Darling Deceiver

by Daphne Clair

  'I know.'

  'Then why did you flinch away from me?' His eyes passed rapidly over her with suspicion, and then he flicked the shawl from her clutching fingers, and found a streak of blood on it.

  It's nothing,' she said. 'Just a grazed elbow, that's all.'

  'Show me.'. He didn't wait to be shown, but lifted her arm, revealing the bloodied, dirty-looking streak edged with green grass stains.

  'It won't look nearly so bad when it's washed,' she assured him, watching his quick frown.

  'You look pale,' he said. 'Are you hurt anywhere else?'

  'No—at least, I expect I've a couple of bruises, but they'll heal.'

  He half-carried her up the stairs, insisting on keeping his arm about her, and pushed her into the bathroom.

  `Have a warm shower,' he said, 'and then I'll attend to that graze.

  She showered quickly, and since he had given her no chance to get a robe from her room, wrapped a towel about her and was trying to steer herself to come out of the bathroom like that, when he tapped' on the door and opened it a fraction, to thrust her blue satin wrapper through the crack.

  'Thank you,' she said, and took it.

  When she went into the bedroom, tying the belt of the robe, he was standing there with a wad of cotton wool and a first aid box was open on the bedside table. He was fully dressed now.

  'Sit here,' he said, and she obediently sat herself on the edge of the bed.

  He tipped a bottle of yellow, strong-smelling disinfectant and liberally soaked the cotton wool with it,

  then pushed back the sleeve of her wrapper and began drawing it over the graze. He had even thought of putting a towel over her lap in case the disinfectant dripped.

  It stung a bit, and he looked up sharply as she winced slightly. 'I'm sorry about this,' he murmured. 'I'm afraid in this case my reflexes were 'a little too sharp. I tend to react instinctively to danger—even if it is only imaginary.

  `I forgive you,' she said. 'It might not have been.'

  'I wish you could be more forgiving about—other things;' he said, discarding the cotton wool and soaking a fresh piece. `This may hurt a bit—there's dirt in the wound. I'm trying to clean it out.'

  `Where did you learn to react to danger?' she asked. 'In that street gang you told me about?'

  'And before. I spent most of my childhood in reform schools—no, it isn't what appears in the publicity handouts,' he said dryly, at her evident surprise. %All that stuff about supporting my poor invalid mother and my baby sister was Jack's idea. You remember Jack?'

  `Yes.' She hoped she sounded cool and casual. 'Is he still with you?'

  'couldn't do without him. He made Cadiz Fernand.' On an ironic note, he added, 'Without him, I'm not sure who I would be. Sometimes I wonder myself how much is real and what is Jack's fantasy.'

  `No, you don't,' she contradicted him softly. 'You know exactly who you are. You always have.'

  He paused in whit he was doing and said, 'Do you know who I am?'

  `I thought I did once, didn't I?' she admitted painfully. `I was very young then—very stupid. You said so. And you were right.'

  'You were also very sweet.'

  He put down the cotton wool and picked up a piece of plaster dressing. 'Hold it steady,' he said, placing her

  arm where he could put on the plaster.

  'Thank you,' she said as he took away the towel and closed the first aid box.'

  `I'll get you that drink you wanted,' he said, and left the room.

  She should put on something under the wrap, she supposed, but she couldn't be bothered. When he came back she had propped the pillows at the headboard of the bed, and was sitting against them with her legs curled up on the bed.

  `Cocoa,' he said, handing her a steaming cup. 'All right?'

  'Lovely, thank you.' She sipped it gratefully, trying not to notice that he stood only inches away, lazily watching her.

  To break the silence, she asked, 'Is your mother still alive?'

  'I don't think so,' he said unemotionally. 'If she was she would have turned up once I started making a name for myself—and money.' She looked up at him, and he said, 'I've shocked you. I haven't seen—I mean,

  my mother hasn't seen me since I was blinded—in a gang fight.'

  'A. gang flight? I read—'

  one of Jack's stories, no doubt. The one about rescuing a friend from, the wheels of a truck? I was never that soft-hearted.'

  'Not even about your family?'

  'What family? I never knew who my father was. I don't know if my mother even knew. There were lots of "uncles" in my young life, not much love. My mother was totally selfish. My sister ran away when she was thirteen. I have no idea where she is now. My mother —moved away while I was in hospital, and forgot to leave her address. All I had then was a guitar and a determination to crawl out of the gutter I was born into. Jack heard me playing and decided to help me do it-

  for a reason. He ,thought we could go places together, and we did.'

  So even Jack's motives were suspect, she realised. No wonder Cade said he had never learned to love.

  His hand came out to take the empty cup from her as she finished the cocoa, and he stood holding it in his fingers. His hand was lean and brown, and she let her eyes travel up his arm and linger on the strong throat in the open shirt collar before reaching his face.

  His eyes narrowed slightly, and he put the cup deliberately on the bedside table and sat down on the bed.

  His hands slipped under her' hair, framing her face, and he drew her close to him and kissed her gently. Carissa put her arms about him and snuggled close, then felt his mouth harden in passion as his hand pushed aside her robe and travelled with sure, caressing movements over the soft skin beneath. If there was passion, there was tenderness, too, in his touch, and she felt a surge joy in the knowledge.

  Then he suddenly thrust her away, saying violently, 'No! Damn you, not for pity!'

  Automatically she pulled together the` edges of the robe, demanding, 'What are you talking about?'

  You --' he said contemptuously. 'And your soft heart. Letting me make love to you because you see a poor motherless orphan who had a rough deal. Maybe I was once—but not any more. I'm a grown man, I'm big and I'm tough and I don't want pity. I want passion, and that's what I'm going to get from you—eventually. Not the fulfilment of a teenage fantasy, which you acted out last time, or a compassionate substitute for mother-love, such as you've just offered. I want you, Carissa, but on equal terms.'

  'What terms, Cade?' she asked. 'Lust without love?' He almost smiled, in a slightly devilish way. 'Call it

  passion without prevarication,' he suggested. 'Or sexual honesty, to be blunt.'.

  'Call it what you like,' she said. 'I can't accept those terms.'

  'You will.'

  'No.'

  He picked up the cup and balanced it in his fingers, standing and looking down at her, curled against the pillows, her fair hair spread about her, the robe still disarrayed, slipping off one shoulder, falling away from long, slender legs. His scrutiny was almost clinical, but a faint spark of desire still lit the dark eyes. 'Yes,' he said, quietly implacable.

  Carissa firmed her mouth defiantly and shook her head.

  Their eyes clashed in silent combat, a tacit declaration of war.

  Cade's smile held a hint of admiration, but it was confident of victory after a not unenjoyable struggle, rousing her anger and bringing a sparkle to her green eyes, before he gave her a sardonic nod and left the room.

  The atmosphere subtly changed. Before there had been preliminary skirmishes with intervals of genuinely amicable truce. Now Carissa was constantly on guard against him, reminding herself that the most casual, friendly gesture could be part of his campaign to obtain her surrender.

  Her suspicion was borne out by the expression she sometimes surprised in his eyes—a watchful, waiting look, as though he gauged her every reaction, was continually looking for ways of slipping under her guard
.

  Frankly determined to make her aware of him—and of herself—he made no attempt to hide the expression in his eyes when she emerged dripping from a swim in the lake, her swimsuit clinging to her tanned curves,

  wet hair trailing across her shoulders so that she had to lift it away from the curve of her breasts that the swimsuit left partially exposed.

  Avoiding his eyes, she picked up her towel and vigorously rubbed at the wet strands before sitting down on the towel and taking a comb from the beach bag at her side.

  She turned her head away from Cade as she pulled the comb through her hair, and she didn't know he had moved until it was pulled from her grasp and his quiet-voice said, let me.'

  'No!' She turned sharply, making a grab for the comb, but he held it away, the light in his eyes teasing.

  'I insist!' he said. And when she reached again for the comb in his hand, he smiled and said, 'You want to fight me for it?'

  Meeting the challenge in his eyes, she knew where that could lead—a half-laughing, half-serious struggle between two almost naked bodies, and he by far the stronger ...

  Defeated, she shrugged and turned her head away from him. She hoped that her refusal of his challenge had disappointed him.

  The comb stroked into her hair, and she gritted her teeth against the nearness of him behind her, the feel of his fingers against her neck as he carefully combed out the tangles. His touch was unexpectedly gentle, patient and painstaking until every strand was smooth as silk against her shoulders.

  Expert, she reminded herself cynically, because he had probably done it many times, for other women ...

  The comb landed softly on the towel beside her, and she felt his fingers part her hair at the nape, and then the burning brand of his kiss on her neck.

  Immediately she stiffened, and felt his hands clamp on her shoulders to hold her.

  `How frightened you are,' his voice mocked softly. 'Of me—or yourself ?'

  'I'm not frightened,' she denied. `Just revolted!'

  His fingers tightened momentarily, and he said with a hint of contempt, 'You liar, Carissa. You need a lesson in honesty.'

  She tried to get up as his hands left her, but found herself grabbed and pinned down against the towel, her newly combed hair in a damp halo about her defiant face.

  Poised above her, he said, 'You look like a virgin martyr, about to be ravished and thrown to the lions. Am I really a fate worse than death?'

  He gave her no chance to answer, his mouth coming down with a suggestion of the ravishment he had talked of, a sensual attack with overtones of violence, forcing her lips apart and bruising their softness.

  Carissa lay rigid, hating him for it, most of all hating him for the unwilling stirring of response he woke in her, which it took all her willpower to hide.

  When his mouth finally stopped punishing hers, she was obscurely pleased to hear the long, unsteady breath he drew and see the flush of colour that darkened his tan. Even the light of anger in his eyes was an indication of his frustration and her success in hiding her feelings from him.

  `You're not a virgin,' he said, 'for all your untouchable look. There must have been other men after me. And you're not as coldly indifferent as you pretend, so why hold out on me—why don't you take life as it comes, and enjoy it?'

  `When rape is inevitable?' she quoted, with bitter mockery. 'That's a male chauvinist philosophy—'

  Abruptly he twisted away from her, sitting up but turning his head to scorch her with furious eyes. 'I'm not talking about rape!' he snapped. 'I'll never force you, Carissa—I told you, equal terms.'

  'And I told you I won't meet your terms!'

  A glimmer of amusement lightened his anger. 'Then we seem to have reached deadlock—temporarily,' he said.

  'Permanently,' Carissa said with decision.

  He stood up, bringing her with him, with a slightly cruel hold on her wrist, and with a vicious little twist, brought her close. 'I wouldn't count on it,' he advised her quite pleasantly. 'Let's go in.

  There was a telephone call from Morris that evening. Carissa answered, to his rather guarded query as to how the honeymoon was going, that things were apparently peaceful, just as they had-hoped .for. His voice sounded familiar and safe, and with sudden hope she asked, `Any chance of your coming to join us for a couple of days?' Oh, what a relief from tension that could be, she was thinking.

  'Sorry,' said Morris. 'There's a lot to do here. My assistant left me to go on honeymoon, you know. I'm up to my eyes.' She couldn't join in his laughter at the feeble joke, and to stop herself from uncharacteristically snapping, she asked, 'Any other news, your end?'

  'Well, that's why I rang, really.' His voice became confidential. 'Tell your husband that one of his birds

  expected to be caged any day—but the—er—smaller one seems to have flown. Hasn't been seen for days.'

  She smiled at his melodramatic way of putting things —she thought it highly unlikely that the phone could be tapped, and again had a strong suspicion that Morris rather enjoyed the excitement of this secret drama. 'I'll tell him,' she said, glancing up as Cade appeared, lounging in the doorway.

  'And keep up your bird watching,' Morris said mysteriously. 'There could be some -ah—exotic species about where you are.

  'We will,' she promised, her smile, widening, in spite

  of the serious implications of that. Morris's voice had assumed a faint American accent, she noticed, and suddenly resembled that of a favourite actor in one of the TV thriller series that she knew he was addicted to.

  As Cade left the doorway and strolled over, to lean on the wall by the phone, unashamedly listening, Morris's voice reverted to normal.

  'I hope this doesn't last long,' he said plaintively. 'I miss you, Carrie.' She smiled, imagining him managing without her assistance.

  Cade's face subtly changed, and she realised he could hear Morris's words now that he had reverted to a normal tone. 'I miss you, too, Morris,' she cooed softly. `Would you like to speak to Cade? He's right here.'

  'No, just pass on the message. Goodnight, Carrie.'

  'Goodnight' —she waited for the click of the receiver at the other end, and added- 'darling.'

  'That was Morris,' she said, hanging up.

  `So I gathered.' Cade straightened, his eyes flicking her face.

  She walked before him into the lounge, saying over her shoulder, 'He said to tell you that one bird is expected to .be caged, any day, and the smaller one appears to have flown. Does that make sense?'

  He didn't answer immediately and she turned to look at Wm. He was standing in the doorway, .a faint frown between his. brows. 'Yes, I think so,' he said at –last, coming into the room. 'It sounds as though the police expect to get the gang boss—that's what they hoped for, that my—attacker—would lead them eventually to the top man. But they've lost track of Gomez.'

  'Gomez?' she queried.

  'The one who's out for my blood.'

  'Morris seemed to think he may be here. He said to keep up our birdwatching.'

  Cade gave a faint inclination of his head, then said, 'Anything else?'

  'Not for you. The rest was—private.'

  Her fictitious affair with Morris was a feeble defence, but the only one she had, apart from the flimsy barricades of her own stubborn will.

  Cade suddenly walked over to her, and she turned her back, pretending to look out the window, pulling aside the curtain.

  He said, `Don't do that!' and pulled her away, his arm hard on her waist, holding her against him. 'Don't stand in a lighted window.'

  She loosened his fingers with determined hands and moved away, but he caught at her hand. 'So you're missing Morris?' he drawled.

  `Yes, of course.' She pulled against his hold, but his fingers tightened, and he raised her hand to his month and began kissing the tips of her fingers in a leisurely fashion that unexpectedly shook her. 'Won't I do instead?' he murmured, shooting her a wickedly sensual glance as his lips closed gently on the top
of her thumb.

  'No! stop it!'

  His teeth nipped the fleshy part of her thumb, then he raised his head and looked at her fully.

  'That hurt!' she protested.

  He laughed and caught at her chin as: she tried to turn from him, pushing his own thumb between her lips. Pay me back, then,' he suggested softly. 'Tit for tat.'

  Carissa wrenched her head away, profoundly disturbed and afraid of showing it. `I'm not in the mood for childish games—'

  `Lovers' games.'

  'You're not my lover,' she managed. 'Morris is,' she lied desperately. 'And I think it's despicable of you to try to make love to me in his house, after what he's done for you! '

  He let her go then, saying coldly, 'What he's done? What has he done? Tell me.'

  'Well, brought you back here at risk to himself, and installed you in the lodge, given you a place to stay while the police track down this man who's out to kill you—'

  'Why?' he snapped.

  `Why?' she repeated, nonplussed.

  `Yes—why has Morris been so—generous, so self-sacrificing, even to the point of taking the risk of sending his girl to stay with me on a fake honeymoon. I'll tell you why, my darling. Because he hopes and expects to be repaid in time, to the tune of a few thousand dollars in cash—when I repay his altruism by doing a concert tour for him. Right?'

  suppose so,' she admitted reluctantly.

  `Suppose? You know so. So what do I owe him, do you think? And you—do you think I don't know it was your idea he should tell me you were off limits? You forget, I have very accurate hearing—even now that I can see. Morris didn't want to put you out of bounds, Carissa. He wanted you to keep me happy. He was quite willing to throw you to the lion—wasn't he?'

  `That's not true! Morris wouldn't expect me to—'

  `Wouldn't he?' Cade's mouth was a bitter line. 'Stop pre riding, Carissa. You know he wouldn't give a damn if you slept with me.'

  That at least was true, and the knowledge must have shown in her face. Cade gave a hard little laugh, and said, `Maybe it isn't the first-time, at that.'