And it did. She sat up, her manner instantly constrained. ‘He seems very—competent,’ she replied stiffly.
‘Oh, he is,’ Harvey nodded. ‘He won an award for best director last year.’
Clare knew that, she had seen the reports in the press. She also knew that he had appeared in several films the last few years, but she still hadn’t been to see any of them. ‘Then he must be good,’ she said grudgingly.
‘Very good,’ Harvey nodded.
‘I—I’m afraid I got off on the wrong foot with him.’ She felt she owed Harvey some explanation for the coolness he was sure to detect between Rourke and herself.
He frowned. ‘You did? But I’ve never known you not to get on with anyone.’
She explained about being late for the meeting, and how Rourke had come looking for her.
‘I’m sure he understood,’ Harvey said soothingly.
Clare knew Rourke hadn’t ’understood’ at all. ‘You’re probably right—’
‘I’m sure I am. After all—’ He didn’t get any further, a loud knock on the door interrupted him. He stood up. ‘That must be our dinner.’
It was, and the subject of Rourke Somerville was forgotten as they ate their meal. As they talked of less painful topics Clare was able to relax once again, eating a little, if not doing full justice to the lovely meal Harvey had ordered.
Harvey put the tray outside the door once they had finished. ‘So that we aren’t disturbed,’ he said meaningly.
Clare was aware of the fact that she had been flirting more with Harvey this evening than she usually did, and that he had taken it as an invitation was obvious. Well, why not? They were engaged, could marry any time they felt like it, so why shouldn’t they sleep together?
But she wasn’t quite ready for that yet, and launched into a hurried conversation about how Rourke disapproved of non-caste people being on the set.
‘Damn,’ Harvey muttered. ‘And I was looking forward to seeing him at work. The word is that he’s a genius. And he’s supposed to be marvellous with the people who work with him.’
‘I’m sure he can’t be any better than Jason,’ she defended.
Her fiancé shrugged. ‘Only time will tell.’
It would indeed! ’I think I should write to Jason, tell him how sorry I am that he’s not able to be here.’ Sorrier than anyone would ever know, she thought bitterly.
‘I sent a telegram.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You did? When?’
‘As soon as I found out about the accident—’
‘You could have said—’
‘I told you, I forgot.’
‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘So what will you do while I’m working?’
Harvey shrugged. ‘Look around Los Angeles, I suppose.’
She was glad to be spared that. At least this way Harvey would have no excuse to drag her off to see her mother. It might be years since she had been so disillusioned, but she still couldn’t forget her mother’s part in the past.
It was as if Harvey partly read her thoughts. ‘I telephoned your mother this afternoon.’ He looked at her warily.
Clare’s mouth tightened. ‘Why?’
He sighed. ‘Because I had told her we would probably call round there this morning.’
‘You had no right—I’m sorry,’ she drew a controlling breath. ‘But I really have no intention of seeing my mother while I’m here.’
‘It’s been years, Clare—’
‘And it can be another ten for all I care! I’m sorry, Harvey, but about this I’m adamant. Now can we forget my mother?’ She moved insinuatingly against him.
Harvey was nowhere near being immune to her body pressed against his. ‘She’s already forgotten,’ he groaned as her hands became entangled in his hair. ‘For now.’
That last irked her, but she pulled his head down to her, inviting his kiss, longing for forgetfulness. And perhaps in Harvey’s arms she would finally find it.
He was breathing raggedly by the time they broke the kiss, murmuring his consent as she slid the jacket off his shoulders, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.
‘Clare?’ he questioned uncertainly.
‘Don’t ask questions, Harvey,’ she groaned. ‘Please. Just make love to me.’
He gasped as her fingertips ran the length of his bare chest. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Very,’ she nodded, determination in her eyes.
He kissed her again, his hands moving caressingly over the thin material covering her breasts. ‘How do I get this off?’ he muttered after a few minutes of frustrated efforts to find the opening.
She kissed his throat and jaw, wishing he wouldn’t talk so much. ‘The buttons are at the back.’
It took some minutes, but he finally removed her blouse, his hands and mouth caressing her bared breasts. Clare lay back on the sofa, her eyes closed, wishing, wishing—Oh God, she was wishing it were Rourke!
She sat up with a jerk, her eyes panic-stricken. She couldn’t have been wishing it were Rourke making love to her, not after all this time. She couldn’t!
‘What is it, darling?’ Harvey was flushed with desire, his hair dishevelled, his shirt unbuttoned to his waist.
Clare looked at him as if he were a stranger to her. ‘I think you’d better go,’ she said distantly. ‘I—I’m too tired tonight.’
‘Is that all it is?’ He was frowning down at her, smoothing her tangled hair back from her face. ‘You look very pale.’
She moved away from his caressing hand, sickened with herself, with the way she had been going to use him. ‘I’m just tired.’ She forced a wan smile to her lips. ‘I’m sorry, darling.’
‘That’s all right,’ he ruefully accepted her decision, helping her back into her blouse, patiently refastening all the tiny little pearl buttons down the back before buttoning his own shirt. ‘Another night, hmm?’
She could have cried with the understanding way he accepted sexual disappointment. ‘Thank you, Harvey,’ there was an emotional catch in her voice as she clung to him. ‘You’re so good to me.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ he chided gently. ‘You’re my fiancée, of course I’m good to you. Now I think you should get to bed—alone. Somerville won’t be very pleased if you turn up with bags under your eyes tomorrow.’
Clare blushed as she remembered Rourke telling her to sleep alone tonight. How surprised he would be if he knew she never did anything else! ’I’ll look my best,’ she assured Harvey.
‘You always do.’ He stood up to leave. ‘Call me tomorrow when you’ve finished for the day—I’ll be in my room. How about breakfast, shall we have that together?’
‘I think I’ll just have coffee in my room,’ she smiled her refusal.
Once Harvey had left she went through to the bathroom to wash and change into her nightgown, putting her hair loosely on top of her head as she cleansed her face of make-up. She only ever wore a light make-up, just lip-gloss and a foundation, but she knew that without it she looked eighteen again—and just as vulnerable.
Harvey was right, she did look pale, and the brown lacy nightgown made her appear even more so. But it was a pretty gown, with ribbon shoulder-straps, lacy cups over her firm uptilted breasts, a silky sheath over the rest of her body to her ankles.
Her hands were up loosening her hair from the ribbon as she came back into the lounge area, arrested in the action as she saw Rourke Somerville sitting in one of the armchairs, one leg dangling over the side as he lounged down in the chair.
Her hands dropped down to her sides as she realised how tightly the material was pulled tautly across her breasts and firm outstanding nipples. ‘What the hell are you doing in here?’ she demanded indignantly, her eyes blazing.
His leg moved to the floor, and he sat forward in his seat, his gaze appreciative as it moved over her. ‘Waiting for you,’ he dryly stated the obvious.
‘How did you get in here?’ She was breathing heavily, Rourke’s gaze fixed on her heaving breasts. But she couldn’t help it, coming out her
e and finding Rourke in her sitting-room the last thing she had been expecting. It was a wonder she hadn’t fainted with shock!
Rourke didn’t say a word, instead he stood up, moving to the doors the porter had told her separated the Royal Suite into two separate suites, sliding the doors apart before looking back at her, his eyebrows raised meaningly.
Clare’s eyes widened as she took in everything about the other room—the open script, the used tray from dinner still on the dining-table, the dark green shirt thrown on one of the chairs. Rourke had worn that shirt to the meeting this afternoon!
She swallowed hard. ‘You—you’re staying there?’ Her voice came out as a squeak.
Rourke nodded. ‘Convenient, isn’t it?’ he drawled.
She shot him a sharp look; convenient for what? She bit her lip, drawing in a deep controlling breath. ‘You—you aren’t staying at the beach-house, or the house in Bel Air?’
‘I no longer have the house in Bel Air,’ he told her. ‘And no, I’m not staying at the beach-house.’
She clasped her hands together to hide their trembling. ‘Why aren’t you?’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to commute every day.’
‘But did you have to have the suite next to mine?’ she groaned. This afternoon she had thought the nightmare couldn’t get any worse—it just had!
‘I am your co-star,’ he taunted.
Her mouth set mutinously. ‘Then I’ll ask to be moved. I don’t need a large suite like this anyway.’
Rourke’s eyes hardened to blue chips of ice. ‘You’ll do no such thing.’
‘I will—’
‘No, you won’t,’ he told her in a controlled voice. ‘What explanation would you give for the change?’
‘I—Well, I—I—’
‘Would you tell darling Harvey that you didn’t want to be this close to your ex-lover?’ he taunted.
Clare paled even more—if that were possible. ‘You were listening …!’ she gasped.
Rourke nodded, his mouth twisting. ‘Every word, Clare darling,’ he softly mocked.
‘Then you heard—you heard—’
‘You acting the part of a little tease again?’ he asked in a bored voice. ‘Yes, I heard. Your years at drama school have definitely paid off, Clare. It was a most convincing performance. You had poor Pryce almost apologising for desiring what you intended him to desire. You haven’t changed, Clare,’ he added contemptuously. ‘And you still ask to be made love to very nicely.’
‘Get out of here,’ she choked, feeling sick. ‘Just get out!’
‘When I’m good and ready. In view of the fact that I can—er—hear everything that goes on in this room, perhaps it would be as well if you didn’t entertain Pryce during your stay here.’
‘We can always go to his room!’ she said defiantly.
Sparks of anger flared in his eyes. ‘You little bitch!’ he rasped, taking a threatening step towards her.
Clare backed away. ‘Don’t you come near me,’ she warned in a panic-stricken voice, terrified of what might happen if he touched her.
Rourke came to a halt, the contempt deepening in his eyes. ‘I have no intention of coming near you. I’m still not the right man to try your teasing ways on. You haven’t forgotten what happened last time you tried your advance and retreat routine on me?’
‘No,’ she answered through numbed lips, her head going back. ‘But I thought you had.’
‘I thought I had too,’ he nodded grimly. ‘But listening to you just now, with your loving fiancé, brought all the memories back.’ He looked her over consideringly, almost insultingly. ‘You’re thinner than you were then, more haughty too—’
‘I’ve grown up,’ she corrected distantly.
His mouth twisted. ‘You were always grown up, it just took me a while to realise how grown up. You should know by now, Clare, that you don’t need to ask men to make love to you, they can’t help themselves.’
Her eyes flashed as she looked at him angrily. ‘Including you?’ she taunted.
Rourke looked as if he would like to hit her. ‘Including me?’ he ground out.
‘Couldn’t you help yourself?’ she said bitterly. ‘No, of course,’ she scorned. ‘You completely lost control, didn’t you? You couldn’t even stop when you knew how much I hated it.’
His expression was savage, his mouth a thin, straight line, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, those hands that had eventually caressed her to abandonment. ‘You don’t hate it now,’ he said contemptuously, his eyes leaving her in no doubt of his disgust. ‘I guess you’re Carlene Walters’ daughter after all.’
Clare went deathly white, clutching at the back of a chair for support. ‘I am nothing like my mother,’ she choked. ‘Absolutely nothing!’
‘Aren’t you?’ he sneered.
‘No!’ she spat the word at him. ‘But at least she had the sense to throw you out.’ For months she had expected to see the announcement of her mother’s marriage to this man, had lived in dread of having Rourke as her stepfather. But it had never materialised. There had been the much-publicised break-up of her mother’s long-term romance with Perry, and then a series of reports of other boy-friends who filtered in and out of her mother’s life, but Rourke’s name was never mentioned.
‘She didn’t throw me out. Clare,’ he answered coldly. ‘I had the sense to walk out.’
‘And are you going to walk out now? Or do I have to get Harvey back to throw you out?’
Rourke’s mouth turned back in a sneer. ‘He could try.’
He was right, in any show of strength between the two men Rourke would emerge the victor, still in the peak of physical fitness. ‘Will you just leave?’ she said wearily, her shoulders drooping in defeat. She had taken enough of a beating today, she wasn’t sure how much more she could take.
‘Yes, I’ll leave.’ He sauntered over to the connecting door. ‘Don’t forget you’re expected in make-up at six-thirty.’
‘I know that!’ she snapped. ‘And I won’t be late,’ she added defensively.
‘I didn’t think you would be,’ he taunted. ‘I was just reminding you. And I want you to have more than coffee for breakfast.’
‘You really were listening!’ she gasped.
He gave an arrogant inclination of his head. ‘I already told you I was. I’m going to order breakfast for six o’clock, perhaps you would like to join me?’ he mocked.
‘No, thank you,’ she snapped. ‘Looking at your across the breakfast table is the one thing guaranteed to put me off my food,’ she added childishly.
Rourke obviously thought it was too. ‘Not worthy of you, Clare,’ he shook his head. ‘I felt sure you would have gained a little sophistication by now.’
‘I don’t need sophistication to know exactly what you are, Rourke Somerville,’ she snapped with dislike, wounded by his scorn. ‘If anything I dislike you even more than I did five years ago.’
His eyes narrowed to steely slits. ‘Any time you feel like showing your—dislike, in the same way, just knock on the door. If I’m not busy at the time I just might oblige you.’
Before Clare could make any cutting remark in reply he had gone back into his own suite, sliding the doors back together, the catch falling back into place.
She switched the lights off, running into her bedroom and closing the door before the tears came, throwing herself down on the bed as she sobbed uncontrollably.
It hadn’t occurred to her that Rourke would be staying on board the Queen Mary too, assuming that he would be staying in Hollywood. Knowing he was actually next door filled her with apprehension.
And it shouldn’t! She had already decided he couldn’t reach her. But he had, he had! His derision had been like a physical blow, and she blushed with humiliation to think he had heard her begging Harvey to make love to her. Thank God she hadn’t actually gone through with it, with knowing that Rourke had heard that too.
Facing the fact that she had been imagining Harvey was Rourke w
as even harder to bear. She had never done that before, had never wanted to do that before, and she couldn’t understand why she had done it now. Perhaps seeing Rourke again, having faced all the feelings, the longings she had once had for him had brought that feeling on. She sincerely hoped that was the case.
Despite her pleas of tiredness it was the early hours of the morning before she fell asleep, a deep drugged sleep that was filled with nightmares she couldn’t escape from.
When she finally woke up she thought she must still be in the middle of one, for Rourke stood at her bedside, a cup in his hand.
‘Your coffee,’ he drawled. ‘I took the liberty of having two cups brought with my breakfast.’
This was no nightmare but the real flesh and blood Rourke! She stared at him in blank astonishment, wondering how he managed to look so lithe and attractive at—’What time is it?’ she asked groggily.
‘Just after six. Do you want the coffee or not?’ he thrust the cup at her.
‘I—Yes, I want it.’ Clare bit back the refusal, knowing she wouldn’t have time now to order any for herself, and feeling desperately in need of some. She sat up, pulling the sheet up to her chin, blushing as Rourke openly mocked the action. ‘At least you’re more gentlemanly this morning,’ she muttered irritably.
‘I would have thought gentlemanly was the last thing you wanted me to be last time,’ he drawled.
She gave an impatient sigh and took the cup from him, securing the sheet beneath her chin as she leant back against the headboard to drink the coffee. It was just as she liked it, plenty of milk and a dash of sugar. She looked up at him questioningly after the first sip.
Rourke shrugged. ‘I remembered.’
‘Thank you,’ she said primly. ‘And by gentlemanly I was referring to last night, not—not—’
‘Not five years ago.’ He sat down on the stool in front of the dressing-table area. ‘It was five years ago, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she acknowledged tightly. ‘Would you mind getting out of here while I shower and dress?’
He stood up, coming back to the bedside. ‘Not at all. Finished with the cup?’
She hastily drank the last of it down, handing him the empty cup. ‘Thank you.’
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