Out of Control

by Charlotte Lamb

  'I've never done it before,' she threw at him, a pulse beating in her throat as she stared at him.

  "Why now, then?' His voice was low, husky, worrying, and he shifted his position, making her intensely aware of the intimacy with which he held her on his lap, the warmth of his body reaching hers through the layers of clothes between them. Her head was against his shoulder, she could hear the rapid beating of his heart and her own heart racing that tattoo of deep sound.

  'Let go,' she said, trying to get up, but in the little struggle she fell sideways on to the bed and a second later found herself sprawling on her back with Keir arching over her.

  Her ears drummed with immediate fear and excite­ment. 'Don't!' she gasped, shuddering, her hands against his shoulder, holding him away. She had never in her life been so passionately aware of a man's body or so terrified. She could feel his hands everywhere on her; stroking and caressing, exploring. But Keir wasn't touching her at all. He was leaning over her with his hands pressed into the bed on either side of her head. So why was her body burning and trembling? What was happening to her? Her mind was going.

  'Go away,' she told him hoarsely and Keir smiled very slowly, as if he knew what she was imagining, how she felt. Could he read her mind? She shut her eyes because perhaps they were betraying her in a double sense; showing her Keir and making her want him, and at the same time telling Keir what was going on inside her.

  'I've got money,' he said coolly, and Liza didn't know what he was talking about. She was thinking about the way his body made her feel, and all Keir talked about was money! if that's what you're so desperate to get,' he added. 'How much would it cost me? How much would you take?'

  The words were meaningless and she frowned impa­tiently, wishing he would stop talking nonsense and touch her. Her temperature had climbed until she was on fire and her mouth was as dry as a kiln. Her hands shifted on his shoulders, her palms pressed down, feeling the heat of his skin under that jacket, the shirt beneath that. Her fingers gripped him, but the power of her own emotions frightened her into opening her eyes again and glaring at him.

  'What are you talking about?' She didn't really care, she just wanted to distract herself.

  i want you,' he said and her heart began to race like an overheated engine. 'You're beautiful and I've got to have you,' he said thickly, still not touching her, but his blue eyes were restlessly moving over her and she could read his mind. Those eyes possessed her, ate her.

  She couldn't speak; her teeth were chattering because she suddenly remembered this sensation of intense need, of burning fever; she remembered it only too well and what it led to, what followed for her. She couldn't bear that again and looked at Keir with angry, frightened eyes, but before she could say anything she heard what he was saying and her eyes opened wide in shock.

  'Why waste your time on Bruno when you can get far more from me?' Liza stared at his mouth, reading the words on his lips. 'You want a lot of money—OK, I've got a lot and I'm ready to be very generous.'

  She couldn't believe he was really saying this to her. The insult was a burn on her skin and she almost cried out, realising now what he had meant when he'd asked her what she would take, how much it would cost him.

  'You ... you're trying to buy me!' she whispered incredulously. That wasn't the look of love in his face; it was only hunger, a physical desire which caricatured love, distorted and derided it.

  'That's an ugly way of putting it,' he said, frowning harshly. 'But if that's how you want to see it—I want you any way I can get you.' His mouth twisted cynically and she tensed in a spasm of pain, hating him.

  'A little cold-blooded, isn't it?' she muttered, looking at him through her lashes with bitter dislike. She wasn't overheated any more; she was icy cold, she felt sick again, but this time it was a very different sickness—it was distaste and shrinking at the very idea of letting him touch her again.

  'Cold-blooded?' He repeated and then laughed softly, is that what you think? I must be slipping. Oh, no, Liza, it won't be in the least cold-blooded.' A second later his mouth was on her throat and she stiffened as she felt his hands slide over her breasts, dragging aside the lapels of her neglige, laying bare the lace and frothy silk of her nightdress. His kiss moved hotly, down, down, between her breasts, pushing aside the fine lace, and his hands wandered intimately, surprising a groan of pleasure out of her before she could stop it.

  'Sensuality is never cold-blooded, you see,' Keir said huskily, lifting his head to give her a crooked little smile.

  'That's not what I've found,' Liza said bitterly and felt him tense, his blue eyes narrowing.

  'What exactly does that mean?'

  She pushed him away and wriggled into a sitting position, tidying her neglige with hands that shook a little. She had been more disturbed by the lingering intrusion of his mouth than she cared to remember, but she wasn't going to lose her head for the second time in her life. This time she was not going to get out of control.

  i got taken for a fool by a guy like you when I was just a kid. It knocked me for six. I only knew him a few weeks, but I was head over heels, quite crazy over him. He was a travelling salesman, of all things! Oh, I thought he was so sophisticated, one of the smart set from London, and I was a country girl, I'd never even been to London then. He didn't find it hard to seduce me. I practically threw myself at him.' Her face was darkly flushed and she couldn't meet his eyes; she hated remembering what a fool she had been and she hated even more having to tell him what had happened to her. She was doing it because she wanted to make sure she didn't end up in bed with him. Once he had heard her story she had a strong feeling that he would leave, and even if it didn't scare him off she knew that she would never want to set eyes on him again once he knew. Either way, she would be safe, and that was all that mattered now. She had to escape the threat of falling in love again; she couldn't bear to go through that pain and longing.

  He had listened in silence, his face gradually losing all expression until when she looked at him through her lashes she couldn't read his features at all.

  'And then?' he asked in a flat, low voice.

  She laughed harshly. 'He was married, of course-something he had forgotten to tell me. And had a couple of kids.'

  'How did you find that out?'

  'His firm told me when I rang to find out his home address,' Liza said in a level tone which partially hid the shock she still felt over that phone call. It was so many years ago, but at that moment the black misery swept back and her eyes stared into space, set and glaring.

  'Did you ever see him again?'

  She shook her head. 'There was no point by then, not once I knew he was married.'

  'That was a bad break, but you should have got over it by now,' Keir said gently, his hand moving as if he meant to touch her, and she pulled away, shivering convulsively.

  i haven't finished!'

  Keir froze and sat watching her, his blue eyes intent, like cold blue water behind his half-closed lids. She took a deep breath.

  'Two days after he left my home town I'd found out that he'd left me pregnant.' She had to force the words out. She hadn't ever said them before, to anyone. Why was she telling this man? He wasn't saying anything, wasn't moving. What was he thinking, sitting there so close to her, his lean body tense—so tense she felt as if he was some animal lying along a tree in a dense jungle, hidden and secret and waiting to pounce, its still body vibrating with awful energy. His face was so quiet and grave, but his body . . . She swallowed, and whispered. 'Say something.' 'What do you want me to say? What did you do?' His voice sounded weird, even stranger than her own. It had gravel in it; she felt he was talking through lava. He was angry. He was angry! She looked at him with her hands screwed up into fists and wanted to hit him and scream— why are you angry? Why should you be? I'm the only one here with the right to anger and it still erupts inside me every time I remember.

  She didn't, though. She just laughed stupidly. 'Do? I didn't have a clue what to d
o. I was just seventeen, never been kissed ...' she laughed and Keir's brows drew together at the high shrillness, so she swallowed again and made her mouth be still, made herself be very quiet before she went on calmly and coolly, because it was just a story about something that happened a long time ago to someone else. She wasn't that girl, not any more. That girl had died.

  'I'd been chucked out of my home by then, you see,' she said and Keir made a funny, stifled noise, incredu­lous, shocked.

  She laughed, although she didn't think it was funny, but it helped to get the words out if she pretended it hadn't happened to her at all, but only to some other girl. 'It was like one of those scenes in a Victorian

  melodrama—I didn't believe my father meant it. I hadn't understood at first, what was wrong with me, I mean, and I went to the doctor because I felt ill, and of course he told my father, he was a family friend. My father said, "Get out of my house." I didn't think anybody really said things like that, but he was a very conservative man, my father. He was a lawyer, a country solicitor. His reputation mattered to him, he said I'd ruined his life. So I went—and I caught a train to London to find my lover—I thought he'd welcome me with open arms and it would be happy ever after. Pure soap opera, isn't it?' 'Don't,' Keir said harshly, looking white and grim. There was a silence for a moment and she felt so tired, but she said wearily, 'And that was when I found out he was married, and I walked around for hours, trying to think. I didn't know what the hell to do. I had nowhere to go, no money, no friends in London. That was probably why I walked in front of the car ...'

  'Car?' Keir broke out and she frowned, wishing he wouldn't keep interrupting her story. Did he think she wanted to tell him all this?

  i didn't deliberately try to get killed, I was just so exhausted. Anyway, it solved my problems—I lost the baby and was in hospital for ages, which was a roof over my head, and I had food and time to think.' 'And your parents? Did they ...?' T gave a false name; in fact, Liza Thurston isn't my real name. I made it up for the police and I refused to give an address. They kept coming back, but in the end they gave up because I was obviously old enough to leave home. By the time I left hospital at last I felt about forty years old, and I probably looked it.'

  There was along silence and she felt him watching her. He was pale and she was afraid he was going to touch her, try to comfort her. She didn't want that. She didn't want him near her.

  'Now, please go,' she said in a low, angry voice. 'Leave me alone! I've had enough, I can't take much more.' She almost ran to the front door and heard him following more slowly. He paused before leaving and she said harshly. 'No! Don't say a word.'

  He went and she shut the door and leaned on it, her eyes closed. It still hurt, but it wasn't the pain of losing the man who had wrecked her life—it was the shame and humiliation of what he had done to her. She had flung herself into his arms because she had felt such a deep attraction, such passionate feeling. They should teach you not to let emotion run away with you. You shouldn't be allowed to reach adolescence without being warned about love, and taught never to lose control of yourself. Ever since, she had been very careful. She had locked up her heart and thrown away the key. It was a paler, colder world without that urgent feeling, but it was safer, too. You couldn't get hurt if you never took any risks, now could you?

  She yawned, heavy-eyed. She was very sleepy now. Emotion and fear and champagne were taking their toll, and she could hardly keep her eyes open, so she just curled up on the bed and a few moments later was fast asleep. She kept waking up all night; the dreams were agonising. Her face was wet with tears several times when she broke out of the dream, but she was so tired that she always went slowly back to sleep, although in the morning she felt as if she hadn't slept at all.

  She was in the bathroom brushing her teeth when the phone rang. She walked reluctantly to answer it. *Mmm?'

  'Liza, can we have lunch? I have to talk to you,' Keir said.

  'Sorry, I'm all tied up today,' she said remotely and before she could hang up he quickly said, 'Tomorrow, then?'

  'Same, I'm afraid. In fact, I'm busy most days. I don't have time for a private life. Goodbye, Mr Gifford.'

  She hung up, but she hadn't reached the bathroom again before the phone began to ring. Liza turned and lifted it and it was Keir again, as she had expected.

  'Liza, sooner or later you're going to talk to me,' he said curtly.

  'Mr Gifford, I'm not,' she assured him. 'I'll say it one more time so that we both know where we stand. I do not want to see you. I do not want to have an affair with you. I cannot be bought and I haven't got time for this sort of hassle, so please just accept what I say and get out of my life.' She said the last words on a rising scale; higher and higher, with more and more anger until she was shouting. She didn't give him a chance to answer her. She just slammed the phone down, then took it off the hook and left it off.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Luckily, the office was very busy over the next few days and Liza was able to keep her mind occupied with Nicky Wallis's big advertising campaign. Nicky was a trial at times, but she was grateful to him for keeping her too busy to think about Keir Gifford, and for once was always available when he rang or popped in to her agency. She didn't mind if he smirked complacently or thought that at last he was getting somewhere with her. He would soon find out how wrong he was!

  She knew very well who he had in mind for the campaign. He hadn't said as much, but from the minute he'd mentioned the project both of them had known he was thinking of Liza's protegee; a girl she had been grooming and training for over three months, and was almost ready to launch on a career Liza felt certain was going to be wildly successful.

  The girl was just seventeen and had the fragile mix of rich, glowing sensuality and wide-eyed innocence that made a photographer like Nicky Wallis vibrate with excitement. Liza hadn't mentioned her to Nicky, but one day she had got Pamela to walk through the outer office while she knew Nicky was waiting there. Maddie had discreetly observed his face and had told Liza later, 'You should have seen his eyes! Big as saucers!'

  When he'd walked into Liza's office, though, he'd spent ten minutes trying not to mention the girl; he didn't want to seem too eager. Liza had anticipated that because she knew Nicky well, and sat smiling, keeping up a bland unawareness. She hadn't mentioned Pam-

  Pam either, knowing that that would bother Nicky. He would start wondering if he had already come too late, if Pam-Pam was under contract to someone.

  In the end, it was Nicky who had cracked first and asked, 'Who's the little redhead with the green eyes?' and then Liza had said, *Pam-Pam? Oh, she's going to be our top name within six months—isn't she fabulous? Ken Doyle was in here yesterday, raving about her. I think she'll be exactly what he's looking for this year.'

  'Has he used her?' Nicky had asked urgently and Liza had looked vague and said no, he hadn't, not yet, but he was going to, and then Nicky had said, i want her exclusively for three months.' Liza had laughed, shaking her head, i couldn't do that. Three months? Her earnings in that time could be fantastic'

  She had known then that Nicky had something very special on his mind, and the minute he came out with the news about the cosmetics contract she knew why he had wanted Pam-Pam exclusively. It would mean no other work for Pam-Pam during the lifetime of the campaign, but if the company paid the right price Liza was ready to discuss the offer.

  Pam-Pam was happy, too, when Liza explained it to her. She had met Liza in a park. Pamela Jones, just left a London comprehensive school and already unemployed with no prospect of getting a job, had been chasing a barking dog, a fluffy, scruffy mongrel. She had been laughing, flushed, skimpily dressed in a low-necked cotton top and a pair of very brief black shorts. Liza had stopped, assessing her with swift, professional interest, then she had handed Pamela her business card and said, if you're interested in a possible job, come up and see me some time.'

  Pamela had giggled. 'Mae West, right?' Then she looked warily at the card an
d even more warily at Liza. 'What sort of job?'

  'Can't you read? Modelling,' Liza had said briskly. 'Don't take my word for it, check me out, and then call at that office and my staff will test you to see if you're as photogenic as I think you are. If they think you've got the makings of a model, then we'll put you to school and train you.'

  Pamela had given her a cynical smile. 'And how much does all that cost me?'

  if we accept you on our books, nothing. I'm not running a modelling school; ours is a professional agency, but occasionally we do take a new model and train her, if we think she's worth the effort.' She had looked at her watch and given Pamela a nod. 'Think about it.' Walking on, she had felt the girl staring after her, one hand on the dog's collar. Liza had known nothing about Pam-Pam that first morning, yet she had felt she knew almost everything. Something in the girl reminded her of herself at that age; dewy and eager and painfully vulnerable. It was dangerous to be that wide-open to life. She sensed that Pam-Pam hadn't yet been hurt, but it was only a matter of time because the girl was so reckless.

  'Keep a close eye on her,' she had told Maddie and the ex-model, Gabrielle, who had trained Pam-Pam—it had been Gabrielle who came up with the professional name after she heard that Pamela's little niece called her Auntie Pam-Pam. It was different, striking; it suited the girl.

  Gabrielle had left modelling to get married, but the marriage had failed and Gabi had got divorced several years ago. She had had two children by then and was past the age when she could model, but she had taken on the job of 'governessing' the agency models. She made sure that they arrived on time, worked hard, behaved themselves, didn't drink too much or smoke or take drugs—generally acted sensibly.

  Gabi was motherly but strict; the girls were fond of her, but they respected her and Pam-Pam was quite happy to move into Gabi's large Chelsea flat for a while so that Gabi could tutor her and keep a close eye on her private and professional life.