“Then stop worrying about me and tell Fletch I’m doing very well.”
“You could tell him yourself, if you’d get a telephone.”
“Stop nagging, Skip. You can’t expect me to adjust to all these newfangled ideas after six years in the hills. It’s very peaceful being out of touch when you want to be.”
Skip’s expression became grave. “Well, you’re not going to be out of touch for much longer. Fletch is flying in from New York tomorrow evening.”
Samantha quickly averted her face. “Really? The merger is done?”
“I don’t know, but he said there were some loose ends he had to attend to in person here.”
“Like me?”
Skip hesitated. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what’s between the two of you? This marriage is weird as hell.”
Samantha shook her head. “Maybe someday.”
“But I’d bet it has something to do with why you’re determined to accept so little from Fletch and went out and got yourself that part-time job modeling at the atelier?”
“I like the job, and it pays extremely well for only a few hours a week.”
“You’re being evasive.”
She gave him a fleeting smile before turning back to the statue. “Right.”
“Oh, well, I didn’t think you’d tell me.” Skip sighed. “No one tells me anything. All Fletch said on the phone was that he’s having a big party at the château tomorrow evening, and he wants to see you before it starts.” His gaze traveled over her faded jeans, Docksiders, and stained T-shirt. “Do you suppose you could force yourself to spend some of Fletch’s money on a gown? If you show up like that, he’s going to have some very touchy questions to ask about why I haven’t been taking care of you.”
“You’ve taken very good care of me.” Her tone was abstracted as she stared blindly at the statue in front of her. Tomorrow night. She would see him tomorrow night. These last four months had seemed like an eternity. Yet in a way she had welcomed the separation. She had needed time to establish her own roots, to get to know herself as a person as well as an artist, and she had begun to do all those things. She had gained confidence. In spite of Skip’s skepticism, it had been an exciting period for her.
But not like this excitement … this exhilaration … hunger, brilliance, comets streaking through space. Fletch. “And, yes, I’ll buy a gown.” She turned toward him, a glowing smile on her face. “I’ll even let you take me shopping tomorrow morning. I’m sure Dior will adore your baseball cap.”
“Let me in,” Skip said, gasping as he pounded on the door. “Quick.”
Samantha tightened the belt of her robe as she hurried across the room and threw open the door. “You’re not dressed. Aren’t you going to the party?”
“No way.” Skip was panting and clutching at the frame of the doorway, struggling to get his breath from the long trek up five flights of stairs. “I’ll drive you to the château and then go out to the garage. Pierre, Fletch’s chauffeur, runs the classiest floating crap game in Paris. I bet I’ll have a helluva better time than you will.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long black jeweler’s case. “Fletch sent this. I think I can make it to a chair now.” He shoved the leather case into her hand as he kicked the door shut and dropped into his favorite easy chair a few feet away. “I’m glad you’re not dressed yet. It’ll give me time to rest. Tell me, if I find you a pension that’s just as cheap on a ground floor someplace, will you please move?”
She shook her head. “The light.” She opened the box. Russian topaz and squarecut diamonds alternated on a bracelet of unsurpassed beauty that shimmered with exotic richness under the overhead lights. “It’s magnificent.” She took the slender strand out of the box. “But I’d be afraid to wear it. It looks as if it would slip off my wrist.”
Skip shook his head. “It goes on your upper arm. I think it’s a sort of slave bracelet. When I described your gown, Fletch phoned a jeweler in town and told him what he wanted, and I picked it up on the way here.” Skip’s gaze traveled over her robe-clad figure. “You’d better get a move on. The party is at nine, and Fletch said he’d like you in the study by eight so that you’ll have time to talk.”
“I only have to put on my gown.” She went behind the screen. “I needed someone to help me with the zipper.” She tried to keep her voice casual. “You saw Fletch?”
“I met him at the airport.”
“How is he?”
“He’s Fletch,” Skip said simply. “He never changes. Mr. Powerhouse Incorporated. He looks tired, though. He’s probably been working himself into the ground with this merger.”
“Did he mention me?”
“No, and I avoided the subject like the plague. It’s one thing to evade his questions on the telephone, but it’s an entirely different matter to have to do it to his face. Thank heavens he seemed absorbed with these manufacturing kingpins he’s wining and dining tonight.”
“Fletch told me once he didn’t like parties. Why is he giving one tonight?”
Skip shrugged. “Search me. He does hate entertaining, but the French like to combine business and pleasure. He must want something pretty badly from these tycoons to go to all this trouble.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late. Are you nearly ready?”
Samantha closed her eyes. Was she ready? She wasn’t at all sure now that the moment had come. Her hands were trembling, her palms moist, and her heart was racing like a runaway train. She felt as she had that night in the cave, fearful of the future, an uncertain child in a world she wasn’t sure she understood.
But she wasn’t that child any longer. She was a woman, and it was time she started acting like one. She stepped from behind the screen. “I’m ready.” She smiled. “Or I will be, as soon as you fasten this blasted zipper.”
Fletch hadn’t expected her to look so sophisticated.
Samantha, standing in the doorway of the study, resembled a high priestess in some ancient temple dedicated to the sun god. Her gown left one shoulder bare in the Grecian fashion, and the shimmering gold fabric draped and molded her slim body with a consummate artistry that was both sensual and completely feminine. Her hairstyle was different, too, a long, lustrous flip that, though simple, also displayed a certain sophistication.
He stood up and came around the desk. “You look beautiful, Samantha. I told you that cloth of gold would become you.” Beautiful but … different, he thought with a pain that was curiously nostalgic. His lips brushed her cheek, and he caught a faint, spicy fragrance. He could feel the sudden heat of arousal rush to his loins. So he still couldn’t be in the same room with her without wanting to pull her down on the floor and push up her skirt.
He blocked the thought and quickly stepped away from her. He had been hoping that time would cool, or at least temper, his desire for her. It would have helped to be able to think with his head instead of the other part of his anatomy that persisted in dominating him whenever she was close. “And the arm band goes quite nicely with your gown. I hoped it would.”
“Thank you, it’s lovely. I feel like a barbarian princess wearing it.” She moistened her lips with her tongue. “It’s good to see you, Fletch. How have you been?”
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “This sounds familiar. Are we going to begin a health discussion again?”
“No.” She smiled, too, feeling more at ease. “It’s not necessary. I can see that you’re tired but won’t admit it. And I’m completely well, so that’s the end of the discussion.” She met his eyes directly and repeated deliberately, “Completely well, Fletch.”
His gaze slid away from her. “I can see that.” He turned away abruptly. “It’s damn close in here. Let’s go out on the terrace.” He strode toward the doors and threw them open. “Skip says your studies are going full steam ahead. How do you feel about it?”
“Good.” She followed him out on the terrace, pausing a moment to enjoy the sheer magic of the view. Moonlight touched the form
al rose garden before her with a silver radiance and gave the towers and battlements of the château a fairy-tale beauty. “Good heavens, this is lovely.” She stood for a moment drinking in that loveliness before crossing the terrace to where he was waiting by the balustrade. “What were we talking about? Oh, yes, my studies. I’m learning a lot about a great many things, but principally how much I have to learn about nearly everything.”
“That doesn’t appear to intimidate you.” His gaze narrowed on her face. “You’ve changed.”
“Perhaps I’ve grown up a little.” A gamin smile lit her face. “There was room.”
“More than a little,” he said slowly. “You’re … different.”
“If you say so.” She shrugged impatiently. “But I don’t think you brought me here to tell me this. You’re a busy man, as you’ve said many times before. Why am I here, Fletch?”
“I received word two days ago that your friend Paco Ranalto, Dr. Juan Salazar, and their families are off St. Pierre. They’re now in Barbados, and I’ll arrange to have them transported to the country of their choice and resettled as soon as possible.”
Samantha stood frozen as relief streamed through her. “Thank God.”
He nodded. “It’s all over. Your friends are safe.”
“Oh Fletch, do you know what this means to me?” Her eyes were sparkling with tears of joy as she reached out a hand to grasp his arm. “It’s like … I don’t know.” She spun away from him in a giddy circle. “It’s wonderful. It’s a new beginning for all of us.”
“I’m glad you see it that way,” he said gently. “That’s what I wanted for you. A new beginning, Samantha.” He paused. “With no strings.”
Her smile faded. There was a significance beyond the obvious in his words that she couldn’t mistake. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m having our marriage annulled.” He looked away from her out over the garden. “Very quietly. With any luck no one will ever know it existed. Your allowance will continue until you can support yourself decently, and of course there will be a settlement that will—”
“I don’t understand,” she said in bewilderment. “We have an agreement.”
“It’s over. Your friends are safe now.”
“But I haven’t fulfilled my part of the bargain.”
He didn’t answer her.
“You never intended me to repay you,” she whispered. “No wonder you made sure the newspapers didn’t find out about our marriage. It was all lies.”
Fletch swung around to face her, and she was shocked at his tormented expression. “What did you expect me to do? I know you. I never could have stopped you from going back to St. Pierre for Ranalto. I had to set up a situation you would accept to let me do the job for you.”
“Not like this.” Her voice was shaking. “You shouldn’t have done it like this.”
“How else?” he asked hoarsely. “I didn’t have much choice. I won’t lie to you. I’d do it again if presented with the same circumstances. There’s no way I’d let you go back into danger.”
“Let me? It’s my life. Do you know how I feel? How can I have any respect for myself if I let you do this?”
“For God’s sake, you took a bullet for me, Samantha,” Fletch said roughly. “If you want to talk about debts, that should pay me in full.”
“No, it’s not the same.” Her eyes were glittering in the moonlight. “You wouldn’t even have been on St. Pierre that night if it hadn’t been for me. We made a deal, and now you’re backing out of it.”
“Hell, yes, I’m backing out of it. Do you think I’m going to take anything else from you? I’ve been taking since the moment I set eyes on you. Lord, I almost took your life. If that bullet had been an inch closer, you would have died on St. Pierre.” His light eyes were blazing with intensity as he looked down at her. “So don’t tell me I have an obligaton to make a brood mare out of you, because I just won’t buy it. You’ll take your freedom and the settlement.”
“No, I—”
“Samantha, don’t do this to me. Do you think this is easy? For once in my life I’m trying not to think of myself. Help me.”
She gazed at him, finding it difficult to think, her mind clouded by pain and bewilderment. No, she could see it wasn’t easy for him. Deep lines of suffering grooved either side of his lips, and his eyes held the same torment she was experiencing. Perhaps she should try to understand and sympathize with him, but instead she felt a sudden flare of fierce anger. “I don’t feel like helping you at the moment. I feel like kicking you.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face. “I suppose I can understand that.”
“Can you? I’m beginning to think you don’t understand anything about me.” She took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest to ward off a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the balmy weather. “You’re mistaken, Fletch. You don’t know me.”
“Samantha—” He took an impulsive step toward her and then stopped. “You’re upset right now, but once you think about it, you’ll realize it’s for the best. Do you want me to have Skip drive you home?”
She shook her head. “I believe I was invited to a party.”
He frowned. “Are you sure that—”
“I’m sure,” she said curtly. “Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you. I’ve learned a few social amenities since I left the caverns.”
“I never said—” He broke off and shook his head. “If you said that to hurt me, you’ve succeeded. You could eat with your knife and swing from the chandelier and it wouldn’t matter to me.” His smile was bittersweet. “I’d probably enjoy it. I hate these stuffy shindigs.”
Samantha felt a rush of tenderness that came close to submerging the hurt she was experiencing. She wished desperately that she could stop the tenderness, stop the loving, but she was afraid it would never leave her now. “I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed, then. I was my father’s hostess from the time I was twelve years old. There won’t be any chandelier swinging.”
“Pity.” One blunt finger reached out to touch her cheek. “I think I’d enjoy seeing gentle little Samantha do something wild.”
“Would you?” She stepped back from him because she wanted that touch so badly. She had forgotten how hot and weak she became when he was so close. “Perhaps someday I’ll oblige.”
“Not you. You’re too—”
“Gentle,” she finished for him. “It’s getting late. Your guests will be arriving.”
It was a clear dismissal, and for a moment he was disconcerted. She had changed from quivering emotionalism to cool serenity in the space of moments. “Let me take you inside.”
“No, I want to stay out here for a while. I’ll be in later.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“I do,” she said calmly. “Don’t worry, there won’t be any weeping and wailing. I just have some thinking to do. Run along.”
He found himself staring at her in bemusement before turning away.
“Oh, I do have three questions I’d like to ask you if you don’t mind.”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “I don’t mind.”
“Is Monette Santore still your mistress?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t seen her since I left for St. Pierre.”
She carefully kept from her expression any hint of the relief she was feeling. “Do you have another mistress?”
“Samantha, this is …” He shook his head again. “No.”
“Did you really want me, or was that a lie too?”
He looked away from her, and she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then the words came slowly, haltingly. “It was no lie. I want you.”
He turned, and his stride as he left the terrace and entered the château possessed a strange element of flight.
Want, not wanted. Present, not past tense. Hope.
The faintest smile touched Samantha’s lips as she looked out over the garden. She stood there for a long time, a slim goddess of
the sun in a realm of moonlight.
Then, her decision made, she turned and walked briskly across the terrace and entered the château.
EIGHT
IF SHE DIDN’T do it now, she never would.
Samantha braced herself and opened the door to Fletch’s suite. Her breath escaped in a little rush of relief as she saw that he wasn’t in the sitting room. She had thought she was ready to face him but found the reprieve more than welcome.
“What the devil do you mean, you didn’t take her home? Who else would do it? One minute she was standing in a corner talking to Frezdorf, and the next she was gone.” A door to the left of the elegant sitting room was ajar, and Fletch’s impatient voice was issuing from what must be the bedroom.
“No, Frezdorf didn’t take her home. He stayed to talk to me after the party.”
Only one voice. He must be talking to someone on the phone, she thought as she moved toward the door.
“Well, find out where she is. Go to her apartment and make sure she’s all right.”
Another pause and then Fletch spoke again, enunciating each word with great clarity. “I don’t care if it’s after three in the morning, Skip. I want to know she’s safe. You should have insisted she get a telephone. Who ever heard of anyone not having a telephone in this day and age?”
Poor Skip. Fletch was giving him too much flak for her to stand here hesitating just because she was suddenly assaulted by a case of nerves. She pushed open the door. “It’s very peaceful without a telephone jangling at you all the time.”
Fletch was sitting upright, his auburn head leaning back against the exquisitely carved mahogany headboard of the canopy bed. He was completely naked.
Relief flickered across his rough-hewn features as he saw her standing in the doorway. Then it was gone, and his face was expressionless once more. He spoke into the phone. “Never mind, Skip, it’s okay.” He hung up the receiver. “I suppose you have some explanation for worrying the hell out of me?”
One Touch of Topaz Page 10
