Compulsion

by Charlotte Lamb

  She walked over to kiss him while the men rose. Chris held her, his arm around her slender waist.

  'We'll finish later,' he told his men, and they filed out, smiling at Lissa politely.

  Max was the last to leave. She caught the white gleam of his teeth. Chris shot him a look and Max vanished.

  Lissa looked up at Chris, frowning. 'How much did you lose last night?'

  His eyes narrowed. 'Who told you I played?' She knew from the ring of his tone that he had warned his staff not to tell her and she looked at him crossly.

  'Luc Ferrier himself!'

  Chris stiffened. 'How did you come to meet him?'

  'He was on the beach this morning. Chris, don't play with him again. I don't trust him. He's too tough.'

  She caught a flicker of something in his face, a shift­ing amusement, a brightness in his eyes. Sometimes Chris bothered her. She worried about that odd streak in him, the flaw which led him to run risks, to court danger.

  'Honey, I'm in no danger,' he said softly. 'I only played to get his measure and I got out when I saw I was on a low streak. He's good, though. The best I've over seen—he doesn't show a thing. And he gets the cards, my God he does! I watched him for another hour and his luck is unbelievable. I had Victor keep an eye on him in case he was a sharp, but Victor says not. He says it just isn't possible'

  'I hate gambling,' Lissa burst out. 'Chris, can't you close the casino? Go back to running a hotel and noth­ing else?'

  Chris looked away, his mouth tight. 'No, The casino makes far too much money.'

  'But, Chris------' she began, and he looked at her smilingly, his hand encompassing her waist and his fingers lightly resting on her midriff.

  'Don't get excited, there's a good girl. The casino attracts most of our guests. If we closed down, someone else would open up and we would lose money hand over fist.'

  She sighed. 'Well, promise not to play with Luc Ferrier again.'

  'What do I get for being a good boy?' he asked coaxingly, smiling at her.

  Lissa lifted her face and Chris's arms closed round her, pulling her towards him. His mouth closed hotly over her own and Lissa felt a curious little shiver of alarm. She often had it when Chris kissed her with that aroused heat. Something inside her backed away nerv­ously from the passion he displayed when he held her.

  'Liss, baby,' he groaned as he felt her faint with­drawal. 'You make my head spin. Kiss me properly, honey.'

  There was a quick knock on the door. Chris's secretary, Rebecca, came into the room and Chris lifted his head to give her a sharp, angry look.

  'Wait until I tell you to come in,' he rapped out.

  Rebecca's face showed no reaction. She was a girl with a low, cool voice and an elegant, contained man­ner. She had worked for Chris for some years, running the office efficiently. When Chris teased Rebecca he got short shrift. She would look at him levelly and not smile, her face blank. Chris relied on her heavily, but Lissa sometimes got the impression that Rebecca was the one who ran the hotel, not Chris.

  Sliding off Chris's lap, she walked to the door, giving Rebecca a quick smile. 'Sorry to break into the day's work.'

  'There's a lot to do,' replied Rebecca. She always managed to make Lissa feel an intruder into the offices.

  She wasn't actually unfriendly, but she wasn't forth­coming either. She was neutral, a passive observer who yet gave the impression of doing more than merely observe.

  'See you later, Chris,' said Lissa as she left, 'I can't wait,' darling,' he said with a warm huskiness in his voice.

  Lissa went off to rehearse with Pierre and the band for an hour or two and then went into town with a shopping list to fill. Joseph's wife Marie was the head housekeeper at the hotel. She and Joseph had a cabin in the grounds and a two-year-old baby called Lucien who spent his days with his grandmother down in Ville-Royale and only came up to join his parents at bedtime each day. Marie ran the housekeeping on a cheerful but efficient basis. Each of the girls had one floor in charge and Marie kept a stern eye on their activities.

  Lissa came back in a taxi with her purchases and Marie smilingly thanked her. Lissa had done some shopping of her own. She unpacked her purchases in her own room and put them away tidily. She had had lunch at the tiny seafood restaurant on the quayside. It had been crowded with tourists who loved the lazy atmosphere of the old harbour.

  The heat was now oppressive. She folded back the stiff honeycomb weave cover and lay down on the bed for an hour. She felt sleepy and weary, but as soon as her eyes closed she knew she wouldn't sleep. She was too busy worrying about Chris and Luc Ferrier. Would Chris keep his word? Normally he kept his promises to her, but where gambling was concerned Chris was unreliable.

  It was her basic reason for not marrying him yet. She did not feel she could quite trust him. A man who has an addiction can't be trusted. He is an unstable ele­ment, dangerous, volatile, and has to be handled with care. Lissa knew that. She had watched Chris for years and she knew he was flawed right down the middle. The charm and warmth and kindness she loved could not hide from her the weak streak in him.

  That evening she and Chris strolled down through the gardens in the twilight which within a few moments would become night. The sun went down with a rush as though swallowed by the sea, dragged by a hook into the jaws of a giant fish, the natives said. Each morning the fish spat it out and it shot into the sky in burning splendour to burn there for hour after hour unchang­ing until abruptly it was pulled back into the fish again.

  The air was as warm as if the sun still hung above them. The sky was darkening to a soft purple. The sound of the surf came through the palms and the night was scented by honeysuckle whose perfumed sweetness filled the nostrils and almost made one suffocate. It grew in great profusion, the long stamens like yellow tongues, and orchids massed below it, natives to the island and growing wild in the shadowy creeper-draped forest, their thick gaudy flesh distasteful to Lissa.

  On the edge of the palm-fringed beach Chris paused, his arm round her back, and looked across the dark ocean. 'Peaceful, isn't it?'

  'Yes,' she said, leaning her head on his shoulder and wishing she felt peaceful but knowing she didn't.

  Chris turned her to face him, his hands on her shoul­ders. She looked up and his face looked different in the smoky light. An alien excitement made his eyes glitter and his mouth taut.

  'Liss,' he muttered, bending his head.

  His mouth closed over hers and his arms held her tightly. She felt his hands begin to move up and down her back. He kissed her in a way he had never kissed her before, harder, more determined. His hands were gripping and clutching her and Lissa was torn between yielding and struggling.

  A sound disturbed Chris's absorbed concentration on her. He slowly lifted his head and glanced over his shoulder into the shadows behind them. Lissa looked that way too, but saw nothing. The darkness hid what­ever moved in it.

  'Marry me now, Liss,’ Chris muttered, turning back to her in a fierce movement. 'For your own sake, baby, because my patience is wearing thin, and if we don't get married soon I'm going to do something we'll both regret. I'm not superhuman and I can't take much more of this.'

  She leaned her head on his chest, her arms going round him. 'Yes,' she whispered unsteadily, although her head was choked with doubts. Chris wasn't a safe bet for anyone, but she loved him, and what was she to do? Unstable, addicted though he might be, he was still Chris and she had loved him all her life. She was going to have to take him as she found him. Chris had always been loving and kind to her. She was well aware that many men who were in love with a girl wouldn't be prepared to wait month after month as Chris had done. It hadn't been through any lack of passion that he had waited. At times she found it very impressive that he should be ready to wait when she could feel the impatient desire mounting inside him.

  Now his hands held her tightly, he breathed into her hair, his heart racing violently. 'Liss darling, I want you so badly it's tearing me apart.'

&n
bsp; She heard again a faint rustling behind them. Wake­ful birds? she thought. Or one of the hotel cats on the prowl?

  Chris was running his hands clown her back and he was trembling. 'My God, you turn me on hard, Liss!'

  She felt a fierce colour run into her face at the voice, the look in his eyes. Chris frightened her when he looked at her like that. She half backed, biting her lip.

  He stared at her, his mouth a tight line. 'Okay, I'm not going to press you tonight,' he said thickly? 'But for the love of God, grow up. I've used kid gloves with you for months. You say you love me, but you keep put­ting things off. I'm not asking for the moon, am I? I want to marry you, not just take you to bed.' His face softened from the harsh lines, 'Liss, I love you, darling. Trust me. Let's get married soon.'

  She was relieved by the reappearance of his smile. When Chris had that liquid heat in his eyes she felt threatened, uneasy. She did not know him when he looked like that. It was one of the reasons why she felt she couldn't commit herself to him.

  Huskily she whispered, 'We'd better walk back—I've got to go on and do my act, remember.'

  Chris made a twisted face, his hands dropping away from her. 'Okay.' They turned back towards the close-packed palm trees and as they walked through them they heard footsteps and saw a red flare. The scent of cigar smoke drifted to them.

  Chris glanced through the darkness quickly and Lissa felt her heart wince in a strange little spasm.

  'Good evening,' said Luc Ferrier in a lazy, deep voice. 'Romantic down here by moonlight, isn't it?'

  'Taking a walk before settling to the tables?' Chris asked lightly giving him a smile.

  A shiver was running down Lissa's back. She remem­bered the faint movements she had heard while she and Chris were on the beach and as she met Luc Ferrier's guarded, unreadable eyes she had a distinct flash of warning, Luc Ferrier had been watching her and Chris, listening to them. She did not know what told her that; it was a certainty which sue felt as the hard blue eyes glanced over her and moved back to Chris.

  'Are we going to hear that clever little song again to­night, Miss Radley?' Luc Ferrier drawled, smiling in a way she did not like."

  She flushed. 'No.'

  'Pity,' he remarked, and Chris's hand enclosed her waist and drew her close to him in a possessive move­ment. He nodded to Luc Ferrier and they walked on in silence. Lissa did not know what was absorbing Chris's mind, but she was relieved not to have to talk.

  She did her usual act that night and was aware of the disappointment of the audience, although they applauded goodhumouredly enough as she bowed. She had aroused their expectations last night and they were far less enthusiastic now.

  Luc Ferrier was at his table again. Lissa shot him a hurried look and saw his dark head veiled in drifting smoke. A cigar glowed red in the shadows around him.

  She felt oddly nervous as she went off. Chris was no­where in sight and she kept her fingers crossed as she walked through to the foyer on her way to bed. He would be in the rooms, of course, but with any luck he would keep his promise with her own promise in mind. If he was really as desperate to marry her as he said he was, he wouldn't ruin it by gambling with that man again.

  Fortune was at the desk with the night clerk. Lissa picked him up and rubbed his rough head. 'Been for a walk?' she asked.

  'I didn't get no time, Miss Lissa,' the clerk apologised. 'Sorry, but we've been very busy.'

  I'll take him,' she said, smiling. 'I could do with some air.'

  Moonlight lay in wide silver lakes across the grounds, turning the leaves of trees into looking-glasses and sheeting the grass with pale light.

  Lissa put Fortune down and he scampered away ex­citedly as he caught sight of a small thin shadow slip­ping away. One of the hotel cats, she realised, whistling the dog. Fortune kept going, growling in the back of his throat.

  Making a face, Lissa followed him through the close-set trees. The scent of the honeysuckle drifted to her and she inhaled it "with a sigh.

  She heard a footstep behind her and turned abruptly. A tall, dark figure emerged from the sheltering gloom around it, and her heart stopped with a fierce pang.

  Her mouth dried up. She felt like running, which was absurd, because what did she think he might do? There were plenty of people within earshot and she only had to scream if he so much as laid a linger on her.

  'Where are you going?' he asked lazily, sauntering towards her, the moonlight chequering his body and giving him the appearance of a harlequin, the black hair a neat cap.

  'I'm taking my dog for a walk,' she said huskily, furious with herself for her own nervous reaction to him.

  He came closer. She saw the blue eyes glinting in the moonlight, as though he could read the panic which had flared up in her and was amused by it.

  'Your act tonight was more what I'd expected from you,' he told her softly.

  Lissa prickled with annoyance at that, and a flush ran up her face. 'I'm glad you were pleased,' she said in a brittle voice.

  He laughed, watching her with wicked amusement. Lissa turned to go on an impulse of sheer fury and he caught her arm.

  'Don't move,' he said, as though warning her against some danger.

  'Why?' she asked, startled.

  'I want to watch the moonlight sliding down your throat and between your breasts,' he murmured, smil­ing, and Lissa's nerves leapt with angry fire.

  She pushed his hand away and turned on her heel. The insolence of his tone was not making her as angry as her own reaction the look in the teasing blue eyes. Her spine had shivered as he stared at her like that.

  As she walked away Luc Ferrier said softly, 'Lucky moonlight,' and although Lissa struggled to retain com­mand of herself she was so alarmed that she broke into a run. She heard him laughing and could have burst into tears of humiliation.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Chris was terse and irritable next day. When he snap­ped at her Lissa looked at him in anxious surprise and he turned away, his shoulders set.

  'Did you play last night?' she asked hurriedly, and he gave her a furious look.

  'No, I didn't. I promised, didn't I?' Relief flooded into her and she understood the reason for his mood. Chris had kept his word, but it had been a hard struggle. He was feeling cross with her for demanding that promise. At least, though, he had won his fight against himself. Against himself—and against Luc Ferrier, she thought sinkingly.

  She had not slept well again. Her dreams, when she had them, had been dappled with moonlight, which wasn't so surprising, since the moon lay all night in the room and passed over her sleeping face like a caressing, curious hand. In the dream moonlight Lissa was in flight from a faceless pursuing figure, a harlequin, silent and laughing at the same time. She did not once look over her shoulder, but she could feel him there and burning panic ran in her veins.

  Whenever she had had problems as a child she had taken them away from the hotel to brood over them in private far away from everyone. Her favourite bolthole had been the echoing, creeper-hung forest which crept down towards the hotel from the hills.

  The edge of it was penetrable, crowded with tall palms and banana trees, locust trees among whose brandies gleamed the brilliant plumage of tropical birds. She rarely saw anyone there.

  When she had left Chris sulkily at work she whistled for Fortune and walked out of the hotel grounds, cut­ting along the narrow dirt track road which lay close beside the forest. The dog vanished on one of his own expeditions and Lissa moved off the track into the deep green of the forest.

  The grass was thick and coarse, a vivid green, with flowers sprinkled among it. A little stream ran beneath the trees down from the hills. The stony bed of it could be seen clearly through the crystal clear water. Sunlight glanced through the foliage and sparkled on tiny quartz stones on the stream bottom. Lissa was wearing a pair of her brief denim shorts. She kicked off her straw sandals and waded into the stream. The water was cool, icy when it first left the hills but warm­ing as it ran down to th
e sea. A gnarled willow hung over the water, and Lissa pulled a leaf from it, the long serrated edge almost cutting her palm, and stirred the water with it like a child.

  There was a movement among the trees. Startled, she looked up, and the willow leaf fell from her hand and drifted, swirling, down the stream. ,

  Her heart beat a rapid tattoo as the black-haired figure moved towards her.

  'How old did you say you were?' Luc Ferrier asked drily, staring at her long brown legs, the stream wash­ing softly round them. The hem of her shorts was dark with splashed water. Her hair shone golden in the sun­light glancing through the trees.

  It was more than a coincidence that he was there and

  Lissa knew it, her instincts prickling.

  'You followed me I' she accused.

  He leaned on the low branch of the willow, his long lean body as briefly clad as her own in shorts and a sleeveless black cotton top.

  'Clever,' he mocked, eyeing her with amusement.

  Last night he had flung her into panic and confusion, but this morning it was daylight and she did not intend to let him bother her again. She lifted her rounded chin defiantly and glared at him, the green eyes very sharp and cold.

  'I don't know what's in your mind, Mr Ferrier ...'

  'Oh, yes, you do,' he drawled, a wicked light in his eyes.

  Her flush deepened, but she obstinately went on with her little speech. 'But I'm not interested.'

  'Sleep well last night?' he asked softly, and their eyes clashed before Lissa could look away. She felt the probe of his stare intensely. He slowly moved his eyes and looked at her throat. The tiny blue vein visible be­neath her skin began to beat faster than ever. Lissa struggled to get a grip on herself; bewildered, deeply disturbed. She didn't even like him. He frightened her. Why was she trembling like this?

  He moved, the water lapping round his bare legs, and she looked at him, eyes wide and nervous. He was a head taller, his shoulders very broad under the black cotton. The throat of it lay open, and sunlight flickered over his brown skin. Lissa looked at the powerful muscled strength of his body and her heart was in her throat.