She plucked some geranium leaves and crumpled them to release the pungent odour, then scattered them on his face.
He opened his eyes and his glance slid up to her face. She caught the wary flicker before he smiled carefully. 'Awake at last, sleeping beauty?'
'I'd say it was a toss-up which of us qualifies for that,' she said as casually as she could. 'Or were you just planning your next play with your eyes shut?'
'I work best when I'm sleeping,' said Macey, grinning.
'I won't dispute that,' Clare mocked.
'If you're feeling energetic you can make some coffee,' Macey told her, stretching his long body elegantly, his arms above his head.
She went back into the house, gratefully realising that somehow they had established contact, the casual surface friendliness she was used to from him. He followed her and lounged talking while she poured the coffee. The telephone rang ten minutes later and he answered it, coming back with a slight frown.
'Rowena again. She's read the play and wants me to run over there.'
'I'll stay here,' Clare said at once, tautly. No way was she going to be forced to see Luke Murry again. 'I'm tired and Rowena wants you, not me.'
She half expected Macey to argue, but he looked at her oddly before nodding. 'Right. I shan't be long. If I'm not back for lunch, help yourself.'
'I know where everything is,' she agreed. 'Don't hurry back on my account. Keep Rowena happy!'
When he had gone Clare changed into her bikini and walked out to the pool. The sun was higher now and the air was heavy, scented with roses and spiky lavender which grew along the lower terrace walls. As she was about to dive into the blue water a step made her glance around.
Her face drained of colour as she saw Luke Murry. He was wearing a pale blue denim suit with a dark blue shirt open at the neck. He looked casual, elegant and dangerous.
'Macey will be back in a moment,' she said shakily. He smiled drily. 'He's expected for lunch with Rowena.' The grey eyes glinted at her, mockery in them, telling her that her lie was silly and as clear as crystal to him.
'I'm not having lunch with you,' Clare bit out. 'Aren't you, Charleston girl?' She winced and turned away, shivering, her arms wrapped round her body. Any last remaining doubts drained miserably away. He had known all along and been amusing himself, no doubt waiting with enjoyment for the moment of disclosure.
She heard him walk closer and hurriedly dived into the pool. It helped to have something to do, something to keep him at a distance and give her time to think, to review her situation.
He sat down on the lounger and watched her as she swam back and forth, her slender body cutting gracefully through the blue water.
He wasn't going to go away. Clare's heart raced angrily, anxiously. What was she going to do?
At last she couldn't delay the moment any longer. She had half hoped that if she stayed in the pool he might give up and leave, but after a time she realised that the casual calm with which he watched her showed no sign of alteration. He would wait all day if he had to, she sensed. He had the patient, tenacious air, the look of a man who isn't budging.
She climbed out, shaking her hair, and the sheathed grey eyes ran slowly over her without missing a thing. Clare felt her face burning and her temper rising. She picked up the robe she had flung down and slid into it, but by then Luke Murry had made a leisurely inspection of the smooth golden shoulders, the small high breasts only half covered by her wet bikini top, the naked midriff and the soft curve of hip and thigh which was merely accented by the tiny panties. It was a relief, all the same, to hide behind the white towelling robe.
Facing him, she said coldly: 'I mean what I say. I am not having lunch with you.'
'You were lovely when you were eighteen, but now you're ravishing,' he drawled, leaning back, his hands locked behind his black head. His grey eyes slid over the long brown thighs. 'Quite ravishing,' he said softly, looking up into her angry eyes.
'Get out!' Clare said hoarsely.
He laughed, amusement in his face. 'I'm not going anywhere without you.'
Clare walked past him into the villa .and heard him coming after her with alarm. She almost ran to her room and bolted the door. Hurriedly, with trembling hands, she dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. They seemed less dangerous than anything else; at least she felt covered from head to foot. The insolent appraisal of his eyes as she climbed out of the pool had made her feel ill.
When she had slowly blow-dried her hair, she went out and found Luke Murry standing at the shelf holding a row of Macey's books. He was flipping through one and she hated to see it in his hands. He looked over his shoulder at her, eyeing her jeans with a lifted brow.
'That limits our choice of restaurant,' he observed.
'I am not having lunch with you,' Clare informed him stiffly.
Nine years ago he had been the best-looking man she had ever seen. Time hadn't made any difference except to harden his features into even more assurance and give him a silken gloss conferred by money, success and power. But now Clare saw him with mature eyes and she detested the sensual cynicism of his mouth, the self-willed arrogance of his eyes. Those golden looks of his were a hollow mask. The mind under them was far less beautiful.
He smiled confidently. 'I remember you like to play hard to get, Charleston girl, and I don't like it any more now than I did then.'
Her flush made him laugh. 'Did you think I'd forgotten? How could I? You were the loveliest thing I'd ever seen. Why did you run off without letting me know where I could find you? I wanted to get to know you better.'
Sickness clawed at her throat. 'Get out,' she muttered, turning away, her hands clenched at her sides. 'Macey will be back soon.'
'And you don't want him to find me here?' Luke Murry sounded amused, his drawl filled with mockery. 'No, I suppose you wouldn't. You keep your past out of sight, do you? Janson wouldn't much like knowing who shared your bed before him.'
Clare's nerves were being shredded by the tone, the smile, with which he spoke. This was the man who had haunted her for years, who had taught her ineradicable lessons lessons in one night! The charming, passionate stranger who had lured her into his arms had been a mirage. Although she had known that for nine years, she realised illusion clung hard, died hard. She had thought she had none of it left, but as she listened to him now she recognised that there were still trailing filaments of that brief, blind emotion twisting inside her. She despised herself for having let them live so long.
Luke Murry had destroyed her ability to respond normally to other men. For years she had shrunk from any emotionally dangerous situation. She had been half alive throughout her adult life, and all for a man who wasn't worth looking at twice.
'It's taken me years to find you again,' he murmured behind her. 'I recognised you in that film. It was quite a shock. You'd changed, but I couldn't forget that dele little body.'
She swallowed, shuddering with disgust. She heard the slurred excitement in his voice and knew what he was thinking, what he was remembering. She hated herself because Luke Murry could remember things like that. She wished she could erase them from his mind.
'Will you please leave?' she asked coldly, swinging to face him. 'I don't want you here when Macey gets back.'
He eyed her speculatively. 'Janson's loyalties are going to be under something of a strain,' he said. 'Rowena asked him over because she wants to give Ray the part Janson promised you.'
Clare stared in disbelief. 'What?'
'Rowena's ruthless where the stage is concerned.' Luke Murry grinned wryly. 'I guess she doesn't much like the idea of competing with you. Ray's a much easier proposition for her.'
Clare was not shocked or surprised, only annoyed. So that was why Rowena had sent for Macey!
'What do you think Janson will do?' Luke Murry asked softly, watching her thoughtful face. 'An interesting thought, isn't it? I suppose it will all depend on how much in love with you he is at the moment.'
'Why have you told me?'
Clare asked, her brows furrowed.
'If Janson really gives twopence for you, he won't let Rowena browbeat him into giving Ray that part,' Luke Murry told her. 'I'm sure he's been very useful to you, but you'll find I can be useful too. I have quite a bit of influence in New York. I know everyone in the theatre there.'
She saw the drift of his suggestion and her face hardened. 'Get out!' she snapped.
His eyes held angry heat. As he moved she jumped like a scalded cat, but she was too late to evade him. His hands shot out, catching hold of her shoulders and pulling her towards him. She struggled to avoid his mouth, twisting and sobbing. She could not bear to have him touch her.
She had often wondered what would happen if Luke Murry came back into her life. She had never forgotten the sensitive, warm possession of his lips. As he forced her head round and clamped his mouth over hers, she felt herself falling back through time in trembling, helpless weakness, her hands clutching his arms.
It all happened in a flash of time and was over in a few seconds. The tide which had begun to flow in her halted. Her veins ceased to throb with the pleasure she despised herself for feeling. She stood there and Luke Murry kissed her probingly, sensually, but Clare realised at last that it did not mean a thing to her.
She remembered the heart-throb of the silver screen.
He had kissed her with this dazzling expertise and she had looked at him in amusement as she pushed him away. Luke Murry meant no more to her than that. The illusion he had woven around her had not torn that night—it had lingered in the secret recesses of her mind, making her find all other men dull. Now the illusion faded at last for ever.
Luke Murry lifted his head and gave her a quick, frowning, searching look.
Clare smiled at him, feeling light and free and full of laughter. She saw his eyes grow angry and didn't give a damn.
Softly she said: 'And now that's over, would you mind shoving off, Mr Murry? I don't want to know.'
There was fury in his face, a fury she remembered. Luke Murry did not like being frustrated. He had forced her to submit to him once before and looking into those grey eyes she sensed he was quite capable of doing so again. But as he stepped back towards her there was a movement behind them.
Luke Murry glanced over his shoulder. He was still holding Clare's shoulders in his long hands and their bodies were still very close. Clare looked past him and saw Macey staring fixedly at them.
His face was pale and hard, his blue eyes narrowed in harsh observation of the way they stood, the obvious intimacy of their touching bodies.
Luke Murry released her after a second, very slowly. He turned, an arrogant smile on his mouth, gave Macey a nod which contrived to hold insolence and amusement at the same time.
'Janson! I thought you were lunching with Rowena.'
'I changed my mind,' Macey said through his teeth. There was a dangerous menace to the set of his shoulders and Clare's heart turned over at the look in his face. She had never seen Macey look like that. He was poised for violence, his body taut as wire, his eyes fixed on Luke Murry.
The casual, friendly Macey she had known for years was absent in that harsh face.
Luke saw the threat Macey offered too, and with a careful, measuring glance he began to stroll away.
He's frightened of Macey, Clare thought. Luke Murry was much the same height and build, but there was a force in Macey which made the other man walk clear of him, backing away from the unveiled threat of his tense body.
'Well, see you,' said Luke in a light tone as he walked out of the open french windows, but neither Clare nor Macey answered.
She was staring at Macey, winding a lock of bright hair around one finger like a child, trembling at the look in his eyes.
She knew why Luke Murry had gone so quickly. She knew why he had avoided Macey as he went. She found Macey pretty alarming, too. She met his blue eyes, her stomach cramping at the savagery he wasn't hiding as he looked at her.
CHAPTER FIVE
Huskily she asked: 'You're back early. Why did you leave so soon?'
'Why?' Macey flung that at her in a hard, icy voice. 'Why do you think? When I found he wasn't at Rowena's I knew damned well where I'd find him, so I made an excuse to Rowena and drove back here like a bat out of hell.'
She swallowed. 'I hope you didn't offend Rowena.'
'Damn Rowena!' he bit out. 'What was going on when I arrived?'
To gain time Clare pushed her hair back from her face, trying to smile. 'What?'
Macey's eyes were like flint. 'Should I apologise for interrupting what was obviously going on?'
'Don't, Macey,' she sighed, making a defeated little gesture. She turned and went out into the garden, staring down over the terraces. Macey came up behind her and stood there silently for a moment.
'You were in his arms,' he said heavily.
'No!'
'Don't lie—I saw you. He'd been kissing you. What came next? If I hadn't been so inopportune, would you be in bed by now?'
'No,' she groaned in sick disgust, her body trembling.
He flung her round, his fingers biting into her arm with cruel precision. 'Don't lie to me! I've known you for years, remember. I've never seen you react to any man the way you react to him.' He paused and asked on a low, driven note, 'Are you in love with him?'
'No,' she said, her distaste visible.
Macey relaxed slightly. 'What, then?' he asked. 'There's something. Don't keep lying to me. You've met him before, haven't you?'
She gave a long, deep sigh. 'You came close with that guess of yours, Macey.'
His eyes narrowed on her face. 'And he's the man?'
She nodded.
'What happened? You fell for him and he hurt you?'
'Something like that.' She was very aware of the inadequacy of the explanation, irony in her eyes as she looked away. 'I don't want to talk about it. I prefer to forget it.'
'You haven't forgotten ft, though,' Macey said harshly. 'Whatever happened between you and that bastard, you've been brooding over it ever since. Are you sure you aren't in love with him?'
'I detest him!'
'All the same, your feelings about him are stronger than any you've ever shown towards any other man. Last night I could feel them even when you weren't looking at him. I've felt that sort of excitement in you before, Clare, but always on stage. You give off a sort of electricity. You vibrate with it. I've often thought you sublimated your sexual energy in your work. I thought that was one explanation for your icy rejection of every man you met—until last night.'
'That wasn't excitement,' Clare bit out. 'That was shock and disgust.'
She should have chosen her words more carefully. Macey picked them up at once. His eyes fixed on her, he asked: 'Disgust? What do you mean, disgust?'
She searched for a way out of telling the truth, her eyes nervous. 'Disgust with myself,' she said at last. 'For having been such a fool as to fall for him.'
Macey's attractive face had a cruel fixity in it as he stared into her eyes.
'I hope you mean that,' he said. 'Why do I get the strong feeling you're lying to me, Clare? Your eyes slide away when I try to read them. Why?'
'You make me feel nervous,' she whispered shakily.
'Nervous!' He laughed shortly.
'You're frightening me,' she added.
His mouth twisted. 'I wouldn't want to do that,' he said on a dry note. 'Eaten yet?'
She shook her head.
'Let's go into Nice,' Macey said. 'I feel like eating out.'
She wondered what Rowena had said to him that morning. Had Luke Murry been telling the truth? Did Rowena want Macey to give the star part in the new play to Ray? She glanced at him sideways and he was staring at the blue sky, his features still taut and hard.
'What did Rowena want?' she asked quietly.
Macey flickered her a glance, his face guarded. 'To talk about the play.'
He wasn't going to tell her, she saw that. Was Macey torn between his instin
cts as a friend and his instincts as a playwright who had to choose between having the leading light of the profession or a new name which was not yet fully established? Clare was well known, but Rowena was a legend in her own lifetime. Macey was not going to find it easy to decide what to do—she sympathised with him. She wished she could say so, but she realised she could hardly tell him that Luke Murry had warned her of Rowena's intentions.
Why had Luke done that? He was Rowena's godson and owed her some loyalty, yet he had broken that loyalty when he told Clare what Rowena was plotting.
Macey had to make up his own mind. If she mentioned it to him he would be embarrassed. She would force the issue if she brought it out into the open, and she couldn't do that to Macey. Whatever he decided to do he would do because he felt he must. Clare wanted that part, but it was Macey's play and he had a right to decide what was best for the future success of his own work.
Staring at the twisted olive trees which were scratching like suppliants at the walls, she told herself that Ray would be just as good in the part, anyway. Rowena wasn't making an impossible request. Ray was a very good actress and she was going to get all the help Rowena could give her. Merely from the point of view of having a smooth-running production, Macey would be justified if he agreed to switch the role.
'Well, if we're going to Nice, let's go,' said Macey, getting up suddenly.
In the car Clare stared out at the narrow twisting road, a little smile on her lips. She was lying to herself when she pretended to be so cool about the part. She wanted it badly. It was her play; she knew that, had known from the first scene. Macey had written it for her. He hadn't needed to tell her so—she had seen it at once.
Ray wasn't having her play! Her chin lifted, a stubborn glint in her green eyes. She looked sideways at Macey. He was still frowning, his face disturbed. Poor Macey! She put a hand over his knee and he jumped and turned his head to look at her.
Clare gave him a slow, teasing little smile. 'Stop glowering.'
Stranger in the Night Page 7