Duel of Desire

by Charlotte Lamb

  A voice behind the drawn curtain asked curtly, 'Have you tried it on yet?'

  'Yes,' she said with angry embarrassment. 'It's… it's absurd… I couldn't wear it!'

  'Show me,' he said.

  'No!' she cried at once, her voice throbbing with panic.

  Alex drew the curtain with a rattle of brass rings, and she backed, her face scarlet.

  He looked at her slowly from head to foot. 'My God,' he said huskily. 'You're superb!'

  The words were like a caress. She quivered at them, wanting to hide from the possessive touch of his eyes.

  'Don't be afraid of your own body, Deb,' he said gently. 'Hasn't anyone ever told you that you're beautiful?'

  She nervously ran her tongue over her lips and he watched her, fastening his gaze on the tiny movement in a way which made her more nervous than ever.

  Thrusting another box at her, he said, 'Try this on, too.'

  Before she could protest he had drawn the curtain and gone again. Perhaps, she thought hopefully, it was a less revealing swimsuit. She opened it and found a beach-coat which matched the bikini, made in the same colour and material. It might at least, she thought, conceal the brevity of what she wore, so she shook it out and slid into it.

  It had a tie-belt and lapels which only just covered the swell of her breasts, and it ended mid-thigh, but it made her feel less naked. Through the curtain Alex said mockingly, 'Feel safer, Deborah?'

  She made no answer. She untied the belt and carefully packed the garment away, then hurriedly got dressed again. When she drew the curtain Alex was talking to the assistant some feet away, his charming smile bent on her appreciative face.

  He turned as Deborah walked towards them. She held out the two boxes, her speech prepared, ready to refuse them.

  'I've paid for them,' he said coolly. 'I got some beach sandals, too.' He took the boxes from her, pushed them under his arm, smiling at the assistant, saying a few words in rapid French to her, before he pushed Deborah out of the shop.

  In the foyer she dragged her feet, angrily telling him, 'How dare you buy that thing for me? I didn't want it. I shall take it back!'

  'You'll need it tomorrow,' he retorted calmly. 'It's probable that we'll have to go out to Ricky's villa in the morning for further discussions, and judging by the clothes you normally wear your idea of swimsuits will do nothing for his temperature.'

  He pulled her, reluctantly, into the lift and the doors closed. Deborah flushed, seeing curious eyes on them as they vanished, several people in the foyer having seen their progress, in open conflict, across the floor.

  Turning on Alex, she wrenched her arm from his grasp. 'Just for the record, I'm not here as a toy for Ricky Winter. I came to help you persuade him to sign with us, not to seduce him!'

  He grinned. 'What gives you the idea I want you to seduce him? Just look alluring and smile at him… that's all you have to do. It will set a co-operative atmosphere. Ricky's susceptible to lovely women.'

  'You have no moral inhibitions, do you?' she asked bitterly. 'Why don't you offer him an honest deal?'

  'I shall do,' he shrugged. 'But I know human beings. Women buy cosmetics because they're taken by the pretty wrappings.' The long, considering glance swept over her. 'And your wrappings are very pretty.'

  She tingled with irritation. 'If you insist on buying those things I shall have to pay for them. I'm not accepting presents from you.'

  'I'll stop them from your next cheque,' he said, unmoved by the insult in her voice. 'I'll get my swimming trunks and beach towel, then we'll go down to the beach. The hotel has a private section of sand and its own changing cabins.'

  Half an hour later Deborah emerged from the tiny cabin to find Alex standing at the edge of the water in black trunks, staring out across the blue sea. Unlike herself, he was bronzed by the sun, the hard lean body fit and athletic, his broad shoulders and smooth-skinned back tapering to slim hips and long, muscled, thighs. Reluctantly she walked towards him, conscious of the glances she was getting from some of the young men playing beach-ball over a fixed net a few yards away. One of them gave a low whistle, calling something to her in French.

  Alex turned. He watched her walk forward, acutely embarrassed by the brevity of the black bikini, but angrily defiant both of herself and the observer. Her fine blonde hair floated around her shoulders in a silken curtain which brushed her bare skin as she moved.

  'You look five years younger,' he murmured as she joined him. Dry-mouthed, she glanced at the bare brown chest, roughened by fine dark hair, against which the silver medallion swung as he breathed. 'I think I'll swim right away,' she said, diving into the water.

  He followed her, his dark head appearing in the waves in front of her, rising and sinking above the sea, his arms moving rhythmically over his head.

  He was already on the raft when she arrived. Fixed some way from the beach, it was further than she had realised, and Alex had to lean down, his muscular hand gripping her wrist, to haul her aboard.

  Water streamed from her hair as she sat down beside him, the long wet strands clinging to her face. She breathed faster than usual, tired by the swim. The sparkle of the sun on the water dazzled her eyes for a moment. She gazed back at the beach, watching the glitter of hotel windows, the shimmering vista of palm trees, white buildings, small figures on the sands.

  Alex was sitting there casually, his long legs dangling in the water. He suddenly pushed back her damp, darkened hair with a casual hand, and the touch woke a sweetness in her which made her turn on him, her voice cutting. 'Don't touch me!' The response was instinctive, angry, self-protective.

  His smile vanished. There were sparks in the grey eyes. 'You've been saying that for too long. I'm sick of hearing it!' His hands grabbed her, digging into the sun-warmed, wet flesh until she gasped.

  'Alex, don't!' she said in alarm, but he pushed her backwards despite her attempt to resist, until her back met the raft, his body pressing her down on to the hard planks, his hands holding her head in a vice as she fought him, twisting side-ways to escape.

  Their eyes stared, locked in a silent duel, then his lowered to her parted lips and she was as conscious of that look as if he kissed her. She couldn't get away, the lean thigh muscles anchored her firmly beneath him, the broad shoulders pinned her down so that she couldn't move. Alex's fingers moved, slowly sifting through the damp fronds of her long hair. She could feel the rapid pace of her heart against her breast, and in the sunny silence trapping them together she could hear the thud of his heart above her.

  Admitting defeat, she lay still, watching him. The violence seemed to have gone out of him. His hands shifted along her cheek, the fingers gentle, sensitively caressing her skin until one drew softly along the quivering line of her mouth, outlining it as if he were curious about the feel and shape of it. Deborah's hands were tensed against the wide brown shoulders, but she made no further move to escape. The warmth of his body percolated to her own, their wet skin touching, the strong thighs and calves pressed against her salt-bloomed legs.

  She struggled to conjure up Robin's image, but her mind could not hold the picture. It slid away into the deep blue of the sky which arched over them. She was only aware of the rocking of the raft beneath her back, the slow erotic movements of Alex's hand across her face.

  'Robin…' she said, forcing the name to her lips in an effort to bring herself back from the brink of utter subjection.

  'Damn Robin,' snapped Alex, in sudden harshness.

  'I'm going to marry him,' she whispered desperately.

  'Are you?' he asked lazily, and his damnable seductive fingers slid gently over her throat, coaxing her very skin to respond to them, until he bent his head without any appearance of haste, making her wait, her heart thudding, and his lips silkily tingled over the sensitised skin he had been caressing, making her eyes close in abrupt weakness.

  Horrified by her shameful subjection, she opened her eyes again quickly. 'I don't want you to…' she lied fiercely.

/>   'No?' There was laughter in his voice. He ran his hand over her shoulders, searching out the frail hollows between her fine bones.

  She descended from wrath to pleading, her voice trembling. 'Alex, stop, please…' She was more afraid of herself than of him at that moment, humiliatingly aware that she was aching to touch him as he was touching her, her palms sweating against his shoulders, shifting restlessly, possessed by a desire to move over him in a caress. Casual lovemaking of the kind Alex indulged in had always disgusted her. How, she asked herself bitterly, could she now be torn between a physical need which was becoming urgent, and her moral principles? Ignoring her, the deft fingers travelled searchingly over her breasts, then with an incredulous leap of realisation she felt him begin to loosen the laces between the small black cups. 'No!' Her back arched in protest. Her hands dug into his chest, the nails tearing at him. He took her hands by the slender wrists and without an effort pulled them away, folding them around his neck so that her arms encircled his head. Her angry eyes stared into his, seeing the cool determined mockery in the silvery eyes. She drew her arms down, but he had already freed her breasts and her own reaction defeated her.

  Her eyes closed in the shock of a pleasure so intense it made her dizzy. The sun burnt against her closed lids making whirling golden patterns, great sunbursts, against her retina. The strong, sensitive fingers had taken possession. She felt her breasts swell passionately into the soft cup of his hand and experienced her first moment of intense sexual excitement. It seemed to run over her skin like fire, making her molten with desire. Her trembling hands clenched in on themselves as she tried to struggle out of his hypnotic hold over her.

  'You're beautiful,' he whispered. 'How can you be ashamed of so desirable a body?'

  She forced her eyes to open, blinking under the sun, his head a dark Byzantine mask poised above her, the features powerful with triumph and arrogance.

  'I don't want you to touch me,' she said, carrying no conviction. 'I love Robin.'

  'You've never loved him,' he said, his mouth hardening.

  'I don't love you,' she said, answering his expression rather than his words.

  'You want me,' he said softly, 'as much us I want you. We've both known it for years.'

  Shock held her silent, then she swallowed. 'Your vanity is pathetic,' she said ill last, trying to smile scornfully.

  'Don't he to me Deb,' he said, untouched by her scorn. 'Admit I could have you if I paid your price.'

  'Price?' She uttered the word in flushed anger. 'What the hell do you mean?'

  'Marriage,' he said coolly. 'You have quaint old-fashioned notions about getting married, don't you, Deb?'

  'This is a pointless discussion,' she said irritably. 'Let go of me, Alex. You're annoying me!'

  'Is that what I'm doing?' he asked mockingly. 'The rate your heart has been heating at I'd have described it quite another way.' His hands trapped her face and her traitorous heart beat violently. 'Oh, God, I want you,' he said suddenly, his voice thickening.

  His words and husky voice were like a signal to her repressed emotions. As his mouth sought hers she met his lips with famished hunger, her hands reaching for his body in frantic movements of restless passion, experimentally finding where the strong neck met the upward lift of his head, the tense muscles of shoulder and arm, the long powerful back which curved down to his hips, his skin wet with salt under her fingertips. Everything else fled from her mind. Their lips fused endlessly, her softness yielding to the fierce demand of the cruel mouth, beyond protest, drugged by unknown sensual reactions, abject, mindless, only conscious of the erotic pressures of hands, lips, body. Their caresses grew fevered, an exchanged passion which underlined that Alex had spoken the truth when he had said he could have her if he wanted her.

  A power boat speeding towards them from the misty reaches of the sea awoke her from the trance in which his lovemaking had held her. Her eyes flew open and she gave a low shivering cry. Alex lifted his head, silently taking in her horrified, shamed expression, then a wry smile flickered over his face.

  Without a word he flung himself over on to his back, breathing hard, staring up at the halcyon blue of the sky.

  Sick, humiliated, burning with self-contempt, Deborah sat up and dived into the sea. Without thinking she swam back towards the beach. The last few moments had been a revelation to her. She had always been secretly aware that she was attracted to Alex. Now she had to face the fact that he had a power over her senses which made her despise herself.

  As she walked back towards the changing but she saw a familiar, graceful figure dismounting from a lowslung, open-topped sports car, leaping over the door, disdaining too open it, the slim body tightly encased in very brief white shorts belted below the waist and a thin yellow top. Judging from the exclamations and stares he was receiving, half the beach population had recognised him too, but, flinging back his sun-whitened hair, he ignored the interest he was causing and sauntered along the promenade towards their hotel. Ricky Winter, Deborah thought. Was he calling on them? Hesitantly, she glanced back over the sea. Alex's figure could still be seen lying on the raft, his dark trunks and brown body distantly visible.

  'Mr Winter!' Her voice came apologetically, her face flushed as she saw the looks she got from bystanders. She ran after him, barefoot, her wet hair flying back from her shoulders.

  He glanced, a bored, irritated expression making his face look older than his years, then a new gleam came into the green eyes. He gave her a lazy smile. 'I'm not giving autographs today.' The thin, attractive face reflected amused interest. 'Sorry, darling.' He had a faint London accent overlaid by years of travelling the world. Although he was in his early twenties he had been a star for most of his adolescence and had acquired, an international gloss.

  'I'm Alex St James's assistant,' she said breathlessly. 'I thought you might be going to our hotel.'

  He looked surprised, then smiled. 'I wasn't, actually,' he told her. 'I came into Nice to buy shoes. But they can wait.' His eyes were flatteringly approving of the black bikini. 'What's your name, Alex St James's assistant?'

  'Deborah Portman,' she said, flushing slightly. 'Mr St James is out on that raft…' pointing behind him.

  'Him I can wait to see,' he dismissed. 'How about coining for a drink, Deborah?'

  He looked down at her body. 'You'll have to change, unfortunately. You should always wear bikinis. With a body like yours clothes are wasted.'

  She was aware of heat under her facial skin. 'Thank you, but I'm here to work,' she said, trying not to sound stiff, remembering that Alex had brought her here to be friendly towards this conceited young man.

  Ricky wrinkled his nose in disarming and amused recognition of her reaction. 'Is that what you call work?' He wound her wet hair around a finger. 'I've heard Alex has a way with women. I approve of his taste.'

  Although he was insolent and self-assured, his youth made him far less alarming than Alex, and she felt faintly touched by the swagger with which he carried off his blatant flattery. Despite his undoubted experience of life, he was still much younger than she was both in age and looks. He was slightly built, a thin boy, brash, vain but charming.

  'Will you be coming to dinner tonight?' he asked.

  'Yes,' she said, wondering how to disentangle her hair from his wandering fingers without rudeness.

  'We'll have to get to know each other better,' he said, smiling at her. 'Is your natural colour blonde or do you have it dyed, like me? My hair was mousy brown when I was a kid.'

  'My hair is natural,' she said shyly.

  'The rest of you's natural, too,' he said directly, admiring her figure in a way which made her acutely self-conscious.

  'Hallo, Ricky,' said a cool voice at her back.

  Deborah felt herself tense. Ricky let go of her hair and gave Alex a nod. 'I was just chatting up your assistant,' he said. 'Smooth flight to Nice, was it? I bet the weather's horrible in London.' He looked ostentatiously at his wristwatch. 'God, I'm late. Sor
ry, I've got to rush — I've got an appointment. See you tonight, Alex.' He winked at Deborah as he passed her. 'And I'm looking forward to seeing you again, sunshine.'

  When he had gone she slowly looked at Alex. His expression was impossible to read. Coolly, he said, 'Shall we change and do some sightseeing?'

  'I'm tired,' she said flatly. 'I think I'll rest for a few hours at the hotel. We left London at nine and already it seems we've been here for days.'

  He shrugged. 'If you insist.'

  When she had changed she returned to the hotel alone, leaving Alex to amuse himself, and relaxed for some time on her bed, the curtains drawn but the french windows open to admit a cooling breeze from the sea. She was aching with angry self-condemnation. How could she have permitted herself to respond to Alex like that? She despised herself for her collapse before his practised techniques. He knew exactly how to arouse women. The sensuality of his lovemaking had not been learnt overnight. She had always been so determined not to let herself weaken towards him. How could she have done it?

  Was it impossible to control the treacherous impulses of the body with the calm reason of the mind? She thought about her relationship with Robin, her eyes troubled. When they were together it seemed exactly what she wanted — the quiet affection of partnership, the undemanding warmth which could deepen in time to strong love.

  She liked Robin. She had always believed such affection was more powerful and sane than her occasional anguished awareness of Alex.

  Her eyes stared at the curtains blowing in the sea breeze. Frowning, she deliberately placed Robin out there on the raft with her, imagined him kissing her… and knew it was absurd. Robin had never showed urgency, desire or violence when he made love to her. His kisses were… she broke off, biting her lip. Like those of a brother? The phrase had come unbidden and she groaned, turning over and burying her face in the pillow.

  Gradually she fell into a light doze, from which she awoke when a hand touched her shoulder.

  She turned quickly, still half asleep, her lids flickering up the strong column of his lean body.