The Ice Seduction Page 9

  Tanya sighs. ‘Mr Carmichael won’t like it.’

  With that the phone clicks off.

  I slump on the bed, lying against the pillow. My chest feels all hard and empty. But then the anger comes. How dare he? How dare he?

  There has to be a way around this. I have to let the girls know I’m thinking of them. But how?

  With a sigh, I fall down onto my pillow and drift into a difficult sleep.

  34

  The next morning my alarm goes off an hour earlier than it needs to. I set it for five just in case.

  I’m not risking a repeat of yesterday.

  I brush my teeth, shower, put on a little makeup and run my fingers through damp hair.

  Wow. I’m going to be cold this morning with my hair wet like this. But I left the hairdryer for Wila, so I guess I’ll have to put up with it.

  I dress in two pairs of thick black stockings, frayed denim shorts, a woolly green jumper and a little black blazer. And of course, my cowboy boots.

  I spend a little while getting my room in order, and then head down for breakfast, thinking I’ll wake Bertie at seven and take him for his milk and liquorice.

  I use the map to find the great hall, and to my delight only take two wrong turns.

  I’m making progress.

  When I reach the hall, it’s filled with delicious breakfast smells – bacon, pastries and cinnamon toast.

  I poke my head through the serving hatch and find Vicky stirring a huge pan of scrambled eggs.

  ‘Morning Vicky.’

  She turns and smiles. ‘Morning hen. Sleep well?’

  ‘I did actually. I’ve been moved to a much better room. It’s much warmer there.’

  ‘Wow. You must have done something to please Mr Mansfield. Because I know damn well Mrs Calder wouldn’t have moved you unless she had to. Well you enjoy it doll. Eggs?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘I’ll get you a plate ready.’

  I notice a breakfast plate of muesli and fruit all made up by Vicky’s stove.

  ‘Is that for Mrs Calder?’ I ask, nodding at the plate.

  ‘No,’ says Vicky. ‘That’s for … well actually I’m never sure who eats it. But Patrick orders an extra breakfast each morning. Then he comes and collects it, and takes it god knows where. It’s not for him. He always has steak and eggs, or sausage or something like that.’

  ‘Oh.’ I frown. ‘That’s strange.’

  ‘I guess it is a little. But you’ll get used to strange if you’re staying here.’

  I’m just forking up my scrambled eggs, when Agnes Calder glides into the hall.

  ‘So. You’re up on time.’ She eyes me meanly. ‘Not so hard, is it?’

  ‘It’s not hard at all when your alarm goes off,’ I say, trying to keep things light.

  ‘You have a free day today. Bertie is visiting his mother. The driver has already taken him.’

  ‘What?’ I nearly choke on my eggs. ‘Why didn’t anyone tell me?’

  ‘It’s not your business how we run things here,’ says Agnes. ‘You’re here to do as you’re told.’

  ‘It is my business,’ I say, leaping to my feet. ‘Bertie is my business. I’m trying to build up a relationship with him. And I can’t do that if I have no idea where he is from one moment to the next.’

  Agnes thins her lips. ‘I’d advise you to rein in your temper. Or you’re going to find yourself on the train back home before the day is out. You’ll just have to amuse yourself today. Most girls would be grateful to get a day off.’

  She marches to the serving hatch. ‘Victoria! Where’s my muesli and tea?’

  ‘Here Mrs Calder,’ says Vicky, placing a tray on the serving hatch.

  Mrs Calder takes the tray and storms out of the hall.

  I bite my teeth together, fuming.

  Just as things were going well with Bertie, now we’re going to spend a day apart.

  How can the poor boy get to know anyone if he’s whisked away like this?

  Vicky comes through the swing door by the kitchen. ‘Are you okay hen? You look fit to explode.’

  I push my plate away. ‘Oh, just Mrs Calder. I’m so sorry Vicky. I need to go.’ I stand up.

  ‘No worries. Where are you off to now?’

  ‘For a run. I need to clear my head.’

  ‘Oh.’ Vicky nods. ‘An athlete, eh?’

  I manage a smile. ‘Hardly. But I jog when I can. It helps keep me calm. And it’ll be nice to go running without traffic everywhere.’

  ‘You enjoy it pet. But watch the ice. It’s slippery out there.’

  When I get to my room, I pace around for a few minutes, thinking of all the things I wish I’d said to Agnes Calder.

  Then I strip off and put on my running gear – baggy grey sweatpants, a loose black t-shirt and shoes.

  My running shoes aren’t really running shoes. They’re basketball boots and they pinch my feet sometimes. But proper jogging trainers are a luxury I’ve never been able to afford.

  I tie my hair into a high ponytail and head out into the grounds, jogging along the lawn and then out into the woods.

  There’s still a little snow around the edges of the trees, and the ground is crunchy with frost as I run along. But I remember Vicky’s advice and tread carefully.

  I breathe in out and out, sucking in the cool, fresh air, trying to pound out my frustration with every step.

  My wet hair swings around, but running warms me up and I’m not cold.

  Before I know it, I’ve run deep into the woods, past a frozen strip of water and a craggy rock face that looks like it has an old man’s face carved into it.

  On I run, far into the trees.

  And then I realize.

  Oh god. That strip of frozen water … I guess before it froze it was a stream.

  Yesterday, Patrick told me not to go further than the stream.

  I slow to a stop, looking around and seeing the castle behind me.

  I should get back.

  Just as I’m turning on my heel, I hear a CRACK! And then another.

  Oh holy Jesus.

  Gunshots.

  35

  I freeze, not sure what to do.

  Should I turn and run back? Or should I stay where I am so I don’t fall into the line of fire?

  Just as I’m thinking it over, I feel a heavy hand grab my shoulder, and hear a growling, deep voice.

  ‘Get DOWN!’

  Oh my god. There’s no mistaking that voice.

  I’m hauled backwards and fall onto Patrick’s hard chest. His arm comes around my body, pulling me back and down to my knees.

  I turn to see the side of Patrick’s furious face, all brown stubble and hard, square lines, as he squats behind me.

  He’s not looking at me, but into the distance, watching, watching … his breathing hard and fierce.

  Suddenly, Patrick pushes me behind him, his arm holding me against his back. I’m pressed against his leather shotgun holder, watching his shoulders heave up and down.

  ‘Stay where you are,’ he barks.

  He’s wearing a thin cotton t-shirt under an open camouflage jacket and the heat coming from his body is intense. He smells amazing – all musky and manly, with something clean and fresh and cool mixed in.

  Patrick pulls the shotgun from his back, and cocks it, looking down the sight.

  ‘Don’t move,’ he growls, taking aim.

  He follows something I can’t see with his gun, then takes a shot.

  In the distance, there’s a crumpling sound and a human shout. Then I hear fast footsteps beating along the forest ground.

  I gasp, putting my hand to my mouth. ‘Did you just—’

  Patrick shakes his head. ‘I shot a branch. It exploded on the poacher out there. Hawk Turner again. His visits are becoming more frequent. The branch won’t do him any serious harm. But hopefully that bastard will think twice about coming back.’

  His breathing is still fast, but I feel it steadying. He turns to me,
his eyes furious.

  ‘I told you not to go past the stream.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to,’ I say, feeling embarrassingly tearful. My insides are all shaken up, and I’m a little in shock. Both about wandering into poacher land, and Patrick appearing to save me. ‘It was a mistake.’

  ‘A bloody stupid mistake,’ says Patrick, slotting his gun back into the holder. ‘Christ, you could have been hurt. Killed.’

  He turns to me with those fierce eye, and to my huge embarrassment, I burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ I bleat out again. ‘I really didn’t mean to.’

  Argh! Get it together Sera, this is SOO embarrassing.

  But try as I might, I can’t seem to stop the tears coming. I snuffle and wipe at my face, taking gaping, gasping breathes.

  I think I’m just in shock. Hearing that gunshot … seeing Patrick out here …

  Patrick’s eyes soften, and he puts a hand to my cheek. ‘Don’t cry.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I sniffle. ‘I don’t know why I am.’

  Patrick’s forehead crumples up.

  He brushes away my tears with his fingers, and I begin to shake – both from shock and Patrick’s touch.

  ‘Here.’ Patrick takes off his coat and wraps it around me. ‘Take this.’

  He stands and lifts me clean off the ground, me still snuffling and wiping tears from my face. Then he carries me through the trees.

  ‘How did you find me out here?’ I ask, my voice soft with tears.

  ‘You’re not the most difficult person to track,’ says Patrick.

  That makes me smile a little, and the tears stop flowing. ‘Track?’

  ‘Yes, track.’

  ‘And how did you know to track me just then?’ I ask. ‘How did you know I’d end up in the wrong part of the woods?’

  ‘You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said so far. So as soon as I saw you running into the woods, I guessed that you’d end up crossing the stream.’

  ‘I really didn’t mean to,’ I say. ‘The stream was frozen. It didn’t look like a stream.’

  ‘You should have been paying better attention,’ says Patrick. ‘I don’t make rules just for the sake of it. They’re to keep you safe. To keep all of us safe.’

  I can’t think of anything to say to that, so I don’t say anything. Instead, I let myself enjoy the hard warmth of his body, and how safe I feel wrapped in his arms.

  36

  Patrick carries me through the trees and sets me down on the other side of the stream.

  We stand, his hands resting on my waist.

  For a moment, our eyes catch each other.

  ‘Can I trust you to do as you’re told now?’ he asks.

  ‘I won’t cross the stream again.’

  ‘Promise me,’ says Patrick.

  ‘I promise.’

  To my surprise, his hands tighten on my waist.

  I freeze, feeling shivers rush all over my body.

  I mean to step back from him. But …

  Patrick is watching me so intently, his chest heaving, his eyes fierce and challenging, his large hands tight on my body.

  Time seems to stand still, and no matter how much my mind screams, no, no, no, I can’t make myself move away from his warm hands.

  ‘I don’t want to let you go,’ says Patrick, and I feel his voice all the way through his fingertips.

  ‘You have to,’ I squeak.

  ‘You haven’t pulled away …’

  ‘I …’ My eyes falter, and flick to the muddy, frosty ground.

  Patrick leans in close to me, his lips brushing mine.

  I feel the heat of him and the softness of his skin.

  Somehow I manage to turn my head away.

  ‘No,’ I whisper. ‘We can’t do this.’ I gather all my strength and stumble back, out of his grasp. ‘I should get back to the house,’ I say, my voice all husky and scared. I turn, my basketball shoes crunching over frozen leaves and soil.

  ‘Wait.’ Patrick grabs my hand.

  ‘Please,’ I say. ‘You have to let me go.’

  ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘I do,’ I say, but I know my voice sounds weak and pathetic. ‘Patrick … we can’t …’

  My words trail away as Patrick tightens his grip on my hand.

  ‘Yes we can,’ says Patrick.

  I find myself looking up into those hunter eyes – eyes that look at me with a fierce softness that makes my stomach flip over.

  I struggle against his hand, but Patrick pulls close and pushes his lips hard against mine. He slides a hand into my hair and I’m lost.

  I collapse against his chest, into his arms, and my body melts into his as he kisses me.

  His lips push mine apart, his hand grips my hair and his arm comes around my body, holding me tight.

  The heat of his lips rushes through my whole body, and warmth spreads over me from head to toe.

  Our bodies move against each other, his lips pushing and probing, his tongue finding mine, his hands gripping me tight.

  As he pulls me closer, right into his arms, I know I’m about to lose all sense of self control. And that can’t happen.

  Get a grip, Sera!

  I pull back.

  ‘Wait,’ I say, putting hands to his chest.

  He watches me, his lips red and bruised, his eyes seeking out mine.

  ‘We mustn’t …’ I’m shaking my head as I back away from him. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Run then,’ says Patrick. ‘But you’ll be back. You can’t fight this, Seraphina. This is nature. It’s stronger than both of us.’

  Temper flares in my chest and I stop backing away.

  ‘This has nothing to do with nature, Patrick. We make our own choices. And I’ve made mine.’

  ‘You’re wrong. This is bigger than both of us. And you can only run for so long, Sera. I know how you feel. And god, I want you.’ He shakes his head. ‘More than I’ve ever wanted anyone.’

  ‘Who says I want you?’ I challenge, hands on my hips.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘You think I can’t tell?’

  ‘Whether I want you or not … it doesn’t matter,’ I say. ‘I’m an adult. I can control my feelings.’

  ‘You’re sure about that?’

  Oh, now I’m fuming. ‘Yes,’ I snap. ‘You may be my boss, but you’re not in charge of how I feel.’

  ‘Aren’t I?’ says Patrick. ‘I have to have you, and I will.’

  ‘God …’ I swallow. ‘You’re so arrogant. No. This isn’t going to happen. That … what just happened was a mistake. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Yes it will. We both know it will. Don’t pretend you don’t feel it too.’

  Oh, that does it. ‘Look. I know you’re probably used to women throwing themselves at you. But that’s not me. I’m here to do a job and that comes first. I’m perfectly capable of resisting you, believe me.’

  Patrick raises a thick eyebrow. ‘You weren’t resisting me just then…’

  ‘That was a mistake,’ I fire back, turning on my heel and crunching off into the woods.

  ‘No it wasn’t,’ Patrick calls after me. ‘You know that as well as I do.’

  God, the arrogance of him!

  As the distance grows between us, Patrick’s words whirl round and round in my mind like snow in the wind. And I wonder …

  Will I? Will I be back?

  I spend the rest of the day hiding out in my room. I feel pretty pathetic doing that, but right now I just can’t handle bumping into Patrick.

  My emotions are all over the place.

  That kiss … I can’t lie to myself, it was … well, I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve never been kissed like that before. To be taken over, to become part of someone else’s body, to feel totally wild and free … Patrick and I have some sort of connection, there’s no doubt about that.

  Whenever I think of Patrick’s lips, his soft stubble against my face, his breathing, his smell, his hands … wow. J
ust wow. My body responds in ways I never knew it could.

  But this thing, whatever it is, can never be.

  I sneak out at suppertime and eat in the great hall. Then I head straight back to my room, sit on my bed and phone Wila.

  She’s doing well. Really well. And I’m glad for her, even though it makes me feel a little sad that she really doesn’t need me any more.

  I write a letter to the Carmichael girls too, although I’m pretty sure it won’t get there, and put the castle address at the top so they can reply to me.

  I’m about to settle down for a stupidly early night and music on my iPod, when there’s a knock at the door.

  I frown. No doubt it’ll be Mrs Calder with more instructions.

  Slowly, I make my way across the room. I’m wearing the Minnie Mouse nightie I’ve had since I was a teenager, and my hair is all over the place. Not the most flattering look, but at this time of night Mrs Calder will just have to take me as she finds me.

  I pull the door open.

  Oh my god.

  It’s Patrick.

  37

  Patrick stands before me, as huge and beautiful as ever. He’s shaved, I notice, and I see the sharp white burn scar on his left cheek more clearly than before.

  His eyebrows are dark and fierce, and his blond hair falls around his ears and over his forehead.

  He’s wearing a thin green army t-shirt and black cargo trousers, and under his arm he carries a bundled-up red blanket.

  ‘Minnie Mouse?’ he says, eyeing my nightie with the tiniest of smiles.

  My hands go to my nightie, and I pull it down around my thighs.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I say again. This is just too much. After what I told him this morning …

  Patrick rests a hand on the doorframe. ‘The heating will be off tonight. Maintenance. I came to bring you an extra blanket. You’ll need it. That isn’t going to keep you warm.’ His mouth flickers into a smile again as he nods at my nightie.

  ‘What I wear to bed is none of your business,’ I snap. But then I falter, my eyes drifting to the blanket.

  I have to say that being cold is one of my pet hates. Living on the boat, I’m almost always cold. And I don’t fancy shivering the night away here too.