Deceit

by Fayrene Preston

  “Maybe that’s your belief,” she said, hurt by his attitude, “but there are other people out there in the world who want very much to believe that beauty, adventure, and love—perhaps even chival-ric love—exist, the kind you read about in storybooks. And if that belief is strong enough, who’s to say that somewhere it doesn’t exist?”

  He gave a harsh laugh. “There’s no such thing as love, Liana. You know that as well as I do. But beauty sure as hell exists. A man has only to look at you to know that. But it is what’s beneath that beauty of yours that bothers me, and has for quite awhile.”

  Despair gripped her; her love for him really was hopeless. “Was there something you wanted, Richard?”

  His smile was quick and not a smile at all. “Of course. Last night should have told you that.” There had been no tenderness in his lovemak-ing, she reflected wearily. Why had she thought he might show her tenderness now? “Richard ...” “How much longer are you going to be doing this?” he asked abruptly.

  “I don’t know. That’s up to Clay and the weather.” He scowled. “I don’t mean today. I mean, how much longer is the whole shoot scheduled to last?”

  “We’ve done just about half of the gowns.”

  “You’ll be here until the end of the week?”

  “Yes. The final shots won’t be taken until the ball. The next day they’ll auction off the gowns.” She hesitated. “Why do you ask?”

  “No particular reason. I was just curious.”

  The strange gray light of the approaching storm emphasized the fierce, angry expression of his face. She half turned away from him, finding it easier to look at the wildly churning sea. “How long do you plan to stay?”

  “About the same length of time.” He stared brood-ingly at her profile. The hood of the cape had blown off her head. The wind whipped at her hair and her skirts. Feathery streamers of her hair brushed at his face, the chiffon and silk of her skirts wrapped around his legs. Lightning flashed far out over the sea, a silver bolt momentarily connecting sky and sea. He saw her flinch in surprise. He took a handful of her hair in his fist, turned her, and brought his mouth down on hers in a plundering kiss.

  The pleasure hit Liana immediately. Then the relief. He might not love her, but at least he wanted her.

  She sagged against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Clay’s voice as he gave directions on the other side of the tent faded until she could hear only the soft, heated sounds that she herself was making.

  Richard drew her closer, more relaxed now that she was in his arms. His tongue stroked hers with a hunger that vaguely astonished him. He couldn’t remember ever kissing another woman the way he kissed Liana. Last night, there had been very few moments when he hadn’t been kissing her—and there had been no part of her he had left untasted. He craved that same experience now, her taste, her feel.

  Restless and needy, he moved his pelvis against her. This wasn’t going to be enough. In fact, he felt as if he might come apart if he couldn’t . . .

  He slipped his hand inside the cape, down into the strapless dress, and wrapped his hand around her breast. As he did, he felt her shift slightly, making it easier for him to hold her. A hard shudder of satisfaction raced through his body. Her breast was made to fit in his hand. His hand needed the touch of her.

  The smell of rain was in the air now. The smell of her was in his head. Lord, he had to have her!

  Sara peeped around the comer of the changing tent. “Liana?”

  Richard glanced over his shoulder. But he didn’t release Liana, and he was unable to force himself to move his hand. His broad back shielded Liana, and all the girl would be able to see was that he had been kissing their star model.

  “What is it?” he asked gruffly, all the while compulsively kneading Liana. She softly moaned, and he realized his arm around her was sill that was keeping her upright. If they were only alone, he would sink with her to the ground, pull her skirts up out of the way, and take her there and then. Just the thought swamped him with heat. “What the hell is it?”

  “Uh, we’re moving the equipment out to the bluff. Clay wants to try to get a picture of Liana there with the lightning behind her. ”

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” Liana mumbled, willing to say anything to make Sara leave. Reality was slipping away from her.

  “She said in a minute,” Richard snapped to Sara and watched until she retreated.

  Thumbing her nipple, Richard looked down at Liana. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly parted. Fresh desire surged through him. And fresh anger. “Why do you let that man order you around?”

  Liana's lids slowly lifted. “Because he’s in charge of this assignment. I work for him. ”

  “I keep forgetting, don’t I? How important your job and the money you earn is to you. Tell me, Liana. If I hired you to work for me and paid you twice, hell, three times what you’re getting to do this job, would you do what I tell you?”

  She swallowed, her attention torn between his words and his hand that continued to caress her breast and tease her nipple. “What you’re talking about is making me a prostitute.”

  “That’s your perception of my offer.”

  “Is it an offer?”

  “Would you do what I tell you? Anything?”

  “Not for money.”

  “What then?” he asked gruffly, pulling her closer against him. “Tell me. I'll find it, I’ll buy it, I’ll get it somehow.”

  You already have it, she wanted to say. You have my love. Instead, somehow, from somewhere, she summoned strength and jerked away from him.

  He flexed the fingers of the hand that had just held her, then slowly rolled them into his palm until his hand was a fist. “Go back to work, Liana,” he said in a low rough voice. “Do what Clay tells you to do. Earn more money. Give the world more of you. But no one will ever know you like I do. And no one will ever have you like I plan to have you.”

  Clay never got the picture he wanted on the bluff. Shortly after Richard stalked away, the storm hit. Drenched to her skin, Liana made her way back to her room and took a hot shower. Then she lit a fire in the fireplace, climbed naked into bed, and fell into a deep sleep. She awoke a few hours later and heard the rain pelting against the windowpanes. She got up and added more logs to the fire, then climbed back into bed and snuggled down into the covers. Warm and rested, she watched the shadows dance on the wall, thrown there by the light of the fire.

  She didn’t stir, not even when lightning lit the room and thunder rolled and boomed overhead, not even when the door to her room opened and Richard entered.

  He closed the door behind him. “Your door was unlocked.”

  “Yes.”

  He engaged the lock, then walked to the bed. “Were you waiting for me?”

  “Yes. ”

  Slowly he began to undress. He unbuttoned his shirt, shrugged out of it, and let it fall to the floor. The fire’s light immediately caressed his newly exposed skin, threading in and out of the mat of dark hair that covered his chest, and turning his shoulders and abdomen a warm bronze color. He stepped out of his shoes and reached for the waistband of his slacks. His every movement sent muscles rippling beneath his skin, thrilling her.

  The sheer maleness of him overwhelmed her. She itched to run her hands over the strong lines of him, to feel the heat of his body against hers, to inhale his clean masculine scent. When he pushed his slacks over his hips and down his legs, her mouth went dry. He wore no underwear; he was already fully aroused.

  He slipped under the covers and took her into his arms. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  He rose over her and cupped her buttocks with his hands, then with a thrust, buried himself in her. The possession was slow, hot, and greater than either of them had ever known before. But that was only the first time, and after that, they lost count. He stayed inside her all night long. Even when they were just resting, he never once separated from her.

  They spoke very little. The plea
surable things they did to each other said everything. SwanSea sheltered them; the storm outside never touched them.

  They had their own storm, a storm of passion and desire so intense, that daybreak found them in an exhausted slumber, arms and legs entwined, their bodies still fused together.

  Liana heard the ringing of the phone through clouds of sleep, and at first she couldn’t connect the sound with an action she should take.

  Richard provided a clue. “Don’t answer it,” he said, his mouth somewhere near her ear.

  Against her will, her mind began to work. “I should. It’s probably Clay about today’s shooting schedule.”

  He made a disgruntled sound and lazily flexed his hips against her. She felt him begin to grow deep within her, and she smiled softly. She pressed her lips against his throat and whispered, “If I don’t answer it, he’ll send someone to find out if there’s something wrong.”

  With a muttered oath, he reached out a long arm to wrest the telephone from its cradle. The ringing stopped. Gazing down at her, he raised up on one elbow and pressed the receiver into the pillow. “Tell him you’re going to be late this morning.”

  “Richard—”

  He moved in and out of her, bringing her body awake and filling her with a liquid warmth.

  “Tell him. All right?” he asked, continuing his lazy thrusting.

  Her eyes beginning to glaze with passion, she nodded. He placed the receiver against her ear. Caught and held by the heat in his eyes, she murmured, “I’m going to be a little late this morning.”

  “Clay’s not going to like that,” an amused voice said.

  Her mind instantly cleared. “Jean-Paul!”

  Richard ceased all motion.

  “I thought you were never going to answer the phone,” Jean-Paul said. “Did I catch you in the shower?”

  Richard pulled out of her, rolled to the other side of the bed, and threw his forearm over his eyes.

  “Liana?”

  “Yes, I’m here.” A look at Richard’s face told her he had retreated both physically and mentally from her. She felt empty and alone. She wanted to touch him, but she had the feeling that if she tried, his body would deflect her hand.

  “Liana, you sound strange. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Jean-Paul. How are you?”

  Richard surged off the bed and to his feet. “Could you hold on a minute, Jean-Paul?”

  “Certainly, cherie. Unfortunately, I have nothing but time on my hands.”

  Richard rounded the bed and stepped into his slacks. She covered the mouthpiece of the phone with her hand. “Please stay, Richard. Don’t go.” He yanked his zipper up and fastened the waistband of his pants. “I need fresh air. A lot of it.” “Richard—”

  He jerked up his shirt from the floor and held it clenched in his fist. “If you’re going to talk to him, Liana, I’m not staying.”

  “He’s been sick,” she said, trying to reason with him. “I want to find out how he’s doing.”

  “That’s very, very touching, but I’m out of here.” He crossed the room and opened the door.

  “Wait! I won’t talk long. I promise.”

  The door slammed shut after him, and she sank back against the pillows. Her hand shook as she lifted the receiver to her ear. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Jean-Paul. I was in the shower.”

  “You never could lie worth a damn. You want to tell me about it?”

  “No,” she said, her sad gaze on the door. “No. Tell me how you are instead.”

  That night when Liana opened the door and Richard walked into the room, she wasn’t surprised. She had come to realize that—no matter their past, no matter their present disagreements —as long as they were here at SwanSea, they would be lovers.

  SwanSea was large; they could easily avoid each other if they chose. But the turbulent emotions and feelings they carried for each other easily converted to passion, and the power of their passion pushed against the walls of the great house, seeking release.

  They could not be in this place without being together.

  Now when she closed the door after him, the lovely, soothing room filled with tension. Richard’s tension. He was wound tighter than a spring, and she knew why. Jean-Paul.

  He came to a stop in front of the fireplace and gazed unseeingly at a stack of freshly laid logs. “I gather you finished your phone call?”

  “Yes.” She paused, “did you get the air you needed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Richard, I’d like to explain about that phone call—"

  He whirled around, his body taut, his expression fierce. “No! I don’t want to hear one word about that phone call or the person who called you!”

  “But—”

  “I said no, Liana.” He came to her and took her face in one big hand. He stared down at her for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, his manner calmer. “I don’t even want to hear his name. All right?”

  “I won’t talk about the phone call if you don’t wish. But, Richard, there is something else, something I’ve decided it’s time you knew.”

  His thumb caressed her jawline, and his heated gaze focused on the fullness of her lips. “Does it have anything to do with tonight and what you want me to do to you when we go to bed?”

  Her throat dried up as desire began low in her body. “No. It’s about—”

  His fingers tightened around her face, and his thumb brushed across her lips. “Then I don’t want to hear it.”

  She wouldn’t let him silence her. Not just yet at any rate. “I have to tell you this, Richard.”

  He slipped his thumb just inside her bottom lip to the soft moistness. “Maybe,” he said huskily. “Maybe. But not tonight.”

  And then he replaced his thumb with his tongue.

  Seven

  Liana’s sandals dangled from her fingertips as she made her way across the rock and driftwood-strewn beach the next afternoon. Perhaps because of the rocks, this beach was unoccupied, people choosing the sandier strip of land closer to the house. But Liana found the natural beauty and most especially the isolation of this beach to be exactly what she wanted, and she gave silent thanks that the day’s shooting had gone well enough that Clay had called it quits early.

  The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky and cast a golden hue over the glittering sand and glistening dark rocks. Foam-tipped breakers surged onto the sand and lapped at her bare feet. The sight, sound, and feel of the cold water soothed her. She had desperately needed this time of solitude and peace before she saw Richard again and a new storm began.

  It had come to her quite suddenly last night that it was time Richard knew of the deceit she had perpetrated on him so many years ago. She had tried to tell him, but he hadn’t been in a

  mood to listen, and it had taken only the persuasive powers of his hands and lips to distract her. But now after a day to think over her impulsive decision, she knew she was right.

  She wasn’t sure what she hoped to accomplish by telling him. All along she had felt it wouldn’t make any difference if he knew. Even that time after her father’s death when she had flown to New York with every intention of explaining, she hadn’t held much hope that the truth would change things. She still didn’t think it would. But seeing him again, being with him, realizing the depth of love she still held for him had convinced her that at the least he had a right to know.

  She stopped to pick up a seashell, examined it briefly, then threw it back out to sea.

  From his vantage point a short distance down the beach, Richard kept his gaze on her rather than the shell's flight. Long after the shell had disappeared beneath the waves, she stayed where she was, watching the sea. The wind lifted the hem of her loose-fitting sundress and braided itself through her long fall of hair; the dress and her hair were almost the same shade of pale gold. She looked solemn, beautiful, and very mysterious.

  He would give up a major part of his possessions to know what she was think
ing at this exact moment, he thought, then mentally cursed himself for being so stupid. He would never have the key to her. But at least, for this short time at SwanSea, he would have a part of her.

  He walked up quietly behind her. “Were you testing your throwing arm, or was there something wrong with that shell?”

  Her peace evaporated as soon as she heard his voice. Turning to face him, she reflected that she had given up asking how he was always able to find her when she could so easily elude everyone else. He seemed to have a built-in radar where she was concerned. “It was broken. ”

  “And you’re looking for one that’s not?”

  The question held only idle curiosity, she noted. Dressed in gray cotton twill slacks and a sky blue open-necked shirt, he appeared quite relaxed. Her need to believe that they could share an interlude of peace overruled her doubts. Tension slowly drained out of her. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  By unspoken agreement, they turned as one and began walking. “I wanted to take a shell home as a souvenir,” she said. “The sea is so much a part of this place, it seems appropriate.”

  “I don’t know if I agree. I think one of the gowns you’ve been modeling would be more appropriate. In fact, I’ll buy you one.”

  She laughed lightly. ‘“Thanks, but no thanks. A gown like one of those would only hang in my closet, gathering dust and taking up space.”

  “I've seen pictures of you at galas, Liana. I know you go out.”

  “When I attend functions where I will be photographed, designers lend me gowns to wear. It’s free publicity for them. ”

  Thinking about what she said, he paused to pick up a piece of driftwood, studied it for a moment, then drew back and hurled it out over the water. “All right then, I’ll buy you one of the paintings that will be going up for auction in a few days. That would be better anyway, because I can guarantee that any of those paintings will appreciate in value.”

  She smiled, thinking of the simple cottage she called home. “Again, thank you, but I really wouldn’t have a place to hang anything that valuable.”