Merlyn's Magic

by Carole Mortimer

  'Rand?' Merlyn finally prompted when he made no effort to speak.

  He moved slowly, raising himself up on one elbow to look down at her with dark eyes. 'Did I hurt you?' he groaned. 'I lose all control when I touch you! You must think I don't know how to make love with consideration and gentleness.'

  She shook her head. 'Was that what either of us wanted just now?'

  'I don't know what I want any more,' he replied in self-disgust..

  Merlyn sighed. 'Maybe if you stopped self-analysing everything—'

  'But I don't understand what's happening between us,' he groaned. 'I don't want any of it!'

  He didn't need to tell her that, she knew that every time he came to her he did it in spite of himself. 'Can you live without it?' she prompted huskily.

  'For the moment, no,' he answered, his eyes pained. 'I came over here in the middle of the damned night because I needed to be inside you!'

  'And now that you are?'

  'Can't you feel it?' he said shakily. 'Even the satisfaction doesn't last; I instantly want you again. It's never been like this for me before. I—' He broke off as he realised exactly what he had said—and its import. 'It isn't the same thing,' he rasped. 'I loved Suzie.'

  She closed her eyes to shut out the pain. 'Please, Rand, if you're going to leave, go now!'

  'I can't!' The admission was dragged from him as he pushed her hands down beside her head and held them there as his mouth claimed hers and his thighs began to move against her.

  She had no idea what time it was when they both fell asleep through exhaustion, but it seemed only a matter of seconds before Merlyn's early morning call came. She picked up the telephone, answering the automatic call before she realised it was one, putting the receiver down with a groan as she rolled over—to look straight into silver-grey eyes.

  'Rand…!' She had half expected him to be gone when she woke up, sure that actually 'sleeping' with her, an act of intimacy in itself, hadn't been part of his plans when he came to her last night.

  His hand was gentle as it smoothed the tangle of hair from her face. 'I know, you have to go to work,' he acknowledged indulgently.

  'Yes.'

  'I should be leaving too.' He sounded regretful. 'You look so young without make-up.' He looked at her searchingly. 'No more than a child.'

  His mood had softened this morning, and she moved closer to him. 'Do I feel younger too?'

  'No,' he groaned huskily as the tautness of her breasts nestled amongst the curling black hair on his chest. 'May I see you again tonight?' His hands caressed her from breast to thigh.

  'You said you didn't intend sneaking about the hotel to sleep with me,' she reminded him.

  'So I won't sneak,' he shrugged, although his expression was serious.

  Merlyn looked at him searchingly, his hard face softened by sleep—and something else, something he wasn't even sure of himself. He was so close, so endearingly close, that she could see the silver in the grey of his eyes; flecks of light among the darkness, the swarthiness of his skin, the dark stubble on his chin and over his top lip. Her gaze stopped there, an indulgent smile curving her lips as she gently touched the hardness of that jaw. 'Why did you do it?' Her voice was husky in the quiet stillness of the early morning.

  'I didn't.' Rand's voice was gruff. 'Last night I just walked in. It was late—'

  'No,' she laughed huskily. 'I meant why did you shave off the beard and moustache?'

  'Oh that.' He nodded. 'The lady in my life told me it was old-fashioned,' he told her blandly.

  Her eyes glowed at his first attempt to tease with her. 'Actually, I quite liked it. It felt quite —sexy.'

  'Is there any pleasing you?' Rand mocked disgustedly.

  'Oh yes.' Her voice was deliberately provocative.

  'I thought you had to go to work?' Even as he reminded her of that he was pulling her within the close confines of his body. He laughed huskily at the wistful longing in her eyes that warred with the reluctant way she slipped out of his arms, falling back on the pillows to watch her as she got out her clothes for the day.

  Suddenly that smile faded, his eyes darkening with pain.

  'Rand?' Merlyn moved to his side, instantly sensitive to his mood. 'What is it?'

  He captured her hand in his, pressing it to his lips, kissing the inside of her wrist. 'Memories,' he rasped.

  'Memories?' she prompted softly.

  He rested his face against her arm. 'Of other mornings like this,' he told her gruffly.

  Her breath caught in her throat. How stupid she was; he must have shared hundreds of mornings just like this with Suzie. 'Rand—'

  'It's all right.' He looked up to meet her gaze, forcing the memories to the back of his mind, although there lingered a shimmer of emotion in his eyes. 'Go and get yourself dressed and then off to work; you can't be late your first day.'

  'But—'

  'I said I'm all right, Merlyn.' His voice was suspiciously husky. 'Now go, please!'

  She swallowed hard, wanting him to talk to her about those memories, sure that talking would help. Maybe tonight…

  She squeezed his arm before going into the adjoining bathroom to shower and dress, dreading going back out to the bedroom to find him gone. Like a thief in the night. Only he hadn't stolen anything, she had given freely. And she would go on giving, as long as he would let her.

  He was dressed and sitting in the lounge when she came out of the bathroom.

  The relief at finding him still there must have shown in the blinding smile she gave, but she didn't care.

  Rand stood up, his hands thrust into his pockets, his gaze not quite meeting hers. 'I'll mention the possibility that the hotel has a prowler to Anne,' he said abruptly.

  Merlyn frowned as she remembered her fear of last night. 'Do you think that's what it was?'

  'Either that or someone just trying to get a look at the film star,' he smiled as he put his arms about her.

  'I'm not a star—'

  'Yet,' Rand drawled. 'But you will be.'

  'If all they wanted to do was get a look at me they could do that in the daylight,' she said dryly.

  'But it wouldn't be as much fun!'

  Merlyn sobered. 'Do you think it was a prowler?' She knew his teasing had just been a diversion to the nervousness she still felt about last night.

  'It couldn't have been a dream?'

  'No!' She trembled at the memory of just how real that person outside her room had been. As real as that last 'dream' she had had?

  'It's all right.' Rand's arms tightened about her. 'Don't think about it any more. I'll be with you tonight and every other night.'

  Every other night. It sounded so permanent, and yet Merlyn knew that what he hadn't added was every other night 'she stayed here'. After that she would be returning to London to complete the filming there and Rand would remain here. They would have a few weeks together at most. It wasn't long with the man she believed she was falling in love with. That wasn't true, she knew she was already in love with him. Maybe she had loved him from that very first moment she looked at him and wanted him; she knew she had to already have been in love with him before she came back yesterday, or she would never have come back.

  'I do have to go now.' She could hear the reluctance in her own voice.

  He nodded. 'Or your director-genius will be down on you.'

  'Will you join me for dinner tonight?' She didn't want to let him go; he seemed so much gentler this morning, and she had no guarantee that mood would continue throughout the day.

  'Give me a call when you get through for the day.' He put her firmly away from him.

  She didn't exactly feel ecstatic with happiness as she joined the rest of the crew for their early morning breakfast in the restaurant that had been especially set by for this early meal, but she did feel more light-hearted than she had for a long time, for over a month to be exact…

  'My God.' Christopher paused next to the table she shared with Liza and a couple of technicians
on his way out of the room. 'Get back to make-up as soon as you've drunk your coffee; you're supposed to looked ravaged by grief, not already ill!'

  If looks could kill her 'director-genius' would have dropped to the floor at that moment! 'I haven't been to make-up yet,' she muttered as they became the cynosure of curious eyes.

  Christopher squinted down at her. 'You mean you always look this awful in the mornings?'

  Her teeth grated together as the rudeness of his statement brought several titters of amusement from adjoining tables. Her head went back in challenge. 'I didn't sleep very well last night,' she snapped.

  'I don't wish to know about your sleeping arrangements,' he said disgustedly. 'God, I hope you have the stamina for this!'

  Christopher might be the most brilliant director in England today, might even command respect from the glittering world of Hollywood, but as far as Merlyn was concerned he drew a zero for tact and good manners, their conversation being listened to avidly by every person in the room now, including those who were trying to pretend otherwise.

  'I have the stamina to cope with everything you throw at me,' she bit out furiously.

  He looked at her scathingly. 'I wish I had your confidence,' came his parting shot.

  'You—'

  'Calm down, Merlyn,' Liza's hand on her arm stopped her from following Christopher as he smiled and talked pleasantly to several of the minor actors on his way out. 'You have to give him credit,' she said ruefully as Merlyn slowly subsided into her seat. 'Even when you know it's coming it's impossible not to retaliate.' She shook her head.

  'Know what's coming?' Merlyn returned distractedly, heated colour still burning her cheeks at Christopher's public humiliation of her.

  'You mean you didn't know?' Her friend looked astounded.

  She gave an irritated frown, that small bubble of euphoria that had accompanied her after leaving Rand's arms completely burst. 'Know what?' she prompted with impatience.

  Liza chuckled softly. 'The thing to remember here, Merlyn, is "know thy director",' she misquoted. 'It's like this,' she patiently explained as Merlyn still looked blank—and disgruntled. 'Christopher Drake is the sort of director who believes that the emotions of love or hate between him and his leading lady enhance both of their performances, his from behind the cameras, hers in front of them, and you've assured me he isn't the reason you look as if you haven't slept all night—'

  'He isn't!' Colour once again darkened her cheeks, and not because of anger this time.

  '—then it was obvious he was going to pick an argument with you this morning,' Liza continued lightly. 'Any argument—'

  'Not to me!' Merlyn glared after him resentfully.

  'I can see that now,' Liza sympathised. 'I wish I'd known earlier, I could have warned you.'

  'Warned me that he's a sadistic, bad-tempered—'

  'Brilliant director,' Liza finished wryly. 'You'll see, you'll go out there today and act your socks off just to "show him"! There's a method in his madness.' Her friend laughed softly. 'I've seen him in action before.'

  'He'll see me in action if he tries to humiliate me that way again,' Merlyn muttered, her embarrassment still paramount even though the two technicians had now left their table and the conversation seemed to be flowing smoothly in the room again.

  'Hey, it's nothing personal,' Liza dismissed lightly. 'Shelley Graham threatened to scratch his eyes out when we were all filming together.'

  'I'm surprised she didn't walk out if he treated her that way.' Merlyn knew the well-known actress's temperament as well as anyone else who had ever heard of her; fiery was a mild description!

  Liza gave her a sideways glance. 'She solved the problem another way.'

  'I don't see how—That's intimidation!' she gasped as she realised exactly what that 'other way' had been.

  'Shelley didn't look as if she minded too much,' her friend laughed at her outraged expression. 'In fact, I think that bad beginning added spice to their relationship.'

  'Well, it isn't going to work on me,' Merlyn told her firmly. 'I do not want Christopher Drake as my lover.'

  'Because of Heathcliff?' Liza asked with interest.

  'Rochester,' she corrected dryly.

  'Whatever,' her friend teased. 'In that case I should watch yourself around Christopher, away from the cameras he may be a pussycat—'

  'I've never found him in the least like a pussycat,' Merlyn scorned the description.

  Liza grinned. 'I didn't say he didn't have a few claws even then—'

  'A few!' she scoffed, pushing away her empty coffee-cup.

  Her friend laughed. 'You haven't seen anything until you've seen him in action behind the cameras.' She shook her head. 'He's earnt every foul name he's ever had thrown at him!'

  Merlyn soon learnt that—to her cost. Christopher was like a Jekyll and Hyde character, and Hyde took over behind the camera!

  He was a perfectionist to the point of faultless-ness, their first four attempts at filming her anguished acceptance that she was actually ill declared by him to 'look like a cow in labour', 'like she had just lost her favourite puppy', 'like some-one had stolen her ice-cream', and the final humiliation, 'like she had just been told her lover was a married man'!

  Merlyn stood up in outrage. 'Now just a damned minute—'

  'That's it!' Christopher cried excitedly from a neighbouring boat where he was supervising the scene. 'If you stood up just like that and gazed up at the sky, as if challenging the elements themselves. Brilliant, Merlyn.' His eyes glowed his pleasure. 'Absolutely brilliant!'

  Maybe other actresses in the past had been grateful to accept these crumbs of praise after the most callous of insults from him, but Merlyn had been ridiculed and sitting out in the middle of this lake with the wind ripping into her for over two hours now, and she wasn't about to thank the man for putting her through that! She was cold, and miserable, and she hated Christopher Drake, she decided.

  'Christopher, I think—'

  'I know, and it's fantastic,' he cut in enthusiastically, looking up at the cloud-filled sky. 'Now if we can just wait for that black cloud there,' he pointed it out to the cameraman, 'to get behind her as she stands up, it will be perfect.'

  Merlyn's protestations at his insulting behaviour were lost as he excitedly issued new instructions to the rest of the people involved.

  She was furious with him, intended telling him so as soon as she got off this lake; she might lose all control and actually attempt to drown him if she tried to tell him now.

  Twenty minutes later she was still sitting in the small row-boat waiting for the black cloud to be in the exact position Christopher wanted. Now she knew why she had stuck to theatre work the last few years; there you didn't have to wait for the position of a cloud as your cue.

  It was late afternoon when Christopher declared himself satisfied with a take that would probably only use up thirty seconds of the actual film, the light too bad by then for any more filming today.

  Merlyn was grateful for the blanket that was wrapped about her shoulders once she got to shore, cupping her frozen hands about the coffee-cup that was thrust into them.

  'You were wonderful, Merlyn.' Christopher put his arm about her shoulders.

  She turned to glare up at him. 'And you were a bastard!'

  He chuckled. 'All the best directors are,' he mocked without rancour.

  'Yes.' She ruefully acknowledged that he had finally wrung a performance out of her that she was sure would require every member of the audience to reach for their handkerchieves.

  'You go take a shower and warm up and then we can meet for dinner later,' he suggested lightly.

  Dinner. She was having dinner with Rand this evening. Christopher had demanded such intensity of feeling from her today that she hadn't even had time to think about the man she loved.

  She couldn't quite meet Christopher's gaze. 'I can't,' she excused. 'I—I have other plans.'

  'Hillier?' he challenged. 'I told you I don't approve o
f relationships between my leading man and lady.'

  'Only between you and your leading lady, hm?' she scorned.

  'Someone's been talking,' he drawled.

  'Not soon enough,' she bit out. 'I like you, Christopher, and I think you're the best director there is in the country today, but I won't put up with your insults again the way I've had to today.'

  'You won't?' His eyes were icy.

  'No,' she declared, not in the least cowed by his cold arrogance. 'It may work with other actresses but not with me. I don't want an affair with you but neither do I want to feel the lash of your tongue every day. You didn't get where you are today by stereotyping the people you work with.'

  He frowned at the rebuke, the chill fading from his eyes. 'And you react better to gentler handling,' he guessed. 'Okay, I'm sorry about today, it was force of habit. I'll try not to be so hard on you tomorrow.'

  She wasn't so sure he could keep to that promise, but she felt better for making her feelings about his behaviour today known. 'Here.' She thrust what was left of her coffee into his hands. 'And I'm not seeing Mark Hillier later.' She grimaced at the idea. 'Give me credit for better taste than that!'

  Christopher laughed softly. 'I've never been able to work out what it is that turns us all into neurotics once filming starts. Individually we're all capable and talented people—I wouldn't have anything less on my film crew!' he added with his usual arrogance. 'And yet once we start to work and the adrenalin begins to flow the most unlikely relationships occur!'

  'Nothing is more unlikely than Mark and me,' she assured him with distaste. 'Now, why don't you go and find one of those "talented" women and get them to tell you how wonderful you are. With one word of advice,' she added dryly. 'I wouldn't bother with Liza; she was the one who told me what a swine you are!'

  'Really?' He turned to seek out Liza as she talked animatedly with one of the cameramen as he packed away for the day, his eyes gleaming with sudden interest. 'She's quite beautiful, isn't she,' he mused slowly.