Annie West - Undone by His Touch

Declan’s head shot round, following the sound of Chloe’s voice as she moved closer.

‘ What did you say?’

‘You’re scared of someone else seeing you vulnerable.’

She stopped before him. Her voice was low and close. Her light scent swirled around him.

Furious as much at his awareness of her as at her words, he lifted a hand to grab her, then stopped at the last moment. Remembering what had happened the last time he’d touched her. How compelling the need had been to take more. To take her , with all the pent-up desperation of a blind man groping for the light. He’d never before been so needy. Or so bereft.

Fire scorched his skin—fury and guilt. And desire.

ANNIE WESTspent her childhood with her nose between the covers of a book—a habit she retains. After years preparing government reports and official correspondence she decided to write something she really enjoys. And there’s nothing she loves more than a great romance. Despite her office-bound past she has managed a few interesting moments—including a marriage offer with the promise of a herd of camels to sweeten the contract. She is happily married to her ever-patient husband (who has never owned a dromedary). They live with their two children amongst the tall eucalypts at beautiful Lake Macquarie, on Australia’s east coast. You can e-mail Annie at www.annie-west.com, or write to her at PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

Recent titles by the same author:

GIRL IN THE BEDOUIN TENT

PRINCE OF SCANDAL

PASSION, PURITY AND THE PRINCE

SCANDAL: HIS MAJESTY’S LOVE-CHILD

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Undone

by His Touch

Annie West

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To two inspirational women,

Miranda Lee and Emma Darcy, with thanks.

‘YOU can’t save us!’ The hoarse cry echoed in Declan’s ears and he tore his gaze back to Adrian, dangling below him on the rope. ‘It’s going to give way!’

They were suspended a hundred metres above an isolated canyon. The wind was rising and his brother’s nerves were shot. Already Adrian’s panic had dislodged one of the pitons securing them to the cliff.

‘Hang on,’ Declan gasped. His lungs hammered from his last attempt to haul them up.

Craning his neck, he looked up to where they’d fallen. A cascade of crumbling rock splattered his face. His throat shredded raw with each breath.

If only he’d called Adrian’s bluff when he’d threatened to climb solo. But Adrian had seemed so brittle, Declan hadn’t pushed. He’d hoped to regain their closeness and persuade Adrian to open up while they climbed.

Now their survival hung in the balance.

‘Steady, Ade. It’ll be OK.’

‘OK?’ Adrian’s voice rose. ‘Don’t lie, Declan.’

Declan shot him a reassuring look. ‘I almost made it last time. Third time’s the charm. You’ll see.’

Setting his jaw, he grabbed the rope and hauled, blocking out screaming pain as the rope lacerated hands already raw. His shoulders and neck locked in agony as he took their combined weight. It felt as if his spine might snap or his shoulders dislocate from the strain.

‘You’ll never do it. It’s impossible.’

The words washed over him. He had no wind for speech.

‘You know, it’s not so bad.’ Minutes later Adrian spoke again, his voice barely audible over the thundering of Declan’s blood. ‘A fall will be quick, at least.’

‘Won’t …’ Declan fought to dredge up words in a throat scoured dry ‘… fall.’

‘I’ve thought about it. One turn of the wheel in front of an oncoming truck and it’d all be over.’

The words slurred, warped by the frantic throb of Declan’s pulse and the searing pain in his hands. Sweat blurred his vision.

‘It’s not like there’s anything to live for.’ Adrian’s voice was so soft Declan wasn’t sure if he imagined it. Could pain make you hallucinate?

‘I’ve lost her. She wants someone rich and successful like you, not a failure. She dumped me!’

‘Dumped?’ Declan’s voice was a husk of sound.

He needed to stop before his arms wrenched from their sockets. The world narrowed to the line that wore his hands to the bone, the wrenching strain and the eddying sound of Adrian’s voice. A shiver of anxiety snaked through him at his brother’s tone, but he was too exhausted to respond.

The wind picked up, swaying them.

The salt tang of blood burst on his lip. Two metres …

‘I can’t go on. I’ve tried, but she’s the only woman I ever loved and she betrayed me. This is for the best.’

Best? The rope jerked unevenly. Despite the sweat streaming over Declan’s sun-baked body, an icy finger slicked the back of his neck.

‘Ade?’

Readjusting frozen neck muscles, he managed to look down. Familiar grey eyes met his. This time they held no panic, only an odd calm that made Declan’s heart plunge.

‘This way one of us might survive. I can’t go on without her.’

Declan gasped in horror as he looked lower to where Adrian sawed at the line that bound them.

‘Adrian! No!’

‘Goodbye, Declan.’

Suddenly the dragging weight on his shoulders disappeared. There was no scream, no sound. It seemed a lifetime before Declan heard the muffled crunch of branches below and lost sight of his brother.

THE stack of towels was thick and soft in Chloe’s arms as she nudged open the laundry door and headed for the pool house.

She dipped her head and inhaled the scent of sunshine and lavender: one of the special touches she prided herself on when the weather was good enough to use the drying hedge rather than the industrial-sized drier.

Concentrating on such small things, resuming her routine, had seen her through this difficult first morning back at Carinya.

She refused to let memories spook her. Her job was too precious and she needed the financial security more than ever. Besides, she had nothing to fear now.

So she’d ignored the anxiety feathering down her spine when she’d entered her housekeeper’s quarters and remembered the last morning she’d been here. And again as she’d started work and imagined a dark-haired presence watching from the shadows as he had so often watched before.

That was in the past. He’d gone for ever. That knowledge helped banish the shadows.

Turning the corner of the house she slowed, hearing the sound of someone in the pool.

The sight of a familiar dark head emerging from the water with each stroke slammed her heart against her ribs. She faltered to a stop, not believing her eyes.

But he’s gone!

This was impossible!

Transfixed, Chloe watched him execute a perfect racing turn, coming up metres from the end of the pool. The strenuous butterfly stroke, one she’d never been able to master, looked easy as that long body cleaved the water. The scoop of out-thrust arms accentuated the impressive length of tanned limbs and the power in his shoulders.

Chloe sagged against the wall, her throat tight, heart pounding as she tried to make sense of what she saw.

But he’s dead … Dead. The words ran, a bewildered mantra, through her brain.

Yet for one lap of the pool Chloe was caught in nightmare, transfixed by the return of the man she’d come to fear.

Another turn and this time he swam freestyle, powering down the metres as if he had a record to break.

It was only then that her stunned eyes saw beyond the shreds of memory and noticed anomalies. This man looked bigger, though it was difficult to tell in the water. He swam differently, as if propelled by an unseen force that supercharged him through the crystal depths. He was like an efficient machine, each stroke smooth and economical, yet with a raw strength that seemed almost brutal.

Chloe couldn’t imagine this man doing a lazy lap or two then loafing away an afternoon at the pool-side with a tray of drinks and his mobile phone.

Even now, turning again and beginning another lap, his speed didn’t diminish.

Driven: that was the word that came to mind.

The man she remembered had been many things but driven wasn’t one of them. At least, not until he’d turned his attention to her.

Chloe clanged that door shut in her mind. She refused to go there.

The swimmer reached the far end of the pool and in one supple movement heaved himself out. Water streamed down, bright sunlight burnished bronzed, water-slicked skin, from the bunch of muscles in his arms and back to the tight curve of bare buttocks.

Chloe sucked in her breath, her dazed brain registering his nakedness at the same time it assured her this couldn’t be him. The shape of the head was different. The height. The breadth. His sheer imposing maleness.

He half-turned and she averted her eyes, but not before she saw a long scar ripping down one powerful thigh.

Relief, the return to normality after those frozen moments of disbelief, made her light-headed. Sanity returned with a rush of embarrassment as she realised who she’d been staring at.

Hurriedly, she straightened away from the wall and stepped out briskly towards the pool house.

‘Who’s that?’ The deep voice was sharp but he didn’t turn around, merely reached for his towel on a nearby sun lounger. He wrapped it casually round his hips with all the nonchalance of a man supremely confident in his own nakedness. And the fact he owned the whole multi-million-dollar estate.

Reluctantly Chloe detoured towards the clematis-draped pergola where he stood, putting on sunglasses.

It wasn’t the way she’d have chosen to meet her employer at last.

Housekeepers were supposed to be discreet, unobtrusive, not intruding on their boss’s privacy.

The image of firmly toned masculine flesh flashed before her eyes and a tingle of unfamiliar heat stirred.

She faltered, taking a moment to identify the sensation she hadn’t experienced in years. When she did, shock brought a gasp to her lips.

‘I’m waiting.’ The words weren’t curt, but his languid tone barely concealed impatience.

Chloe stepped forward. Now was not the time to dwell on the fact she’d just felt a spark of arousal for the first time in six years. At the sight of her naked employer.

‘It’s your housekeeper, Chloe Daniels.’ She waited for him to turn. When he finally did she hefted the towels higher on one arm and extended her right hand. Tried to banish the memory of how she’d stood, gawping like some sex-starved miss at the sight of him.

Sex-starved she might technically be but she was no simpering miss.

He stood four-square before her, wearing nothing but reflective sunglasses and a towel. He exuded an air of authority that befitted a man of his commercial stature.

Right now it was his physical stature that pole-axed her.

Chloe had to tilt her head to meet his eyes. Despite her self-discipline and the compelling need not to ogle her employer, it took far too much effort to keep her gaze from that broad chest and ridged abdomen.

Standing this close, she realised Declan Carstairs was bigger, tougher, more imposing than the man she’d known. Only the hair colour and loose-limbed grace were the same—family traits.