Quickly, she crossed to the dresser. Estrella had put her things away carefully, lingerie in the top drawer, cotton sweaters in the second—and swimsuits in the third. Hannah lifted out a white one, a bikini that was modest by current standards but still more revealing than any suit she’d ever owned.
‘You’ll look gorgeous in it,’ Grant’s sister had insisted. She looked at herself in the mirror. What she looked was half-naked, but what did that matter? She would have the pool to herself.
She left her bedroom quietly. The flagstone floor of the atrium was warm against her bare feet; when she slipped into the water it seemed like silk against her skin. She swam endless laps, until finally she felt the dullness of exhaustion creep into her bones, and she climbed out of the pool to sink on to a lounger.
The sun was hot. Very hot. After a moment, Hannah closed her eyes.
… hands stroking across her, their touch light but exciting. ‘Hannah.’ Hands turning her over, drifting on her skin. Breath whispering against her hair, lips cool and sweet against her own. ‘Hannah, sweetheart.’
‘Hannah.’
‘Mmm.’ Sighing, she let the hands raise her up. She lifted her arms, curved them around the strong, masculine neck, let her fingers curl into the silken hair…
‘Hannah. Hannah, wake up.’
Her eyes flew open. Grant was seated on the lounger beside her, holding her in his arms. His torso was sunhot, naked against hers, his face so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek.
‘Grant?’ she whispered.
He smiled just a little. ‘Yes.’ His voice was soft and deep. ‘You were dreaming.’
She swallowed drily. She felt as if she’d slept days instead of hours. ‘I must have fallen asleep.’
His arms tightened around her. ‘What were you dreaming about?’
Their eyes met. I was dreaming about you, she thought, about you, Grant…
‘Nothing special,’ she said carefully.
‘Really?’ He smiled into her eyes. ‘Then why were you making that little sound?’
She was too confused to pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘I was just dreaming, and—and…’ She fell silent. He was too close to her, much too close. His skin smelled faintly of sun and sweat, a scent more heady and sensual than any ever created by a chemist for a men’s cologne.
She took a steadying breath and pasted a smile to her face.
‘I was dreaming that—that I was drinking a tall glass of iced water,’ she said with a little laugh.
‘I can make that dream come true.’ He smiled and leaned away from her. When he turned around, there was a tall, frosted glass in his hand. ‘Will lemonade do?’
The breath rushed from her lungs. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘It’ll do very nicely. Thanks.’ She drank half the glass. ‘Just what I needed,’ she said brightly.
‘Yes.’ His hand brushed hers as he took the glass from her and put it on the table. ‘I should have warned you. The sun’s much stronger here than it is back home.’
Hannah nodded. Why did he keep sitting beside her? Why didn’t he get up and sit on one of the other loungers, or slip into the pool?
She ran her tongue across her lips. ‘Have you—have you been into the pool yet?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Well, you should try it. The water’s wonderful, very cool and—and…’
She was babbling like an idiot. It was his fault, not hers. It was disconcerting to have him sit so close to her, to have to watch the way his dark lashes fanned against his cheeks when he looked down, to have to see the play of muscle in his shoulders.
Hannah swung her feet to the flagstone floor. ‘I guess I’ll go inside now. I——’
‘Come into the pool first.’
She looked up at him as he got to his feet. Her throat went dry. How beautiful he was! She had thought that this morning, when she’d seen him standing by the window wearing a towel; now, in a black Spandex suit, she could see even more of his body, see the narrow male hips, the washboard belly, the rounded convexity that was his manhood.
‘Hannah?’ She looked up at him. ‘You’re all flushed,’ he said softly.
‘Grant——’
‘It’s the heat,’ he said. ‘The sun.’ He smiled and held his hand out to her. ‘Take a swim and cool off before you go inside. You’ll feel better.’
She put her hand in his and stood. Nothing would make her feel better, she thought dizzily, nothing but getting out of this house. But she let him draw her to the rocky steps that led down into the pool, and into the water.
‘You can let go,’ she said with a quick smile when the water was at her waist. ‘I know how to swim.’
‘Come in a little deeper,’ he said softly, and he led her to where the rocky overhang formed a ledge over which water tumbled into the pool.
The water lapped softly at her breasts as he led her under the coolness of the waterfall.
‘There.’ He smiled. ‘Isn’t that nice?’
It was. But it seemed a mistake to tell him so—and yet wouldn’t it be petty to do anything less?
She smiled, too. ‘Yes. Very.’
‘Your hair’s getting wet,’ he said.,
She laughed, surprising even herself. ‘I don’t mind,’ she said, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. Grant had been right; the water did feel good. It felt wonderful against her heated skin.
‘Hannah.’ She opened her eyes. Grant was watching her, and when she saw his face her breath caught. His eyes were like obsidian, his mouth was a slashing line in his taut face. ‘Hannah,’ he said again, and he reached out one hand, very slowly, and ran it down her wet hair to her throat.
She swallowed hard. ‘Don’t. Please.’
‘Do you know how beautiful you are?’ he whispered. His fingers traced a pattern over her wet skin, skimmed across the rise of her breasts.
‘Grant,’ she whispered.
She wanted to tell him not to do this, but she couldn’t. Her heart was racing as if she’d just climbed the mountain on foot. His fingers felt like tiny flames as they traced a path down her hip, and she felt a need building inside herself, a need that seemed stronger than her determination to stop him.
‘I’ve wondered what you look like naked,’ he said, his voice very soft, so soft she could barely hear it. ‘I’ve imagined your body, the fullness of your breasts.’ She gave a little gasp as his hand brushed across her bosom; she felt the instantaneous lift of her nipples and saw, in the swift darkening of his eyes, that Grant had seen it, too. ‘I’ve pictured the sweet curve of your hips, the slight rounding of your belly…’
Hannah began to tremble. ‘Don’t,’ she whispered, ‘oh, don’t…’
Grant stepped closer. His hands went to her hips, curved around her, cupped her buttocks.
‘I lie awake at night, thinking of what it will be like when we make love the first time.’ A moan whispered from her throat. His hands pressed lightly against her, urging her to him, and she came willingly, moving to him until their bodies touched. ‘Will your thighs open for me?’ His voice dropped until it was like thick, liquid honey. ‘Will you wrap your legs around me and cry out when I enter you?’
Hannah swayed and his arms went around her, one hand dropping to the small of her back, bringing her tight against him. The hardness of his erection pressed into her belly.
‘Hannah.’ His breath whispered against her skin as he kissed the pulse racing at the hollow of her throat.
When his mouth found hers, she could not stop herself from kissing him back with wild, abandoned passion, her mouth open, her hands clinging to his shoulders. It was he who ended the kiss, putting her from him, holding her until her lashes lifted heavily from her flushed cheeks.
She looked at him. He was not smiling with a knowing triumph as she was afraid he might be; he was watching her instead with a look she could not define. Did he know that he could take her now if he wante
d to, here, under the sky, with the sun beating down and the water surrounding them like warm silk?
After a long time, his hands fell away from her and he stepped back.
‘Dinner in an hour,’ he said, very calmly, as if what had just happened had been nothing but a dream.
It was as if she had been set free of a conjurer’s spell. Hannah turned and dived under the water. She surfaced when she reached the edge of the pool, hoisted herself up, and then, without once looking back, made her way swiftly to her room and locked the door after her.
‘Oh, God,’ she whispered.
She knew he’d tried to seduce her—and he’d damned near succeeded.
She made her way unsteadily to the bathroom, stripped off her suit, and stepped into the shower. She turned the spray on full, tipped her head back, and let the cold water beat down on her face and body.
How would she manage four weeks of this? Grant was a master of a game that was new to her. She was susceptible to him, and he knew it.
She turned off the water and stepped on to the tiled floor. Being susceptible was one thing. Being a fool was quite another. Her mouth tightened as she wrapped herself in an oversized towel. How did that old saying go?
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
There wouldn’t be a third time.
He was waiting in the garden when she ‘came outside. She was wearing a lemon-yellow dress and matching high-heeled sandals; she’d brushed out her hair and she had a cool smile on her face.
The smile almost failed her when she saw him, standing tall and dark in a white dinner-jacket and frilled shirt, but then, there was no point pretending he wasn’t handsome.
He was. But what did that mean to her?
The table was set with candles and fine china. Soft music drifted from hidden speakers.
The overture to Attempt Number Three begins, she thought, and she took a little breath, then put her head up and strolled briskly towards him.
‘Hannah.’ He smiled. ‘You look lovely.’
‘Thank you.’ She took the glass of wine he held out and moved past him towards a bed of scarlet trumpetflowers. ‘These are spectacular,’ she said, as if talking about flowers were what they’d done the last time they’d seen each other.
Grant didn’t miss a beat. ‘I’ll bet the hummingbirds think so, too.’
She turned in surprise. ‘Hummingbirds?’
He nodded. ‘Sure. They’re drawn to the colour red. There are probably half a dozen different varieties in this part of Mexico. A few years ago, when I was in Arizona…’
It was the start of a free-ranging conversation that at first made her suspicious, then confused, but eventually it was so fascinating that she forgot to be anything but interested.
They moved from hummingbirds to films, from films to books. Grant had an opinion on everything, which didn’t surprise her. What did surprise her was the way he was willing to listen to her viewpoint, to concede that there might be another way of looking at things.
He was charming and attentive, and when, at midnight, he smiled and said that it was late, she was almost reluctant to agree.
But she was tired; she was yawning even as she got to her feet.
Grant smiled apologetically. ‘I’ve kept you up too late,’ he said. He put his arm lightly around her shoulders. ‘Come on. We’ll call it a night.’
She looked up at him, and all at once she remembered what she had for the past hours forgotten.
‘You don’t have to walk me to my room.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ He smiled. ‘It’s not as if I have to go out of my way to do it.’
She let him lead her to the door. She walked stiffly, holding herself so that their bodies didn’t touch. She was ready for what would surely come next—but not for what actually did.
Grant put his hands on her shoulders and dropped the lightest of kisses on her forehead.
‘Goodnight, Hannah,’ he said. He reached past her, opened her door, and gently put his hand in the small of her back. And, just like that, he was gone.
Hannah stood in the darkness while she tried to get her bearings. Was he really going to leave it at that? Yes. Apparently he was; she could hear the sound of his retreating footsteps.
Well, well, well. She kicked off her sandals, then unzipped her dress. It had been easier than she’d expected.
Moments later, face scrubbed free of make-up, wearing a T-shirt and her panties rather than going through the foolishness of putting on the nightgown Sally and the other girls had insisted on giving her, she climbed into bed and fell into a sound sleep.
She came awake slowly, shivering in the unexpected chill of a night breeze drifting in through the opened shutters. She sighed, tossed back the blankets, and padded to close the window, but when she reached it she froze.
A figure stood in the atrium, lit by the underwater lights of the pool. Grant, still dressed as he had been hours ago, in dinner-jacket and black trousers, stood staring at the shifting patterns in the water. There was something in the line of his shoulders that made her heart stop beating.
She did not know why she went to the door and opened it. Perhaps it was enough that it was night, that everything had the faint shimmer of illusion.
Her bare feet whispered across the flagstones. She stopped when she was at some distance from him and called his name softly.
He didn’t turn, didn’t seem surprised at her presence. His shoulders lifted, then fell, and she heard him sigh before he spoke.
‘It’s all right, Hannah. Go back to bed.’
‘Grant—what’s the matter?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing. I just couldn’t sleep.’
She knew now what she’d seen in him when she’d looked out of her window. There was weariness in every line of his body, and it touched her heart.
She took a step forward. ‘Can I do anything?’
‘Can you… ?’ He laughed, although it didn’t really sound like a laugh at all. ‘Just go back to bed. I didn’t mean to wake you. I—I won’t disturb you any more.’
She went to him and reached out, then drew back her hand without touching his.
‘If you—if you want to sit and talk for a while——’
‘Talk?’ He spun towards her; his tie was undone and the top buttons of his shirt were open. ‘Talk?’ His mouth twisted. ‘Dammit, Hannah, I’ve had enough of talking.’
If only I could see his face, she thought, if only I could see what’s in his eyes.
‘I only want to help…’
‘Then go to bed!’
‘Is it——?’ She swallowed. ‘Is it because you’re upset about us?’ He didn’t answer, and she moved closer. ‘I didn’t mean what I said,’ she whispered, ‘about—about prostituting myself. I mean, we misunderstood each other, that’s all. I know you didn’t——’
She cried out as he caught hold of her. ‘You little fool,’ he muttered, ‘don’t you understand?’
‘I do. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. No one has to know what went wrong between us, Grant. We can say we——’
‘I thought I could do this,’ he whispered. His hands slid to her throat, then to her face. ‘I thought I could bring you here, keep my hands off you—hell, I thought I could court you——’
‘Court me?’
‘Yes, dammit. Court you, so it wouldn’t come as such a goddamned shock when I took you to my bed.’ His eyes swept over her face. ‘I wanted to give us time, to give you time… but I can’t!’
Hannah felt breathless, as if the air were being drawn from her lungs.
‘I know you want me as much as I want you,’ he said, ‘but——’
‘You’re wrong,’ she started to say, but he shook his head.
‘You don’t have to say anything, Hannah. I know now that I’ll never be able to change your mind.’ He stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets, then turned his back to her. ‘I’ve gone about this whole business with all the grace of a bull i
n a china shop, and I want you to know—I want you to know, I’m sorry.’
She took a step forward. Was he really apologising?
‘You’re free to leave,’ he said. He took a breath. ‘It’s over.’
‘Over?’ she whispered.
‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘This is—it was a mistake.’ His shoulders stiffened. ‘We’ll go home tomorrow.’
Tears of relief came to Hannah’s eyes. It was over, really over. He was releasing her from her obligations, cancelling the contract.
‘Just go back to your room,’ he said.
‘Grant——’
‘Dammit, go!’ He swung towards her, and his eyes met hers. ‘I still want to make love to you, and if I start…’ He swallowed, the sound audible in the silence. ‘I won’t stop,’ he said fiercely. ‘Not tonight.’
A hush seemed to fall over the garden. She could walk away from him. He had no hold on her any more…
Her head understood. But her heart was sending a different message. Go to him, it said with every beat. Now that he’s given you a choice, you can go to him with your head held high. Go to him, Hannah. It’s what you want, what you’ve always wanted…
‘Then don’t stop,’ she said, and she was in his arms, her mouth open and hungry against his, giving now that she was free to give, taking what she had for so long wanted.
‘Hannah,’ he whispered, his mouth at her throat.
She could hear the question in his voice and she gave the only answer she could, clasping his head in her hands, dragging his mouth down to hers, kissing him with a passion that could no longer be controlled. Grant whispered her name and swung her into his arms.
Moonlight laid an ivory path across the flagstones to her room. He carried her to the bed and laid her down, and she watched as he pulled off his clothing.
Her hands moved over him, learning the satiny texture of his skin, the roughness of his hair, the hardness of his muscles. She lifted her arms and he drew away her T-shirt, then her panties, and then he was beside her, his mouth on her breasts and on her belly.
Suddenly she felt him tremble against her.
‘Hannah,’ he whispered.
‘Yes,’ she sighed, ‘oh, please, yes.’
No Need for Love Page 15