by Penny Jordan
‘I’m sorry, Richard…’
‘Don’t be. And don’t apologise. Truthfully, my dear, you look lovely. It’s just that I’m more used to seeing you in rather more mundane outfits. I didn’t realise you knew the Sunderlands.’
‘Neil and Mamie are the closest thing I have to a family. Neil and my father were at school together. I must admit, though, that I didn’t realise you knew them.’
‘I don’t—not really. Caroline and Mamie have become great friends though, both of them being newcomers into the area, so to speak. I came in here to escape the hustle for a while. Parties aren’t really my cup of tea.’
But he would never deny Caroline the pleasure of attending them, Susannah thought enviously. He was too kind, too considerate to spoil his wife’s pleasure. If only David could have been more like Richard… She sighed faintly, and instantly Richard frowned in concern.
‘Is something wrong? I must admit I’ve been worrying about you lately. It isn’t this change of editor business that’s worrying you, is it? There’s no need, I promise you. I’ve given Hazard a glowing report on you, and one that you well deserve. He’s not an easy man to get along with, I admit, but he’s a very fair one.’
‘It…it isn’t work.’
She could have bitten her tongue out for letting the admission escape, and the instant she looked into Richard’s face, she guessed that he had already known.
‘Romance troubles, eh?’ he asked sympathetically. ‘Poor Susannah! Would it help to talk about things?’
Susannah shook her head, appalled by the sudden rush of weak tears flooding her eyes and clogging her throat. What on earth was the matter with her? Aunt Emily had brought her up to keep her emotions strictly under control, and here she was, behaving like…
‘Come on, now! It can’t be as bad as all that.’
The comforting arm Richard put round her shoulders was the last straw. To her utter chagrin, she found herself bursting into tears.
‘Come on, now. Whoever he is, he isn’t worth getting into this state over. There are always other fish in the sea, Susannah. Besides, you’ve got a good career ahead of you…’
As she listened to Richard’s soothing voice, she fought to get herself back under control. He was so kind, so gentle, and she felt the worst kind of fool for crying all over him like this.
‘Come on,’ he coaxed gruffly, ‘it will be all right. You’ll see.’
As she lifted her head from his shoulder, Susannah thought she saw someone walk past the open study door. Suddenly conscious of the fact that anyone could walk in and see them, she pulled away from him, mustering a weak smile.
‘I’m being a complete idiot, and you’re quite right. He isn’t worth crying over.’
‘That’s OK, what else are ex-bosses for?’
‘I’d better go upstairs and do something about my face.’
As she turned to leave him, Richard caught hold of her arm and said soberly, ‘It’s a very good face, you know, Susannah. Even more important, there’s a very good brain behind it. Whoever he is, he just isn’t worth what you’re putting yourself through.’
With another watery smile, she left him and hurried up to her room. Apart from a suspicious pinkness round her eyes, she didn’t look too bad, but, as she discovered when she attempted to reapply the small amount of make-up she normally used, it took rather more eye-shadow and mascara than usual to conceal the evidence of her tears. She wasn’t quite sure if she liked the very heavy-lashed effect produced by the extra mascara; it gave her an unfamiliar, almost sultry look.
Shrugging aside the thought, she hurried back downstairs. She was here as Neil and Mamie’s guest, and she mustn’t spoil their party by letting them worry about her.
As luck would have it, Mamie was walking across the hall just as Susannah went back downstairs. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘Fine. I didn’t realise you knew Richard, my ex-boss…’
‘Richard? Oh yes, of course, Caroline’s husband. Heavens, what a coincidence! I really had no idea…’
Having successfully distracted her, Susannah made her escape, pleading thirst.
In point of fact, there was nothing she felt less like doing than drinking champagne and chatting with people who were, in the main, strangers. She wanted to go home and be alone to nurse her hurts, she acknowledged painfully. But what was the point? David wasn’t worth her tears, or her anguish. Savagely, she told herself over and over again, almost as though she was repeating a powerful spell, that she was better off without him, that it was David’s wife who was to be pitied. She had been lonely and David had seen that loneliness and played on it, gradually drawing her deeper and deeper into a relationship which he had known all along was wrong.
Once inside the marquee, she headed for a quiet corner, close to one of the ornate floral decorations. Here she could see without being seen, and with luck escape Mamie’s alert eyes.
If she admitted the truth, she was still suffering from the after-effects of that appalling interview with Louise, David’s wife. The extent to which the other woman had had to degrade herself hurt Susannah; ridiculously, she felt both shame and resentment for Louise on behalf of their shared sex. She didn’t love David any more; how could she? She had deluded herself as to his real personality; the man she had thought she loved had been an ideal, an adolescent’s dream. The reality was the reason for her anguish and shame, she acknowledged, raw with the newness of her emotions. Her hand shook a little, and in a fit of self-disgust she took a deep swallow of her champagne. It tasted tart and sour, like her whole life, she derided herself bitterly, impulsively tipping what was left in her glass into a convenient plant-pot.
It was only as she turned round that she realised that she had been observed. Not by anyone she knew. The man watching her with such compelling eyes was a complete stranger.
His evening clothes had quite obviously been tailored for him; they fitted far too well to have been bought off the peg.
At some time or another in his life he must have indulged in some sort of punishingly physical sport, she guessed, noting the width of his shoulders and the leanness of his torso. He was tanned, not a summer holiday tan, but the tan of someone who had spent long, long hours in the sun. His hair was black and very thick. It was also a shade too long, she noted disapprovingly, its length rather at odds with the sophisticated elegance of his evening-dress clothes. Surely a man whose clothes fitted as well as this one’s did could afford to have a decent hair-cut? Her forehead creased in a slight frown, her reporter’s mind, trained to notice even the smallest anomalies, registered the oddly discordant note of the length of that thick dark hair and queried it. Was it simply that he preferred it that length and didn’t give a damn about what the rest of the world thought? Was it…
Abruptly, she realised that she was staring at him, and that, worse, he was regarding her with a look of insolent knowingness that made her blood burn in a dark red tide of betrayal over her body.
As clearly as though he had spoken the words across the space that divided them, she sensed his sexual appraisal. It was the dress, of course, she realised bitterly. That was why he was looking at her as though she were some sort of commodity for sale. And yet, behind the arrogant contempt, she had glimpsed, if only for a second, something more dangerous: something male and predatory that made her skin tingle and her body quiver. Sexual chemistry at its most potent. And, ridiculously, she had had the distinct impression that he had been as startled by it as she had herself in those few seconds of mental awareness they had exchanged before he had recovered himself and guarded his expression from her.
It was the dress. It had to be the dress. She just did not have that sort of effect on men, especially not on men as blatantly masculine as that one. Everything about him had shrieked that he was a man used to having his own way. It had all been there, in the narrowed, assessing scrutiny of his eyes, and that hard, chiselled outline of his profile. He was about Simon’s age, early
thirties or thereabouts, and he looked as though he had lived every one of those years to the full.
He was no David, she thought ironically.
Annoyed with herself, she clenched her hands. It didn’t matter who he was, she wasn’t interested. The last thing she wanted was to get herself involved with another man, especially one who thought she was the sort of woman portrayed by the dress she was wearing.
‘What’s the matter? Wasn’t the champagne an acceptable vintage?’
The derisory sting of his voice shocked her into a frozen pose of surprise. Where had he come from? He must have moved so quickly and quietly. Instinctively, she looked across the room to where he had been and heard him give a soft, satisfied laugh.
‘Quite acceptable, thank you,’ she told him dismissively, hiding her shock.
Close to, Susannah realised she had been right about that sun. It had burned tiny lines either side of his eyes. Pale grey eyes, she noticed, rimmed by a much darker edge. It took a tremendous effort of will-power to drag her own gaze away from them.
Her whole body suddenly felt weak and vulnerable. She started to move away, her voice cool and dismissive. She wasn’t some cheap pick-up, whatever conclusions he had drawn about her from her outfit, and if he didn’t take her hint and take himself off right away he would soon discover his mistake.
A tiny shock thrilled through her as she discovered how much she was relishing the pleasure of putting him down. What was happening to her? What sort of woman was she turning into? She had seen at first hand how hard and embittered some of her older female colleagues had become, and she didn’t want to end up like that. They were so cynical and worldly; time and humankind had destroyed all their illusions and hardened them so that they were incapable of having any real feelings. She couldn’t live like that.
‘What’s a beautiful woman like you doing all alone, I wonder?’
The banality of his words enflamed her. Surely she was worthy of something a little better than that? And then, appallingly, her pain-bruised mind registered the word alone, and she could feel the lump gather treacherously in her throat. Oh, God, she couldn’t cry now! Not in front of this man.
To punish herself, as much as to get rid of him, she said bitterly, ‘If I’m on my own, it’s by my own choice, and if you would please…’
‘Your choice?’ She flinched beneath the derision in his voice. ‘Are you sure that’s the truth? Wouldn’t it be more honest of you to admit that you’re on your own because your lover is with his wife?’
How on earth had he known? Was her guilt written in her eyes for everyone to see? Susannah wanted to cower back from him and hide her face, but pride kept her standing where she was. She wasn’t prepared for this. She would never be prepared for it. She remembered how sick she had been after Louise had gone, and she felt a return of that nausea now.
She made to push past him and he caught hold of her, his voice rasping as he derided acidly, ‘Running away? What’s wrong? Can’t you face up to the truth? Can’t you admit that you haven’t got the guts to find your own man; that you prefer to steal someone else’s?’
Susannah looked round in panic. Couldn’t someone see what was happening? She almost expected him to lift her off her feet and to shake her like a terrier with a rat. Her breath was locked in her throat, her heart thumping in rapid, shallow strokes.
‘How innocent you look. Like a child cowering in fear of the dark. But you aren’t innocent, are you?’
She wanted to deny it, to demand by what right he spoke to her like this. But to her horror she heard herself saying weakly instead, ‘How did you know? How…’
And then, frighteningly, the room went dark all around her and started to sway. Noise rode over her in waves, like echoes from a sea shell. She just had time to realise, in horror, that she was actually fainting, before everything went black.
* * *
When Susannah came round, she was lying on the chesterfield in Neil’s study.
The door was closed. Susannah struggled to sit up, and gasped as she felt the top of her dress fall away. As she clutched it to her in frantic embarrassment, she saw someone move.
Her heart chopped as she watched her antagonist detach himself from the shadows and come towards her.
‘Mamie—’ she demanded weakly.
‘We don’t want to spoil her party, do we? Besides, you’re all right now. That’s quite an art,’ he added callously, ‘fainting to order. Got you out of more than one tight situation, no doubt.’
How dared he? How dared he imply that she… Oh, it really was too much! She sat up again, forgetting her dress until it was too late, and the fierce burning heat of his gaze grazed over her naked breasts.
She made a small choking sound in her throat, a mixture of embarrassment and fear, her hands instinctively moving protectively to conceal her body.
As his fingers caught her wrists, she winced in shocked pain, but despite all her efforts she was unable to stop him from pushing her hands down.
He was closer to her now. She could feel his breath against her forehead. His fingers were hard, and yet curiously warm against her wrists. His thumb stroked across her racing pulse.
‘You should have been an actress. So much manufactured emotion! And why? You can’t really expect me to believe I’m the first man to see you like this.’
His derision taunted her. Even she could feel the unsteady racing of her pulse beneath his touch. What was he trying to do to her?
An awful, untenable thought shook her, and as though he had read her mind his face hardened.
‘You don’t really think I’d degrade myself by committing rape? Oh, come on.’ His mouth twisted, his eyes derisive.
‘Why did you bring me in here?’ She was breathing shallowly, as though her body wanted to conserve what was left of its weak strength. ‘My dress…’
‘You fainted, and I unzipped the back of your dress…so that you could breathe unhindered.’
His unspoken statement on the extreme tightness of her dress infuriated her. She tried to pull herself away from him.
‘Yes, well…but I’m all right now and, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get dressed.’
‘Oh, but I do mind.’
Susannah stared at him.
‘Oh, come on! Don’t pretend to be surprised. You must be used to the way men react to the sight of your body by now. What do you think is so different about me that would stop me from enjoying the view? Or are you frightened your lover might walk in and discover us?’
Her lover?
Confused, she stared at him. She had experienced so many unfamiliar emotions in such a short space of time, she scarcely knew what she thought any more.
‘I… He won’t,’ she told him absently.
The way he was looking at her was having the oddest effect on her senses. It was almost as though he were in some way hypnotising her. His fingers still touched her wrists, but their touch now was a persuasive caress that made her skin tingle and her breath catch. It was all so unfamiliar to her. David had never had time for such light, teasing loveplay.
Loveplay! Horrified, she pulled away, and his hand accidentally brushed against her breast. The quiver of sensation that shot through her at that touch terrified her.
‘I must go.’
She said it like a sleep-walker, struggling to sit up, her eyes fixed on the door, and the reality that lay beyond it. Here, in this room, she seemed to have strayed into an unknown dimension. Who was this man? What was she doing with him?
She made to get up, but he caught hold of her, his hands hard against her narrow bare ribcage.
‘No,’ he denied harshly and, as her heart leapt in terror, he repeated the denial more softly, his head bending towards her. She felt his breath feather against her skin, caught the clean scent of it and then shuddered, caught up in a mindless complexity of emotions as his hands moved to cup her breasts, his weight bearing her backwards into the chesterfield, his fingers fanning out possessively against
her paler flesh as his mouth whispered against hers.
‘No, I’m not letting you go yet. I rescued you, remember? And now I’m claiming my reward.’
Rescued her? From what? A faint that he himself had induced? Round and round in crazy circles spun her mind, faster and faster, until she was unable to catch hold of anything stable and real. Beneath his mouth her own softened, unable to withstand the skilled precision of its movements. She felt his tongue caressing her too vulnerable flesh; heard herself moan deeply in her throat as her body, denied fulfilment of its femininity in her relationship with David, accepted and welcomed the maleness of him. Her mouth opened, her head bending back beneath the force of his kiss. He made a sound against her lips, masculine and savage in its arousal. His body moved against her own, hard and…
Shock coursed through her. What on earth was she doing? She wrenched her mouth from his, but he ignored her attempt to break free, his lips moving unhurriedly along the slope of her shoulder and down towards her breast. She arched her back, frantic to get away from him, and then every muscle in her body stilled as his lips captured the taut pinnacle of her nipple and drew on it so fiercely and sweetly that every single one of her senses became fixated on what she was experiencing.
Such physical pleasure! Why had she never known it had existed? David’s hurried fumbling attempts to caress her between quarrels had in no way prepared her for this. She was drowning in delight and loving it.
She must have made some sound, because abruptly he released her, his mouth moving arousingly against her moist skin as he muttered, ‘You liked that? Do you want more?’
And before she could speak he was drawing her back into his mouth, sucking on her with a slow and erotic deliberation that made her forget everything but the necessity of ensuring that such pleasure never stopped.
‘I want you. You know that, don’t you?’
The savage words cut through the intensity of her dazed pleasure. She looked up at him. His lashes were so dark and thick. She wanted to reach out and touch him. His skin was flushed, and slightly damp. She could feel the heat burning along his cheekbones as he pressed his face against her skin. He did want her. She exulted in the knowledge.