A Fever In The Blood

by Anne Mather

  She had taken another shower and was sitting at the dressing-table, towelling her hair in the golden light of early evening, when there was a tentative knock at the bedroom door. 'Cass? Cass, can I come in?'

  Cass hesitated, casting a dubious look at her reflection in the mirror. The apricot satin wrap, which was all she was wearing, was modest enough, but would Ben see it that way?

  'Cass!' His voice was vaguely concerned now, and she realised her prevarication was creating exactly the wrong impression.

  'Yes,' she answered at once this time, and then her eyes widened in surprise when the door behind her opened. Through the mirror, she saw Ben come into the room and then halt, somewhat impatiently she felt, when he became aware of her state of undress.

  'Oh,' he said flatly. 'You're all right, I see.'

  Cass turned on the stool, rubbing the ends of her hair with the towel, for all the world as if her hands were not shaking. 'Shouldn't I be?' she countered, shrugging her slim shoulders.

  'I thought I heard—well, obviously I was wrong,' said Ben, a little grimly. Then, half reluctantly, 'There's a hairdryer in the drawer beside you, if you'd prefer it.'

  'Is there?'

  Cass turned again to look doubtfully at the several drawers confronting her, and she heard him suppress some unspeakable comment before covering the space between them. He squatted down on his haunches to pull open the bottom drawer of the dressing-table, and then uttered another stream of Italian at the jumbled state of its contents. Obviously, someone had riffled through the drawer at some other time and left it in disorder. Men's socks and briefs in a variety of colours tumbled out on to the floor as he searched for the hairdryer, and Cass slipped off the stool to gather up the offending items. A pair of gold and white striped trunks with the word 'Tiger' insinuated across the crotch caught her attention, and she was gazing at them with a curious feeling of outrage when Ben snatched them out of her grasp.

  'A joke,' he declared raspingly, having found the elu­sive dryer and pausing in the task of bundling all the underwear back into the drawer again. 'Here.' He handed the appliance to her and got to his feet. 'Let me know when you're finished. I'd like to take a shower myself.'

  'Oh—well, I can dry my hair anywhere,' murmured Cass, scrambling up, too, and facing him with some em­barrassment, but Ben merely shook his head.

  'No sweat,' he replied coolly, walking back to the door. 'Take your time. I'm in no hurry.'

  But after he had gone Cass found herself hurrying automatically. This was his bedroom, after all; his bath­room. Just because he was kind enough to let her sleep in here, there was no reason for her to think she could monopolise the place all day as well as all night.

  When she entered the living-room again, some minutes later, she was more suitably attired in light­weight cotton slacks and a toning silk vest. Her hair, dry now and silkily straight, hung loose against her shoul­ders, accentuating the delicate colour that a week in a hot climate had added to her skin.

  'It's all yours,' she told Ben lightly, avoiding another possible rebuke by seating herself on the couch, the full width of the room between them. 'Urn—what time would you like to eat? I've got some veal and some pasta—'

  'I thought we might eat out tonight,' Ben interrupted, silencing her. 'As it doesn't much matter who sees you now, I suggest we have dinner at a small restaurant I know, just a few miles out of the city. It's not a par­ticularly sophisticated place, but the food's excellent.'

  'Oh, great.'

  Cass swallowed her disappointment and tried to look enthusiastic. But she had been anticipating spending their last evening together alone at the apartment, and it was incredibly difficult to summon up any excitement about going out.

  However, Ben seemed to notice nothing amiss, and went off to take his shower, unaware of her misgivings. But it did give her the problem of deciding what to wear, and while she washed up Ben's coffee-cup she mentally reviewed the limitations of her wardrobe.

  Ben reappeared, sleek and overtly masculine, in close-fitting black trousers and a matching silk shirt. His dark hair, still wet from his shower, showed its length by brushing his collar, but Cass thought it suited him that way. She had always found him good to look at, but tonight he had a disturbing appeal that was purely sex­ual. It made her wonder if the inscribed underwear had been just a joke, or were there women in Ben's life of whom she was completely ignorant? It would be unusual if there were not, she acknowledged, brushing aside her own contention at the thought. Just because he worked at a scholarly occupation, it was no reason to imagine he lived like a monk. All the same, it made her realise how little she really knew about his private affairs, and it was disturbing to discover how possessive her feelings were.

  Getting into the low-slung Porsche later that evening, she wondered if she had been altogether sensible in her own choice of attire. She had decided on a very feminine chiffon dress, tinted in shades of peach and apricot, whose flowing sleeves and layered skirt were very flat­tering to someone as slim as she was. But as she got into the car the skirt belled about her knees, exposing a generous length of her thigh and drawing attention to the shapely curve of her bare legs. She quickly tucked the folds of the dress about her, but not before Ben had observed her loss of dignity, and her cheeks were pink as he put the car into gear.

  But at least it diverted her attention from the vehicle and the memories it held for her; though, as Ben wove his way in and out of the traffic, she couldn't help re­membering the first time he had taken her out in it.

  'All right?' Ben asked, indicating the open window beside him, and she nodded.

  'Fine,' she confirmed, even though the breeze was tan­gling her hair into knots. Anything was better than sitting there with her face like a beetroot, she thought. And the breeze was very appealing after the heat of the day.

  The Restorante Domenico was situated in a small vil­lage in the hills, a dozen or so miles from the city. Judging by the number of vehicles parked outside the well-lit entrance, its reputation was already well-established, and Cass ran hasty fingers through her hair as Ben locked the car.

  An arched gateway ran through gardens already flood­lit, although it wasn't yet really dark. The scent of jas­mine and bougainvillaea was intoxicating, and a small marble statue tumbled water into a stone basin.

  Beyond the gardens, tables were set on an open-air patio, as well as inside in a beamed dining-room. Candles, burning inside glass globes on every linen ta­blecloth, illuminated the gleaming silver and delicate crystal. A four-piece band played unobtrusively in the background, and one or two couples were already using the tiny dance-floor, evidently content just to sway with the music.

  'Scorcese,' said Ben to the white-aproned waiter who approached them, and received a beaming smile in re­turn.

  'In casa o all'esterno?' he requested, and Ben looked at Cass.

  'Inside or out?'

  'Oh—outside, please,' she exclaimed, unwilling to sacrifice a minute of the velvety-soft air by eating in­doors, and the waiter smiled again.

  'Una buona decisione, signora,' he applauded, and led the way to a table at the far side of the restaurant, overlooking the lush beauty of the garden.

  'So, what would you like to drink?' Ben asked, after they were seated. His lips twisted. 'Not cognac, I hope.'

  'No.' Cass pulled a face. 'Um—Campari and soda, I think.'

  'OK.' Ben looked up at the waiter who was hovering. 'Due Campari e soda, per favore.'

  'Si, signore.'

  The waiter departed to get their drinks, and Cass propped her elbows on the table, supporting her chin with her hands. 'Hmm,' she said, looking about her with some satisfaction. 'This is nice.'

  Ben inclined his head. 'I thought you'd like it.'

  'I do.' Cass lifted her shoulders appreciatively. 'I'm so glad you suggested it.'

  'Are you?' Ben's expression was difficult to read in the shadowy light. 'I got the impression you weren't exactly enthusiastic about coming out.'
/>   'Oh.' Cass was glad of the concealing darkness now. 'Well, I admit, I was looking forward to practising my culinary skills again. But—this is nicer.'

  'Is it?'

  He seemed determined to disconcert her, and she was glad when the waiter reappeared with their drinks and the menus. However, he said he would be back later to collect their order, and left them to enjoy their aperitif.

  Hoping to allow the subject to drop, Cass sipped her Campari and soda and looked at the view. It was pos­sible to see the lights of Florence from their elevated position, and she pretended to be absorbed in identifying the various domes and campaniles that towered above the city. It was all incredibly beautiful, and for a few moments she was really entranced by the spectacle.

  'We should talk about tomorrow,' said Ben abruptly, destroying her tranquillity. 'If we leave early in the morning, I can get back home before nightfall.'

  Cass's lips parted in dismay as she looked at him. 'You're not staying?'

  Ben gave an impatient snort. 'You didn't expect I would be, did you?'

  Cass licked her lips. 'Well—not weeks, perhaps. Not until the university closes anyway. But I did think you might spend a few days—'

  'I can't.' Ben was adamant. 'I have—work to do here.'

  'All right.' Cass managed to accept that. 'So when will you be finished?'

  Ben sighed. 'I don't think you understand. I'm not talking about my work at the university. I—well, I'm writing a book about Ambroise Giotti, the sixteenth-century historian. I'm hoping to finish it during the sum­mer vacation.'

  Cass's disappointment was crippling. 'You mean— you won't be spending any time at Calvado?' she choked, unable to keep the tremor out of her voice, and Ben cast an impatient look skywards.

  'I—didn't say that, exactly,' he muttered. 'Naturally, I'll come and see how you're getting on.'

  'Oh, wonderful!'

  She was bitter, and he expelled a weary breath. 'Cass, you're not making this any easier—'

  'I'm sorry.'

  'And I have done what you wanted.' He paused. 'I didn't realise I had any part in your wish to spend a few weeks at the villa.'

  Cass looked down into her glass with a feeling of remorse. He was right, of course. When she had first decided to ask Sophia if she could stay at Calvado, her only intention had been to give herself some time away from Roger, to think and decide what she was going to do about her marriage. But since she had come here, her original motivations seemed to have been obscured.

  'I'm sorry,' she said now, cradling the glass between her hands and lifting it to her lips. 'You're right, of course. I don't know what I was thinking of.'

  'Are you sure?'

  Ben stared at her somewhat suspiciously, and with an effort she raised a smile. 'Of course. Now, what are we going to eat?'

  It was a tremendous effort to swallow any of the de­licious food Ben ordered. They had antipasto, mine­strone, and spicy lamb cutlets served with a selection of vegetables and a side salad. Everything was cooked to perfection, and with the meal they had some of the local Chianti, which sparkled in her glass in the candlelight. She should have been delightfully content—but she wasn't.

  After the meal, Ben asked her if she'd like to dance. 'I'm not much good at it,' he admitted, when she ac­cepted his invitation. 'But as it's dark, no one will no­tice. Except you.' He grinned. 'You'll have to kick me if I step on your toes.'

  Cass managed a light rejoinder, and then allowed him to lead the way on to the dance-floor. As well as being dark, it was also fairly well-populated, and as she turned to face Ben an unwary elbow behind her propelled her into his arms. She hit the solid wall of his lean frame with a force he had not expected, and in consequence his arms closed around her with rather more strength than he would normally have used. It brought her close against the hard length of his body, and with her face pressed against the opened V of his shirt she was as­sailed by the feel and the smell and the taste of his warm skin.

  'Idiota,' muttered Ben against her hair, his lapse into his own language an indication of his own disconcert­ment, but Cass was too bemused by her own reactions to move away, even when she was able to. There was such a feeling of security in his arms, and she slid her arms around his waist, as many of the other dancers were doing, and began to move sinuously in time to the music.

  'Cass!' Ben said her name deep in his throat, the sound a mingled expression of both protest and resig­nation, but he didn't push her away. Instead, he linked his hands in the small of her back and followed her lead, allowing the sensuous touch of the music to flow over both of them.

  It was a tantalising experience. For the first time in her life Cass felt totally at peace, and although she knew it was crazy she was finding it increasingly difficult to hang on to her identity at that moment. It would have been so easy to tilt her head back and look into Ben's face, knowing that if she did so their lips would be only inches apart. She had the overwhelming feeling that just then Ben would be unable to resist her, and the idea of his mouth touching hers—as it had done on that other unforgettable occasion—was almost unbearably excit­ing.

  But the memory of that other occasion brought her abruptly to her senses. What had happened that forbid­den summer when she was eighteen had destroyed her relationship with Ben for years to come, and she had no intention of spoiling things again. Even if what had hap­pened had been as much his fault as hers, she could not risk losing him now, and with a little gulp she pulled herself together.

  It wasn't quite so easy to restore their earlier cordial­ity. A break in the music enabled her to draw back from his arms without creating any awkwardness, and when she suggested returning to their table Ben instantly agreed. But she suspected he was perfectly aware of how close she had come to doing something completely reck­less, and there was a definite air of restraint between them when they drove back to the apartment later.

  The apartment itself was distractingly intimate, and Cass reflected that Ben was probably right to insist she left the next morning. Whatever—or whoever—was respon­sible, she was absurdly vulnerable where he was con­cerned, and until she had her life in order it was better not to tempt fate.

  It was strange, she thought, how with Ben she never felt that sense of withdrawal she felt with other men. Perhaps she was frigid, as Roger had accused her. Perhaps the feelings she had for Ben didn't cause her to freeze up, because they didn't threaten her sexually. And yet, when he had held her in his arms, she certainly hadn't felt sisterly towards him. She had wanted him to kiss her, and that was why she had to leave.

  'Um—shall I make some coffee?' she asked, hovering in the doorway to the kitchen, but Ben shook his head.

  'No, thanks.'

  'Well, thank you for a lovely evening, then,' she mur­mured, half relieved not to have to prolong their good-nights. 'I did enjoy it. And—and as you said, the food was—marvellous!'

  Ben propped his shoulder against the doorframe, suc­cessfully blocking her exit. 'Is that why you ate so lit­tle?' he suggested drily. 'Because it was so—marvel­lous?'

  Cass sighed. 'I'm afraid I don't have a very big ap­petite at the moment.'

  That wasn't my impression two nights ago.' Ben re­garded her steadily. 'As I recall it, you had two helpings of pasta.'

  'Who's counting?' Cass shrugged her shoulders, and then lifted one hand to rub the chilled flesh of her upper arm. 'You know how it is: sometimes you're hungry, and sometimes you're not. That's the way it is.'

  'Is it?'

  'Oh, Ben, stop baiting me!' Her cry was tremulous, and he groaned.

  'I don't seem able to,' he muttered, straightening away from the door and coming towards her. 'For heaven's sake, Cass, we both know what's wrong with you. Don't look at me like that! Do you think I don't have any feelings?'

  Her eyes widened when he reached her, but when he put his hands on her hips and pulled her towards him she went into his arms without a protest. For the second time that evening, she felt the overwhelming se
curity of his embrace, and she pressed herself against him, un­caring just then of the consequences.

  All the same, a belated twinge of conscience forced her to make a perfunctory protest. 'You're going to hate me for this, aren't you?'

  'Why should I?' Ben's hand at her nape continued to massage the tense muscles. 'It may be the only chance we have. Do you want to throw it away?'

  Cass caught her breath. 'But—but should we?' she persisted faintly. Then, in a rush of guilt, 'You're my brother!'

  'No, I'm not,' retorted Ben savagely, surveying her startled face with a grim, intent gaze. 'Haven't you real­ised that yet, you crazy little idiot?'

  Cass shook her head. 'But—what—how—?'

  'Not now,' he muttered, looking at her mouth with disturbing hunger. 'And if you don't want me to touch you, you'd better stop me. Because as God is my wit­ness, I can't.'

  Cass couldn't speak. The blood was pounding in her head and through her veins and, although she had a dozen questions she wanted to ask, the overpowering needs he was arousing inside her took total precedence, and her actions were purely involuntary.

  'Ben,' she breathed, her hands, which moments before had been trapped against his chest, sliding up to his neck and tangling in the thick black hair that brushed his col­lar. 'Oh, Ben! Ben, kiss me.'

  For a moment she thought he had changed his mind, and her senses almost screamed their frustration. But then, with a groan, he lowered his head, finding her lips with unerring accuracy, and crushing them against her teeth with a painful intensity.

  Cass was trembling, but she couldn't help it. Her ex­perience of men was practically non-existent—apart from Roger, that was—and he had never made her feel like this. She knew what she wanted to do, what her instincts told her to do; but at the back of her mind was the knowledge that Roger had drilled into her—that there was something lacking in her make-up, some awful deficiency in her emotional composition, that prevented her from enjoying a sexual relationship. And it was true. She had never cared for sex. Even that first time in Bermuda had been more in the nature of an act of de­fiance, a childish urge to recover her self-confidence af­ter the ignominy of that scene at Calvado, than any real desire to go all the way. She had lost her virginity, but not her innocence, and nothing Roger had done since had altered that situation. That was why, when Ben lifted his head, she was overcome by her own inadequacy, and she wondered how she had ever had the nerve to behave so wantonly.