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Malibu Music

Page 15

by Rosemary Hammond


  He pulled away from her. 'Are you okay now?' he asked in a gruff voice.

  She nodded and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. 'Yes,' she replied. 'Fine.' He still wasn't smiling. She backed away from him and tried to compose herself. 'I'm sorry I made such a spectacle of myself,' she said stiffly. 'It was the shock of seeing you so suddenly like that.'

  His hands were still on her shoulders. He removed them now and said, 'I've got to get back to Brentano's. Go home and wait for me. I'll come by as soon as I can get away.' He started to walk away from her into the crowd.

  She called after him. 'But you don't know where I live.'

  He turned back. 'Yes I do—my agent looked your address up for me. Wait for me.'

  The next nine hours were the longest Bianca had ever spent in her life. She tried to eat lunch when she got back to the apartment, but the food stuck in her throat. She tried to practice, but all she produced was a toneless screeching. She called down to the doorman for the third time to make sure he understood that Mr Richards was to be sent right up when he arrived. She paced the apartment from one end to the other, wringing her hands, jumping when the telephone rang to inform her the evening rehearsal of the chamber orchestra had been called off, and going over and over again in her mind the meeting with Gerry that morning.

  What did it mean? She agonised over every detail. He had been so distant, so stern. Not a flicker of a smile had once cracked that forbidding expression, He hated her. She knew that. Then why was he coming to see her?

  Was he coming to see her? she finally wondered at seven o'clock that evening. He had told her to wait for him. Why? Was this his way of getting even with her? He'd known all along where she lived, yet had never once called or written. She didn't blame him after the way she'd treated him, but why did he want to see her now?

  Finally, by eight o'clock, she was convinced that he didn't, that he had told her to wait for him simply to punish her, or get rid of her, that he'd never had any intention of coming to see her. She began to grow angry, and had half decided to leave the apartment, to just get out of that confining space, anywhere, when the doorbell rang.

  Her anger instantly dissolved, and she flew to the door to answer it. Before she did, she made herself stop for a moment to collect herself. She ran a hand through her hair to give the wayward curls some semblance of order, knowing it was a futile effort, and smoothed out the red skirt of her suit. She would be calm, she told herself. Cool, calm and dignified. No more tears, no more scenes, no more hysterical outbursts. She arranged her features into a fixed, remote smile and opened the door, but when she saw him, the careful pose simply disappeared.

  He was leaning there with one hand propped against the wall, his dark head slightly bent, and a look on his face of such ineffable strain and weariness that her heart melted within her. His suit was rumpled, his tie loosened, the top button of his white shirt undone, and his hair fell limply over his forehead.

  He looked at her and sighed. 'Well,' he said wearily. 'Can I come in?'

  She wanted to reach out and gather him into her arms, to hold his head to her breast, to comfort him, soothe him, feed him—anything, she thought, to ease that pinched look from his face.

  Instead, she opened the door wider. 'Of course,' she said.

  When he was inside, she shut the door and turned. His back was towards her. She watched as he took off his jacket, threw it over a chair, then stretched widely, the muscles of his shoulders and back rippling under the fine material of his shirt.

  'God, what a day!' he muttered, slumping his shoulders forward, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.

  'Would you like a drink?' she asked quietly, moving past him into the long living room.

  'It would be manna from heaven,' he breathed fervently.

  She went to the sideboard, her back to him, to pour them both a drink. She needed one herself. Under the cool exterior, her heart was pounding madly, and she was having trouble holding the bottle steady in her shaking fingers.

  She could hear him moving around the room behind her, and when she turned to give him his drink, she saw that he was carefully inspecting the photographs and paintings along the walls and on the mantel of the fireplace. His long legs were apart, his fists resting lightly on his hips.

  'So these are the famous Jamesons,' he remarked, turning to face her.

  She handed him his drink. 'Yes,' she replied lightly. 'Quite a clan, isn't it?'

  He took a long swallow of his drink and gazed steadily at her over the rim of the glass. 'You're all very much alike,' he commented. 'In looks, that is.'

  'So I've been told.' There was a strained silence as they sipped their drinks. 'Are you hungry?' she asked finally.

  He gave her a long look, drained his drink and set the empty glass down carefully on the mantelpiece. 'Yes,' he said at last. He moved across the few feet that separated them. 'For you.' His voice was husky, and at last he smiled. 'Put that drink down and I'll show you.'

  With shaking fingers, she set her glass down, her eyes never leaving his, and the second it was out of her hand, his arms came around her. She slumped against him, holding him, their bodies pressed together so tightly she could scarcely breathe. They stood that way for several long moments, until finally Gerry's hand began to stroke her back.

  'God, Bianca,' he breathed into her ear, 'you've just about driven me out of my mind.'

  Still holding her firmly, he raised his head and glared darkly down at her. 'I should beat you within an inch of your life,' he bit out. 'Do you have any idea what I've been through these past few months?'

  As she gazed up into his tormented eyes, she thought of her own suffering since she had left him. 'Yes,' she said quietly. 'I do.' She put a hand up and placed it on his cheek. 'I know now what a stupid, destructive thing I did, but Gerry, it was so terrible to see you up on that screen. It was exactly as though I was watching you make love to another woman in real life. The way you looked, the things you said and did.'

  'It was only a film,' he ground out, his hands kneading her shoulders painfully. 'It wasn't real.'

  'I know that now, but it seemed so real at the time. If only you'd told me, prepared me for it, it might not have come as such a shock.'

  His hands gentled on her now, and he enfolded her tenderly in his arms, bringing her close up against him. 'I know, I know,' he murmured. 'I see now I handled it badly. It was all such a long time ago. I was only a kid, barely twenty, when that talent scout got hold of me out at Glacier. I just wanted to forget all about it. I should have realised you'd find out eventually, but I kept putting off telling you.' His hold on her tightened. 'I was so afraid of losing you, Bianca. You weren't like any woman I'd ever known before. I realise now that was the very reason I should have been more open with you right from the beginning.'

  'Why weren't you, Gerry?' she asked. 'Why didn't you tell me that first day on the beach who you were?'

  He smiled bleakly. 'I was so damned glad— and surprised—that you didn't recognise me I just couldn't. That's why I was so rude to you that first day and why I tried to keep Flicka away from you.' The grin widened. 'It's not all a bed of roses being a sex symbol, you know.'

  She thought about Bruce Holloway that night at the restaurant and the toll it took on him to deal with his fans. Then another thought occurred to her.

  'That was the real reason for your disguise that night when you came to the restaurant, wasn't it? So you wouldn't be recognised.'

  'Partly,' he admitted. 'Naturally, I didn't want anyone to know who I was, but I also didn't want you to find out I'd come there against your very strict orders.'

  'Oh, Gerry,' she sighed, 'if only I'd known from the beginning, we could have saved ourselves so much grief.'

  'I wonder,' he said musingly. 'It's possible that if you'd known who I was you would have run so fast I'd never have got to first base. And, after all, I did tell you my name that first night I came to your house. It's not my fault you're such a snob and have lived s
uch a sheltered life that you'd never even heard of me. Knowing you, if you had, you probably would have run so fast I'd never have caught up with you.'

  'Oh, I don't know,' she teased, flashing him a seductive smile. 'I seem to be more partial to sex symbols than I realised.' Her hand stroked down his cheek to the firm line of his jaw, the day-old beard rasping against her fingers. 'I was like putty in your hands.'

  'Like hell,' he muttered, pulling her tightly against him. 'You were so standoffish I thought I'd never get near you.' He closed his eyes and heaved a deep sigh.

  'Gerry, you're dead on your feet,' she said, pushing herself away from him a little. 'Why don't you have a shower and I'll fix you something to eat. It must have been a gruelling day for you.'

  He released her and ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. 'Maybe you're right. I'm feeling pretty grubby.'

  She led him to the bathroom. 'There are a zillion toothbrushes in the medicine chest,' she told him, 'and some disposable razors. One of the advantages of having brothers that simply show up from time to time. Mother is always prepared. Make yourself at home and I'll find a robe for you.'

  When she came back with one of her father's old woollen bathrobes, Gerry was unbuttoning his shirt. She hung the robe on the hook in back of the door, trying hard not to look at him.

  'I'll fix you some supper,' she mumbled. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the shirt come off and fall on the floor in a heap. Her hands began to tremble at the sight, her face and body warming dangerously. She heard the buckle of his belt as he undid it, the swish of the zipper on his trousers, and the heat running through her intensified.

  'Aren't you going to wash my back?' he said in a low voice.

  She had a flashing mental vision of him standing just behind her, stark naked, and it was all she could do not to turn around and throw herself into his arms.

  'I don't think so,' she replied, making her voice as steady as possible. Then, as she slipped through the doorway and well out of his reach, she couldn't resist calling back to him over her shoulder. 'Maybe later.'

  She could hear his laughter over the sound of running water as she hurried into the kitchen. Let him have his shower, she thought, as she rummaged in the cupboards looking for something to feed him. He liked tuna, she remembered, and there was plenty on hand. Pickles and potato chips, too, she recalled with a smile.

  As she put on the coffee and mixed the tuna, listening to the splashing of the shower, she hummed softly to herself. For the first time in months, she felt really happy, really alive. Somehow she would forget that image of Gerry on the screen, or at least come to terms with it. She remembered what he had said that last day at Malibu when she had sent him away so brutally. There really wasn't that much difference between her performance at Rumania House in that skimpy costume and Gerry's acting on the screen, just as he'd pointed out. Both were only illusions, make-believe, and had nothing to do with the real person underneath the disguise.

  When she finished the sandwiches, she wrapped them carefully in waxed paper and put them in the refrigerator. He might want a drink before he ate, or a rest. He had looked so tired. The water in the bathroom had been shut off some time ago, and he still hadn't appeared. She stood staring out of the kitchen window at the gathering darkness, every fibre of her being thrilling to the thought that Gerry was actually here, in the apartment, just a few feet away from her.

  After waiting for him another five minutes she decided to check on him and went down the hall to the bathroom. The door was open, the towel he had used hung neatly on the rack. There was a used toothbrush and razor sitting on the counter near the wash basin, but otherwise there wasn't a trace of him. Then she noticed that his clothes were gone.

  Instantly, she panicked. Had he left? Would he do that? She ran out into the hall to look for him. As she passed by her bedroom on the way to the living room, something caught her eye. She stopped short and looked inside. He was lying on her bed, one arm flung over his forehead, his eyes closed.

  Her heart caught in her throat and she heaved a sigh of relief. Quietly, she tiptoed into the room and stood by the side of the bed gazing down at him in the dim light from the hall. He seemed to be deeply asleep, his chest rising and falling under the dark blue robe in a regular deep rhythm.

  He is such a beautiful man, she thought, as she watched him. The sensuous mouth with its full underlip was relaxed. The long thick eyelashes rested on his high cheekbones, and the dark hair was still damp from the shower. The robe fell open a little at the neck, providing her a tantalising glimpse of his smooth muscular chest, and his strong, hair-roughened legs were visible from his knees to his bare feet below the robe.

  I should cover him, she thought, and reached down to the foot of the bed for the rug folded there. But before she could reach it, she heard his voice.

  'Bianca,' he said. She looked at him. His dark eyes glowed like black coals in the dimness, and held her startled gaze in his. 'Bianca,' he repeated.

  'Yes, Gerry,' she replied breathlessly.

  'Bianca, do you love me?' The low voice was hushed, expectant.

  'Oh, yes, Gerry,' she breathed. 'I do love you so much.'

  His hand reached out and clutched at hers. 'Then sit down here and show me,' he growled.

  Slowly, she sank down on the bed, and grasping her arms, he pulled her down so that she was pressed against him, their faces only inches apart, the dark eyes boring into hers.

  'Tell me again,' he ground out.

  'I love you, Gerry,' she said softly. 'I always will.'

  'And you'll marry me?' She nodded. 'And you won't ever leave me again?' She shook her head. With a low groan of satisfaction, his arms came around her and he held her to him so tightly that her breath was almost knocked out of her.

  'God, Bianca,' he breathed into her ear, 'I love you to distraction. I was so afraid I'd lost you for good, that I'd never see you again, hold you like this.' The iron grip relaxed a little, and one hand came to the back of her head, running through the mop of dark curls, turning her face slightly so that he could kiss her.

  The moment she felt that warm, sensual mouth under hers, all rational thought left her, and her one desire was for absolute surrender. Fire licked through her as the gentle pressure hardened, became more demanding. Her lips parted to allow his thrusting tongue entry, and they clung together, tasting and savouring each other at their banquet of love.

  His hands moved possessively over her back, along her waist and hips, and then up over her ribs to settle on her breasts, already aching for his touch. Slowly, rhythmically, he kneaded the soft mounds until she moaned deep in her throat at the sensations those magic fingers aroused in her.

  'Do you know what?' he gasped at last, his hands coming up to cradle her face, the fingers tracing every line and feature. 'You've got too many clothes on.'

  She lifted slightly away from him and smiled down at him. 'I do believe you're right. What shall we do about it?'

  For answer, he reached up and, his dark eyes never leaving hers, he slowly began to unbutton her blouse. With each downward motion his hand pressed against her, heightening her pleasure, until the last button was undone and he slid the blouse off her shoulders and over her arms.

  She sat motionless before him and watched the gleam in his dark eyes grow brighter as they drank in her bare shoulders, the wispy flesh-coloured bra, the smooth flesh above the waistband of her skirt. He raised both his hands and ran the tips of his fingers very lightly over the hard points of her breasts, back and forth, then in a slow circular motion, until the ache became unbearable.

  'Oh, Gerry, please,' she choked out, her eyes pleading.

  He smiled and undid the clasp of her bra. As he pulled the straps down over her arms, his hands brushed against the burning naked flesh, and she closed her eyes in an agony of longing.

  'You're so beautiful, darling,' she heard him murmur. She leaned over slightly so that her full breasts filled his waiting hands, then felt him rise up to place hi
s moist lips over one taut nipple, his softly rasping tongue bathing it gently.

  Finally, she couldn't bear the sweet torment a moment longer. She reached down and untied the dark robe, pushed it apart and ran her own hands down that beautiful body, from his broad shoulders, down his chest, his flat stomach, his rough thighs. His muscles and sinews rippled under the smooth skin, and soon he, too, was trembling.

  He sat up abruptly and shrugged off the robe, then, kneeling before her, he unzipped her skirt and she raised her hips up so he could slide it off along with her last scrap of underwear. He laid her down on the bed and kissed her hungrily, lowering himself gently on' top of her, his hard pulsing masculinity burning into her, his hands and mouth working their magic on her whole body until finally she could bear it no longer and she cried out.

  'Now, Gerry! Oh, please, now!'

  'Oh, yes, darling,' she heard him groan, and they were joined together at last. As they rode the crest of the wave together into an ecstatic climax, Bianca was certain she could hear music in her ears. Clinging to the man she loved, tumbling headlong over the precipice with him, the music seemed to soar with her to the end.

  Heavenly music, she thought as she slowly wafted down from the pinnacle in Gerry's arms. Malibu music.

 

 

 


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