by Penny Jordan
‘Tired?’ It was the nearest thing to concern she had ever heard in Ben’s voice and she had to blink fiercely against weak tears.
‘A little,’ she agreed. ‘I suppose I’m still suffering from jet-lag.’
‘No filming tomorrow, you’ll be able to get some rest. It’s Sunday,’ Ben reminded her dryly, seeing her surprised expression. ‘The rest of the cast and crew would probably lynch me if I suggested anything else!’
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘MORE coffee? Waffles?’
Sighing her satisfaction, Sarah shook her head. She had never imagined it would be possible for her to feel so lazy. It was eleven o’clock, and she was only just having her breakfast. The sun glinted invitingly on the pool beyond the patio, and yet, she acknowledged, if she did swim, it would probably be in the ocean. She smiled at her own absurdity. She had never totally got over the childhood feeling that no holiday was complete without sea and sand, and since today was virtually a holiday, and she had both on her doorstep, so to speak, she felt almost duty bound to take advantage of them. She sipped her coffee, frowning as she noticed the naked look of her left hand. She had woken a couple of times during the night missing the weight of her wedding ring, or was what she had been missing the totally foolish but now admitted feeling she had always had, that as long as she had worn Ben’s ring they were still linked?
‘You going sunbathing?’ Margarita enquired when she came out to clear the table, glancing speculatively at Sarah’s pale skin.
Sarah shook her head. ‘I don’t tan,’ she told her with a smile, ‘but I probably will go down to the beach and swim. Is the water safe?’
‘Sure, but why not use the pool?’ Margarita queried.
‘Oh, no reason.’ Somehow Sarah felt reluctant to explain her childish desire to swim in the sea; perhaps walk along the sand dodging the waves and investigate any hopeful-looking rock pools. As a child, how she had hoped against hope to see a fish! She had always been attracted by water, she acknowledged, drawn to it in a way she suspected most children were. And why not? The human body was largely comprised of it; the oceans of the world still possessed an aura of mystery, and terrifying power, the elemental ebb and flow of their tide echoing the beat of human life.
‘Have you seen… my husband?’ Sarah ventured, wondering if Ben had gone out.
Margarita shrugged. ‘Sure. He had his breakfast about seven and then he disappeared into his study. I wouldn’t disturb him if I were you. He’s probably writing.’
Writing? Guessing that Margarita meant that Ben was working, and still not sure enough of the sometimes confusing American usage of familiar English words, Sarah thanked her for her breakfast and went back to her room to change out of her skirt and blouse into a bikini, taking care to smother her skin in sunscreen and let it sink in before she pulled a towelling all-in-one shorts-suit over it. If she did swim she would have to be careful not to lie too long on the beach afterwards. The salt water would undoubtedly wash away the protective barrier of the cream and she had no desire to burn. As she picked up her towel her eyes were caught by the sun-hat Ben had bought her in Spain. Her fingers trembling, she picked it up. Was she really so badly affected that merely to touch something he had given her made her like this, her stomach churning and her body weak with need?
The beach on closer inspection proved even more delightful than she had supposed. The ocean had originally formed it by wearing away the softer rock and now the small beach was protected by two arms of harder granite stretching out into the Pacific ensuring strict privacy. As she had walked down through the close-planted shrubs and flowers, their varying scents had been wafted to her, the heat-laden air redolent with their mingled perfumes, bees humming lazily and clumsily from plant to plant.
On the shore the sea had receded, leaving a band of pristine wet sand, and Sarah walked along it, turning to view her own footprints, wondering angrily at the sense of desolation and loneliness that suddenly swept her, catching her breath on a gasp as she saw the silver sparkle of sea spray, and the upward curve of an arm, followed by the dark shape of Ben’s head, his hair wetly plastered to his skull, the powerful crawl that propelled him through the water revealing the tautly brown skin of his back and shoulder, reminding her of her suspicion that he sunbathed nude. He had seen her, and was treading water as he found his depth, wading strongly ashore, her eyes riveted to his body, watching the play of muscles beneath his skin, the taut power of his shoulders as he lifted his hands to push back his hair and wipe the moisture from his face. He was watching her too, and suddenly she started to tremble, helplessly transfixed as he came on. His body was beautifully proportioned, not distorted with over-developed muscles, his skin gleaming beneath the hot caress of the sun, the salt water following the arrowing course of the newly slicked body hair disappearing into the water which lapped just below his navel.
Like someone trapped in a dream Sarah watched him come on, emerging from the water like some mythical god, or so it seemed to her bemused brain, her eyes following his progress, noting the tautly sleek and tanned skin which sheathed his muscles and the total difference of his male shape when compared mentally to hers, his obvious indifference to his nudity.
Suddenly the dream spell broke, the pounding of the surf echoed by the heavy thud of her own heart; panic; a primeval sense of fear, and a desperate need to escape the intimacy of the secluded cove ran through her body like fire, disregarding the sharp sound of her name on Ben’s lips she started to run, blindly, not knowing why she was running or where, propelled by some nameless instinct; some frisson of awareness triggered off by the sight of Ben. She could hear him behind her; she could almost feel the heat of his breath against her skin, but still she ran, her feet entangled in the gritty silk of the sand, the impact of Ben’s arms reaching out to imprison her, driving out her gasped breath, her body falling helplessly on to the sand, taking Ben’s with it, only his quick twist saving her from taking his full weight, her body jarred nevertheless by the suddenness of her fall.
‘Why did you run?’
Ben’s voice seemed to reach her from far away, her whole body trembling with nervous reaction. Her lips felt dry, and she licked them, tasting the salt, feeling the hectic pound of her heart, trying to move surreptitiously away, feeling Ben’s fingers bite into her waist as she did.
She started to struggle, impelled to do so as much by her own treacherous need as by the desire she could see glinting from Ben’s eyes, darkening as he resisted her struggles, pinning her to the sand beneath him and securing her there with the weight of his thigh, his chest barely moving while her breath was coming in short jerky gasps, her eyes dilating in sudden shock at the intimate contact of his body. His thigh was roughened by dark hairs, rubbing harshly against the softness of her as she arched desperately to try and throw him off, their eyes locked in a bitter duel, until her sudden desperate movement drew his to the upward thrust of her breasts in their thin covering of cotton. Both of them went still. Sarah could almost feel the insidious beat of her own pulses, her stillness that of the captured, Ben’s that of the captor, each infused with subtle innuendo.
It was possible for a man and woman to know of their attraction for one another without so much as a word, if one knew how to read their body signals, or so Sarah had read, and she wondered if Ben could read in hers, all that she was trying so desperately to hide. She should never have run from him, because to do so had surely incited the desire she could feel beating up alongside his anger. It was there in the burning fixity of his glance as it rested on her breasts; in the taut power of his thigh pressing her into the sand. He shifted slightly, balancing himself as he reached deftly behind her, unsnapping the plastic fastening of her bikini top, the sudden shift in his weight revealing his arousal and desire, not a word spoken as he rolled over, taking her with him, her body imprisoned against his, her bikini top sliding away as he tugged it until her nipples brushed against his chest, their involuntary response increasing his arousal, his hands
moving down her body, following the line of her spine, the rounded curves of her bottom, holding her until every inch of her was aware of his desire, kissing her, sliding the hot potency of his mouth along her skin, teasing and tormenting, until she was ready to give him anything, if only he would appease the throbbing ache consuming her.
When his fingers tugged at the tiny bows securing her bikini briefs she was far beyond any rational protest. The brief scrap of cotton had long since become an intolerable barrier between them, and when he tugged it, muttering his pleasure into her throat, her body shivered violently in response.
‘It feels so good,’ he muttered thickly, ‘to have all of you against me.’ Sarah felt him moving, rolling her down on to her side, her eyes opening to the emerald brilliance of his as he held her a little away from him, studying the pale silk of her skin, now dusted with sand, starting at her toes, which curled protestingly into the sand under his intimate exploration, then moving upwards until her body quivered helplessly beneath a rising tide of desire. He touched his lips to her breasts, first one and then the other, as though unable to resist bestowing the brief caress, his throat beaded with perspiration, the skin tightening on a convulsive swallow as he lifted his head and slid his hands into her hair, his lips just touching hers and then lifting, returning time and time again in the briefly unsatisfying kisses that had her aching for so much more, her head moving protestingly from side to side each time her mouth was tormented, her fingers catching in the black silk of his hair as restraint was abandoned and she clung to him, murmuring her protest against his skin, exulting in the fierce tension of his body as her hands touched it, his mouth opening over hers with hotly demanding urgency. Spiralling waves of pleasure thudded through her, culminating in a desire so intense it seemed impossible to endure. Every time he touched her she wanted him more, and now her body wasn’t prepared to be denied any more.
When he released her mouth Ben was breathing as hard as if he had been running, his chest rising and falling with the effort of it, his head tipped back, and his eyes closed, his hands sliding possessively to cover her breasts, his body shuddering as his thumbs investigated their aroused fullness, his touch making her arch hungrily against him, her hands moving down to his waist, impelled by her aching urgency to move lower until he tensed and muttered, pushing her back on the sand, his hands exploring every inch of her, knowing just how and where to stroke and caress her, slowly driving her far beyond the point where she was conscious of anything other than his mastery of her body and his knowledge of all its secrets. Her fingertips grazed the tender skin of his stomach, making him shudder wrenchingly, holding her off so that she could see the dully hectic colour reddening his cheek bones, and the febrile glitter of his eyes, his whole body tense as she touched her lips to the skin so recently explored by her fingers, her insides turning weak with molten delight at the discovery of his own vulnerability; the hoarse cry he wasn’t quite able to suppress as her lips moved lower; the biting strength in the arms that suddenly gripped and lifted her. Her body clenched in fierce pleasure as his mouth dropped to her breasts, exploring the deep cleft between them, until with a thick exclamation his fingers curved possessively around their swollen fullness, his lips moving provocatively from one to the other until his body was hard and thrusting against her, and he was holding her so tightly that she could feel the erotic drag of his teeth against her skin, their breathing mutually laboured and uneven.
The shrill sound that cut across it stiffened Sarah into stunned shock. Dimly she was aware of Ben swearing as he rolled away, his voice thick and unsteady as he told her, ‘Telephone, and if I don’t go and answer it soon, someone’s going to come down here looking for me, and there’s no way I want anyone else to see you looking like that.’ His eyes skimmed the shape of her body, watching the delicate flush of colour staining her skin as Sarah became aware of her betraying arousal, and then to her surprise Ben reached for her and kissed her hard although unsatisfyingly on the mouth. ‘That’s just to remind you that we’ve got unfinished business for later.’ He stood up, reaching for her towel, saying with a grin, ‘I’m not particularly prudish, but I don’t think it would be wise to bump into Margarita in my present state!’ and laughed as she coloured richly and started scrambling into her own clothes.
By the time she was dressed he was already at the top of the steps. She made no haste to hurry after him. If he had a phone call there was not much point, and as she made her way slowly up the steps, her body still languorous with pleasure, she shivered in anticipation of the promise implicit in his last words. Did they mean he had forgiven her? Or simply that his desire for her was so great that it overruled everything else?
‘It was Gina inviting us over,’ Ben told her, coming out on to the patio as she crossed it. ‘She’s having a barbecue, and little though I want to go I feel on this occasion it might be… politic…’
Because he resented what might happen if they remained alone? Did that mean he was already regretting his words on the beach? Since she didn’t feel able to ask him, Sarah simply inclined her head, hoping her voice sounded indifferently steady as she said evenly, ‘In that case I’d better go and get changed. What sort of thing ought I to wear?’
‘Ordinarily I’d say jeans and a tee-shirt, but knowing Gina she’ll be doing things in style—probably with Pucci silks!’
They weren’t something Sarah possessed, but she did have some silk trousers with a matching jacket, in a pale cream. She had bought them in a sale, getting them because they were such a small size, and had been lucky enough to buy with them a cream camisole top embroidered in rich pinks and lilacs. The suit looked good on her, she knew, her hair floating on her shoulders, her feet bare in strappy kid sandals, her make-up deliberately brief, knowing that she would find it next to impossible to keep it on in the heat. As a precaution she picked up her bikini and rolled it up in a towelling robe. There might be swimming, and if there was she didn’t want to be obliged to borrow anything of Gina’s, so instinctive and deeply felt was her dislike of the other woman.
Ben’s silent appreciation when she descended the stairs brought faint colour to her skin, and her chin lifted warily, until she realised he was smiling.
‘I’ve just realised how often you do that,’ he commented thoughtfully, watching her with narrowed eyes. ‘Every time you feel threatened in the slightest way, your chin lifts.’
‘Perhaps because someone once told me you should take all life’s blows on it,’ Sarah joked, wishing he was less perceptive. She wasn’t ready yet to have him know every last intimate thing about her, able to judge her moods and feelings. Today he had unbent towards her, but she wasn’t sure how long that would last; or in indeed he really meant it. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe that simply because a man desired her it meant happy ever after, but at least it was a step in the right direction, a more optimistic inner voice crowed. And they were married. Who knew what the future might hold?
She spent the drive to Gina’s indulging in the most satisfying of daydreams, her mouth curved in a softly tender smile, unaware of the looks Ben darted her when his attention wasn’t on the road.
‘Here we are.’ She came down to earth with a bump as he turned the car into Gina’s drive. Unlike Ben’s house Gina’s wasn’t secluded, but one of many along what was all the same a most exclusive and elegant road.
A crowd of people, including some faces she recognised, were gathered round the pool, the majority of the women dressed as Ben had predicted in expensive couture play-clothes. Accepting a drink from one of the waiters, Sarah studied her surroundings. They were everything she had imagined Hollywood to be—and dreaded—expensive, soulless and somehow a fitting background for a woman like Gina. But it would never suit her; she wanted a home; not necessarily as large as Ben’s, but a home nevertheless where she could bring up a family. A giant hand squeezed her heart. Children. Ben’s children—God, how she ached to bear them! The primitiveness of her own response amazed her. She had al
ways known that she liked children, but never that she would feel this earthy sensual need to have her body ripen with a man’s seed, his child growing within her.
‘Ah, darling, there you are.’ Sarah was ignored as Gina swept Ben up into the crowd surrounding her. Not wanting to seem clinging, she turned back to study the view, wondering if Gina shared the house with her lover, or owned it in her own right.
‘Sarah!’ She hadn’t heard Dale approach and she didn’t smile. ‘You’re angry.’ His voice held wry self-remorse. ‘I suppose I deserve it. Look, could you try and forget what I said at the studio? My only excuse is that I’m off my head with jealousy. I always did envy Ben you, but never as much as I do now. Will you forgive me, Sarah?’
She didn’t want to, but to do so was easier than prolonging the interview. ‘We ought to talk,’ he added softly, grasping her hand. ‘Come on, we’ll go inside.’ She couldn’t release his grip of her fingers and short of making a scene there was little she could do. He seemed to know exactly where he was going, although Sarah was dismayed to be dragged into a ground floor bedroom, its windows open to the pool area.
‘Sweetling, I’m so sorry.’ Dale’s voice was huskily urgent. ‘Can’t we kiss and make up?’ His hands grasping her upper arms, his mouth probing the unyielding line of hers as Sarah fought silently against his kiss, angry enough to want to tear herself out of his arms, but unwilling to provoke a further scene by doing so.
‘Oh, darling, I’m sure you can’t have seen them come in here. It’s a bedroom!’
Sarah froze in panic as she heard Gina’s voice outside, her footsteps accompanied by a heavier masculine tread. The door was pushed open, her scream of fright silenced as Dale thrust her down on the bed, and turned quickly, his face expressing the full gamut of guilt and defiance as he stared upwards towards Ben.
Sarah wanted to cover her eyes, to die quickly and painlessly, but the look in Ben’s eyes promised that she would do neither. She sat up, words of explanation tumbling from her lips, but Dale beat her to it, perfidious, jealous Dale who was even now holding out a shiny gold ring, his voice sorrowful, belying the mocking cruelty in his eyes as he handed it to her. ‘You’d better take this, sweetling. You left it in my shower.’