Loe raamatut: «Elusive Lover»

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

ERIN groaned with weariness. One more room to do and she could finish for the day. So much for finishing by four-thirty! It was after that now, and as the person had checked out of this last room it was going to take at least half an hour to clean it thoroughly.

She unlocked the door, and the mess that met her gaze made her groan anew. Whoever had occupied this motel room last night had obviously thrown a party; the air was stale with cigarette smoke and empty beer bottles littered every conceivable surface.

She left the door open to clear the stale air, and started to clear the beer bottles. This room was worse than they usually were, she would never finish tonight! When Mike Johnston, the owner of the motel, had employed her two weeks ago he hadn’t told her that his wife, the other cleaner, was more often out shopping than she was actually doing any work. He hadn’t told her to expect constant sexual advances from him either!

It had all sounded so good—but then what wouldn’t after serving greasy hamburgers in an even greasier restaurant for six weeks! Cleaning and vacuuming a few motel rooms had seemed so easy by comparison. The hours had been straight eight-thirty until four-thirty, with two clear days off a week, as a waitress she had been working shift hours, and more often than not her days off were counted as compulsory overtime. The trouble was the same thing was happening here, plus she had to fight off the advances of the men who stayed here, men who seemed to think that their rent for the night included making love to the maid in the morning.

The most recent one had been only this morning, a young boy of her own age who had tried to pull her into bed with him. Not that he hadn’t been good-looking—he had; she just didn’t go in for the casual sex these men expected of her.

The idea of coming to Canada had seemed so exciting—to actually visit the place she had been born, had lived in until she was three years old, when her parents had emigrated to England. And Canada itself was lovely, especially the part of Alberta she was living in, but it was also expensive to live in Calgary, the cost of living here one of the highest in the country, and the two demanding jobs she had managed to find for herself had given her little time to go out and enjoy herself.

Mike Johnston, her boss, had offered her what he considered a form of entertainment. His form of entertainment didn’t coincide with hers, and his advances were becoming more and more difficult to repulse in a joking manner, and he had implied that if she didn’t soon give him what he wanted then she could start walking.

‘Is this twenty-six, honey?’

Erin turned at the sound of that huskily attractive voice, the pleasant Canadian drawl she had come to love. Her eyes widened as she took in the man’s appearance, the worn leather boots, the faded tight-fitting denims, the matching denim jacket worn over a red and black checked shirt, the thick black hair partly concealed by the brown cowboy hat, something a lot of Calgarian men seemed to wear, this man looked perfectly natural wearing it.

Her gaze returned to his face, a face deeply tanned, a square jaw jutting out firmly, a deep cleft in its centre, the well-shaped mouth now curved into an enquiring smile, the nose hawkish, the eyes deep-set beneath jutting dark brows, the colour of the eyes hard to distinguish from this distance, but they were definitely a light colour, blue or possibly green.

His very presence seemed to fill the shabby room, and Erin shivered with apprehension. Something about this man unnerved her. He wasn’t a holidaymaker, she was sure of that, and yet he wasn’t one of the rough young crowd they often had staying here either. The inability to put him into a category worried her, made her unsure of how she should act with him. He was aged about the mid-thirties mark, very good-looking in an outdoor sort of way, and surely wasn’t one of those men who liked to make passes. Maybe he was in town from one of the ranches, he looked as if that sort of life——

‘Well?’ he tersely interrupted her thoughts, easing the holdall more comfortably on to one of his broad shoulders.

‘I—er——’ Erin blinked hard. ‘Sorry?’ she asked lamely.

He raised his eyebrows, sighing his impatience. ‘Is this room twenty-six?’ he repeated his first question.

‘Yes,’ she nodded eagerly, feeling more and more stupid by the moment, knowing she was making an idiot of herself, but unable to do anything about it.

She felt decidedly dirty in the denims and cotton top she had worn to work this morning, her blonde hair tumbling from the elastic band she secured it with while she was working, looking younger than her nineteen years with her make-up-less face and snub nose covered in freckles. She felt about fifteen, and knew she must look it too.

The man’s lids lowered slightly, the lashes thick, and the colour of jet, like his overlong hair. ‘Then why does it say twenty-nine on the door?’ he drawled, walking inside to deposit the holdall on the unmade bed, his nose wrinkling with distaste at the mess that surrounded them.

‘I—it does?’ Erin frowned, walking to the door. She put up her hand to the nine and twisted it round. As soon as she took her hand away it slipped back round to the nine position. She wiped her hands nervously down her thighs. ‘I think the—the screw must have fallen out,’ she stated the obvious.

His mouth twisted. ‘My thoughts exactly when I saw twenty-five one side and twenty-seven the other. English?’ he suddenly rapped out.

‘Er—yes,’ she admitted huskily.

‘Well, my little English miss,’ he drawled mockingly, ‘I happen to have rented this room for the night.’

‘You do?’ she asked in dismay, knowing it was going to be some time before she finished the cleaning, and she just couldn’t do it under this man’s watchful all-seeing gaze. She could see what colour his eyes were now; they were the deepest green she had ever seen, the colour of emeralds, a startling contrast to his deeply tanned skin.

‘I do,’ he confirmed tauntingly, removing his hat to reveal the darkest hair Erin had ever seen, a deep ebony, with a bluish sheen to the shine. And he was such a tall man, dwarfing her five feet two by at least a foot, his eyes narrowing as she continued to stare at him.

Erin grimaced. ‘I haven’t finished cleaning in here yet.’

He looked slowly around the room, not missing a bottle or a cigarette stub. ‘Honey, I hope you haven’t even started. I would hate to think rooms were rented out in this condition.’

She put her hand up to her untidy hair. ‘I’m a—a little behind today,’ she told him nervously.

He looked appreciatively at that part of her anatomy. ‘You look as if you’re a little behind every day,’ he mocked, his gaze returning to her flushed face.

Erin just looked flustered. ‘I—I meant I haven’t finished my work yet.’

‘I know what you meant, honey——’

‘I am not your honey!’ she exploded. It had been a long day, and she was hot and tired, tired of making beds, tired of cleaning dirty bathrooms, and she wasn’t in the mood to let this mocking stranger use her for his amusement. ‘I’m not your anything,’ she told him firmly. ‘Now I’ll get your room ready as soon as possible, but I’m afraid it will take a few minutes.’

‘Now don’t apologise, you’re spoiling the whole effect.’

She frowned at him, feeling like a mouse being tormented by a cat. ‘Effect?’ she blinked her puzzlement.

‘For a while there I thought you must have a permanent stammer,’ he drawled. ‘That little show of temper showed me you don’t. So don’t start babbling like an idiot again.’ He sat down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, his dusty, boot-clad feet on the bedcover.

Erin gasped her indignation. ‘Don’t call me an idiot! And get your feet off the bed!’

He smiled, revealing very white teeth. ‘You haven’t changed the bed yet, have you?’

‘You know I haven’t!’

‘Then my feet stay where they are. At least this way I’ll know you changed all the bed-linen.’

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and she could quite cheerfully have hit him in that moment, regardless of the consequences. ‘I always change all the bed-linen,’ she snapped.

He put his hands up behind his head and leaned back. ‘Don’t let me keep you from your work,’ he taunted.

‘You aren’t!’ She marched angrily into the bathroom, beginning to wash the bath in hard angry strokes. Arrogantly, mocking man! He was just what she needed at the end of a long, hard day!

‘Calmed down yet?’

She turned to see him standing in the open doorway, seeming to fill most of it. ‘I’m perfectly calm,’ she said in her most haughty English accent.

‘Mm, I can see that,’ he mocked, coming to sit on the side of the bath as she moved to clean the sink.

He was overwhelming this close to, smelling of a mixture of some tangy masculine cologne or aftershave and a much more basically male smell, one that stirred the senses, one that warned you to beware of this man. Erin didn’t need any warning, she could see he was dangerous!

She pointedly ignored him as she continued to clean the bathroom, which wasn’t all that easy with those lazy green eyes watching her so closely. He leant casually against the doorjamb now, his arms folded across his muscular chest. Erin was aware of his every movement without even having to look at him.

She brushed past him on her way out to the main room, coming into contact with the hardness of his thighs before moving sharply away, the hot colour flooding her cheeks.

Again he followed her, sitting down on one of the double beds. ‘What’s a sweet little baby like you doing in a place like this?’ he asked suddenly.

Erin flashed him a resentful glance. ‘That isn’t very original!’

His expression hardened. ‘It wasn’t meant to be,’ he rasped. ‘It was a sincere question. Little girls like you have been known to be gobbled up and never heard of again in this city.’

She could believe it; she seemed to have done nothing but fight off one man or another since she had been here—and for all of his lightly teasing manner she wasn’t so sure this man’s intentions were any different!

He gave her a scathing look. ‘I don’t happen to be “hungry” for skinny little English girls,’ he taunted, seeming to read her thoughts.

She flushed fiery red. ‘I’m as Canadian as you are!’

His dark eyebrows rose. ‘Really?’ he obviously doubted her claim.

‘Yes, really.’ She gave up all pretence of working, knowing she was only making a mess of it anyway. ‘I was born in Calgary,’ she told him with a certain feeling of triumph.

‘Then why do you sound like a prissy English girl?’

Erin gasped. ‘Because I was brought up a pris—I was brought up in England,’ she amended at his taunting smile. Her chin Vent up in challenge. ‘Where they obviously taught me more manners than you were ever taught in Canada!’

He gave a shout of laughter, tiny lines appearing beside his twinkling green eyes, the cleft in his chin more pronounced. ‘What’s your name, funny face?’ he sobered.

‘Erin Richards,’ she revealed stiffly.

He held out his hand. ‘Joshua Hawke—Josh to you.’

His hand was firm and strong, sending an electric thrill tingling up her arm and down her spine. She felt mesmerised by the warmth of those emerald-coloured eyes, then suddenly realised he hadn’t released her hand, and snatched it away as if he burnt her.

She licked her suddenly dry lips. ‘I—I’d rather call you Mr Hawke,’ she said stiffly.

He grinned. ‘I’m sure you would, hon—sweetheart, but——’

‘I don’t like being called sweetheart any more than I enjoy being called honey,’ she cut in firmly, deciding the time had come to put this conversation on a more businesslike footing.

Joshua Hawke still grinned at her. ‘You’re acting prissy again,’ he taunted.

She drew in an angry breath. ‘And you’re being rude again!’

He pursed his lips together thoughtfully. ‘Okay, Erin, truce. Now, tell me how a native Calgarian talks with that precise English accent. Was that bordering on the rude again?’ he quirked an eyebrow mockingly.

‘You know it was!’

He sighed. ‘So just tell me. The less I say the less chance I have of offending you.’

‘I don’t have the time to talk.’ She began stripping the beds. ‘I have to finish getting your room ready, and I work quicker if I don’t talk.’

‘Then I’ll help you.’ He marched over to her trolley and picked up the clean sheets, spreading one of them on the mattress.

‘But you—you can’t do that!’ she gasped.

‘I just did.’ He calmly continued to make the bed. ‘You look as if you’ve done enough already.’ He stopped to frown at her pale cheeks and slender body. ‘Do you eat?’

‘Of course I eat!’ she snapped her resentment.

He stood up to survey the too-slender curves below faded denims and light cotton sun-top, seeming to strip this fragile covering from her body and see the gauntness below. His eyes narrowed to steely slits. ‘How often?’ he demanded to know.

Not as often as she should. For one thing she didn’t have the time, and for another she didn’t have the money, not to eat the nourishing food that she needed anyway. French fries and hamburgers were cheap, but after cooking and serving them for six weeks she couldn’t even look at them, let alone eat them.

‘Well?’ he rapped out.

Erin scowled at him, wishing he would just mind his own business. ‘I eat as often as I’m hungry,’ she evaded.

His look was considering. ‘And how often is that?’

‘Once, sometimes twice a day,’ she admitted grudgingly.

His expression darkened. ‘And did you eat today?’

‘Not yet,’ she mumbled, unable to meet his searching gaze. What did it have to do with him how often she ate!

‘Are you going to?’ he persisted.

‘I—Probably.’

‘Which means you aren’t going to,’ he sighed. ‘How long have you been over here?’

‘Eight weeks,’ she frowned.

‘And how much weight have you lost in that time?’

‘I—’

‘How much, Erin?’

‘Twelve pounds,’ she muttered.

He nodded, as if he had already guessed as much. ‘Twelve pounds you couldn’t do without.’

She glared at him. ‘What does it have to do with you? What do you care that I don’t eat?’

His expression softened. ‘I care, Erin. I care,’ he repeated gently.

It was the gentleness that was her undoing. She swallowed hard, her face suddenly crumpling, deep sobs racking her body as she cried out all the misery of the last few weeks.

‘Hey, it’s all right, honey!’ Strong arms came about her and she was drawn against a hard chest, lean fingers gently caressing her golden locks. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ Josh Hawke’s warm breath stirred the hair at her temple.

‘You didn’t,’ she choked. ‘At least, only indirectly.’ She burrowed against his chest, somehow feeling safe and secure, held close in his arms, his skin smooth against her cheek where his shirt was partly unbuttoned.

‘Tell me,’ he encouraged softly.

Her body shuddered emotionally. ‘It’s just so long since—since anyone said that to me.’

‘Said what, little one?’ He slowly caressed her back.

Erin sniffed inelegantly. ‘That they—they cared!’ She started to cry once again.

His arms tightened about her. ‘Cry it all out, baby,’ he soothed. ‘And then we can talk.’

That stopped her tears. ‘T-talk?’

‘Yes, talk. I want to know exactly what a baby like you is doing here on your own. You should still be in school, not acting as a slave in a second-rate motel,’ his voice hardened grimly over the latter.

Erin gave a watery smile, wiping her cheeks dry as she moved away from him. ‘I left school years ago,’ she sniffed.

‘How many?’

‘Three.’

‘Three!’ he scorned.

Her eyes widened. ‘Don’t you believe me?’

‘No.’

She spluttered with laughter. ‘You’re honest, anyway.’

‘That’s better,’ he grinned. ‘You’re really cute when you laugh.’

She pulled a face. ‘Cute!’

‘Pretty?’

‘Well…’

‘Ravishingly beautiful,’ he mocked.

Erin laughed again. ‘I’ll stick with pretty. And I did leave school three years ago—I’m nineteen.’

‘Wow!’

She flushed. ‘Just because you’re old——’

‘I resent that, young lady,’ he firmly grasped her arms. ‘I’m thirty-four, and I wouldn’t be nineteen again for a million dollars.’

‘It’s pretty rough, isn’t it?’ she agreed ruefully, feeling strangely breathless close to him like this, and strangely happy for the first time in months.

‘It’s lousy,’ he nodded, glancing down at his wrist-watch. ‘Hell, it’s after five already.’ He looked up at her. ‘I have to be somewhere by six. Can we talk when I get back?’

She shrugged out of his hold on her. ‘We’ve already talked. I—I’m sorry I cried all over your shirt. I have to go now, I should have finished hours ago.’

‘Erin——’

She turned away. ‘You’ve been very kind, Mr Hawke. I don’t usually bore the guests with my problems——’

He swung her round angrily. ‘I know that, damn you! Erin, I wasn’t giving you the brush-off, I really do have to be somewhere by six. But I want to see you when I get back.’

‘I won’t be here.’ She refused to look at him, feeling embarrassed at the way she had broken down in front of him. She didn’t usually cry all over perfect strangers. But he was the first person to show her any real kindness since she had come to Canada, so he had been treated to all the emotion that had been building up in her over the last few weeks.

‘Where will you be?’ he wanted to know.

‘At my home,’ she answered evasively.

‘Where is it?’

Her stance became defensive. ‘That’s none of your business. Look, I’ve apologised for bothering you, now would you please go on to your appointment and let me finish up here.’

‘Erin, I want——’

‘I don’t care what you want!’ She shook off his hand on her arm, running to the door. ‘I’ll finish your room once you’ve left.’ She closed the door behind her and ran hurriedly to the store-room.

‘Erin!’ Joshua Hawke caught up with her before she reached it, spinning her round to face him. ‘Now I intend talking to you.’ His expression was grim, all of the lazy charm he had first teased her with completely erased. ‘If you won’t tell me where you live then meet me here. We can have dinner together, and you can tell me about yourself.’

She faced him defiantly. ‘And why should you want to know anything about me? Haven’t I told you enough—bored you enough, already?’

‘You haven’t bored me,’ he shook her roughly. ‘You’re lost and alone, and——’

‘But I’m not suicidal!’ she scorned him.

He seemed to go pale. ‘All right, Erin,’ he thrust her away from him, ‘if that’s the way you want it.’ He turned and strode off, getting into a brown pick-up, its paintwork mud-spattered, a huge wooden crate in the back. Her last glimpse of him qwas a narrow-eyed man intent on the road in front of him, his hat pulled low over his face, his jaw set in a firm line.

Oh, how could she have told him all those things, cried all over him like that! She just hoped she never had to face him again. She had made an absolute fool of herself.

She tidied his room so fast it must have been a record, terrified he would get back before she had finished. But he didn’t, and she was able to make her escape without making any more of an idiot of herself.

Only Mike was in the office when she went in to say goodnight; Frances was probably in the back doing her nails. What else would she be doing! A curvaceous blonde of about thirty, she wasn’t exactly maid material.

Mike looked up from his newspaper. ‘A little late tonight, aren’t you?’ he scowled, a tall sandy-haired man who couldn’t believe every woman he came into contact with didn’t find him madly attractive. He and Frances made a good couple, although Erin wondered when they ever had time for each other, they seemed to have such a lot of other—interests.

She gave a dismissive shrug. ‘I had a lot to do,’ she told him pointedly.

His gaze slowly undressed her. ‘So I saw,’ he sneered. ‘Flirting with the guests isn’t what you’re paid to do.’

She bit her lip. ‘Flirting…?’

‘I saw you with the Hawke guy. Find him attractive, do you?’

‘I—No! No, I——’

‘Liar!’ he accused angrily. ‘I hope you aren’t up to anything with him, Erin, because I don’t allow that sort of thing in my place.’

She stiffened with indignation. ‘I’ve no intention of “getting up to anything” with Mr Hawke. I happened to be doing his room, and——’

‘Spare me the details,’ Mike cut in nastily. ‘I just want you to remember,’ he moved closer to her, his hand touching her waist, ‘that I’m first in line when you do decide to start coming across.’

His crudeness made her feel sick, as did the way he was touching her. He had also answered her curiosity about Frances; she couldn’t be back yet, Mike would never act this way within hearing distance of his wife.

Erin moved away from him. ‘I just came in to tell you I’ve finished for the day. I’m going to my room now.’

His gaze ran over her suggestively. ‘Want me to come with you?’ he asked softly.

She swallowed hard. ‘No, thank you.’

‘So polite,’ he taunted. ‘Do you say thank you afterwards too?’

She had to get out of here, before she was physically sick. ‘I—Goodnight, Mike.’

‘’Night, Erin. Tomorrow’s another day, hmm?’

She looked away. ‘Yes,’ she agreed in a choked voice.

His mocking laughter followed her. He had her trapped, and he knew it. If only she hadn’t been so stupid, so trusting. When Mike had told her that there was a room she could rent from him she had jumped at the chance of leaving the flat she had been paying an exorbitant rent for and moving in here. The room had turned out to be little more than a cupboard, the rent almost as high as the one she had been paying, also Mike conveniently had a key to her room. She had changed the lock once, but he had demanded her spare key—for fire purposes, he said. She could hardly refuse in the circumstances, and so now she lived in dread of him just letting himself into her room one night.

So far he hadn’t done so, seeming to be biding his time, but she knew that very soon her time was going to run out. And she lived in dread of that day!

No wonder she had lost twelve pounds; she was surprised she hadn’t lost more, having no appetite, and hardly daring to sleep at night because of Mike and that spare key.

She studied herself in the mirror once she reached her room. She looked a mess—too thin, too pale, and worst of all, no vitality. It was hard to believe this was the same näive girl who had set out so hopefully eight weeks ago.

It had taken just two weeks of that time for her to realise her father didn’t want her around, another week to realise it was going to take forever to get the return air-fare together. So far she had a hundred dollars towards it, at this rate she might get back to England in six months or so.

She groaned, burying her face in the pillow and sobbing what few tears she had left after crying in Joshua Hawke’s arms.

Six months ago it had all seemed so easy, so very easy. She had hardly been able to believe it when Bob had offered to buy her an air ticket to see the father who had returned to Canada when Erin was only five years old. Until she saw it was a one-way ticket!

Her mother had died just over a year ago, leaving Erin to care for the man who had been her stepfather since she was eight years old. It was the age-old story of immigrants, one partner liked the new country and one didn’t. Her mother liked England and so she stayed, her father hated the little country that would fit into one corner of Canada, so he returned to his native country. They had divorced two years later, and a year after that her mother had brought Bob Walker home as her stepfather.

He wasn’t the sort of man to tolerate children, liking to go out in the evenings, taking her mother with him, and so for the most part he ignored Erin’s very existence. Her mother had claimed he needed time to adjust, and yet when her mother had died just after Erin’s eighteenth birthday Bob was still resenting her presence in his home.

She had tried to care for Bob the way her mother had, had tried to love him, and yet it was so hard to love someone who had never shown her even one gesture of affection in the whole of the ten years she had known him.

After a year of cooking and cleaning for him, with not one word of gratitude, she was prepared to admit defeat. Then out of the blue Bob had given her the air-ticket to come out here and visit her father. She hadn’t thought twice about it, writing to let her father know, and even though she had received no reply from him she had still come, sure that after all this time he would want to see her.

He hadn’t. He had remarried himself, had a new family, a son and daughter of ten and eleven respectively, and his second wife had left Erin in no doubt of her opinion of her turning up on their doorstep uninvited.

Nevertheless, her father had grudgingly allowed her to stay, putting her in with Ronnie, his other daughter. Ronnie turned out to be a precocious little brat, who took every opportunity she could to let Erin know she wasn’t wanted there.

The last straw had come after she had heard her father and stepmother arguing about her. With a few cruel words she had learnt that her father was no more pleased to see her than her stepmother was, that she had been the result of an effort on her parents’ part to try and make their marriage work.

Even now she didn’t like to think about it, to realise that she hadn’t so much been wanted by her parents but had been a final attempt to pull their marriage together. It wasn’t surprising that such parents should have destroyed her.

Oh, her mother had tried her best, had loved her in her own way, but ultimately it was Bob who always came first, even if he wasn’t always right.

She had left her father’s house after hearing that argument, and the lack of argument at her decision to leave only served to enhance the fact that she hadn’t been wanted there in the first place.

And so she had been left alone, with very little money, and no visible means of supporting herself. In a place as large as Calgary, a city growing at a rate too fast for its population, she had felt sure she would be able to get a job. She could, if she didn’t mind waiting two or three weeks to get an interview. She had been through it all before in England, and she didn’t have the funds to wait that long, so she took the first job she could start immediately, little realising that once she began work she had no time to look for a more suitable job.

She spent the evening doing her laundry, suddenly realising at bedtime that she hadn’t eaten again. Joshua Hawke had probably gone out and had a big juicy steak, forgetting all about the childish creature he had invited to join him.

Why had he done that? He didn’t seem to be the type good Samaritans were made of. And yet he had listened as she sobbed her heart out. Listened! The poor man hadn’t had much choice about it, she had cried all over him!

Well, that wouldn’t happen again. She didn’t need or want anyone worrying over her, least of all a tall arrogant stranger who mocked her most of the time.

She didn’t know whether she was relieved or disappointed when she left her room the next morning to find the brown pick-up noticeably absent. Joshua Hawke must have left very early, it was only eight-thirty now. Perhaps he worked on one of the ranches after all. But his hand, when he had touched her, hadn’t felt calloused and rough. It hadn’t felt soft and effeminate either, making his occupation a puzzle.

Why on earth did she keep thinking of the man! She wasn’t likely to see or hear from him again, he had probably forgotten all about her now that he had returned home.

Did he have a wife? She somehow didn’t think so. Why she thought that she didn’t know, he just hadn’t looked married. She was probably wrong, he probably had half a dozen children too! Maybe that was the reason he had been so patient with her display of tears, because he had children of his own.

But he hadn’t treated her like a child, despite calling her ‘little one’ and ‘baby’!

She had to stop thinking about the man; he had gone now, and she doubted he would ever be back. This motel rarely had the same visitors twice, the rooms were not exactly of a glamorous standard.

‘Daydreaming?’ Frances Johnston asked waspishly, as she sat behind the desk in the reception area, looking attractive in a tight blouse and even tighter skirt.

‘No, I—I was just—thinking.’ About Joshua Hawke! And she wouldn’t do it again. The man had shown her a little kindness, but he was gone now, for ever.

Frances’ mouth twisted. ‘A bit early in the day for that, isn’t it?’

‘Maybe,’ Erin dismissed, knowing that the other woman was spoiling for an argument. Frances didn’t like her, was aware of her husband’s interest in her, and she liked that even less. If only she knew how Erin hated Mike’s attentions, the way he took every opportunity to touch her, the way he crudely made verbal passes at her! The whole thing made her cringe, but Frances seemed to enjoy acting the jealous wife, and took delight in making digs at Erin whenever they were alone together.