'You don't have to leave. Can't we just pretend that we've not seen each other and both enjoy the party?'
'No, I'm afraid we can't. There's no way I can pretend I haven't seen you. I'm too aware of you, and I think you are too aware of me also.'
His voice was soft and deep, and Martha felt her pulse leap then race in a strangely erratic manner. She glanced down, twisting the soft folds of her dress between her nervous fingers.
'I'm right, aren't I?' he asked gently.
She nodded, knowing it was the truth. There was no way she could pretend he wasn't there, could stay at the party and not be aware of him every single second. He knew it, and so did she.
He held his hand out, palm upwards, towards her. 'Then do you think we can call another truce, just for tonight, and pretend that we've only just met and found we like each other's company?'
'Can we?' she whispered, her eyes huge in her pale face.
'Yes—yes, I think we can, Martha, if we both want to. I'm willing to try, but are you?'
She hesitated, her eyes tracing over his face, every nerve in her body sending out warning signals. He was a ruthless womaniser, a gigolo, who knew every trick in the book, plus a few not even written, about playing on a woman's emotions. She would be a fool to agree, yet all the warnings seemed to be falling on deaf ears.
She walked forwards, sliding her fingers slowly into his, feeling the hard warmth of his hand with a tingling surge of awareness.
'Yes, I'm willing, Quinn, just for tonight.'
He smiled at her, his face gentle. 'Just for tonight, then, Martha.'
The words sounded like a promise.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The band was playing a slow waltz, and Martha sighed, her body swaying gently to the dreamy rhythm.
'Tired?'
The low-voiced question rumbled close to her ear, and she turned her head, a soft smile curving her lips.
'Just a little, but pleasantly so.'
'It's been a lovely evening, hasn't it?' Quinn asked quietly, his grey eyes staring deep into hers.
'Yes, lovely,' she echoed, and turned her face away before he could read too much in her expression.
He pulled her closer, his arms crossed low round her back, easing her against the hard strength of his tall body, and Martha gave herself up to the sheer pleasure of resting against him and let herself drift in time with the music. They had danced nearly every dance throughout the night, from the fast, up-beat tempos which had brought a flush of colour to her face and surge of excitement to her blood, to this slow and utterly sensuous waltz. Deep down she knew she should really set some distance between them, should move away from the disturbing feel of his body brushing against hers, but she just couldn't. A strange languor seemed to have invaded her body, making her content to stay where she was in his arms.
With a final flourish the music ended and couples started to walk from the floor. The crowd was thinning out as guests left the party, and Martha knew that the time had come for her to make a move also. She pulled herself free of the arms which were still holding her, and stared up into Quinn's handsome face, her green eyes holding a trace of sorrow she couldn't quite hide.
'I suppose I'd better be going home now. It's very late, and I have work in the morning.'
As though to reinforce her claim, a clock chimed, sweetly proclaiming midnight, and Quinn smiled, his face teasing.
'Twelve o'clock, is it, Cinders? Afraid your coach is going to turn back into a pumpkin?'
Martha laughed, leading the way across the ballroom, aware of the warm pressure of his fingers at her waist.
'Well, I don't know about a pumpkin, but my little Metro won't be too pleased about being left standing out in the cold, I can tell you. She's very temperamental about icy weather.'
'How about letting me drive you home?' he asked, drawing her to a halt in a quiet corner of the room. 'I don't like the idea of you driving alone at this time of the night.'
He caught her hands and Martha glanced down at their linked fingers, overwhelmed with a desire to agree just to prolong the evening. It had been so wonderful, better than any night she could remember, and she didn't want it to end, but it had to.
'No, there's no need, really. I'll be perfectly all right. I'm well used to looking after myself.'
She was unaware of the faintly wistful note which crept into her voice, but the man standing quietly watching her wasn't. He reached out and ran a long finger down her cheek, brushing the velvety softness of her skin in a light touch which trickled fiery sensation through her body.
'I'm sure you are, Martha, but I'd feel much better knowing you were home safely.'
The touch of his hand against her skin was making her breathless, and for a second Martha could only stand and stare at him, her eyes reflecting her inner turmoil.
'I . . .' She got no further as he leant forwards, bending his golden head to press his mouth gently to the parted softness of hers.
'No arguing. Just indulge me in this, sweetheart, please.'
His voice was deep, his grey eyes soft as velvet, and Martha couldn't find the strength to argue. She nodded, then turned quickly away, feeling her heart racing. She was playing with fire, she knew, because tonight, during the hours they'd danced and talked, she had finally accepted something she'd been fighting almost from the beginning: that, despite everything, she was attracted to Quinn Maxwell. The knowledge terrified her.
A maid fetched Martha's coat, then they joined the queue of departing guests to say their goodbyes to their host. Aristo took her hands, then kissed her on both cheeks, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief as they moved from her to Quinn, standing beside her.
'So, my little Martha, the evening has been a success, yes?'
Martha blushed a hot, rosy pink as she grasped his meaning, and Quinn chuckled wickedly as he noted her reaction. She shot him a quelling look before replying as calmly as she could manage. 'It's been a lovely party, Aristo. Thank you. I've really enjoyed it.'
'And I have enjoyed having you here. You must come again, and bring Quinn with you.'
'We'll hold you to that, Aristo,' Quinn said, shaking the smaller man's hand. 'Thank you.'
They left, moving from the warmth of the hall into the frosty chill of the night. It was snowing, big, soft, fat flakes, and Martha shivered as they settled on her heated skin. She pulled the collar of her coat around her throat, turning automatically towards her car.
'This way. I'm parked over here.' He caught her arm to guide her across the snow-slick drive, but Martha hung back, filled with a sudden fear. Inside it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to agree to let him take her home, but now, with the cold chill of the night making her come to her senses, she was no longer certain. If she let him drive her home, then what would happen next? Would he ask to come in to her flat, and would she let him? Suddenly a writhing snakepit of worries opened before her and she was no longer certain that it was a good idea. In her present, highly vulnerable state, could she rely on herself to behave sensibly?
'What's the matter?'
He was watching her, his eyes faintly puzzled, his face shadowed, and Martha took a deep breath, feeling the ache of loss spear through her body. It was the right decision she was about to make, the most sensible, logical and rational one, yet so difficult.
'I've changed my mind,' she said quietly. 'It seems ridiculous to take you out of your way when I already have my own car here.'
'Cold feet, Martha?' he asked, a knowing note to his voice. Martha thanked heaven for the fact the night's darkness hid her heightened colour.
'Not at all. It's just common sense, that's all.' She laughed, a false, over-bright trill of sound. 'After all, what's the point in you driving me home if I have to come back here in the morning to collect my car? No, this way is far more sensible.'
'And do you really want to be sensible?'
His voice was soft, sheer seduction, and she swallowed hard, knowing that being sensible was the very
last thing she wanted to be at that moment! She nodded, not quite meeting his eyes. He laughed, a low, teasing little laugh, which flowed through her like warm wine through water.
'Oh, Martha, what a little liar you are, but it's your decision and I'm not going to try and sway you from it.'
'You're not?' Her voice was high-pitched, her eyes startled that he should give in without a struggle.
'No. You wouldn't thank me for it, and I don't want there to be any more animosity between us than there is already. Our time will come, Martha, and waiting will only make it all the sweeter.'
He reached out, catching hold of her collar, and pulled her towards him, his eyes dark as they stared into hers. Martha knew he was going to kiss her, she could read it in his eyes, but there was no thought of resisting in her mind. He drew her closer and she closed her eyes, waiting for the touch of his lips on hers, her whole body clenched in expectation.
The kiss was gentle at first, a bare brush of his lips against hers, a teasing, tormenting whisper of sensation, and she moved, turning her mouth more fully up to his, needing to feel the full power of his kiss. With a low groan he let go of her collar, his arms going round her body to crush her against him so that she could feel the heavy, urgent pounding of his heart against her breast.
She raised her arms, linking her hands behind his head, her fingers sliding into the smooth, cool hair at his nape, while she drew his mouth down harder on to hers. His lips moved over hers, nibbling and biting at their softness, inviting them to part so that he could deepen the kiss, and Martha gasped as she felt the sensuous velvet softness of his tongue stroke against hers. Trickles of fiery sensation were racing through her body, pounding through her veins like molten lava, making her ache with longing for him; ache with longing for more than just a kiss.
Snowflakes fell on their faces, melted on their skin, chilling their flesh, yet neither felt them, too caught up in the fire and passion of the kiss. Then gently he eased his mouth away, trailing a river of kisses up from the corner of her mouth to the soft, dark curls at her temple, and Martha shuddered, unable to hide her reaction to this assault on her senses. Her heart was pounding, beating almost as hard and as fast as his, yet she felt no embarrassment at letting him know how she was feeling. The kiss had been too right, too perfect, to ever feel ashamed.
'All right?'
The whispered question slowly brought her back to an awareness of the fact that they were standing right in the middle of the driveway. She pulled away, running a shaking hand over her ruffled, snow-dampened curls.
'I must go,' she said, her voice shaky with emotion. He nodded, his eyes unfathomable as they studied her face. She held her hand out towards him in a strangely formal little gesture.
'Thank you for a lovely evening, Quinn. I'm glad we decided to put our differences aside for these few hours.'
'So am I, Martha. So am I.' He took her outstretched hand and turned it over, pressing his lips to the warm flesh of her palm before closing her fingers gently over the spot. 'Take care, won't you?'
She nodded, suddenly too overcome to speak, and hurried to her car. She unlocked the door and slid inside, pausing as she went to fasten her seat-belt, realising that her fingers were still curled round her palm as though holding on to that last gentle kiss. She laughed softly, wryly, and started the engine, wondering if she would ever want to wash her hand again.
She drove carefully back to her flat, keeping her eyes fixed on the road, aware that only part of her was concentrating on what she was doing. The rest of her was still caught up in the magical wonder of the evening. She quelled an impulse to close her eyes and feel again the pressure of his body against hers, hear again the deep softness of his voice, feel again the burning power of his lips. It might be madness and utter folly, but Quinn had fired her blood like no man had ever done before . . . not even Paul.
The sudden realisation shocked her so much that she cried out in dismay, overwhelmed with guilt that she could think such a thing. Paul had been her husband and she had loved him, still loved him. How could she think that another man's kisses had stirred her more than his?
Tears sprang to her eyes and she brushed them away, but they kept coming. It was as though the dam she'd built inside her when Paul died had suddenly shattered, and all the pent-up emotions had started to flow. A sob rose to her throat and she clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle the outburst. Her vision was blurring with tears and she closed her eyes to blink them away. When she opened them again she went cold with terror.
Lights were coming towards her, headlights, on the wrong side of the road, racing straight at her. She screamed and wrenched on the wheel, pulling the car sharply over to the side. The tyres hit a patch of ice and she felt the car slew, then start to spin in a slow half-circle as the wheels lost the last of their purchase on the slippery surface. She grasped the wheel, her knuckles white as she tried to drive into the skid and correct it, but it was hopeless.
There was a sickening, grating sound of metal scraping against metal which seemed to last forever, and she was flung forwards, her body jolting painfully against the confining grip of the seat-belt, before the car rolled over and she fell sideways, hitting her head against the door. Pain raced through her temple, a fierce explosion of pain so great that Martha cried out. Lights flashed before her eyes, brilliant, dazzling colours which seemed to blind her, then slowly, mercifully, darkness started to fall.
As though from a great distance, she could hear someone calling her name, his voice filled with fear, but there was no way she could fight the drugging pull of the darkness and answer.
The hospital emergency room was crowded. The recent snowfall on top of the icy conditions had taken its toll, and while Martha had been sitting there three other road traffic accidents had been brought in. She'd been lucky: all she seemed to have suffered were a few minor cuts, a host of bruises and a throbbing headache. Yet, seated on the hard plastic chair, her body racked with lingering shivers of shock, it was difficult to be grateful. She huddled deeper into her coat, clamping her teeth together to stop them chattering, feeling sick.
'Here, put this round you.'
Quinn stood up and took off his dinner-jacket, ignoring her feeble murmur of protest that he would catch cold. He draped it round her shoulders, pulling it tight under her chin, then gathered her into his arms.
'Shh, sweetheart. It's all right. It's going to be fine now.'
'I want to go home.'
Her voice was shaking, thick with pent-up tears, and a grimace crossed his face as he heard it. He raised his hand, gently smoothing the matted curls away from her face, his eyes strangely tender as they looked down into hers.
'You can, Martha. Just as soon as you've seen the doctor. Now, just try and calm down. It's all over. I'm here with you.'
There was a strange note to his voice, a slight tremble which surprised her. Had he been frightened that she'd been really hurt in the accident? If she'd felt better, she would have questioned him about it, but for now it seemed to demand too much effort. She snuggled closer into his arms, feeling the warmth from his body ease into her limbs and chase away the edges of the chill. She still didn't understand how he'd come to be at the scene of the accident; she would have to ask him later. For now it was enough to know that he was here, holding her and making her feel safe once more. She closed her eyes, breathing in the spicy smell of his warm skin, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart under her cheek.
'Martha Clark.'
A nurse called her name and Martha stood up rather shakily, handing the jacket back to Quinn before following her into a curtained alcove. She slipped off her sandals and, coat as she was instructed and lay down on the bed, feeling her head start to spin at the change in position. The curtains rattled as the doctor came in, and she summoned up a faint smile for him.
'Well, Miss Clark, how do you feel?'
While he was talking he checked her over, his hands moving impersonally over her body, searching fo
r damage.
'Not too bad, considering,' she answered. 'Just a bit shaken.'
'I don't doubt it. How about your head? Have you a headache, double vision, flashing lights?'
He ran through a list of questions, opening her eyelids wide to check her pupils and feeling round the base of her neck and at her temples for any signs of swelling. When he had finished he helped her upright, smiling sympathetically as she groaned.
'It seems you've been lucky. Not much more than a few Technicolour bruises which should provide a talking point for some weeks to come.'
'And the other driver?' she asked, remembering the glare of oncoming headlights with a sickening surge of memory. 'How is he?'
The doctor's face tightened, a grim look in his eyes.
'Fine. The fact that he was drunk probably saved him. He was so relaxed, he must have rolled with the impact.'
'I see. Well, it seems it could have been worse all round, then.'
'A lot worse. Let's hope the police throw the book at him to make sure he doesn't do it again. Next time everyone mightn't be so lucky. Now, I think I'll let you go home, as long as there's someone to take care of you. I would have preferred to keep you in for observation overnight, in case of concussion, but as you can see we're all but bursting at the seams. I doubt if I could find a bed for you.'
Martha slid into her coat, groaning as she stretched her stiffening muscles.
'That's quite all right, Doctor. I understand. I'd prefer to go home, really.'
The doctor swept the curtain aside and they walked out of the cubicle together.
'Well, as long as you're sure there will be someone there who can keep an eye on you. You shouldn't be alone tonight, Miss Clark, just to be on the safe side.'
'Don't worry, Doctor. I'll stay with her.'
Startled, Martha swung round towards Quinn Maxwell, her eyes widening.
'Oh, but. . .'
Tender Pursuit Page 11