by Susan Napier
Breathless with impatience Sarah reached up to pull him down, flesh against flesh, stroking her hands over his chest and shoulders, feeling him shudder like a man with a fever at her eager touch. He shifted his weight over her and her fingers flexed, nails sinking into his back as she felt the powerful thrust of his body.
'Don't hurt me, sweet vixen, I'm at your mercy now,' he groaned as her nails raked downwards but she was beyond controlling herself, her body arched like a bow to his, her head rolling helplessly from side to side in an erotic transport of delight, all consciousness lost to the foaming excitement as the waves of sweet, piercing pleasure built up to tidal force. There were a thousand exquisite pulse-beats in her body; resounding desire in every cell and nerve ending.
The frantic movements of her body beneath his took the final shreds of his own control. There were no concessions now to her doubts, but she welcomed him, mind and body longing for the release that he had been so skilfully denying them both, hands seeking the belt buckle that dug into the soft flesh of her belly.
The interruption, when it came, came with brutal suddenness. A splash, a curse, a muffled thud and an explosion of bright white light from the direction of the half-closed bedroom door.
Max was on his feet even before Sarah's sluggish brain registered what had happened. She lay for a moment, dazed, shaking, gulping great breaths of air, then jack-knifed up to grab the flimsy dress that lay an arm's length away. She stared blearily at the door with an awful premonition of disaster.
'Is that you, love? It's only me. I know I said I'd be away for a day or two—' Roy broke off, aghast, as he appeared in the doorway and saw the two frozen figures.
'Roy!' Sarah despaired and the unexplainable guilt she felt must have shown on her face for Max looked from the other man to her with dawning suspicion. Roy was wrapped only in a towel and dripped damply on to the floorboards. We're all undressed, thought Sarah with hysterical irrelevancy . . . with Max, of course, wearing the most of all!'
He stooped now, to shrug into his shirt, and to pick up his jacket and tie, which he thrust into the pocket.
'My mistake,' he said with bleak and deadly quietness and Sarah recoiled at the brief look of icy hostility he gave her as he passed by. Her throat was so jammed full of anger and explanation that she choked helplessly, unable to utter a word.
Max hesitated at the top of the stairwell, half-turned towards Roy and, unbelievingly, Sarah heard her friend repeat with contemptuous precision:
'Your mistake.'
Sarah squeezed her eyes shut on the nightmare, but the distant, distinct click of the front door confirmed the sick reality.
'Wait here,' she heard Roy say as he ducked back into the bathroom. Where did he think she would go? Dashing out half naked into the street after Max? The thought prompted her to scramble up and pull on her dress, doing up the zip with clumsy fingers. Her whole body was racked with agonising cramps, she felt as though part of her had been torn away, leaving a great, gaping wound.
'What was he doing here?' Roy came back into the room wearing denim jeans and carrying a white T-shirt screwed into a ball. She could hear bathwater gurgling down the pipes.
'What do you think he was doing?' She found her voice, small and tight. 'I would have thought it was pretty obvious. What were you doing? You aren't even supposed to be in Auckland!'
Roy shrugged, unembarrassed. 'My car broke down on the motorway, so I called the trip off until it's fixed. I didn't get back until late and I was filthy, I needed a bath.'
'At—' Sarah looked at her watch and gasped. 'At midnight!' She and Max had been here for nearly an hour. The pain and frustration intensified.
Roy ran his hand through his wet hair. 'Is it that late? I came over about ten—you weren't here so I let myself in ... I thought I'd just have a quick dip. I must have fallen asleep. Where were you?'
'Dinner. We went to dinner. You shouldn't have come in, Roy,' her voice rose sharply.
'All right, I'm sorry, there's no need to shout,' he said. 'You've never come back with anyone before, how did I know tonight was going to be different? I've used your bath before at night, and I didn't fall asleep on purpose, just to break up your cute little scene with the boss.'
Furiously angry, Sarah lashed out with her tongue. She had never until now regretted the closeness of their friendship and in the short, heated exchange that followed said hurtful things that were unfair and untrue, and was stung in turn by Roy's retaliations.
'And who the hell are you to make sarcastic remarks about cute scenes! You're the one who told me I was only half a woman,' Sarah finished desperately.
'I didn't mean you to jump into bed with the first man who asked you. I thought you had more self-respect.'
Sarah stiffened. 'You make it sound cheap and sordid—'
'Instead of romantic? Come off it, Sarah, you're not the type for one-night stands with strangers.'
'He is not a stranger and it wasn't a one-night stand,' said Sarah icily. Instinctively she knew that* the passion she and Max had shared was more than just a brief, animal urge easily satiated.
'If you were capable of going to bed with a man without any kind of emotional involvement you would have done so by now, taken the easy solace it offered,' Roy continued implacably. 'I may be an advocate of free love, but not free sex. There has to be a relationship first!'
'But there was!' Why did he find that so hard to accept? 'You don't understand—' and to her shame and horror Sarah burst into a flood of tears.
Instantly she found herself enfolded in a great bear-hug, her head pressed against Roy's damp chest.
'Don't cry, honey,' he rocked her. 'You never cry. I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me. I was just shocked, I guess, I let rip without thinking. You must be feeling ghastly. I'm sorry.' The words rumbled reassuringly in the ear that was pressed against his chest. Roy was. Roy again, and not that accusing stranger.
She let herself be led over to the two-seater, settee against the wall and felt herself pushed into the squashy cushions. She sat, sniffing, feeling drained and deathly tired.
'I'm the one who should be saying sorry,' she said at last, wiping her face on the offered T-shirt and handing it back to the hunched figure beside her. 'I yelled first. I didn't mean what I said. I don't know what came over me.'
'I do.'
She coloured. 'Oh God, what must he be thinking!' 'Nothing complimentary,' he replied in an odd, flat voice.
'I should have said something . . . but I couldn't. I couldn't believe it was happening.' She turned. 'But you said something. Why did you say that? It implied—'
Roy pulled moodily at his beard, avoiding her eyes. 'What should I have said—"we're just good friends"?'
'You could have said—'
'Look, Sarah, he was in no mood to listen to anything —reasonable or unreasonable.'
She remembered the glacial look and winced. No. Max had drawn his own conclusions. He thought he had been made a fool of, used as a stop-gap while her live-in lover was away. But, remembering also what they had shared, she did not think that he would believe that for long. Once lie had had time to consider he would realise that there must be another explanation. They would probably even be able to share a rueful laugh over the incident. Should >he ring him? No, better wait until tomorrow and speak to turn face to face. He would probably hang up on her in his present mood. And she had better ponder on the best approach to take.
When Roy saw some of the tension leaving her face, he chanced a gentle probe.
'What sparked this sudden mutual interest then?'
'Not sudden,' Sarah yawned, the late hour catching up .with her.
'Regular date, huh?' he jeered lightly.
'Regular from now on,' she grinned.
Roy slumped back on the settee, frowning. 'I never thought you would be attracted to a man like that,' he muttered. 'I thought you had more taste.'
Fleetingly, Sarah wondered at his tone. Could he be jealous? Then she dism
issed the thought as ridiculous. Roy might love her, but only in a brotherly way.
'A man like what?' she asked.
'A cunning, cold-blooded, worthless bastard,' Roy said in a grim, alien voice.
'Roy!' Sarah sat up, utterly confounded. 'How can you say that? You don't even know the man.'
'I know enough. Next time I see that lecherous swine I'll punch his head in!'
'Roy!' There was no doubting his sincerity. 'He didn't rape me! He was here because I wanted him to be. Are you going to do this every time I bring home a man you don't approve of?'
He gave a twisted grin. 'You sound as if you're planning to bring them home by the dozen. No. Just this one. He's special.'
'That's why he was here,' Sarah told him. 'Actually, when he first asked me to have dinner with him, yesterday on the island, I wasn't sure either. But—'
'Yesterday?' Roy's flaming head snapped round.
'Yes. During the cruise.'
'He asked you out? Yesterday?' It was unlike Roy to be so slow on the uptake.
'Not until after we'd kissed,' said Sarah impishly, but Roy didn't smile, he looked quite white and taking pity on him Sarah told him all about her meeting with Max and their subsequent roller-coaster relationship. If any thing,
Roy began to look sicker, so she threw in the story about Images.
'Why the hell didn't you tell me all this?' he demanded hoarsely. 'You hardly ever mentioned him. I had no idea you had such close contacts with the guy!'
'I didn't want to talk about him,' said Sarah, aware of how lame that sounded. 'I didn't even think I liked him.'
'Oh God!' Roy buried his face in his hands.
'What's the matter?'
'You're not going to like this.' He lifted his head apologetically.
'Is it something you've heard about him? I probably know it already,' said Sarah confidently.
'Why do you think he immediately assumed that we were lovers, not just living together—or brother and sister, or cousins or something?'
'I told him I had no family here . . . and that I lived alone.' One way and another she had told him quite a bit about herself in the course of the evening.
'He and I have met before, Sarah.'
'You never told me,' she said, surprised.
'You never told me about you and him,' Roy pointed out. 'Anyway we only met this morning. At Carerra's gallery. He was opening the exhibition.'
A starburst exploded in Sarah's brain. Max's strange mood, his intense curiosity, the way he had looked at her and talked—the look on his face when she had let down her hair.
'You showed him the painting,' she breathed, appalled. 'You let him see it!' Her voice peaked on a squeak.
'No ... at least—' Roy spread spatulate hands helplessly. 'It was Carerra. When I said it was for sale overseas he dashed off and came back with Wilde in tow.'
Sarah groaned.
'I didn't know who he was,' protested Roy. 'Carerra was fluttering around like a mother hen, and when he got around to introducing us it was too late. I had no idea there was anything between you and Wilde—especially since I could have sworn he didn't recognise you. Why should he? The resemblance is quite slight to the casual eye.'
'His eye is never casual,' stressed Sarah. 'Well, he didn't say anything . . . although he did ask later who the model was.' 'Oh God—'
'But only in a casual way when we were discussing some technical points. I said you were a friend.'
'A friend,' echoed Sarah stupidly. No wonder Max had jumped to the wrong conclusion. That beautiful, damning painting. It gave her a strange, curling sensation in her stomach to think of him standing there before that canvas, studying her naked image. Somehow it seemed more indecent than when he had done so in the flesh.
'He didn't comment. Perhaps he didn't know it was you,' said Roy without hope.
'He knew all right.' Her skin tingled when she remembered the fire in Max's eyes when he saw her hair swirl down around her hips. 'But why didn't he say anything at dinner?'
'He would have to be insensitive not to realise why the painting wasn't being offered for public sale here. He was probably waiting for you to tell him.'
'It never even occurred to me,' said Sarah absently. He had given her several openings, she realised now, but she had ignored them. Such mundane matters had been far from her mind! 'What did he say about it?' she asked, stricken with curiosity.
' "Exceptionally fine",' Roy gave a creditable imitation of Max's drawl and grinned. 'Among other things. I rather liked him. Knows his art, has a shrewd intelligence, and wasn't the least impressed by Carerra's outrageous flattery.'
'So how come you were uptight about me coming back here with such an admirable character?'
He winced at her sarcasm. 'Brainstorm, darlin'; still half asleep, etc. As good at jumping to conclusions as he is.
I thought I'd read him all wrong, that he was one of those slimy creeps whose interest in art is covertly prurient. I thought he was getting his kicks from possessing the original of a work of art, so to speak.'
'You thought an awful lot in a very short time.'
'Didn't I just. And way off beam, too.'
'Were you?' She wanted to think so, but wanting didn't make something so.
Roy seemed to understand what was in her mind. '/ think so. If he was as corrupt as all that he would have left with a wave and a philosophical shrug. Instead he looked like a man who had just received a massive kick in the guts—'
'As poetical as ever,' said Sarah to hide her relief. Roy could be trusted to read facial expressions, he had made his fame and fortune from them.
'Anyway, his interest in you obviously started way back. He spotted your potential and had the means and desire to exploit it. I'm not surprised that his desires took a more personal turn, they often do between model and artist—witness you and Simon, and me and—' he ticked a few names off his fingers and Sarah laughed. 'I won't say that seeing the painting mightn't have spiced the dish for him; it's not a clinical study after all, but the main ingredient is you. On brief analysis, I'd say he was too cultured to equate art with pornography and too virile to need the stimulation that pornography provides, hmmm?' Green eyes crinkled as Sarah began to fiddle intently with her hair, twisting it into a long tail, and he continued musingly, 'In fact, he would make a good subject. I'd like to resolve some of those complexities on canvas.'
'Perhaps you could do a nude,' Sarah needled.
'Sorry,' he gathered himself. 'Just thinking aloud. Though he certainly has the body for it.'
'Goodnight, Roy.' The sly dig shot Sarah to her feet.
'Okay, okay, I'm going, I can take a hint. Will you be all right?'
'I'm not about to commit suicide,' Sarah said in revenge. 'Not over a cold-blooded, worthless—'
'Don't repeat that, will you? It was quite an excusable error.'
'In quite a comedy of errors.' Sarah walked over to the balcony door and slid it open.
'Never mind, all's well that ends well,' Roy punned. 'If you need a written statement to convince your once and future lover of our platonic friendship, just ask.' Sarah pushed him out the door, but he poked his head back in to add:
'I hope you don't singe your wings with this one, love. He's a high-flyer.'
Sarah sighed as she shut the door after him. She was touched by his concern but he was worrying unnecessarily. She wasn't going to make the mistake of taking Max's attentions seriously. They were worlds apart. But who knew better than she that vows of permanency held no guarantees of permanent happiness? A temporary adult relationship, brief, satisfying, compromising no one, suited them both.
She turned off the light and padded across the floor to the bedroom, wincing as she trod on something hard. She felt around in the darkness and picked up the forgotten cufflinks. Here was a ready-made excuse to speak to Max tomorrow. There would be a few nasty minutes to brave but it would be worth it. He was worldly, sophisticated, had a well-developed sense of humour—he h
ad displayed some of it tonight. He would understand, once she explained. She fell into bed, warmed by the certainty and slept, deep and dreamless.
CHAPTER TEN
Swathed in protective towels, Sarah stared at her reflection in the large mirror rimmed with lights.
Teresa had surpassed herself this time. Her swan-song, she called it, for later this afternoon she was flying on to another assignment in Australia. Sarah's hair had been swept up into a soft, romantic knot secured by red enamel combs and trailing short, feathered wisps at the sides and nape of her neck. Her face had been subtly rounded out with blusher and highlighter and a dramatic blend of silver-grey, blue and violet on her eyelids and a provocative deep red gloss on her lips drew attention away from the pointed jawline to the central features.
It was a sophisticated, elaborate mask and the white walls in the background and white towels around her neck gave her head a floating, disembodied look.
Sarah shivered, not at the macabre thought but on recalling her brief encounter with Max that morning. She had arrived at work full of determination, relieved to find Max alone in the office, poring over a series of marketing surveys. It encouraged her to see that he looked so normal, -no clouds of thunder lowered upon his head.
'Can I see you?' she had asked, after greeting him, standing tentatively in front of his desk.
'You see me now.' He read on. Not so encouraging. Still, who would expect him to be effusive after the night's fiasco?
'I . . .' she fumbled in her bag. 'I want to return these . . .' she placed the cufflinks on the desk and stared hard at the dark crown of his head, willing it to lift.
'Thank you.' He wrote something in the margin on one of the sheets, and added a footnote.
'And ... I want to explain; about last night,' she said mesmerised by the pen flowing smoothly over the paper.
'I wasn't aware that the situation required clarification,' came the tinder-dry comment.
'But it does.' Look at me, damn you, she longed to say, as he had said to her. But of course she didn't. She kept her voice quiet and steady.
'I know it must have looked . . . well, odd. But—Roy is the friend I mentioned. We don't live together; he lives next door—'