by Carol Gregor
'Oh!' Frankie felt caught off-balance, entirely wrong-footed. 'I'd love it—but shouldn't you be resting?'
'I'm fine now, as long as I take it slowly for a few days. But too much inactivity isn't good for me, especially here and now.' He shot her a glance. 'Despite what you think, pretending is very hard work. My thoughts keep straying off in unwelcome directions.'
'Then you'll be glad I'm going. It'll make life a lot easier—for both of us!'
There was a pause. Then he said coldly, 'I dare say it will. It certainly couldn't be any more difficult.'
He dropped her in the centre of town and told her to meet him in two hours.
'Where can I find a travel agent?'
'Wait till I've finished. Then I'll sort things out for you. I know the best people.'
She shot him a doubtful look, but he only glanced at her harshly.
'Don't worry, I mean it. I want an end to all this every bit as much as you do—if not more!'
Frankie slammed the door of the Land Rover, and wandered around Mombasa in a daze. Under any other circumstances she would have loved walking the streets of the heat-soaked town, watching the Arab dhows, with their carved prows, ride at anchor, and seeing the baskets of ripe mangoes offered for sale on the pavements. But she felt exhausted and irritated, and the sailors who jostled along the narrow streets and wolf-whistled at her slender, tanned figure only heightened her mood.
She was glad when it was five o'clock and she could make her way to the wide terraced bar of the St George's Hotel and wait for Cal.
She looked around. On all sides other women sat alone at tables, toying with their drinks, but it was clear that in this bustling port they were waiting not for friends, but for customers. She was grinning grimly to herself, thinking how shocked her aunt would be to see her in such company, when a youth with a pronounced Liverpool accent began to pull back a chair next to hers.
'Mind if I join you?'
'Actually I'm waiting for someone.'
He didn't seem to hear. 'My name's Shane. We're on manoeuvres here. What do you think of Mombasa, then?'
She guessed from his shiny, wet eyes that he'd spent his shore-leave drinking his way through the town.
'I think it's lovely. I'd think it was even better if I could enjoy my drink in peace.'
' 'S nice meeting an English girl. The other ones. . .' He nodded his head around the bar. 'You can't talk to them properly. They only want your wallet.'
'How interesting.' She made her voice as brittle as ice. It was lost on her drunken companion. He grinned wolfishly at her. 'What's your name, then?'
'Jane, Shane,' she said coldly, and swivelled away from him, longing for Cal to come.
Cal.
For a moment or two she had forgotten him, but her heart leapt up knowing she would see him again soon. Even two hours away from him seemed like a lifetime. What on earth would a real lifetime be like? How would she ever bear it? But Shane had finally got the message, and didn't like it one bit.
'Here, you toffee-nosed bitch!' His hand grabbed her arm, dragging her round to face him. As she did, she caught sight of Cal from the corner of her eye. He was standing darkly on the terrace steps, a packet of photographs under his arm, his face set, his eyes glittering with a depth of anger she had never seen before. She took him in like the frozen frame from a film, and the image of his palpable fury made her mouth go dry. Surely he didn't think she was encouraging this lout!
'No one turns their back on Shane Hutton.'
'On the contrary, buster, it's probably the most sensible thing anyone can do!'
Before she realised what was happening, Cal's hand was on the back of Shane's neck, lifting him like a toy and hustling him to the steps. 'Off you go, back to playing sailors,' he said, and threw him roughly on his way. Cheers and laughter erupted from the other drinkers, but he ignored them, grabbing her wrist as roughly as he had handled Shane Hutton.
'Come on. Out.'
'What the hell are you doing? Let me go!'
He pulled her through the maze of tables, thrust her into the Land Rover, jumped in, and revved the engine.
'How dare you --?'
He ignored her, threading through the afternoon rush-hour as if demons were after them.
'What about getting my ticket?'
'To hell with your ticket!'
She shot him a furious glance, but it was no competition for the raging fury on his face.
'You surely didn't think I was encouraging him?'
'I don't know what I think! What I do know is that the town's ten times rougher than it used to be. It's no place for a girl to be on her own.'
'You're crazy! I was perfectly all right.'
He did seem crazy. He was driving at the limits of safety, cursing at the traffic that slowed their pace. He snapped her a brief, grey look. 'Who knows? Maybe I am!' he bit out, then looked back at the busy road. 'But I hardly think now is the right moment to discuss something as serious as my sanity!'
'Oh!' She slumped back in exasperation, rubbing her wrist where he had hurt her, and watched the scenery speed by until they were free of the town again and turning into the drive of the beach-house.
She got down, walked round to the veranda, and slumped on to the warm wooden steps without a word. Anger and confusion raged like a tide within her. She heard Cal go into the house and throw his photographs carelessly on a table. Then he was behind her, propping himself up in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest. She couldn't see him, but she could feel him, his vibrations as strong as a touch against her skin.
'Aren't you going to ask me about your pictures?' he said, in an infuriatingly normal voice. 'You can see them if you want.'
'No.'
'Well, I'll tell you anyway. They were sensational. Absolutely amazing for an amateur. You've got a natural eye.'
She hugged her knees, not saying anything.
'John, my friend, said the same.'
Still she could not speak. Her anger with him swamped out all other feelings.
'The ones you took of the tourists in the game park were the most original. They gave a whole new angle to the usual African wildlife pictures. Shall I tell you what I did?'
He waited, then, when he saw that she was still not going to speak, he said, 'I printed up the best and sent them off to Doug MacArthur, the pictures editor of the Sunday Globe, to see what he thinks. I'm sure he'll want to run them.'
'Did you?'
'Well, I can see you're so thrilled you can hardly contain yourself.'
Frankie looked ahead of her. The tropical darkness was falling heavily, and to her heightened nerves the whirr of the cicadas and the thick warmth seemed as full of portent as a gathering storm. Then she looked back. He was a dark shadow in the doorway.
'What do you want me to do? Bow down and kiss your feet with gratitude?'
'A bit of simple enthusiasm might be nice. I was so excited when I saw what you'd come up with, I wanted to find you and drag you over there to see for yourself.'
'But instead you dragged me off that hotel terrace, in front of all those people, like some wild Tarzan act --' She rubbed at her wrist. 'I don't know what got into you.' There was a silence. 'And I don't suppose you'll explain either, because you never do,' she burst out bitterly. 'You just go your own way, do exactly what you want to do, and to hell what anyone else thinks or feels. Well, I'm sick of it, absolutely sick of it! I've had enough. I want to get out. I wanted to get out this afternoon, but no, suddenly I'm driven back here on some peculiar whim of yours! I tell you, if you go on like this --'
'Yes, Frankie?' Cal's voice twisted coldly. 'Do go on.'
She shook her head blindly.
'You want to save me from myself?'
The acid tone touched such a raw spot in her jangling nerves that she was suddenly on her feet and shouting like a mad woman. 'No! No, I don't. I wouldn't bother. I think you enjoy it too much—being the dark stranger, the hardened loner, the man who's seen it all. But you
know what?'
'No, no, I don't. Why don't you tell me?' His voice had grown still colder, full of ice and steel, as hers heated with rage. There was something in it, a razor's edge of danger, that told her she should stop, but she didn't, she couldn't.
'I think you've seen everything and nothing! You think you know so much about life, yet you know nothing! You don't let anything touch you! You don't feel anything! You don't love anything!'
With one stride he was in front of her, his face glowing with anger. 'Is that what you think? Well, that's very interesting! Now shall I tell you what I think? What I think is that I've had about as much as I can take from you, Frankie O'Shea! I'm sick of your home-spun philosophies, your endless moralising, the way you're always so certain you know best. I might not know much about life, but you know nothing at all! For a start, you've no idea what it's taken for me to keep my hands off you these last few weeks! Now I'm beginning to wonder why I bothered --'
'Nobody asked you to!'
'Haven't you ever done anything unasked?'
'Oh, you like to pretend you're so noble and good, but it's really only self-preservation. You'll take any amount of physical risks—wars and floods and fires don't scare you one bit—but you're absolutely petrified of any emotional risk!'
'You presume to know me so well!' His voice ripped over her.
'I do!' Her eyes blazed at his. 'Don't ask me how, or why, I just know I do. Just as you know me. We always have, right from the beginning! Right from that very first day! We might not like what we know, but we know it just the same!'
They were standing close together, breathing hard like runners in a race. She saw his face, harsh and unforgiving. Then his hands were gripping her shoulders as his eyes stripped over her open, angry face. 'The only thing I know about you,' he whispered intently, 'is that you're driving me half out of my senses! One minute all I want to do is to slap some sense into you. The next, I see your hair, your eyes, that devastating smile, and I can't think of anything beyond how much I want to hold you and kiss you and make love to you until I can't think straight any more!' He shook her in frustration, pushing her back against the post of the veranda. 'Why the hell did it have to be like this?'
'I don't know. I didn't want it any more than you did! I only wanted to go to Africa! I didn't mean to be such a millstone round your neck!'
'A millstone. Oh, God, is that what you think?'
'It's not what I think. It's what you told me.'
'Then I didn't know what I was saying!' His eyes tore over her lips, her breasts, her bare brown arms. 'Or maybe I did. Maybe I knew exactly what I was saying, if a millstone is something they tie you to, to drown you.' His lips parted as he looked at hers, and she saw the dangerous whiteness of his teeth. 'I've been drowning in you ever since I met you,' he got out, and as he did she saw something deep within him shift and change, as if a floodgate had opened, and his passion, so long held back, finally swamped all restraint. 'Or at least my reason has,' he groaned, and then his lips were coming down on hers, hard and seeking, taking her as if he could not get enough of her sweetness.
'Oh!' She moaned at the feelings he touched instantly in her, and staggered against him as her legs started to shake.
He shifted to hold her more firmly, then kissed her harder, opening her mouth and taking its softness with his tongue. It was like no kiss she had ever known, but deeper and more urgently full of possibilities and desire than she could have dreamt of.
He broke from her, his chest heaving slightly, but his lips still found her throat and neck.
'Oh, the smell of you, the touch. . .' His hands roamed her shoulders. 'You're so soft, so beautiful. I've lain awake at night, aching for you.'
'And I for you! More than you can imagine.'
Restlessly his lips touched her hair, and she reached her hands up to his shoulders and drew his mouth back to hers.
She felt no shame, no false modesty as she let him see how much she longed to mould her body to his. His hands stroked her shoulders and arms, then over all the curves of her body. Impatiently he began to shrug off her T-shirt and shorts, and she moved to help his expert fingers.
'Let me look at you,' he commanded, and held her away from him. She felt his eyes lingering over the swells and curves of her figure, and was proud in the knowledge that he was the first man to see her like this.
'God forgive me,' he murmured, pulling her close to him, 'but I've undressed you so often in my mind --'
He bent his head and kissed the curves of her breasts, taking each in turn with his mouth. She caressed the thickness of his hair as his head bent to her, and felt desire arrow through her so sharply that she could hardly bear it.
'Please --' she heard herself say, and then she was tearing at his shirt, pushing it away so that the rasping hair of his chest met her naked breasts, and he was kissing her again and taking the inside of her lips with his teeth in urgent response to her own headlong impatience.
She ran her hand down his side, feeling his flesh Arm and warm and slicked with perspiration in the hot night. Then her hand was at his belt, tugging it loose, and making him groan.
'Come.' He pulled her over to the mattress, and quickly divested himself of his clothes. When he took her in his arms again he was naked, and for a moment she felt a tremor of fear at her youth and inexperience. She had seen him naked, but not like this, aroused and ready with desire, and, although she longed to touch him, she was uncertain as well. He lifted his lips from hers and looked into her eyes.
'Frankie?'
'I've never done this before.'
'I know.' He took her hand and kissed her fingers, his breath rasping. 'Even now, we don't have to—not if you don't want.'
'I couldn't bear not to. I want you so much. But I'm scared—of disappointing you.'
He read her eyes, then took her hand in his and led her to the heart of his desire. 'There.' He shuddered out the word as her slender hand touched him and knew him. 'Is that what you were frightened of?'
'Not now,' she murmured, marvelling at the firmness which moved in thrusting response to her touch. This was the core of the man who was her lover.
But he stopped her with a tight hand on her wrist and covered her body with his, urgently stroking her breasts and her soft inner thighs until she groaned and reached for him, aching for him to fill her and complete her.
Then he did, and it was like nothing she had ever known before, but a passionate union as they moved together, under the stars, with the sea heedlessly washing the shore below them, and she felt the wonderful symmetry of giving love and receiving it, and whirling astonishment at how far; away were the far reaches of desire, where there was no man and woman, no good and bad, no day or night, but just a throbbing, longing, mounting need that possessed her utterly.
'Oh!' She cried out, just as he convulsed against her and she felt his heart hammering in his chest, and an exploding sensation ripped through her and left her shaking.
She opened her eyes, shocked at the violence of her response, and he kissed her instantly, and held her hard and close.
'Don't be startled.'
'I'm not.' It was true. After-waves of delight were washing her body. 'I just didn't know it would be so --' She stopped, seeking the right word.
Cal ran a sensuous hand down her body from breast to thigh. 'So what? So sudden? It isn't always, but we've been in a hothouse together for so long, it couldn't have been any other way --'
She looked at him, her lover, lying against her, and pulled a small face.
'You know so much more about it than me.'
'I'm thirty-two. It would be unnatural if it were otherwise.'
'I know, but I'm jealous of your other women.'
'There isn't anyone else now,' he said firmly. 'Right here and now you're the only woman in the universe I want to be with, and to hold in my arms.' He kissed her deeply. 'And the way I feel now, I could make love to you over and over until morning --'
Luxuriously she kisse
d him back, inhaling the smell of his skin, and letting her hand caress the muscled strength of him.
'Good, because that's all I want,' she breathed. 'I don't want anything else in the whole world.'
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dawn was showing palely over the sea before they finally slept, their limbs tangled together in sated abandon. When Frankie woke the sun was hot on her skin, and Cal was smoothing her side with a feather-light caress.
'You are perfect,' he marvelled. 'Completely flawless.' His hand stroked one shoulder and cupped her breast. 'How do you manage to be, so slender, yet to have such wonderful curves, both at the same time?'
Her body stirred for him. She was still awash with the sensations of their night of love, wanting more. She elbowed herself up and looked down at him, her hair brushing across his face. She felt she could feast her eyes for hours on the way his brown, muscled flesh was put together. Her eyes glowed at the sight of him, her lover, the man she loved, and she bent her head to brush her lips to his in a long, dragging kiss.
Cal groaned and reached up for her.
'What on earth did they teach you at that convent of yours?'
She smiled. 'Certainly nothing like this,' she replied primly, moving closer. 'It was mainly geography and etiquette.'
He lay back, and she delighted in touching and stroking his body until he shuddered in delight. She felt wanton and free, in love with every atom of him.
'Oh ‑' He exhaled a ragged sigh as she leaned forward and let her teeth tease the sensitive lobe of his ear. 'Then you must be a very quick learner.'
'I had a first-class teacher,' she breathed against his neck, 'and my motivation was excellent. . .'
She ran her hands luxuriously over his chest, glinting a wicked glance at him as she felt his flesh stir more urgently against her.
'Please, Frankie!'
'Please, Frankie, yes? Or please, Frankie, no?'
She felt drunk with delight at the pleasure they found in each other, and moved sinuously against him until he took her hips and, lifting her over him, joined her body to his once more.