The Sun Tower

by Violet Winspear

  'You could say that.' Despite the flippancy of their exchange, Dina could feel the undercurrent of real intention in this man's attitude. He wouldn't think twice about taking a woman if he fancied her, and never before had she come up against this kind of primitive libido—certainly not in her dealings with Bay Bigelow. With the girl he intended to marry he was the complete gentleman, though Dina had never let herself-imagine what he might be like with a party girl, or some pretty, young waitress.

  'I—I've never had this kind of a conversation in my life before.' She had thought the words were safe in her mind, but suddenly they slipped out

  and couldn't be withdrawn. She looked at him in some confusion, and suddenly he leaned forward and she felt as if she fell into his eyes.

  'That's because you are an introvert, signorina, with many things locked away inside you. Would you like to know some more about yourself—it is always fascinating to have a character reading, and you have given me such a reading, eh?'

  'A woman has" only to look at you-'

  'And right away the worst is assumed.' His eyes were wholly sardonic as he held her without even touching her. 'We Italians have always been considered as racketeers or restaurant owners, have we not?'

  'Are you a racketeer as well?' she dared to ask. 'Would you be fascinated, or scared out of your silk briefs?'

  'Really !' She caught her breath. 'You haven't much finesse, have you?'

  'Only when it suits me, and you have been kept so cool and sweet in your reserved little bandbox that I really feel the urge to offer some therapeutic shock treatment. What if I were a gangster? Would you run away screaming?'

  She stared at him, mesmerised, feeling again that vibration of fear in her very bones. How lean and strong he looked; how dark and dangerous. He could very easily be of the underworld, and right now there might be one of those small, snub-nosed guns hidden away in some skilfully tailored pocket of his dinner jacket. Raf Ventura ... his very name seemed to hint at dark dealings ... the Mafia, perhaps, that dread organisation with its roots in Italy.

  'No,' he murmured, 'you might not scream, but you'd fight tooth and claw for your honour,

  wouldn't you?'

  'I—I happen to think it's worth fighting for.' Somewhere inside her she felt a stab of pain as she thought of her father, and that taint of dishonour which Bella had made it her business to erase from Dina's life, if not fully from her mind.

  'You'd writhe in flames if that cool, scented covering of respectability was stripped from your white body, wouldn't you—Dina?'

  'How do you know my name? We've never met before and-'

  'And hardly likely to have done so, as we move in such different circles.' His smile was brief, his teeth showing their white edge against that black moustache. 'Dina, meaning witch. So you don't indulge in this kind of talk with your fiance?'

  'As if I would!'

  'As if he'd even think you capable of such a conversation,' Raf Ventura said mockingly. 'For him you are up on a white marble pedestal, coolly draped, sweet as petrified honey. Now and again he makes an offering to you, the diamond ring, and possibly the pearls in your ears, but does he ever drag you down into his arms and make you feel a woman to your very backbone?'

  'This—this has gone too far-' Dina backed

  away and was brought up sharp against the edge of the pool table, while he, with a movement swift as light, trapped her there with his lean legs pressing against her, and his hands at either side of her hips, holding her. Instantly all her thoughts and feelings seemed strung on fine quivering wires, and she was looking into brazen, dangerous eyes that were letting her know that women poised on pedestals were not for him.

  'No,' he said, 'not far enough. Hear the music, hear what they are playing?'

  She listened wildly, but it seemed as if she would never make out the music for the loud beating of her heart. Then she recognised the song, Plaisir d'Amour.

  'Do you know it—have you felt it?'

  'Let me go!' She writhed from side to side, feeling the bite of his fingers into her hip bones, through the fine fabric of her dress. 'How dare you behave like this—oh, supposing someone comes in? They'll think I want this-'

  'Don't you?' he mocked. 'Haven't you been pining for a man to take notice of the woman in you, all evening, so that you fled away from the music which suddenly seemed like a romantic mockery?'

  'You're a devil!' she gasped, and never before in her life had Dina felt so helpless and at the mercy of a masculine force she fought against and yet felt a compulsion to suffer. If she yelled out for Bay, people would come running and she could say this man had tried to rape her. She would be believed because she was Dina Caslyn, the protege of a rich Pasadena widow, and the fiancee of Bay Bigelow; a girl who had never been known to flirt and throw her favours around.

  Yet, knowing this, she locked her teeth and fought silently with this man whose touch seemed to set her skin alight. She belonged to Bay and her life was securely planned, yet here she was like a quivering arrow in the strong arching bow of a body that was both iron and living sinew.

  'Never call me a devil unless you mean it.' His face was close to hers and he spoke the words

  through his animal white teeth.

  'I do mean it! You're outrageous—out to make me look a tramp-'

  'Oh, come,' he mocked, 'if anyone caught us like this, then the cool and lovely Dina would have an immediate defence. She could plead outrage and I wouldn't have a leg to stand on.'

  'If you know that, then let me go before someone does come in—the dance is almost over and my fiance will want to take me home.'

  'What a very fortunate young man—a drive along the coast road in the moonlight, and then a willing kiss at the door of Satanita-'

  'How do you know so much about me?' she broke in. 'I don't know you—I've never seen you here before!'

  'No,' he agreed, 'swank country clubs are not my stamping ground, but I have seen you at the Sun Tower in Las Palmas, and the Tower happens to be my place. You have stayed there with your godmother, have you not?'

  'Yes-' Dina gazed into his dark face and she

  knew she wouldn't have forgotten him had she ever seen him before. 'I—I don't remember you.'

  'I was up on my private terrace and you were down by the moon pool, and you were wearing a white bathing suit and your hair gleamed like Mercury's silver cap. I remember thinking that I had never seen anyone quite so—virginal.'

  'Please—I have to go! It isn't right, what you're doing and saying.'

  'You have stopped struggling,' he murmured.

  'I—I've run out of breath.'

  'Have you?' Suddenly he pulled her against him, so closely that she felt every bone and muscle of his

  body, and she gasped, a wild flush in her cheeks as his male warmth penetrated through the fine weightless material of her dress. 'Plaisir d'Amour— Chagrin dAmour, Dina. Do you find love a disappointment?'

  'I refuse to put up with this-' She tried to

  wrench away from him, but it was hopeless, and it was alarming, to find herself in the arms of a stranger so strong, so uncaring of her struggles. Bay never behaved like this. He had never forced her into a position so compromising. Damn the man, she'd scratch his eyes if she could get at them!

  'You're in no position to refuse me anything, and you know it.' He put his face against hers, so she felt the warmth of his skin and the hard line of his jaw, his breath against the side of her neck. 'When I caught you by the window you had the look of a pensive Columbine, and it touched me to the quick.' .

  'You—you couldn't be touched by anything.' Her heart hammered at the feel of his dark Italian face so close to her own; at the madness and danger he had brought into her life, ruffling the limpid surface as a tiger shark the placid waters of a sunlit bay, its dark fin like the shadow of the devil.

  'You have the look of what you are,' now the panic of the lonely swimmer had hold of Dina and she was desperate to get away from him. 'I don't mi
x with gangsters, thank you !'

  He laughed, softly, his breath playing over the bare skin of her slim neck, a honey colour from the Californian sun, but almost white in contrast to his swarthiness. 'I've had sticks and stones from masters of gutter Italian, so there is hardly any impact from anything you might call me, in that sweet and

  cultivated voice of yours, Dina. I will let you go, when you agree to seeing me again.'

  'No!' The word and her heart seemed to leap out of her mouth at the same time. 'Never!'

  'Never is too long a time to wait, so we'll just stay like this until your charming young man walks in through that door and accuses me of attempted seduction, which sounds nicer than that other more basic word. Will it be swordsticks at dawn, I wonder, or the gloves on at O'Toole's gymnasium?'

  'Damn you-'

  'Now that isn't a nice word from a sheltered young woman, is it?'

  'I—I should let Bay break your nose!'

  'Except that it's my one and only handsome feature, eh, and you are a kind young creature who doesn't like to hurt people. Come, where shall we meet? It's no crime, you know, to live a little before you die.'

  'You're blackmailing me, Mr Ventura, which is no doubt one of your many racketeering talents.'

  Then scream, bring them running to this room, let them find you in my arms. I'm also a gambler, you know.'

  'I—I don't go in for two-timing my fiance, so I wouldn't know where to meet you. You're the expert in these things, quite obviously, and you won't let me go until I give in, will you?'

  'No,' he agreed. 'I hang on to what falls into my hands.'

  'Into your teeth,' she gritted, 'like some shark of the deep!'

  'I shan't bite lumps out of you, for I prefer you in one piece,' he drawled. 'Are you very afraid of me?'

  She lay very still in his arms, feeling the thrust of his jaw and the muscular grip of his arms. 'More annoyed than afraid. I'm not used to being bullied.'

  'Coerced, shall we say? Then pretend I'm an avuncular friend of the family who wants to take you out for an ice-cream. You're a woman, and women are good at pretending. You know that, all right.'

  'You're about as much like an uncle--' She

  broke off and caught her breath on a nervous laugh. 'I'm not that good at pretending.'

  'But good enough, I'd say.' He drew his head away and his eyes shot their grey challenge into hers. 'We all need a little opium for the senses, otherwise the things we have to face would be damn hard to endure. A clandestine meeting can be romantic, it doesn't have to be the prelude to a disaster.'

  'Like two strangers on the deck of the Titanic?' she murmured, for no apparent reason, except that he had tilted the fine balance of her world, making this reckless demand that she meet him and become like other restless, bored women—oh, was that what was wrong with her? Was that why she didn't yell out for Bay and make the scene that would have put a definite end to this strange interlude?

  She could end it, and yet she gazed back into those grey eyes and allowed them to mesmerise her.

  'Yes,' he said, 'two people whose ship is among the ice floes. Will that make it easier for you?'

  Nothing makes it easier. It's wrong, and it could be dangerous;'

  Life wasn't meant to be all honey and roses. The

  sweetness can cloy, the scent can become unbearable—you found that out tonight, didn't you? You ran from the music and sought something out there in the dark—the dark gods watch the angels, you know, and they're quick at answering a prayer.'

  'A prayer?' she echoed. 'What do you mean?'

  'You know well enough what I mean.' His smile was shrewd, making his eyes seem like slivers of steel in his dark face. 'It's no new thing for the sweet slave to rebel against her chains, and I happened to be passing. I don't believe in chains, even if they are forged of pearls and gold.'

  As he spoke he gave one of her ear-pearls a gentle prod that set it swinging on its little twist of gold.

  'Don't you believe in fatalism—that which the Arabs call kismet?'

  'Meaning that if I had stayed among the dancers I wouldn't have met the devil?'

  Exactly so.' His eyes smiled into hers, but there was a certain mastery behind that smile, and a glimpse of that dark enchantment she had seen before. 'You have always played your cards from an open hand, now tuck an ace up your sleeve and dare to cheat a little. It might be rewarding, though of course your conscience will be your lash.'

  'You're asking me to cheat on the man I love.' The words should have sounded convincing, but instead they sounded stilted, and she saw the raffish smile at the edge of his mouth.

  'I wouldn't ask a woman to do that,' he said drily.

  'But you are asking it,' she protested. 'You're forcing me to betray someone's trust in me, and I don't like it.'

  I am merely asking you to share a few hours

  me; I am not suggesting that you fall completely off your pedestal, dull as it must be for you, perched up there like some pigeon on a column, longing to spread your wings but invisibly chained —oh, there's no need to protest that it isn't so. That would be an untruth, wouldn't it, Dina?'

  'I haven't said you can use my name, and I don't have to listen to your nonsense. It's really amusing, the way you presume to know all about me. Does your Cagliostro act usually impress the women?' Dina tilted her chin and gave him a look of scorn. 'Well, it doesn't impress me. I never did go in for night club acts, and reading people's minds. It's trickery, but I can tell you're good at that!'

  'You think I can't read you?' He looked lazy and ran his eyes over her face, tracing her features with a deliberation that she almost felt. 'You have a warmth, though you prefer to conceal it, a defiant touch of the little madam, and a definite instinct for self-sacrifice. You also have a sense of humour, but it hasn't been as cultivated as the rest of you. Come, admit that it has its piquancy, being at the mercy of a man who admits to being a knave?'

  'The lowest card at court?' she said. 'The rogue in the pack?'

  'Exactly so.'

  'And you think I should be excited by the thought of dating you?'

  'Why not? It should make quite a change from being the cool princess of Pasadena, to let down your hair and be yourself with a man who doesn't expect you to be an angel.'

  'Which in plain language means that I have no choice but to say I'll see you again?'

  'We both know, Dina, that you have a choice.

  Listen, the music has died away down below and the dance is just about over. You could cry wolf right now, and be saved for your ivory tower. Go on. Scream for your knight and let him rescue you from the knave.'

  'I—I can't do that, so let's forget it.' Like a shadow in her mind lay the memory of scandal attached to the name of Caslyn, and she shrank in every fibre at the bare thought of reviving the faintest suspicion in anyone that she might have invited the attentions of this man, whose face and voice, whose every gesture held a kind of sinister attraction.

  Scared for me or yourself?' he drawled, and for an instant he increased the pressure of his hands against her hip bones, and his eyes were like steel across her thrown back throat.

  Ii I have to get involved with you,' she said, then I prefer to do it discreedy.'

  'It doesn't appeal to you to be caught in flagrante hello—in the cannon's mouth, as it were?'

  No, thanks 1' She shuddered at the thought. 'No smoke without fire, you know what people are.'

  'So none of the shuddering is for the possible breakage of my bold Italian nose? How crushing. Or do you imagine that I might carry a fine stiletto up my sleeve?'

  'I'm sure you're capable of it,' she rejoined.

  'Oh yes, I'm capable of it.' He held her slim, straining body to his, and her eyes widened as she caught the double meaning in his words, and in his look. 'What colour are your eyes, eh? That streak of honey-gold in tortoiseshell?'

  'Oh, do stop this crazy talk and let me go!' She could feel the panic rising in her again, for now the

&nb
sp; music had ceased it wouldn'-t be long before Bay came searching for her. 'I'll meet you, if that's what you want, but please—the way you're holding me—it looks so—so-'

  'Intimate is the word,' he said, softly mocking her. 'There is a small bay just below the road into Santa Isola. The place is quiet, secluded, unin-vaded by the hoi-polloi—be there on Wednesday and I'll bring a lunch basket.'

  'Nun's Cove,' she exclaimed. 'Oh, all right.'

  'Is that what they call it?'

  'Yes—you know it is!' She would promise to go, but that didn't mean she had to fulfil the obligation, but even as she lowered her lashes to hide her eyes, he lowered his lips to within an inch of hers.

  'I shall come to Satanita if you let me down, Dina. That is a promise, not a threat.'

  'Damn your eyes!' she said heatedly. 'No wonder you have to force yourself on people—I don't imagine you have many friends, only the sort you buy and threaten. God, why pick on me?'

  'Now that,' he taunted, 'is carrying modesty into the realms of fantasy. You know damn well why I pick on you, or do they turn the mirrors to the wall at Satanita?'

  And it was then, feeling his touch, looking into his eyes, that Dina was closest to crying wolf. Her lips opened and the cry was in her throat, and those grey eyes watched and waited, with a look in them that was so utterly cynical that Dina knew he would let her call him a rapist and to hell with the consequences. He expected it, as if he had no trust or belief in any living person.

  'I'll be there on Wednesday,' she said. 'Dare I hope that you intend to behave like a gentleman?'

  'Shades of Elinor Glyn,' he mocked. 'Would you dare to sin on a tiger skin?'

  'Why, do you intend bringing one with the lunch basket?'

  'Caviare, champagne, and a tiger skin. It sounds like being quite a party, wouldn't you say?'

  'One hell of a party,' she replied, and knew with certainty that Bella Rhinehart would be furious if she ever learned that her carefully nurtured goddaughter had let herself be forced into a beach picnic with an Italian restaurateur. Something quickened in Dina's veins ... a thread of excitement tangling with those fine silver threads that bound her in loyalty and gratitude to the formidable Bella. From a child she had always loved and obeyed Bella, but surely she was woman enough to cope with a man who had seen her and wished to have her to himself for a short while? They both knew it could come to nothing ... a little taste of danger for Dina, with this man whom her smart friends would call a dago.