Desire For Revenge Part 22

"You must already know from what Steven told you that I consider your flair for fiction to be very well worth developing."

"And that, of course, is why you've demoted me," Sarah was stung into replying.

"Not at all. I demoted you, as you put it, to avoid just the sort of situation I found you involved in just now ... although, of course, I never realised just how dangerous Randal is. As Steven told you, at the moment you're too soft with some of your authors--' " And all you want to do is to protect me from them, is that it? "

Sarah asked sarcastically.

Suddenly, horrifyingly she wanted to cry. She turned her head into the cushion of the settee, not wanting Joss to guess how appallingly weak she felt.

"Where the h.e.l.l do you keep your drinks?"

Tiredly she gestured to a cupboard, relieved when he moved away from her. He had been too close to her before, making her too aware of the vast difference between him and David. Joss's body smelled clean and male. his breath fresh his touch made her ache and burn for his lovemaking where David's revolted her.

"Here, drink this."

Raw brandy, Sarah noticed, shuddering as she gulped the liquid down and felt its heat pour through her stomach. Joss she noticed was drinking whisky--neat.

"I don't want to push you out of your job, Sarah." He squatted down beside her, so that their eyes were on a level.

"I promise you that."

He was lying, Sarah thought dismally, but she could hardly accuse him of wanting her to leave because they had once been lovers. That would be to tread on far too uncertain ground and if she wasn't careful he would trap her into betraying the fact that she loved him.

There, she had admitted it now . what she had known all along, almost from the first moment he touched her. She loved Joss. "Would you like me to stay here with you tonight?"

Sarah's mouth gaped open. Joss wasn't looking at her, but contemplating the contents of his gla.s.s.

"I'd sleep here on the sofa, of course," he added tightly.

"I was only thinking you might not want to be alone."

How right he was. She could have gone home to Jane and Ralph of course. but, of course, she recollected, they weren't back from their holidays and even if they had been home, Sarah knew she couldn't have faced their concern and anxiety right now . and she certainly could not face a night in her flat alone.

She closed her eyes, nodding her head weakly.

"Yes, please."

"Right. It's four o'clock now. Why don't you go and have that bath you wanted, and I'll make us both something to eat. I promise you I'm not going to touch you, Sarah," he added gently as he stood up.

"You have my word on that."

She believed him. What possible desire could he have to touch her anyway? They had been lovers once; and although he had told her then that he didn't go for one-night stands, there were enough eager women in his life to ensure that he would be the last man to need to force himself on any woman. And then there was his relationship with Helene.

"Can you make it to the bathroom?"

She was sorely tempted to shake her head and give in to the pleasure of having him carry her there but instead, she struggled to sit up, sliding her feet to the floor.

She knew he was monitoring her shaky progress towards the door; she knew that if she started to fall or faint, he would catch her, and the dismal thought struck her that it was torture to be so wrapped up in his care and concern and to know that it would only be hers for tonight.

He followed her into the bedroom, stopping at the door.

"Don't lock the bathroom door, Sarah," he told her quietly.

"The combination of the shock and that brandy ... I'll give you half an hour, okay? If you're not out by then..."

Mechanically taking clean underwear from her drawer, and a casual lemon flying suit to go over it, Sarah went into her small bathroom.

As she stripped off her robe, shuddering distastefully as it dropped to the floor, she reflected that it was just as well she had stayed in London at the weekend and had re-stocked her 'fridge. Joss would have no trouble finding them something to eat.

He was a complex man, she thought hazily seconds later, relaxing in the warm, scented water of her bath. As a lover, even her untutored body had recognised his skill, his enjoyment of and pleasure in her femininity. She had seen his anger . known that his sharp mind was working against her and even feared him because of it. and now she was seeing yet another side to him . a caring compa.s.sion which she sensed he would have extended to any woman in the same situation she had been in.

Joss was as far away from the truth as he could be if he really thought she feared he might approach her s.e.xually, Sarah thought wryly. What really terrified her was that she might betray herself to him! And that was what had terrified her all along. She had known when she crept out of his bed that fatal morning that she was leaving more than her innocence behind her; that she had lost something to him of far more importance than mere virginity. She had loved him then. and that love had only gone on growing, she acknowledged.

She glanced over the edge of the bath and saw her ruined bra.

Revulsion shuddered through her as she felt David's greedy, hurting fingers on her breast. She picked up the soap and started lathering her skin with despairing urgency . trying to wash away the touch of him. There were bruise marks forming on her breast already and her flesh hurt.

"Ten minutes, Sarah..."

She heard Joss shout, and then the sound of her bedroom door closing behind him.

She got out of the bath, drying herself briskly, wincing as she saw the puffiness round her mouth where David had slapped her.

Her flying suit was last year's and comfortable. She was too tired to bother with fresh makeup or to do more than stroke her brush through her long hair. She looked dreadful, she thought wryly, studying her reflection momentarily in her bedroom mirror. No compet.i.tion for Helene at all.

"Good timing, I was just coming to fetch you."

Joss was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He had discarded his jacket and his shirt was unb.u.t.toned at the throat.

"Omelette suit you?" he asked lightly.

"It's all ready, it won't take a moment to cook."

"Lovely."

There was no room in Sarah's tiny flat for a dining table and she normally ate either in the kitchen or off a tray on her knees. Joss had obviously opted for the latter; she could see the trays on the kitchen counter.

"Go and sit down," he told her gently, adding, 'how do you feel? "

"Shocked, but as though it was all somehow unreal," she told him wryly.

"Even now I can't believe that David--' " Stop thinking about it," Joss ordered her.

"By the way I've taken the liberty of opening a bottle of wine."

Wine? Sarah's nose wrinkled. She hadn't realised she had any. She drank so rarely herself and entertained in the flat so little it was something she rarely bought, and then she remembered that an author had given her half-a-dozen bottles the previous Christmas. She had pushed them to the back of one of her kitchen cupboards, and she was surprised that Joss had managed to unearth them.

"White, luckily," he announced ten minutes later, placing a tray in front of her, a deliciously fluffy omelette heaped on to her plate.