by Liz Fielding
Agitated, she turned away, unable to bear it. As she did so her eyes met Andy's, his jealous reaction a mirror image of her own. She gave a rueful little shrug.
'I'd keep your distance if I were you, Andy. He seems to be the possessive type.'
'Possessive? The only thing he was interested in possessing a few minutes ago was you,' Andy replied, tersely.
To her shame, Fizz found herself blushing. 'We were just dancing, Andy. That's all.'
'Just dancing.' His smile was deeply sceptical. '"...the vertical expression of a horizontal desire..." to quote the inimitable Mr Shaw. He knew a lot about human nature.'
Andy hadn't bothered to lower his voice and several people turned to look. Horrified that they might have been overheard, even more horrified that what he said was no less than the truth, she pushed him into a corner. 'For heaven's sake, Andy, she is his...' She couldn't say the word. It stuck in her throat, a great big lump that wouldn't budge. '...responsibility,' she hedged.
Andy gave a look of utter disgust. 'For heaven's sake, Fizz, I know you've been in the deep freeze ever since the Ice Age, but I've never thought of you as a killjoy.'
'I am not -' But her protest was cut short.
'No? Well, let me tell you that right now you sound like some Victorian pedagogue. Melanie's nearly twenty.' He glared in the direction of the hall. 'There's no need for him to take his responsibilities so damn seriously.'
'He seems to be aware that you have something of reputation, Andy,' she said, in a low urgent voice. 'And Melanie isn't any girl you can bed without a second thought. Just ... watch yourself.'
Andy looked at her, his chin as stubborn as a board and her heart sank. 'This is different.'
'Very different,' she agreed. 'Please, Andy? It's important.'
'What is? Why are you so interested anyway?' Then his face cleared. 'Oh, I get it. You're after the big guy's money for the station and you're afraid I'll queer your pitch. I always wondered what it would take to defrost you. Well, I guess you've just answered that question.'
Fizz blenched. It was a long time since Andy had made a ritual pass at her. It was an almost automatic reaction to every girl he met and an awful lot of them fell for his charm. He gave them a good time while he was interested, but it was never for long. She had declined a dalliance, as she had declined a dozen others over the years, politely but firmly and thought nothing more of it. It must have hurt his pride a great deal more than he had let on at the time, but that was no excuse for such insolence.
'I think you'd better go outside and take a few deep breaths, Andy,' she said, sharply. 'It might clear your head and remind you just who you're speaking to.' He looked as shocked as if she had slapped him.
Satisfied that she had made her point, she swivelled on her high heels and walked away. She was in the hall before she remembered Luke.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LUKE propped his foot on the fender and his arm resting on the great beam that formed the mantle, he stared down into the pulsing heat of red caves burned into the big logs by the flames. The fire had died down, was simply glowing, smouldering hotly on a thick bed of embers.
Thoughtfully, he put out his foot and gave one of the logs a prod. It fell apart, sending sparks flying up the chimney and into the night.
Fizz Beaumont was like that, he was convinced of it. He had seen her eyes when, kindled by anger she had dropped her guard in a moment of passion.
Beneath that touch-me-not quality, the cool, apparently detached exterior, she was smouldering like the log. And the man who took the trouble to stir the embers and release the spark would be rewarded with the collapse of her defences and ultimately achieve melt down.
But what would stir her? Would surrender be a slow process, a brick by brick dismantling of the barriers? Or if he stormed them could it be that the collapse would be as sudden and complete as that of the log?
To understand what would bring the defences down, he would first have to know why she had erected them. Prompted, his investigator had uncovered a mystery, a silence so thick on the subject of an ill-fated film that Fizz was to have co-starred in with Patrick March, that there had to be something.
Somehow he would have to discover what Patrick March had done to her. Or what she had done to him. Perhaps, if he was very careful, she would tell him.
His body stirred at the memory of the way she had come into his arms. That had taken care. Care not to take before she was ready to give, so that the initial stiffness, a determination almost to hold him at bay, had gradually yielded and she had melted against him and laid her head against his chest.
It had been a moment of triumph. A moment to cherish.
He frowned as he remembered what had disrupted it. Damn Melanie. She knew better than to throw herself at the first smooth talking man who came her way. He didn't need a complication like that right now.
The sharp tap of heels on the marble floor brought him back to the present. He knew it was her. She had been in his head for days and he had become so attuned to her that he could recognise the lilting cadence of her walk, pick her scent out of the very air. 'I was just thinking about you,' he said and smiled.
'Were you?' Her confident step faltered as she saw him. Something had driven her from the drawing room, he could see it in her heightened colour, the brightness in her eyes, but the last person she wanted to see was him. He might have been offended if he hadn't been so certain that she was more afraid of herself than of him. That only served to heighten his interest.
'I wondered where you'd gone. Are you, despite all expectations to the contrary, managing to have a good time?'
'Yes. Thank you.'
'I hope you crossed your fingers before you said that because it's fairly obvious that you'd rather be anywhere else, right at this moment.' She had already told him she didn't like parties and despite the sophisticated dress, the casually assumed air of confidence, she was as nervous as a kitten.
Her air of assurance had momentarily fooled him when she had arrived. But she had the theatre in her blood. Putting on a performance was part of the family show and she was putting on a performance now as with a beautifully judged little gesture, she put her head to one side, offered him a smile.
'I'm sorry, but I did warn you,' she said.
‘So you did. Perhaps we should dance again. You seemed to enjoy that.'
A delicate pink suffused her cheekbones. 'Where's Melanie?' she asked, looking around, any excuse to avoid his eyes.
A door opened, the noise of the band filled the hall as a group of youngsters spilled out. Luke glanced at them irritably.
The party had been Mel's idea. She had been getting restless cooped up in the Metropole and it had seemed like a good idea to let her invite some friends down from London and the party was an opportunity to offer hospitality to some local people. But it really wasn't his scene.
He glanced at Fizz. She trying to find some way to escape him without actually being rude.
'Do you want to rejoin the fray,' he invited, 'or would you rather find somewhere quiet?'
'Shouldn't you be looking after your guests?' she offered.
'You are my guest. And since I have no intention of dancing with his honour the mayor, or the president of the chamber of commerce, I shall look after you.'
'You could talk to them. I'm sure they'd be interested to hear your plans for Harries.'
'I'm sure they would. But if they want to discuss business they must come to my office. As I've just reminded Mel, this is her party and amusing the civic dignitaries might keep her out of Andy Gilbert's amorous clutches for a while at least.'
'Or drive her into them. She doesn't know anyone in Broomhill, Luke, she needs you to be there for her.'
She was lecturing him about his duty? That was rich coming from a Beaumont. But he had succeeded in capturing her full attention, although her consideration for Melanie would impress him more if she wasn't using it as a stick to beat him with. But it had lit the promise of a s
park in those big dark blue eyes.
'And if I'm not, someone else will be happy to take over? Someone like Andy Gilbert?' he suggested, fanning it gently.
'He's a very appealing young man.' It was, after all, one of the reasons she employ
ed him.
'Personally I can take him or leave him.' He straightened, dragged a finger and thumb down the length of his long, straight nose. 'But maybe you're right. She needs some company her own age. I realise I'm going to have to let her go but I wouldn't have believed it was going to be so difficult.' He stopped as he saw genuine concern in her face. He didn't want that. He wouldn't be able to handle that. He lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug. 'I guess I'm beginning to realise that I'm just not cut out to play nursemaid.'
She didn't like nursemaid, he noted with interest. The sparks had brightened considerably. 'That's a bit unkind, Luke.'
Restrained. She was working very hard to keep a lid on her emotions but he wanted another glimpse of the Fizz Beaumont who had stormed his office, refusing to take no for an answer. 'Is it? Well I never promised to be kind.'
'Just what did you promise?'
The promise he had made to Melanie had been too deep for words, too personal to share. It was in his head and only he knew it. 'You're very free with your tongue now you've banked my cheque, Miss Beaumont.'
'Your cheque has nothing to do with it, Mr Devlin. Melanie is young, she needs a little fun.'
'And I'm sure Mr Gilbert will do everything in his power to see that she gets some. In the meantime I'll allow you to lecture me about my failings at length, but over something stronger than fruit juice. Come on, the study's out of bounds to the rabble and no one will miss me for a while.'
He took her hand before she could think of any excuse and headed to the back of the house, away from the incessant thump of the band's bass note, the murmur of voices and the sudden bursts of laughter coming from the drawing room.
Her hand felt so small in his, so fragile that conscience momentarily pricked at him. Then he remembered another hand that had held his, clung to his fingers. He shut the door and they were blanketed in silence. Beyond the heavy oak door the party might never have been happening.
The study was dim, lit only by the flames licking over the logs, the warm red under-glow of the cinders hot reflections in the glasses standing on the sideboard. He released her hand and she moved quickly away from him. He made no attempt to hold her, waving her to the sofa in front of the fire before picking up a decanter.
'Brandy?'
'No, thanks. I'm driving,' she said, looking anywhere but at him. 'And the roads are going to be treacherous tonight.' He smiled as she remained on her feet.
'Are they? I suppose you have the most up to date weather information coming into the station.'
'All the time. The latest was definitely for snow.' She wandered across to the window and pulled back the curtain. 'I don't suppose Melanie has ever seen snow.'
Melanie. She never missed an opportunity to bring up the girl's name. If she only knew how dangerous that was. But he smiled, put down the decanter and joined her at the window. A few flakes were drifting onto the lawn.
'She'll be a like a big kid. She'll want to build a snowman, have a snowball fight, get a toboggan up on the hill.' He looked down at the top of her head, the smooth cap of chestnut hair, bright as a new conker. He wanted to stroke it, slide his fingers through it, feel it trailing over his skin. He swallowed. 'You know. I think you're right. She definitely needs someone like Andy to make sure she has a good time.'
She turned her head, looked up at him. 'So you've decided to pass on your nursemaid's cap?'
'Cap, apron, ceremonial rattle if he'll take over playground duties. But somehow I doubt if Andy has quite that role in mind.'
'I think Andy can be relied on not to do anything reckless.’
‘In other words, you've read him the riot act?'
She let the heavy velvet curtain drop back over the window. 'I can't have him upsetting our new star. But he's only human. If Melanie takes the initiative...' Her breathing was getting ragged. The ice was beginning to thaw. She was fighting it, but she wasn't winning. It was time to turn up the heat a little.
'I hope you're as careful of your new sponsor.'
'He's more than capable of looking after himself. I think I ought to be going, Luke. I've only driven in snow once before and it made me feel dizzy.'
He reached over her head and lifted the curtain. The snow was beginning to swirl thickly. 'Then it's already far too late. You'll just have to stay here.'
'And taste the pleasures of your four-poster bed?'
Luke didn't immediately answer. She had shocked herself, he could see that. The words had spilled out before she could stop them, like champagne into a glass. Fizz. He smiled deep inside as he cracked the code.
Fizz. God, but how it suited her. Best kept chilled. Inclined to erupt when shaken.
The thought of making love in a four-poster bed had been simmering in her head, fanning the damped down fire. Her deliberate lack of interest had alerted him and he had known then that he would take her there, that she wouldn't, in the end, be able to resist the romance of it.
But while he had thought to melt the ice a little, it seemed that unwittingly he had used a blow torch because now she had said the words, there was no way of taking them back.
Desire did something to her face, lighting it from within and she looked unbelievably beautiful. Without a word he let the curtain fall and reached for her, lifting his hands to gently cradle her face, slide his fingers through the silk of her hair, twisting it around his wrist and she came to him, as he had known she would. Dancing with her had simply been a prelude to making love.
For a moment he held her, nothing more. But everything more. Beneath his fingers he could feel her pulse throbbing at her temple, the edge of his thumb brushing against her cheekbone raised the fine down as she shivered against him, as if every minute contact of his skin against hers was an agony of pleasure.
He understood. The sensation was a two-way passage and he wanted to touch all of her, to feel her touching all of him.
She clung him, boneless. Only his strength was supporting her and he could see his twin reflections silhouetted against the firelight in the bottomless depths of her eyes. And then, when his lips were so close that they were all but touching hers, she closed her eyes. He had never seen such a look on a woman's face, such complete surrender.
It was a moment to cherish and for long seconds he simply looked at her. Fizz Beaumont was an original. She didn't play games, demand promises, expect declarations of undying love. She wanted him and as he bent to kiss her, his very personal vendetta against the Beaumont family was entirely forgotten. She wanted him and the feeling was wholeheartedly reciprocated.
His lips touched hers, barely a kiss, more a gentle exploration of the possibilities. He didn't know how he kept himself under such control, only that he mustn't frighten her now. He had to give her an opportunity to draw back, shrug, laugh a little at such foolishness.
Foolishness.
This was worse than foolishness. It was crazy.
There was a party on the other side of the door. People. Melanie.
His teeth tugged gently at the fullness of her lower lip, teasing her lips apart, and he dipped his tongue into the honey pot of her mouth.
The taste of her was delicate, enticing, intoxicating. He wanted more. He wanted it all. Then she was kissing him back and everything beyond the door was forgotten.
For a single stunned moment he drew back to stare down at her. It was there, the look that had been haunting him since he had first set eyes on her. Hot desire.
Abandoning any idea of carefully fanning the sparks into flames, his mouth came down on hers like a naked flame on gunpowder, torching the need he had seen hidden beneath the ice, inflaming a response so intense, so emphatic that when he raised his head long moments later she mewled an anguished protest.
'Patience, sweetheart,' he murmured, as she tugged at his tie, dealt ruthlessly with his shirt studs, scattering them on the study floor in her haste to undress him. 'Let's go upstairs -'
But she had wasn't hearing him. She stepped back and with a single smooth movement she slid down the zip at the side of her dress. It slithered down the length of her body and pooled at her feet. Then she stepped out of the black circle of cloth, kicking it to one side, and she was naked before him but for the smallest triangle of black lace at her hips, the sheerest lace-topped black stockings that clung as if by magic to her long legs.
A soft expletive left his lips. An ember dropped in the grate. Nothing else moved in the entire world while he stared at her, mesmerised by the glow of her skin in the firelight, the dark tight buds that tipped her breasts, the glorious flare of her hips.
Then he reached out to touch her, the pad of his thumb tracing the fine skin drawn tight at her temple, the hollow of her cheek, the long elegant column of her neck. His lips followed this tender homage, lightly grazing her skin, the tip of his tongue tasting her smooth, firm flesh, his teeth teasing the sensitive lobes of her ears. She was quivering beneath him and she whimpered, softly.
'Tell me what you want, Fizz,' he encouraged her. He knew what she wanted, but he wanted to hear her say the words. To surrender to him utterly.
'Hold me, Luke. Touch me... Please...' He liked that. No, he loved that.
To hear the want in her voice made him feel a hundred feet tall. The tips of his fingers stroked across the satin skin of her shoulders, but she wanted more and she reached out, swaying towards him. But his other hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck, holding her away from him while he explored the tender hollow of her throat, his hand flattening out as it stroked down over the slope of her breast. She gasped as his palm grazed its peak, hardened in eager anticipation, reaching up to him, begging for his touch.
'You like that?' And as his thumb momentarily brushed that impulsive bud she shuddered as the invisible thread that tied it to a deeper, more urgent need tugged at the very core of her being and he felt her knees buckle as he caught her to him. She closed her eyes and a low growl of desire came from somewhere undiscovered within her.