Roberta Leigh - Not a Marrying Man

by Roberta Leigh

  The peal of the doorbell made her jump. Agitatedly she glanced at the door, thankful she had remembered to slip down the lock as she came in. She must subconsciously have known Bruno would come after her. She wished she had had the forethought not to sit in the living-room with the lights on but, now that he had seen them, to turn them off and pretend she was asleep was out of the question.

  Cautiously she stood up and crept towards the kitchen. As she did so the bell rang again: a prolonged sound that set her nerves jangling. Then knuckles rapped a hard tattoo on the wood.

  'Let me in, Sara. I know you're there.'

  She remained motionless, barely daring to breathe.

  'Damn it, Sara, will you let me in? I'm staying here until you do.'

  Once again she glanced around the room, almost as if she could see her next door neighbours. Wasn't Bruno scared of causing a scene ? Didn't he know his name was so famous that any unusual behaviour on his part could get it splashed across the tabloids?

  But if he did know, he didn't seem to care, for he was rapping on the door without cessation and, accepting the futility of not answering it, she slipped back the bolt and let him in.

  He gave her a bitter look. He was breathing fast—as if he had run up to the thirtieth floor and not used the elevator—which she knew to be a ridiculous thought, for it was temper that caused the sharp rise and fall of his chest. It narrowed his eyes too, turning them into hard black slits.

  'What the hell do you mean by walking out on me like that?' he demanded furiously.

  'I became tired of waiting for you. A night club isn't the best place for a girl to sit alone at a table.'

  'I wasn't away long.'

  'More than half an hour. But perhaps the time passed more quickly for you than it did for me.'

  'Do you think I enjoyed dancing with Magda?' he grated, still angry.

  'I didn't see her holding a gun to your head. Of course you wanted to dance with 'her! And in the words of Eliza Doolittle you could have danced with her all night for all I care—just as long as you didn't expect me to sit there and wait for you!'

  'I damn well did expect you to wait for me,' he retorted. 'I came back to the table minutes after you'd gone.'

  There's no point talking about it, Bruno. It's over and done with.'

  'How can it be over when you're still glowering at me?'

  'What do you expect me to do? Fall flat on my face because you came here to apologise?' Her mouth was scornful. 'At least that's what I assume you've come here for, although so far you haven't given much indication of it.'

  'Of course I'm apologising 1' He almost shouted the words. 'But I'm angry because you've made it necessary for me to do so. I still say you shouldn't have gone. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't have danced with Magda, but I thought you had the sense to realise I had no choice.'

  'If she still means so much to you,' Sara said sharply, 'you should have taken her out instead of me. I appreciate your wasting an evening on one of your employees, but I——-'

  'I didn't ask you out because you're one of my employees,' he cut in, 'and I did not dance with Magda because I wanted to. I had to.'

  'Why?'

  "Because of the T.V. show. It took me weeks to get her to agree to do the campaign in the first place and if she cried off now—which she could do by pretending she was ill, which is what she threatened to do tonight— then we'd be in a real fix. It's just my bad luck the show isn't going to be taped until the end of the week. If we'd met next Saturday night instead of tonight I'd have left her standing on the floor.'

  It wasn't until he had almost finished speaking that Sara remembered Alistair telling her how lucky they were to get one of America's leading models to feature in the Rosalyn Hour. He had also said something about the girl only agreeing to do it because of her friendship with Bruno. At least it explained why he had had to placate her, though it did not lessen her dislike of the way he had used his charm in the first place to get the model to do as he wished. Yet women often used their charm too, so why should it be more denigrating when a man did so?

  'You do know what I'm talking about, don't you?' Some of the anger had gone from Bruno's voice, though he still looked irritated.

  'Yes,' she said slowly, 'but you could still have taken me back to the table. Then you'd have been able to explain why you were going to dance with her.'

  'I was unwilling to leave her until I'd cooled her down. For God's sake, Sara, be reasonable!'

  'I'm sorry,' she said jerkily, accepting defeat. 'As you say, you had no choice.'

  'Perhaps I needn't have danced with her for as long as I did,' he replied slowly, 'but she's such a tricky bitch I had to make sure I'd placated her.'

  There seemed nothing for Sara to say and she remained looking at him. Because she wasn't wearing any shoes there was far more difference between their heights. He was taller than she had thought and his broad chest made him look more powerful.

  'If I'd been with any girl other than you,' he continued, his voice completely good-humoured, 'one dance with Magda would have been sufficient to placate her. But with you as my date it took all my powers of persuasion to make her think I still fancied her.' He came a step closer. 'You make all the other women around you look like nothing. Next to you, Magda was like a parakeet.'

  'An exotic and beautiful bird,' Sara said coolly.

  'Nowhere near as lovely as a graceful swan.'

  Slowly his hands reached out for her and his head bent lower. Sara knew what he was going to do but made no effort to move away. It was almost as if she were watching a scene being enacted in slow motion: one in which she was the viewer and not the participant. But as his warm mouth touched hers the sense of detachment went and she responded to him at once. For a brief instant she felt his hesitation, then the pressure of his lips increased and he pulled her hard against him. But despite his strength it was tenderness which predominated; tenderness and a swift rising passion that flared between them, as sudden and unexpected as a forest fire.

  'Sara,' he said thickly, and moved his hands across her shoulders and down her back, twining his arms about her as if he were trying to mould her into him and fuse their bodies.

  She offered no resistance, knowing only a longing to be held this way, to be kissed this way, to be wanted this way. With a murmur he swung her off her feet and carried her across the living-room to the soft chesterfield. He placed her upon it and lay down beside her, their bodies still pressed together, their mouths touching. Gently his tongue licked her lips, with no other effort being made to obtain her surrender; only the soft insidious touch.

  'Please, darling,' he murmured, and continued to run his tongue along the edge of her lips where the two curving lines met. 'Let me kiss you properly.'

  She shivered but still did not do as he asked. Occasionally Nevil had kissed her intimately, though of late she had not allowed him to do so, finding she had to force herself to respond to him. But with Bruno it was exactly the opposite, for she had to force herself not to respond. It was this that made her afraid to do as he was now asking; only by retaining control of her emotions could she hide the feelings that threatened to swamp her composure and make nonsense of the barriers she had put around herself as a protection against just such a man as this one.

  'I do believe you're shy,' he murmured and, leaning on one elbow, pulled back slightly in order to look into her face. 'Yes, I can see it in your eyes; in the way your lashes are trembling. Did anyone tell you they have gold tips to them?'

  Her lids quivered and with his right hand he touched the soft curve of her cheek, tracing its delicate line back to the lobe of her ear and then down the side of her slender neck. 'There's a little pulse beating in your throat,' he continued, his voice deeper than ever. 'How fast it's going… like the beat of a frightened bird. Are you frightened of me, Sara?'

  Still keeping her eyes closed, she gave a slight, negative shake of the head.

  'Yes, you are,' he persisted. 'Otherwise you
'd lift your eyelids and look at me.'

  With an effort she did just that, staring at him in silence. How intent his own eyes were, the irises enlarged by the dimness of the room. 'That's better,' he whispered. 'Now all you have to do is speak to me. You needn't be scared of parting those beautiful lips of yours. I promise I won't take advantage of it if you do.'

  'I'm not frightened,' she said huskily.

  'So you can speak!' he teased, and shifted slightly, as if he found it uncomfortable to lie on his side and rest his weight on one arm. 'But if you aren't frightened of me, my beautiful not-so-sophisticated-after-all Sara, why won't you let me kiss you ?'

  'You've already done so.'

  'I mean properly.' Once more he bent his head and when he spoke his mouth was against hers, his breath warm as a summer breeze. 'I'll never do anything to hurt you. Don't you know that?'

  Silently she murmured his name, but he felt the movement of her lips. It was all he needed as a sign of acquiescence and his diffidence vanished. Once again he was in control of the situation and masterfully, excitingly, in control of her.

  He swung over so that his body half lay upon her own. The settee bore the brunt of his weight, though the bodice of her dress was pulled sharply by the movement. His arm slid up behind her and there was a faint rasp as her zip slid down.

  She wore nothing beneath the top of her dress and she lifted her arm quickly so that it covered her breasts. But it was a wasted gesture, for his head immediately lowered and he pressed his face against the shadow where the two curves met, gathering her closer and pulling her up so that her body curved into his, pliant as a reed.

  His mouth on her breasts awakened a tumult of emotion that made nonsense of the control she had tried to exert upon herself, and the feather-light touch of his hands set the blood throbbing through her veins. Her heart started to pound and her fingers wound themselves through his glossy hair as she pulled back from him and looked into his face. Her trembling came in spasms and feeling it he pressed her down against the cushions and lay full upon her. Only then did she start to feel afraid, knowing she wanted him as much as he wanted her, yet unwilling to give in to the desire.

  She tried to call out, but her mouth was again a prisoner of his. She made an effort to turn her head, but he did not relax his pressure and went on kissing her until her agitation lessened and passion once more superseded it. Only then did he lift himself slightly away from her and gaze at her with a tenderness she had never thought to see in him.

  'No more, Bruno,' she whispered. 'I don't want you to—to ..

  'I wasn't going to,' he said, and there was a very faint quirk of amusement on his mouth. 'I was just pretending.'

  'Then I'll pretend to believe you!'

  His smile was wider this time. 'Always ready with the right reply, Sara-of-the-sharp-tongue.'

  'You have such lovely ways of describing me,' she mocked.

  'As varied as the moods you have presented to me. Will I ever know which is the real Sara?' He twisted his body so that his hips rested on the settee and she only felt the pressure of his thigh rather than the full weight of it. 'Sharp Sara, sarcastic Sara, sophisticated and sweet and simple Sara. Which one is the real you?'

  'Why should there only be one?' she asked. 'I'm a girl of many moods.'

  'Each one calculated to destroy my peace of mind.'

  'I don't believe that.'

  'It's true.' He slid an arm beneath her back and pressed his mouth to her shoulder.

  Quickly she lifted the front of her dress and, seeing the movement, he completed it for her and pulled the filmy black material up higher.

  'I suppose you think I'm silly,' she whispered, embarrassed by his gesture which, because of its very protectiveness, was almost her undoing.

  'Yes, I do,' he answered. 'But adorably silly.' With his index finger he traced the bones of her face; the short straight nose, the high cheekbones, the rounded jawline.

  'I'm glad you put on your sophisticated act, Sara. It makes me feel I'm the first man to see you with the curtain raised.' His eyes dropped to her dress. 'Or should it be lowered?' He gave a soft chuckle as he saw the colour rise in her cheeks and he placed his mouth on the side of hers, kissing the corners. 'I hate the thought of leaving you. You know I'd like nothing better than to stay. But I won't,' he continued, giving her a tiny shake, 'so you needn't go all stiff on me.'

  'I wasn't going stiff,' she protested. 'You make me sound as if I'm frightened of you.'

  'You should be. I was frightened of myself a moment ago. And that's rare for me.' He saw her doubtful look and gave her a fierce hug. 'I was, Sara. For the first time I thought of someone else's feelings rather than my own. I knew you were scared and I wanted to protect you.'

  'That's the nicest thing you've said to me.' Her voice broke and she found it impossible to continue.

  'I can say a lot more, but now isn't the time or the place.' His smile was tender. 'Or perhaps it's too much the time and the place. To go on staying here with you is dangerous. You're a very dangerous woman, my darling,' he added, and slid away from her to sit up straight. He ran his hands through his hair, then reached for his tie which lay upon the floor.

  'You've completely undone me, Sara,' he mocked softly. 'Do you know that?'

  'Do you mind?'

  'Do I look as if I mind?'

  Without waiting for her answer he bent over her again and kissed her. It was a firm kiss. This time he did not ask but took, and this time she did not withhold but gave. For several moments they remained entwined, then he drew back again and at once stood up.

  'Sara the siren,' he said thickly. That's the best description of the lot!'

  She laughed shakily and swung her feet to the carpet. Her skirt sighed around her and fell into place as she rose and walked to the door with him.

  'This wasn't quite the end I had planned to the evening, Sara Vale.'

  'Don't tell me what it was,' she said, her green eyes wide.

  'I won't,' he promised and, catching her hand to his lips in farewell, strode down the corridor.

  She remained by the front door watching him and, as he reached the elevator, he turned to look at her. His hesitation was noticeable, then he came back at a run and pulled her roughly against him.

  'Keep tomorrow night free for me, Sara, and the night after. I'll fly back with you on Sunday.'

  'I'm supposed to be seeing Bill tomorrow.'

  'Cancel it.'

  'How can I ?'

  Tell him you've got to work late for your boss.'

  She raised her head. 'Am I?'

  'I hope you won't call it work.'

  'It depends on how much effort I have to put into resisting you.'

  'No resistance will be needed,' he said firmly, 'because no assault will be made. You're too dangerous for me. The only way not to get my fingers burned is not to play with fire.'

  She wasn't sure how to take these words but felt she had to make some reply. Then perhaps you shouldn't play at all.'

  That wasn't what I meant, my angel, but it's too late for me to explain. I'm lunching with Magda, unfortunately, but I am all yours from three o'clock.'

  'Are you sure?' she asked, disengaging herself from his hold.

  'Very sure. And don't worry about her. You have no need to be jealous of her or any other woman.' Then he was gone, striding to the elevator again, but this time not looking back, as if afraid that if he did he would return and never let her go.

  Sara closed the door and leaned against it, too weak to move. No need to be jealous of any other woman. That was what Bruno had said and that was what he meant. The only trouble was that she didn't know for how long he meant it; nor did she know how she would cope with her emotions when that time inevitably came.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Sara did not expect to sleep much that night, for she had a great deal to think about; the most important being how much she dared read into what Bruno had said. Her love for him—which she now recognised as such—explai
ned the antagonism he had aroused in her from their first meeting and made it clear why she had always resented his mocking references to her being a successful career woman who put ambition before anything else. It also explained why she had become increasingly restless with Nevil. There was no longer any question in her mind about whether she could marry him. It was Bruno or no one; and if he did not want her, she would remain single for ever.

  She knew it was dangerous to believe all he had whispered to her a short while ago. When a man was aroused his behaviour often bore no relationship to the real way he thought, and it would be wiser to wait and see how he acted tomorrow, when they met, before she dared think in terms of a future with him. But that was what she wanted above all else: a future with Bruno; a chance to share his life, to bear his children, to give him all the love he needed.

  It was this last admission that disturbed her. Would Bruno be satisfied with one woman when he was used to the constant excitement of love affairs? This question— which she could not answer—brought her to yet another one. Did Bruno want to be her husband or did he only see himself as her lover? Although she had turned him down tonight it did not mean she would do the same tomorrow or the night after; and he wouldn't be the man he was if he didn't believe that he would wear down her resistance. After all, why should he suppose her to be more strong-minded than his other girl-friends?

  On this thought she fell asleep; dream-racked hours from which she awoke unrefreshed and still loving him.

  She was having an early morning shower when the telephone rang. Pulling on a fleecy towelling robe, she padded into the bedroom to answer it. A sweet shock of emotion coursed through her as she heard Bruno's voice. If he regretted what had happened last night he wouldn't be calling her this early.

  'Did I wake you ?' he asked.

  'I was having a shower.'

  'How soon can you be at the Salon?'

  The question surprised her, as did his brusque tone. 'Is anything wrong, Bruno?'