LITMIR.BIZ

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the night to their respective bedrooms.

      She had only just picked up her silken robe when her bedroom door was suddenly thrown open. Turning with alarm, she relaxed slightly when she saw that it was Simon standing there, although a frown furrowed her brow when she saw how bedraggled he looked, his blond hair wind-swept, his tie pulled loosely down his chest, his shirt collar unbuttoned, and a red splash of colour down the front of his white shirt.

      ‘You’re hurt!’ she said anxiously, crossing the room to his side, reaching out to touch his chest where the mark was. ‘Have you been in an accident?’ She panicked slightly. ‘What—?’ She broke off, her concern turning to puzzlement as she realised that the red mark wasn’t blood, as she had initially assumed it was.

      ‘It’s lipstick,’ Simon supplied tauntingly as he saw her frown.

      Her hand fell away from his chest as she took a step backwards. ‘Lipstick?’

      ‘God, you’re an innocent!’ he said scornfully as he brushed roughly past her into the room. ‘You haven’t really believed that I’ve been to business dinners all those evenings I’ve been out, have you?’ He looked at her pityingly.

      Of course she had believed him; why shouldn’t she have done?

      ‘Poor innocent Juliet.’ Simon cupped a hand round the paleness of her cheek, his fingers suddenly tightening painfully against the softness of her skin, the expression on his face suddenly savage, the fumes from the alcohol he had consumed making her feel ill. ‘I may be pleasing the old man by marrying you,’ he rasped sneeringly, ‘but that doesn’t mean I don’t find the charms of other women infinitely more attractive. Unfortunately I struck out tonight, so you’ll have to do!’ He pulled her roughly against him, his mouth grinding down against hers.

      Juliet was so stunned by what he was saying that she couldn’t think straight. Simon was marrying her to please his father? Other women? God, she didn’t—

      ‘For God’s sake, Juliet.’ Simon raised his head slightly to scowl down at her. ‘It’s bad enough that I have to marry you at all; you might at least show a little response and not act like a stick of wood!’

      She could taste the blood in her mouth now; his mouth had come down so savagely on hers that he had split her top lip. And she was filled with such revulsion that she wanted to be sick. She pushed against him, desperately trying to free herself, pounding her fists against his chest.

      His eyes glittered with challenge as he once again looked down at her, his hands tightly gripping her wrists to stop her pummelling. ‘So you want to play rough, do you?’ he said triumphantly. ‘That’s OK with me, Juliet; I like a woman with spirit!’

      Juliet glared up at him. ‘I hate you!’ she told him vehemently. Love had turned to hate in a matter of seconds—cruelly hurtful seconds that threatened to destroy her. She just wanted to get away—from Simon, from the pain he was inflicting.

      ‘Hate away, Juliet,’ Simon grinned. ‘I’ll probably enjoy it more if you do.’

      What followed was a nightmare, a living nightmare. Her nightgown was ripped from her body, Simon’s hands and lips everywhere. Juliet wasn’t even aware of her screams until her bedroom door crashed open and a panic stricken William stood in the doorway.

      He took in the scene in seconds—her fear, her dishevelled state, Simon’s sneeringly defiant attitude—and he came across to drag the young man from the room, their raised voices now filling the house.

      And then suddenly there was silence.

      And Simon lay dead at the bottom of the stairs…

      Juliet felt as if reliving those terrible moments had taken a lifetime, but in reality she knew that it had just been a rush of images, memories, and that only seconds had actually passed since she had closed her eyes, or maybe a couple of minutes at the most.

      And she couldn’t bear to relive those moments again. Not with Janet. And certainly not with Liam.

      She stood up suddenly to rush from the room, ignoring Janet’s concerned cry, Liam’s shout. She just kept running, running, running.

      And she had kept running—from the house, from the county, from the country.

      To Majorca.

      To the Carlyle hotel and leisure complex. The last place anyone would think to look for her. If anyone wanted to look for her. Which she doubted.

      And for the first time in years, it seemed, she relaxed totally, the darkness of the past at last put exactly there—in the past. Somehow during the next ten days of sunshine and rest it stopped being her burden to carry any more. It was Liam’s now. As was Carlyle Properties.

      One thing Juliet had done since coming here was to telephone the lawyer in England and instruct him to draw up the necessary papers so that she could sign all of the company over to Liam. She had also instructed him to deed the house over to Janet’s name; the other woman certainly had more right to it than she had ever had. And this way Juliet would be totally finished with the Carlyle family.

      Which was the way she wanted it to be.

      The way it had to be.

      Her love for Liam was futile, for oh, so many reasons, but the main one had to be that he would never love her in return. But breaking free of the business, the house had somehow given her ultimate freedom in everything. There was a big world out there—a world without Liam, she accepted, but for the first time she felt an anticipation about the future. Quite what that future held for her she didn’t know, but loving Liam had somehow freed her from the ties of the past.

      ‘You’re standing in the way of my view.’

      Juliet froze as she stood on the sea-shore. Those words. That voice. A voice that had been arrogantly self-assured the last time it had uttered those very same words, but which was gently caressing this time.

      Why was Liam here? How had he known to find her here? Only he could answer those questions, she acknowledged.

      She turned slowly, her hands clenched tightly together in front of her, unsure of what she was about to see.

      He stood on the sand only about ten feet away from her, dressed in denims and a blue short-sleeved shirt. But it was his face that held her mesmerised. He looked older; lines were etched beside his nose and mouth, and his expression was grim. And he had lost weight; it showed in those lines on his face, the loose fit of his denims.

      ‘Liam, what’s happened?’ She frowned her concern, taking a step towards him.

      ‘You can ask me that? Simon and my father…’

      Juliet had put up a silencing hand. ‘Janet has told you the truth by now, I’m sure. It’s enough.’

      He shook his head. ‘Never enough, Juliet. What Simon tried to do—’ He broke off in suppressed rage. ‘My father paying the price of knowing, for the next seven years, that if the two of them hadn’t fought then Simon wouldn’t have fallen down the stairs! God, Juliet—’

      ‘It’s over, Liam.’ She sighed. ‘At long last it’s over. And I think it should remain that way.’ She had finally come to terms with the fact that Simon had died after his attack on her, had fallen down the stairs to his death during the fight with his father. It was a burden that William had carried to his grave. But now it was over.

      For several long minutes Liam returned her gaze as intently as she was looking at him, and then he nodded acceptance of what she was saying. ‘You’re looking good,’ he murmured huskily.

      She knew that the last ten days of rest and good food had had an effect; she looked tanned and healthy in the white sundress, her hair loose about her shoulders, her eyes glowing deeply grey in her glowing face. But if she looked fit and healthy Liam looked the opposite.

      ‘We weren’t talking about me—’

      ‘Yes, we were,’ he nodded. ‘The last time we

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