Then the man's eyes narrowed. 'What are you doing here, anyway?'
Bianca bristled, annoyed at the suspicious tone. 'I live here,' she snapped. Then she recalled the night of the party and her own suspicions. 'What are you doing here?'
He cocked his head to one side and gave her a cool look. 'I live here, too.' The dark head nodded briefly towards the house next door.
'I thought you were supposed to be in Japan,' she said warily.
'The owners are in Japan. They're friends of mine and are letting me use the house while they're away.'
The smiling, friendly manner was gone. He seemed almost hostile now, his voice curt, his face grim. Suddenly, without another word, he turned on his heel and started walking away from her, tugging at the leash so that the reluctant dog was forced to follow him.
After that, Bianca saw the strange man almost every day on the beach, and although they would nod briefly at each other in passing, they never spoke. He always had Barney with him, securely leashed now, and whenever the dog saw Bianca he would strain eagerly towards her. so that the man had to restrain him forcibly and pull him along.
Although she would have enjoyed making friends with the beautiful dog, Bianca was satisfied with the arrangement the way it was. Not only had she come to the beach to get away from people, but there was something disturbing about the man that warned her to keep him at a distance. His abrupt change of mood that day on the beach, from friendly amusement to almost hostile suspicion, puzzled her. She would have guessed from his manner that day that he was as reclusive as she was, except for the loud party that had awakened her that night.
One evening, a few weeks after the strange encounter on the beach, she took out her violin from the black case. After tuning it carefully at the piano, she tentatively played a few scales and arpeggios. Her fingers felt stiff and cramped as she tried to recapture some of her old technique, and she realised she'd better start practising in earnest or she'd lose her skill altogether.
It rained steadily for several days after that, and Bianca stayed inside practising in the afternoons now instead of walking. In a week her fingers had loosened considerably and she was almost able to play up to her old standard. Still, it was discouraging. She knew she was nowhere near ready to play professionally. She kept doggedly at it, however, comforting herself with the thought that at least she was heading in the right direction. When she was ready to tackle more difficult music, she would call Tom Schiffren for some of the coaching he had promised her. Perhaps he would know of a chamber music group that needed a violinist.
One evening, when she had just finished playing a difficult Pagannini etude, full of trills and double-bowing, there came a light rapping on the glass door to the verandah. Startled, she set the violin and bow down carefully on a chair and went to the door. It was pitch dark outside, and she had drawn the curtains shut.
'Who is it?' she called.'
'It's the dog-lover from next door,' came the cheerful reply.
Bianca hesitated. She had been so involved in her music lately that she had forgotten about him. What did he want? She switched on the outdoor light and pulled the curtains open. He was standing on the other side of the glass door, his hands in his trouser pockets and a friendly grin on his face. She unlocked the door and slid it open.
'What is it?' she asked.
'Can I come in?' When she hesitated, he raised his hands in the air. 'I'm harmless. Honest.'
Reluctantly, she slid the door open a little wider and stood aside to let him in. Although she wasn't really interested in his opinion of her, she was annoyed that he had caught her looking the way she did, with her hair tousled, an old pair of jeans and a baggy sweater on, and not a trace of makeup.
He stepped inside and slid the door shut behind him, then turned to face her. She stood by the window, her arms crossed in front of her, waiting impatiently for him to tell her what he wanted and leave. She didn't want to be rude, but something about him disturbed her, and she didn't at all like being here alone in the house with him at night. Who was he? She knew nothing about him.
He gave her a brief, slightly mocking look and sauntered casually into the living room. She stood and watched him with growing anger. He had a very self-confident walk, and Bianca found his whole proprietary air extremely annoying. He stopped now, facing away from her, his hands on his hips, legs apart, gazing around the room until his eyes lit on the violin.
He turned his head. 'Was that you playing?'
She took a step towards him, frowning. 'Yes, it was. Listen, was there something you wanted? I'm rather busy.'
He raised his heavy dark eyebrows, cocked his head to one side and gave her a disarming grin.
'Are you trying to get rid of me?' His tone was mocking and supremely confident.
She walked past him briskly and took up the violin to put it away. 'No. Of course not,' she said coolly, wrapping the instrument carefully in its red silk covering and placing it gently inside the black case. 'I'm just wondering why you're here.'
'I haven't seen you on the beach lately.'
'No. As I said, I've been busy.' She snapped the violin case shut and looked at him.
He shrugged. 'Just a neighbourly call. I was beginning to wonder if you were all right. My name is Gerry, by the way.' 'Gerry Richards. Spelled with a G.' He gave her an enquiring look.
'Bianca,' she said curtly. 'Bianca Jameson.'
He was silent for a moment, then, gazing at her coolly, appraisingly, he said at last, 'Listen, Bianca. I'm sorry if I was rude to you on the beach the other day.'
'Not at all,' she said politely.
'No, I mean it.' He was pacing around the room now, almost like a caged animal, his movements restless, as though he were looking for some clue to a puzzle. Bianca had the impression of immense contained energy in the way he moved and the flashing gleam in those almost black eyes. He unnerved her, and she wished again he would just go.
'Do you mind if I sit down?' he asked.
'Well, as a matter of fact…'
'Thanks,' he said, and sat down on the couch in front of the fireplace grinning up at her. 'So, Bianca, you're a musician.' He nodded affably towards the violin case. 'Are you any good?'
'Not very,' she said in a clipped tone.
He looked surprised. 'Really? You sounded great to me, although I admit I'm no judge.'
'No,' she bit out rudely, remembering the night of the party next door and the raucous blaring from the stereo. 'I don't imagine you are. I've heard your taste in music.'
He frowned then. 'Listen, I said I was sorry I was rude. Why the deep freeze? I'm just trying to be friendly.'
Bianca's rising anger began to spill over. Who did he think he was? Just the sight of him, sitting there as though he owned the place, infuriated her. Because he wanted company. Never mind what she wanted.
'You know, you've got a real nerve,' she said in a heated tone. 'First of all you wake me up with your wild parties, then you yell at me like I'm some delinquent boy, then you ignore me for two weeks, and now you come barging in here wanting to be neighbourly, for heaven's sake.' Her voice rose wildly, her grey eyes flashed, and she was trembling with indignation. 'Well, I don't. I came here to be by myself, and I'd appreciate it if…'
'Hey,' he broke in, jumping to his feet. 'Calm down.' He grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently. 'What brought that on?'
She glared up at him. He was still grinning. 'What does it take,' she cried, 'to convince you to just leave me alone?'
His dark eyes were half-closed now, the mocking smile faintly threatening. 'You know,' he said in a low tone, 'you're very attractive when you're angry. Not at all like a boy.' His fingers began to knead her shoulders. 'You could use a little more weight, though.' His eyes travelled insolently down her thin body under the ill-fitting sweater and back up to her naming face. He nodded. 'But tempting. I see you as a challenge.'
She opened her mouth to retort, but when she saw the look in his eyes, hungry, almost pred
atory, her anger began to turn to a distinct apprehension. She resented and detested him, but he gave off such an air of powerful masculinity that she felt suddenly helpless in his grasp.
In the silence of the room an almost palpable tension began to build up between them. They stood motionless, their eyes locked together, and Bianca had the odd sensation that they were the only two people in the universe at that moment.
She watched, frozen in place, as his head came slowly down towards her, his burning gaze never faltering, until finally, physically unable to move, she closed her eyes and felt his mouth settle firmly over hers. At the touch of his lips, an electric current shot through her, half pain, half pleasure, but totally undeniable.
The confident mouth was moving now, tugging gently at her lips, then opening slightly in a more demanding kiss. At the same time, he was pulling her towards him so that her slim body was pressed against his, and when his arms came around her back to hold her close, she drew in her breath sharply at the sudden contact with hard, masculine bone and muscle.
His large hands were travelling, up into her short dark hair, down her back, to her hips and back up to cup her face, but the firm pressure of his mobile mouth on hers never faltered.
Bianca was so stunned by this sudden assault on her senses that she couldn't think, couldn't move. Her head was whirling. The sweetness of his kiss, the feel of his warm strong hands on her face, the smell of his skin, were all so overwhelming to her that she could only stand there, helpless and pliable in his embrace.
Then, in a deft, practised movement, his hand glided lightly down over the front of her body, and before she knew what he was doing, the hand had reached up under her sweater and was firmly clasping her breast, covered only by a thin cotton shirt.
'And to think I thought you were a boy,' he murmured smoothly against her mouth as the hand moved to her other breast, moulding and stroking the hidden fullness with clever, experienced fingers.
At the sound of his voice, Bianca snapped back into reality. She placed her hands firmly on his broad chest and with all her strength gave a mighty shove.
'No!' she cried, grey eyes blazing.
The push was so sudden and so obviously unexpected that Gerry teetered backward, almost losing his balance.
'What the hell?' he muttered, gazing at her in bewilderment, and reaching out for her again.
She took two hurried steps backward, out of his reach, and stood there hugging her arms tightly across her chest, glaring at him, red-faced and panting.
'Get out of my house,' she spat at him.
He took a step towards her, and she reached out and grabbed a pewter vase from the table beside her. 'Come one step closer, and I'll bash your head in,' she threatened, raising the heavy vase in the air.
She watched warily as the expression on the handsome face turned from puzzlement to anger and finally, seeing she meant what she said, to sullen resentment.
'Okay, okay,' he muttered. 'Put that damn thing down.'
'Not until you're out of here and the door is locked behind you.' Her voice was firm.
He stared at her for a long time, the battle raging within him clearly visible on his expressive features, until finally his wide mouth quirked up in amusement. He stood chuckling to himself for a moment, then, to her amazement, threw his dark head back and broke into laughter.
Bianca didn't know what to do. In her heart, all along, she was certain he wasn't dangerous. She felt a little foolish now brandishing the vase, especially since she knew she could never bring herself to hit him with it. With as much dignity as she could muster, she set the vase back down on the table, folded her arms in front of her and stood waiting for his hilarity to subside.
Finally, he quit laughing and held his hands up in the air. 'Truce,' he said with a grin. 'I surrender.'
'It's not funny,' she mumbled. 'You had no right to come barging in here and attack me like that.'
His heavy black, eyebrows shot up. 'Attack you! For God's sake, it was only a kiss. And,' he added dryly, 'I wasn't doing it alone.'
She reddened deeply. 'Well, pawing, then.' She gave him a defiant look.
He shrugged good-naturedly. 'Okay,' he agreed. 'Pawing, if that's what you want to call it. Didn't you like it? I've never had complaints before.'
Bianca's eyes widened. 'Why, you insufferable, conceited, egotistical…' she spluttered.
He frowned. 'I'm not sure I like your choice of words.'
'Well, isn't that too bad?' she drawled. 'Look, you may actually be the answer to every maiden's prayer for all I know, but as long as we're going to be neighbours, I want to make one thing absolutely clear.' She paused, groping for words.
He stood waiting politely, his thumbs hooked in the waistband of his jeans, a mock serious look on his face. 'Yes,' he prompted. 'Go on.'
She turned away, furious at his teasing tone. 'You know what I mean. I don't want any involvement.'
'Physical involvement?' he suggested softly.
She looked straight at him. 'Any involvement. Period.'
'Why not?' He seemed serious. 'You're an attractive girl with all the right equipment in all the right places.' His dark eyes swept over her body. 'You enjoyed the kiss.'
'That's beside the point,' she retorted, flushing again. She lifted her chin. 'I'm a serious musician. I have a long way to go to become the kind of performer I want to be. I don't have time for— for—dalliance.'
He laughed again. 'Dalliance!' he repeated, spluttering. 'Where did you get a word like that?'
'You know what I mean,' she said evenly.
He stared at her for a long moment, then smiled crookedly at her. 'Sure,' he said. 'Of course I do. And I respect it. Really. I do. You're a professional. I could tell that from the way you played.'
The disarming smile caught at Bianca's heart for a second. What an attractive man, she thought, and knew that she would have to be on her guard against him, against her own weakness.
'Thank you,' she said primly.
He turned then and strode towards the back door. Watching him, Bianca thought she had never seen anyone move so gracefully. All his movements, gestures, mannerisms, expressions— everything about him, in fact—were perfect. Almost too perfect.
At the door, he turned and smiled briefly. 'We can be friends, though, can't we, Bianca? After all, we are neighbours.'
She nodded dumbly, but before she could reply, or voice her reservations, he was gone. She heard the sliding glass door swish shut behind him, the sound of his jaunty footsteps on the wooden verandah and stairs, and the room seemed suddenly empty, as though all the life had gone out of it.
Bianca walked slowly to the door and shot the bolt. Down below, on the beach, she could see Gerry's shadowy form walking back to the house next door. His shoulders were hunched over, his hands shoved into the pockets of his heavy jacket, his steps firm and unhurried.
She sighed and turned back to the quiet room. An unsettling experience, she thought, remembering his kiss, the way his mouth had felt on hers, the smooth hand on her breast, and the strong arms holding her close.
An unsettling man, she amended, as she turned out the lights and went slowly down the hall to her bedroom. A dangerous man. He was clever, she knew. He had handled the situation perfectly, with the practised skill of a man with absolute confidence in his ability to dominate a woman. He had played his roles to perfection, first the friendly next-door neighbour, then the gentle seducer, then the demanding lover, then the outraged male, the chagrined little boy, and finally the respectful, understanding friend.
Oh, he was good, all right, she thought, lying in the darkness and listening to the pounding surf through the open window. She tossed in the bed, wishing for the first time in her life that she'd had more experience with men. As a budding artist, she had been so sheltered from the realities of life, living like a nun in her single-minded dedication to music, her career.
What had gone wrong? Was it just the disturbing encounter with Gerry, or did it g
o deeper than that? She thought about her two sisters and wondered how they handled relations with men, but soon realised that there was no comparison. Norma was firmly entrenched in her singing career and Laura totally involved in her painting. She couldn't imagine either one of them allowing a man like Gerry to ruffle their composure in the slightest.
Was that the key? Was there some important connection between her response to Gerry tonight and her growing feeling of incompetence as an artist? But was it incompetence? Coming from a family of artists, Bianca knew that competence was not enough, that without the drive to excel, mere ability was a feeble support.
She lay there in bed staring at the ceiling. Skill could be learned, she thought, but drive had to come from within. In a sudden burst of clarity, she knew she had felt more alive in Gerry's arms than she ever had on the concert stage.
She smiled to herself as she recalled the devilishly attractive man's changes of mood. Oh, he was a scoundrel, all right, no doubt about it, and Bianca was certain he hadn't played all the cards in his deck as far as she was concerned.
What would be next? She tried to guess, but sleep overtook her before she got far. The last thought in her mind was that no matter what it was, she would be no match for him in any game he chose to play.
CHAPTER THREE
The morning sunshine streaming in through the bedroom window seemed to bring with it a resolution of Bianca's confusion next morning. She sat up in bed and stretched widely, a new sense of purpose filling her mind.
After breakfast, she sat down at the telephone and dialled Tom Schiffren's number. She was confident now that she understood the strange impact Gerry had had on her last night. He had come along just when she was feeling shaky about her own career. Somehow, predator that he was, he must have sensed her vulnerability, and instinctively leaped into the gap, certain she would fall into his arms.
Think again, Gerry, she muttered to herself as she listened to the buzzing of the telephone in her ear. I'm a musician, not a plaything for a man like you.
Malibu Music Page 3