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  She struggled into a sitting position, hastily doing up the buttons on her nightgown as she saw Bartholomew Jordan's green-eyed gaze lingering there, 'Maybe your body talks to you, Sir Edgar,' she scorned, 'but mine doesn't talk to me.' She ignored the memory of the occasional feelings of weakness that had been happening all too often the last few weeks. 'And I'm not going to any clinic,' she added stubbornly.

  'You see what I mean?' Bart said to the doctor. 'Impossible, isn't she?'

  'I--------------'

  Sir Edgar chuckled at her look of outrage, talking to Bart. 'You would be exactly the same in Eve's position. I think you're the worst patient I've ever had for carrying out my instructions.'

  Eve gave a satisfied smile, grinning even more as Bart scowled at her. But his next comment soon wiped the smile off her face.

  'If Eve refuses to go to a clinic,' he drawled, 'then I'll just have to take care of her body—the resting of it, I mean,'

  he added mockingly as she blushed fiery red.

  Sir Edgar laughed outright now, packing his things away in his bag. 'As long as she rests,' he sobered, 'I don't care how it's achieved. And you, young lady,' he spoke sternly to Eve, 'you can do as you're told.' 'I can take care of myself,' she said defiantly.

  The doctor sighed. 'Bart-------'

  'Don't worry,' the other man assured him, 'I'll take care of it.' You—-'

  'Eve ... shut up,' he ordered calmly. 'I will not!' she gasped. 'And you won't take care of anything. You-----' her words were cut off by the

  firmness of his lips being placed over hers.

  She was too stunned for several minutes to do anything about it, then she began to struggle, pushing at his chest, but somehow her fingers just seemed to become entangled in the silky dark blond hair that grew there. Bart's eyes were triumphant as he was the one to break the kiss, and Eve was speechless as he put her firmly back on the pillows. 'I shall have to remember that,' he taunted. 'Every time you talk too much I shall kiss you.'

  She suddenly came out of her daze. 'You will------'

  'Challenging me already, Eve?' he mocked, moving threateningly towards her. 'No!' She shrank back on to the bed. A momentary look of puzzled irritation marked his handsome features before it was quickly masked, and his expression was bland as he turned to the doctor.

  'I'll walk down to your car with you,’ he offered.

  'Fine.' Sir Edgar closed his bag with a snap. 'And I want my instructions carried out, Eve, or the next time I see you it could be in a hospital bed.'

  She managed a jerky smile. 'I—I appreciate your help,. Sir Edgar.'

  'But not mine,' Bart muttered. 'Stay there until I come back,' he ordered before leaving the room with the doctor. God, she thought, he was a bossy, autocratic, pigheaded, sarcastic---'If looks could kill!' Derek commented with amusement. Eve flushed, looking up at him. 'I didn't hear you come in.'

  'That was obvious,’ he grinned, sitting down on the bedroom chair.

  'He's damned arrogant!' she said fiercely.

  'I'm no more happy about the situation than you are,' he gave a rueful smile. 'But I have to agree with the man. You certainly can't go on in your condition.'

  Eve gave him a sharp look. 'Can't go on...?' she repeated suspiciously.

  'Mm,' Derek nodded. 'Of course it hasn't been easy, but then cancelling a show never is, so they tell me.' He ran a tired hand around the back of his neck, rubbing his nape wearily.

  Eve gasped, her face very white. 'Are you telling me you've cancelled my show for tonight?' she was incredulous. He frowned. 'I haven't. Bartholomew Jordan has.'

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IN that moment Eve knew a rage stronger than any she had ever known before. Carl had been domineering, but even he had asked her opinion when it came to major decisions in their relationship. No one had ever dared make such an important choice for her before. .Derek backed away in mock fear. 'Don't explode, Eve,' he warned in alarm. 'You know you couldn't do a two-hour show tonight. You look as if a puff of wind would blow you away. I should have realised sooner,' he shook his head.

  She was so angry she couldn't speak, her blood seeming to boil, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

  ‘Eve-----'

  'Would you leave me, Derek?' she requested through gritted teeth, staring rigidly up at the ceiling. 'I'd like to be alone for a minute.' Before she actually did someone some physical damage!

  He touched her arm. 'Hey, Eve--'

  'Please, Derek!' She turned fierce blue eyes on him. 'Just leave me. It isn't your fault, I realise that, but if you don't get out of here I'm going to say something I'll regret. Please, Derek," she repeated.

  'Okay,' he sighed; he had obviously never seen her like this before.

  'And, Derek,' she stopped him as he reached the door, "when Mr Bartholomew Jordan gets back I want to see him.'

  'I doubt I'd be able to stop him,' he said ruefully.

  ‘Don't even try,' she advised grimly. 'It's time someone told him exactly what they think of him—and I'm about to do it!'

  Derek grinned. 'I'll stay well clear, then!'

  Eve frowned. 'Is there any chance that we can tincancel tonight?'

  'No. And even if there were I wouldn't do it. I've been pushing.you too hard, and it's time I stopped. Just take things easy from now on, okay?'

  As soon as he had left the room she got out of bed and dressed in tight-fitting brown corduroys and a pale blue teeshirt, just managing to run her brush through her hair before she heard the even tenor of Bart Jordan's voice in the next room. She had been at a distinct disadvantage lying in bed, but now she could face him on an equal footing, or as equal as she could be when he was at least a foot taller than she was, and when she still felt so weak. The act of dressing seemed to have drained what little strength she had left.

  Nevertheless, she faced Bart Jordan challengingly as he entered the room, his eyes narrowing as he saw she was out of bed and dressed.

  'I thought I told you to stay in bed.’

  Colour brightened her cheeks. 'No one tells me what to do, Mr Jordan? she bit out furiously. 'And that includes interference in the way I run my life. How dare you cancel my show for tonight?'

  ‘Eve-----'

  His patient tone angered her even more. 'Who gave you the right to just walk in and take over my life?'

  'Eve——'

  'Because I certainly didn't!' she continued angrily. 'You-—'

  'I warned you,' he said softly before giving her a gentle shove that easily knocked her down on to the bed, then quickly joining her, his body pinning her down as he held her aims above her head, her nails clenched into talons. Eve breathed up at him, his face only inches from hers as her eyes spat her hatred of him. 'Take your hands off me!'

  she told him through gritted teeth..

  'Now that I've got you here?' he taunted, shaking his head. 'No way am I going to let you go.' His head lowered and his mouth claimed hers.

  Her nails curved to dig into the leathery skin of his hand. But the pain she knew she must be inflicting only made him all the more determined, forcing her lips apart to deepen the kiss, his body even heavier above her. His eyes glittered deeply green as he lifted his head. 'Little wildcat, aren't you,' he said with amusement, looking at the deep indents she had made in his hand with her nails.

  Eve recoiled as if he had struck her. Carl had called her that after she had scratched his back. Did all men like to give and receive pain?

  Bart frowned, his hand curving about her cheek as he forced her to look at him. 'What's the matter?' he asked slowly. 'Eve, what's wrong?'

  She easily pushed him off her now as he offered no resistance, and stood up to glare down at him. 'You just kissed me against my will—and not for the first time either!—and you have the nerve to ask me what's wrong? I dislike being forced, Mr Jordan, that's what’s wrong!'

  He slowly swung his legs to the floor, sitting up, very lithe and attractive in the casual clothing. He stood up to move to the door.


  Eve frowned. 'Where are you going?' She hadn't expected her outburst to make him leave! She was far from finished yet.

  He turned hard green eyes on her. 'Do you care?' he rasped, his face suddenly bleak. Well, I-------'

  'I'll be back.' His mouth twisted. "Don't worry, I'm not leaving.'

  'I'm not worried,' she snapped. 'In fact, I would be glad if you did leave.'

  'I know that,' he taunted. 'But I have no intention of doing so. We have things to discuss.'

  'Things?' she echoed sharply. 'What sort of things?'

  'Patience, Eve,' he mocked. 'It's supposed to be a virtue, you know.'

  'How would you know, you don't have any!'

  To her chagrin he smiled. 'Where's the sophisticated woman of our first meeting?' he taunted. 'You're acting like a child. All this resentment because I had the good sense to tell Derek you weren't going to do your show tonight.'

  She flushed, knowing he was right about the childish behaviour. 'I like to make those sort of decisions for myself,'

  she defended.

  He sighed. 'But would you?'

  Her lips came together firmly. 'I don't know, do I?’ she answered resentfully. 'I didn't get the choice.'

  Bart shook his head. 'Derek's already told me you wanted to go on with it, so don't pretend you would have decided otherwise. Maybe I should have let you go on,' he added harshly. 'Maybe you deserve to have a nervous breakdown and land up in hospital, as Edgar said you would. Is that what you want, Eve?' He was angry too now, once again the autocratic stranger of their first meeting. It wasn't until he reverted to being that man that she realised how teasingly he had been behaving with her. It seemed strange to think of the hated Bartholomew Jordan in a gentle mood. 'Is it?' he demanded roughly.

  She looked down at her feet. 'You know it isn't,’ she mumbled.

  'Then stop acting like a spoilt child, and start enjoying the narrow escape you've had!' The force with which he slammed the door told her how deep his anger was.

  He was right, she knew he was right, she just wished he hadn't been the one to make the decision. It made her feel as if the control of her life was slipping out of her hands, and since Carl she had grown fiercely independent, valuing that independence above everything else.

  Bart was back within minutes, partly obscured by the hugest bouquet of mixed flowers she had ever seen. She had thought the dozens of roses to be big, but this—this was immense!

  He grinned as he lowered the flowers, looking curiously younger than the thirty-nine years he claimed to be. 'There must be one among these that you do like,' he smiled, holding them out to her. Tears filled her eyes and she bunked them back hastily. She never cried, never! It must be the weakness she was feeling, it couldn't be because of the flowers Bart had bought her.

  'And there's these,' he produced a massive box of chocolates, 'to help fatten you up.'

  Her mouth twitched and finally she smiled, a clear untroubled smile that made Bart's eyes widen in appreciation.

  'Thank you,' she said huskily. 'I—I don't deserve them.'

  'No, you don't,' he instantly agreed. She spluttered with laughter, and sat down weakly on the bed. 'You're very blunt.'

  Bart nodded. 'About as blunt as you are. And I like that, it isn't something you find very often in a woman nowadays.'

  He would have had plenty of women in his life, Eve knew that. Hadn't he admitted to having a mistress at this very moment? He was a very handsome man, he probably had to fight the women off. Then why was he bothering with her? The answer to that seemed all too obvious. He was a man who would enjoy a challenge, and at the moment she presented one.

  She shrugged dismissively. 'Maybe you've just been meeting the wrong women, Mr Jordan.’

  'Maybe,' he agreed huskily, putting the chocolates down on the bed beside her. 'But I've met you now. And I wish you would call me Bart, it's much more friendly.'

  Precisely the reason she wouldn't call him it! 'Mr Jordan----'

  'I can assure you I have no intention of calling you Miss Meredith,' he added persuasively.

  'So I've noticed,' she said dryly. 'You said we had things to discuss, Mr Jordan. Would you mind telling me what they are?'

  He leant back casually against the wardrobe, easily the most dangerously attractive man she had ever met. Even more attractive than Carl, more ruggedly so; the lines of cynicism beside his mouth had been put there by experience and not by cruelty.

  But she shouldn't be noticing how handsome he was, or comparing him with Carl! Especially as Bartholomew Jordan seemed to be coming out more favourably in the comparison! He was made from the same mould, she refused to believe otherwise.

  'Well?' she prompted tautly, her thoughts disturbing her.

  His gaze was warm on her angrily flushed features. 'Have you always worn your hair loose?'

  A hand instantly went up self consciously to touch her long dark tresses. 'Not always, no,' she replied awkwardly, frowning.

  'I like it.'

  She gave an impatient sigh. 'I'm sure my hair wasn't one of the things you wanted to discuss,' she snapped.

  'Oh, but it was,' he said deeply. 'Also those deep' blue pools you have for eyes, your beautiful long dark lashes, that pert little nose that at this moment is going higher and higher in your indignation, and lastly your mouth.' His voice lowered huskily. 'Your mouth is beautiful, Eve. Every time I look at it I want to kiss it,

  'Do you mind!' she cut in furiously, her cheeks burning from the way his gaze had been hungrily fixed on her mouth.

  'I don't mind at all,' he drawled mockingly. 'You're the most exciting woman I've ever met, both visually and mentally.'

  She stood up, her movements agitated. 'Stop talking to me like that! Perhaps we should join Derek and Judy in the other room.' She felt too isolated with him here, too vulnerable, even though she knew the other couple were only in the other room.

  Bart sighed. 'Okay, Eve, I'll stop telling you how beautiful and attractive I find you. You obviously don't want to hear it.'

  'No,' she confirmed abruptly, distrusting the things he had told her. Carl had told her things just as complimentary, and all the time he had a wife. Bart might not be married, but she felt sure his words were just as insincere.

  'Then we'll get down to business,' he said briskly.

  She gave him a sharp look, searching his hard features. 'What business?' she asked suspiciously.

  'The business of getting you to rest.'

  'Surely that is my business?' she told him pointedly.

  'It should be,' he nodded. 'But you don't seem to care how you abuse your body--'

  'Abuse?' she repeated tautly, a dark flush colouring her cheeks. 'I don't abuse my body, Mr Jordan. I don't need to—I can leave that to men nice you.'

  His jaw tightened, his eyes suddenly an icy green.

  'You call a few kisses "abuse' ---'

  Eve nodded. 'If they're against my will, yes.'

  He drew in an angry breath, suddenly tense. 'Okay,' he said tightly, 'I won't kiss you again unless you ask me to.'

  'And that will never happen!'

  'Let's wait and see, shall we?'

  'As I never intend to see you again after today I don't think we should "wait and see" at all,' she told him with saccharine sweetness.

  'You'll be seeing me, Eve,' he informed her. 'Almost every day for the next month or so.'

  She gasped. 'What do you mean?'

  'Edgar said you were to rest, and I mean to make sure that you do. I have a house in Hampshire, you're going to stay there for at least a month---'

  'I am not!'

  'At least a month,' he repeated firmly. 'During which time you will do nothing but relax and let my housekeeper put some flesh back on your bones.'

  'You really think that I'll just let you walk in here and start ordering my life about?1 she scorned, taken aback by this man's arrogance. She shook her head. 'Because if you do you don't know me very well, Mr Jordan.'

  'I don't know you at al
l,' he admitted softly. 'But I'm trying my damnedest to.'

  'Well, you won't do it this way!' she snapped. 'God, I've met some arrogant men in my time—too many of them, but I think you take first prize. I don't even know you, and what I do know I don't particularly like, and yet you calmly expect me to become a guest in your home for a month.' She shook her head dazedly. 'I think you must be insane, Mr Jordan!'

  He seemed to be having difficulty controlling his own anger. 'I'll admit,' he finally said tautly, 'that I may have gone about things the wrong way with you, you obviously react better to persuasion than you do to coercion.'

  'I don't react well to either of those things, I like to make my own decisions.'

  'Then make one now!' he rasped. 'You need rest, looking after----'

  'Which I can get quite adequately in my own home.'

  'No,' he shook his head. 'You live alone--'

  'I live with my godparents.'

  'You live on a houseboat at the end of their property on the Norfolk Broads. And they aren't even there at the moment, they're working on some archaeological expedition in Egypt.'

  'How do you know all this?' she gasped.

  'I made it my business to know,' he told her grimly. 'I also know that you have no near neighbours, that you have to walk two miles to the nearest shop, that you have to carry buckets of water from your godparents' house to fill up your own water supply, that—'

  'You seem to have done your homework well, Mr Jordan. Derek?' she queried bitterly.

  'He and I discussed where you should go to rest——'

  'Without asking me?' she exploded. 'God, you have a nerve, both of you! I'll go where I damn well please, and nothing you or Derek say will make the slightest bit of difference.'

  'Are you intent on killing yourself?' Bart demanded angrily. 'Can't you see we're only trying to do what's best for you?'

  'What's best for you, you mean! I take it that after I'd rested all day, been fattened up by your housekeeper, my nights would be spent a little more strenuously?' Her mourn twisted bitterly. 'That I would be expected to keep the master of the house's bed warm— namely you?'