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  Reeve watched Annis pick up a hymnal, and wondered if she’d been disappointed to get three uninterrupted nights’ sleep. It had been sheer murder for him to lie there, night after night, knowing she was just a door away. But he’d managed it. He was going to force her to make the first move even if it killed him. And from the way his body ached whenever he was near her, it probably would!

  ‘In front of us is Webster,’ Barry said. ‘We have three houses, all named after literary figures. Fellows that live-in have rooms scattered throughout the college.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Reeve murmured, and Annis shot him a fulminating look. The rat. She’d been living at Squitchey Lane for three days now. Why hadn’t he come to her room?

  Perhaps she wasn’t good enough for him. Wasn’t famous enough. Didn’t have enough power to help his career along. Perhaps struggling actresses didn’t appeal to him . . . ?

  She turned away from him sharply and Reeve would have smiled, if he hadn’t noticed the gleam of pain in her eyes. He felt his heart lurch. Dammit, what was wrong now?

  ‘This is the Dining Hall. We refer to it simply as Hall.’

  All the cast looked with interest at the newest of the college’s buildings. ‘Most of our best scenes take place in there,’ Julie said. ‘Can we have a look?’

  Hall was simply breathtaking. As soon as they stepped into it, looking around at the long tables, the rows of tall windows, the imposing portraits of past Principals, and the High Table raised on a small dais, with the impressively carved and velvet-backed Principal’s Chair, they got a real sense of ‘theatre’.

  ‘I can just see them, dressed in ruffs and silks, in Queen Elizabeth the First’s day,’ John said.

  ‘That’s a good painting,’ Reeve murmured, moving to a large, gilt-framed portrait hanging between two big windows. ‘Who is it?’ He pointed at the bewigged, imposing-looking man.

  ‘That’s Principal Alfred Gore, painted by William Hogarth,’ Barry offered.

  ‘The murder scenes will really go down well in here,’ Annis said, and everyone agreed. It would, indeed, be high drama.

  ‘Where’s the JCR?’ Reeve asked, remembering they had to do several scenes in there.

  ‘That’s in Webster. Through here is the main garden.’ The lawns underfoot were centuries old, and it felt as if they were walking on carpet. A pond full of Koi carp brushed shoulders with a croquet lawn. Walton was spread out to their left, and to their right was a mellow, red-brick building, faded to a rich rose colour. The place was steeped in academia, drowsy with ancient learning, heavy with old-world charm and beauty.

  ‘I could stay here for ever,’ Annis muttered quietly. ‘Except, of course, I couldn’t. After a week of this I’d be climbing the walls. It’s so quiet.’

  ‘Yeah, but it makes a great backdrop for a murder mystery,’ Julie said, reliving her scenes in her head.

  ‘There aren’t many students around,’ John mused, as they headed towards the library.

  ‘A lot of them have gone down by now,’ Barry confirmed. ‘Only those sitting Exams are still up.’ As he spoke, a beautiful red-headed girl pushed open one of the big glass doors of the library and came walking down the steps.

  ‘Hey, Frederica, hang about,’ Barry called, and the young woman paused, swinging her head around, exposing huge shining-dark eyes. She smiled as she recognised the Physics student who had rooms next door but one to her own.

  ‘Hello Barry. How were finals?’

  ‘Bloody,’ Barry said gloomily. ‘What are you doing still up, anyway?’

  Frederica grinned. ‘I seduced the Bursar into letting me stay on an extra few weeks.’ She glanced curiously at the group of people with Barry, and he introduced them.

  ‘This is a group of actors who’re going to be performing a murder mystery weekend at a conference coming in soon. Everybody, this is Frederica, a Fine Art student. Frederica, do you know anything about a painter called . . . er . . .’

  ‘William Hogarth,’ Reeve said helpfully.

  Annis watched the beautiful auburn-haired girl glance at Reeve curiously, and smile. ‘Hogarth was one of the greats,’ she said sweetly, as if surprised that everybody didn’t know of him. ‘One of his paintings, “The Graham Children” is in the Tate. What about him?’

  ‘One of his paintings is in Hall,’ Barry offered hopefully.

  Frederica nodded. ‘I know. He painted Alfred Gore.’

  ‘Who was . . . ?’ Reeve prompted, grinning as Annis shot him a foul look.

  Why was he making eyes at every woman but her, damn him!

  Frederica smiled, but although the actor was as handsome as Byron, she hardly noticed. Annis, sensing this, both relaxed and, at the same time, became intrigued. If she was unaffected by Reeve, she must have one hell of a boyfriend.

  ‘Alfred Gore was an ex-slave-trader, turned abolitionist. His appointment as Principal here caused quite a stir, and the portrait is quite famous because of it. In fact, it’s one of our best.’

  Reeve whistled. ‘I’m surprised it’s just hanging on the wall like that.’

  Frederica blinked. She hadn’t even given a thought as to the security of the college’s paintings. It was unthinkable that anyone would try to steal them.

  ‘So, there you go,’ Barry said. ‘Thanks Frederica.’

  Frederica grinned, gave a general wave goodbye, and strolled towards Becket Arch. She had to get back to her canvas.

  And she wondered whether Lorcan would be at the Ruskin.

  Since that wonderful, magical afternoon, she’d seen so very little of him. It was beginning to worry her. After he’d walked with her back to the House, they’d been forced to say goodbye in plain view of her parents. So although she’d longed to kiss him, she hadn’t been able to, and the agony of being forced just to watch him get into the car and drive away was still with her. Why hadn’t he called her? It wouldn’t have been so hard for them to bump into each other ‘accidentally’ at the Ruskin. She frowned as she headed into the centre of town, thinking back to that glorious day. Had she done something wrong—something to put him off? After they’d dressed, they’d walked in silence back to Rainbow House, neither, it seemed, had quite known what to say to the other. Both still shell-shocked by the sweet passion they’d just shared. Now, after several days of separation, she was beginning to feel slightly panicked.

  What if it had meant nothing more to him than a pleasant afternoon’s roll in the grass? What if her innocence had turned him off? Or scared him off?

  As she walked up The High, she tried to convince herself that everything was all right. But, somehow, she couldn’t quite manage it.

  Back at St Bede’s, Barry took his sightseers back to the lodge and said goodbye. The cast trooped down to a burger bar and discussed what they’d seen that morning, and how best to incorporate it into their acting scenes. Eventually the group split up, by now everyone taking it for granted that Annis and Reeve were ‘an item’. Since nobody could possibly blame her for getting away from under Mrs Clemence, when given the chance, she supposed it was inevitable.

  Now, as she finished the last of her coffee she leaned back in her chair and looked across at him. ‘Did you have to flirt with that Fine Art student this morning?’ she asked crossly.

  ‘I didn’t!’

  ‘You did. Not that she noticed.’

  ‘No. I realised that.’

  ‘Hurt your feelings, did it?’

  ‘Not my feelings. Just my ego.’

  ‘Used to having women fall at your feet like flies?’ she asked sweetly.

  ‘At least four of them, twice a day,’ he agreed promptly.

  ‘Shame.’

  ‘Hum. I must be losing my touch.’

  ‘Hah!’ she snorted, with such gusto that he grinned broadly at her.

  ‘That’s more like it. I was wondering where all your venom had gone.’

  Annis snarled something unladylike, got up, and marched out. Hastily Reeve followed her, but Annis had already disappear
ed into the crowds. Cursing, Reeve hopped on the bus to Squitchey Lane and, once he’d reached home, stripped naked, and headed for the hot tub. He was getting tired of putting up with her moods. Tired of her suspicious nature and jealousy. Tired of having her around. As Annis would say—Hah! He leaned back in the bubbling water, a gentle smile playing about his lips. She would crack. Sooner or later.

  When Annis walked in half an hour later, she too headed straight for her room and the shower, wanting to wash her hair. Dressed only in a robe, she sat in front of the dressing table mirror and used the hair-dryer to style her flowing locks. She wondered what time the night clubs opened, for she was determined to go out tonight and have a good time, come what may—far away from Reeve Morgan and his infuriating smile.

  She froze as she heard a sound coming from the room next door. Reeve was probably still in town, chatting up a pretty tourist. Burglars perhaps? She tiptoed towards the sound of human activity, pushing open the door gingerly.

  Reeve was lying naked in the hot tub. And in that instant she admitted that, all along, she’d known there were no burglars—she’d just needed an excuse to snoop. To invade his territory. To be right where she was, dressed only in a robe, watching him, this man dressed in nothing at all.

  Reeve heard a slight sound and his head shot up, dark-blue eyes opening in surprise. He saw her at once, her freshly-washed hair gleaming blue-black against the white material of her robe. Her eyes glinted, orange-flecked, like a tiger spotting a particularly luscious deer.

  ‘Annis,’ he said softly. And patted the surface of the water. ‘Care to join me?’ he grinned invitingly.

  Annis smiled sweetly. And shrugged off the robe. It slithered to the ground at her feet, and she had the immense pleasure of seeing the smile fade, and a dark wash of colour spread across his face. He swallowed hard.

  She was like a goddess, standing there, one foot slightly in front of the other. Her skin was alabaster, in stark contrast to her hair the colour of ravens’ wings, and the matching, mysterious, feminine triangle of raven hair at the juncture of her thighs. Her breasts were high, the indentation of her waist highly pronounced, the smooth curve of her hips lending her a classic, hour-glass figure. She let him look at what he’d been missing, for just a few seconds longer, then smiled.

  ‘Thank you. I think I will,’ she purred. And walking forward she stepped slowly, down into the warm bubbling water. Reeve shot upright, both to make room for her, and because he was suddenly breathless. He dragged in a badly needed gulp of air as they stared silently at one another.

  Reeve’s eyes widened as she lay back in the tub, her long legs stretched in front of her and just brushing against his as the water bubbled about her nipples, turning them cherry-red.

  There, she thought with satisfaction. That’s removed the all-knowing male grin from his face!

  Reeve swallowed hard, his lips, in spite of the humidity in the air, feeling suddenly dry. ‘I . . . uh . . . I . . .’ he muttered, and then, when she arched one dark brow mockingly, abruptly shut up. So she wanted to play games? Slowly he allowed one foot to stroke her calf. Her eyebrow rose even higher, disappearing into her hairline. Then her own foot moved, and her toes were suddenly massaging the tender spot at the back of his knee. His leg jerked in helpless reaction and again he swallowed hard. One-up-manship was it? Well, two could play at that game. His foot moved higher, raised on the bubbling stream of water, until his big toe was level with one cherry coloured nipple.

  His eyes met hers. Annis smiled. Just you dare . . .

  He dared. She gasped as her nipple tingled at the contact. She closed her eyes in pleasure, just for a moment, then opened them again. There was no mocking smile on his face. Just an intense look that had her body coiling like a spring.

  She moved her foot, forcing his legs apart, moving forward, pressing her toes against his inner thigh now, then moving up, gently but firmly, until the sole of her foot was pressed against his hard pulsating shaft. Reeve groaned and jerked in the water. His face had a tight, pinched look, a dark blue flame burned within his eyes. Slowly, carefully, Annis caressed him with her foot, her own shoulders moving up and down against the rim of the tub as she leaned forward and back, with the movement.

  Reeve closed his eyes and leaned his head back, every atom of his being concentrated on her sensual foot, the hardening of his body, the helpless reaction of his desire. When he could stand it no longer he surged forward, leaning over her, his mouth fastening on hers in a fierce kiss. Then her legs were hooked around his, her heels digging into the indent just above his buttocks. She lifted herself from the slippery hard surface of the bottom of the tub and gasped as he was suddenly inside her, hard, fast, demanding, igniting her own love-greedy response. She threw back her head, groaning his name, holding on to his wet shoulders, kissing his temple, his nose, his cheek, his closed eyelids, anywhere she could reach as she thrashed beneath him.

  He pressed her gently against the side of the tub, thrusting into her harder, deeper, ever faster, the water splashing over the sides and running along the tiny square tiles of the floor. She clung to him, lost in the tempest, her body pulsating and exploding as the tension of the last few weeks finally eased in the cleansing, generous act of lovemaking. Reeve shouted her name and shuddered, and she clung to him, hugging him close, brushing the damp curly hair from his forehead as he collapsed against her, all his devastating male strength spent, his breathing ragged and hoarse.

  Silence slowly returned to the room, only the bubbling of the water invading the peace. Annis leaned her head back against the tiled floor and stared up at the ceiling, her sense of self returning with a vengeance.

  Well. What good had that done her? Her lips twisted ruefully.

  She was now, officially, another notch on Reeve Morgan’s belt. She slowly pushed him away, fighting the tenderness that made her want to go on holding him. He opened dazed, sapphire blue eyes, and smiled softly.

  Annis,’ he murmured. I love you. ‘I . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Annis said briskly, getting out of the tub to put on her robe. When she turned, she was already doing the belt up firmly. ‘These things happen when you’re away touring,’ she said brightly, saying it before he could. ‘We’re big boys and girls, after all. We can enjoy ourselves for now, but once we get back to London, we probably won’t bump into each other again.’

  Reeve frowned. ‘Annis . . .’

  ‘I think I’ll go out tonight,’ Annis mused, turned and headed for the door, her heart tight in her breast, her voice as light and breezy as the air. ‘I’ll ask John and Gordon if they’ve found a place that plays jazz.’

  And then she was gone.

  Reeve collapsed back into the hot tub and shook his head. How many times in the past had he made it clear to a woman that their affair was strictly for fun? How often had he made sure that she knew he didn’t want or expect commitment? And now that a beautiful woman had just said as much to him, he knew he should be relieved. Be thankful that he was being offered wonderful sex without any strings attached.

  So why did he feel as though she’d just hit him with a sledgehammer?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Lorcan stepped through the main door of St Bede’s and into St Agatha quad. He glanced inside the lodge, briefly checking that no one was paying any undue attention to him, then walked past the impressive clock, through the arch, and to the main door of Walton. Once inside, he stood indecisively in the cool, tiled, silent hall. He had no idea which was her room.

  A group of business-suited men walked down the stairs, heading for a seminar in Webster’s lecture theatre. As he moved to one side to let them pass, he noticed the door opposite him had a name card on it.

  Quickly Lorcan toured the downstairs doors, with no luck. Undeterred, he walked up a wide staircase to the second floor. There, six doors down, he came across what he was looking for.

  He found himself hesitating. Ever since that afternoon under the chestnut tree, he’d been
fighting a losing battle to keep away from her. He’d spent nights tossing and turning, alternately feeling like the biggest scoundrel on earth, and the next, the luckiest man alive. It couldn’t go on. They had to talk. Get things sorted. One way or the other.

  He raised a hand to the door and knocked, firmly and determinedly. Nothing happened. He almost laughed out loud. To have nerved himself to come and see her, at last—only to find that she wasn’t even in.

  He shook his head again and wandered slowly down the wooden-floored corridor, to the double window at the end. He leaned wearily on the windowsill, and looked out over the Oxford skyline, picking out the domes of the Sheldonian Theatre and the Radcliffe Camera. But he could think only of Frederica.

  He shook his head and turned his back on the view, staring down the dark corridor, his mind going back to that wonderful, shattering afternoon. A virgin. He’d never once suspected her innocence. He’d seen her as a lovely, free-thinking student. And knowing her to be a crooked artist, he’d been utterly blind to the more intimate side of her.

  She was still only a kid. No! Not now. Not since he’d made love to her. She was a woman now. His woman. But, no! She wasn’t his woman. He grimaced at the pain of denial the stark thought set off, ricocheting around his mind like a loose bullet. He loved her.

  No.

  Yes.

  He shook his head, walking down the corridor, hesitating once more outside her room. His legs felt weak, as if he was falling prey to some kind of lingering illness. Without quite knowing why, he put his hand out to the door handle and pushed down.

  He almost gasped when the door opened. ‘Damn it Frederica, you’re too trusting,’ he murmured, as the door slowly opened out, revealing a typical student room.

  A single bed lay tight up against one wall and looked neat and tidy. But in his mind’s eye he could see her lying on it, her hair spread out against the pillow, her skin flushed with sleep, her long lashes feathered against her cheek as she slept. He took a step inside, then another, and closed the door after him. Even accepting that students didn’t usually bother with locked doors, he’d have thought that she would be more careful. But even though he felt that he had right on his side, it didn’t stop him feeling like an interloper as he looked around.