Cry Wolf

by Amanda Carpenter

  Well, she could gamble. No matter how he tried to couch this in beneficial terms, he made this invitation for himself, not for her. Her bed-sit in London was fine enough for her. She wanted to know his reasons so she would stay, but it took all her courage to lift her head and turn to face him, to inject hauteur and pride in her face.

  “I’ll stay,” she said, by her very manner telling him that she was conceding to his wish without gratitude, and she added, with the merest touch of insolence, “For now.”

  And she could have cried as she drove that essential wedge between them, as his lean, handsome face toughened and his eyes lit with dark fire, as they stood face to face and clashed in their attraction and their conflict.

  “So you tell me,” Harper said softly, as he reached for her arms and pulled her hard against him, “do we have cause for celebration?”

  Her unshed tears gave her the strength to smile recklessly into his glittering eyes. “Well, darling,” she drawled, the bite in her words a challenge in itself as she gave his own words back to him, “that remains to be seen.”

  Harper bent his head, a dark flush on his angled, taut cheekbones, his eyes half hooded, the shape of his mouth evocative, terse, exciting as he whispered, “Kiss on it.”

  He took her softened mouth, plundering greedily as once more the sexual wildfire consumed them both, and, if this ardent, knowledgeable lover was not the friend she would have liked to turn to at that moment in her insecurity and need, she knew why she had to meet him in her strength and not in her weakness.

  For she could not afford to let him be too gentle.

  Chapter Nine

  On Sunday after breakfast Harper made their excuses to Gordon and Gayle, and strolled with Nikki into the library, where she went to her stack of pencil drawings and shuffled through them nervously.

  She told herself that she was being ridiculous, but the inner admonition sounded hollow even to her ears, for a slight but definite change had come over Harper as he entered the room and sat down in a large padded armchair. Gone was the tender, exciting lover of the last two nights, and in his place sat the cool, dispassionate businessman, and she knew that, despite everything they had shared, if her work did not come up to his standards, he would be debilitatingly prompt in telling her so.

  Resolutely she shoved aside her self-consciousness and turned to face him, leaning against the wide, heavy table while she called her own professionalism to the fore.

  “I’ve had a look through all the material you left for me,” she said quietly, ducking her dark head as she stared at her drawings with a deep frown. “And I’ve come up with two different approaches to the situation. Both are valid for different reasons, so it really comes down to a matter of personal choice. The first set of designs is dynamic and aggressive, and the second has far more of an establishment image, settled, classic, and extremely simple. I—I’m sorry I haven’t had time yet to come up with colour sketches. What I have here is pretty rough.”

  “Nonsense, you’ve done well to come up with what you have so quickly,” he replied, holding out a hand for the papers she clutched so tightly. She handed them over and watched his face as he scanned through them unhurriedly. “What colours did you envisage for these?”

  “The same for either design,” she replied. “I have in mind a heavy cream parchment paper for your stationery—it’s expensive, but, I think, well worth the cost. Peter’s got samples in his office if you would care to see it. Then either a matt or glossy black lettering, with perhaps a touch of gold. Nothing too fancy, or ‘artsy’, as this will date the material, and it’s a simple matter of continuing the same design on the quarterly magazine you publish for your clients, so continuity isn’t a problem.”

  He nodded, then fixed her with a keen, analytical stare. “You’re right, of course. Both are valid choices, but tell me, which do you prefer?”

  “Personally?” she said with a smile. “I like the aggressive one. It’s very representative of the immense, wide-reaching success you’ve achieved worldwide. But I don’t necessarily think it is the wisest choice—the people you do business with already know your reputation. They don’t need to feel threatened every time they receive a letter or a magazine from you in the post, and they’re more likely to be willing to trust and rely on the other image for its aura of stability.”

  “A clever assessment,” he remarked as he set the papers aside. “And I quite agree with you. We’ll go with the classic approach.”

  She asked anxiously, “Are those designs all right, or do you want me to see if I can come up with something else?”

  Suddenly the businessman vanished, as he gave her a warm smile so filled with pleasure that the strength seeped away from the backs of her knees. “Darling, they’re beautifully thought out, and I love them. And we can carry the design into the offices when we redecorate, so don’t you dare change a thing.”

  When they left the library, Nikki was glowing, warm with the sincere praise Harper had heaped on her, and from the sensual impact of his mouth caressing hers.

  All was right with her world; the day flew past on sun-kissed wings. Gordon got called away on a medical matter, so Gayle would be travelling back to London with Harper. Nikki took a cup of tea into the rear lounge and relaxed by the open windows in the late afternoon, feeling the let-down of the end of the weekend, and struggling to deny how she would miss Harper’s presence beside her in bed.

  Something, some small noise or psychic instinct, had her head turning. The tender light in her eyes was quickly shuttered as she looked up into Gayle’s worldly, cool green eyes.

  The older woman, immaculate in a light, tailored linen suit, smiled a little, and it was as frosty and poised as her appearance. Gayle settled into a nearby chair and laid one arm along the arm of it, resting her chin in elegant fingers.

  Nikki averted her face from the critical judgement she saw in Gayle’s expression, and said lightly, “All ready to go?”

  “Yes,” replied the blonde languidly, “we’ll be leaving soon. Harper’s just calling Duncan to warn him what time we’ll be back for supper.”

  Nikki’s hypersensitive heart missed a beat. They weren’t staying for supper here? Harper and Gayle, eating together in his town house, was an image of perfectly matched elegance. She hadn’t known that Gayle was one of the privileged few to see both sides of Harper’s life; she hadn’t known of their evening plans until Gayle had chosen to inform her.

  A delicate muscle moved in her jaw, and she made an attempt to match the other woman’s poise, as she remarked, “Well, you’ll be leaving early enough so that you will get into London at a decent hour at least.”

  Gayle said quietly, even gently, “It won’t last, you know.”

  Nikki’s nostrils flared as she sucked in a shocked breath. The older woman had a delicate stiletto touch, pricking her where she would bleed the most. She replied coldly, “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Gayle laughed, just a little, just a bare thread of sound, entrapping Nikki in an intimate exchange. “Of course you do. Harper doesn’t suffer fools, so don’t play it with me. He’s had other relationships.”

  “It would be naïve to have expected otherwise,” Nikki bit out. Naturally he had; where else had her lover gained his experience? The thought of him with another woman made her feel nauseous, and she cursed her own vivid imagination.

  “They didn’t last either,” murmured the blonde, who lifted her head to inspect faultless nails.

  Nikki studied the older woman’s impenetrable poise without blinking, and was proud of steadiness in her voice as she said bluntly, “Why don’t you just get to your point?”

  Gayle’s green eyes lifted, as did one of her tawny eyebrows, with minute precision. She said softly, “I’ve known Harper a good many years. We come from the same background, our families know each other, we have mutual friends. Many of his other liaisons made t
he same mistake in believing they could hope to change the course of his life. Be careful, Nikki, and guard yourself so you’re not hurt too much. As a refreshing little diversion, you’re what he wants for now; you’re not what he needs.”

  The stiletto entered very deep; Nikki wasn’t sure, but the wound might just be mortal. She had never before been so vulnerable to another person’s casual dismissal, but Gayle had assessed her character perfectly, biding her time over the course of the weekend, waiting for a relaxed moment when barriers were down.

  Nikki might not have maintained the level of composure that she did if she hadn’t had some kind of warning from Gordon already. Instinctively she sought to wound as she had been wounded, replying drily and with dignity, “I thank you for your proprietorial interest in my well-being, but it’s unnecessary. Harper is lucky to have an old friend so concerned about his needs being met; perhaps one day, when he marries, you will extend the same friendship to his wife.”

  The ice queen’s façade cracked, and her green eyes glittered hard as jade stone. “When Harper marries,” said Gayle grittily, “it will be to someone of his own class who can bear the responsibilities of being his wife, not to some pretentious nobody without distinction!”

  Nikki lifted a sleek dark eyebrow in angry parody of Gayle’s superior attitude. “I suspect that Harper will not marry anyone with pretensions, whatever social class they may come from,” she remarked coldly. “In the meantime, you have watched and waited, while Harper has involved himself in other relationships and the years have gone by so swiftly.”

  Gayle spat from between her teeth, “You will goad him, and he will turn away, and I will be there.”

  “Just like always,” murmured Nikki, blue eyes flashing fury and pain, “picking up the left-overs? Dreaming of a cold and passionless marriage, depending on Harper’s discretion as he takes one mistress after another, and you play hostess and work so hard to maintain an acceptable façade to the outside world? Be careful, Gayle, and guard yourself so that you are not hurt too much.”

  “He’ll never marry you!” snarled the other woman. “You haven’t got what it takes to keep him!”

  “I bow to the expert of Harper’s needs and desires,” whispered Nikki tautly. “But I do not recall anyone asking me for an assessment of mine!”

  “You’re so much in love with him, it’s sickening to watch!” Gayle sneered. “Have you no pride?”

  Oh, she had too much, and the hurt had taken over her body so that she trembled from head to toe. If she had been so obvious, then Harper, with the penetrating intelligence that she could never hide from, knew as well. Harper said from the doorway, “We’re all set.”

  Nikki shuddered, for what he might make of the antagonism still raw in the room, for the malignity in Gayle’s face that vanished as if it had never been as the other woman’s eyes warmed at Harper’s appearance.

  “I’m ready,” said Gayle as she smiled up at him.

  “Good.” He strolled into the room leisurely, his hooded gaze moving from the blonde to Nikki’s face, which was an immobile mask. “Why don’t you get your case, then?”

  “I’ll be right down.”

  When Gayle had left the room, Harper dropped his hand lightly on to her shoulder. She could control her expression, but not her shaking body, and she closed her eyes in despair as the masculine fingers tightened like a vice.

  “Nikki?” He was sharp, intense. “What’s wrong?”

  She said tonelessly, “Have a good week, Harper. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  A split-second; she could feel his mind working at computer speed. “I want you to talk to me now.”

  Then her voice shook as well. “Don’t pry. I can’t bear it.”

  The vice on her shoulder became an expression of utmost gentleness as his fingers lifted to stroke her tight lips, the side of her face. “Darling,” he said, then he must have reined in whatever emotion had coloured his voice, for his next words were abrupt and to the point, and his hand fell away. “I’ll call you in the week.”

  “Fine.” Go away, Harper. Just go away.

  She would never know what would have happened had she at last succumbed to looking up at him, for Gayle had returned. In a matter of moments they were gone, and it was none too soon, for Nikki could no longer keep the tears from falling like summer rain.

  The next week was the beginning of June, and after travelling back to London with Harper on Sunday evening Nikki went to meet with Peter on Monday morning, and to arrange for some of her art supplies to be sent to Oxford.

  She stayed overnight with Harper at the town house in Mayfair, and found that it was surprisingly good to see Duncan Chang again, considering they had only met once. But she realised that Duncan’s dark, utterly calm eyes held a fountain of wise strength, from which she drew a vague sense of relief; after all, he looked after Harper very well indeed.

  She was stern with herself and kept to her original plan of going back to Oxford early Monday evening, even though she wanted with all her greedy heart to stay another night with Harper. But he was full into the pressures of business, sounding harsh and preoccupied when he spoke to her over the phone at lunchtime, and she refused to become an unwelcome intrusion.

  At five o’clock, Harper took a break from his punishing schedule to drive her to Paddington station where she would catch the train to Oxford. It was a strange journey which she would have forgone had she known what it would be like, Harper frowning and silent at the wheel, Nikki staring out of her window at the congested traffic while trying to think of something interesting to say, and tasting the ash-taint of fear at the absence of their weekend’s searing rapport.

  Perhaps Harper could not sustain what she knew was a phenomenal professional drive and carry on a relationship at the same time; perhaps he was angry with her for some reason; perhaps it was all in her head. Whatever the cause, after she had bought her ticket and he had walked her to the appropriate platform she felt quite miserable as she turned uncertainly to say goodbye to him.

  She thought she hid it, but Harper took one look at her face and gave an impatient-sounding groan as he wrapped his arms around her and held her in a bone crushing grip, and Nikki went wild with humiliation as she thought he was being impatient with her.

  “Oh, God, look at the time!” she babbled, twisting her black head away as tears sprang hot to her eyes. “The next train is going in just a few minutes—I’ll have to run!”

  When all she wanted was to feel she had the right to stay in the warmth of his arms.

  He tightened his hold on her, but only for a moment, and he stepped well away when he released her, his eyes two stones, his jaw like iron. Nikki’s heart hurt at the sight; she reached blindly and managed to connect a brushing kiss with his chin, then turned to blunder through the gate. She could not look back. He would be gone, and her foolish heart would hurt all the more, and she railed at herself, Stupid, stupid!

  It was only when she had clambered on to the packed train and wedged herself in a standing position between a man and a lady that she realised an odd thing: he hadn’t said a single word to her—not in reassurance, in anger, not even in goodbye.

  The rest of June went quickly. An entire month, but she took account of it by the weekends. Harper had given her the key to the padlock of the door that led up to her bright new studio, and as soon as her things had been delivered she finished the designs for him in record time, and then turned her efforts towards his painting. Thus began the clock ticking away on her six months’ stipulation.

  She felt somehow that it was wrong to spend so much time on the subject matter she had chosen, but she couldn’t deny herself the obsession. She spent uncounted, unnoticed hours making sketch after sketch and then discarding them, sometimes ripping them to pieces in tempestuous fury at the limitations she sensed in her work for the first time.

  And her time with Harper�
��always afterwards, Nikki would remember that June with an almost unbearable pain, for each weekend flashed upon her with incandescent brilliance. Everything was too vivid, too solidly branded in memory, like the time before an imminent death, and far, far too fleeting. There was a laughter that hurt, a joy so intense that it could kill her, and infrequent but savage arguments. Each confrontation, each lovemaking, every precious tender moment she spent with him was glorious and out of balance.

  She tried and tried to figure out how to balance it. She could see Harper’s efforts as well—in his conscious reach for patience in the middle of an argument, in his struggle to lighten his frighteningly dark, uncommunicative moods with a smile. Sometimes they nearly achieved synchronisation, and to Nikki those moments were timeless and enchanted, and she would feel so close to serenity, to happiness, that it was almost as sensual as a taste, a touch, a smell. But then, with as little as an inexplicable glance or cryptic remark, the near balance would be destroyed again.

  One of those times—oh, how she would always remember it, for it was printed indelibly in her mind. It was the last Sunday afternoon in June, and she and Harper had stayed up late into Saturday night, talking and making love in complete mutual accord.

  She had consented that afternoon to play a computer game with Charles, so she went to his room while Harper visited with his mother Helena downstairs.

  However, the game with Charles had soon collapsed into giggly, hysterical confusion, for the six-year-old’s reaction time was very much faster than hers, and Nikki was woefully inexperienced on a computer keyboard. She had acknowledged a cheerful defeat, chortling to herself at the frank look of pity Charles threw at her, and then, released honourably from her obligation, Nikki had flown with near soundless speed down the staircase to go in search of Harper and his mother.

  They had to be in the rear lounge, for they weren’t in the front room. She strolled to the open doors as Helena’s cultured British accents reached with precise clarity into the hall. “It’s a shame that she cannot see that she is simply unsuitable herself.”