Unwilling Surrender

by Cathy Williams

  We’re not talking about me, she wanted to inform him in a light, cool voice; we’re talking about you.

  He was waiting for an answer. She could feel it in those vivid blue eyes fixed on her.

  ‘Greg is none of your business,’ she said stiffly, ‘and, for your information, I don’t give a damn about how much a man earns.’

  They had reached the top of the incline. To the left the road branched off into a long drive that led up to the hotel. And, clustered to one side of the road, a scattering of trees and shrubbery threw shadows across the tarmac.

  In the space of time it had taken them to make their walk back the greyness of the twilight had given way to the impenetrable blackness of night. There was no full moon, and next to her his body, turned towards her, was a dark outline, illuminated eerily by the intermittent overhead lamps.

  ‘You’re just attracted to their intelligence?’ he asked. ‘What did attract you to Greg? I’m curious. Some women like men who are wolves in sheep’s clothing. Are you one of them?’

  He had stopped walking and she reluctantly followed suit. She would have preferred to keep going, to get back to the hotel as quickly as she could, because being close to him was making her head pound. She felt as though she had just run a marathon. She was perspiring and her heart was thumping painfully.

  ‘Why do you keep asking me about Greg?’ she said coolly. ‘Anyone would think that you were jealous of him.’ That was spoken on the spur of the moment, and she didn’t think that he would react to it, but he did. His face tightened and he glanced away before fixing his eyes on her.

  ‘And why on earth would I be jealous of him?’ he asked, but there was something just a shade too controlled about his voice. ‘Do you think that it’s always been some secret yearning of mine to waste my time trying to make an easy living by climbing on to the backs of other people? Or maybe you think I’m jealous because he tried to get you into bed?’

  That caught her by surprise and she had to stop herself from gasping out loud. Of course, he was laughing at her, but his remark still unhinged her.

  ‘This conversation is getting ridiculous,’ she muttered, turning away, but he reached out to grip her arm, forcing her to remain where she was.

  ‘What’s the hurry? You still haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘It doesn’t deserve an answer,’ she informed him in a voice that was treacherously breathless. ‘Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with being attracted to a man for his intelligence, to get back to your original question.’

  ‘And what about physical appeal?’

  ‘What about it?’ There was silence, and she continued defensively, ‘I’m hardly one of life’s great beauties. I know that. The last thing I would ever do now is involve myself with a man who was incredible-looking. Only beautiful women can hold men like that.’

  ‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’

  The question irritated her. Couldn’t he have been a gentleman and told her that of course she was attractive? Irrationally, it was what she wanted to hear, even though she knew that it would not have been the truth.

  ‘Of course I believe it. They say that you attract to the level of your own attractiveness.’

  ‘You have a distorted image of yourself.’

  How odd, she suddenly thought, this intense conversation conducted between two weary individuals in the unlikely area of a hotel drive, with the dark shrubbery nestling around them. Odd and somehow dangerous, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on the reason for that feeling. She had nothing to fear from him.

  ‘I have a realistic image of myself,’ she corrected, trying to control the wild, hot thudding in her veins. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m not unhappy with myself over something as trivial as appearance, but I’m not stupid. I wouldn’t pretend to myself—or to anyone else, for that matter—that I’m the sort who makes heads swing round in the street.’

  ‘Not many people are,’ Adam said in a strange voice. ‘There’s an enormous difference between drop-dead beauty and attractiveness.’

  ‘How generous of you to point that out,’ Christina said, turning away and heading off towards the hotel, relieved that he was no longer holding her.

  She shouldn’t be out here, having this kind of conversation with a man who meant everything to her and to whom she meant nothing in return. She wasn’t being fair on herself. In this life you had to look after your interests to the best of your ability, and a moron could have seen that this depth of personal intercourse was not very healthy for her interests.

  She sensed rather than heard him coming up behind her, then she felt his hand on her arm, turning her around.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she gasped, trying to disentangle herself and failing.

  ‘I’m proposing we continue this conversation. Right here.’

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘Well, I do.’

  So that was it, was it? He wanted to indulge his curiosity about her, and he naturally expected her to oblige without demur. No doubt he also assumed that she should be flattered by his interest.

  ‘And you always get what you want, is that it, Adam?’ Her voice sounded uneven and breathless and that infuriated her because she wanted to be in control, even though her heart was beating like mad.

  ‘Not always.’ But ‘almost always’ was the unspoken implication. ‘You were once attracted to me, albeit many years ago. Do you still find me physically attractive? Am I one of those off-putting men who you consider can only be held by a beautiful face?’

  ‘You’re good-looking, yes,’ she said, ignoring the first part of his question. ‘But you know that. I’m just stating the obvious, but, if you want to indulge your ego, then by all means do so. Now can you let me go? I’m tired, my feet are killing me and,’ she finished on a burst of pure inspiration, ‘my headache’s coming back.’

  ‘How convenient,’ he replied, ignoring her request to be released.

  The funny thing was that she really didn’t feel all that well. His hand on her flesh was warm, sending little electric currents into her skin, and the intensity of those blue eyes, glittering black in the shadows, was making her feel weak and unsteady.

  How could she have fallen in love with this man? Rather, why couldn’t she have dismissed him from her mind, and her heart, all those years ago instead of carrying around his image like the refrain from a song that refused to go away?

  He was looking at her as though quite prepared to carry on their conversation until the cows came home, and suddenly she felt utterly tired and very angry.

  ‘It’s not convenient,’ she spat out, ‘it’s the truth! Why don’t you go and pester someone else?’ Frances, for instance, she wanted to shout. He would be welcome there.

  ‘Don’t talk to me like that!’ he snapped back. His fingers bit into her flesh. She could feel her arm going slightly numb.

  She gave a loud, incredulous laugh. ‘Don’t talk to you like that? And just who do you think you are to tell me how I should and shouldn’t talk to you? You might be paying for my little sojourn over here, but I’m working for the privilege.’

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he began walking towards the hotel, with her in tow.

  ‘Let go of me!’ she repeated, struggling.

  ‘I’m not finished with you.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn!’

  ‘I do.’

  He pulled her through the tiny arcade of shops, now all closed for the evening, towards the swimming-pool, which was deserted.

  ‘Why now?’ Christina asked as he installed her firmly on to one of the deckchairs and sat alongside her, preventing any escape. ‘Why, after all these years, the sudden interest in the workings of my mind?’ Her voice was laced with sarcasm.

  ‘Why not? I always knew that you were interesting and I’ve recently rediscovered the fact.’

  He always knew that I was interesting? What a joke.

  ‘So now you’re going to shove it down m
y throat until I choke? Has it occurred to you that the feeling might not be mutual? That I might not find you interesting in the slightest?’

  ‘No.’

  He reached out and trailed a finger along her cheek and Christina started back in shock.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m touching you,’ Adam said, as though that explained everything. Her body froze as his touch continued its path along her collarbone, sending little shivery waves through her body. Under her T-shirt, she could feel her breasts aching, and as his finger found one pert nipple, circling it tantalisingly, she heard herself groan.

  He was using all his expertise, all his knowledge of women, to seduce her. She could feel it, even though his touch was so light as to be almost feathery.

  His knowledge of women, she thought dazedly. How many of them had there been, in and out of his life? He probably couldn’t even remember their names. For God’s sake, there was one very much in evidence in the same hotel as she was! Had she forgotten that little detail?

  He had played with them, just as he was playing with her, except in this deadly game she would be the one to emerge wounded and distressed. She was in love with him, vulnerable to all that seductive charm. Love could make you do crazy things, but not this crazy.

  She sat up abruptly and stepped over the side of the chair, her movement catching him unawares.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asked point-blank.

  ‘To my bedroom.’ Then, before he could construe anything from that, she added with barely concealed hostility, ‘Alone. I don’t want you, Adam. You may have suddenly discovered my interest-quotient, but if you think that your passing curiosity about me is going to get me into bed with you then you’re wrong. You can go to hell!’ She spun around and began walking away. Quickly. The thought that he might follow her gave her feet wings, but when she paused by the side of the hotel to look round he was still sitting there.

  Not even worth the chase, she thought with a mixture of relief and bitterness. He’ll take his frustrations to Frances’s bedroom, no doubt, and in the morning this little episode will be just a memory for him.

  But what, she thought agonisingly, about me?

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHRISTINA had rehearsed her coolness, spent hours making sure that her mask of polite expressionlessness was firmly in place, only to discover that she might just as well not have bothered, because she didn’t lay eyes on him for the next three days.

  They were busy shooting the final pictures of the models, exploring beaches which would make attractive backdrops. There was an atmosphere of calm now that the carnival was over, and everyone was returning to their normal lives. The streets had slowly been cleared of debris. Bit by bit, all evidence of the bacchanalian festivities was being dismantled and swept away.

  Where was Adam? Wherever he was, it wasn’t with Frances, who was very much in evidence, preening and posing, making love to the camera, her body sensuous and feline. She had made sure that she stayed well out of the sun and her porcelain complexion was striking against the various shades of brown of everyone around her.

  Christina had been rather proud of her golden colour, but now, as she stood under some palm trees on a wide white expanse of beach, deserted apart from their team and a few stray locals, she looked at Frances and wondered whether she hadn’t overdone it on the tanning front. Had she become leathery?

  She caught Frances’s eye and was startled by the venom she saw. She had spent the past few days studiously keeping out of the other woman’s way. Now she was about to do the same, trailing slightly behind everyone as she fiddled with her equipment, when Frances stopped ahead, waiting.

  Christina eyed her resignedly.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to have a word with you,’ Frances said, tossing her blonde hair impatiently away from her face.

  ‘Perhaps a bit later,’ Christina suggested helpfully, feeling hot and jaded. ‘They’ll be waiting up ahead for us.’

  It was late afternoon and the heat was beginning to fade slightly, but not enough to be anything like refreshing. She had been up since dawn and shooting since mid-morning. She just wanted to get back to the hotel and count the hours until the plane left and this nightmare job was at an end. She certainly wasn’t in any kind of mood for a confrontation, and confrontation it would be. It was stamped all over Frances’s perfectly formed face.

  ‘Let them wait. This won’t take long anyway. I just want to know what the hell is going on between you and Adam.’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Christina said, but her cheeks had turned pink with guilt.

  ‘No? Then why are you blushing? If you could only see yourself! Do you seriously think that he would give you a second glance? You’re nothing!’ The finely chiselled features were rigid with anger. ‘He has me!’ she said on a high, barely controlled note. ‘You’re nothing next to me!’

  What reply was there to that? It wasn’t a biased observation; it was a statement of fact.

  ‘He doesn’t want you,’ she hissed, looking at the rest of the crew quickly, over her shoulder, ‘so don’t start getting any ideas into that head of yours. You might be old chums or whatever, but stay out of his bed!’

  ‘Or else what?’ Christina felt compelled to ask, and two bright patches of colour appeared on Frances’s cheeks.

  ‘You won’t hook him,’ she said, her eyes as hard as diamonds. ‘I’ll make sure of that.’

  She turned away and waved at the crew, who were beginning to look impatient. There was a smile on her face, one of the first that had not been directed towards the camera. No one would have guessed at the content of their conversation, but Christina felt as though she had been bombarded by a steamroller.

  She could have kicked herself for having just stood there, gaping like a goldfish, but at the time her sheer astonishment at Frances’s outburst had thrown her into silence.

  Now, more than ever, she couldn’t leave the island soon enough. She had been stupid and short-sighted and insane to have fallen in love with Adam, and she had no intention of compounding the horror of her situation by waging a silent war with his girlfriend.

  She was about to slink off to her bedroom, once back at the hotel, when Sam, Adam’s right-hand man on the shoot, signalled to her from the bar to join him for a drink. Frances had headed off to her bedroom, or Adam’s bedroom, and Christina absent-mindedly sat on one of the bar stools, her mind whirring away at the thought of Frances and Adam together. She hardly took in Sam’s initial comment, and when she did she did a double take.

  Adam was ill. No passing cold or unwelcome hangover, but really ill. Ill, she was informed, as in bedridden for the past two days.

  The idea of it shocked her, for some reason. She could not imagine him being ill; he was as strong as a horse, immune to those ailments that afflicted mere mortals. Wasn’t he?

  Sam was talking in a low, worried voice and most of what he was saying was going over her head—fever, severe stomach cramps, paralytic weariness. She listened to the monologue, her head swimming.

  ‘What has the doctor said?’ she asked when there was a break, and Sam shook his head.

  ‘Some kind of fever, transmitted by mosquitoes apparently.’ His next words were like a body-blow. ‘He can’t travel. He’s got to stay here. He’s going to be transferred to his friend’s house in Maraval some time tomorrow, but Clive isn’t going to be around after tonight. He’ll need someone to look after him.’ He looked at her levelly. ‘You.’

  Of course, she thought, as she headed towards his bedroom five minutes later, it was out of the question. She was torn in two by his illness, but instinct told her immediately that to be his nursemaid was to invite danger. She had about as much backbone in his presence as an earthworm. How much worse would she be if she was to be confronted by a weakened Adam?

  And maybe, she thought hopefully, he really wasn’t that ill. Sam might have exaggerated. Besides, Frances was the candidate for the job. Cool, beautifu
l, elegant Frances... I’ll bet, Christina thought acidly, that she could rustle up a bedside manner from underneath all that blonde glamour if she thought that it would get her somewhere.

  She knocked on the door and an unrecognisable voice told her to enter.

  Christina went in and then stared, dumbfounded, at the figure stretched out on the bed in front of her. She felt as though the rug had been pulled out from under her feet.

  ‘You’re ill,’ she said, walking towards the bed and peering down at the sallow face looking at her.

  ‘Of course I’m damn well ill.’ His voice sounded weak and irritated. ‘Didn’t Sam tell you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Christina admitted reluctantly.

  ‘But you thought otherwise?’ He closed his eyes and for a moment panic gripped her. What if he slipped into unconsciousness? He looked ill enough for that.

  She hovered uncertainly and his eyes suddenly flew open and some of the old mockery was there.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not contagious. Not unless the same mosquito that got to me also decided to pay you a visit, which is highly unlikely. So you can sit down and stop standing there as though you’re about to be attacked.’

  Christina perched uncomfortably on the edge of the bed. She had been full of what she wanted to say, but now she found herself searching around for a gentler way of telling him that she couldn’t possibly stay on the island to look after him.

  ‘Sam said that you want me to look after you,’ she began, and she could see him reacting already, his face darkening with anger because he could read what she was about to say.

  ‘But...?’

  ‘Adam, I can’t take the time off.’ She looked at him helplessly, knowing that the real reason was a deep fear of being isolated with him once again. She was far more vulnerable now than she had been when they had gone to the cottage in Scotland. But his appearance was tugging at her, making her want to reach out and comfort him.

  ‘Can’t or won’t? I’ll pay you, of course. You’ll be generously reimbursed for the inconvenience.’ He closed his eyes again, as though the exertion of his anger had drained him of what little energy he possessed.