Deceit

by Fayrene Preston

  Excitement began to pound through her at the thought of the lovemaklng that would come, and she realized how foolish she’d been to put anything on. While it was true she felt a little achy and more than a little vulnerable, she knew from past experience that when he took her in his arms, everything would go away except need of him. She crossed the room, slipped into bed beside him, and nestled against him with an unconscious naturalness.

  He put his arm around her and drew her closer against him. “You smell like a secret flower garden,” he whispered huskily against her hair.

  “Secret?” she asked lightly, happier now that he was holding her.

  He paused, wondering why he had used that word. Then an image came into his head of her in a breathtakingly lovely garden. She was the flowers, and the flowers were her, and he was the only one who knew her different fragrances. The strange and uncharacteristic image shook him badly.

  “Wonderful,” he amended. “You smell wonderful. You know,” he went on, adopting her light tone with difficulty, “someone might make a fortune if they could bottle the scent of your skin.” She shifted the position of her head on his shoulder so that she could see him better. “I hate to tell you this, but the bath oil I use is available over the counter.”

  “Maybe what you put in your bath water can be purchased over the counter, but the way the chemistry of your skin reacts to it is unique.” He hesitated as a thought occurred to him. “Do you have a flower garden at your house in France?”

  “Yes.” Now what were they talking about, she wondered, baffled. And why?

  He lightly ran his fingers up and down her arm. “Tell me about your house.”

  “I already have.”

  “No, I mean really tell me about it. What are the rooms like? How have you furnished it?” He needed to be able to think of her there in the years ahead.

  She was confused. Why was he here in bed with her if he didn’t want to make love to her? The only other time they had been in bed together without making love was last night, but that had been because she had told him about her father’s deception and how it had affected their lives. She understood why he wouldn’t want to make love to her after hearing that. But why not now? Unless . . . Unless he was being considerate of her because of her fall.

  “Liana?”

  “I’m here.”

  He chuckled, and his hand briefly squeezed her arm. “That’s good. So are you going to tell me about your house?”

  “Well, there’s not a lot to tell. I’ve furnished it with pieces I’ve found over the years, pieces of no particular style, but that fit together beautifully because they’re simple and comfortable. And I have white lace curtains hanging at the windows. I enjoy the way they look when the windows are open and the breeze catches them.” As she talked, she relaxed little by little, until her eyelids grew heavy and drifted shut. “There’s a big stone fireplace in the parlor, and in the winter I keep a fire going there. I love cold, rainy afternoons, because that’s when I pull a chair up to the fire and read. I love mysteries.”

  She grew sleepy and her words slowed and softened. "My kitchen is big—cool in the summer, warm in the winter. One of my favorite things to do in the winter is to make a big pot of stew, the kind that takes two days to make, the kind you keep adding ingredients to. . . . And every plate I have is different from the other.”

  He heard her trail off as she gave herself up to sleep. The comers of his mouth lifted slightly. A good night’s sleep was just what she needed. She’d been under quite a strain this past week or so, what with her work and those damnable accidents. And he was sure his presence on the scene hadn’t helped the state of her nerves any.

  He adjusted his position so that she rested more comfortably against him. The sound of her soft, even breathing acted as a tranquilizer. In the distance, the eternal surge of the ocean provided a calming white noise. Now that she was asleep, he reflected, he could go to his own room. . . .

  He found himself staying. He didn’t know why, but he felt a strange sort of contentment. Here in the night, holding Liana, there were no business pressures, no noises that jarred, no need to seek revenge. It was nice. More than nice, actually.

  Too bad this contentment wouldn’t last. He was scheduled to return to New York in a few days. All too soon the hostilities and struggles that layered a normal business day would resume. A frown creased his face. He supposed Liana would continue with her life, too. Did she have another modeling assignment lined up, he wondered, or would she return to her little house in France?

  He stiffened as a thought occurred to him. Would there be more accidents when she left here? Maybe with even more dire results? He wouldn’t be there to protect her. His frown deepened. Not that he had been able to protect her here.

  But why would someone want to hurt her?

  He gazed down at her again. Even in the half light provided by the moon, he could see how thin and fragile she was. Her weight hardly made an impression on him. How could anyone deliberately set out to hurt her? He paused as he had a new thought. Wasn’t that what he had set out to do? But then that was different, he assured himself. The thought of actual physical harm coming to her made him sick to his stomach.

  He pressed his head back into the pillow and closed his eyes. Damn it. What was happening here? And why did he care so much?

  Richard wasn’t sure when he finally fell asleep, just as he wasn’t sure what time it was when he was awakened by the feel of Liana’s hands on him. She was caressing him with a touch that took him from sleep to wakefulness in seconds.

  Her lips brushed across his chest to his nipple, and he stiffened when her tongue flicked the tiny bud. “Liana. . .’’He gasped. “What are you doing?”

  Her palm slid down his body, and she took him in her hand. “I want you,” she whispered. “Do you mind?”

  He groaned, then gritted his teeth as her hand began to rhythmically stroke him and her soft lips skimmed to his other nipple. The sensations were electric, exquisite, overwhelming. She was possessing him, applying just the right amount of pressure at exactly the right moment and place. His head went back into the pillow, and his back arched as his mind tried to deal with what was happening to him. Other women might have done the same thing, but none of them had ever come close to making him feel this searing, heart-pounding pleasure. Lord.

  He pulled her on top of him, and without guidance, she slipped onto him. His body jerked at the instant, scorching-hot jolt of excitement her act gave him.

  She was moaning now as she flexed and circled her hips against him. The fever that gripped his body moved to his brain. Through slitted eyes and the dim light, he could see her pale hair around her head and shoulders. Her breasts, full, taut, and tempting swayed with her movements. He reached up and grasped them; the feel of their weight and satiny texture in his hands nearly took him over the edge. He lifted his head to hungrily suck one rigid nipple into his mouth, and the fire leaped higher in his gut.

  “Liana," he said on a long drawn out breath, and his head fell back to the pillow. He was going wild with frustration and need. She was in control, and he found he loved it.

  Her rhythm became faster. He arched up to her, time and time again, but she couldn’t seem to get enough. She urged him on with whispered words and soft erotic sounds, inciting him to meet her demands.

  Every breath he drew hurt, and there was an unbearable pressure in him that screamed to be released. Gripping her hips, he drove upward, using all the strength he had. With a distant part of his mind, he heard her cry out, then he, too, was crying out. Shuddering convulsively, he heard his cries go on and on, then waves of fulfillment began to break over him—too potent to be endured, too powerful to live without.

  Nine

  Liana stretched lazily, bathed by the early morning sunshine that fell across the bed. When her arm brushed against Richard, she turned her head to look at him. He was still asleep.

  Her heart filled to overflowing as she remembered what had
happened between them just a few hours ago. Oh, she knew for him the preceding hours had been nothing more than just very good sex; but what he didn’t know, would never know, was that she couldn’t have made love to him so unreservedly if she didn’t love him.

  She remembered how in the middle of the night she had awakened clasped in his arms, and with her guard still lowered from her sleep, she had followed a natural urge. What had happened then had been unbelievable, and she would never forget it as long as she lived.

  And in spite of their rigorous activities, she felt completely rested.

  Following another impulse, she leaned over and planted a gentle kiss at the comer of his mouth.

  He opened his eyes; the softness in his gaze delighted her.

  “Good morning,” she murmured with a smile. ‘“How do you feel?”

  He lay his palm flat on her stomach and spread his fingers so that he was touching as much of her skin as possible. “I think the question should be, how do you feel?”

  She stretched again, her hands above her head, her back arched, her breasts thrusting upward. “I feel wonderful!”

  Without moving his hand, he stroked his thumb back and forth across the smooth, tender skin of her stomach. “Are you sore?”

  “Only slightly,” she said, relaxed again, but with her arms still above her head, “and since it came from such a pleasant activity, I don’t mind at all.” The gray of his eyes darkened. Her breasts were inviting, perfect mounds, and so near to his mouth. It had been his intent to leave her alone this morning, but temptation overcame him. He bent his head and drew a waiting nipple into his mouth. Lord. What a fantastic way to start a day off! Her body gave him both energy and nourishment. Yet there was a problem, he reminded himself. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to get enough of her.

  Last night, he had found something erotic and unbearably exciting about her being in control. But with the cold light of day came the reminder that he didn’t like the helpless feeling his need for her gave him.

  Her soft moan quickened his pulse, but he did his best to fight back the desire. He had to stop now, or he wouldn’t be able to. Their lovemaking in the middle of the night had left him unnerved, and he needed time away from her to rebuild his defenses.

  One final time, he drew on her breast. Then one more time.

  “That was nice,” she murmured a bit breathlessly, when he finally lifted his head. “Why did you stop?”

  Wanting her as much as he did, her willingness for him to continue almost undid him. “Don’t you have to get up?” he asked brusquely. “I mean, isn’t Clay expecting you to be downstairs for the day’s shoot?”

  She ran her fingers lightly along his jaw and felt the roughness of his morning beard. “Not until later.”

  His head whipped back. “If I don’t keep away from you. I’ll give you whisker bums.”

  “I wouldn’t mind.”

  “Dammit, Liana, your skin will be too red to be photographed.” He was grasping at straws and he knew it.

  Before, she might have let his irritation stop her. But last night had given her a new courage when it came to their lovemaking, and, she reasoned, the more memories she had to store away, the easier the long years ahead would be for her. “Haven’t you ever heard of makeup?" she asked softly.

  “Liana—”

  “Please, Richard. I want you again.”

  With a harsh groan, he succumbed. “Then get ready, because you’re going to need a ton of makeup—and not just on your face.”

  They made love, frantically, passionately, and later took a long, lingering shower together. And in spite of it all, they dressed in plenty of time for them to have breakfast.

  Liana held Richard’s arm as they descended the grand staircase and felt as though she were encompassed in a haze of passion and happiness.

  Richard leaned over and whispered, “It’s a good thing the shower water turned cold. Otherwise, Clay most certainly would have sent someone to find you, and when they came, you would have been as shriveled as a prune.”

  “But I’d be a happy prune.”

  In spite of the people milling in the hallway below them, he drew her to a stop on the next to the last stair and shook his head with wonder. “You’re insatiable.”

  “Are you complaining?” she asked lightly.

  “I love it,” he murmured, his tone hoarse and thick. “I’ve already shown you how much I love it twice this morning, and if you’ll say the word, I'll take you back upstairs and show you several more times.”

  A spike of heat lanced through her. “I wish we could, but I have to work.”

  He remained silent. When was he going to get enough of her? Stop wanting her? Stop needing her? And most of all, how was he going to be able to let her walk out of his life tomorrow?

  She shook her head regretfully, seeming to follow his train of thought. “Today’s our last day. Tonight’s the ball.”

  He tensed. “Are you telling me you won’t have any time to give me today or this evening?” “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m positive we’ll knock off earlier than usual this afternoon, and the ball doesn’t start until nine. In the meantime, though, I do need to work.”

  “Forget the work.”

  She looked at him oddly. He actually sounded as if he couldn’t stand the thought of them being apart today. “We couldn’t do anything together, anyway, Richard. You’ll be busy with the art auction. That’s why you came, remember?”

  “I remember exactly why I came,” he snapped, then stopped before he made a fool of himself. What was wrong with him? He actually sounded petulant because she wouldn’t spend the day with him. To make matters worse, his body was already starving for her again. He had to get a grip on his emotions; being apart from her would be the best thing for him. Maybe he wouldn’t even see her again before he left tomorrow.

  But there were the accidents. He hadn’t forgotten the possibility that someone was trying to harm her—or worse.

  “Then you understand—”

  He held up his hand. “Enough. You’ve convinced me.”

  She laughed. “Well, damn.”

  “You wanted me to talk you out of working?”

  “No.” She slipped her arms around his waist and looked up at him with an unconsciously provocative smile. “But I liked that you were trying to.”

  He groaned, half-serious, half-goodnatured. “All I’ve got to say is that you’re lucky we’re surrounded by people. ”

  “Why? What would you do?”

  “Believe me, my mind is churning with ideas.” She laughed again.

  “There’s just one thing, Liana. Be careful today. Make sure anything you stand on is solid and well built. Don’t even drink anything unless you see someone else pour a glass from the same container and drink it. Also, be extra careful about your makeup.”

  She gazed searchingly at him. “You’re worried about me?”

  His grin was meant to disarm. “I just don’t want any more scars on that lovely body of yours. When I see bruises, I feel as if I have to handle you carefully.”

  His easy manner relaxed her. She grinned back. “Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed you handling me with any particular care. As a matter of fact, I distinctly remember—”

  He leaned down and kissed her quiet. When he finished, she forgot what they had been talking about. “We better get to the dining room,” she murmured, “or we’re going to cause a scandal right here on the stairway.”

  He laughed, turning her so that they could take the final steps to the immense entry hall. “I’m sure SwanSea’s walls have seen much more scandalous events.”

  “You’re probably right,” she said, then noticed Caitlin speaking with a group of people. Her wave produced a smile and a friendly nod of acknowledgment from Caitlin.

  “Caitlin will be running six different ways today in preparation for tonight’s ball,” she said as they threaded their way around yet another group. SwanSea was at capacity.

&
nbsp; “And don’t forget the auction. Speaking of which, are you sure you won’t let me buy you one of the paintings?”

  “I’m sure. I told you—”

  Richard stopped, his expression instantly hostile.

  Curious, Liana followed his gaze. Jean-Paul Savion was walking toward them.

  Her mouth fell open; she'd thought he was still ill and at his home in Paris.

  But she wasn’t the only woman In the hall who stared.

  Dressed as always in his trademark black, Jean-Paul was a tall man, with heavy-lidded dark eyes and long black hair, pulled back and secured at the nape of his neck. SwanSea was filled with celebrities for the weekend, but Jean-Paul had a presence that tended to halt women in their tracks.

  When he reached them, he leaned down to her and kissed first one cheek, then the other. “Hello, cherie. Surprised?”

  “Stunned, frankly. I thought you were too ill to travel.”

  “As you can see, I have recovered.”

  Actually, he didn’t look at all recovered, she thought, but had no chance to say so.

  He turned to Richard and raised his eyebrows in a manner both imperious and inquiring.

  She couldn’t imagine a worse time for this particular meeting to happen, she thought. But then again, she would be hard-pressed to come up with a good time. She tried to steel herself as best she could for what was to come. “Jean-Paul, this is Richard Zagen. Richard, Jean-Paul Savion.” Neither man made a move to shake hands, and each regarded the other with blatant antagonism and contempt.

  Richard was the first to speak. “If you two will excuse me, I have a full day ahead of me.”

  She grabbed his arm. “But I thought we were going to have breakfast.”

  Richard pointedly fixed his gaze on Jean-Paul. “All at once, I’ve lost my appetite.” And without another word, he whirled and stalked off.

  Liana stared after him, unaware that her heart was in her eyes.

  Jean-Paul regained her attention by taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm. “I, personally, could eat a horse. Do you suppose, Liana, that they serve horse here?”