Stranger in the Night

by Charlotte Lamb

  The journey seemed to be over before it had started. She walked into the villa with Macey on her heels. He jingled car keys in his hand, still whistling. Clare gave him a quick, uncertain nervous smile.

  'Goodnight.'

  Macey's mouth twisted in sudden sardonic amusement. 'Stop looking at me as though I might suddenly develop a tail and horns,' he drawled, blue eyes derisive.

  'I wasn't.'

  'No?' He lifted one brow, the casual stance of his lean body infuriatingly at ease.

  'Perhaps I ought to go back to London,' Clare flung angrily. 'We seem to be getting on each other's nerves.'

  Macey's eyes narrowed sharply. 'I wondered when we'd come to that.'

  She felt her skin flaming. 'Always one move ahead of me, aren't you? I'm sorry to be so obvious.'

  'Predictable, not obvious,' he said calmly.

  'Don't split hairs!'

  'I'm not. I can often guess what you'll do, but that doesn't make you obvious.'

  'It merely makes you a mind-reader,' Clare muttered crossly.

  He laughed under his breath. 'I suspected that in the present circumstances your reaction might be to run like a rabbit,' he told her in soft tones, his blue eyes mocking.

  Her colour deepened and her temper flared. 'Who said I was running like a rabbit? I merely thought that as we seem to be irritating each other it might be best if I left earlier than planned.'

  'Do you know your problem, Clare?' His amusement was making her want to hit him, her hands clenched into fists.

  'No, but I bet you're going to tell me,' she threw back with unhidden irritation.

  'You're an emotional coward,' he told her, watching her with a smile deep in his blue eyes.

  'I'm nothing of the sort! I merely thought…'

  'When you're faced with an emotional problem you scoot for the nearest exit,' Macey interrupted in a drawl.

  'That's not true!'

  'Isn't it?' His sardonic smile underlined the lift of his brows. 'I often wonder how well you know yourself.'

  'We can't all be as brilliant as you,' Clare snapped, her green eyes alive with antagonism.

  Macey laughed. 'Some of us aren't even in the beginners' class.'

  Clare's teeth set. 'Go to hell,' she said, stalking out of the room with her bright head held high.

  CHAPTER NINE

  It was impossible to sleep. She was too. keyed up, her mind racing like the engine of an overheated car. She showered and slid into her towelling robe, staring at herself in the mirror for minutes on end like someone seeing a reflection they did not expect. The short white robe just reached the top of her golden thighs. The plunge of the lapels left her breasts half visible. Her hair was damp and curling, her face very flushed. She stared at herself blankly for a long time before swinging away in sudden irritation.

  She could not go to bed yet; her head wouldn't stop working. She went on impulse to a drawer and found one of her bikinis. She would take a swim in the moonlight. If she was very quiet, Macey wouldn't hear a thing.

  She heard the low whisper of music from the sitting-room. The door was closed and she was able to creep out into the garden through the kitchen.

  The dark rich sky was glittering with stars. She stood, listening to the night music of the trees and the distant sea, her eyes fixed on the sky. The garden scents filled her nostrils, all the accumulated heat of the day trapped in the perfume of rose and lavender.

  Silently lowering herself into the pool, she shot away at a rapid pace before slowing to a crawl and turning to float on her back, her limbs relaxed, staring up at the star-crowded sky. All day the instincts of sensuality which she had suppressed since she was eighteen had been rioting inside her. She felt like someone who has been shut up inside a revolving washing-machine. Her head was spinning and she was giddy.

  She couldn't decide what was happening inside her. How did she really feel about Macey? Her sudden, violent attraction to him had left her shaken and confused.

  She couldn't blame him if he refused to believe in her feelings; Clare wasn't sure she believed in them herself. All the same, Macey's biting rejection of her had left bruises on her mind. They had increased her confusion. She felt torn between antagonism and a strange, nagging attraction.

  She had to resolve the tangle of her emotions, but she had no idea where to start. After knowing Macey for so long, could she really have begun so abruptly to feel attracted towards him? Was her behaviour really a fit of madness brought on by seeing Luke Murry again? Or was there more to it than a temporary insanity, as Macey obviously believed?

  All she knew was that after years of single-mindedly concentrating on her career, she was fiercely, wildly alive. When she realised her own folly in allowing a brief encounter with a vicious, ruthless man to cut her off from life, she had felt like someone being reborn, tingling with life, seeing everything with new eyes.

  As she drifted in the warm water her mind drifted, too. She suddenly remembered the night she woke up from nightmare to find Macey in her room. When he lost his head and made love to her so fiercely, she had been jolted by her own response. She had screamed and fought him off, but it had been her own sexual excitement she had been fighting. She had known that even then. The caressing stroke of Macey's hands had made every pulse in her body leap like flame.

  That first emotional incident in her life had put her feelings into a deep-freeze, and seeing Luke Murry again had started the thaw, but it had been Macey's passion that night which had completed the process.

  Luke Murry had left her with the idea that all men were marauding predators who must be kept at arms' length. She had included in that category every attractive man she met; it had been safer.

  Macey had been in a category of his own. She realised now that Macey himself had seen to that. When he realised that any pressure on his part would merely make her shut him out altogether, he had cleverly cloaked his feelings for her and got her to trust and accept him. Macey had made himself so deep a part of her life that she had come to see him almost as asexual, a mind rather than a man.

  She wasn't the only one who had been shaken by the appearance of Luke Murry. Macey had seen and recognised her immediate response to the other man, and it had knocked him of balance as much as it had Clare. When he came into her room that night to hold her in his arms in the darkness, Macey had lost his head, driven by dangerous impulses.

  Macey had not known exactly what he was watching. He hadn't liked it, whatever it was, and he had reacted as any man would react under threat. He had lost control. She found that slightly comforting. Macey wasn't as far above temptation as all that, after all. He wasn't superhuman. His control was impressive, but it wasn't unbreachable.

  Realising all this did not make it any easier for her to be sure of her own emotions.

  She had woken out of a dream sleep and felt a violent attraction to the first man she saw afterwards. That was one way of looking at it. Was it the right way?

  Or had she always been attracted to Macey and refused to admit it, even to herself?

  She was so deep in thought that she didn't hear the french windows opening or hear the step on the tiled surround.

  'What the hell are you doing?'

  Clare jumped violently and, her head swinging, was so taken aback that water splashed into her mouth and up her nose. Choking, she turned on to her front and swam to the side. Macey stood there, still dressed, watching her with a rigid face.

  She climbed out, running her hands through her wet hair. 'I couldn't sleep. It seemed a good idea to take a swim.'

  Macey was staring at her half-naked body, his blue eyes narrowed and fierce, his mouth a hard line.

  'No,' he said thickly, 'it wasn't a good idea. Go to bed.'

  She froze, her hands at the back of her head, all her muscles tightening as she felt the rake of his blue eyes. 'Don't use that tone to me!'

  'Are you deliberately trying to provoke me?' Macey asked harshly.

  Clare found the way he was sta
ring at her so disturbing that she lowered her hands, trembling, and moved to pass him.

  'And this time stay in your room,' Macey bit out.

  Clare stopped dead, infuriated. She glanced over her shoulder, her green eyes angry. 'I'm not a child to be ordered around!'

  'Aren't you?' He laughed shortly. 'Funny, that's just what I thought you were.'

  Her back stiffened. Prickling with resentment, she looked away, then her slender body turned slowly to face him. She glanced at him through her lashes. 'Is that how you see me, Macey? As a child?'

  She saw the hard flush run up his angry face. 'Go to bed, Clare, while I still let you go alone.'

  Clare arched her brows. 'Macey!'

  He drew a furious breath at the deliberate needling. 'My God, you're asking for trouble!'

  'I'm asking to be treated as a responsible adult,' Clare retorted, her eyes flicking up to his face in pointed anger.

  For a few seconds Macey didn't speak or move. His eyes held her own intently. Huskily he said: 'Sure?'

  At once she retreated before the question, her spine rigid, her face filling with nervous uncertainty. 'Just don't use that tone of voice to me again,' she stammered, her eyes falling from his.

  'Where are you going, Clare?' Macey's voice was smooth and soft. She had half turned to go, but his hand caught her arm and held her.

  Her lips parted on a frightened, quick-drawn breath. 'I'm…'

  'You're what, Clare?' he drawled. 'Getting cold feet already, by any chance?'

  His fingers moved softly, stroking her damp skin, sliding up her arm to her shoulderbone. 'What's the matter, Clare?' He had felt the slow tremor passing over her as his fingers caressed her. 'Cold?'

  'Yes,' she lied quickly. 'I'd better go indoors.'

  'We'd better both go indoors,' said Macey, watching her.

  Clare did not like the way he said that or the way the blue eyes were moving over her.

  His hand slid down her back and she gasped: 'I'm wet! Your suit…'

  'Damn my suit,' Macey said huskily. He held her, pressing her closer, looking down into her confused, shifting eyes. 'You want to be treated like an adult. Let's see you behave like one.'

  His head came down and at the feel of his mouth against her own Clare's mind shut off. Her eyes shut and she yielded weakly to the hand pressing against her spine, her body trembling. A drowning pleasure flooded over her. She had been waiting for this all day. Her lips parted on an aching sigh and Macey's kiss deepened, taking what she offered with a demand which grew more and more fierce as she submitted to it.

  His hand slid slowly up her back. Deftly he unhooked the fastening of her top. Clare was clinging to his mouth, dazed with pleasure. Macey's fingers delicately stroked the white swell of her breast and a languid fever held her.

  'Is this what you want?' he asked hoarsely, and Clare couldn't answer except with a trembling sigh, her arms tightening round his neck.

  Macey picked her up into his arms, breathing harshly, and carried her into the house. Clare's fingers moved in his thick dark hair, twining sensuously in it. Through almost closed eyes she watched the hard, taut features she had thought she knew so well and the same sense of unfamiliarity came to her, as it had earlier when she looked at herself in the mirror and felt she did not recognise the reflection at all.

  Macey, she thought, saying his name inside her head and amazed to find it sounded different.

  Macey carried her into her own room. He slammed the door shut behind them with his foot before walking with her to the bed, and the sound of that crash shivered her dazed state.

  She woke up, her eyes wide and stricken. She remembered the night when another man had carried her drowsy, yielding body into a dark room, and a terrible stab of panic went through her. She looked at Macey's known, familiar face through the shadows and it was even more alien now.

  Macey laid her down on the unruffled bed and knelt to kiss her, but as his face approached Clare was staring at it fixedly, her lips shaking. She knew that hard, set expression. She had seen it before: she had seen that look on Luke Murry's face before he forced her. The stark, driven masculinity had been what warned her that she was in danger.

  All expression had gone from Macey's face, too. It was locked in fierce desire, his bones taut under his brown skin.

  'No!' she cried out in tones of strangled terror, thrusting him away with both hands on his chest.

  Macey froze. He stared into her white face through the darkness. Clare watched him in shock and fear, shaking.

  'I can't,' she moaned, swinging away to scramble off the other side of the bed.

  Macey's hands hooked her back mercilessly. He was breathing hoarsely as he forced her down on to the bed and wrenched her head round, one hand thrust into her damp little curls to hold her head still.

  'You're not tantalising me and getting away with it, you little bitch,' he grated thickly. 'You started this— I'm going to finish it. My God, what do you think I am? I warned you not to play games with me, Clare.'

  Her cries of panic were stifled under the relentless force of his mouth. Macey lay on her, his hand sensuously caressing her breasts, her waist, the smooth curve of hip and thigh. He unhooked the tiny clasps which held her briefs together and Clare groaned protestingly, shoving his hand away only to have it return insistently.

  She tried to struggle away, but Macey's thigh imprisoned her own and held her down on the bed. His lips refused to relinquish possession of her mouth, bruising the soft curves of it, demanding submission in a series of deep, probing kisses which left her breathless and shuddering.

  His hand seductively traced the curve of her naked flesh, caressing, teasing, his fingertips light and warm on her skin. Clare tried not to be aware of what he was doing, but her body was quivering under the impact of those stroking hands.

  Slowly she stopped fighting him. She stopped struggling under the imposition of his body and her lips melted under his heated kisses. The stiff rigidity holding her slackened. Macey's fingers shifted and a moment later he had flung off his shirt. His bare chest touched her breasts and Clare moaned under her breath, a dizzying excitement mounting to her head.

  Macey took a muffled, sharp breath. 'Clare,' he groaned, his face buried between her breasts.

  The nagging ache inside her made her oblivious to everything else. Macey's lips and hands were satisfying a need she hadn't known she felt. Sensuality burned inside her, made her skin so sensitive that the touch of his mouth was like the touch of flame, made her cells dissolve in passion and her mouth dry up with hunger.

  'I've got to,' Macey whispered into her throat. 'Tell me you want me to, Clare.'

  She went stiff again at once, unable to frame the words that would commit her.

  'Clare,' he muttered unsteadily, his mouth searching for a response. 'My darling, you're driving me out of my mind.'

  She had softened enough to whisper in a trembling voice: 'I'm frightened.'

  'I know,' Macey said on a sigh. He drew back and gently kissed her neck, brushed his lips along her bare damp shoulders. 'I won't hurt you, Clare.' He breathed heavily, his fingers shaking as they touched her smooth, naked flesh. 'I won't force you, I promise. Just relax. Let me love you. I've needed to touch you like this for so long.'

  She sensed that the cruel, remorseless sexuality had ebbed. Macey's voice was more familiar; his mind was back in control of his body. A shiver ran through her.

  He lifted his head. 'Don't tremble like that,' he said in a low bitter voice. 'I promised I wouldn't make you do anything.'

  She lifted both hands to the black head, held it, looking at him with confused shyness. 'Macey darling, I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me.'

  He half laughed, his mouth twisting tormentedly. 'Don't you? I wish to God I didn't. How do you think I feel, knowing that all this passion isn't real? Holding you in my arms and feeling you respond but knowing I could be any man?'

  'That isn't true!'

  'Isn't it? Be honest, Cl
are. I've always known you were a sensual, physically alive woman, even when you were handing me off every time I came within a foot of you. All your physical responses were dead then. Now they're very much alive—but not for me; for them-selves. You're aching for fulfilment and you're in too confused a state to know how to control what's going on inside you. If I take you now, in a few short weeks you'll hate the sight of me. Do you think I don't know that?'

  'I'd never hate you, Macey,' she said gently, and knew it was true. Macey was almost part of herself. She would never hate him.

  He grimaced. 'I think you would, darling. Why do you think I've been almost killing myself to keep you at arms' length? This is no way for me to get you. I'd rather see you married to another man than have a few weeks' satisfaction with you and have you walk away afterwards hating my guts.'

  She slid her hands down to cup his face, her palms against his hot cheeks. 'Don't despise me, Macey. I hate to have you looking at me with contempt.'

  His face altered, his eyes passionate. 'Contempt? Clare! How can you think that?'

  'You looked at me, spoke to me, as if you loathed me earlier.'

  His mouth twisted. 'Don't you realise what a temptation you handed me? My God, I've never had such a fight with myself in my life! I was crazy. I had to slap you down hard to stop myself taking you.'

  Her colour flooded back, her eyes confused. Macey watched her and laughed under his breath.

  'I'd better get out of here while I can, darling. The sight of you is making my temperature shoot through the roof!'

  She smiled, her lips shaking. 'Maybe you'd better.'

  Leaning forward, quickly she brushed her mouth against his in a light, soft kiss. 'Thank you, Macey.'

  'Don't add insult to injury,' he said wryly, standing up.

  She watched him walk to the door and open it. He glanced back once, the flick of his blue eyes taking in her pale relaxed body on the bed before he went out.