'I'd like to take you to Greece—I mean, I would have liked to --' he corrected. 'Sorry, it's difficult to keep away from the thought that our destinies aren't being woven together. Seems a waste,' he said with a visible effort at lightness, 'when you want to travel and I've done so much and could really show you around. There are so many places I'd like to take you. If we had the time.'
'I like lying on beaches,' she said for something to say. 'I'd like to learn how to windsurf.'
'I could teach you.'
She imagined him, bronzed, muscled, swooping over a sea as blue as his eyes with the gorgeous colours of a sail above him, the slim craft obeying his every command. 'I like old buildings, too,' she said hurriedly. 'Finding out how people used to live.'
'So do I.'
'And looking at paintings --'
'And churches?'
'Yes, and palaces like the ones in Venice.'
'You'd like Thailand.'
'I would?' She knew she'd like anywhere—with Elliot by her side.
'And certainly Greece,' he went on, oblivious to her thoughts. 'I wonder if you'd like the States?'
'I expect so.' Elliot, the mad thought came into her head, shall I tell you what I'm really thinking? But she stifled the question before it could be uttered and instead asked carefully, 'Do you speak a lot of languages?'
'Only French and Italian, but I try to get by as much as possible in the local language. It's only good manners.'
'You seemed to understand the taxi driver.'
'Fortunately.'
She laughed. There was a protracted pause while she dwelt on the intensity of the particular shade of blue of his eyes. There would be a scientific theory to explain it, she didn't doubt. And a special name for the nuances of shade that made them seem like vast oceans, skies of eternity, the colour of heaven itself. They were eyes that seemed to enter the soul. Like a physical penetration.
'Who do you take after in looks?' she blurted.
'Father,' he said at once, 'though he's a thorough-going patriarch now with a mane of white hair. It gets him deferential treatment wherever he goes and he certainly plays up to it.' He spoke affectionately, and she could just imagine the two of them, father and son, their friendly sparring, their banter.
'My mother,' he went on, 'is ash-blonde, like you.'
'Like me?' So that was how he saw her! 'Mouse, you mean, don't you?'
'Not at all.' He cast a judging eye over her hair. 'It's probably what my sister would call baby-blonde. I like it up. She's dark like me,' he went on hurriedly as if not wishing to dwell on what else he liked, but she could see what was in his mind from the way his eyes flicked over her lips.
'You have a sister?' she managed to ask in as near normal a tone as usual.
'Older than me.' He was looking at her as if he was thinking about something entirely different just then. 'We used to fight when we were younger but she's become quite decent now she's more mature.'
'She has? I suppose you were always mature?'
'Naturally.' He laughed. 'What about you?'
'Sisters?' She could scarcely tear her eyes away from his. Her limbs were like molten wax. She tried to pull herself together. 'Two,' she managed to croak, 'both married to farmers. I'm the baby of the family. I've got three older brothers, too. One's a vet, one's a horse-trainer and the third is going to take over the farm when he can eventually persuade Dad he's old enough.'
'How old is he?'
'Thirty-five!'
Elliot chuckled and managed to drag his glance from hers for a second. 'I had the opposite problem,' he resumed. 'I was thrown into the family firm as soon as I left Harvard. I had to take those two years out to prove I could do something on my own account. I've told them I'll knock this place into shape for them, then I'm moving on. Still,' he frowned, 'I won't bore you with shop talk. My folks are well out of it themselves. They winter in Miami and the West Indies and travel around from one house-party to the next for the rest of the year. I told Dad I can't wait to retire!' He suddenly covered her hand with his. 'Listen to us. We're talking like old cronies. I thought we'd be fighting all evening, you sulking in your corner because I'd caused this fog to come down.'
'I don't really sulk --'
'I don't believe you sulk ever—you're much too sparky.'
He smiled when she asked, 'Is that a compliment of some sort?' He looked so warm and inviting that she could have cuddled up to him and put her head on his shoulder. But she knew that the minute the physical gap between them disappeared the surge of animal magnetism would devastate all such chaste intentions. Even so, it was all she could do not to raise her hand and let her fingers trail over the welcoming contours of his lips. She turned away with a small frown. 'What if the fog hangs around all tomorrow?' she asked. 'What will you do?'
'Take you round the Rijksmuseum.'
'No.' She stifled a smile. 'I mean about work?'
'Forget it.'
'Can you?'
'I've done so quite successfully this evening. Being with you --' He broke off. 'What about something else to eat?' he asked in a quite different tone, as if the warmth in his voice just now had been imaginary.
'You must be joking,' she replied more airily than she felt. 'I couldn't eat another morsel. That was simply heavenly.'
'Yes. It was.' He gave a lop-sided smile. 'Quite heavenly, Rachel dear. The stuff of fond memories?' He quirked an eyebrow, mocking himself for uttering such pleasantries.
It was late when they eventually set off back to the hotel. It had been a long and romantic meal. The best Rachel could ever remember. She was drowsy now, but with a wonderful sense of well-being.
In the back of the taxi Elliot had held her in his arms and, though he hadn't kissed her—just as he hadn't kissed her all day—she could tell his lips were aching to do just that, as were her own too.
When we get back to the privacy of the hotel, she told herself with a wild shudder of anticipation, he'll kiss me as he has done before. She wondered if she would be able to help what happened next.
As soon as they reached the foyer, though, she was in for a shock. Putting a hand on her shoulder, he said curtly, 'Go on up. I'm going to have a nightcap in the bar.'
'Oh? But, what about me?' she asked. 'Don't I get one too?'
He gave her an amused glance. 'I'll have one sent up. What do you want?'
'No, I mean, can't I join you?'
'Go up, Rachel, get into bed and go to sleep,' he said, turning her gently towards the lift. He called one down for her and saw her safely into it. When she pulled back he asked, 'You're not bothered about going up alone, are you? Would you like me to accompany you?'
'Not if you're going to go back down again by yourself,' she said, unable to hide her confusion.
He placed a light kiss on her forehead. 'Goodnight. Pleasant dreams. I'll send you something nice up.'
'Don't bother. I don't want anything, thanks.'
'Sure?'
'Yes... But Elliot --' she protested as the doors began to close. But they snapped shut, cutting off her words in mid-sentence.
Puzzled that he should leave her so abruptly, she wandered round the suite, hoping to hear him come back, and when she finally decided to get a shower she listened for the door all the time. But she climbed out and slipped into the expensive silk nightdress all without hearing a sound. Eventually, after a last look round the empty suite, she climbed into bed, leaving her door ajar and settling down to wait impatiently for his return.
She must have dozed off, because it was someone calling her name, her stage-name, that woke her up.
She opened her eyes and looked round before remembering where she was. The bedside clock said seven minutes past three. A movement in the adjoining room drew her glance. There was a light on. After a moment it went out and she heard the sound of a door closing. He's back, she registered. She lay for quite a few minutes wondering what had gone wrong. He must have known from the way she looked at him in the restaurant that she h
ad reached the point where she was willing to sacrifice all her inhibitions for him. She had taken him literally when he'd told her he wanted them to live for the day. Now it seemed he hadn't meant what she'd thought he meant after all, otherwise why had he gone to his own room?
She buried her head in the pillow. What if it was his voice that had woken her up, calling out to see if she was still awake? In her sleep she might have mistaken the sound for Zia. Then, realising she was asleep, maybe he had decided not to disturb her? She didn't ask herself why he had taken such a long time to follow her up. It was enough that he had called to her.
No sooner had the thought entered her head than she rose from beneath the duvet. The silk and lace nightdress fell away from her breasts as she slid over the edge of the bed.
Scarcely bothering to rearrange it and without allowing herself to think what she was doing, she let herself drift across the adjoining room until she was standing outside his door. Cautiously, heart thumping like the hoofs of a runaway horse, she pushed it ajar.
A shaft of light from the street furrowed a path through the velvety darkness within. When her eyes became accustomed to the gloom she could make out the pale shape of the bed on the far side. Pace by pace she moved towards it.
She felt so nervous now that she was here, even though he seemed to be asleep, that she reached its side without being able to utter a word. Holding her breath, she knelt down beside the bed and reached out her hands. He really did seem to be asleep, she thought, judging by the evenness of his breathing. Silently she rested her head on his chest.
Nothing happened.
She didn't know what to do next. It was enough for the moment simply to be as close as this. She could sleep like this, she was thinking. Tears of longing filled her eyes. She lifted her head and cautiously pressed kisses against the side of his neck. Then she let her lips move gently along the hard line of his jaw, then they began to seek out the hollows of his cheek, to explore the crevice of his closed eyes, to trail back slowly, warmly, and a little more quickly to the fullness of his lips. She felt him stir as their lips met.
Suddenly one of his hands was trailing through her hair, pressing the hollow at the nape of her neck, caressing her shoulders, and moving lower beneath the silk of her nightdress along the small muscles of her back. His lips sought hers, giving rather than receiving kisses now, his head lifted from the pillow and his other hand searching through the folds of silk for her breasts. Then his fingers were trapping one of her nipples, moving in a way she had never imagined.
With a sharp gasp of pleasure Rachel felt her spine arch, then somehow or other she was being forced back on the bed and he was leaning over her, his hot mouth everywhere, hands and arms entwined as he forced her further and further back. Her bones seemed to melt at his touch. The whole room was one pulsing scarlet flower with their joined bodies at the centre of it, and as soon as her mouth was free she groaned his name in a helpless cry of desire.
He raked her body from scalp to thigh, giving one long, torturing sigh, before she felt his weight shift.
There was a rustling sound as he rolled off the bed. 'Rachel,' he said from across the room a moment later, 'don't bother to explain what your game is. I'm not interested. Would you go...?'
She barely managed to croak her surprise. 'Go? But why?' she asked in breathless astonishment when she succeeded in pulling herself together.
'You know this isn't what you want. You'd be full of recriminations in the morning.'
'I do want it, Elliot --' she began.
' "It" possibly. Me, never. Now go. I want some sleep.'
'I didn't mean it like that,' she began heatedly, mortified beyond all limits by her own careless words.
'I'm really not interested in what you did or did not mean.' He pretended to yawn. She could see the outline of his head against the white wall.
'If you were really tired you'd have come to bed earlier,' she bit out. 'What's gone wrong? Why are you pretending?'
'I might ask you the same thing.' He stayed where he was but she could feel his eyes piercing the darkness as if to scour her expression.
'I'm not pretending, Elliot, I'm really not. I do want you, I do. I should know! I've wanted you all evening... in the restaurant, when you touched my hand, when you seemed to respond --'
He gave a harsh laugh. 'I'm not made of stone. What did you expect me to do when you look so seductive? I'm sorry if I made you think it meant anything else. Now, for the last time, will you leave me in peace?'
'Elliot! You can't mean this!' She knew she was losing all sense of shame, but it was dark and she was pushed to say things she would never dare say in the broad light of day. Tomorrow didn't matter. She had decided to shut her eyes to it. Without planning it she jumped down off the bed and ran across the room, catching hold of his arm and slipping the other one around his neck in an impulsive gesture that outflanked his resistance for a moment, 'Elliot, I'm sorry I've been so un --' she floundered for the right word '—uncooperative --'
He gave a grunt of anger and moved away. 'I don't want "co-operation", Rachel,' he muttered hoarsely. 'I want what you're patently incapable of giving, and that's a genuine response. And don't do that --' He gave a groan and buried his head in her hair. 'Stop it,' he rasped, 'or I won't be responsible for the consequences!'
She had innocently pressed her body against his and was shocked to feel the evidence of his arousal. It left her in no doubt that he wanted her despite his words. 'Elliot...' she murmured, reaching up for his mouth.
There was a breathless moment when he plunged his tongue deep inside as his arms came round her, gripping her tightly against his pulsing body. He tensed, and for one swooning second she felt the primitive urgings of desire take possession of them both before his engulfing kiss turned to something more primitive still. A sort of primal savagery took over. Her mouth felt plundered and she tried to fight him off. But he held her even more tightly and she heard the fine silk of her gown rasp along her thighs as he dragged it to her waist.
With an abruptness that was unexplained he jerked away, releasing his hold on her so that she staggered back in a billow of silk, almost sinking to her knees on the deep-pile carpet. He shot out a hand to jerk her to her feet, then pushed her away as soon as she stumbled close again.
'I said get out!' he snarled. He crossed the room to the door and opened it. 'Please.' His voice was like the grating of ice on ice, and the fact that he didn't use her name made it sound colder still.
'I don't understand,' she breathed raggedly. Too distraught for anger or grief, she could only stand there in the darkness, twisting her hands together.
'There's nothing much to understand, is there? From your point of view, that is. You made your wishes clear before we got here. I'm not going to be responsible for the whims of the night. As far as I'm concerned everything is as it was when I invited you to come over here. Let's forget this ever happened and try to get a good night's sleep. All right?'
'Is that some sort of olive branch, Elliot? I suppose it is,' she went on before he could answer. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered as she walked past him. She felt about two inches high. It was bad enough to have thrown herself at a man, any man, something she had never done before. But for it to be the man she loved, when he didn't even know it, and to be rejected so unambiguously by him, was the worst thing she could imagine. She felt as if she had been through a mangle and had just come out the other side.
She heard him close the door behind her. Seeking the solitude of her own room, she lay down on the bed, knowing she would be awake for the rest of what remained of the night.
CHAPTER TEN
Feeling somewhat shamefaced when she met Elliot next morning, Rachel was grateful when he made no direct reference to the previous night other than to comment on how surprisingly rested she looked. As if to disprove him, on the flight home her intention to admit to Zia's existence just to clear the slate was thwarted by the simple fact that she fell asleep at once. Only when she f
elt a hand on her shoulder did she open her eyes. She shook her head, looking round. The plane had already come to a standstill.
'It's a shame to wake you. You make me feel like a cad,' he said huskily, 'but I guess there'd be trouble with the maintenance staff if you tried to stay on board now we've landed!'
'Heavens, I'm so sorry! I must have fallen asleep straight away!' Rachel sat upright, trying to collect her thoughts. 'Is it really London again?' Rain was pouring out of an overcast sky made darker still by the fact that it was already past midday.
'Put my raincoat over your head, we'll run for it,' he suggested. 'Ready?'
They splashed through the puddles to the shelter of the arrival lounge, laughing and breathless, for a moment all antagonism forgotten. Elliot spun her into his arms, his black hair dripping with moisture, little beads of rain standing out on the end of his eyelashes, his skin wind-whipped.
For a moment Rachel's breath was stopped by the feeling of love for him that surged over her. Her eyes half closed as he bent to kiss her cheek. What had been intended as a light kiss turned suddenly into something fierce, suggesting emotion held too long in check. Their bodies sought and found each other, clinging with a possessiveness that left them both breathless.
Other travellers were beginning to notice them. 'I'll get you a taxi,' he muttered hoarsely, dragging her out after him. On the concourse he held her close again as if suddenly reluctant to let her go, his mouth searching for hers with an unexpected force that took her completely by surprise. Why. had he sent her away last night if he really wanted to kiss her? He had behaved as if he couldn't bear to have anything to do with her. She didn't understand.
But she willingly reached out to him now, returning kiss for kiss, senses aching with the need to hold nothing back. This is the last time, she kept telling herself as her lips sought his. The last time for all time. She allowed him to possess her lips as if she could convey all her longing for him, her desire for him to take all of her, in their mere touch, and it was only her hoarsely whispered name that brought her reeling back to the present.
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