by Kim Lawrence
‘It wasn’t a c-conquest,’ she denied. Her teeth were chattering with cold. Or was it just reaction? Her skin, which had been scaldingly hot, was now clammy and cold.
It had been Lloyd again—it seemed every time the man saw her she was ripping off Sam’s clothes! If she hadn’t wanted to weep she might have laughed. Sam didn’t sound too bothered that his girlfriend had caught him in a very compromising situation with another woman. Why does that surprise me? she asked herself. Right at the outset his casual acceptance of marital in-fidelities on set should have warned her that he had warped morals. God, I was a fool to get involved in the first place, she thought, self-derision shining in her eyes. I deliberately didn’t see the truth—the painful, sordid truth!
‘By all means cling to the comfort of a technicality, Rosalind. I’ll even resist the temptation to say ‘‘Been there, done that’’.’ Lindy inwardly cringed at the expression of contempt on his face. ‘Nobody, least of all me, is going to stop you walking around with that saintly aura of purity you like to sport.’
Her chin jerked up and her eyes flashed angrily. ‘I don’t!’ she protested.
‘No?’ he drawled.
‘No!’ she repeated from between clenched teeth.
‘Calm down; I’m not about to throw a spanner in the works. The fact you’re as susceptible as the rest of us to good old-fashioned lust can be our little secret. I forgot,’ he continued relentlessly. ‘You like to call it love.’ The derisive curve of his lips straightened to an unforgiving thin line. ‘A pure, elevated emotion far removed from animal lust.’
Lindy snatched her shirt together as his cold gaze dwelt deliberately on the creamy swell of her breasts. He wants to hurt me! The realisation cut deeply. He was reminding her quite clearly that their primal coupling had been neither pure nor elevated! As if she needed reminding!
Sam tucked his shirt back into the waistband of his trousers. He slowly straightened his shirt, which was minus several buttons, and noticed the torn seam around one arm with elevated eyebrows. ‘I forgot my needle and thread, and me a Boy Scout.’
‘I doubt you ever were. Mind you, you always were prepared the way I recall it, but then I suppose your sort always takes advantage of opportunities,’ she hissed.
‘My sort? Are you trying to tell me I’d have been a better man in your eyes if I hadn’t been prepared? If I’d got you pregnant?’ The scathing observation made her grow pale. He couldn’t possibly know that in hitting out blindly she’d managed to score an own goal with her jibe.
‘I’ve made that mistake once,’ he continued, ‘and I no longer have the excuse of youth, although that’s no defence in your eyes, is it, Rosalind? Actually, I don’t much care for the implication that you were some sort of unwilling victim. You might have convinced yourself of that, but my memory paints a different picture.’
He seems to take a sadistic pleasure in making me squirm, she thought, forcing herself to hold his gaze—it was hard, nearly as hard as his eyes.
‘Scouting is too wholesome a pursuit for anyone as depraved as me,’ he went on. ‘As a matter of fact, I wasn’t a Boy Scout. Not because I preferred satanic rituals, though—my dad needed my help after school on the farm.’
God, but she hated the vicious sarcasm in his voice. ‘How virtuous. This filial duty didn’t stop you leaving home…’
‘To desert my flesh and blood and selfishly sample the pleasures of the big, bad world? My, my, I can’t put a thing past you, can I, darling?’ The disdain in his regard made her feel petty and mean. ‘Actually Dad had died by then. He sort of lost the will to go on after he lost the farm. Perhaps if Mom had still been alive…’
‘I didn’t know.’ What could she say? She’d seen the flash of bitter loss in his eyes, though she hadn’t wanted to see it. She couldn’t afford empathy with this man; it was too dangerous. Yet part of her wanted to offer him comforting words. Point me to the nearest strait-jacket, she thought weakly.
‘You do surprise me. Not so long ago you were very vocal about my past. I had the impression you thought you were the expert.’
‘I know enough,’ she said frigidly. Do I? she asked herself. For the first time she wondered if she did have enough facts. He seemed so bitter. Don’t be a gullible fool, she told herself brutally. No excuse in the world could justify what he did. That was the real Sam Rourke, hard and uncompromising. He’d just been letting her see what she’d wanted to see before. Hadn’t she watched him manipulate the cast and crew of the film with an expert hand? I must have been child’s play! she thought.
‘How do you reconcile your distaste for me with your latest performance?’
He contemplated the exact spot on the floor where…! Lindy had a vivid image of two panting bodies entwined. She placed her fingers on her temple where the blood pounded loudly. Unconsciously she shook her head in a negative gesture of denial.
‘Have you decided I’ll do to satisfy your more…basic needs until your perfect lover comes along?’ God, why wouldn’t he leave it alone? she agonised. ‘The one with no skeletons in his closet? The one with no mistakes to pay for?’
‘I was asleep, confused, you took advantage,’ she accused hoarsely. ‘I’m not looking for perfection,’ she denied. The image he’d conjured up wasn’t pleasant. ‘I don’t need a man to make my life complete—not any man!’ He made it sound as if she wouldn’t tolerate imperfections. That wasn’t it at all, she told herself. He was twisting everything to his own purposes!
‘You’re making sure I pay for my mistakes, though, aren’t you?’ he shot back. It was suddenly apparent that his coolness was a fac¸ade. Underneath Sam was furiously angry. ‘You could have walked out. There was never any question of me holding you to your contract; you knew that. But no, you have to be there every day, Miss Sweet Serenity with a heart of stone. Even when you’re not there,’ he continued in a driven voice, ‘I can smell your perfume—’
He broke off with a violent epithet. He was breathing heavily as he raked a hand through his thick wavy hair and glared at her. It was obvious his outburst hadn’t been intentional and he clearly regretted it.
Her head was spinning. Not for a second had she suspected he felt that way. She had been under the impression that she had been the only one going through purgatory for the past two weeks. Yet his words and his whole attitude made it very clear the experience hadn’t been easy for him. Not by so much as a flicker had he ever given any hint of it, she thought incredulously.
‘I—I didn’t know,’ she faltered.
He laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound and she winced. ‘All women know when a man wants her and I want you.’ The way he said the word made her shudder. It was humiliating to experience an unmistakable searing thrill of arousal in response to his low, husky statement. Anger welled up within her and there was no external target for it, only her own weakness.
‘Oh, I don’t want to,’ Sam continued, unknowingly echoing her own sentiments. ‘But it seems that for the moment I have no choice. Discovering you don’t either is a small consolation.’
‘I…I don’t…’
‘Let’s not get fatuous, Rosalind.’ His incisive voice sliced through her faltering denial. ‘I’ve just held you in my arms. I’ve felt the way your body throbbed with need—need for me. You’re as hooked as any drug addict.’
She wanted to deny it, but what was the point? She swallowed and licked her dry lips. ‘I despise you.’ Her voice throbbed with sincerity.
‘Not as much as I do.’ The self-derision in his eyes confused her even further. ‘I despise myself for believing you were the first woman I’d ever met I could be myself with. I despaired of ever finding someone like that—how deliciously ironic! When I make mistakes I do it big! One day I expect you’ll find that whiter-than-white guy of your dreams. Though I doubt very much he’ll be able to make you feel like this…’ He reached over and placed his hands around her bare midriff.
The unexpected action drove the breath from her lungs in one
audible gasp. ‘Let me go!’
‘If I do, maybe I’ll never get you out of my system,’ he murmured consideringly. His splayed fingers pushed into the softness of her flesh. Not hard enough to hurt, but pain would have been preferable to the sensations the friction sent sliding deep into the pit of her stomach. He bent closer and she could smell the musky odour of his body, feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Sam. If you think you can scare me…’ Her laugh lacked the ring of authenticity.
‘I want to make love to you with my eyes open.’
He always had kept his eyes open, she recalled. He’d seemed to get pleasure from watching her. A slow flush mounted her cheeks and the heat slowly spread over her body. Sam felt it and a smile spread over his features. It didn’t soften his expression, not unless hawks waiting to pounce looked soft, she reflected.
‘I didn’t mean that literally,’ he returned, examining the hazy, half-focused expression in her eyes. ‘Although that scenario has its attractions.’ The rasp in his voice was a smoky invitation. ‘I meant I want to make love to Rosalind Lacey, a judgemental woman with no tolerance of weakness. You’re the sort of person who bandies words like ‘‘principles’’ and ‘‘responsibilities’’ a lot.’ Each barb in his words burrowed deep into her skin. ‘You’re so smug it makes me sick. I used to think you were the medicine I needed.’ His expression made it clear he’d recovered from this conviction. ‘We’re talking catharsis here.’
She began to struggle and Sam made no effort to restrain her. ‘We!’ she spat at him. ‘You’re the one doing all the talking.’ Breathing hard, she buttoned her shirt with trembling fingers. It was temper that was making her shake, she told herself, and she had plenty of reasons to be angry!
‘I can see you’re the victim of my irrational behaviour.’ She snorted sarcastically. ‘If it’s a sin to choose not to sleep with a man capable of discarding a young girl and denying his own child, I’m guilty as charged.
‘Have you any idea the sort of despair she must have felt?’ she asked, her voice shaking with conviction. ‘She didn’t have the luxury of running away. Judgemental, am I? Well, maybe I am. I do despise you because you left somebody else to suffer the consequences of your actions alone.’
‘I was wrong.’ His narrowed eyes held an arctic expression, and his sensual lips were thinned to a line of distaste. ‘You’ll never find any man who can live up to your high-minded principles, Rosalind. He doesn’t exist. You don’t pause for breath, do you? In you wade, judge, jury and enthusiastic executioner. No ‘‘Tell me what happened, Sam’’.’ He saw the sudden look of confusion on her face and he threw his dark head back and laughed. It was a mirthless sound. ‘It didn’t occur to you, did it?’
‘I’m not the one here who’s done something wrong.’
‘More’s the pity. If, for once, you did it might make you a little less judgemental. You might be a nicer person.’
If only he knew! At least she’d discovered the truth before she’d told him. ‘Don’t play the wounded innocent with me, Sam. You’re so clever at reversing the roles.’
‘I’ve never pretended to be an innocent, Rosalind. I’m all for old-fashioned decency and, despite what you think, I’ve always tried to do the right thing by those close to me. Unlike you, I’ve never been all that attracted by perfection, but I do appreciate warmth, tolerance and a sense of humour. Sometimes first impressions are right—you are an uptight, cold bitch!’
Lindy recoiled from the full force of antipathy in his voice. ‘I’d rather be that than another easy victim of your debatable charms. Even those are going to wear a little thin as the years pass by. Don’t worry, though, because there’ll always be plenty of young, hungry actresses ready to use you to get a few steps up the ladder. Some people might call it pathetic, but I’d say it’s more of a symbiotic relationship.’
He picked up something small from the floor and, with a flick of his wrist, flung it towards her. Lindy automatically caught it. She looked at the gold engraved cuff-link in the palm of her hand.
‘Keep it, as a memento.’
‘Goodbye, Sam.’ She curled her fingers around the cuff-link hard enough to leave the imprint on her palm.
His expression was stony as she slipped out through the French windows. That goodbye had had a ring of finality to it and he knew for certain that he’d need a new medical advisor for the last week of filming. Nostrils flared, breathing hard and fast, he told himself that that suited him just fine!
Lindy ran up the metal spiral staircase that led from the veranda to her bedroom. She ran to the wardrobe and pulled out her suitcase. Pausing only to blot the tears from her cheeks, she began to fling her clothes into the case. She swept the dressing table clear of her personal items and threw them on top. With a determined expression on her face she closed the lid.
She’d had enough of actors and parties and boring, boring days on set. No wonder they paid actors well; something had to compensate for the tedium. Most of all she’d had enough of Sam Rourke! With that thought in mind she began to cry in earnest.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THEY were about to pay for the lengthy Indian summer. There were a few ominous rumbles in the distance. The dry ground was suddenly struck by a deluge as the rain began. The dark figure sitting in an anonymous black car turned on the windscreen-wipers and waited.
An ambulance with flashing lights pulled up in front of the wide doors of the casualty department, but his attention didn’t stray from the swing-doors. It was hot and sultry, and his shirt clung damply to his back. When he’d requested a car which would blend in he hadn’t anticipated no air-conditioning. When he’d complained, Hope had laughingly told him that roughing it would do him good.
He’d been sitting there for two hours and had been eyed suspiciously by the grey-uniformed security guard before the figure he’d been waiting for appeared. He watched as she stood under the canopy and peered out at the rain. An extra-violent clap of thunder made her take an involuntary step backwards.
He took in every aspect of her appearance at a glance, his eyes greedily absorbing each minute detail. When the thin cotton pinafore she wore over a short-sleeved white cotton tee shirt billowed in the blustery wind, he could see the faint outline of her legs. A hank of shining soft hair slithered from the hairgrips which had dragged it back and, as he watched, she dropped her bag and used both hands to tuck the strands behind her ears.
Sam Rourke was not a person associated with indecisiveness, but he did hesitate. Inner conflict was evident in the drawn lines of his face. Then, with a determined shake of his head, he pushed open the door. He had every right to demand an explanation for her behaviour. Face it, man, you’ve been well and truly duped, he said to himself. If her spiteful vindictiveness had only affected him he might have forgiven her, but as it was… Face grim, he closed the door and turned his attention once more to the solitary figure—only she wasn’t solitary any more. A man, tall and fair, dressed in a lightweight suit, had emerged from the building. He was laughing at Lindy’s attempts to tame her hair and his profile would have done justice to your average Greek god.
His whole attitude as he bent his head was one of familiarity—intimacy. He picked up Lindy’s bag and tucked it under one arm, the other curled around her shoulders. Together they ran out into the rain. The car they got into was a silver Mercedes.
The expressions that flickered across Sam’s face coalesced into stone as he stood there, the rain streaming down his face. Slowly, almost as if he’d forgotten how to accomplish the familiar task, he got back into the car. He drove out of the car park, out of the market town and onto the open country road. After several miles he pulled off the road into a lay-by. Arms across the steering wheel, he laid his head on his hands. When he straightened up again his eyes were bleak, and his manner totally composed.
The farmhouse kitchen was filled with light and warmth on even the dullest of days. Two small figures flung themselves at h
er brother-in-law and attached themselves firmly to his long legs.
‘Bess has had kittens—come see!’
‘Five, we counted,’ an identical voice added. ‘Come see.’ They fairly danced with impatience as they released him.
‘Where is this miracle of procreation?’ Adam asked, giving Lindy a resigned grin.
‘Your sock drawer, Uncle Adam.’
‘My what?’
‘You can’t move her—Aunty Anna says so. She says it’s your fault for leaving it open.’
‘She would.’
Lindy laughed as she watched him being led off by his twin nephews.
‘Aunty Hope is here too.’
This belated piece of information drifted towards Lindy. With a surge of pleasure she rushed towards the drawing room.
‘Hope! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’
‘My little surprise.’ Hope looked up, a quizzical smile on her face. She was seated beside the third Lacey sister. Small, slight and dark, Anna, the married triplet, managed to give an impression of vitality even when curled up amongst the cushions.
‘I didn’t know either,’ she confirmed. ‘The royal visitation took me completely unawares.’
‘Less cheek, you,’ Hope remonstrated.
‘Come and sit down—you look whacked,’ Anna observed. She pushed several cushions onto the floor and patted the space beside her.
Lindy didn’t need a second invitation. The high-ceilinged room was filled with rich, earthy colours, lovely fabrics and textures, and a log fire crackled in the hearth. It was a deeply relaxing room with a warm, soothing ambience. It was a place she associated with laughter and love. There was a shadow of envy in her eyes as she looked at her glowing sister. Anna seemed to be very relaxed about her multiple pregnancy.
‘I think the hours they expect you to work are ridiculous,’ Anna observed. ‘It’s inhuman, I told Adam. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to work in a casualty department.’ She took a bite out of a piece of Turkish delight and gave a sigh. ‘I always hated this stuff.’
