Darling Deceiver

by Daphne Clair

  `What -do you mean?' Her eyes searched his hard face.

  `You've entertained people here before, for Morris, haven't you?' he said ruminatively, his eyes searching, speculating.

  For a moment she looked utterly blank. Then as his meaning penetrated her brain, she was possessed by a spasm of blind, hot rage.

  `How dare you Her voice was high and clear, and she hit out at him in a frantic fury.

  He caught at her flailing fists and held her wrists in an iron-hard grip, twisting her away from him as she kicked out with her foot at his ankle, until she fell on the sofa, still fighting furiously, too angry to care that she had no hope of winning against his easy strength.

  He held her down until she finally stopped trying to writhe out of his grasp, and lay panting and flushed, but still, against the cushions, eyes green as emeralds with a furious, impotent hatred.

  'I take it I was wrong,' he said calmly. Then, unexpectedly, he added, 'I'm sorry, Carissa.'

  He let her go and got up, walking over to the -brick fireplace and leaning his hand on the mantel over it, looking away from her.

  Her fury drained away, and she supposed it was reaction to that fierce emotion that made tears suddenly sting at her eyes. Horrified, she put up a hand to stop a sob, and when Cade turned to look at her she turned her face away, to bury it in a cushion.

  She felt his hand on her shoulder, turning her to him, and this time her resistance was feeble, as he caught her to him with a gentle firmness that was new and surprisngly comforting, stroking her hair and whispering soothingly to her until the humiliating years stopped falling. Even then she was content to keep resting against him, lulled by the soft stroking movement of his hands on her hair, and her back, the sound of his voice. His mouth brushed her temple and then her cheek, and when his hand moved softly to her face and lifted it so that he could kiss her damp' eyelids, she didn't protest, only gave a soft little sigh that he Captured suddenly and surely with his mouth on her parted lips.

  The kiss was meltingly tender, then slowly, imperceptibly it. changed to a languorous sensuousness, so

  that she didn't even recognise the slow heat that invaded her body as dangerous desire, it simply felt warm and wonderful, and her lips unconsciously clung, responding softly to his careful expertise.

  His hand moved down from her back and began to stroke her thigh as he pressed her slowly down on to the cushion's, and she felt him settle himself beside her, still holding her mouth under his, still evoking that pliant response.

  His mouth lifted from hers and his fingers gently brushed away strands of hair from her throat, and he began to drop light, tantalising kisses on her throat, and into the open neck of her buttoned blouse.

  Vaguely worried, she whispered his name, but he said, `Shh ' and kissed her mouth again, discovering its contours, gently invasive. His fingers dealt With the buttons on her shirt and slipped inside it, and a sudden wave of astonished pleasure made her mouth open in a silent gasp, giving him freedom to explore it as he would, a freedom he took full advantage of.

  With growing assurance he pulled her closer, laying the length of his body against her softness, allowing frank desire to harden his mouth on hers and direct his hands as they caressed her body.

  She touched his hair tentatively, then let her fingers run across his shoulders. He took her hand in his and kissed the palm, then slipped it inside his shirt, and she opened her eyes as his smiled into them with glittering triumph.

  She frowned and he said, `Don't—' and smoothed the 'small lines with his lips, drawing back to look at her again. 'Don't worry, darling. You have beautiful eyes—so dark, so troubled.'

  He made to kiss her again, but she moved restlessly and whispered, 'Cade, I don't want

  He caught her face between his hands and contra-

  ,

  dicted huskily, `Yes, you do.' He lowered his lips and kissed her slowly until he felt the slight resistance ebb away. 'You want me, don't you, lovely Carissa?'

  Her eyes still closed, she felt drugged, and she dragged them open to see his dark, compelling eyes. `Don't you?' he insisted, a faint smile tugging at his mouth, removing its habitual bitterness, and tenderness tempering the demand in, his words..

  `Yes,' she admitted, helpless to defy him with a lie.

  'No buts,' he said, stopping her faint protest with his

  mouth on hers, kissing her into silence and submission,

  until she lay passive, her arms about his neck, her head

  tipped back against his arm.

  But then he moved, pulling her up with him, still

  holding her in his arms, and said against her mouth, `Come on, honey, it's nicer in a bed.

  Then she finally awoke from her passion-induced trance and pulled away from him, at first feebly, and then, as his hands hardened and tried to hold her, violently.

  `No she said, and then more loudly, No, no, no

  He took a deep, exasperated breath and said, 'I heard

  you the first time. I made 'a tactical error, didn't I? I

  should have taken you right here. You were far enough

  gone not to mind the discomfort.'

  Knowing it was probably true, she said, 'That's a beastly thing to say

  `But true,' he said callously. 'You want me—you said so.

  `That doesn't necessarily mean I'd let you—'

  `You would have let me do anything—and that's the truth! ' He reached for her and pulled her close, holding her shoulders. 'Isn't it?'

  He waited for her answer, eyes blazing into hers. She didn't know, but defensively she said, 'You're very-

  expert. That's exactly why I don't want you to make love to me.'

  He raised a disbelieving eyebrow at that, and wearily she spelled it out for him. 'Not—with my mind,' she explained.

  'And that's important?'

  `To me, it is.'

  'A meeting of minds—that's what you want of a love affair?' he asked with derision.

  'I don't want a love affair—of any sort—with you!' she protested.

  'Because I won't pretend that I love you.'

  'Because you don't love me! Because you haven't ever loved any of the women in your life. They're all just a procession of faces, of bodies that you wanted for a time and then discarded when they no longer—amused you. Aren't they?'

  He looked at her sombrely. 'No. Once that might have been nearly true. One does grow out of it. I did—eight years ago, when I first met you.'

  For a minute she stared at him in sheer surprise. Then, suspicion making her angry, she choked out, 'That's a cheap lie!'

  A muscle tightened in his jaw, and he said, 'How do

  you make that out?'

  'You don't expect me to believe that? I might have then—but I'm not a naïve seventeen-year-old now! As you said,' she added with bitterness, 'a girl doesn't forget her first lover, but if you expect to persuade me to —to repeat the experience by pretending it meant something special to you, you can think again. I'm not that stupid!'

  She turned from him and left the room, ignoring his tightlipped stare at her outburst, pretending not to hear as he said her name with a harsh, urgent tone in his voice. She fled to her own room, pacing restlessly to and fro for a time with her jaw aching from the rigid

  control she was exerting to stop herself from diving on to the bed and indulging in another fit of tears. He wasn't worth it, she kept telling herself fiercely, wishing her idiotic emotions would agree to being ruled by her head. He wasn't worth it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  CARISSA had to shop the next day—they were short of eggs and a fresh supply of bread was needed. She was relieved to be away from the lodge for a short time, and lingered in the shop, looking over the rack of magazines and finally picking out a couple to add to her purchases. A. picture of a crocheted wall-hanging caught her eye on one of the covers, and she found the instructions and with the help of the friendly woman behind the counter picked out some yarn and a crochet hook from
the small stock the store carried. Crochet . was a skill she had learned from her mother as a child, but had not exercised for a long time. She felt the need to occupy herself in the evenings, now, and keep her mind on something other than the tension between herself and Cade.

  There were several people in the shop by the time she had finished and picked up the large paper bag containing her purchases. One man, standing in front, of the door, eyed her with considerable interest as she mod towards it, and she had to stop in front of him until, with a murmured apology and a smile, he moved aside to let her pass. He was dark, with a lean, intense-looking face and a wiry frame, a little taller than she was.

  For a moment or two she felt uneasy, but she was used to being looked at by men, and decided that she had been made over anxious by circumstances. She kept an eye on the rear-vision mirror-on the way home, but saw no one until Pat on the motor-cycle loomed into view and eventually passed her, to stay just in front until he turned with a wave down the track to the fishing hut.

  When she took out the wool and began to crochet a chain that evening, Cade eyed her with amused cynicism.

  'How domesticated you look,' he drawled. 'Are you making something for me?'

  'No.

  After a few moments he strolled over and looked over her shoulder at the magazine, open at the illustration and instructions she was following. The design was of stylised fish, two intertwined in graceful curves.

  'Very nice,' Cade commented. 'Are you going to give it to Morris—? perhaps he'll hang it in his bedroom along with his prize trout.'

  'Maybe,' she agreed.

  It had been like that all day—Cade 'making mocking remarks that might have meant more than appeared on the surface, and Carissa answering with brief, noncommittal replies. She had hardly looked at him, but had been increasingly aware of his growing exasperation, the deepening of the sardonic lines about his mouth, the sharpening of his challenging eyes as he -looked at her, the edge in his voice behind the lazy mockery.

  Deftly she joined the edges of the chain and began to crochet into the circle, keeping her eyes on the hook as she lopped in and out of the yarn. She wasn't fast, but the movements were coming back to her. If Cade didn't stand so close, she might begin to enjoy this in a mild way.

  He suddenly swung away and went to the piano in one corner, picking out a tune with one finger, then sitting down and crashing into the opening bars of a noisy and passionate piece that she didn't recognise.

  He played for a long time switching from that to something quieter, and ending with some Lennon–McCartney tunes and then one she recognised as his own composition. His technique was not of concert

  standard, but she supposed he was getting something out of his system.

  Apparently it wasn't enough. Abruptly he swung off the piano stool and said, 'I'm going for a walk.'

  'Do you want me to come?' she asked composedly.

  'Please yourself.'

  'Then, if you don't mind, I'll stay here.'

  'Naturally.

  He sounded fed up, and she pulled in her lips a little to hide a smile.

  As he went to the door she said, 'Don't forget to tell your bodyguards where you're going.'

  He stopped for a moment and then said savagely, 'The hell I will! I want to be alone—and I'll take my chances, thanks.'

  She waited for a few minutes after the outer door had slammed behind him, then went to the telephone. Pat answered, and she said, 'Mr Franklin went for a walk. He said he didn't want company.'

  -'We'll keep an eye out,' the man promised.

  'He isn't in a very good mood,' she warned.

  Pat chuckled. 'Thanks for the warning: We'll try to keep out of the way.

  She thanked him and put down the phone. Cade would be furious, of course, if he knew she had phoned the angels. But it was her job, as well as theirs, to see that he came to no harm. And it worried her, thinking of him out there alone ...

  She had gone up to bed by the time he came back, but she heard his key in the door and his footsteps coming up the darkened stairs, before she turned over and slept.

  He was still restless the next day, and insisted on going out for a swim at the nearby hot springs. The bodyguards and Carissa -tried to dissuade him, with no effect. He looked arrogant and determined and rather bored, and simply said-he wasn't asking permission, he

  was informing them that he and Carissa were going swimming, and Pat and Stan could do what they liked about it.

  As he put down the phone and turned away, Carissa looked at his implacable profile and said, 'And that goes for me too, I take it?' with a hint of opposition.

  His eyes narrowed on her tilted chin and defiant eyes, and he said softly, 'You want a choice?'

  Before she could answer, his hand whipped up and into her hair, pulling her close to his lean strength, and his lips were inches from hers as he said, 'Okay, we stay here and you—entertain me, or we 'go swimming, honey. To take my mind off my frustrations.' He lowered his head then, his lips barely brushing her mouth as he murmured, 'So—which is it to be?'

  'You know,' she breathed against his tantalising mouth, trying to stiffen hers against temptation,, pushing her hands against him.

  For a moment he held her still, his eyes searing into' hers, and then dropping to her mouth, until she whispered, 'You're hurting me ! '

  He was, but she didn't care about that, only couldn't stand the nearness of him any longer, deathly afraid that she would give herself away if he didn't stop holding her.

  His 'hand dropped and she stepped back from him, taking a deep breath, saying, 'You don't leave me much option.' With sudden passion she added, 'There are times when I hate you—I could sympathise with that Gomez man.'

  The water in the pool was deliciously warm, and a clean, sparkling blue. Carissa soon became accustomed to the faint smell of sulphur that overhung the area, and swam lazily from end to end, turning on her back to float, with the blue sky overhead filling her vision.

  Until a dark, seal-wet head appeared beside her and

  her pulses began to increase their tempo as he trod water beside her, his arm encircling her bare waist and drawing her with him to the side of the pool where he set her on her feet in water more than waist-deep.

  He trapped her against the side, his hands on either side of her holding the surrounding rail. He was smiling, and her heart seemed to do peculiar things as she watched the change it brought to his harsh face, the deep creases in the lean cheeks, the slight softening of his penetrating eyes. She remembered when those eyes had been covered by dark lenses, when they had held none of the awareness, the life, that lit them now so vividly, and the knowledge brought a sweet pain.

  Her face must have changed. Cade's stance altered, he seemed to lean a little towards her, and one brow rose questioningly.

  She began to turn her head away from the enquiring look, but he moved one of his hands and gently turned her face back to him, asking, 'What is it?'

  'Nothing. I'm just—glad you're not blind anymore.'

  Faint surprise showed in his eyes, and he dropped his hand. 'Me too,', he said, his eyes surveying her, a hint of tenderness in his smile.

  Pat went by them, swimming with a ponderous crawl and Carissa smiled at him. Cade turned his head, and she ,,ducked quickly under his arm and swam away from him.

  He came after her swiftly, grabbing at her ankle and then her waist, and she joined in the game joyously, splashing, fighting him off, but not in earnest, pushing at his sleek head when it came near, and wriggling wet limbs out of his grasp until he got his arms about her waist again and she gave up, gasping with laughter, her face against his shoulder, her hands slipping down his muscular arms.

  'Give up?' he said teasingly in her ear, and she gasped, 'Yes, all right. Let go!'

  She looked up, and he was looking back at her with an odd, arrested expression on his face, as though he had just noticed something about her-he had never seen before.

  Then he said, 'No.' But
he did, and she floated away from him with a curiously flat feeling inside. Because she hadn't really wanted him to let go. She had wanted him to kiss her. She had wanted him to hold her forever, and never let her go, and all the other extravagant desires that went with—love.

  'Oh, no ! ' she whispered protestingly to herself. She couldn't be that crazy—could she?

  She got out of the pool, throwing back wet hair as she did so, and almost collided with the man who had been in the shop the day before.

  'Hello,' he said, with a soft American accent. 'We meet again.'

  She smiled absently and walked by, too preoccupied with her disturbing new knowledge of herself to do more than barely notice him.

  She spent a long time drying and dressing herself, combing her hair out carefully after towelling it with unnecessary force which she regretted when it came to pulling her comb through the resultant tangles.

  When she came out Cade was already waiting for her, and she glimpsed Pat and Stan at the gateway of the pool area.

  They drove back along a winding road round the lake, the bush thick as it tumbled down the bank on one side, occasionally receding behind small cottages, and the blue of the lake rippling on the other side.

  Cade touched her hand with his and she pulled away, earning a hard glance and a mocking, 'Climbing back behind the barricades again, Carissa?'

  She didn't answer, turning to watch a fisherman wade into the lake, and expertly cast into the deep water.

  Swimming in warm ,mineral water was enervating, and she napped on her bed in the afternoon, but. after their evening meal Cade insisted on going out again, and this time she went with him:

  They stopped on a rise, the darkening water of the lake glistening at them through a gap in the trees, and listened to the night sounds, the small rustlings, subdued chirps and distant bird-calls.

  `What's that?' Cade said quietly, moving his head. Carissa heard nothing at first, then the sound came again, and she said `Kiwi—calling his name.'