Golden Fever

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘You’re playing with fire, you know that, don’t you?’ he said raggedly.

  She finished brushing her hair about her shoulders, hoping he couldn’t see the way her hand was shaking. ‘I’m sorry?’ She turned coolly to face him.

  ‘That dress,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t think you should wear it.’

  ‘Really, Rourke,’ she chided mockingly, ’I think I would cause more of a sensation if I didn’t. Don’t you?’

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ he ground out, his gaze never leaving her, fixed on her with burning intensity. ‘But you must know, you can’t have forgotten—’

  No, she hadn’t forgotten, but she would have thought he had. She had worn a dress very similar to this one the night they had made love, and it seemed Rourke remembered that too.

  ‘This dress is a particular favourite of Harvey’s,’ she told him distantly, exaggerating somewhat. Harvey liked to see her in anything lemon or yellow, liked to perpetuate the image he had created for her, so she had no doubt he would have approved of the dress, but she could never remember him commenting on it one way or the other.

  Rourke’s mouth twisted. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not likely to forget you’re engaged.’

  After today Clare wasn’t sure that was going to be true. If her mother really had got her claws into Harvey he might want to break off the engagement, and if he didn’t then she just might. She could no more accept hre mother’s cast-offs now than she had five years ago.

  ‘Neither am I.’ She picked up her evening bag. ‘I’m ready now.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Rourke scowled. ‘Can you help me on with these?’ and he held up a pair of cufflinks.

  Her heart started hammering in her chest at the thought of going that close to him, of touching him. ‘Of course,’ she said coolly, moving forward with a confidence she was far from feeling. She took the gold cufflinks from him as he held out his wrists to her, hoping he wouldn’t see how nervous she was, her hands shaking.

  ‘Been practising?’ he taunted as she did the first one up with no trouble, his warm breath fanning her cheek.

  Clare kept her head bent, not managing the second clasp so easily, feeling all fingers and thumbs. ‘I had to do it in one of my films.’ She didn’t rise to his baiting.

  He was silent for several minutes as she continued to have trouble with the second cufflink. ‘To an outsider,’ he suddenly drawled, ’this could look quite a domesticated scene.’

  ‘To an outsider, maybe,’ she moved away as the second clasp clicked into place. ‘To anyone who knows you, never,’ she taunted.

  Rourke quirked a mocking eyebrow. ‘You don’t see me as the pipe and slippers type?’

  ‘Heavens, no!’ she laughed.

  A look of irritation flashed into his eyes, and then it was gone. ‘Perhaps not,’ he agreed tightly. ‘I’ll just get my jacket.’

  They went to the Lady Hamilton Restaurant, as Rourke had an appetite for seafood, while Clare did not really care what she ate. Although once they were seated she found it a little uncomfortable to see Belinda Evans and about ten other cast members sitting just across the room from them, and as it was a long, not very wide room, it meant they were sitting very close indeed. In fact, they were greeted by several of them, jokes being made about ’the director and his leading lady’, jokes that Rourke returned with lazy amusement.

  ‘No fiancé tonight, Miss Anderson?’ Only Belinda Evans could have asked such a thing!

  Clare looked at the other girl with cold eyes, seeing the venom she didn’t even try to hide. ‘He’s out on business,’ she replied calmly.

  ‘Really?’ the other girl said with a wealth of meaning in her voice.

  ‘Yes, really.’ She raised a questioning eyebrow, as if daring Belinda to add to that.

  She didn’t, contenting herself with throwing resentful glances across the room at her.

  ‘Little cat,’ Rourke muttered.

  Clare smiled. ‘She likes you, that’s all.’

  ‘She’s jealous, you mean?’ His gaze was intense.

  ‘I think so,’ she nodded.

  ‘And does she have reason to be?’ he asked softly.

  Her lids fluttered nervously, although she remained otherwise calm. ‘I don’t think so,’ she answered quietly.

  ‘Don’t you?’

  Her eyes were raised in alarm, looking away again as she saw the warmth in his gaze. ‘Please, Rourke—’

  ‘Yes?’ he said huskily.

  ‘We’re here to talk business,’ she reminded him determinedly.

  ‘Yes,’ he sighed, sitting back in his chair, surveying the room uninterestedly. ‘Can we eat first?’

  ‘Of course,’ she nodded.

  ‘ ‘‘Of course’’,’ he mimicked cruelly. ‘What the hell happened to you in England?’

  Anger blazed in her eyes. ‘Nothing ‘‘happened’’ to me in England. If you remember, it happened before I went to England.’

  ‘Hell, Clare, I’m sorry.’ He sat forward to take her hand in his. ‘I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘Let go of me!’ She snatched her hand away and picked up her handbag. ‘I don’t think this was such a good idea. I’ll eat in my room.’

  ‘No!’ The force behind the word kept her in her seat. ‘I’m sorry,’ he ran an agitated hand through the thickness of his hair, ’I said I would behave and I will.’

  Clare sat stiffly in her seat. ‘You aren’t doing a very good job of it so far,’ she said tightly.

  ‘Clare, I—’

  ‘Having trouble, darling?’ drawled a seductive female voice.

  Rourke didn’t even look up. ‘Get lost, Belinda,’ he growled.

  ‘I’m going, honey, I’m going.’ She appeared unconcerned by his rudeness. ‘The rest of us are going to get a drink in the Observation Bar, and I was elected to come over and ask you if you would like to join us later.’

  ‘We may do,’ he replied noncommittally.

  Her hand came to rest on his shoulder. ‘I’d like you to,’ she said softly. ‘If Miss Anderson is feeling tired, I’m sure she won’t mind if you come alone,’ she added hardly.

  Rourke gave an angry sigh and shook off her hand. ‘I said we may join you, Belinda,’ he rapsed. ‘And I meant ‘‘we’’. If Clare doesn’t feel like going then neither will I.’

  Blue eyes glittered angrily at Clare. As if it were all her fault! But Rourke was being exceptionally cruel to the girl. ‘We would love to join you later, Belinda. Thank you,’ she accepted softly.

  If she had expected Belinda to be grateful for her intervention then she was out of luck. ‘There you are, darling,’ the other girl snapped at Rourke. ‘You have your—Miss Anderson’s permission. And if you’re a good boy she may even let you drink alcohol!’ She turned on her heel and whirled out of the room, her head held rebelliously high.

  Clare looked tentatively at Rourke, sure that he was going to be furious about that last bitchy outburst. After all, Belinda had implied that she led him about by the nose! Instead of anger in Rourke’s face she saw amusement, the deep blue eyes brimming with laughter.

  ‘Rourke?’ she queried in a surprised voice.

  ‘Yes?’ he smiled.

  ‘You—you aren’t angry?’

  ‘No,’ he shook his head.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really,’ he confirmed, still smiling.

  Clare began to smile herself now. ‘It was rather funny, wasn’t it?’ she spluttered with laughter.

  ‘It was,’ he joined in the laughter. It was years since they had laughed together in this way, and Rourke obviously thought so too, his eyes showing his appreciation of her happiness. ‘I always liked your laughter,’ he told her softly.

  ‘You liked to laugh at me,’ she chided teasingly.

  ‘Not nastily,’ he contradicted.

  No, it had never been in a cruel way, more like an indulgent lover. ‘You weren’t very nice to Belinda just now,’ she said to hide her embarrassment.

  ‘She deserved it,�
�� he dismissed. ‘I told you, I’ve only taken an interest in her because of her father. But much more of her baiting of you and I’ll give her the good hiding she deserves.’

  He meant it too. Poor Belinda!

  The meal was delicious, all the more so because she and Rourke were friends again, were able to talk about every subject under the sun like they used to—with a few exceptions, of course, her mother being one of them, the end of their own relationship five years ago another.

  They came to the end of their meal reluctantly, and lingered over their coffee. ‘Do you want to join the others?’ Rourke asked finally.

  ‘I suppose we’d better,’ she replied with some reluctance.

  ‘We don’t have to—’

  ‘Oh, but we do, I told Belinda we would,’ she teased.

  ‘Damn Belinda,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t want to be with you in a crowd, Clare.’ His gaze was intent. ‘I’m enjoying talking to you like this, being with you, alone.’

  She was enjoying it too, which was why it had to end. She couldn’t go through the heartache of five years ago all over again.

  Rourke obviously saw her indecision. ‘How about a walk round the deck?’ he compromised. ‘We can always join the others later. There’s plenty of time.’

  ‘I—It—Okay,’ she decided. Why not? She was enjoying being with him too. And although she knew that might be dangerous she didn’t yet have the willpower to bring the evening to a close. ‘A walk would be nice,’ she agreed.

  ‘Good.’ He pulled back her chair for her, his hand on her arm as they left the restaurant.

  It was another beautiful evening, warm and clear, the stars shining brightly above them, the smog of the day seeming to have evaporated.

  ‘So when do you intend getting married?’ Rourke asked her suddenly.

  ‘I don’t know.’ The question had taken her by surprise. ‘When work commitments allow it, I suppose,’ she added evasively.

  ‘You aren’t in any hurry, then?’ he probed.

  ‘Not really,’ she shrugged. ‘Harvey and I are quite happy as we are.’ Rourke shook his head. ‘That’s where you’re wrong.’

  Clare looked at him sharply. Oh, lord, she hadn’t given herself away, had she? Hadn’t been enjoying his company so much she had let him guess she still loved him?

  ‘Harvey isn’t happy at all,’ he added softly.

  Harvey! He was talking about Harvey? ’I can assure you he is,’ she spoke lightly in her relief.

  Rourke shook his head. ‘He didn’t sound it the other evening.’

  Colour tinged her cheeks. ‘I can assure you that both of us are perfectly happy with our arrangement,’ she said stiffly. Suddenly the evening had ceased to be enjoyable; Rourke’s conversation was much too personal. She should have known she couldn’t trust him, not even for one evening.

  ‘How long have the two of you been engaged?’

  ‘Just over a year. Rourke—’

  ‘And neither of you wants to make it more permanent?’ he probed relentlessly.

  ‘It isn’t a question—’

  ‘You aren’t right for each other, Clare—’

  ‘And what would you know about it?’ Her eyes flashed. ‘What would you know about what’s right for me?’

  ‘I know what’s wrong for you,’ he told her grimly. ‘And Harvey Pryce is wrong for you.’

  ‘I don’t happen to agree with you,’ she snapped. ‘Now, shall we join the others? I think we’ve—talked enough for one night.’

  ‘Clare—’

  She shook off his hand on her arm. ‘Leave me alone! Haven’t you done enough? Didn’t you do enough?’

  He seemed to go pale, his eyes deeply blue. ‘I can’t change the past—’

  ‘And I won’t let you change my future either,’ she told him vehemently. ‘I’m going to join the others, you please yourself whether or not you come along.’

  ‘I’m coming,’ he said grimly.

  They walked in angry silence, arriving at the Observation Bar without having spoken a single word to each other. The other cast members welcomed them with some goodhearted teasing, although that soon stopped after Rourke scowled at them for several minutes.

  ‘Come and sit beside me, darling,’ Belinda invited him throatily.

  ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ he drawled.

  Clare watched with pained eyes as he sat down beside the other girl, allowing her to snuggle up against him, the smile she shot in Clare’s direction triumphant to say the least. Clare turned away, unable to watch the two of them together. Maybe she should go back to her room after all, maybe—

  ‘Come and join us, Clare,’ Rena interrupted her thoughts. ‘Come and help me deal with these two flirting monsters,’ she teased the two cameramen sitting either side of her.

  Clare sat down, glad to have the decision to leave taken out of her hands, not wanting to go back to her room and brood, to be haunted by things that could never be. ‘Giving you trouble, are they?’ she grinned, ignoring Rourke and Belinda as the two of them whispered together.

  Rena laughed. ‘I keep telling them I’m married, but nothing seems to put them off.’

  ‘Maybe they should meet Alan,’ Clare teased. ‘As I remember, he’s an amateur boxing champion.’

  ‘Ouch!’ One of the men moved back with horror.

  ‘Doesn’t bother me,’ the other one dismissed with a suggestive leer. ‘I’m not bad at boxing myself.’

  ‘Did I also mention that he’s a judo black belt?’ Rena asked innocently, joining in the game.

  ‘Oh well, in that case …’ Mark moved back too, turning pointedly to Clare. ‘How about you? Are you available?’

  ‘ ’Fraid not,’ and she laughingly flashed her engagement ring, telling herself she wasn’t really aware of Belinda’s throaty drawl or Rourke’s lazy amusement.

  Pete shook his head. ‘Unless it’s of the plain gold variety it doesn’t count.’ He moved nearer too.

  ‘So much for fidelity?’ Rena groaned in mock hurt.

  This madness was exactly what Clare needed to help her ignore Rourke, and for the next hour she managed to do just that, laughing and joking with the other three.

  But she was aware of Rourke’s every movement, knew that he looked at her often—and that he was encouraging Belinda shamelessly. When the other couple stood up to leave she wasn’t altogether surprised. She was determined not to go back to her own room yet, sure that tonight Rourke wasn’t going to be alone. And she could no more listen to Rourke and Belinda together than she could stop loving Rourke herself.

  Mark pulled a face. ‘I suppose now that the boss has left we’ll have to do the same.’

  ‘I doubt Rourke intends going to sleep yet,’ came her bitchy comment before she could stop herself.

  ‘I doubt it too,’ Pete chuckled. ‘Still, it’s one rule for him and another one for us. It’s strange really, I worked with Rourke a few years ago, when he was just an actor, and he was a great guy to work with. I suppose your attitude has to change when you’re the boss.’

  ‘I suppose,’ she agreed tightly.

  ‘Come back to my room, Clare,’ Rena invited. ‘We can have some coffee and a chat.’

  Clare looked at her friend, could see the compassion in her eyes. She had given herself away to Rena with that bitchy comment, although the two men seemed ignorant of her jealousy of Belinda Evans.

  ‘Forget the coffee and the chat,’ Mark grinned. ‘And I’ll come to your room.’

  ‘I did say a black belt,’ Rena reminded him.

  ‘Spoilsport!’ he grimaced.

  Rena giggled. ‘Come on, Clare, let’s let these poor weary men get to bed.’

  Rena kept up a constant stream of chatter as they walked to her room, ordering the coffee as soon as they got inside. ‘Sit down, Clare.’ She moved some magazines off a chair.

  ‘If you would rather get to bed—’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ she insisted. ‘Come on, I’ve ordered the coffee now,’ she coax
ed. ‘Besides, I wanted to tell you this is going to be my last film, out of England anyway.’

  ‘It is?’ Clare’s eyes widened as she sat down.

  Rena shrugged. ‘I told you it’s getting harder and harder to leave Alan—well, he feels the same way. I was on the telephone half an hour last night trying to persuade him not to fly out here. He’s so busy, he just doesn’t have the time for mad escapades like that.’

  ‘But I thought you loved acting,’ Clare frowned.

  ‘I did—I do. But I don’t want to work for ever, and Alan seems to need me with him. I find that needing more thrilling than making any film,’ her friend explained simply.

  Clare felt a catch in her throat. Oh, how she wished she had someone who loved her like that, how she wished Rourke loved her like that.

  Rena seemed to read something of her thoughts. ’Rourke isn’t really interested in Belinda, you know,’ she said gently.

  ‘Rourke?’ She feigned surprise, knowing she had never acted so badly in her life. ‘Rourke’s actions have nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Don’t they?’

  ‘No!’

  Rena sighed. ‘That wasn’t the impression I got tonight, from either of you.’

  ‘Either of us …?’

  Her friend shrugged. ‘You had dinner together.’

  ‘To discuss business,’ Clare said tightly.

  ‘Clare—’

  ‘It’s the truth, Rena.’ She stood up in her agitation. ‘You may have noticed that we don’t work together very well?’

  ‘Everyone has noticed that.’

  ‘Well, we were trying to sort out our problems.’

  Rena pulled a face. ‘By the look of the two of you when you arrived in the bar it didn’t work.’

  ‘No,’ Clare sighed, ’it didn’t work.’

  ‘Why?’

  She looked up sharply. ‘Why?’ she repeated in a puzzled voice.

  ‘Yes, why. I’ve worked with both of you in the past, and I know that ordinarily you’re both very reasonable people. But together—well, together you’re explosive. Everyone has noticed it, the catty Belinda with relish, I might add.’

  Clare shrugged, knowing she couldn’t tell anyone the real reason she didn’t get on with Rourke. ‘It’s just a clash of personalities,’ she dismissed. ‘It happens.’