by Kim Lawrence
He shrugged his broad shoulders and pushed open the door, his whole attitude one of dismissal. ‘I may not see my son very often,’ he said, looking at her coldly, ‘but at least I can be sure he’s not being brought up by an intractable, self-righteous hypocrite.’
He gave a low, hard laugh. ‘Was it self-righteous or hypocritical you object to?’ he enquired, as a sound of inarticulate wrath escaped her lips. ‘Could it be you’ve got a few skeletons of your own? I see you have.’ He appeared to take savage pleasure from her thinly disguised distress. ‘Don’t worry, Doctor, I’m not interested enough to find out what they are.’ The slam of the door shook the trailer.
When Hope found Lindy two hours later, walking towards her car, there were no outward signs of the tears. She’d stopped shaking too, and she’d lost that glow which had so delighted her sister. The blank expression in Lindy’s eyes made Hope want to scream with frustration. The barriers were back up with a vengeance.
‘You had a fight.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘Sam’s just verbally flayed anyone stupid enough not to keep out of his way. He gave a performance that was so scary—even to me—you’ve probably got him an Oscar nomination. You always get the impression he’s holding something back when he’s performing,’ she mused, falling into step beside her sister, ‘but today he let us have both barrels!’
‘Glad to have been of use,’ Lindy said bitterly. God, these people were so self-obsessed. She’d be glad to get back to normal life.
‘Ouch! I didn’t mean to sound uncaring. I’m sure you two will get back together. Will is taking bets on it, and he’s pretty shrewd. He rarely loses money.’
‘Well, this time he’s backed the wrong horse. I loathe and detest Sam Rourke and if I never see him again it’ll be too soon!’
Hope recoiled at the virulence in her sister’s voice. ‘This isn’t like you.’ She held up her hands in a pacific gesture as her sister threw her a fulminating look. ‘As for not seeing him again, you’re working with the man for another three weeks. After that we’re back to the studio and you’re a free agent.’
‘Oh, God!’ Lindy groaned. ‘I didn’t really think about that. I can’t do it.’ She covered her trembling mouth with her hands. Work alongside him for three whole weeks? The prospect of it made her stomach tighten with dread.
‘Well, if I explain to Sam how you feel, how upset you are, I’m sure he won’t hold out for his pound of flesh.’
Lindy’s head snapped up. ‘Upset?’ she repeated in an accusatory manner. ‘I’m not upset, and I won’t have that smarmy snake thinking I am. I’ll show him I don’t give that!’ She snapped her fingers and tossed her head defiantly.
It would be useful, Hope mused, to be able to use this moment when she had to produce shock and amazement for the camera. I just might get an Oscar too, she thought.
CHAPTER SIX
THE caterers had taken over the entire house and gardens. Tired of the confines of her bedroom, Lindy took refuge in the smallish room that Lloyd used as his study. Lloyd was a great host and she’d lost most of her initial animosity towards him. Though she still thought he had taken advantage of her sister’s friendship, that was Hope’s business.
She missed the charm of the cottage in Owl Cove and the constant sound of the sea. In a short space of time the cottage had wormed its way into her heart. The less she contemplated what a pushover her heart had been lately the better! At least these plush surroundings held no memories for her, she reflected. She was determined to dwell on the positive aspects of her present predicament—such as they were.
She looked at the inevitable TV screen and struggled with the masochistic desire to turn it on. ‘What the hell?’ she said defiantly, and pointed the remote control at the oversized screen.
Nothing in Lloyd’s house was done on a small scale. These were the sort of surroundings she’d once imagined Sam Rourke in—extravagant and ostentatious. An image of the clean, uncluttered cabin on his boat entered her head. She blinked hard to dispel the illusion that held so many painful associations for her.
‘And what do you think, Sam?’
Her attention was instantly riveted to the screen. The person speaking was half a head shorter than Sam. Her silver-blonde hair was cropped short and the outrageous gold lamé dress she wore appeared to have been painted on her generous curves. Sam had to be pretty familiar with those curves, at least professionally, because Diana Hardcastle had acted opposite him in at least two films Lindy was aware of.
The sight of his tall, instantly recognisable figure made her wish she’d held out against the craving to switch on the TV. The bittersweet longings washed over her in a great tidal wave. She had the power in her hand to switch off the hateful image, she could even pretend she hadn’t felt the knife-like thrust of jealousy, but she didn’t—couldn’t!
Sam was speaking now, but Lindy was aware of the sound rather than the content of his words. He had that special talent which made every person listening think he was speaking directly to them. Sam’s career had begun on television and, in years gone by, he’d been the recipient of some of these awards. Tonight he was a co-presenter. A reluctant one, if Lloyd was to be believed, but getting the new film mentioned on coast-to-coast TV was worth a few sacrifices—at least that was Lloyd’s view. Lindy was no longer in a position to know what Sam thought. And I care less, she thought with a spurt of defiance.
The programme proceeded pretty much to the formula of those glittery occasions, but who received the prestigious prizes was lost on Lindy. She sat, unable to tear her eyes from the screen until the last credits had rolled. Then, mentally and physically drained, she sank back into the soft leather upholstery and closed her eyes.
It was easy intellectually to dismiss Sam as a shallow, egocentric, selfish monster, but the feelings that churned in her belly didn’t originate from her brain, not the sane part anyway! To be able to look at him without pretending not to, without keeping her expression blank, had been a major indulgence. She despised herself for the weakness that made her wallow in the luxury. As tough as it was to see him most days, it was, she suspected, going to be harder when she had to go cold turkey in a week’s time.
Wearily she ran her fingers through her fair hair; the black ribbon that secured the ponytail slithered free, but she made no attempt to retrieve it. What will I do? she wondered, filled with self-derision. Allow myself two videos a week and gradually wean myself off? In those videos he was usually making love to other women so that would prove a cold comfort, she thought.
I’ve got to pull myself together, she told herself sternly. He has! If the gossip on set was true the divine Diana Hardcastle, who had co-presented with him tonight, had been seen several times with him during the past two weeks. Lindy had seen them for herself on set—a very tactile lady, Diana Hardcastle, and Sam hadn’t appeared to mind in the least when she’d draped herself all over him at every opportunity. No, Sam hadn’t wasted any time!
She glanced at the clock on Lloyd’s desk. She’d have to slip away back to her room soon. Like Cinderella, she reflected, only, unlike Cinderella, she was running away before the ball and she didn’t have a ballgown either. With a wry smile she looked down at the vanilla-coloured silk shirt she wore tucked into the belted waist of a pair of toffee linen trousers. The activity which had thrown the house into chaos was for a post-award party Lloyd was throwing. It was a good opportunity to network and push the film, he’d explained. Lloyd lived to network! Sam would be there, Hope had warned her, and Lindy had hated the sympathy in her eyes.
It hadn’t been a lie when she’d told Lloyd, ‘It’s not my sort of thing.’ Hope, of course, would blend in perfectly with all the glittering, beautiful people. She’d gone along tonight as Lloyd’s partner, just to perpetuate the deception, and she’d looked like a glorious, exotic flower in a red silk designer gown.
Lindy rotated her head to release some of the tension in her neck. I’d have hated having to be Sam’s consort on occasions like this, she
told herself practically. What a lucky break it was that I discovered he was a rat.
You just had to look at a situation from the right angle to see the silver lining! she reflected stoically. Sam would be far happier with a trophy girlfriend whose goals were as self-centred as his, she decided scornfully.
Sam timed his exit to make sure nobody noticed his retreat. He closed the door and the party noise became a low hum. He walked over to the bureau beside Lloyd’s desk and pulled out a bottle of Scotch. He covered the bottom of a heavy crystal glass with the pale fluid and, after loosening his tie, swallowed it back in one gulp. He looked with irritation at the game show on the TV screen, but didn’t bother switching it off. Couldn’t be bothered just about covered his present mood.
He’d done his duty for one evening. He’d exchanged bitter words with Lloyd when he’d been presented with a fait accompli about tonight. Next he’ll be asking me to open shopping malls and judge baby shows! he thought. He gave a short, ironic laugh. And I’ll probably agree, he admitted. It was all very well to lose yourself in work. The problem was that outside work he couldn’t seem to make himself give a damn about anything.
Unlike Lloyd he wasn’t a natural publicist. He preferred to be involved with the creative side of things rather than marketing, which was probably why his association with Lloyd worked out so well under normal circumstances. At least something in his life was working! Sam slammed the glass down with unwanted force, a bitter, brooding expression on his face. A pile of papers slithered to the floor. With a muttered curse he bent down to pick them up. Something caught his eye—a pair of brown leather loafers, one still attached to a foot—a small narrow foot. Dropping the papers, he walked over to the leather sofa. He caught his breath sharply, even though he’d been half prepared for what he’d find there.
She lay curled up, one arm under her head, the other thrown out in an oddly defenceless gesture. One leg was tucked up underneath her, the other dangled over the edge of the seat. Her head thrashed restlessly and she gave a faint, inarticulate moan. The silk of her shirt rose rapidly, in time with her escalating respirations. The tranquil appearance of her sleeping features was disturbed by a deep frown line between her eyebrows. As he watched, her lips moved silently.
Maybe, he reflected, she can sense I’m here. My per-fidy can even disrupt her sweet dreams. His lips curved in a viciously bitter smile. God help me, but I hope she doesn’t have too many of those at the moment, he thought to himself. He didn’t feel inclined to be generous! When the thrashing movements of her head became more violent he bent closer. She was talking—mumbling really, saying the same thing, over and over. He knelt beside the sofa and strained to catch the words which fell from her lips.
‘Not the baby…not the baby…please!’
He straightened up, a frown on his face, and at the same moment Lindy shot upright, her eyes wide and filled with horror. Her piercing cry drowned out the hysterical clamour on the TV set, but didn’t impinge on the noise in the other room.
Panic engulfed her and she was fighting for air. Her memory held no record of the nightmare, but the feeling of dread persisted.
‘Oh, Sam,’ she breathed, laying her head against the broad chest so fortuitously close. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt and she trembled as his hands ran softly down the length of her back. Suddenly she stiffened. ‘No!’ With a sharp cry of rejection she pushed hard against him.
He caught hold of her upper arms as she jerked upright. The look on his dark face paralysed her. Stark and needy, his compulsive gaze moved over her face, before sliding lower to examine her body with the same hungry urgency.
Her mind was too numbed to try to work out how she came to be here, with her in his arms. A need just as stark and basic as his was coursing through her veins. The words of rejection never left her tongue as he took her face between his two strong hands. His thumbs moved over the downy flesh of her cheek and his eyes followed the motion. Lindy was mesmerised. His eyes met the luminous glow of hers before he moved in to touch her lips.
Softly—so softly, then his flicking tongue teased, tracing the outline of her lips, tasting the moist sweetness of her mouth. Lindy’s hands stopped clutching at empty air and clutched at his shoulders.
‘I can’t stand this…’ she moaned raggedly. Lindy was conscious of the brief flare of ferocious satisfaction in his eyes. Sam let out a deep, shuddering groan and his mouth covered hers. A kiss wasn’t enough to satisfy the hunger that drove them both, even a kiss that was as all-consuming as this. Sam’s fingers slipped the buttons on her shirt free as his teeth tugged at the inside of her bottom lip, her earlobe. He flicked the front-fastening catch on her bra and levered himself up on one arm to look at her. She could feel the deep shudder that rippled through his long, lean frame.
Lindy pulled him back down. She needed to feel his body against her and she delighted in the slow, erotic thrust of his hips. Her body arched frantically beneath his and her hands tugged at his clothes, impatient to be rid of the barrier between them.
Sam shrugged off his jacket. Lindy rained small, wild kisses on his face, his brown corded neck. Her fingers tangled deep in his dark, sweat-dampened hair. A series of soft pleas fell from her lips, but Sam remained silent. The wildness in his tense features gave her a moment’s hesitation—there was none of the tenderness she had grown to expect in him, just blind, relentless instinct.
Her hoarse cries were drowned as his mouth fused with hers. Lindy felt as if they were sealed together and she wanted it that way. She wanted to taste him on her tongue always. She wrapped her legs around him as their movements became frenzied and frantic. The air was abruptly expelled from Sam’s lungs as they rolled off the sofa and landed on the floor.
Positions reversed, Lindy looked down into his face, all sharp angles and slitted eyes—the face of a stranger. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked breathlessly.
She pushed back the silky strands of hair that hampered her vision. Sam’s shirt had come adrift from the waistband of his trousers and several buttons were ripped off. She could see his ribcage rise and fall in time with his rapid inhalations and the concave hollow of his muscled, washboard belly. Her dazed glance registered these facts slowly.
Sam didn’t reply. He caught either side of her unbut-toned shirt in each hand. The muscles in his throat worked as his eyes followed the gentle sway of her pale breasts. He pulled until the pink tips of her breasts touched the skin of his hair-roughened chest.
‘I will be,’ he rasped. ‘I will be…’
It was the first thing he’d said to her. She ought to have objected to the complacent certainty in his words, but how could she when his words were the only thing that had made sense to her for a long time? He was right! It was the only way anything could be all right again.
Her weight was suspended on her hands, which rested at either side of his face. Sam captured the two narrow wrists and her weight fell full on him. His hands moved to the curve of her taut buttocks. Lindy’s head fell against his shoulder as the thrust of his hips against the softness of her belly ripped a cry from her throat—it was an eerie, lost sound. Her warm breath came in short, frantic bursts against his neck. His mouth worked its way up the side of her throat, leaving the scorching marks of his hot, luscious kisses on her receptive flesh.
It was crazy and insane—one portion of her mind recognised this—but this acknowledgement was swiftly eclipsed by the age-old cry of flesh calling to flesh. This was not the time to feel embarrassed at the savagery of their coupling—that would come later!
The interruption was cruelly abrupt. Light and noise suddenly invaded the room. Sam’s body prevented her from seeing the owners of the voices. Unfortunately, this didn’t mean they couldn’t see her. Her face flamed as she realised just what they were seeing. She pulled her shirt together, aware suddenly of the sensuous abandon of her posture.
‘I can’t imagine where he is.’ Lindy could match the lilting tones to silver-blonde hair. A start
led gasp sounded loud in the room.
‘I rather think you’ve found me. If you don’t mind I’m…preoccupied just now.’ She felt the muscles of his upper arms bunch under her fingers, but his dry voice was totally lacking the stultifying embarrassment that everyone else appeared to be suffering from.
She felt the draught as the door was hastily closed. ‘Oh, God!’ Lindy’s body, which had seconds earlier been molten and pliant, became rigid. She lifted her hands to her face as the first waves of humiliation hit her. How could I? she thought. In one motion she rolled onto her side and up onto her knees.
‘What will they think?’ she wailed.
One dark brow shot towards his hairline. ‘Do you really want me to answer that?’ His mood appeared to be cooling as fast as the sweat which had slickened his hot skin.
‘I don’t suppose you care!’ she flung back angrily.
She was sick to the stomach at the ease with which he had wrecked her puny defences. Her eager capitulation made a nonsense of the iron self-control she’d fallen back on. She felt utterly and totally degraded.
‘Should I?’ He sat up and shrugged in an infuriatingly languid manner. ‘You’re making a big thing of this.’
In other words it meant nothing—less than nothing—to him. She tried not to flinch. Why give him the opportunity to gloat? She was sure that was what he wanted—that was why his blue eyes were fixed so intently on her face, so cynical and calculating.
‘I don’t particularly like being the butt of crude and coarse jokes.’ She wrapped her hands together to make the trembling less noticeable. Her entire body was racked by intermittent tremors.
‘Diana won’t tell anyone what she saw,’ he said con-fidently. ‘And Lloyd isn’t the type to indulge in locker-room tales. Or do you think I’m likely to boast of my conquests when I’m out with the boys?’ His lip curled scornfully. ‘I don’t go in for that sort of male bonding.’
