Duel of Desire

by Charlotte Lamb

  'Alex?'

  'Time to get ready,' he said, his hand in his pockets.

  She lay, as tense as a trapped animal her eyes wide now. 'I'll get dressed then she said, waiting for him to leave.

  She felt he was on the point of saying something, but at last with a derisive smile he left, and she moved off the bed reluctantly to get ready.

  4

  The evening dress Deborah had brought with her was new, a recent purchase, which Judith had talked her into buying during one of their joint shopping expeditions. She had never worn it before, and now, staring at herself with dismay, she wished vainly she had brought one of the other two she owned. She often had to wear attractive evening dresses because her job entailed a good deal of entertaining, and in the past she had always bought pretty, but demure, gowns. She had been doubtful about this one when Judith persuaded her to buy it, but it looked even more revealing as she eyed her reflection.

  The material was a delicate silk, turquoise, a colour deeper than the blue of her eyes but accenting them. Fragile strips of silk crossed her bare shoulders, sus-pending the tight bodice. There was practically no back to the dress. It clung to her body like a smooth glove, emphasising every curve, forcing her to walk slowly, her hips swaying with the constriction placed upon her movements by the material.

  She had dressed her hair to fall in a smooth golden skein from the top of her head, an oval diamond clip keeping the hair in place. Irritably she fiddled for a moment with that one strand which would never stay where it was placed. At last she managed to make it stay put, just as Alex lapped on her door.

  When she opened it he looked at her with narrowed eyes, a faintly grim expression on his face.

  'I'm beginning to wonder if I know you at all,' he said after a pause during which she had coloured deeply.

  She tried to answer lightly, forcing her voice to sound bright. 'I thought you wanted me to seduce Ricky.'

  His brows drew together. 'I wouldn't advise it,' he said shortly.

  'Isn't he susceptible?' she asked, feeling totally out of character, but afraid of the true nature of her feelings as she stood next to him.

  'You wouldn't have any problems there,' he said drily. 'Especially in that dress.'

  Deborah closed her door, searched through her purse to make sure she had her key, trying to stop the aching in the pit of her stomach as Alex took her arm and she felt the power of those strong fingers around her. 'You said you brought me to Nice to help you persuade him to join us,' she pointed out.

  Close to her ear Alex said softly, 'I want to sign him up, not strangle him… '

  She felt a confused sensation of excitement and alarm, her ears drumming. Somehow she walked along the corridor beside him to the lift, trying to force her breathing to slow. In the lift she stood a foot away from him, her eyes lowered. They walked through the foyer to the car park in silence. Alex opened the door and she quickly slid into the passenger seat before he could touch her to assist her. As he took his own seat she settled, far enough away to make sure his hand did not touch her thigh as he moved.

  'Did you ring your mother?' she asked him quickly, as he drove out of the hotel car park.

  'Yes.' His eyes moved sideways to her. There was a faint frown on his face. 'The line was appalling. I couldn't hear her very well, but I'm a little worried — she sounded upset about something. I got no sense from her. I hope she isn't ill or in trouble.'

  'Perhaps you could go to see her when you've finished your business with Ricky,' Deborah suggested. Her blue eyes were concerned. 'You ought to see her, as you're in the neighbourhood.'

  'I promised to be back on Saturday,' he said casually.

  'Surely, your mother is more important than Magda Gilmore,' she said accusingly.

  He shrugged. 'I'll try to ring her from the villa. I doubt if Ricky will mind, and his line may be better. Mother is very temperamental. If her work is going badly she's inclined to be excitable.'

  'You're far too casual about her,' she said angrily. 'If she lives alone, miles from anywhere, she's probably lonely.'

  He gave a short laugh. 'Not my mother! Anyway, she has lots of friends in the next village. Once a week she plays chess with the old village priest, and she visits some old woman who lives there, too; a rather tart old woman, I thought, when I met her, but they get on like a house on fire.'

  'Your mother is English, isn't she?' she asked, frowning.

  'Of course she is, but she's lived there for years. She isn't lonely. In fact, she left England after my father died because she hated socialising. She likes a quiet life.'

  They turned into the drive of Ricky Winter's villa some ten minutes later, through electronically operated gates controlled from the house, their tyres crunching over the silvery gravel until they halted before the house. Isolated behind high walls, in a quiet, exclusive area of Nice, the villa lay among beautifully maintained gardens which were just visible by the soft light flooding from the terrace which ran all the way along the front of the building. A line of cypress trees made an oblong shadow on one side. Lawns and dark shrubs occupied the main part of the garden. The sky was darkening to the soft purple of a plum. Stars pierced it at intervals, occasionally fading as the glow of an approaching aircraft lit the dark.

  From a long way off they could hear the sad murmur of the sea.

  Ricky was quite different tonight. He had chosen to wear formal evening clothes, his white shirt lacily frilled, the smooth black velvet of his suit making him even thinner and emphasising the shade of his white blond hair. He looked older, less brash, better looking, and as his eyes swept over her the admiration in them was unmistakable.

  He bent his head to kiss Deborah's hand, taking her by surprise, and gave her a little grin. 'When in France do as the French do,' he suggested mockingly.

  She flickered a glance at Alex. There was a polite movement on his hard mouth, the pretence of a smile, but no warmth in the grey eyes.

  The room into which Ricky took them was thirty feet long, the shining woodblock floors reflecting bowls of scented spring flowers which illuminated the room with beauty, the cool white and green of the colour scheme carried through in every object; soft white leather upholstery, floor-length green curtains, lampshades and cushions.

  'What a lovely room,' she said, admiring some cold green jade elephants standing along the stone fireplace. 'These are beautiful!'

  Ricky moved to a table. 'What will you drink?'

  'Gin and tonic,' she said. 'Thank you.'

  'Whisky,' Alex said briefly, sinking into a corner of the long couch, his dark sleeve resting along the leather. Ricky joined them, handing them glasses. 'Sit down, Deborah,' he said, his ludicrously long dark lashes glinting at her. She hesitantly sat down on the couch, at the other end from Alex, aware of the long stare he gave her, the lingering way his hard eyes moved over her body and fixed on the slender legs. Crossing them, she sipped her drink. Ricky moved back to them, his glass in his hand, grinned at Alex and said, 'Bags I be Piggy in the Middle.' He sat down between them, his velvet thigh close to her leg, and tilted his glass, smiling at her. 'Cheers…'

  Nervously she looked at the paintings hanging against his white walls. 'You seem to like landscapes.'

  'Yeah, I do,' he said casually. 'I bought all these in Paris — they're all French. I like the French landscape.'

  'They fit in nicely with your colour scheme too,' said Alex rather tartly. Over the back of the couch Deborah looked at him indignantly. He would ruin any chance of acquiring Ricky for the firm if he made digs at him like that. His eyes met her accusing glance wryly.

  'That's not why I bought them,' Ricky said, with touchy irritation. 'I like them.'

  Alex swallowed the rest of his amber drink and stood up. 'Would you mind if I made an important local phone call, Ricky? I won't take five minutes.'

  'Help yourself,' Ricky invited at once pleasantly. 'Take it in my bedroom.'

  'It isn't private,' said Alex, moving across the room to a wh
ite telephone which occupied a niche at the further end of the lounge.

  'Pity,' Ricky said, lowering his voice, swivelling to face Deborah. 'Two's company, and I could do without him for a while.'

  Conscious, although she did not look round, of Alex's watchful gaze while he tried to get his number, she smiled into Ricky's green eyes. 'Don't you miss England now and then?'

  'Too busy,' he said, shrugging. 'How long have you worked for Alex?'

  They talked about the firm, and then about the music world in general, until she had an opportunity to ask naturally, 'Is it true you've quarrelled with Russ Wolf?'

  He gave her an understanding, teasing smile. 'Yeah, he's a rat, and I've been waiting for the chance to get out of my contract with him for a long time. I signed for seven years. He wants me to renew, but he can whistle.' The shrewd green eyes smiled at her. 'None of which is news to you, darling, or Alex wouldn't be over here.'

  She admitted as much with her laughter. 'Alex admires your work very much. He thinks we could help you a good deal…' She began to outline Alex's ideas of his future to him and he listened, watching her face closely, occasionally asking her quick, shrewd questions.

  Ricky was under no illusions about his worth, she realised. His brash conceit was based on years of adulation by the public, and he would not be an easy young man to work with unless one understood him.

  Under that glossy exterior, though, he was sharply intelligent, a tough, frank young man who believed in himself and understood his own ability. The sexual conceit he advertised was, she suspected, more for public consumption than from any particular leaning of his own. No doubt fans had pursued him for years. He knew he had, as he said bluntly, the knack of pulling the birds, but he told her with a grin that it was his success in music which was responsible rather than his own looks.

  'But you're very good-looking,' she said thoughtfully, looking at him with the eyes of a teenage girl. To young females he must seem exciting, a rough, iconoclastic hero without inhibitions or boundaries. Alex had something of the same appeal to the women who fell for him. They both exuded sex appeal and the allure of the anti-hero.

  He grinned at her, leaning over to trail one finger over the parted softness of her mouth. 'You aren't so dusty yourself, darling.'

  Behind his shoulder she met Alex's narrowed eyes and drew back. Politely, she asked, 'Did you get through?'

  His brow was troubled. 'No reply,' he said. 'I've tried several times. I thought the phone must be out of order, but the operator told me it was ringing and getting no reply. I can't understand it. Mother never goes out in the evening.'

  'She's off with her boyfriend, old darling,' Ricky said lightly.

  Alex shrugged. 'I'll try tomorrow.'

  Ricky's housekeeper announced dinner a few seconds later and they moved through to the dining-room, Alex moving a few yards in front of Ricky and Deborah, who were, to her amusement, hand in hand although Ricky's deftness in accomplishing this had taken her by surprise.

  The meal was excellent, superbly cooked and served by flickering candlelight, around a table sufficiently large to leave them all comfortably apart yet small enough to be intimate. Deborah had difficulty in persuading Ricky that she could not cope with the amount of wine he pressed upon her. Whenever she took her eyes off her glass he refilled it. He was a lively, entertaining host, refusing to discuss business while they ate, and talking instead about France, painting, cars and the large family he had left behind in England. 'I wanted them to home over here to live, but my mum wouldn't budge. A creature of habit, my old mum.' He put his hand over Deborah's silken thigh. 'She'd like you, darling. My old mum always did like ladylike girls. She's keen on good manners, my mum.' Giving him a little smile, she discreetly moved his hand back to his lap. 'She sounds very nice,' she said warmly. 'I hope she slapped you when you were naughty.' His green eyes danced. 'Just like wind-mills, her hands.'

  'I expect you needed it,' she said. 'It's probably a family characteristic' Ricky laughed delightedly. 'Hey, I like it!' He looked at her through those dark flashes. 'I like you, too, darling. I could have done with you when I was on the road. God, one-night stands take it out of you. I got so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open. We used to sleep in the van on the way to our next gig, and we needed a few laughs to stop us going nuts.' 'How did you start in the business?' she asked, rising as they moved back to the long lounge to drink their coffee. The wine had made her faintly muzzy and the air seemed stuffy and hot. She felt a strong inclination to lie back against the cushions of the couch and drowsily close her eyes. Accepting black coffee, she sipped it in the hope that it would help her to stay awake.

  Eagerly Ricky plunged into a clearly nostalgic tale of his first days in the profession, then insisted on getting his guitar in order to play her the first tune he ever wrote. Alone with Alex during his absence, Deborah leaned back thankfully, her lids drooping.

  'Enjoying yourself?' Alex asked her sardonically.

  Forcing her eyes open, she looked at him dazedly. 'Very much,' she murmured.

  'Like me to leave?' he asked bitingly.

  She stared. 'What?'

  'You've been giving him the green light all evening. I've no doubt he expects you to stay when I leave,' he said coldly.

  She flushed hotly. 'Oh, shut up! You asked me to be nice to him. Now you're turning it into something vile.'

  The door opened before he could answer and Ricky came back with his guitar. He posed, laughing, more than a little drunk. His pale hair was attractively disarranged, he had unbuttoned his black velvet jacket and the two top buttons of his frilled shirt, his bow tie discarded. 'Spanish, see?' he explained, his long hands caressing the smoothly polished wood with loving care. 'I had it made for me over there. I learnt to play classical guitar first, now I play electric, because it sells better. This is a lovely instrument. Listen to this tone…' He stood easily, one foot on the low velvet footstool he obviously kept for the purpose, and played a gentle, rather sad little melody which Deborah found very pleasant. It was nothing like the music he usually played, which was moody and full of rhythmic savagery, all chords and crashing sound. 'That's lovely,' she told him sincerely. I like it better than your usual material.' He shrugged. 'The commercial stuff sells better. Bubble gum music… plastic and forgettable. Just a few people like my early stuff.'

  'Did you ever record them?' she asked.

  He shook his head. 'Russ didn't go for them.'

  She looked at Alex. 'What do you think?'

  Ricky looked at Alex, too, his green glance defiant. 'He won't like them any more than Russ did.'

  'You're wrong,' Alex said crisply. 'Have you got many like that?'

  Ricky sat down on the arm of the couch and looked at him, narrow-eyed. 'Soft soap or for real?'

  'I never risk hard cash on soft soap,' said Alex. 'If you can come up with a tape full of stuff like that I think we could sell it.'

  Ricky's flush deepened. The talk became serious. Discreetly, Deborah slipped into the background, letting Alex lead the discussion. He negotiated toughly, but smoothly, and it was a pleasure to watch him at the job. He knew exactly what he was doing when he performed this function, she thought. He and Ricky fenced tirelessly, each trying to strike the best bargain, but although he badly wanted Ricky on his list Alex showed no sign of weakness or bluff, countering all Ricky's demands and refusals until at last they came to a hard-fought agreement.

  'Shake on it?' Alex asked him with a smile, and they firmly shook hands. 'I'll let you have the agreement when it's drawn.'

  'I'll fly over to London to sign,' Ricky promised. He slanted a wicked green glance a Deborah. 'Have lunch with me then, darling.'

  'Thank you,' she smiled. 'I'd love to.' Alex stood up abruptly. 'I'm afraid we'll have to be going now. It must be nearly midnight, and we have a plane to catch tomorrow.' Ricky had a sullen glint in his eyes as he said, 'I thought we were having another session tomorrow morning? Nice by my pool. Deb can swim while we chat, then I
'll have something sexy to look at while I talk.'

  'I'm sure Deborah would enjoy that,' said Alex, his tone sardonic. 'Our plane leaves in the afternoon, so we'll see you tomorrow.'

  Ricky cheered up, his wide mouth curving. 'Fine,' he said. He walked with them to the door, halting Deborah as he stood aside to let Alex move outside. Into her ear, he said softly, 'Cards on the table, honey. You Alex's property?' She flushed. 'No!' Her voice was sharp.

  'Fine,' he said again, with satisfaction 'I got an idea you might be.'

  She said goodnight and joined Alex Ricky waved as the car moved off down the drive, then the gates smoothly swung, open and they spun out into the road. Alex drove in total silence, his profile unreadable in the dark interior of the car. Deborah felt oddly nervous. Somehow she expected some barbed remarks. His attitude all evening had been puzzlingly difficult to read. He had asked her to be nice to Ricky, yet he had sniped at her all the time whenever he spoke to her. Could he be sexually jealous? Yet if he resented to whenever she was friendly to another man… She caught herself up angrily. Sexually jealous… the phrase disturbed her. She wished it had not entered her mind.

  When they arrived at the hotel sin-blinked as her eyes became accustomed to the bright lights, following Alex to the desk to collect their keys. The terse silence persisted as they went upstairs in the lift. and he walked past her to his own room without even saying goodnight. Angrily she let herself into her room and went straight into the bathroom. Bolting the door on his side, she stripped and showered, then changed into her brief green lace night-gown.

  Her room was so stuffy that she opened the french windows. Drawn by the cool air and the illuminated promenade she moved out on to the balcony and leaned on the rail,, breathing in the fresh night fragrance. her head was still heavy after all that wine. She stared at the dark sea, remembering the raft swinging gently under her shoulders as Alex forced her to admit her own need for his lovemaking. She closed her eyes, groaning soundlessly. When she went back to London she must tell Robin she could never marry him. Knowing as she did now how badly she had wanted Alex to touch her she knew she must not, could not, marry Robin. It would cheat him. There would be no reality in the vows they exchanged. How could she swear fidelity when she had betrayed her own intelligence by weakening under Alex's attack? But she must also leave the firm. She had to get away from Alex; the effect he had on her was disastrous. If she stayed within his ambiance one day he might succeed in persuading her to drift into an affair with him. She no longer trusted her own strength of mind where he was concerned. She had been sure she could resist him, but it had been the confidence of folly.