Guilty Passion

by Bright, Laurey;

“I’ve no idea.” Celeste spread her towel beside him and rolled over on her back.

  “Could he be jealous?” Jeff asked, as though the idea had just occurred.

  “On his brother’s behalf, perhaps. Maybe he thinks it’s too soon for me to be going to nightclubs.”

  “It’s almost three months, isn’t it?”

  With a slight shock, Celeste realised that he was right. She nodded, and he said, “He must know you can’t mourn forever. The Trocadero is just a small place. Classy. I think you’ll like it.”

  She wore the hand-painted silk dress she had bought in Conneston, with a narrow silver belt and the green sandals. When she came down from her room, her hair flowing about her shoulders, Ethan was prowling about the living room with a glass in his hand. He stopped dead and surveyed her as she descended the stairs.

  She reached the floor, and hesitated. Ethan took a gulp of whisky from his glass and said, “Jeff will be impressed.”

  “Why don’t you come with us?” she asked him. “You were invited.”

  “Isn’t one man at a time enough for you?”

  Not realising that it was a measure of her recovery, she flared into real anger. “That’s a filthy thing to say! I thought we agreed—”

  “On some sort of truce, yes. I apologise. How are you feel ing these days?”

  At the moment, she felt fully alive and aware, her senses singing, some complicated emotion making her pulses race in a way that was not entirely unpleasant. In the last few weeks she had truly climbed out of the pit of despair and depression in which she had been wallowing. “I feel. . . okay,” she said. Her chin lifted. “Is that a signal to start insulting me again?”

  His lips curved in a smile that held calculation and perhaps anticipation. “And if I do. . . insult you,” he drawled, “will I get as good as I give?”

  She snapped, “That’s a promise!”

  He stood surveying her for several long seconds, then, very softly, he said, “Good. I’ll look forward to it.”

  A frown gathered on her forehead. “Why do you want to fight with me?”

  Blandly, he said, “Did I say that?”

  “You certainly implied it.”

  “You’re far too lovely to fight with, Celeste. Especially tonight.”

  Her voice brittle, she said between her teeth, “Thank you.”

  “Not at all,” he replied with mocking courtesy. “Should I have thought of taking you nightclubbing, myself?”

  “I can’t think of a single reason why you should.”

  “Can’t you?” He paused. “Just the prospect of it seems to have brought you right out of your shell. I haven’t seen you look so. . . vital, since you arrived here.”

  “I’m looking forward to an evening out,” she said.

  “I apologise. I haven’t been a very good host, have I?”

  “You’ve been. . . extremely generous with your home, and your time.”

  His mouth went dry. “Don’t lay it on too thick, Celeste.”

  “I was quite sincere, actually.” She met his eyes almost defiantly.

  “I’m not asking for your gratitude.”

  “I know that.” Something wordless passed between them. She saw his eyes narrow, and inwardly shivered. But the familiar shrinking hopelessness was no longer there. There had to be a reckoning between them, she knew that, knew this was what his patience and persistence had been all about. In a strange way, she almost welcomed the prospect. Face it and get it over with, she thought.

  But not tonight. Hearing a car turn into the driveway, she said, “That must be Jeff. Excuse me.”

  “Ask him in,” Ethan said, “for a drink before you go.”

  “Do you think that’s a hgood idea, if we’re going to be drinking later?”

  He said, “Jeff isn’t a fool. He won’t overdo it.”

  He followed her to the door and invited Jeff in himself, whistling derisively at the pleated shirt and bow tie the other man wore with a dinner jacket.

  “Okay.” Jeff grinned. “I have to live up to this girl.” His comprehensive glance at Celeste was appreciative. “You look beautiful,” he said sincerely.

  Ethan handed him a drink, and poured some sparkling white wine for Celeste. Jeff said, “Sure you don’t want to come and play chaperone?”

  “I told you, I need to work.”

  Jeff shrugged. “Suit yourself. We’ll think of you when we’re tripping the light fantastic.”

  “Do that.” His gaze was on Celeste, his voice apparently absentminded, but something in his eyes made her lower hers abruptly. She shivered and put down her half-empty glass.

  “I won’t promise to bring Cinderella home by midnight,” Jeff said, taking his cue from her and standing up. “We could be dancing until dawn.”

  “Celeste is a big girl,” Ethan said, apparently tranquil. “I’m sure she can take care of herself. But she’s not been entirely well, lately. Just take it easy, okay?”

  “Sure. Don’t worry, uncle,” Jeff teased. He put a hand on Celeste’s waist. “Let’s go.”

  “Something’s bugging him,” Jeff said in the car.

  Trying to sound surprised, Celeste said, “He seemed quite happy to me.”

  “Uh-uh. He’s uptight about something.”

  “Work, maybe.”

  “Maybe. Well, that’s his problem. You and I are going to enjoy ourselves, right?”

  “Right,” she echoed, stifling a tiny, ridiculous regret that it was Jeff sitting beside her, and not Ethan.

  The club was right on the waterfront in Conneston. Its atmosphere was friendly and sophisticated, the decor a mixture of Pacific artifacts, with carvings much in evidence among glossy potted plants, and upmarket brass and smoked glass furniture. Jeff knew a few people and they soon found themselves members of a party. At first a little tense and scared, Celeste gradually relaxed, helped by a couple of glasses of wine and some delicious coconut, rice and fish combination that Jeff assured her was a specialty of the house and not to be missed.

  A small combo played dance music, the musicians imported from Tahiti and wearing garlands of flowers. When Jeff first asked her to dance, she felt rather stiff and out of practice, but after he had whirled her around the floor a couple of times with uninhibited expertise, she began to enjoy herself properly. She danced with a couple of his friends, too, and was conscious of having a thoroughly good time. Everyone was easily friendly; the men were admiring without being pushy, and the women seemed to like her. There was no pressure and no tension. The music, the food, the movements of the dance, and perhaps the wine, all helped. She looked up at Jeff as he handed her another glass of wine, and smiled at him gratefully. For the first time, she felt there was no danger of relapsing into the grey world she had inhabited for so long.

  “Okay?” Jeff raised an eyebrow.

  “Very much so. Thank you for bringing me, Jeff.”

  “My pleasure. Like to dance again?”

  “I haven’t danced so much in years.” She got up to join him on the floor. The music was slow and dreamy, and he tucked her hand against his chest and drew her close, nuzzling his cheek against her hair.

  Gently, Celeste pushed him away a little.

  He grinned down at her. “No?”

  She shook her head firmly. “Sorry, Jeff. Just friends?”

  He studied the shadow of anxiety in her eyes and bent to brush his lips across her forehead. “Fine. But you can’t blame a bloke for trying.”

  “I’m not blaming you for anything. You’ve been very sweet to me.”

  He grimaced. “Sounds like the kiss of death. Oh, well. You can’t win ‘em all.”

  She smiled at him teasingly. “I shouldn’t think you’d have much trouble winning quite a few.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He added thoughtfully, “You’ve changed a lot
since you came to Sheerwind.”

  “Don’t remind me,” she said soberly. “I was in something of a state, wasn’t I?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “You don’t need to be told. Anyway, I’m glad you’ve snapped out of it. I guess Ethan has had a lot to do with it.”

  She looked at him rather warily, and he said, “I mean, he’s really pulled you through it, hasn’t he?”

  “Yes,” she said slowly, “he really has. For his own reasons.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Nothing. Let’s not discuss Ethan tonight.”

  “Suits me. Talking about another man when I’m dancing with a beautiful woman—I must be slipping!”

  He took her home at about one-thirty. Ethan had left the door on the latch, and Jeff opened it for her, saying, “Shall I find the light for you?”

  “It’s all right,” she said. “I’ll turn on the switch in the lounge. Thank you, Jeff. I had a great time.”

  “My pleasure.”

  As she paused, he said, with laughter in his voice, “I’ve been a perfect little gentleman all night. Do I rate a good-night kiss?”

  He was a tryer, she thought, amused. She laughed softly and lifted her face. He kissed her nicely, without passion. Just as he knew she would have wished. Then he put his arms about her and gave her a hug. “I had a great time, too. Good night, Celeste.”

  “Good night.” She closed the door after him and snicked the lock, then walked slowly down the passageway to the living room.

  She paused in the doorway, and gasped as a looming shadow rose from one of the chairs.

  “Have a good time?” Ethan asked.

  “Yes, thank you. Why are you sitting in the dark?”

  “It relaxes me.”

  “I thought you’d be in bed.”

  “I finished the programme I was working on about an hour ago. So I figured I might as well hang about until you came in.”

  “There’s no need to wait up for me. As you said, I’m a big girl, now.”

  “Absolutely. Was Jeff a perfect little gentleman?”

  “Yes.”

  “Disappointed?”

  So it was starting again, she thought, her heart sinking. It was one thing to feel able to stand up to whatever he planned to hurl at her, but after a pleasant, relaxed evening, she didn’t want to start a minor war. “No,” she said coldly, wondering if Ethan had been drinking while he waited. She thought she could faintly smell whisky, and surely that couldn’t be left over from hours ago.

  “Do you mean to tell me that one good-night kiss is enough for you?” Ethan asked.

  “Don’t be so beastly,” she said. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Alone again?”

  On her way to the stairs, she swung around. “Yes, alone!”

  “You don’t have to be,” he said softly.

  “What?” In the act of turning away again, she froze.

  “I said,” Ethan enunciated clearly, “you don’t have to go alone.”She said, “Are you offering to—” “That’s right,” he said. “I’m offering to warm your bed. Your body. Your heart, if you had one. Pity about that. But one can’t have everything.”

  Celeste drew in a shaking breath. “I wouldn’t have you in my bed if you were the last man on earth!” Deliberately, she added, “You make me sick!”

  She had got to the stairs and was two steps up when he grabbed her, pulling her around and down to him, so that she fell heavily into his arms. Before she could even attempt to free herself, she found herself clamped against him, and he was kissing her angrily, hungrily, with a passion beyond control. She was right about the whisky, but the smell of it was soon replaced by the musky masculine scent of his skin, the taste of it drowned in the taste of his mouth. She fought him, silently and furiously, and when nothing else worked, lifted her foot in its high-heeled sandal and brought it down smartly on his instep.

  He grunted with pain and stepped back, allowing her a brief respite, but when she would have fled, he snaked an arm about her waist, and the next moment she was lifted high and he was carrying her up the stairs.

  One arm was trapped against his body, but she flailed a fist at his shoulders and his chin. He jerked his head out of the way and said grimly, “Keep that up and you’ll have us both down the stairs.”

  She drew in a panting breath and went stiffly acquiescent, only to fight him again as he shouldered open the door to her room and crossed swiftly to the bed. Moonlight spilled across it, and he pressed her down on the cover and caught her hands, taking her wrists back against the pillow, his body and his legs holding her while he kissed her mouth, kissed it for a long time, and in so many different ways. When she strained against him she could feel his body along the length of hers, and unexpectedly a hot rush of desire swept through her. She gasped into his open mouth and writhed in a futile attempt to escape him, to escape her own shocking need. He wouldn’t let her go, and she realised that her struggles were only increasing his arousal. She went still, trying to control her beating heart, the rising, hot tide within her. The effort cost her, and she sobbed with frustration and a confused mixture of emotions.

  Ethan raised his head, trying to see her face.

  She whispered, “Please, let go of my wrists. Please.”

  Slowly he let them go, resting his hands at either side of her, not moving away. She lay there, her hands resting on the pillow. Her mouth felt hot and swollen, and deep trembles of desire ran through and through her body. She sucked in a breath, then let it out in a long sigh. “Ethan,” she murmured. And her hands came up to his hair, remembering the feel of it from long ago, stroking its springy softness, and then she gently drew his mouth back to hers.

  Chapter Thirteen

  At dawn she woke and found him gone from her bed. Opening her eyes, she saw that he was standing at the window, a black shadow against the pane, where the sky was beginning to lighten, the stars fading and disappearing one by one.

  “Ethan?” she whispered.

  At first she thought he hadn’t heard. Then he turned, but of course it was too dark to see his face.

  “Is something the matter?” she asked, as he continued to stand there silently.

  After a moment, he said, “What could be the matter?”

  “I. . . don’t know.” But she was frightened, a pulse in her throat beating nervously. They had made love for a long time, and more than once. For her it had been like a homecoming after long years in the desert. And for him—she couldn’t know, but she remembered how he had adored her body with his hands, his mouth, how he had teased and shuddered with pleasure when she touched him, and later, still lying within her arms, he had murmured against her skin, with an air of wonder, “Perfect. . . perfect.”

  She lifted a pale arm in the dimness. “Please come back to me, Ethan.”

  He didn’t come right away, but when he did, he sat on the bed and took her hand, pressing his lips into her palm. Raising his head, he asked, “Have you ever swum in the sea at dawn?”

  “No. Is that what you want to do?”

  “I’ll get some towels,” he said.

  When he came back into the room carrying two large fresh towels, and wearing another about his waist, she had switched on the bedside lamp and put on her knee-length white satin wrap, belted at the waist, and was holding a swimsuit in one hand.

  “You won’t need that,” Ethan said, taking it from her and throwing it down on the bed. “Come on.”

  They ran down the path like children, even though it was still quite dark, and in the shadows she tripped and fell against him, and he caught her up and kissed her, sending delicious tingles through her body.

  On the sand, he dropped the towels at the edge of the trees, and unselfconsciously discarded the one he wore. Then he looked at her standing fiddling with the satin tie at her waist. “Take it off,” he said so
ftly. And when she still hesitated, he offered, “Or shall I do it for you?”

  She didn’t answer, and he reached for her, grasping the ends of the belt to bring her closer. The knot parted as he did so, and the wrap loosened, drawing his eyes to the gap where the swell of her breasts showed between the satin edges. “Déjà vu,” he murmured.

  “What?” Her voice was barely audible.

  “I wanted to do this once before,” he said, as his hands parted the satin farther. “Months ago, in Sydney.” His fingers ran lightly over her breasts, bared to his brooding gaze, and then trailed over her shoulders, sweeping aside the wrap so that it slid down her arms and lay in a gleaming white pool on the sand. Then he lifted her naked in his arms and carried her down to the water.

  They swam gently in the glittering morning sea, floating and touching each other as they passed and met briefly together, and kissed. At first the water was chilly, but soon it warmed, caressing their bodies. The sun’s rim curved over the horizon and laid a golden path to the shore, and Ethan touched her ankle as he glided past, and said, “Ready to get out?”

  He took her hand as they walked up the beach, and when they reached the towels, he picked one up and wrapped it around her body. The sunrise made his wet skin look like burnished copper, and she raised a hand to follow a trail of salty droplets along his shoulder and down his arm to the crook of his elbow. She smiled at him, and saw his jaw clench. She reached up and kissed another droplet from his chin, and he pulled her close, his knuckles digging into her breasts where he held the towel. The sunrise lit his eyes, and she caught her breath before he bent his head and captured her mouth under his. After a while, he dropped the towel and his hands spread over her breasts, making her moan with the sweet sensation of it. Then he took her with him down to the sand, spreading the towel beneath her, and made love to her while the sun rose out of the sea and spread its lush crimson light over them.

  When they got back to the house the phone was ringing. Ethan answered it while Celeste ran up the stairs and showered the sand from her body and her hair, wound a fresh towel about her, because the satin wrap was sandy and damp, and rubbed with another at her hair. As she combed it out in her bedroom, Ethan came in without knocking. He had put on a pair of jeans but wore no shirt.