LOVE IS FOR THE LUCKY Read online

  Annie burbled on happily as they drove up the hill, speculating on who was likely to be there. Ros felt

  the tension knotting in her stomach, but somehow she managed to make the right noises, and Annie was too carried away to notice that anything was wrong.

  There were two heavyweight security guards on duty at the gate, and the drive was lined with several million pounds’ worth of luxury cars. There were three heli¬copters parked on the lawn, and more security guards patrolling the grounds and at the front door.

  There was a moment of awkwardness when it was found that Ros’s name wasn’t on the guest-list. ‘Oh… no, it’s all right,’ she insisted quickly, feeling herself blushing under the professional suspicion of the guard. ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ protested Annie indignantly. ‘What do you think she’s going to do, for goodness’ sake? Kidnap somebody?’

  ‘I’m sorry, but it’s more than my job’s worth…’

  ‘Is there a problem here? Why, hello, Ros—when did you get back?’

  Her heart bounced alarmingly at the sound of that velvet voice. He was wearing a formal white dinner-jacket, but no tie, and the collar of his fine white shirt was unfastened, showing just a glimpse of the rough, dark hair that curled at the base of his throat. And the smile that he gave her took her breath away.

  ‘Come on out back.’ He invited them with a wel¬coming gesture to follow him through the house to the courtyard.

  The scene that met Ros’s eyes was like a set from a Hollywood movie—starring a galaxy of the most famous names in show business. The courtyard was framed on three sides by the rambling old house, which was now highlighted with brilliant spot-beams

  from below to display the fascinating architecture to the best effect.

  The paved yard was dotted with dozens of tubs of bright flowers, their perfumes mingling with Arpege and Shalimar, and white-coated waiters—probably security guards thinly disguised, to judge from the muscular physiques most of them displayed—were mingling among the guests bearing silver trays of champagne and canapes.

  ‘When did you get back from Spain?’ Griff asked her.

  ‘Just… just a couple of days ago,’ she managed to respond.

  ‘You didn’t tell me you were planning to dash off abroad,’ he remarked, detaining her as Paul and Annie moved off through the crowd. ‘1 tried ringing you, but your friend told me you’d gone.’

  Ros felt her heartbeat fluttering, and realised that she was twisting her fingers nervously into the strap of her bag. ‘Oh, it…I’d been planning it for a while,’ she stammered, hoping that Shelley hadn’t let it slip that it had come as a surprise to her, too. ‘I had to do some more research.’

  ‘How’s the book coming on?’ he asked in a friendly tone.

  ‘Not too bad.’

  ‘Good. Well, come on over and get a drink.’

  His fingers touched her elbow to draw her forward. A shock of lightning ran up her arm, and she jerked away from him instinctively. Their eyes clashed, his puzzled and slightly angry, hers wide and startled as a faun. She felt her cheeks flame scarlet—damn, why did she always react like this around him? She choked

  down the constriction in her throat, and started to apologise. ‘I..

  ‘Ah, Griff, there you are. Harvey’s looking for you.’

  Stevie was like a vision. Her tousled ash-blonde hair and perfectly shaped scarlet lips were every man’s sexual fantasy, her stunning figure was poured into a sheath of shimmering silver. She wrapped her beauti¬fully manicured hands around Griffs arm, and smiled kindly at Ros.

  ‘Hello. It’s… Ros, isn’t it?’ she enquired with all that friendly charm that had first disarmed Ros. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come. In a way, I have you to thank for all this.’ She smiled up at Griff, and jealousy twisted like a knife in Ros’s heart. Any lingering doubts she might have had died in the warmth of that smile. ‘All of this’ plainly included Griff, as well as the successful launch of her career.

  ‘I… heard your record,’ she forced herself to re¬spond. ‘It’s very good.’

  ‘Thank you. Griff wrote it for me. We’re working on an album now. Working’s the word!’ What man could resist that throaty laugh? ‘He’s an absolute slave-driver.’ The glow in her sapphire-blue eyes belied her words, and she brushed a speck of dust from his collar with one scarlet-tipped finger in a gesture that was oddly possessive. Ros felt the acid sting of tears behind her eyes, and turned away quickly to follow Paul and Annie.

  It was hard to believe that she was really here, among all these famous, beautiful people. Trying to look as if she felt totally at ease. Tom and Thea were there, and Chrissie with her latest boyfriend, and the group of them drew instinctively together—like a

  wagon-train expecting an Apache raid, Ros thought with a twist of wry amusement.

  Tom greeted her with a friendly grin. ‘How was Spain?’

  ‘Hot!’

  ‘You didn’t get much of a tan,’ observed Thea smugly—her own slim body was an enviable shade of golden-brown.

  ‘1 would have done,’ countered Ros, untroubled. ‘If I’d stayed a few more weeks my freckles would have all run into each other.’

  Thea returned her a thin smile, and promptly lost interest in her as Stevie swanned by on Griff’s arm. ‘Just look at that dress,’ she remarked critically. ‘How on earth did she get into it? It looks as if it’s been painted on.’

  ‘You can see she hasn’t got any strap-marks on her tan,’ added Chrissie in the same spirit.

  ‘Mmm.’ Tom expressed his approval enthusiasti¬cally, and Thea thumped him on the chest with her fist. ‘She can have the last potato on my plate any day!’

  ‘Well, if you fancy her so much, why don’t you see if you can chat her up?’ retaliated Thea loftily.

  Tom shook his head. ‘What, me compete with Jordan Griffin? You’ve got to be kidding—I don’t back sure losers.’

  Paul chuckled. ‘You’re well out of it, little brother,’ he advised him. ‘She’d eat you for breakfast and not even spit out the bones.’

  ‘She’s lovely, isn’t she?’ murmured Annie to Ros. ‘She’s very temperamental, though—Griff was telling Paul that they’re falling terribly behind on the album.’

  ‘Do you think he’s in love with her?’ Ros mused, hoping her voice didn’t betray the misery she felt.

  ‘I don’t know. 1 think he must be, to put up with ; her the way he does.’

  Ros couldn’t keep her eyes from the beautiful couple as they circulated among the guests. Even in that glit-j tering throng they seemed somehow extra special, like two beings from a higher planet who had come down to scatter their smiles like Stardust over lesser mortals. .

  There was music playing softly in the background—Stevie’s voice, singing Griffs songs. ■ ‘Obsession’. The words told of a girl destroying herself with an obsessive love for a man. Ros shivered, staring at the high bright stars, so remote in the summer sky, far above the ancient, ivy-clad walls of the old house. ,

  Obsession. It was a dangerous word, and danger- ; ously accurate. Impatiently she gave herself a little shake. It was stupid to be so melodramatic about it. I She would survive—hadn’t she always? But she had had enough of watching them together.

  She couldn’t leave yet, not till Paul and Annie were ready to go. They had gone off to dance, and Thea and Chrissie were united—for once—in disparaging every other female present. Cupping her champagne glass in both hands, she faded quietly back into the shadows.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THERE weren’t many people in the house. Ros wan¬dered aimlessly from room to room, remembering— moments from long-ago games with the children who had called this place home, but much more often mo¬ments from that one night in March when Griff had taken her on his guided tour.

  So maybe it wasn’t just chance that led her to the room where the grand piano stood. All the reno¬vations were completed now. The walls were lined with books, and there was a fine Chinese carp
et on the floor. The intricately carved stone fireplace was filled with bowls of yellow roses, and another bowl stood on the lid of the piano, mirrored in its glossy black surface.

  She moved across the room, and lifted the lid over the ivory keys. The haunting theme he had played to her that night was running through her head, and she tipped her head on one side, trying to pick out the notes.

  ‘I think you should stick to writing books—you’ll never make a concert pianist.’

  She spun round, her heart pounding. ‘Oh, I… didn’t hear you come in,’ she gasped.

  He smiled that dangerously attractive smile as he came across the room towards her. His fingers touched the keys, and the melody came to life, evoking a lonely, windswept night out on the wild moors.

  She laughed wryly. ‘You’re right—I’ll leave the piano-playing to you, and stick to writing.’

  ‘Speaking of which, I have a complaint,’ he chided, mock-severely. ‘Two months you’ve been away, and not so much as a postcard.’

  ‘I didn’t know you wanted one,’ she countered, trying to tease. ‘Besides, you were in America for three months and never sent me one.’

  ‘Touche.’ His dark eyes drifted down over her body, and she felt her temperature rise as if he were ca¬ressing her. ‘I like that dress,’ he murmured. ‘It suits you.’

  ‘Oh, it’s… practically the only one I’ve got,’ she babbled foolishly. ‘You’ve seen it before—at Annie’s dinner party.’

  ‘I remember.’ He was coming towards her, but she couldn’t back away. She couldn’t move. ‘So what did you get up to in Spain?’ he enquired. ‘You can’t have been working all the time.’

  ‘No, I had a bit of a holiday too,’ she said brightly. ‘Cadiz is where the Spanish go themselves—the beach was nice, just close to my hotel. Not that I can spend too long sunbathing—I burn too easily, and get all these horrid freckles.’

  ‘They’re not horrid,’ he argued, his voice spinning a spell around her. ‘I like them.’ He brushed the tips of his fingers up her arm, electrifying her with shock. ‘How many are there?’ He began to count, touching each one lightly. ‘One, two, three, four…’

  Her breath was warm on her lips as she gazed up into those black-magic eyes. His hand closed over her shoulder, and his head bent towards hers. His mouth brushed hers, and the hot tip of his tongue flickered

  into the sensitive corner of her lips, making her senses reel.

  His hand moved up to cup the ripe swell of her breast, his thumb teasing the hardening nub of her nipple through the silky fabric of her dress. She couldn’t mistake the warning tension of male arousal in him, and her head swam dizzily. His arms folded around her, and his mouth plundered hers, de¬manding total submission. The fires inside her were raging out of control. She clung to him, responding helplessly to his skilful caresses.

  ‘I’m glad you came back,’ he rasped huskily. ‘I was getting tired of waiting.’

  He made a move towards the door, drawing her with him. But suddenly she realised his intention, and jerked away from him.

  He frowned, his eyes glittering like black dia-monds. ‘No one’s going to miss us for a couple of hours,’ he rasped. ‘So long as the champagne doesn’t run out, they won’t give a damn.’

  She stared at him with misted eyes. ‘No,’ she managed to protest, her voice choking with tears. ‘All you want is a quick… a quick…’

  His smile held a promise of sizzling sensuality. ‘Not a quick one,’ he corrected her, his voice treacherously soft. ‘I like it slow, warm and comfortable.’

  ‘And you don’t care who with, do you?’ she snarled. ‘Still, I suppose it doesn’t matter with the lights out.’

  ‘What?’ His anger blazed. ‘What the hell’s the matter now?’ he demanded, his steel fingers bruising her shoulders.

  ‘Well, you hardly want to go to bed with me for my looks, do you?’ she threw at him bitterly. ‘You just think you won’t have to put out too much effort— I’ll be so overcome with gratitude I’ll just melt in your arms.’

  ‘You..He shook her fiercely. ‘You and your damned hang-ups. Well, that’s it—from now on, lady, I’ve had it with you.’

  He slammed out of the room, leaving her trembling uncontrollably, silent tears streaming down her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to pull herself together. She had to stop herself crying—if anyone saw her like this…

  The door opened quietly, and she turned, startled, as Stevie slipped into the room. ‘Oh, you poor thing,’ she murmured in a rush of sympathy. She came over and put a comforting arm around Ros’s shoulders. ‘Have you got a hanky or something? Your make¬up’s all run, and your nose is red—you look awful!’

  Ros caught her breath on a painful sob, clenching her jaw. Something about this girl was making her dislike her intensely, in spite of her gloss of charm. She fumbled in her bag for a tissue.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Stevie went on. ‘I can guess what hap¬pened.’ Ros looked up at her questioningly. ‘It’s really my fault. But at least I know now that my tactics are working.’ She smiled, just a little smugly. ‘He’s getting frustrated, you see. I won’t sleep with him. I’ve no intention of being just another notch on his belt— I’m going to make him marry me.’

  Ros stared at her in surprise.

  ‘I didn’t mind him going after you,’ Stevie purred with total confidence. ‘I’m expecting him to do that

  sort of thing a few more times before he admits defeat.’

  Ros felt a chill of horror, as if she were staring at a beautiful but deadly poisonous snake. ‘1… excuse me,’ she mumbled. ‘I’d better go and wash my face. My friends will be wondering where I am.’

  She escaped from the room, unconscious memory guiding her to a small guest cloakroom under the stairs. Fifteen minutes later, her ravaged make-up re¬paired, she slipped back out into the courtyard—no one had even noticed she’d been gone.

  It was a beautiful, golden autumn, but it was wasted on Ros. She had immersed herself totally in her book, resolutely putting every other thought from her mind. She would snatch a few hours’ sleep—often not going to bed until it was light outside—and meals would consist of yogurts or bowls of cornflakes eaten in front of the green screen of her word-processor.

  The weeks passed in a kind of blur, uncounted. She was refining and polishing the book, almost reluctant to let it go. When Annie rang her to ask her to stand as the new baby’s godmother, she could hardly be¬lieve how late in the year it was.

  ‘Ros, it’s almost Christmas! The baby’s more than three months old!’

  ‘Already?’ she asked blankly. ‘But…I haven’t seen him for weeks!’

  ‘If I hadn’t been so tied up, I’d have been down there to sort you out,’ Annie pronounced in dire tones. ‘Ros, you’re impossible! Have you been eating properly?’

  ‘Of course I have,’ she protested, genuinely be¬lieving that she was telling the truth.

  ‘I’m coming down there right now, and if I find that you’ve lost more weight, you’re coming back up here until I’ve fattened you up,’ Annie warned.

  Ros cast a wry look around the cottage, seeing it properly for the first time in weeks. The curtains were still drawn, though it was three o’clock in the afternoon, and there was dust and discarded paper everywhere. ‘No!’ she gasped quickly. ‘Not this afternoon, Annie. I’ll come up to you—tomorrow, I promise.’

  ‘Not good enough. I’ll be there in ten minutes.’ She put the phone down before Ros could protest further.

  ‘Oh… damn!’ muttered Ros. She was annoyed at the interruption, and yet… the book was really fin¬ished. She had been held in its coils for too long— suddenly she realised that it was time to break free, post off the manuscript, open the curtains, and breathe some fresh air.

  She whizzed around the living-room at top speed, scooping up the litter into a big paper bag and piling her books neatly on the one side of the table. By the time Annie arrived she had the Hoover out and radio
on, and her liberated spirit was singing.

  ‘All right—before you say it, the place is a mess, I’m a mess, and yes, I have lost a bit of weight,’ she announced cheerfully. ‘What I need is a good wife.’

  ‘What you need is a good husband,’ scolded Annie, casting a critical eye around the room, not fooled by those last-minute efforts. ‘Someone who won’t let you neglect yourself like this.’

  ‘I’m sorry. But it’s finished—at least, I’m ready to send it off. I just hope the publisher likes it.’

  ‘It is?’ Annie hugged her. ‘Oh, I’m so glad. Look, come on, leave all this and come home with me now. You can stay a couple of days—I’ll tell you what, why don’t we go into York tomorrow, just for a trot round the shops? Mrs Butterworth can look after the brats for me.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ agreed Ros readily. ‘Just give me a few minutes to parcel this up, and I can post it on the way to your house.’

  ‘It feels like the end of term!’ Ros spread her arms wide, and spun round, dancing like a child in the middle of the street.

  Annie laughed at her. ‘You’re nuts!’ she scolded.

  ‘I know. Who cares? Oh, look—look at that!’ In a shop window was a collection of fluffy toy dogs. ‘They’re the ones that sit up and bark when you clap your hands—look!’ She dragged Annie into the shop, and insisted on demonstrating. ‘I’ve got to get one for my new godson.’

  ‘It’ll scare the daylights out of him!’ Annie protested.

  ‘No it won’t. I want one for myself, too. It’ll be just right for me—it won’t mind if I forget to feed

  m>

  Annie chuckled with laughter. ‘Come on, hurry up, then. I’ve got to pick something to wear for the christening, and so have you. I’m not having you standing as my son’s godmother in a pair of jeans.’

  ‘Of course not,’ agreed Ros cheerfully. ‘I’m going to get something really posh. I’m a wealthy lady now,

  you know—I had a lovely big royalties’ cheque a few days ago. I might even buy a hat! Who else have you got for godparents, by the way?’