘A little,’ she admitted.

  ‘They liked you too, but then I knew they would. I have only one complaint.’

  ‘C-complaint?’

  ‘Mm.’ He looked thoughtfully at his wrist-watch. ‘Your attitude towards me will have to improve. You jumped like a scared rabbit when I called you darling, and you studiously avoid calling me Jarrod.’

  ‘I’ve already explained why that is.’

  ‘Yes, but you can’t just not call me anything.’

  ‘I find it easier that way,’ she said obstinately.

  He stood up to leave. ‘Practise it to yourself while I freshen up. I’ll just be next door when you’re ready to go down to tea.’

  Brooke unpacked her evening gown and denims so that the creases should fall out before she next wore them. She washed her face and freshened her make-up, feeling infinitely tidier when she had finished.

  She hesitated about knocking on Jarrod’s bedroom door, finally doing so with determination. She entered the room at his command to do so. That this had been his room since childhood was obvious from the pictures on the walls and the model aeroplanes suspended by string from the ceiling.

  It was a nice room, with a couple of pictures of Jarrod as a child on display on the dressing-table. One of them had been taken when he was about twelve or thirteen, and already at that age he had the promise of the good looks that were now so destructive to a woman’s peace of mind.

  Brooke turned almost guiltily as she heard a movement behind her, her eyes widening with shock as she took in Jarrod’s bare chest and the way his trousers rested low down on his lean hips. It was impossible to look away from him as his muscles rippled as he dried himself with a thick fluffy towel. He must have just taken a shower, and Brooke felt her cheeks colour with embarrassment.

  She dragged her eyes away from him with effort. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were—’ she bit her lip nervously.

  ‘I’m perfectly decent, Brooke,’ he taunted at her hesitation. ‘Much more so than if I’d just been swimming.’