________
“I want you to move into the château.” Fletch’s lips brushed her temple. “It’s sheer stupidity for you to have to be driven back and forth in the wee hours every night.”
“I don’t mind the ride. It gives me time to think.”
“Well, I mind. For the last six nights you haven’t gotten here until after midnight, and you leave before daybreak. This commuting is getting too much for you. You look tired.”
She laughed as she cuddled closer. “So do you. I usually manage time for a short nap in the afternoon. I’d wager you drive yourself all day. Right?”
“My schedule is pretty tight.”
“Maybe I should stay home a few nights so that you can get some rest.”
His arms tightened instantly around her. “No.”
“It would probably be the sensible thing—”
His lips covered hers with desperate force. “Shut up,” he muttered. “The sensible thing for you to do is to move in here where we can spread our lovemaking over a twenty-four-hour period.”
“And you think we’d do that?”
He kissed her again. “No, I’d probably want you every minute you were here. I’d take you in the halls, on the terrace …” He kissed her again. “In the scullery.”
“It sounds kinky.” Her voice was breathless. “Particularly the scullery.”
“Then you’ll move in?”
She shook her head. “I have no place here.”
“The hell you haven’t. You’re my wife.”
“Am I?” She smiled sadly. “I don’t feel at all married. Perhaps after I become pregnant I’ll come to live here until the baby is born. It would probably be healthier living in the country.”
“And after the baby is born?”
“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “Things have changed. I’m taking one step at a time.”
He was silent, and she could feel the tension stiffening his body. “You said you didn’t think you’d be able to leave your child.”
“I know.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it at the moment, Fletch.”
“What harm would it do for you to move in with me now?”
Her eyes opened, and she shook her head in rueful amusement. “Good heavens but you’re persistent.”
“I want you here.”
“We can’t always have what we want. Even the great Fletcher Bronson. You’ll have to be contented with our midnight rendezvous.”
His voice was muffled as he buried his lips in the hair at her temple. “That’s sex, and it’s not only sex I want, blast it. I want to see you. Lately I’ve been remembering that morning in the cave when I brought you the melon and watched you eat it. I want to have breakfast with you, talk to you.”
Surely that meant they were becoming closer. Samantha quickly masked the ripple of hope she was experiencing. “How romantic,” she said lightly. “But if I remember correctly, you scowled at me all through that momentous meal and nagged me until I wanted to strangle you.”
“You didn’t eat enough.”
“I think we’ll both be happier with the present arrangement. Sans breakfast.”
“You’re a very stubborn woman. I guess I’ll just have to fit in with your guidelines for coming to live with me.”
“What do you mean?”
He moved over her, his gaze holding hers as he slowly slid into her body. “The child. I’ll just have to redouble my efforts to make you pregnant.”
She laughed shakily. “That would be an impossibility. There are limits.”
“No,” he muttered as he began to move faster, harder. “Not with you, Samantha. Not with you, love.”
________
Where the devil was she?
It was nearly three in the morning and she wasn’t here yet.
His hand clenched on the sheet. He wanted her. What kind of game was she playing with him? First letting him become accustomed to her presence in his bed, and then not showing up when he needed her.
It wasn’t until four that he admitted she might not come.
He would not go to her. He wouldn’t admit to the need that had become an insatiable craving. If she didn’t want him, he would find another woman. Monette was filming in the wine country only a short flight away. He would send for her and let her take away—
But he didn’t want Monette. He didn’t want anyone but Samantha.
It would pass. It had to pass. He reached over and turned out the light.
But he was still lying awake, staring into the darkness, when the first tentative rays of the sun whispered softly into the room. Waiting. She would come. He couldn’t have been mistaken in the passion she had shown him. He knew she would come.
But she didn’t come that night.
And she didn’t come the next night.
Nor the night after that.
The knocking was so loud, it sounded like separate explosions, jarring Samantha from her uneasy sleep.
“Samantha, dammit, let me in.”
Fletch!
She threw back the covers and jumped from the daybed. Oh, Lord, she had been half expecting that knock for the last four days, but it still came as a shock.
“Samantha, open the door.”
“Hush, stop shouting. I’m coming.” She slipped on her robe as she hurried to the door. “You’ll wake up everyone in the pension.” She unfastened the chain lock and threw open the door. “It’s two o’clock in the morning, for heaven’s sake. Couldn’t you—” She stopped, inhaling sharply as she looked into his face. His light eyes were glittering wildly, and the tension surrounding him was nearly tangible.
“I know what time it is.” He pushed by her and slammed the door. “And I know what day it is. Thursday. That’s four days, Samantha. Four days.”
“Fletch, let me tell you—”
“Not now, you can talk to me later,” he muttered. “You can bet I’m going to make sure you talk to me later in some detail. But not now.” He pulled her close, shutting his eyes as he rubbed her yearningly against him. “This is what I want now. What I’ve got to have.” He dropped down into the easy chair beside the door and pulled her down on his lap. One trembling palm ran over her breasts, impatiently pushing down the straps of the nightgown to get to her. “Do you want me?” His raw demand was harshly erotic as his bold arousal pressed against her.
His warm, hard palm caressing her breast brought a wild thrill in its wake. Did she want him? She had tossed and turned on the daybed, aching, throbbing for him for four nights that had seemed like forever. She was as wild for their joining as he was. “Yes,” she whispered. “Oh, yes.”
It was all he needed. He quickly freed himself, swung her around to straddle him, and sheathed himself in her with one strong stroke.
He groaned, burying his lips in the hollow of her throat. “Tell me if I hurt you. I’m a little crazy tonight.” He began to move. There was violence but no pain. Burning but no destruction. It was insanity. It was hunger and a frantic need. It was too much. She didn’t know when the tears began to run down her cheeks. She wasn’t aware of anything but Fletch within her.
It was too wild to last for very long, their passion too intense not to explode with a force that left them both weak, clinging desperately to each other in the aftermath.
Fletch lifted his head from her neck, but he lifted it, slowly, jerkily, as if it were heavily weighted. “I thought I wanted to strangle you when I left the château tonight.” His voice was just a level above a hoarse whisper. “But I was lying to myself. This was what I wanted. No matter how angry I was with you, I guess I knew all I wanted was to have you with me like this.”
“You were angry with me?”
He looked at her in blank surprise. “You’re damn right I was angry with you.” Anger flared again in his eyes as he lifted her off him and adjusted his clothing and then her own. “I’m still angry. Why shouldn’t I be?”
“Because I didn’t do anything to make you angry.”<
br />
“You didn’t come to me, you didn’t phone me. If I hadn’t had Skip check on you, I wouldn’t have known if you’d had an accident or were ill or—”
She tightened the belt of her robe. “I’m not ill.”
“Is that all you have to say?” His eyes blazed down at her. “Why didn’t you come to me?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Why, Samantha?”
She gave in. “It was getting too difficult for me. You’re a little overpowering, Fletch. I wasn’t expecting it to be this … this all-consuming. Every night it got a little worse.” She shrugged wearily. “I thought it would be best to give us both some breathing room.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Samantha. You can’t take five steps forward and one step back. You’re the one who initiated this course of events.” His lips twisted. “Did you ever initiate! I was so set on being self-sacrificing that I could have earned a halo, but you wouldn’t have it. You came to me and tied me up in knots. And now I can’t think of anything at all but you and what we do together.”
“I can’t think of anything else, either, and it scares me,” she said simply. “I’m getting terribly involved.”
“Involved? How did you expect not to get involved if you made love to me?”
Her lips were trembling as she tried to smile. “You didn’t become involved with Miss Santore.”
“That was different—you’re different.” He drew a deep breath. “We’re different.”
Samantha gazed at him with a faint stirring of hope. “Are we?”
“Of course we are. Do you think I’d chase anyone but you to this hovel at the top of the world?” He frowned. “And that’s another thing: Why the devil are you in this dump, anyway? I told Pierre he was crazy when he stopped in front of the pension, until I realized I’d better check the names on the mailboxes. I’ve learned from experience that you’re capable of almost any madness.”
“This isn’t a dump, it’s my home. I like it.”
“You prefer a shabby one-room studio to a château? You have very peculiar tastes.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She turned away. “However, I do have a hot plate. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“No, I don’t want coffee. I want to know why you wouldn’t move into the château when you first came here to Paris. I wasn’t on the scene, so it couldn’t have been a distaste for my company.”
“I don’t have a distaste for your company.”
“Not in bed.”
“Not anytime. It’s just …” She made a helpless gesture with her hand. “I didn’t have the right to take anything from you if I wasn’t giving you anything in return. I thought that would change, but when I found out you had lied to me about our agreement—”
“You decided to take matters into your own hands,” Fletch said wearily. “But you still won’t move in with me. I can’t take much more of this, Samantha.”
She dropped down on the daybed and clasped her hands tightly together. “It’s exactly what you said you wanted,” she whispered. “I don’t bother you. You can devote yourself entirely to your business interests. I give you sex now and I’ll give you a child later. It’s the perfect situation for you.”
“You don’t bother me?” he repeated incredulously. “You’re driving me crazy.”
Her gaze dropped to her clenched hands. “I never meant to disrupt your life. Once we’re sure the child is conceived, I’ll go away if you like.”
“No!” he said sharply. He dropped to his knees in front of her and gathered her hands in his own. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to stay with me.”
“But you said—”
“I said you drive me crazy, and you do.” He lifted her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “Because it’s too much and yet not enough. I want you to come home with me, Samantha,” he said softly. “I don’t know if I can maintain even a halfway normal relationship, but I want to try. I want to have you near me.”
“Why?”
He hesitated. “Because I think we have a chance for something pretty special to happen between us.” He grimaced. “Maybe not as special for you as for me. That was why I tried to push you away before you came too close. But you’re a very determined young lady, you just kept coming.”
Samantha felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her, and joy began to spiral through her in glittering waves. “More than sex? More than the child? You think maybe we can …”
He nodded. “I know I’m not every woman’s idea of a romantic hero, and I’ve got quite a few years on you, but we could try.”
Her eyes were glittering with tears. “Oh, yes, we could try.” Her hand tightened on his. “I think that would be a wonderful idea.”
His breath came out in a little rush and he smiled at her. He jumped to his feet. “It’s settled, then. Come on, let’s go. I’ll help you pack.”
Astonished, she stared at him. “You want me to move in the middle of the night?”
He pulled her to her feet. “We’ll pack just enough of your clothes to last until we can buy you some more, and I’ll send someone to pick up the rest of your things. I gather that gold gown was a onetime splurge?”
“Yes, I didn’t want—”
He silenced her with a quick, hard kiss. “But everything’s changed now, right? It’s a new slate.”
A new slate. She only hoped they could inscribe something on it that would last a lifetime. She nodded happily. “Right.”
He turned away. “Where’s your luggage? I’ll start packing while you dress.”
A tiny smile tugged at her lips. Fletch was throwing himself into the project with characteristic energy. “My suitcase is in the closet.” She went to the bureau and pulled out jeans, underthings, and a sweatshirt, then grabbed her tennis shoes from behind the screen. She turned to the door. “I’ll be right back. The bathroom is down the hall.”
“You don’t have a private bathroom?” His lips tightened. “Samantha, why couldn’t you at least have rented a place—” He stopped and shook his head. “A new slate is definitely required. I can hardly wait until I get you home and organize you.”
“I’m not a bankrupt company,” she told him serenely. “And you’ll organize me only as much as I choose to let you.”
His laughter held a note of surprise. “Point taken … Topaz.”
When she returned ten minutes later, he had removed the damp cloth from the statue she was working on and was standing there gazing at it.
“I’m flattered,” he said gruffly as he heard the door close behind him. “Not that you could do anything to make me look as pretty as your friend, Ricardo, but you at least remembered what I looked like.”
“No, you’re not pretty.” She moved forward to stand beside him. “But you have a face that will endure and still be this strong and riveting when all the pretty faces are forgotten.” She reached up and gently touched the cheek of the statue. “Not many faces reflect what’s inside a person, but yours does, Fletch. It’s honest and bold and intelligent.” Her index finger touched the corner of the statue’s lips. “And there are lines of humor here.”
“Is that how you see me?”
She nodded, feeling suddenly shy. She hurriedly looked at the bed and to the open suitcase in which a wild variety of clothes had been heaped. “You call that packing?”
He nodded absently, his gaze still on the statue.
She crossed the room and quickly straightened the clothing in the suitcase before shutting and fastening it. “Heaven help me if this is an example of your ‘organization.’”
“I was in a hurry. I always save my energy for the more important projects. You qualify first on that list.” He slowly put the cloth back over the statue. “Thank you.”
“For immortalizing you?” she asked lightly.
He shook his head. “For seeing me with … kindness.” He abruptly turned away, strode across the room, and picked up the suitcase from the bed. “Let’s get out
of here.” He took her elbow and propelled her toward the door. “I want to get you home.”
“Fletch …” Her voice was hesitant. “How do you see me?”
“With—” He stopped, and something dark, wild, and yet undeniably tender flitted across his face. He opened the door. “I see you as an obsession. My own very special obsession.”
NINE
“COME ON, SAMANTHA!” Fletch burst into her studio with his usual explosiveness. He grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the statue she was working on and toward the door. “You can do that later.”
“But I want to finish the last bit.” She began to laugh helplessly as she was half led, half pulled out of the studio and down the hall. “May I ask where we’re going?”
“Dinner?”
“Dinner was three hours ago,” she said dryly. “As I recall, you spent it closeted in your office in the city with Señor Rivera and those other mysterious gentlemen from Spain.”
“They’re not mysterious. I know exactly who they are and how they think,” Fletch muttered. “Greedy bastards.” He cast her a scowling glance. “And you should have eaten without me instead of going back to your studio to work. When I spoke to Skip on the phone, he said you hadn’t had anything to eat since lunch, and it’s nearly ten now.”
“I had a sandwich.” She frowned, trying to remember. “I think.”
“You didn’t,” he said flatly. “Not a bite.” He hustled her down the grand staircase. “But we’ll take care of that right now.”
Her lips quirked. “Yes, master. Whatever you decree. May I at least wash my hands first?”
“No.” He pulled a spotless white handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “Wipe them on this.”
She began to dab at the clay on her palms. “Fletch, you’re being ridiculous. A few more minutes won’t matter.”
“Yes, it will.” His grin was almost boyish. “I can’t wait.”
She gazed at him in puzzlement. “You’re that hungry?”
He shook his head as he pushed her through the library toward the French doors leading to the terrace. “You’ll see.” He threw open the French doors and stepped aside to let her precede him.
One Touch of Topaz Page 12
