by Daphne Clair
‘By your success in a field that’s…well, rather exotic and glamorous, you know.’
‘But they’re…I mean, they have everything!’
‘My wife,’ Ralph said, ‘is a clever woman who has devoted her life to her home and her family. I hope she has no regrets. Lila is doing very well in the business and I’ll have no qualms about leaving it in her hands when I’ve had enough. But you know, working for the family firm, she’s never had to struggle as you have.’
Bemused, Shannon glanced again at the two women. Was it possible their sophistication and poise hid secret insecurity? Ralph was no fool and he must know them both better than anybody.
Looking away, she found her gaze caught by Devin. He put down his cup, rose and strolled across to her and Ralph, perching himself on the sofa arm next to Shannon and laying a casual hand on her shoulder.
His father said, ‘I hope you two are going to make it this time. Look after her, son.’
‘I’m doing my best,’ Devin replied. ‘But I’m not sure that’s what Shannon wants.’
‘I don’t need looking after,’ she confirmed, an echo of past arguments stirring in her mind. ‘I’m not a child.’
Ralph patted her hand again. ‘We can all do with a bit of pampering now and then,’ he argued. ‘Men as well as women.’ He got up from his seat. ‘Excuse me, my dear. Devin, you can sit with your wife.’
As Ralph walked over to talk to his son-in-law, Devin accepted the invitation and took his place, an arm draped over the back of the sofa. ‘You and the old man having a tête-à-tête?’ he asked. ‘He has a soft spot for you.’
‘I quite like him too.’
‘Whenever you want to go,’ Devin offered, ‘just say the word.’
‘It’s your family party. I’ll stay as long as you want.’
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘that’s what I’ve been waiting to hear.’ A faint smile on his lips was the only sign he was teasing her.
She couldn’t help a small answering smile, although it held a hint of scorn. ‘You know what I meant.’
‘Unfortunately, yes.’ His hand left the sofa back and he lifted a strand of hair from her cheek, his warm fingers fleetingly brushing her skin and sending a tiny shiver of awareness through her. ‘But I live in hope, Shannon. It’s all I’ve got.’
His eyes had turned sombre, and she looked back at him uncertainly, caught unawares by his apparent sincerity. She reminded herself of her vow and turned away from temptation, presenting a deliberately aloof profile.
He said quietly, ‘Let me know if you change your mind.’
Then his mother addressed some remark to him, and the conversation became general.
As they re-entered the apartment later Devin said, ‘I appreciate the effort you made tonight.’
‘It wasn’t as difficult as I expected,’ Shannon admitted. It hadn’t been much to ask, after all.
‘How about a nightcap?’
Shannon hesitated. ‘All right.’ He had been careful about his wine intake at dinner, knowing he was driving afterwards. Maybe he wanted company.
He gave her a liqueur and poured a whisky for himself. They hadn’t switched on the centre light in the lounge, and a table lamp cast a muted glow.
Devin leaned back in his chair, watching her. ‘Do you have a date yet for filming?’
‘I plan to start at the end of the month.’ There were several reasons for haste, not least the danger of someone stealing a march on her. ‘And I hope we can wrap it up within four months.’
He glanced sharply at her. ‘You said five or six.’
‘We’ve found locations within the city area so we needn’t travel far. It will help the budget too.’ And she had condensed the time frame as much as she possibly could. The longer she stayed with Devin the harder it would be to leave him.
There was still a vital part to be cast, and not much time.
‘Do you really think Rose would consider a part in it?’
‘Maybe.’ He grinned tauntingly. ‘For me.’
Shannon unclenched her jaw and returned him a tight, bared-teeth smile. ‘Nice for you to have friends in the right places.’
‘I’m trying to be nice to you.’
A rebuke, and maybe she deserved it. She downed some more liqueur, burning her throat. ‘I’m grateful,’ she assured him. ‘Truly.’
‘Truly?’ His eyes gleamed. Then, as hers met them and skittered away, he laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t want you coming to me out of gratitude, Shannon.’
‘Then why are you doing this?’
‘Like I said, I’m trying to help. That’s what married people do, isn’t it? Help each other?’
Shannon bit her lip. ‘You never did before.’
He didn’t answer immediately. ‘You never needed it before.’
‘I needed some…understanding.’
‘Of your work?’ he queried after a moment.
‘Of what it means to me.’
‘More than your marriage? Than our child?’
Shannon put down her glass and abruptly stood up. ‘That’s not fair.’
His voice roughened. ‘If you hadn’t insisted on working so damned hard you might not have lost the pregnancy.’
Her heart lurched sickeningly. The memory of that awful time haunted her. A raw wound that had never properly healed. ‘There’s no point in going over this again.’ She turned away from him, trying to hide the pain that the subject aroused.
When she left the room he let her go, and didn’t follow until after she’d fallen asleep, still fighting the memory of desolation, grief and despair. Of a time when she’d existed in some kind of vacuum, when Devin seemed distant and untouchable, even while they shared the same bed. When in a matter of a few months they’d grown so far apart that the final rift had merely confirmed their isolation from each other.
She woke with an insistent throbbing at her temples. Devin’s side of the bed looked untouched and she could hear no sound. Entering the living area after dressing, she saw no sign of him. He must have left for work early.
The whisky bottle sat on the coffee table, empty alongside his glass. Maybe she wasn’t the only one with a headache.
The night before he flew to America, Devin stayed late at the office. Shannon was working too, in the room she’d converted into an office-workroom, and didn’t hear him come in.
When he opened the door of the room she swung round with wide, startled eyes, and he said, ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you. I thought perhaps you’d gone to bed without turning off the light.’
Shannon glanced at her watch. ‘I hadn’t thought about the time.’ She was standing at the table, a collection of sketches almost covering it. Turning back to them, she put down her pencil and absently wedged her hands into the small of her aching back, arching it.
Devin walked forward and she felt his hands on her shoulders, massaging them, his fingers strong and intimate.
His touch electrified her, momentarily halting her breath.
But she didn’t want him to stop. Dipping her head, she forced herself to breathe normally, her fingertips touching the table before her.
Looking over her shoulder, he said, ‘What are you doing?’
‘A storyboard. It helps me visualise the scenes and show the crew how I see them being played.’
‘You plan every move beforehand?’
‘More or less. But everything is flexible. The art director and the DOP will have some input too. Even the actors.’
‘DOP?’
‘Director of Photography.’
‘Oh, yes.’ He stopped massaging but she was conscious of the warmth of his body behind her. His breath stirred her hair, then fanned her cheek as he leaned forward to study what she’d done. ‘I never realised how much was involved.’
‘You weren’t interested.’ He had been at first, in a slightly puzzled fashion, but the interest soon waned. ‘You thought it was a frivolous occupation.’
‘You think I didn’t respect your
work?’ He shifted his grip, turning her to face him.
Shannon gazed back at him mutely. She wasn’t about to contradict him.
He said, ‘I know you’re good at what you do. I just couldn’t share or condone your obsession with it, and in the end it came between us, so by then…I’d begun to hate it.’
‘Hating my work is hating a part of me!’ Her work involved her heart and soul as well as mind and body, but he had never understood that, never made the effort to do so.
‘It wasn’t you I hated!’ he said with controlled force. Something leapt in his eyes, a dark flame. ‘I loved you with every atom of my being. But that was never enough for you.’
Loved? She noted the past tense, her heart plunging. Her gaze swept his face, trying to decipher his expression. She saw desire there, and a fiercely controlled anger that stopped her breath.
His hands gripped her shoulders, and she realised there were only inches between them. He closed that small gap and bent his head to her, so that her eyelids involuntarily drifted shut as his mouth wreaked its magic on hers.
His lips were warm and compelling, his hold tightening as he moved one hand to her waist and deepened the kiss, making her head tip further back. He opened her mouth to him, and she found herself clutching at the sleeves of his jacket. She felt the strength of his arms, the hardness of his body, the heat that scorched through her clothing. He laid a hand against her breast and fire raced along her veins.
When at last his lips left hers he pressed them to the side of her neck and muttered, ‘Come to bed, Shannon.’
Terribly tempted, for a moment she remained locked against him, but then a familiar fear and distrust intruded and she pushed her hands at his chest in rejection. The table behind her preventing her from moving, she said sharply, ‘Let go, Devin!’
He lifted his head, and she saw a dazed expression in his eyes, then a flicker of what might have been chagrin. Stepping back, he released her so suddenly that instinctively she clutched the edge of the table behind her for support.
‘Cutting off your nose to spite your face?’ he asked with savage mockery. ‘Or to spite me.’
‘It isn’t spite.’ It was self-preservation. Self-respect.
‘What, then? Pride? A way of punishing me…and yourself?’
‘What if I am? Isn’t that what this is all about?’
He frowned. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘This whole…charade. Pretending to be reconciled. What you’re really doing is punishing me for leaving you. Asserting your dominance in our relationship.’
He looked briefly nonplussed, almost shocked, so that she couldn’t help a twinge of doubt. Harshly he said, ‘Is that what you truly believe?’
‘If you were really interested in repairing our marriage,’ she accused, ‘you wouldn’t have waited until I gave you the chance to force me into coming back to you.’
She’d been so close to giving in it frightened her. The surest form of defence was attack. Wildly she lashed out. ‘You want me to give in and prove you can do whatever you want with me…. Well, it isn’t going to happen. Nothing will make me have sex with you again!’
‘Nothing?’ He had folded his arms, looking at her with derision and slowly smouldering anger. ‘You should know better than to throw out challenges to me, Shannon. Let’s see if you can live up to your brave little speech.’
Before she could stop him he had reached for her again, catching her wrist, and even as she tried to wrest it away he had pulled her against him, then lifted her into his powerful arms.
CHAPTER SIX
‘WHAT are you doing?’ Shannon gasped, her heart thundering in fright, because he looked grim and determined and his hold was inescapable.
‘Taking you to bed,’ Devin said.
‘You can’t! You prom—’
He silenced her with a hard, passionate kiss, sending hot lightning bolts of sensation through her. Dimly she was aware that they had left the living room, and then he was shouldering open the bedroom door.
He dumped her on the bed and threw off his jacket, and when she tried to sit up his body came down on top of hers, pressing her against the pillows, her wrists held in implacable hands, his mouth wreaking a kind of depredation on hers.
She opened her mouth to bite him, and he drew back with a harsh laugh, then his lips were on her throat, her shoulder, and she felt his teeth on her skin, not hurting but an erotic warning.
He kissed her again, fleetingly, allowing her no time to retaliate, and his thigh pushed between hers while his mouth was exploring the sensitive spot just below her ear, and she felt the slight, sexy rasp of his tongue. Her heart pounded suffocatingly, her body consumed by licks of fire. ‘Devin,’ she said, her voice nothing but a breathless moan. ‘Don’t do this. Don’t.’
His thigh moved insidiously against hers, setting up a delicious friction, that made her sink her teeth into her lower lip in the effort not to reciprocate.
‘Stop fighting it,’ he said. ‘Stop fighting me, my darling. You’ve no need to be afraid.’
‘I do, if you’re going to force me.’ But the tenderness in his voice was almost too much.
‘I won’t need to force you,’ he said, his hand freeing one of hers to go to the opening of the blouse she wore with her jeans. ‘Let go, Shannon, let it happen. You know you want to.’
His fingers dealt deftly with two buttons before she caught at his hand to stop him.
She should have used the momentary freedom to hit him. He curled his fingers about hers and lifted her hand, taking the tip of one finger into his mouth, holding it between his teeth while his tongue teased the pad.
‘Stop it!’ she choked out.
He removed her finger from his mouth, but didn’t let go her hand, instead pressing it against his heart’s rapid beat. ‘Feel that,’ he said. ‘Feel what you do to me.’ He moved his lower body, and she knew he was completely aroused, the knowledge increasing her own reluctant arousal.
‘I don’t care!’ She struggled to contain her own desire. ‘I don’t want you! I don’t want to make love with you.’
‘Liar.’ His tone was amused. He shifted down a bit and she felt the heat of his lips on the swell of flesh above the minuscule cups of her bra. He brought their joined hands to it, pushing aside the lace, touching her, then turned her hand so that she could feel her own response. ‘Can you deny what this is telling me?’
The sexual charge was overwhelming. Her whole body shuddered with it. She cried out in despair, a final, frantic plea before she was rushed into the whirlwind. ‘No! Devin…don’t make me hate you!’
‘Hate me?’ Devin stilled, seemed to stop breathing. ‘This doesn’t feel like hate, Shannon.’
‘Whatever it feels like to you,’ she told him, ‘it isn’t love. You think if you don’t physically hurt me, if you make me want you in the end, then it’s all right. But it isn’t.’ She drew in a shaking breath. ‘Go ahead then, if that’s what you really want. If you don’t care about me as a person, only as an object you can use. I know you can make me respond, kiss you back, touch you, even beg for your touch in return. You’ll give me pleasure that I’ve never known since I left you, you’ll make sure I’m physically satisfied. I might even fall asleep in your arms. But I promise you,’ she finished with conviction, ‘in the morning I’ll hate you. Even worse, I’ll hate myself.’
She realised with horror that she was crying, and although she loathed and despised tears she was unable to stop them. They dripped down into her hair and onto the pillow.
‘Maybe I’m desperate enough to take that risk,’ he said harshly, and lowered his head.
Shannon braced herself, determined to deny him any response, even though she knew resistance was futile. But as his lips found her tear-wet cheek he went suddenly still, and let out a muffled, explosive word.
In the darkness she couldn’t see Devin’s face, only the outline of him looming over her. She drew in an unsteady breath, and the next instant she was fre
e, the weight of his body removed as he flung himself on his back beside her, then left the bed altogether.
‘You win,’ he said. ‘Or we both lose. Cry yourself to sleep if you want, I’ll be spending the night in the spare room.’
His shadowy form disappeared and she heard the door close behind him. For a moment she lay motionless, then she turned and buried her head in the pillow, angrily trying to stem the silent tears soaking into the linen.
Shannon woke to daylight and a heavy, thumping headache. Everything was quiet except for the distant hum of traffic in the streets below. She used the bathroom and dressed, and when she emerged into the passageway saw the door of the guest room was open, the bed neatly made up.
She found Devin in the kitchen drinking coffee, unshaven and looking as though he’d slept in his clothes. If he’d slept at all. His eyes were shadowed and the taut skin over his cheekbones colourless.
When he saw her he put down his coffee cup with a thud and pushed his chair back, making it rock as he stood up with unusual clumsiness. ‘Shannon,’ he said. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’
She crossed to the bread container, took two slices from a packet and dropped them into the toaster.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said without moving, ‘about last night.’
Her shoulders stiffened. ‘Hadn’t you better get away? Your plane leaves at ten, doesn’t it?’
There was a short pause, then she heard him leave the room, and relaxed a little. The toast popped up, perfectly browned. All his appliances worked exactly the way they should. She took out the two slices, looked at them, and threw them into the stainless-steel bin. The thought of eating made her feel sick.
She was sitting at the table staring at a cup of cooling coffee when Devin reappeared, shaved and suited and carrying a large briefcase. ‘I have to go,’ he said, casting a frowning glance at the stainless-steel watch on his wrist. ‘You will be here when I come home?’
Her mouth twisted. ‘I don’t have a choice, do I? Or I risk you pulling the plug on the film.’ Even if she could bring herself to give up on it, so many other people were relying on it for their immediate income and future career paths, her name in the industry would be mud.