He was looking down at her, and his green gaze caressed her confused grey one in the dim half-light of the bedroom. His arms came up around her, and he kissed her gently but firmly. She tried to wriggle free, alarmed at the nearness of him, and the complete confusion she felt as to how she had ended up in such a position despite all of her attempts to fend him off.
Zaira pulled her head back far enough to avoid his kisses by arching her back, but this only made the situation worse, for it brought her lower body into even closer and more intimate contact with his solid maleness, which burnt into the softness of her stomach like a red hot poker.
“Brad, please! What are you doing here!” Zaira gasped.
“Calm down,” he whispered, “it was an innocent enough mistake to make.”
She still struggled to get free, but he soothed his hands down her back, and pulled her head towards him to tuck it next to his chest. He eased the lower half of her body away so that she could breath more freely, but she still felt deeply embarrassed and aroused by the incredible body she had caught herself caressing in her sleep.
“I’m sorry to give you such a start, but honestly, I went into the study to give you your cocoa, and you were sound sleep. Rather than leave you there all night, I brought you in here to your own bed. But you were shivering, so I just lay down for a few minutes with you to warm you up. I guess I fell asleep. I swear I didn’t do anything to take advantage of the situation.”
He began to pull away, and Zaira unthinkingly reached out to him and held him by the collar of his unbuttoned shirt. She looked up into his green eyes as they loomed over her, and she said, “No, I’m sorry, it is a bit odd, but honestly, I'm sure you were only trying to be kind.”
“Thank you. But you know, I'm not that chivalrous after all. As long as we’re here, we might as well make the most of it,” Brad said with a grin. His mouth took hers in a fiercely possessive kiss which sent her mind reeling.
Zaira tried to struggle, but he bundled her so tightly to him, that she could only loop her arms around his neck, and her body pressed itself closer to him of its own accord. He ran his hands down her sides, cupping her full breasts, which he began to nibble at through the fabric of her blouse. He shifted his weight, and his hand slipped down between her thighs to knead the sensitive flesh there. An incredible wave of pleasure overwhelmed her, and Zaira could hear herself cry out in a voice she didn’t recognize as her own as she shuddered weakly under him.
“Brad! Stop! Don’t!” she rasped huskily, but it was too late, and she caught a flash of his green eyes as they looked down at her in wonder. He kissed her softly on her mouth and cheeks, and kissed away the tears that had sprung from her eyes, as she floated back down to earth.
God, what must he think of me, Zaira wondered miserably as he kissed her once again and eased himself off the bed.
He sat on the edge of the bed, and held one of her hands in both his own. “I’m sorry, that went a bit too far. I didn’t want to take advantage of the situation, but I ended up doing it anyway. I need to sort things out with you, but it’ll have to be later.”
He got up and left the room without a backward glance, and Zaira felt she had driven him away with her undisguised passion for him. Damn him, he could have just got up, instead of playing his little games with her to test his power over women.
Zaira waited until she heard the apartment door shut before she ventured out for a cup of coffee, which she took back to her room. She stripped off the clothes she had worn the day before, and stood under a hot shower until her skin tingled.
Just as she came out of the bathroom, she heard the doorbell ring. She wondered if Brad had left something behind, but then she remembered that the posters he had bought were supposed to arrive that day. She pulled her dressing gown tightly around her and put on her spectacles. Her wet hair hung loosely down her back, glinting red in the sunlight as she opened the door.
A huge figure, nearly as big as Brad pushed past her, and in her outrage she didn’t stop to look at the second man standing in the doorway.
“Who do you think you are, barging in here like this?” Zaira demanded, but one look at the man’s hawklike features and green eyes told her who it was. Cormac Clarke. Cormac Clarke, the famous Hollywood legend, Brad’s father, was standing in her living room while she dripped all over the carpet.
“I was told my son lived her, though I can hardly believe it. All this university nonsense must have gone to his head if he’s slumming it here with the likes of you,” Cormac declared with a dismissive glance at Zaira and the apartment.
“Slumming! How dare you! I live here, and am working here with Brad on the screenplay of his latest film, if it’s any business of yours!” Zaira responded hotly.
The cold green eyes, so like Brad’s yet so different, looked her up and down as if she were a morsel about to be devoured. “I can see that isn’t the only thing you and I have been working on together,” Cormac sneered, and she felt naked despite the thickness of her terry robe.
“At any rate, I lost interest in all his little affairs years ago, so if you’d be so kind as to fetch him out of bed, I want a word with him in private. You can go about your business.” The contemptuous emphasis on certain words made her feel lower than a prostitute. Zaira bristled at his injustice towards Brad as well.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but he's out teaching and I’m not sure when he’ll be back. You can check his bedroom for yourself if you like, or our office. Now if you will excuse me, my students are eagerly awaiting my lectures, so I have little time to spare with an ill-mannered, unwelcome guest.”
Cormac looked surprised at her news, but narrowed his eyes in a sinister fashion as he towered over her and demanded, “Do you know who I am?”
“Any fool could guess from your resemblance to Brad, though I think I’m right in saying that it’s obvious he must have got his pleasant personality from his mother,” Zaira quipped.
She saw the flashing green eyes lighten in amusement.
“So since you know I'm Cormac Clarke, and you're the screenwriter, you should meet Clarke studios lawyer and accountant, Jonathan Wyman.”
Zaira looked at the tall, thin stranger with grey hair. The shock of recognition took her breath away. She saw the all too familiar sherry brown eyes glint warningly, and she heard herself say in an unnaturally high-pitched tone, “Pleased to meet you.”
“I’ve heard all about this Dark Lady project through the grapevine, and I'm here to tell Brad I'm not putting the company’s money into such a complete waste of time,” Cormac declared arrogantly.
“Have you read it?” Zaira demanded, turning all her attention back to Cormac in an effort to avoid falling apart completely.
“No, but—”
“Then you obviously don’t know what you are talking about. For one thing, I think the book is great, and I'm only the screenwriter,” Zaira asserted, stoutly defending all her work, “and for another, your gossips got it wrong. Brad is paying for the whole project himself out of his share of the profits from his last film. That’s how much he believes in it. So if you’ve come all the way here from LA to browbeat him, then you might as well just get on the first plane back!”
Cormac stood silently observing her, and then he smiled slightly and tried a different tack.
“Well, I was on my way to London on business, so I thought a stopover would be useful under the circumstances. In view of your heated defense of the project, even though it is entirely prompted by selfish motives on you part, I'm willing to consider that he's not wasting his time so much after all. But perhaps I want to be in on it. If it is as big as he seems to think, maybe Clarke Studios, with myself as head of the project, should buy the rights from the author.”
“She’d never sell them to you,” Zaira stated coldly.
Cormac quirked one eyebrow. “You know the lady then?”
“Yes, I do, and I know she wouldn’t consider letting a huge studio ruin everything she has ever worked
for. There is such a thing as artistic integrity, you know,” Zaira asserted, eying him with contempt.
“Fine words, my dear.” Cormac smirked patronisingly. “I think you’ll find that it’s only another phrase for getting the highest price possible. Everyone has a price, and I’ll find out Zoe Dominick’s.”
Zaira was outraged, and simply said, “It will be a great pleasure to see you eat those words one day, Mr. Clarke. Now really, I must insist you leave. Otherwise I shall be late for my lecture. We academic peasants have to work for a living, you know.”
“Well, I shall leave Jonathan for a moment to scribble a message for my son, and then we shall trouble you no further for the present, Miss, er—”
“Darcy, Zaira Darcy, Mr. Clarke. Goodbye.”
“I’m going on to the hotel now, Jonathan, so leave a message and those papers that need signing, and I shall see you shortly.” Cormac marched out, and Zaira suddenly found herself alone with her husband.
She sat down in the nearest chair, and ran her fingers through her hair.
Jonathan busied himself with some papers he had taken out of his briefcase, and said conversationally, “The boss wants me to organize a business meeting with Brad and Miss Dominick for eight o’clock at Tavern on the Green. Since you’re working with her, can you get hold of her? We tried through the publisher, but he was very cagey.”
“I can, but it would be a waste of time,” Zaira said quietly, drained of all emotion except surprise.
“Nevertheless, I shall expect her there at eight. Mr. Clarke is leaving first thing in the morning for London, and he wants the business with her and Brad settled.”
Zaira sat in silence for several more minutes, and then she stood up to confront him.
“This is like something out of one of Brad’s films! You disappear, we all think you’re dead, and then you turn up, safe and sound, under a new name, working for one of the richest and post powerful corporations in America.”
“You know what I’m like, Zaira, ambitious, and the ad agency just seemed like small time to me after a while." Jonathan shrugged nonchalantly.
“Oh really,” Zaira sneered, “and did the thousands you stole from the staff, the clients, from me, did that seem like small time to you as well?”
Jonathan’s eyes glittered dangerously, as he demanded, “And where do you fit in here? You can’t complain. You’ve obviously done well for yourself.”
Zaira rounded on him. “Ever since you left, I've had the police going through my life with a fine-toothed com. I've struggled night and day to pay back the money you stole. If I’ve survived, it’s been by sheer hard work and determination to right all the wrongs that you committed. I never knew such poverty existed until you abandoned me. If it weren’t for the university, I wouldn’t have known where my next meal was coming from!”
Jonathan shook his head and said, “It couldn’t be helped. I’d had enough.”
“And I’ve had enough of your deceit and selfishness!” Zaira raged. “What’s to stop me from telling Brad exactly who you are?”
Zaira knew she was in trouble when he felt the lapels of her dressing gown grabbed, and she her feet barely touched the floor as he pulled her to him.
“If you do, I shall make sure you go to prison as well,” Jonathan threatened. “I’m making good money, and have plenty of power, so there’s no need for them to know about my past impetuousness, is there? If you say one word, Zaira, so help me you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
Zaira struggled to get free of him, repelled by the closeness of the man she thought she had once loved, and it was with great relief that she heard Brad’s key turn in the lock.
She heard his footsteps pause and his voice grate out, “What the hell is going on here!” as Jonathan released her and she pulled her dressing gown more closely around her trembling form before facing him.
She could feel Brad’s eyes upon her, accusing, and then he blinked and recognized the man standing behind her.
“Wyman, what are you doing here in New York?” Brad asked coldly, still eying the two of them for the least sign of guilt.
“Why, here on business with your father, old chap, about this new project. He wants to meet with you and the author tonight at eight. It’s all written down here, and there are also some papers for you to sign,” Jonathan said smoothly. “And now if you and the charming er-lady, will excuse me, I’ll be off for my next meeting.”
Jonathan hastily picked up his briefcase, and vanished out the door in a second.
Zaira was already backing into her room before Brad grabbed her by the shoulders and bit out, “Well, I’m sorry I didn’t satisfy you thoroughly enough this morning, but did you really have to resort to the first creep who came knocking on the door for a bit of sex?”
Zaira couldn’t believe her ears, and all the pent up fury over the abuse she had taken for the past half hour caused her to lash out. She slapped his angry face so hard she could see the imprint of her hand on his cheek, and she fought like a wild thing as his strong hands tried to contain her.
“You bastard,” she hissed, “get your hands off me!”
She clawed and even bit him while she screamed every abusive word she could think of, until finally he slapped her, and she crumpled to the floor like an old rag doll.
When he came to a few minutes later, Zaira was cradled in his arms on the sofa, and he was wiping her face with a cold cloth. She opened her eyes, and saw his face very near hers, his eyes pained, his cheeks damp.
“God, Zaira, I wished I could have cut my tongue out before I said such a thing. Please forgive me,” Brad whispered.
She eased herself off his lap and tried to stand, but she swayed so much that he reached out a hand to support her, which she knocked away.
“No, just don’t touch me, and don’t say anything. I’ve had a couple of nasty shocks this morning, and you were the last straw. Leave me alone.”
“Not until you tell me what the hell has been going on here this morning!” Brad insisted.
“In a nutshell then, your father called me a whore, and your accountant treated me like one."
"My God, did he—"
"I've endured worse. But that's not the whole of it."
"It's bad enough, and I've made it worse—"
"No, your father has. Their whole purpose in coming here was to talk you out of “The Dark Lady” project. When I defended you to those swine, then your father determined that they would buy the rights from Zoe Dominick and cut us out of the project altogether,” Zaira told him in a near-whisper.
“They can’t, Zoe wouldn’t let them! My God, no wonder you’re upset,” Brad exploded.
“You father is convinced that everyone has a price, and that Zoe is no different, hence the dinner tonight,” Zaira said quietly.
“Well, I hope we shall all prove them wrong, then.”
“Maybe he is right. Maybe we do have a price, but often we pay out more than we ever receive,” Zaira murmured, more to herself than Brad.
Zaira shuddered at the thought of Jonathan back in her life again, and the harm he could do to herself, and even Brad, in his position of trust as the accountant at Clarke Studios.
“Look, I’m sorry about what I said, and about hitting you, Zaira. You were hysterical after the way Wamn manhandled you, I can see that. When I get my hands on hi—"
"No! Don't! Just leave it."
"But Zaira…."
I said leave it!"
"Come sit down and we can talk it through,” Brad apologised, trying to hug her close.
She pushed out of his embrace, even though it was the only place in the world she wanted to be at that moment. The only place she could deluded herself into feeling safe, at least for a little while…. But no. There was nothing but a web of lies, with a fat spider within weaving them into only it knew what knots. “There’s nothing to say Brad. I think it’s all been said now. Besdies, I’m late enough as it is ,” Zaira said. She went into her room and
locked the door.
She pulled on her suit hastily, still trembling. She had just enough time to put up her hair before she grab her purse and briefcase and ran out of the apartment, slamming the door loudly behind her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Zaira tried to pull herself together after all the nasty shocks of the morning, but the sense of threat grew stronger rather than weaker the more she thought about her whole situation. Her husband Jonathan was capable of anything, she knew that now. Did she tell the police, and go to prison, or keep silent and run the risk of him harming her or Brad in some way?
But even if Jonathan did go to prison, and she were able to convince the court of her innocence, he would come to find her sooner or later, of that she was sure. And after all, he was still legally married to her. Zaira pulled her thoughts together to focus on the implications of this issue. Maybe she could exact a price from him for her silence, her freedom. She could make sure he didn’t contest the divorce on the grounds of desertion that she would be entitled to soon.
But soon wasn't soon enough for her. And what would Brad think of her if he found out she had kept silent about them harboring a thief in their midst? But if she did tell the authorities he was back, and went to prison because Jonathan would surely lie to try to implicate her in his fraud, she would never see Brad again.
How did she feel about losing Brad? She recalled the ugly scene earlier that morning with a shudder, but understood his jealousy and rage. His feelings about her were becoming all too clear, though it wasn't flattering to either of them that he wanted her so passionately, even when he was in love with the gorgeous blonde in the photo.
But maybe it wasn't so much jealousy over her, but a level of male competition that caused Brad to behave so irrationally. She could sense an obvious dislike of Jonathan, and his being his father's right hand man after what had to be only a short time must have grated on Brad's nerves.
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