‘Thank you.’ Suzanne averted her eyes from both Dane and Angela and looked at the sandy-haired American with a great rush of gratitude. ‘You’re very kind.’
‘Honest,’ he amended with a flirtatious smile which did wonderful things for her ego.
‘Perhaps...’ Angela murmured in a voice that was supposed to be what? Suzanne wondered. Kindly? Sisterly? Compassionate? Could a creature of the night be any of those things? ‘Perhaps you should slip into something a little less...’ she tittered and raised her face to Dane’s ‘...obvious?’
‘Perhaps not,’ Suzanne told her, directing her remark to Dane as well, and she hoped that he well and truly got the message, because there was no way that she was going to retreat into her bedroom and return suitably attired in something drab and unthreatening. ‘Perhaps I happen to think that it might be rather fun to help out serving drinks.’ She took the glass from the American, even though he wasn’t finished, and demanded what he was drinking, which made him grin even more broadly.
‘I must say, I like your style,’ he commented, following her as she walked off towards the kitchen. ‘Very forceful. Is this the British way of waitressing?’ She had her back to him but she could hear the smile in his voice and she began to relax a little.
‘Not as far as I’m aware,’ she admitted. ‘I was sort of trying to make a point.’
She looked at him and he nodded. ‘I gather.’ Which seemed to make him an ally of sorts for the rest of the evening, and he duly followed her around while she helped to serve the drinks and kept as far away from Dane as space would allow.
After a couple of hours she found that she was actually rather enjoying herself, although that had relatively little to do with the fact that she was waitressing and more to do with the fact that she was the centre of attention wherever she went.
The unattached males tried their best to attach themselves and the attached ones made chivalrous remarks in front of their partners, and all in all she came to the conclusion that she didn’t give one damn that out of the corner of her eye she could see Dane watching her, his eyes unsmiling.
The food was excellent. She snatched a plate and actually sat down for half an hour, and discovered with delight that there were quite a few people who seemed to want to sit next to her, and not all of them male.
‘It’s a pity I’m leaving for New York tomorrow,’ her sandy-haired admirer said as he was leaving. His name was Gary Cooper and he had spent some time explaining the insanity of his parents in their choice and the tediousness of people who more or less all said the same thing on being introduced.
‘Pity,’ Suzanne agreed, smiling, because although she didn’t find him sexually attractive she had enjoyed his company.
‘If you’re ever passing through...?’ He gave her his card and she made some light-hearted remark about funds not really catering for fleeting visits to New York.
It was after one o’clock by the time the last guest left. In the mêlée of departing people she had managed to keep her distance from Dane, but now, as she began switching off lights and clearing away the detritus of the party, she was uneasily aware that the click of the door left them both alone in the apartment. And he was still angry. He had made no effort to talk to her during the party, but his silence, she suspected, was not about to continue.
She retreated into the kitchen, where the caterers had left the place almost spotlessly clean, having removed themselves and their equipment with a speed and efficiency that spoke of years of training.
She would have to face him sooner or later and much as she would have preferred the later to the sooner, when at least she would have had some slight advantage in being suitably attired for a confrontation, she guessed that that was wishful thinking.
She began washing the few remaining glasses, with her back to the kitchen door, and she felt him enter without even having to turn round to look. It was true, she thought, when they said that you could feel someone’s eyes on you even if you weren’t looking in their direction. It was a peculiar feeling—a shivery chill that crept along her spine and made her stiffen in preparation.
‘Are you going to face me or are you going to continue washing glasses?’
She turned to face him. He was leaning against the doorway with his hands in the pockets of his olive-green trousers, and his slate-grey eyes were hard—chillingly hard.
‘It was a lovely party,’ she began in a light voice, her hands occupied with a glass and a teacloth, but she felt awkward in a way that she hadn’t earlier on, even though she had been receiving admiring looks from almost every male in the room.
Now, with his eyes on her, she was uncomfortably aware that her skirt was really very short indeed, not reaching anywhere near her knees, and the outline of her breasts was very visible under the skimpy cut of the black top.
‘Everything went very well, wouldn’t you agree?’ she continued bravely. ‘The food was delicious. Such a good idea to have a cold buffet. At least there was no problem of people wondering where they could perch themselves so that they could eat. Was there?’ He was saying nothing, just looking at her, and she felt some of her bravado beginning to wilt.
‘What the hell did you mean by wearing that outfit?’ His voice was soft and dangerous and she began to fidget under his unswerving stare.
‘I thought that I explained it to you earlier on,’ she said, smiling and then almost as quickly wiping the smile from her face because there was no answering one on his.
Silence.
‘I know that you wouldn’t have asked me if I hadn’t been staying under your roof, so I thought that it might be helpful if I did something instead of simply intruding on your get-together.’ She wasn’t going to try another smile, and she could hear the defensive ring in her voice.
‘So you decided to dress for the part.’ His mouth twisted but he didn’t look away, and that unflinching stare of his was unnerving her more and more. The Spanish inquisitors, she thought, could have learnt a lot from his technique: say little but make sure that the little you say carries a threat implicit in every syllable.
‘I thought that it might be fun.’
‘Fun to expose most of yourself for the delectation of my guests.’
Put like that, he made it sound cheap and tawdry and she threw him an angry, resentful look from under her lashes.
‘You’re the only one who didn’t seem to like it. Everyone else did.’
‘It was a stupid, infantile idea,’ he said with scathing distaste, and she flinched.
‘Well, what more can you expect from me? I am stupid and infantile. You keep telling me that. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you in front of your friends.’
‘Most of the men couldn’t take their eyes off you,’ he grated under his breath, when he had more or less thought that the topic had been closed. He raked his fingers through his hair and looked at her with frustrated impatience. ‘The Cooper boy followed you around the room like a lap-dog for the entire evening.’
So he had noticed. She felt something inside her flicker.
‘I liked him. He was nice.’
‘He was after one thing.’
‘He was not!’ she retorted, stung into heated response by the cool dismissiveness in his voice.
‘You’re very naive if you think that any man looking at you in that outfit is full of noble thoughts.’
‘Not every man has sex on his mind all the time!’ Her cheeks were flushed and she could feel herself perspiring lightly. She half turned and deposited the glass and tea-cloth on the kitchen counter, and when she faced him again her arms were wrapped protectively around her.
‘But most of them do when they’re faced with a body like yours wearing very little.’
It took a few seconds to register, but when it did she couldn’t prevent the swift flood of pleasure that filled her. A body like hers. What did he mean? That she was attractive? She remembered his string of girlfriends from the year dot; she remembered Angela too, and the flood of pl
easure immediately withered.
‘A body like what? I’m too tall, I’m too heavy. I might be naïve and infantile, but I’m not stupid. It never occurred to me that I would become some kind of instant sex object dressed in this get-up.’
He began moving towards her and she pressed herself back against the kitchen counter. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she watched his slow approach with wary fascination.
‘Are you blind?’
Her eyes shifted away from his. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve lost weight, not that that mattered anyway. You’re sexy, Suzanne.’ He had only very rarely used her full name. Somehow it emphasised the seriousness of what he was saying.
‘Me? Sexy?’ She gave a high laugh which sounded dangerously uncontrolled. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Nobody had ever called her sexy before. Her father had once told her that she was a very attractive little thing, but sexy? Angela and women like her were sexy—in their well-cut clothes, with their scarlet mouths and perfectly groomed features, perfectly groomed hair.
‘It must have been the clothes,’ she told him steadily. When she thought of herself, she thought of jeans and jumpers and hair everywhere. A grown-up tomboy. ‘I won’t wear anything like that again.’
‘You mean you didn’t like the attention?’ His voice was husky and it made her feel hot, on fire.
‘It was all right, I suppose,’ she muttered, staring down at her feet in their high shoes. Even with heels, she realised, she was still inches shorter than he was.
‘I got quite sick of some of the men telling me that you were a sight for sore eyes.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She wondered whether he was drunk, saying all these things to her. He didn’t sound drunk, but there was an odd inflection in his voice and she sneaked a glance upward at him. ‘Did you think that I was a sight for sore eyes?’ she heard herself ask. ‘Or just an embarrassing nuisance?’ She couldn’t bear the thought that she might have embarrassed him.
‘What do you think?’ Then he did something that made her feel dizzy. He placed his hands on the counter behind her, so that as he leant forward his face was only inches away from her own.
‘The latter, I guess. After all, you’re always telling me that I’m a child.’
‘I take that back. Physically, you’re a woman and a very desirable one.’
Their eyes met and she wanted him to kiss her so badly that when his mouth did find hers she hardly even felt a quiver of surprise. It just seemed that he was reacting to an unspoken urgency in her.
She didn’t hesitate, not even for a fraction of a second. She reached up and wound her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with an explosion of feeling that half frightened her in its intensity.
He kept his hands on the counter, but his mouth pressed fiercely down on hers and his tongue explored and invaded with savage hunger.
When he straightened up, she felt for a moment that it was to draw back, but his hand found the nape of her neck and his fingers coiled into her hair and he pulled her towards him so that she could feel his body against hers, so close that it seemed as though they would fuse.
He was breathing thickly and so was she. His mouth left hers and she arched back, whimpering with pleasure as his teeth nipped against the column of her neck.
He untucked her blouse from the waistband of her skirt and slowly unbuttoned the front, still kissing her; then he pulled aside the blouse, groaning hoarsely when her breasts were exposed, full and heavy.
He covered one breast with his hand, caressing it, holding it up to his mouth, and she arched further back against the counter, expelling a long, shuddering sigh when the wetness of his tongue began flicking against the erect nipple. His mouth sucked hard on the throbbing peak, sending wave after wave of longing through her, then moved to explore the other, until both were raised and hard.
Her fingers fumbled to undo the buttons of his shirt because now the thin material was a barrier between them. She wanted, desperately, to feel the hardness of his flesh against hers, and when at last all the buttons were undone she realised that he must have been feeling the same as she, because he pulled her against him, so that her breasts were squashed against his broad chest.
He caressed her thighs, parting them, and then with his fingers he began doing things that no man had ever done to her before.
She had never conceived that desire could be as strong as this—a leashed animal that has broken its reins and is running wild and free.
He had slipped his hand inside her flimsy, lacy underwear—underwear which she had specially bought because it seemed to suit the wicked skimpiness of her attire.
Moistness filled her and spread outwards, an excited desire so strong that she would have collapsed onto the floor if he hadn’t been supporting her with his arms.
His fingers moved with an easy, expert rhythm and every sensuous stroke heightened the numb longing inside her.
‘This is madness,’ she heard him mutter into her ear.
‘Why?’
‘Because I’ve known you for ever. We grew up together, for God’s sake. I’ve always seen you as little Suzie Stanton, running wild on the estate. Never as a woman.’
‘How many times do I have to tell you that I’ve grown up?’ she asked fiercely. She smoothed her hands flat over his chest, feeling the muscular hardness with a quiver of excitement. She didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t want either of them to start thinking; she didn’t want to break the momentum of what was happening between them. Some driving force inside her needed this in a way that defied rationality.
His mouth crushed hers, barely seeming to let her up for air, and she guided his hand back to her aching breasts, feeling weak as his fingers played with her nipples.
It baffled her that she could dislike him with such intensity one minute and yet, at the next, be drawn to him with a force that left her winded. How could the two be tied together?
Precisely how far they would have got in their lovemaking remained open for speculation because through the hazy mists she heard the voice at exactly the same time as he did, although their reactions were completely different.
‘Hello-o-o...? Where are you, Dane? Dane...?’
It was so unexpected that Suzanne nearly jumped in shock. She pulled back, her face scarlet, and with shaking, hurried movements she began to straighten her clothes, feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt and horror.
Dane had straightened and was utterly calm and controlled. By the time Angela’s footsteps were outside the kitchen door, Suzanne had managed to get herself into some semblance of order and was holding a plate in one hand and a dishcloth in the other, as though they helped to reinforce the image that nothing had been going on.
Angela’s eyes at the kitchen door took them both in and there was a frozen, suspicious silence which Dane made no attempt to break, so that she was forced to say, with an attempt at lightness, that she had returned for her bag.
‘The front door was open,’ she said, focusing all her attention on Suzanne and none on Dane.
Suzanne blushed vividly and began to stammer something under her breath.
‘And have you collected your bag?’ Dane asked, his voice cool and unrevealing. He pushed himself away from the counter and strolled towards the other woman, taking his time, and Angela was forced to look at him, even though, Suzanne knew instinctively, she would rather have vented her considerable anger on her because Dane simply wasn’t the sort you exploded with.
‘Come with me,’ he said, and he left the room, shutting the kitchen door quietly behind him.
Suzanne brushed down her skirt and brushed back her hair and wondered whether she should risk leaving the kitchen and sneaking back to her bedroom. She thought about it for what seemed like hours, half hoping that she would hear the- front door slam, and in the end arrived at the conclusion that she couldn’t wait for ever in the kitchen. They were hardly going to be standing outside the closed door, talking in hushed whispers, were they
? And if they were she was certain that she would hear something. She tiptoed towards the door, pressed her ear against it, heard nothing, and very quietly let herself out.
They were in the sitting room and the door was shut. Whatever was going on, they wanted to make sure that they weren’t overheard. Was Angela declaring her hand? Fighting for a man she considered hers? There had been nothing, apart from Suzanne’s guilty face, to suggest that anything untoward had been taking place, but a guilty face would have been enough for Angela to assume the worst. In this case, it would be the truth.
She ran lightly back into her bedroom and as soon as she was in the safety of her locked room she removed the hateful clothes, stripping them off and hurling them into the corner. She never wanted to see them again. She could hardly believe that she had been so stupid as to have worn them in the first place. What had she been thinking of? How could she have been spurred into such foolish behaviour simply because Angela had told her that she would be better off serving drinks to the guests instead of mingling with them?
She had acted on impulse and now, lying in bed, she regretted every single minute of it, because Dane would never have been tempted by her if she hadn’t displayed herself so blatantly. He would have continued looking at her as if she were his younger sister—someone, as he had said, whom he had known for ever, not someone with whom he would ever have been tempted to get involved.
He had touched her and she had responded with a fervour which filled her now with shame.
But she had to admit to herself, burning hotly in the silent, unlit bedroom, that she had had any number of opportunities to walk away. He would never have tried to stop her. She could have laughed and slithered out of his arms when he’d first kissed her, in fact she could have prevented that kiss from happening from the start. But she hadn’t because she had wanted him and every other consideration had taken a back seat.
She hid her head under the pillow so that the little noises in the room—the ticking of the clock, the sound of the wind outside—became muffled and indistinct, leaving her to brood on the army of thoughts marching solidly along in her head, each one more graphic than the next.
A Suitable Mistress Page 10
