by Anne Mather
‘Dammit,’ he said harshly, his fingers releasing their hold on her shirt only to slide over her shoulder. They tightened over the narrow bones, probing and kneading her taut flesh. ‘Dammit, Olivia, you shouldn’t have started this!’ And his other hand came up to cup the back of her neck.
There was a moment when she had the crazy thought that he was about to strangle her, but his touch was possessive now, not violent. His fingers slid inside the neckline of her shirt, cool against her hot skin. His breathing was still rapid, but its heat was no longer threatening, and she was mesmerised by the narrowed tawny eyes that seemed to be searching every inch of her upturned face.
Then he lowered his head and kissed her.
His lips brushed hers, once, twice, coaxing her lips to part, and then took possession, his tongue slipping between her teeth. Olivia swayed against him, and any thought of resistance was forgotten beneath the all-consuming pressure of his mouth. His mouth was incredibly soft, incredibly hot, and incredibly sensual, robbing her of any opposition and turning her quivering limbs to water.
The impact of his kiss flowed down into her stomach, leaving her breasts tingling and flooding her loins with heat. Her knees felt weak, uncertain, and between her legs a pulse throbbed with an insistent need. She couldn’t ever remember feeling so sexually aroused, or so powerless to hide the way she felt.
His hand slid down between them, popping the buttons on her shirt and exposing the lacy stitching of her bra. His fingers insinuated themselves into the bra, finding the swollen nub of her breast. He rolled the hard bud between his thumb and forefinger, and she arched against him urgently, helpless to hide her desire.
And as she did so she became conscious of his shaft, hard against her stomach. Thrusting against the taut line of his zip, it was a blatant advertisement of his own arousal. As if she needed any proof, she thought dizzily as the hand that had been massaging her nape slipped down her back and cupped her bottom.
His hand didn’t feel cool now; it felt hot, the heat burning through the thin cotton of her shorts. She knew the craziest urge to release the button at her waist and send the shorts tumbling down to her ankles. She wanted his hands on her flesh, she realised madly. She wanted to feel his hot skin against hers...
When he abruptly let her go, she was totally unprepared for it. One moment her palms had been flat against his shirt, her thumbs probing between the taut buttons, her nails scraping his hair-covered chest, and the next he was propelling her away from him at top speed. Rough hands captured the two sides of her shirt and dragged them together, and as he struggled to fasten the buttons again Olivia realised’ it had come free of her shorts and she was displaying a bare midriff as well.
She tilted back on her heels, grateful for the window-seat that supported the backs of her knees as she endeavoured to regain her balance. But although she brushed his hands away and fastened the shirt herself she couldn’t look at him. She was too afraid of what she’d see if she looked into his face.
The silence was ripe with recriminations. Although neither of them spoke at first, Olivia was overwhelmingly aware of the emotions they were both trying to control. Dismay, on her part, and an aching sense of shame at her own stupidity, and bitterness, she thought, on his, and disgust at what she’d made him do.
‘I’m sorry,’ she got out, at last, as he was turning away from her, and he swung round almost violently, piercing her with a savage look.
‘Don’t,’ he said, somewhat ambiguously, and she wasn’t sure whether he meant that she shouldn’t apologise or simply not speak at all. He heaved a breath. ‘Like I said before, I need a shower. Can you—entertain yourself while I go and get out of this suit?’
Olivia nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and without another word he left the solarium. She heard him cross the vaulted living room and then the sound of his footsteps died away along the gallery beyond. Only then did she sink somewhat weakly down onto the cushions behind her and give way to a shuddering sigh.
What had she done?
As the possible consequences of her behaviour swept over her, she propped her elbows on her knees and pushed her fingers up into her hair. She hadn’t had time to braid it before she left the hotel, so she had secured it at the back of her head with a leather barrette. Now, though, the moist hair was escaping, partly because of her own actions and partly because Joe had dislodged the barrette. The strands that curled down around her fingers made her suddenly aware of how she must look. With her shirt loose and her mouth bare of any lipstick, she suspected no one could have any doubts as to what had been going on.
‘Are you all right, madam? Can I get you anything?’
As if her humiliation wasn’t yet complete, Olivia lifted her head to find the maid she and B.J. had seen on their arrival hovering by the sliding glass doors. Had Joe sent her to check on her, she wondered, or was the woman acting purely on her own initiative? She was obviously curious about what had been going on, and Olivia could have done without those intent dark eyes assessing her appearance.
‘I—’ The impulse to ask the maid to call her a cab, to leave before Joe returned from taking his shower, was tempting, but she suppressed it. She wasn’t a coward, she told herself severely. And she had nothing to be ashamed about. Well, not much, she conceded grudgingly. ‘Um—’ She swallowed. ‘Do you think I could have some tea?’
‘Tea?’ That had clearly not been high on the maid’s list of expectations. Vodka, perhaps; or something stronger. But tea? However, she managed to contain her reaction, and added politely, ‘Of course. Would that be with milk or lemon, madam?’
Olivia sighed again. ‘Milk, please,’ she said, refusing to be intimidated. But she was relieved when the woman departed, even if she wished she’d asked her where the bathroom was as soon as she’d gone.
Getting up, she glanced ruefully about her. It was just as well that the beach was private, she reflected, making an attempt to tuck her shirt back into her shorts. She hadn’t chosen the most appropriate place to conduct her big seduction scene. She grimaced. Some scene; some seduction! After the way he’d behaved when she’d tried to kiss him the night before, she should have known better than to try again.
And yet he had sent her the roses...
The roses!
Olivia groaned. She’d been so disconcerted by her own reactions at seeing Joe again that she’d forgotten all about the roses. Dear Lord, he probably thought she was pig ignorant as well as everything else. All the same, she couldn’t help wondering why he had sent them when he obviously had no interest in her.
Well, not of a sexual nature anyway, she amended, pacing rather agitatedly about the room. Unless sending roses was to him just a formality. He’d probably asked his secretary to send them. The wording might even have been her idea as well.
She didn’t know what to think, and that was a fact. For a man who had two women in his life already, he showed an extraordinary lack of loyalty to either. He was having an affair with Diane at the same time that Diane was telling her his mother expected him to marry Anna Fellini. And although she didn’t kid herself that he’d been in any danger of succumbing to her charms there had been moments when he was kissing her that she’d sensed he was close to the edge.
She lifted both hands and smoothed them over her hair. She definitely needed a bathroom, she fretted, before he came back and found her like this. She wanted to renew her make-up and comb her hair and try and restore some semblance of composure.
Picking up the purse that she had dropped earlier, she ventured somewhat tentatively into the living room. Looking about her, she was once again charmed by the uncluttered beauty of her surroundings, and although the temptation was to linger she forced herself to go on.
Cool marble floors stretched in either direction when she stepped out into the gallery. Mentally tossing a coin, she turned to her left, pausing at every open doorway, hoping to find what she was looking for.
The size of the house was staggering. She glimpsed a d
ining room and several sitting rooms before gazing aghast at an indoor pool. Several archways opened into the pool room, and she saw it had a sliding roof that could be opened to the sun. And, like all the other rooms, the view from the long windows was extensive, this time looking out on a palm-fringed patio, with sloping lawns and terraces leading down to the shore.
But the pool room seemed to mark the end of the gallery, and, retracing her steps, she felt a twinge of panic quickening her feet Joe had said she could look around but she still had the feeling she was intruding. But, dammit, where were the bathrooms in this place?
The truth was she’d hoped to tidy herself before the maid returned with the tea. What kind of guest allowed herself to get into such a state without even knowing the layout of the house? The woman was curious enough about her as it was.
Deciding that perhaps one of the sitting rooms might have a mirror at least, she entered the first room on her right. Like the rest of the house, it was exquisitely—though in this case austerely—furnished, with dark mahogany furniture and a pair of sofas upholstered in dark orange suede.
But there were no mirrors here. The walls were hung with more of the modern paintings she had seen in the entrance hall. But open double-panelled doors indicated that there was another room beyond this, and, squaring her shoulders, Olivia crossed the bronze patterned rug that was set squarely in the middle of the polished floor.
She paused in the doorway of a large bedroom, which, like the sitting room before it, had a decidedly masculine air about it. The walls were a dark gold in colour, and the huge carpet was essentially a shade of burnt umber, with a huge colonial bed whose solid head- and baseboards enclosed a king-sized mattress spread with a dark gold quilt.
Olivia’s lips parted in some confusion. There were clothes draped over the end of the bed, and now she became aware of it she could hear water running some place close at hand. In the adjoining bathroom, she realised belatedly, though the knowledge didn’t answer her needs. Dear Lord, she thought, this must be Joe’s bedroom. The water she could hear running was from the shower.
Panic paralysed her. Of all the bedrooms in the house she had had to choose his. If he discovered her here, he was bound to think she’d come looking for him. Would he believe her if she said that simply wasn’t the case?
Her brain kicked into action. There was absolutely no reason why he should find her there, she reminded herself impatiently. He didn’t even know she’d left the solarium, after all. All she had to do was scoot back along the gallery to the living room. She could even take a chance and investigate one of the other sitting rooms. There were bound to be suites of rooms that were not occupied.
She would have turned away then had not a photograph on a bedside table caught her eye. The picture was of a woman; she could see that from the doorway. But the woman’s identity was hidden. The frame was turned slightly too far towards the bed.
The water was still running, and although she knew it was nothing to do with her Olivia couldn’t resist finding out whose picture he kept beside his bed. Was it Anna Fellini’s, or Diane’s? She couldn’t believe it was the latter, when he’d invited Richard as well as Diane to the house.
It was neither. Inching the picture round with the tip of her finger, Olivia saw that the woman in the photograph was much older than she’d thought. Elegant, still, with long, slender limbs and a coil of night-dark hair secured to the back of her head, her resemblance to Joe was unmistakable. She guessed this was his mother. How discriminating of him to keep her picture beside his bed.
‘Ah, you are here, madam.’
Once again, the maid’s supercilious voice startled her into action. Olivia swung round hurriedly, desperate to stop the woman from saying anything more—and knocked the photograph off the table.
It tumbled noisily to the floor. Olivia snatched it up at once, miming for the maid to go away. ‘I’m coming,’ she mouthed, grateful to see that the glass in the frame wasn’t broken, but even as she set it back on the table Joe himself opened the bathroom door.
The maid had disappeared now, any idea of pretending not to understand Olivia’s silent pleas quickly suppressed. She knew when to make an exit, thought Olivia, wishing she had known the same. As it was, she was left to stare at her host, his shoulders streaming with water, his hips swathed in a hastily wrapped towel, his frowning countenance a mirror of his discontent.
‘Olivia!’ he said, not without some frustration. ‘What the hell’s going on?’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘WHERE did you disappear to yesterday afternoon?’
Diane posed the question the next morning as Olivia was enjoying an unexpected cup of coffee prior to starting work. Usually, Diane wanted to get straight down to business as soon as Olivia arrived, but this morning she’d chosen to offer the younger woman some refreshment first.
Was it a coincidence? Olivia wondered, praying her pink-tinted cheeks wouldn’t give her away. But it was odd for Diane to show any interest in what she’d been doing, when she normally preferred talking about herself.
Olivia expelled a breath as the memory of the previous afternoon came back to her. Had she really visited the house at Malibu? Had she really talked herself into Joe Castellano’s arms? Had she really stood in his bedroom and stared open-mouthed at his towel-clad figure? God, she’d wanted to die when he’d emerged from the bathroom and found her poking about in his room.
But of course she hadn’t, even though the memory still caused a quivering in her stomach. People didn’t die, not from mortification anyway. That would have been much too easy a solution to being caught.
‘I was looking for a bathroom,’ she’d said, aware that her explanation wasn’t convincing him. ‘And—and then I saw that picture and—and—’
‘Wanted to see who it was?’
‘Well, yes.’ Olivia had chewed her lip. ‘I suppose you think I was being nosy. It’s—it’s your mother, isn’t it? She looks a lot like you.’
Joe’s expression had grown sardonic. ‘I’m not sure if she’ll regard that as a compliment or not.’
Olivia had coloured at his sarcasm, and sought desperately for an alternative. ‘And—well, I forgot to thank you for the roses, too.’
‘The roses?’
She’d known as soon as he said the words that he knew nothing about them, and she’d hurried into speech to rescue her gaffe. ‘I mean—the hotel, of course,’ she’d muttered, though she couldn’t believe they would have put such a message on them. ‘Um—I’m sorry for the intrusion.’ She’d backed away towards the door. ‘I’ll see you later on.’
Thankfully, he hadn’t pursued it, and she’d been left with the uneasy suspicion that Richard must have sent them, after all. It was the kind of thing he might do, and she’d been foolish to give Joe Castellano the credit. Just because she hadn’t recognised the handwriting... How stupid that seemed now.
But then, she reflected, she seldom thought sensibly when he was around. And even now, sitting in Diane’s sitting room, the image of his lean, muscled torso, with its triangle of coarse dark hair arrowing down to his navel, was still disturbingly vivid. The towel, knotted carelessly about his hips, had exposed the bones of his pelvis, but she’d been hotly aware of what it had concealed. After all, only minutes before, he’d been moulding her body to his thrusting maleness, and the sensuality of what had happened between them was too acute to be denied.
She couldn’t ever remember feeling that way with Richard. The sex they’d shared had been satisfactory enough, she supposed, but there’d been none of the excitement that being with Joe had aroused. Excitement, and a wholly sexual awareness, she acknowledged tremulously. She’d been aware of herself as well as him, and of the loss his withdrawal had made her feel.
But, obviously, he hadn’t felt the same. Despite the fact that there’d been moments when she was sure he had lost control of his emotions, common sense had prevailed. But, whatever loyalties he had, he was only human, and when she’d thrown hers
elf at his head he’d been tempted.
But not for long...
Olivia had found a bathroom without the maid’s assistance. She’d decided it would be too humiliating to ask the woman something which would prove she’d had no right to enter Joe’s suite of rooms. It had been easy enough, as it happened. The door further along the gallery had opened into another bedroom suite. With every possible amenity in the bathroom, she’d noticed tensely, including cut-glass jars of creams and crystals, and exclusive bottles of perfume for a guest’s use.
But what guest? she’d wondered ruefully as she’d viewed her own dishevelled appearance in the mirror. Not someone like her, who looked and behaved as if she’d never seen a naked man before. Dear Lord, what must he have thought of her stumbling around in his bedroom like a schoolgirl on her first date? She’d been married and divorced, for God’s sake. What was there about this man that made her act in such a way?
Yet, although she’d been quite prepared for him to come back and say he’d called a cab to take her back to the hotel, he hadn’t. Even though, when he’d returned to the solarium to find her wolfing down the plate of muffins the maid had provided with the tray of tea, he must have felt like it. Instead, he’d gone to stand by the windows, giving her some privacy to empty her mouth. And then, when he’d thought it was appropriate, he’d suggested that she might like to join him for a walk on the beach.
Olivia had finished the muffin before replying, deciding that to explain that she hadn’t had any lunch would imply an eagerness to get here she didn’t want to convey. ‘That sounds inviting,’ she said, trying to sound casual as she licked a crumb of chocolate from her lips. She gulped the remainder of her tea and glanced behind her. ‘I’m ready if you are.’
‘Are you sure?’
There was a trace of humour in his expression as he turned away from the windows, and she was instantly aware that his tawny gaze missed nothing. But it was too late now to make an explanation, and she dabbed her mouth with a napkin, and got to her feet. ‘I’m sure.’