Fated Attraction Read online

  ‘No one does,’ she sighed. ‘And I would much rather it stayed that way.’

  ‘It’s awful for you,’ he agreed. ‘But I’ve always thought Jordan was a decent sort, even if he can seem a little unapproachable at times.’

  ‘Oh, Jordan is—well, he’s just Jordan,’ Jane shrugged. ‘A law unto himself most of the time,’ she accepted ruefully. ‘But I—I want to do something else with my life other than be the social butterfly everyone seems to think I am. I’d like to start up a business of my own.’

  The enthusiasm she had kept firmly in check bubbled to the surface, and her eyes glowed. ‘Despite what Jordan might think to the contrary,’ she said drily, ‘I’ve discovered over the last weeks that I am qualified to do something. As a social hostess I have no rivals,’ she grinned. ‘With the money from my inheritance I could set up an agency. There must be dozens of people who would value my help and advice for their social functions.’

  ‘Oh, dozens,’ Robert echoed wryly.

  She looked at him sharply. ‘You don’t think so?’ she said uncertainly.

  It was an idea that had been formulating in her mind over the last few days, none of the plans concrete yet, the idea just slowly fermenting and growing. Why not? She was more than qualified, and it would be something she had always wanted—to be able to run her own business, to be an independent woman.

  He shrugged. ‘If anyone can make it work I’m sure you can. It seems a pity you have to put up with grim old Raff to get your inheritance, though. Although,’ he added consideringly, ‘I don’t suppose he’s any grimmer than Jordan. Why hasn’t he caused an uproar about your just taking off like that?’ Robert mused.

  ‘Pride,’ she answered without hesitation. Jordan would never admit he wasn’t in complete control, of any situation. ‘Besides, what could he really tell anyone? I’ve over eighteen, and there is no reason to presume I’m actually missing.’

  ‘But you used the name ‘‘Jane Smith’’ just to be on the safe side?’ Robert taunted.

  Her cheeks were flushed at the gibe. ‘How do you think Raff would have reacted if I had used my full name?’ she said defensively.

  ‘Hm,’ Robert nodded. ‘I see your point.’

  ‘Don’t think it wasn’t tried and tested,’ Jane added ruefully. ‘I went after a dozen or so jobs in town before I got this one, and at the ones where I used my full name the reaction was always the same: what did I want a job for at all? Raff already distrusts me enough without that added complication.’

  ‘Because you’re female,’ Robert acknowledged matter-of-factly.

  ‘Possibly.’ Although Jane still wasn’t a hundred per cent certain about that, and wondered if her similarity to this woman, Diana, who had been in his father’s life might have something to do with it. She would probably never know.

  ‘Hm, well, I don’t envy you explaining things to Jordan when you finally resurface. But I take it from all this you don’t want me to say hello to him for you?’ he teased with a grin.

  ‘Over your dead body!’ She could just imagine the embarrassing scene that would ensue if Jordan were to come here in search of her!

  Robert quirked dark brows. ‘What’s it worth?’

  ‘Mandy Padbury,’ she returned instantly, reminding him of an embarrassing relationship she was sure he wouldn’t want his family, now that she had met them, to know about!

  ‘Unfair!’ he grimaced in defeat.

  They laughed softly together, but Jane’s humour faded as soon as Robert had gone; she still had Raff to face after last night …

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WHAT was that strange noise?

  It wasn’t a loud noise, just persistent, despite being irregular. Or maybe it seemed persistent because it was irregular? It was like waiting for the dripping of a tap, listening for the sound of the next tapping noise.

  It hadn’t woken Jane; she hadn’t been to sleep yet. The meeting with Raff that she had dreaded still hadn’t taken place. Immediately after his guests had all left he’d gone out on estate business, and Jane had long been in her bedroom when she’d heard the sound of his car returning.

  Perhaps it hadn’t been estate business at all? Maybe his family were all wrong about him, and he had a girlfriend somewhere in the district? Although from the little she had come to know of him over the last few days she didn’t think he was the type of man to kiss one woman—no matter how provoked he had felt at the time!—while having a relationship with another. And he had most definitely kissed her!

  It was while she was in the library looking for a book to read because she couldn’t sleep that she had first heard those faint tap-tapping noises.

  Maybe it was burglars, trying to break the glass in a window without actually rousing the household? She wouldn’t have heard the noise herself if she hadn’t already been downstairs.

  She tentatively followed the sound of the tapping noises, her sky-coloured nightgown and wrap floating silkily about her ankles as she crept along soundlessly in the matching coloured mules.

  The sound seemed to be coming from inside Raff’s study, the door being slightly ajar, a light visible inside, despite it being almost two o’clock in the morning.

  Who could be in there this time of night? Raff had gone to bed hours ago. At least, she had presumed he had gone to bed …

  Endearing was not a word she had ever thought to associate with that arrogantly autocratic man, and yet it was the only word she could use to describe seeing a thirty-seven year old man wrestling with the keys of a typewriter as if it were almost a foreign object. But it probably was to him!

  He had obviously been bent over his task for some time now, his brow furrowed into a frown of deep concentration, the sheet of paper inside the typewriter only half covered with print. And at the speed he was typing it must have taken him hours to do. No wonder he appreciated her slow but accurate efforts if this was the best he could do!

  But what was he doing typing for at all? That was what she was still here for. But perhaps he didn’t want her to see what he was typing. The question now was, should she let him know of her presence, or just sneak away to her bedroom unseen?

  Even as she posed the question to herself Raff’s head rose and he looked across the room at her.

  He didn’t actually seem to see her standing there for several seconds, but blinked suddenly, slowly focusing on her as his mind cleared slightly. As he did so, the harshness entered his eyes. ‘What are you doing down here?’ he rasped.

  She had never met a man who could make her feel so uncomfortable!

  But this scene—the desk scattered with business papers in the middle of the night, and even the furrowed brow of the man behind the desk—was an all too familiar sight to her.

  ‘Can I get you some coffee and buttered toast?’ she offered, having no idea whether he had eaten dinner while he was out or not. But she had learnt from experience that coffee and toast this time of night usually had the effect of reviving Jordan.

  Raff sat back in his chair. ‘You shouldn’t be awake this time of night.’ He ignored her offer.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she explained.

  He frowned, looking at her critically. ‘Are you in pain?’

  Except for the odd twinge from her ankle and a slight soreness to her hip her injuries no longer troubled her. They certainly didn’t keep her awake at night. Thoughts of this man managed to do that quite successfully!

  ‘I ache sometimes,’ she admitted truthfully. ‘But there’s no real pain any more,’ she assured him, noticing that Raff instantly looked relieved.

  ‘Actually, I was looking for a book in the library when I heard you typing,’ she calmly answered his earlier accusatory question. ‘Although I didn’t realise it was typing at the time; I thought it might have been a burglar,’ she ruefully admitted her folly.

  Raff shook his head. ‘But you came looking for the source of the noise anyway?’ he derided drily. ‘You seem to be making a habit of walking into trouble because y
ou don’t practise caution.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have tackled the burglar myself!’ she returned heatedly.

  ‘He would have been wasting his time anyway.’ Raff gave a weary smile. ‘There’s nothing left in the house worth stealing.’

  ‘Coffee and toast,’ Jane decided firmly, knowing from nights like this with Jordan that when he was hungry and over-tired his defences were down.

  Raff gave her a scathing look. ‘You don’t look as if you’ve ever done more than simply appear decorous in that outfit. Are you sure you know where the kitchen is?’ he scorned.

  She held her tongue with effort, smiling tightly before leaving the room; she hadn’t expected her offer would sweeten his temper.

  It was just as well, because she would have been disappointed!

  She not only knew where the kitchen was in this huge house, she also knew where everything was kept in it. It took her very little time to make a pot of coffee and a plate of hot buttered toast.

  She could hear Raff typing determinedly again as she approached his study in the still quietness of the rest of the house. But, for all his derision of her, he got up quickly enough when she entered the room, and made a space for the tray on top of the desk.

  ‘Black for me,’ he requested gruffly as she poured the coffee into two mugs. Even these seemed to have come as a surprise to him, as if he expected her to drink coffee out of nothing but the best china cups.

  But somehow coffee tasted better in mugs at this time of night. Raff obviously thought so too, downing the strong brew with obvious pleasure, and eating several of the half-slices of toast, too.

  He looked better already; the lines of strain eased about his mouth, slight colour came back in his cheeks, making her doubt again that he had actually had any dinner earlier. He was a big man, and not eating proper meals couldn’t be good for him. Neither could working in here until this time—not when she knew he was up and about the estate by seven o’clock most mornings.

  ‘Can’t that wait until tomorrow?’ she prompted gently, nodding towards the half finished typewritten sheet.

  He groaned at the reminder of the typing he had been doing when she’d entered the room. ‘As I told you when I asked you to stay on here and help with my correspondence, I just don’t have the time to do this during the day.’

  ‘As you’ve just pointed out, I thought that was what I was here for.’ Jane frowned.

  He shook his head. ‘This file is too … confidential for me to trust it to anyone else,’ he said.

  And she couldn’t be trusted was what he didn’t say. He didn’t even know her real name yet—although he would continue to work on it!

  ‘Who could I tell, Raff?’ she scorned.

  He shrugged, watching her through narrowed eyes. ‘You tell me.’

  She sighed. ‘All right, struggle on alone, if that’s what you want!’ She stood up to leave.

  ‘You’re very touchy tonight,’ Raff drawled mockingly. ‘Have some toast.’ He pushed the plate towards her. ‘It’s just about the best toast anyone has ever made for me,’ he added gruffly. ‘Not too much butter, but not too little either. And perfectly melted into the toast.’

  As olive branches went it could use a little work, but coming from Raff Quinlan she knew she wouldn’t get any more than that.

  As for the perfect toast, that had come after much practice on Jordan; he was probably as much a taskmaster as Raff was. He could be so stuffy at times, although his fussiness over how his toast was buttered seemed to have actually paid off for her.

  The two men were alike, not only in their looks, but their manner was very similar too. Although perhaps Raff had a little more humour to him than Jordan; Jordan would never have let ‘little Jane Smith’ stay on in his home when he was almost certain that wasn’t her real name. He wouldn’t see it as the challenge Raff obviously did.

  Jane took half a slice of the toast—not really because she was hungry, but more out of an effort to show she wasn’t going to bear a grudge because he didn’t trust her enough to let her do some very private typing for him; there would be no point in such childish sulks.

  ‘Just like mother used to make,’ she returned lightly.

  Raff’s mouth twisted. ‘I doubt my mother ever made me toast,’ he said drily.

  ‘No boiled eggs and toast soldiers when you were ill?’ she teased, almost able to imagine him as a little boy, all dark tousled hair and big grey eyes. He would have been adorable.

  ‘No,’ he laughed derisively.

  ‘Mine neither,’ Jane said wistfully. ‘My mother died when I was born,’ she explained at his questioning look.

  He frowned. ‘I’m sorry.’ He obviously genuinely meant the emotion, and wasn’t just paying polite lip-service.

  ‘I’m not so sure she was.’

  Jane wasn’t even looking at Raff now, talking almost to herself as she became lost in memories.

  ‘My parents’ marriage was reputedly very rocky, and had been for some years. I was apparently a last-ditch attempt on their part to bridge the ever-widening rift. I don’t think my father ever forgave me for the fact that my mother died having me and left that particular riddle undone. He was a very methodical man,’ she added without bitterness, her voice flat now.

  Jane didn’t realise that she had revealed in those few brief sentences all the lonely years of her childhood when she had first tried to win her father’s love by being so good he couldn’t help but be proud of her, and when that failed becoming an out-and-out rebel so that he at least had to notice her!

  He had noticed her all right, instantly placing her in a boarding-school—which she had promptly got herself expelled from. And then another boarding-school. And another. All of her school life had been spent going from one boarding-school to another because she was so rebellious, until at last she was old enough to leave.

  Only her father hadn’t even wanted her back home then, arranging for her to go to Switzerland to a finishing-school. Being a rebel and getting herself noticed had become such a part of her life by then that she had continued to be uncooperative until her father had died two years ago.

  Even as she’d stood at his graveside watching them lower his coffin into the ground she had wondered if there had been anything she could have done to make him love her? The answer had been a resounding no; she had merely been a means to an end as far as her father was concerned—one that was no longer necessary with the death of her mother. She had simply been a reminder that he didn’t even want in his sight.

  And she had never before talked to anyone about—or even hinted at—the rejection she had felt from her father from birth.

  She looked dazedly across the desk at Raff, wondering why it should be this man she allowed to see her pain beneath the veneer of sophistication?

  He seemed to be aware of her sudden uncertainty, her vulnerability from what she had unwittingly revealed.

  ‘My own parents’ marriage wasn’t any recommendation either,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘They lived apart for a lot of my early childhood, and I only have sketchy memories of my mother being involved in my life after that.’ He grimaced. ‘Hence my aunt’s indiscreet remark yesterday about my father’s involvement with another woman.’

  Diana. The nanny. Raff’s nanny.

  Jane swallowed hard. ‘Did you like her? This other woman? Diana, wasn’t it? Your aunt said she looked after you—’ she shrugged as his mouth suddenly became tight ‘—that I reminded her of this woman …’

  ‘Rubbish,’ he bit out harshly. ‘Oh, I’ll grant you there’s a surface similarity in the colouring and your build, but that’s all it is, a similarity!’

  ‘Mrs Howard said I reminded her of someone too the first morning we met,’ Jane remembered slowly. She was sure now that this woman Diana had to be the one the housekeeper had meant that morning. And after realising Raff had once been married she had assumed it had been Celia she reminded everyone of.

  Diana. A nanny.

  Her mother?<
br />
  The only way she could actually be sure would be to reveal her own identity and ask Raff outright if Diana’s surname had been Holmes. And she wasn’t ready to give up her job here yet.

  Besides, this Diana, the other Diana—if it had been another Diana!—had been involved with Raff’s father. It couldn’t have been her mother.

  Could it …?

  ‘I told you, a surface similarity,’ Raff dismissed again. ‘If it weren’t for your hair no one would even think twice about it.’

  In all of the photographs of her mother she had seen, her hair had been as long and red as Jane’s own …

  ‘Look, it’s late now, Jane.’ Raff stood up to come round to her side of the desk. ‘We’re both tired, and need some sleep.’

  She wasn’t sure she would be able to sleep after this!

  Raff put up a hand to the paleness of her cheek, shaking his head reprovingly as she swayed slightly.

  ‘You shouldn’t be up this late,’ he murmured, swinging her up into his arms. ‘You were very badly bruised only a few days ago. Don’t struggle,’ he warned softly when Jane began to squirm as he carried her out of the room and up the wide staircase.

  He carried her with ease, but he was too close, his warmth enveloping her, her arms clinging about his neck.

  He made her feel small, and feminine, and utterly defenceless.

  She began to struggle again as they entered her bedroom.

  ‘Don’t—’ His chiding reprimand broke off abruptly as he looked down at her, grey eyes looking deeply into dark blue. ‘Jane!’ He gave a strangulated groan as he lowered his lips to hers.

  Jane slid slowly down the length of his body as he lowered her feet to the floor, the kiss seeming to go on forever, and yet it wasn’t enough for either of them.

  Their mouths moved together hungrily, Jane giving a husky gasp of pleasure as one of Raff’s hands moved to cup her breast, its tip straining forward, hardened with longing.

  And her ache was of a different kind now; Raff’s thighs moulded against her own, telling her of his need too.

  Raff’s hands cupped either side of her face now as he rested his forehead on hers, his breathing ragged. ‘I’m supposed to be taking care of you, not—’