No More Lonely Nights Read online

  He could easily become an obsession. Sian didn't want that. When they drew up outside the building, she hurriedly began to gabble a thank you, her hand on the door-handle.

  'Wonderful meal, lovely place to spend a Sunday, thank you very much and I hope Annette's father gets over his heart attack and everything is OK.' She took a deep breath. 'Well, thank you, goodbye.'

  She didn't dare look at him. She swung her legs out and quickly slammed the car door behind her, almost running across the pavement. She heard his voice behind her and ran faster, until the sound was too far away to hear. She didn't stop running until she was inside her flat with the door firmly closed; then she leaned on the door, breathing hard and torn between relief and a funny seeping feeling of depression.

  She would never see him again. She was glad about that. She never wanted to see him again; she could do very well without a man in her life at the moment. Men were too much trouble: they wanted too much of you, they demanded more than just your attention now and then, they resented everything else in your life if it came between you and them. Louis had been violent about it!

  It must be their mothers, Sian decided, straightening with a sigh. Mothers encouraged their sons to think the world revolved around them.

  The doorbell rang loudly and she jumped about six feet in the air, staring at the door with round eyes and an open mouth.

  The bell rang again, even more loudly. Sian reluctantly opened the door and Cass stood there.

  'Look—' she began aggressively, then stopped as he held out her handbag.

  'You were in such a hurry that you left this in the car.'

  She groaned. 'Oh, thanks. Sorry.'

  'So why?' he asked, ominously advancing.

  'Why what?' Sian tried to block his way without being too obvious about it.

  'Why the hurry?' He sauntered round her, as if unaware that she was trying to keep him out, and she didn't like to be rude or ask him to go. Flustered, she looked up at him and then wished she hadn't, because his grey eyes were amused, and looking up reminded her how tall he was and how much she was attracted to him.

  'Oh,' she said, confused. 'The hurry? Yes, well, I have a lot to do.'

  His dark brows rose in incredulous arches. 'At this hour?'

  'I start work again tomorrow, after my holiday,' she said huskily, her throat hot.

  His expression changed, darkened. 'You weren't planning on writing any more stories about me and Annette, I hope? I thought we had an agreement about that.'

  Sian blinked; nothing had been further from her mind than Annette or the office, yet under his stare she became guilty, her colour rising.

  'You were!' Cass concluded, black-browed, eyes glittering. 'I must have been crazy to think I could trust a reporter! You've been playing some devious little game, have you? Lulling my suspicions, getting me to talk about myself. I was stupid enough to fall for it, too! God knows what I've been telling you.'

  As he bit out the angry sentences he advanced on her and Sian backed away, her dazed eyes wide with alarm. She was too stunned to argue or deny it, she just shook her head helplessly, like a fool, until she found herself in the sitting-room; tripping over the leg of a chair she didn't see until too late.

  She gave a muffled cry and instinctively clutched at the nearest stable object, which turned out to be Cass, who promptly caught her before she fell headlong, but looked at her with such rage that she wished she had grabbed at something else.

  'I've a good mind to…' he began thickly, staring down at her, then his eyes moved downwards to fix on her startled, parted lips.

  He was silent, staring. Sian breathed roughly, trembling, watching him and hanging on to him with both hands because she was still off balance, and if he let go of her she would tumble to the floor. She tried to say something, but not a sound came out before Cass slowly lowered his head towards her.

  Sian's thoughts were a battleground. Common sense told her to stop him, push him away, before this went any further, but the irrational, emotional side of her had other ideas, had been having them ever since she met William Cassidy. She had been attracted from that first look, and she was dying to know how it felt to kiss him, to be kissed.

  Curiosity killed the cat. She closed her eyes and her mouth parted to meet his. In the warm, smothering darkness of the kiss she forgot everything else for a while; her head spun and her body seemed boneless. How was it possible to stand on your own two feet and stay upright when your flesh was melting and on fire? She clung to him weakly and felt his hands moving: sliding and stroking along her back, holding her closer, caressing her, a sensual, intimate exploration which echoed what she wanted, what she was doing to him—touching his neck, his back, his powerful chest.

  He was breathing faster, and he was very hot; his skin burned her fingers and alarm bells rang in her head.

  What am I doing? she thought, suddenly disturbed, taking fright. They were moving too fast. This was crazy!

  Every man she had ever got mixed up with had hurt her, led her into trouble. They always wanted more than she was ready to give—they were never satisfied with part of her; they wanted to swallow her up. They resented everything else in her life— her career, her friendships, her family. In fact, they were jealous of anything that took her away from them even for a few hours. They were like babies demanding to be the centre of the universe.

  Sian had made a decision after her split with Louis—no more men for at least a year! She didn't want a love-life until her love and her life were one; until she met someone who could love her without wanting to own her, someone who left her space in which to be herself, room to be free. The trouble was, the world wasn't over-populated with men like that! They were a special breed, and William Cassidy almost certainly didn't belong to it. Sian had a suspicion he was very much of the breed she most resented—the old-style, demanding male with the macho self-image and the ego to match.

  She had seen how he tried to take over Annette's life—and presumably he loved Annette, or why else should he have wanted to marry her?

  Sian felt a sick qualm deep inside her. Why was she letting him make love to her when she knew he would prefer to be holding another woman? She had let her own instincts drive her—when would she learn that that was folly? Her head should rule her, not her body nor her heart. If she had let it do that a few moments ago she wouldn't feel this bitter humiliation, this distaste.

  Wrenching herself backwards, she said sharply, 'No, I won't be used as some sort of consolation prize because Annette walked out on you!'

  Cass looked dazed for a second or two, staring down at her in blank silence, then his flush became a dark tide of colour running to his hairline, and his grey eyes iced over.

  'I wasn't…' he began, and she interrupted in a snarl.

  'Oh, yes, you were! Yesterday you were all set to marry Annette—so don't tell me you wanted me for myself, because I wouldn't believe you. You're angry and upset and I'm sorry—but I'm not handing myself over to make you feel better.'

  His hands gripped her shoulders, he shook her angrily, glaring. 'For heaven's sake, all I did was kiss you!'

  'It was turning into something else very fast!' Sian muttered, pushing his hands away. 'And let go! You're hurting me and I won't be manhandled.'

  'A minute ago you seemed to like the way I was touching you,' he said in a voice she hated.

  She was scarlet and tense from head to foot. 'Get out of my flat!' she hissed at him, her hands curling into claws at her side.

  'Sure you really want me to go?' he drawled in that soft, cold, taunting voice, and Sian snarled back.

  'I'm certain!'

  'But are you?' he mocked without budging an inch, and she grew increasingly nervous, because he was bigger and stronger than she was, and if he refused to go how could she make him?

  'Go away,' she snapped, and he laughed, but his eyes weren't amused. They scared her because they told her just how angry he was—not a red-hot anger, but a frozen one, which was far
worse.

  'You just reminded me that you're not Annette,' he said, coming closer. 'But all women are the same under the skin—they love to play little games, use their claws, tease and torment. That's why you let me kiss you just now, isn't it? You wanted to find out what turned me on, what power you could have over me. There's nothing like sex to give away what makes a man tick, but you weren't prepared to go that far. You just played a little game and then backed off.'

  Sian's mouth was dry with fear at that soft, cold, frightening voice. She looked into his eyes and swallowed. She had never seen a man this angry before, and hurried to placate him, her voice husky.

  'No, you're wrong. I wasn't playing games…'

  'What were you doing, then?' he asked, smiling, and she wished he wouldn't keep smiling, because it made the anger in his eyes so much worse.

  'I…' She felt as if her mouth was full of ashes; her lips were parched, and she moistened them with her tongue, hunting for something to say to soothe him.

  'Someone ought to teach you a lesson,' he said, and her body was at once rigid with icy panic.

  'Don't you touch me,' she whispered, unable to take her eyes off him, staring into his eyes like a hypnotised rabbit in front of a snake poised for the kill.

  'Didn't it ever occur to you that one day some man might turn nasty? That one of your little games might backfire?' He slowly looked her up and down in a way she found quite terrifying. Shuddering, Sian wanted to cry, and almost did, but didn't because rage began to grow inside her, the anger of someone pushed to the limit by fear. She stiffened her spine and lifted her head, glaring back at him.

  'Don't try to make me pay for what Annette did to you!' His set gaze flickered and he frowned, but she didn't give him a chance to answer. She raised her voice and almost shouted, 'That wasn't my fault, Mr Cassidy. In fact, it wasn't anybody's fault, not even yours, nor Annette's. It should be obvious to you that if your marriage had gone through it would have been the most monumental mistake and you'd regret it. Annette didn't love you. She should never have said she'd marry you, and I'm not making excuses for her, but she's not too bright where running her own life is concerned. Frankly, I think you were lucky, because Annette is a helpless sort of girl and you don't strike me as the type to enjoy having a wife who's always crying and wringing her hands, but maybe I'm wrong. Maybe that's just the sort of woman you fancy. I don't know and I don't care, but you aren't punishing me for any of that.'

  'I wasn't,' he said, and the ice had gone; his eyes were no longer set in that frozen wasteland, but Sian was still wary of him.

  'You just said some pretty nasty things to me, and don't try to kid me that it was because I asked you to go. Yesterday you were all set to marry someone else. You can't have any interest in me, other than as some sort of substitute, and I have too much self-respect to be that for any man.'

  He went on watching her, his mouth a wry line. When she was silent, he gave a little nod. 'You're right, of course, and I apologise—my only excuse is that I've had a bad weekend.'

  Sian gave a helpless snort of laughter, then tried to look serious again, but it was no use.

  He smiled down at her. 'I lost my temper. It seemed the last straw, for some reason, when you pushed me away and told me to get lost.'

  'Your ego couldn't take any more?' she suggested, tongue in cheek.

  'Something like that.' He ran a hand over his dishevelled hair and grimaced. 'The past couple of days have been one long nightmare, and I haven't really had a chance to relieve my feelings by smashing anything or raging at anyone—I've had to keep myself on a tight rein because there has been so much to cope with.'

  She watched him with understanding, remembering his gentleness with Annette, his patience and sympathy in the hospital.

  'It was all bottled up, and I'm sorry it had to explode at you,' Cass finished, offering her his hand in a formal way. 'Will you accept the apology?'

  She shook hands without laughing, recognising the sincerity of the gesture. A kiss would have been out of place after what had just happened. The handshake was perfect.

  'You know, you're quite formidable when you're in a temper,' he said then, relaxing, and she eyed him disbelievingly.

  'I am? What about you?'

  He grinned. 'Yes, sorry about that, as I said. I'm afraid I do have a temper, but it's just "sound and fury, signifying nothing". I'm not really dangerous.'

  'You had me fooled, then. I was beginning to look around for a blunt instrument to use if you suddenly went for me with murder in mind!'

  'Oh, it wasn't murder I had in mind,' he drawled teasingly, and she went pink, which made him laugh again. 'My God, you're a surprising woman! Spitting teeth one minute, blushing the next!' He turned on his heel and strolled towards the front door. 'I'd better go before I get any more ideas.'

  Sian followed him, hot-cheeked, and wondering what he meant by that. He said goodnight and added, 'I am sorry, Sian.'

  Before she could answer he had gone, and she slowly closed the door, her face confused. He called her surprising! He was a bewildering man, and she didn't know how she felt about him now, but she was disturbed because she had a suspicion that it wasn't going to be easy for her to forget she had ever met him, and as they were never likely to meet again that would have been the wisest thing she could do.

  She turned on her answering machine and listened drily to the succession of calls she had had from an increasingly irate Leo, terminating in one that threatened dismissal, decapitation and disaster unless she rang him immediately. Sian turned off the machine and went to bed. She would see Leo tomorrow morning. That was soon enough for her. It would have to be soon enough for Leo, too.

  She overslept, exhausted by the events of the weekend, and had to rush her breakfast before dashing to work. She hadn't had time to read the morning papers as usual, but she was only a little late when at last she reached the office. As she walked through the newsroom eyes followed her, people grinned, she caught the subterranean whispers and her teeth met.

  They must all know about her involvement with the Cassidy story; they had probably been talking about it all weekend. Sian was grateful that they only knew the public part of the story. They wouldn't have any idea what had happened between her and William Cassidy last night.

  'Leo wants you,' one of the other reporters said. The front page of one of their competitors lay open in front of him, and Sian suddenly caught sight of her own face in a huge picture dominating the page.

  'What the…' she began, snatching up the paper.

  'Yes, it's you,' Carl said with dry amusement. 'And when Leo gets hold of you you're for it. Where do we bury the pieces?'

  Sian was frantically skimming the story which went with the photograph. The other papers didn't mention her name or job; they had got this snap of her with Cass outside the hospital the morning after she and Annette had slept at the Cassidy house, and from the way the story had been written the obvious implication was that she was replacing Annette in Cass's life.

  'Are you?' asked the other reporter, and Sian looked up dazedly.

  'What?'

  'The new woman in his life,' Carl said, grinning.

  'Go to hell!' Sian said, throwing the paper down and rushing towards Leo's office to assure him that it was a stupid lie, a typical invention of the other paper, and that there was nothing between her and Cass at all. She had to stop Leo making matters worse by embellishing the story in their own pages. He was quite capable of getting someone to write up a follow-up with all sorts of embroidery decorating the first ridiculous lie. She had to stop him.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Leo didn't believe a word of it but, when she furiously insisted that there was nothing whatever in the story about her and Cass, he sulkily had to accept that.

  'But I want some sort of story,' he said, glowering from his chair. 'Go and knock out a few columns of inside stuff right away.'

  'About what? There's nothing to write about, and anyway, I promised…'
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br />   'Aha!' he triumphantly burst out. 'You promised Cassidy what, exactly? Let me remind you, you work for us. Your first loyalty is to the paper.' Then he paused for thought and cunningly added, 'To your readers, I mean—you owe them the truth, they have a right to know—'

  'Know what?' she crossly interrupted. 'The story's cold, Leo. Annette's father had a heart attack, but he's going to make it, and I did the story about Annette and her true love. We can't re-hash yesterday's news.'

  'Give us an inside story about how Cassidy's taking it.'

  'I wouldn't know,' she lied, and from Leo's cynical face she knew that she wasn't very convincing.

  'He didn't make a pass?'

  'I told you, no!' Lying to Leo wasn't really lying, because if he was told the truth he wouldn't hesitate to use it against her as well as against Cass. In pure self-protection Sian lied, and inwardly had a qualm of sympathy for all the people who had lied to her in the past when she had been trying to dig out facts about them.

  'But he made you spend the night at his house!'

  'To chaperone Annette!'

  Leo made a gruesome face. 'Oh, well, describe the house, then, describe what happened, write anything, but give me a story, damn you!'

  She escaped, having promised to do a colour piece on the Cassidy house and how Annette had taken her father's heart attack. Cass wasn't going to like it, but at least he wouldn't be reading columns of overheated prose about this invented relationship between them, she thought. He would have to be thankful about that.

  She had to put up with a lot of teasing from her colleagues, but as they all went off to do the stories Leo had sent them to cover Sian was left in peace to write her copy in the office. She was rather suspicious because Leo hadn't detailed her to work on any outside stories, but for the rest of that day she was kept busy writing up agency stories Leo didn't want to put in the paper the way they had come in, usually because they were too bald and Leo wanted them angled for the paper.