Golden Fever

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘That could change!’ she said resentfully.

  He gave her a sharp look, serious now. ‘Not with Rourke Somerville?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Clare!’

  ‘Well, why not?’ she repeated irritably.

  He gave an angry sigh, shaking his head. ‘If you don’t know I’m not going to tell you.’

  Maybe he should have told her; if he had she would probably have been spared a lot of pain. But Gene hadn’t proffered any information, and she had been too angry to ask him, sure that he was only acting that way because he believed her incapable of having a man like Rourke Somerville interested in her.

  Oh, the conceit of youth! Gene had known very well that Rourke had her picked out as his next victim—and he also knew what it was going to do to her. Despite his happy-go-lucky attitude Gene had seen exactly what was going to happen, and—

  ‘I realise you’re the star of this movie, Miss Anderson,’ an icy voice interrupted her memories, a voice that was so familiar she instantly paled. ‘But when I call a meeting of the whole cast I damn well expect the whole cast to be there—and that includes you, lady,’ the last was said aggressively.

  Clare turned stricken eyes towards the open door, swallowing hard as she saw Rourke standing there, the man who had been her lover five years ago.

  CHAPTER THREE

  HE hadn’t changed at all, despite being thirty-nine now. He still wore his hair longer than was fashionable, still had a lean, muscular body, shown to advantage now in cream trousers and a dark green shirt. And he was still as handsome as ever, breathtakingly so.

  Only his eyes had changed—or maybe that was because he was so furiously angry with her. A devil no longer glinted in their depths, no light of amusement. Now his eyes were cold, like blue chips of glass.

  He came further into the room, closing the door forcefully behind him, moving with the unconscious male grace Clare remembered. ‘Well?’ he demanded abruptly.

  Clare swallowed hard, too vulnerable after the memories that had just come flooding back to her, fighting for the coolness and assurance she was now known for. ‘I’m going to be there,’ she began.

  ‘Oh yes?’ His mouth twisted, his arms folded in challenge across his broad chest. ‘And just when were you thinking of turning up?’ he scorned.

  She stood up, at once feeling more confident, knowing she was looking her best, deliberately so. Rourke might have hurt her in the past, but she was about to show him she was no longer the naïve girl she had been all those years ago. Having him come to her suite like this had caught her unawares.

  ‘I was just on my way there,’ she told him haughtily.

  ‘Oh, were you?’ he taunted. ‘And I suppose the rest of us were supposed to be honoured by the fact that you were going to put in an appearance—even if it was late.’

  ‘Late …?’ She gave a hurried glance at her wrist-watch. Two-thirty! She had been so caught up in her memories she had forgotten the time. And Rourke was, quite rightly, furious about it! ’I’m sorry—’

  ‘Yeah, so am I,’ he said impatiently. ‘Jason told me you were good to work with, that you had respect and consideration for your fellow workers. I guess he was talking with his body, not his mind.’

  Clare gasped. ‘What are you implying?’

  Rourke shrugged. ‘Jason’s marriage is on the rocks, maybe you helped it along a little.

  She saw red. No one had ever insulted her as much as this man did! ’Just who the hell do you think you are? I don’t have to take these insults from you, you—you—’ she broke off. So much for remaining coolly detached! ’I happen to be engaged.’ This time she managed to remain calm.

  Harvey would be shocked if he had seen the way she had just lost her temper. In the whole of the time she had known him the nearest she had come to losing her temper with him had been this morning, and she knew the main reason for that had been this return to Los Angeles.

  Rourke eyed her mockingly. ‘Does that ring on your finger mean you don’t sleep with anyone else?’

  Her eyes flashed pure gold. ‘It means I don’t sleep with—anyone else,’ she amended her denial of sleeping with anyone, full stop. Rourke would only mock the fact that she and Harvey hadn’t made love. Sex was just an appetite to him, like eating or drinking. It didn’t mean a thing to him—and she should know!

  ‘Lucky fiancé,’ he drawled. ‘Now, if it isn’t asking too much of the big movie star, could we get to work?’

  She flushed. ‘Of course. I’m sorry, I—I lost all track of time.’ Her tone was cool.

  ‘So am I.’ He opened the door for her. ‘And if it happens again, little lady, I won’t stop to ask why, I’ll just chew you out.’

  What did he think he had done this time!

  Clare’s head was held high as they went down to the Windsor Room, Rourke scorning the use of the lift and taking the stairs. Clare followed him with a grace that wasn’t in the least affected, her legs almost as long as his.

  Rourke seemed deep in thought, and it gave her a chance to look at him undetected. She had been wrong about him, there were other changes besides his eyes, the lazy charm replaced with a grim determination, a purpose about him that she hadn’t seen before.

  ‘Do you like directing?’ she heard herself ask.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied abruptly. ‘Do you like acting?’

  If she had been asked that question before accepting the role of Caroline she would probably have said yes without hesitation, but things were different now. Just being in the same city as Rourke and her mother was changing her way of thinking.

  ‘I’ll be glad to get back to London,’ she answered evasively.

  ‘Of course,’ he nodded. ‘You’ve been living there.’

  Her mother had probably told him that—possibly when they were in bed together. God, how bitter she still was! But at eighteen, at any age, it was hard to accept that the man you loved was your mother’s lover.

  The Windsor Room was full of the cast and crew being used on the film. Rena gave her a wave from the back of the room, pointing to the empty seat next to her. Clare gratefully sat down on it, instantly feeling less conspicuous, although several people were looking at her rather curiously. Rourke took his place on the low platform at the other end of the room, and everyone suddenly fell silent.

  ‘Miss Anderson was feeling rather tired after her flight,’ he excused.

  Clare looked at him with wide eyes, surprised he had made excuses for her. He had never been one to suffer fools gladly, and this new Rourke seemed even less tolerant.

  But he was talking now, the usual pep-talk given by a director to the people who would work under him, explaining the necessity for punctuality at all times—a dig Clare felt made directly at her, although he didn’t even glance in her direction. He went on to talk of the importance of the deadline for the film, the need for everyone to be aware of his or her lines for a particular scene. He was an arresting director, decisive and to the point, and she could see everyone in the room was listening to him intently, some with open respect in their eyes.

  Respect was something she could never have for him, not as a man anyway. Any respect or love she might have had for him had died the night she found him in bed with her mother.

  After the party, the way she had acted with Rourke, she had thought she must have overdone the cool act, for she had not seen him again for the next couple of weeks. Then her mother gave a party. She was going to London for a fortnight on location for the film she was presently working on, and so she threw a party for all her friends on the eve of her flight. Rourke was one of those friends.

  Clare had been hoping he would be, and dressed accordingly. It was a new dress, bought specifically for the occasion, a clinging gold trifle that clung to all her provocative curves, bringing out the highlights in her hair, the honey tint to her skin from hours spent in the sun.

  She looked, and felt, good, and she wanted Rourke to think the same thing. She was more attracted t
o him than to any other man she had met, and while she knew it was a dangerous interest she couldn’t seem to help herself, had constantly looked out for him the last two weeks.

  As the evening wore on and Rourke didn’t put in an appearance her spirits began to flag. Gene had long since despaired of her uninterest in doing anything but sitting in the corner of the room, and had gone off with one of the other girls in the crowd they went about with. Clare didn’t mind in the least, knowing she was poor company for anyone—other than Rourke.

  Her mother was the life and soul of the party as usual, and Clare couldn’t help but look at her with admiration. The flaming red dress she wore should have clashed with the brightness of her hair, and yet somehow it didn’t, giving her a more exotic look than usual. Perry stood in the background, looking on in amusement as her mother charmed all the young men who flocked around her. Like a queen holding court, Clare thought once again.

  She knew the instant Rourke came into the room, felt a tingling sensation all over her body. Once again he wasn’t alone. The girl on his arm this time was a popular singer, her hair the same ebony as his, her face provocatively beautiful, from the full pouting mouth to the invitation in her eyes, eyes that didn’t seem to leave her partner.

  Clare had eyes only for Rourke too. Dressed all in black this evening, the shirt unbuttoned to his navel, he looked disturbingly attractive, his trousers once more skin-tight, showing each powerfully muscled line of his legs and thighs. Judy Lee obviously thought him too attractive to share, and clung to his arm as if she would never let go.

  Clare turned away. Fool, fool, fool! Rourke hadn’t been seriously interested in her, he just enjoyed teasing her whenever they did happen to meet. And she was breaking her heart for him, sure that she had fallen in love for the first time.

  ‘Hello, Sunshine.’

  She turned eagerly at the sound of his voice, unable to stop herself. ‘Rourke!’ She didn’t even try to hide her pleasure.

  ‘Hi,’ he drawled in that lazy voice that she loved so much. ‘Enjoying yourself?’ He sat down next to her, his long legs stretched out in front of him, swirling the amber-coloured liquid around in his glass as he looked at her.

  She hadn’t been, but she was now, giving him a dazzling smile. ‘Yes,’ she said breathlessly, drinking in her fill of him after two weeks of not seeing him.

  Rourke nodded. ‘Where’s your boy-friend?’

  ‘Boy …? You mean Gene?’ she frowned. ‘But he isn’t my boy-friend.’

  His brows rose. ‘That wasn’t the impression you gave me the last time we spoke together.’

  She flushed. ‘No, well … You said you would go slowly with me,’ she reminded him of the first time they had met. ‘You’ve been anything but slow.’

  For a moment he looked stunned, then he smiled, a slow, amused smile. ‘Can you blame me?’ He looked pointedly at the way her dress clung to her, her shoulders bare.

  ‘Wouldn’t you say suggesting we go to bed together at our first meeting was going a little fast?’ she said dryly. ‘Even for a sex symbol?’

  ‘Honey, I’ve had girls ask to go to bed with me two minutes after we’ve been introduced,’ he told her without conceit.

  She could believe that. Rourke had a sensuality that women were drawn to. ‘But we’ve never been properly introduced, have we?’ she flirted.

  He grinned. ‘No, we haven’t.’ He laughed as she blushed. ‘The way we met wasn’t conducive to introductions, was it?’

  ‘No,’ Clare agreed huskily.

  He moved impatiently, looking around the room with narrowed eyes. ‘Are you really enjoying yourself?’

  She made a face. ‘No.’

  Rourke gave her a thoughtful look. ‘If I ask you to leave with me are you going to turn me down again?’

  She smiled, her heart beating erratically. ‘Have you ever been turned down three times?’

  He ran one of his hands ruefully about the back of his neck, grimacing. ‘Would it sound conceited if I said I’d never been turned down twice?’

  ‘No,’ she gave a happy laugh. ‘And at least I have that distinction.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’ll get my jacket.’

  Rourke shook his head. ‘You won’t need one. You can get a bikini—if you want one.’

  Clare blushed as she remembered that he preferred to bathe in the nude. ‘I’ll get one,’ she said breathlessly, hurrying from the room.

  She had no idea what this evening alone was going to lead to, she only knew she wanted to be with Rourke for as long as he wanted her around, and for the moment he did seem to want that.

  He was waiting in the hallway for her when she came downstairs, having changed out of the dress into a yellow tee-shirt and a tight-fitting yellow denims, the straightness of their style emphasising the slender length of her legs.

  ‘Changed your mind about the costume?’ He eyed her empty hands.

  ‘I have it on underneath,’ she blushed.

  ‘Pity,’ he drawled. ‘Okay, let’s go.’

  Clare followed him out to the low black sports car, the roof down in the heat of the evening. Rourke opened the door for her with a flourish, kissing her briefly on the mouth before moving round to his own side of the car and swinging in behind the wheel. Within minutes they were driving along the coast road.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ He eyed the smile on her lips questioningly.

  ‘You are.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Mm,’ she still smiled. ‘I had a bet with myself that you wouldn’t be able to sit down in the car in those trousers.’

  Rourke gave a shout of laughter. ‘Funny, I had the same bet—about you.’ His laughter deepened as she blushed.

  ‘Does any women ever win with you?’ she frowned. ‘Even verbally?’

  ‘You mean they couldn’t physically?’ he mocked.

  ‘Yes—I mean no!’ She gave a chagrined sigh. ‘Do you tease all your women like you tease me?’ she scowled.

  ‘Are you my woman?’ he asked softly.

  ‘I—You—You know I am,’ she admitted in a whisper.

  His hand came out to clasp with hers, their fingers entwined as he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing each fingertip with erotic intensity. ‘I didn’t know, Clare,’ for once he was completely serious. ‘I just hoped.’ He released her hand.

  ‘Did you really?’ All her decisions to remain distant and cool with him flew out of the window.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, Rourke!’ She gave him a glowing smile.

  ‘Are you sure the nuns wouldn’t be shocked again?’ he teased to ease the tension.

  ‘I know they would,’ she said in a happy voice, loving the way the light breeze coming off the ocean ruffled his black curls into even more disorder, her own hair whipping lightly about her face. ‘But I don’t care,’ she added with a touch of rebellion, sure that if Sister Teresa, a girl only a few years older than her, had met Rourke before she took her vows, she would never have taken them. He was as handsome as the devil, and as tempting. Goodness, was that being irreverent? She had a feeling it was. ‘Will Miss Lee mind?’ she changed the subject. ‘After all, you did arrive with her.’

  His mouth twisted derisively. ‘And I thought you hadn’t even noticed me!’

  ‘Oh, I noticed,’ she admitted throatily. ‘Will she mind? Your going off with me, I mean.’

  ‘Probably.’

  Clare’s eyes widened. ‘Don’t you care?’

  ‘Not particularly,’ he said in a bored voice.

  Was she being a fool after all? Rourke treated his women as casually as he treated the rest of his life. She hadn’t even seen him with the same woman twice. Was she being a fool to hope that with her it would be different, that Rourke would continue to see her after tonight?

  ‘What about your mother?’ he was asking now.

  ‘Mummy …?’

  ‘Yes—Mummy. Isn’t she going to have something to say about you disappearing into the night with a man
old enough to be your father?’ he taunted.

  ‘Oh, you aren’t!’

  ‘Believe me,’ he nodded, ’I am.’

  ‘Oh.’ She frowned.

  Rourke laughed softly. ‘I made love for the first time at fourteen.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said once again, colour flooding her cheeks.

  ‘Now I’ve shocked you!’

  ‘Not at all,’ she replied coolly. ‘I—I just started a little later than you,’ she invented.

  ‘How old?’

  ‘Er—Sixteen,’ she made up. He would run a mile if he knew she was a virgin!

  ‘Did you like it?’

  Heavens, she wished she had never started this deception, finding it was becoming more and more embarrassing by the moment. ‘Yes,’ she answered stiffly.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ once again his hand claimed hers, ’I’m not going to ask for details—just as I don’t expect you to.’

  ‘It would take you all night if I did,’ she said tartly, pulling her hand away to stare sightlessly in front of her, hating all the other women he had made love to.

  ‘Let’s get one thing straight, Clare,’ his voice was harsh. ‘I’m not going to make any claims on you, and I don’t expect you to make any on me. All right?’ he rasped.

  ‘All right,’ she agreed moodily, staring out over the ocean. ‘Does that mean that to you I’m just a one-night stand?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Good,’ she almost spat the word at him. ‘Because I don’t make love after only one date!’

  Rourke looked at her with cold eyes. ‘Did I say I wanted to make love to you?’

  She swallowed hard. ‘I—Well, you—No,’ she admitted miserably. ‘Not tonight,’ she added defensively.

  He gave an impatient sigh, running a hand through his unruly dark curls. ‘Well, I do,’ he said grimly.

  Her eyes widened. ‘You—you do?’

  ‘Yes! But I don’t expect it to be tonight. When it does happen it will just—happen. And it will be beautiful for both of us.’

  She bit her lip, putting her hand on his thigh. ‘I’m sorry, Rourke. I didn’t mean to be bitchy.’

  ‘Let’s just forget it,’ he dismissed tersely, moving her hand. ‘And don’t do that, not after the conversation we’ve just had.’