Fantasy Unlimited

by Claire Harrison

  For a brief second, as he stared into the mirror, his face disappeared as Samantha's took its place. He saw the tumble of curls that framed her face, the softly parted mouth, the delicate but determined chin. A sweet face, a ... he picked up his brush and ran it roughly through his hair. There was no point in getting sentimental about it, he chided himself. That would ruin his strategy, and he couldn't afford that. It would be too risky; he'd already learned what happened when you let your heart go one step further than it had ever gone before. It was like walking off a cliff. You could be strolling along, happy as a clam, thinking you were safe, satisfied with the world and your place in it and then—crash! You fell into the void without a net to catch you, arms to hold you, a voice to tell you that it was okay, that you weren't hurt, that the world hadn't come to a sudden end.

  No, he couldn't have that happen again. He'd learned his lesson the hard way, and Josh was nothing if not a quick learner. He'd learned that a heart requires shielding to protect it from wounds and scars. He'd learned that the best armour was that of knowledge and cynicism and bitterness. And he'd also learned that attack was the best defence. His new philosophy, he thought as he wrapped a towel around his waist, was—go for what you want, but protect yourself from the consequences. And that was precisely what he was doing.

  On the other hand, he hadn't quite thought it would be so much fun. Honest-to-goodness romantic sincerity, Marybeth had advised David about Samantha. Well, Josh had never given much thought to being romantic before, he'd never considered himself as a swashbuckling figure capable of making a woman forget her denials and inhibitions. But he'd taken to the role the way a duck takes to water—in fact, he was beginning to think he was a natural at it. Flowers, invitations, sexy words, smouldering looks—he'd known just how to make Samantha feel that she was desired above everything else. And the scheme was working beyond all his wildest expectations. She can't stand the sight of him, Marybeth had also said to David, you don't have to worry about him. Josh gave a short, harsh laugh as he stepped out into his bedroom. He'd be able to blow that theory sky-high by the time he was done. When he was finished with Samantha, she'd be so bedazzled and infatuated that David what's-his-name might as well not have existed at all.

  It never occurred to a smug and satisfied Josh that there might be other, less obvious, motives behind his pursuit of Samantha. The thought that he might be involving himself in a relationship that went beyond the purely sexual never entered his mind.

  No—as he began to dress, Josh had no suspicion that all was not as it had been and that he was no longer the same man who had boarded the Princess Marguerita . Warning bells didn't ring in his head. His subconscious was quiet and docile and passive. All he felt was a self-deceiving belief that he knew precisely what he was doing, a pleasure in his forthcoming success, and an intoxicating sense of anticipation. Once again there was a memory of Samantha, not of her face this time, but of her body over his in that dark stateroom, the feel of her soft breasts against his chest, the silky skin of her legs beneath his hand. And the memory brought a smile to his lips and a gleam to his eyes—the predatory gleam of a hunter who has his victim squarely in his sights and is now heading in for the kill.

  A conversation was taking place between Marybeth and David on the bustling pier where the Princess Marguerita was docked. They had descended the gangplank and were walking together, their heads as close together as two heads can be when the people in question stand six foot two and five foot two respectively in their stockinged feet.

  'Was Samantha at breakfast?' he was asking.

  Marybeth shook her head and frowned. 'No.'

  'Do you think she's with someone else? I mean, she wasn't at the casino last night either.'

  'Well, I don't know who it would be,' Marybeth said. 'I really don't.'

  David gave an unhappy sigh. 'She seems to have disappeared into thin air.'

  'And after you sent her that rose, too. It doesn't seem right.'

  He stopped and looked down at her. 'What rose?'

  'Why, the rose that... David! Didn't you send Samantha that lovely rose?'

  'No, I...'

  'Hadn't we agreed on flowers?'

  'Yes, but I thought I'd give them to her when I saw her. There's always people selling flowers on the street.'

  'Well then, who on earth ...?'

  'I know who it is,' David said morosely. 'That guy—the one who shares her stateroom.'

  Marybeth's blue eyes had a musing, faraway expression. 'I wonder,' she began, then said,'...'I doubt it. I really do.'

  'But...'

  Marybeth made an impatient sound. 'And even if he did—well, it doesn't necessarily mean a thing. They're not sharing a stateroom any more and it could have just been a gesture.' She paused. 'On the other hand, there is a possibility that...'

  'See,' said David, 'even you admit that there's a good chance she'd fall for him.'

  But she would have none of it. She gave a quick, firm shake of her blonde curls and said, 'David, this is where we separate the men from the boys and the chaff from the wheat.'

  'The chaff from the ... what are you talking about?'

  'Plan B,' Marybeth said ominously.

  David gave her an amused look. 'Plan B?'

  'Uh-uh.'

  'It sounds dangerous.'

  'It is,' she said.

  'And risky.'

  She nodded solemnly. 'The whole thing could blow up in our faces—sky-high. Honeybunch, are you a gambling man?'

  'Am I a gambling man?' he appealed to the sky. 'I lost two hundred drachmas last night and she asks me if I'm a gambling man!'

  She gave him a tiny slap on the shoulder. 'This is a serious matter,' she said. 'No fooling around.'

  He assumed an expression of matching solemnity. 'Lead on,' he said.

  Marybeth looked carefully around them, checking out the faces of passers-by, the street ahead and if anyone they knew was behind them. When she was confident that no one could overhear them, she began, 'Tonight at the dance . .

  'Are you sure she'll be there?'

  'The ship's sailing at midnight. Of course she'll be there. Now, listen.'

  'I'm all ears.'

  'Tonight, at the dance ...'

  The subject of this conversation had no idea that plans were being concocted on her behalf. Instead, she was standing on the ancient acropolis of Lindos and staring down a sheer cliff of white rock to the turquoise of the Aegean Sea. A slight froth swirled at this meeting of solid and liquid, but she was too high to hear the sound of the waves. What Samantha couldn't hear, however, she could see. The ancient town had been built on a high promontory that jutted out into the water, and the clarity of the air allowed her to see for miles. Behind her were the scrubby hills. Below her was the modern town of Lindos whose white houses clustered like child's blocks around the sandy harbour. And in front of her was the huge arc of the sea; a brilliant turquoise that shaded erratically into aquamarine or a deep rich green, its horizon merging with the sky whose own intense hue was lightened by the gleaming yellow of the sun.

  Samantha sighed at the beauty of it, considered her day trip out of Rhodes to have been worth the effort and the cost of the taxi ride, and didn't hear the footsteps behind her. She sat down on the wall that overlooked the sea, oblivious to the shadow that was cast across her feet. And so engrossed was she in her contemplation of the scenery that she almost didn't hear the voice that said, 'When you see it like this you can understand why the ancient Greeks would build their town here. It's completely defensible; they could pick off the enemy sailors like flies.'

  Samantha turned slowly, very slowly, to face the man behind her. He wore a white T-shirt that fitted snugly to his broad chest, faded jeans with form-fitting hip pockets, and aviator sunglasses that emphasised a strong nose and the hard line of his jaw. He was hatless, and his hair was dark and gleaming in the sun. Irrationally, the very first thought that came into her mind was how handsome he was and, with it that yearning, melting
and totally unwanted sensation of desire.

  He gestured towards the low brown hills. 'And enemy soldiers as well. Think of it like a Cecil B. De Mille film with a cast of thousands pouring out of the hills.'

  Fortunately for Samantha, second thoughts had quickly followed her first ones, and those were tinged.

  not with desire, but with a mounting irritation and an uneasy sense of fear. She felt as if she were being pursued, as if Josh were tracking her down, as if he were the hunter and she were the victim. The combination of emotions made her clench her teeth and say accusingly, 'What are you doing here?'

  Josh grinned his lazy smile at her. 'Sightseeing, what else?'

  Third thoughts had whirled through her brain, suspicious and wary thoughts, visions of conspiracies and cabals. 'You followed me.' she said flatly.

  'Tch-tch.' He took off his glasses and sat down beside her. 'Now, isn't that a bit paranoid, Sam?' He shook his head gravely. 'Not a good character trait for a lawyer, I would think.'

  A cold fury enveloped her. It wiped out any lingering remnants of her first, second and third thoughts. 'I am not paranoid,' she said icily, 'I just find it very peculiar that you and I should end up precisely in the same spot when ...' She paused, not quite willing to admit that she had gone to certain lengths to avoid him.

  'When ...?' he asked encouragingly.

  'Let's just say that I think it's odd.'

  'Life is odd,' Josh said calmly. 'Haven't you ever noticed? It's full of coincidences, peculiar moments and strange happenings.'

  'I really don't think there's anything coincidental in the fact that you and I are ...'

  'And that's the beauty of it,' he went on as if she hadn't uttered a word. 'Think how boring life would be if it weren't for these moments.'

  Samantha immediately recognised what she had come to think of as a 'Josh-ism'; a conversational gambit, a switching of gears in the middle of a discussion, a turn down a digressionary path that would lead her away from the very goal towards which she was heading. Well, she wasn't going to let him get away with it this time!

  'You think you're very clever, don't you?'

  'Well,' he said modestly, 'in my field, some people have seemed to think that my...'

  'I am not talking about your field,' Samantha said furiously. 'I'm talking about the way you always change the direction of the conversation.'

  'In what way?' he asked innocently.

  'Whenever... oh, the hell with it.' She stood up, threw the strap of her bag over her shoulder and spoke a blatant lie. 'I hope you have a nice day.'

  Josh was up in a moment, his hands taking hers, his body an obstacle in her path. 'Samantha,' he said with concern, 'what's the matter?'

  'Nothing.'

  'You're all upset.'

  'I. Am. Not. Upset!'

  But it was another lie. She was upset; she could feel her face flushing and her breathing coming in a rapid, uneven tempo. For a person of non-violence, she was demonstrating all sorts of alarming symptoms. Her hands, caught in his, itched to be free so that she could throttle him. The toes of one foot yearned to kick him in the shins, the heel of the other would have liked to grind his foot into the hard ground. The fact was, she wanted to kill him.

  Samantha had never had the urge to murder anyone in her life, and that upset her even more. She grabbed her hands out of his, turned on her heel and tried to march swiftly away, not caring whether or not he followed her. But the acropolis of Lindos was against her. The ground was littered with the debris of centuries, and she had to step awkwardly over stones, rock, pieces of broken walls, jagged bits of fallen columns. In order to keep her balance she had to walk with her arms outstretched, and one of these was taken firmly by Josh.

  'Easy does it... watch your step here, that stone is wobbly. Here, hold on tight... it'll make the going down easier.'

  Which was how Samantha found herself walking hand-in-hand with Josh past the broken temple of Artemis, through the ceiling-less rooms of the medieval castle and down the steep steps towards town where old women in black sat on lawn chairs, displaying hand-made lace doilies, napkins and tablecloths spread out to entice the eye of the tourist. It was a very silent journey. Even Josh had stopped speaking. They were, Samantha thought with a feeling of surrender, communicating through their clasped hands. At first, his had been firm, holding hers tightly, not allowing her to pull away. Her hand had been tense, holding itself still, trying to ignore the warm circle of his fingers. Then, she had relaxed in spite of herself and he, sensing her yielding, had laced his fingers through hers in a companionable sort of way. It was all very strange, oddly comfortable and surprisingly non-threatening. By the time they had reached the town centre, Samantha had discovered that she was no longer angry with Josh.

  'Here we are,' he said.

  She looked around her. 'Where?'

  'At my car.'

  She looked at the small red Fiat. 'You rented a car?'

  'And,' he said with a flourish as he opened the back door, 'I've got a picnic lunch, a beach blanket and an umbrella.'

  Now that she was no longer angry with him, her sense of humour had reasserted itself. 'And all you need is the girl to go along with it?'

  He grinned at her. 'You guessed.'

  'The truth now,' said Samantha. 'Are you going to tell me the truth about our meeting here?'

  'Nope, I want to leave you in suspense.'

  'Josh ...' she began.

  'No questions,' he said firmly as he ushered her into her car. 'Just let yourself go with the flow.'

  Going with the flow meant obediently sitting on her side while he got in his and started the ignition. It meant letting him drive away from Lindos without asking where they were going. And it meant taking surreptitious looks at his profile and wondering what was going on behind that handsome facade.

  During one of those looks, he glanced at her, and she quickly looked back out at the passing scenery. 'You know something, Sam,' he said in a teasing voice, 'I don't think I've ever seen you so quiet. Are you sure you're okay?'

  'Count your blessings,' she said tartly, 'it won't last.'

  'Ah,' he said with a laugh, 'there's the Samantha that I know—tough as nails!'

  'I'm not usually like that,' she retorted.

  'No?'

  'No, you bring out the worst in me.'

  'The worst?'

  'I don't know why that is,' she went on. 'Although it just might be your personality.'

  Josh shrugged as he pulled the car around a man in a cart which was being pulled by a donkey.' I don't think so,' he said. 'I have quite a pleasant personality-'

  'What a surprisingly unprejudiced remark!'

  Her sarcasm didn't faze him in the least. In fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect of invigorating him, and Samantha realised that he was enjoying this repartee immensely.

  'Oh, I'm an extremely unprejudiced person,' he told her 'My heart is open to members of all races, colours and creeds. I'm the kind of guy who takes in starving kittens and orphaned puppies.'

  The trouble was, she was enjoying it, too. 'Why don't I believe you?'

  'Because you don't know me,' he said. 'You've been blind to my sterling qualities.'

  'Which are?'

  'Integrity, good humour, reliability, patience, forthrightness, generosity to a fault,' he was warming to his subject now, 'a pillar of the community, a good citizen, a man whose actions prove him to be…'

  'Dishonest and cunning.'

  'Ouch,' he said. 'You have a very low opinion of me.'

  'The evidence points in that direction.'

  'A man is innocent until he's proved guilty.'

  'Did you or did you not follow me to Lindos?' Samantha demanded.

  'I didn't follow you.'

  'Yes, you did,' she said hotly. 'You ...'

  'I came before you.'

  Indignation seeped out of her like air out of a deflated balloon. 'Oh!'

  He gave a shrug. 'I just bribed your steward so I could fin
d out where you were going. He told me that you were planning on a day sightseeing in Lindos and sunbathing at a beach.'

  'There,' she said triumphantly. 'I knew it!'

  He gave her an amused, sideways glance. 'And you're flattered.'

  'Of course not,' she said with asperity. 'I consider this a form of abduction.'

  'And you hate every minute of it.'

  'Every single minute.'

  'I'll have to see what I can do about that, won't I?'

  Samantha refused to be beguiled by the innuendo in that statement. 'I doubt if you'll be able to change my mind, Mr Sinclair.'

  'We'll see, Miss 93rd Street,' he said with a smile. 'We'll see.'

  They parked by a small, deserted cove whose beach was hidden by a ridge of low hills. It was an idyllic spot with an expanse of white sand, water lapping gently at the shoreline, and a solitary gull or two swooping overhead. Occasionally ships passed along the horizon, their stacks or sails visible only at a distance, but there was no sign of human visitation other than a Coke bottle that washed up and down against the shore.

  Within a short time, however, they had established a small oasis of humanity on that isolated beach. The umbrella had been raised, its green and red stripes making a gay splash of colour against the brown of the hills. The beach blanket, a wool plaid whose colours had faded with time, was spread out beneath it so that one corner was in the shade. There Josh placed the cooler that held a picnic lunch. And there he neatly folded his jeans, his T-shirt, his belt, his socks and his sandals. Beneath his clothes, he'd worn a brief blue bathing suit.

  Samantha ignored the enticing way his muscles rippled in the sun as he moved and said primly,

  'Please turn around while I get changed.'

  'You know,' he said as he obediently turned, 'we could have gone to one of the nude beaches.'

  'What?' she asked as she pulled her dress over her head.

  'Nude beaches.'

  'Nude as in naked?'

  'Uh-uh.'