by Miranda Lee
Not that he expected her to tell him much, even then.
Rachel Manning was a cool customer all right—a mysterious and enigmatic creature who was really impossible to manipulate. Luke had the awful feeling that she was playing with him, like a cat with a mouse. He would catch her looking intently at him sometimes, as though trying to fathom what she would do with him in the end. Put him out of his misery? Or just leave him dangling... ?
By the time the sun began to set and the air to cool Luke was utterly exhausted—physically, mentally and emotionally. He was also on his last roll of film.
‘Let’s call it a day,’ he said abruptly.
‘You don’t want to try for any sunset shots?’
He shot her a sharp look. Who did she think she was kidding? She had to be exhausted too, yet she was wanting to prolong things further? ‘No,’ he bit out. ‘I’m too tired. You must be too. Let’s get back to the hotel. I could do with a long hot bath and a stiff drink.’
Her shrug seemed indifferent, but Luke gained the impression of a real reluctance for the evening to begin. He also thought he detected a glimmer of something like fear in her eyes.
His irritation as he strode back to the car knew no bounds. He wished she’d make up her damned mind what she wanted from him. He wished he could make up his mind what he wanted from her!
He also wished he could make up his mind what he believed about her. He’d labelled her an adulterous whore in his mind.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
Which wasn’t anything new. When had he ever been sure of her, or of anything she did? She was full of mysteries and contradictions, and the most aggravating changes of character.
The question was... who was the real Rachel Manning? What was she? Where had she come from and where was she going to?
Luke knew that he had to have some answers to those questions before he dared do anything sexual with her again—before he dared become any more emotionally involved.
And he was emotionally involved with her. That was one thing he was sure of. Exactly what that emotion was eluded him. Love, or hate. Lust, or simply fury. All he knew was that she was not going to play him for a fool again. He wanted answers and he wanted her. And he aimed to get everything he wanted this time—no matter what.
Hell, he would get her blind drunk if he had to!
All was fair in love and war. And this, Luke vowed darkly, was war! She wasn’t going to get away scot-free this time. No, sirree. He’d waited eighteen interminable months for this opportunity, and he wasn’t going to let it slip away from him.
By seven twenty-five that evening Luke was ready, refreshed and reasonably relaxed. Three Scotches in a row did rather have that effect on one.
He’d arranged to collect Madam Manning from her room at seven-thirty and take her down to dinner, having booked an intimate little corner table for two at the Norfolk Terrace Restaurant on the first floor.
At seven twenty-six he gave his appearance a last checkover, telling himself that he looked quite dashing in charcoal-grey trousers, black silk shirt and a pale grey sports jacket. A little gel made his dark brown hair look almost black in the night light, the slicked-back style suiting his strongly boned face and bringing attention to his best feature—his eyes.
They gleamed back at him in the mirror, his bitter resolve bringing a dangerously ruthless edge to the smile that found its way to his mouth.
‘Let’s go, handsome.’ He lifted a sardonic eyebrow at himself in the mirror. ‘And remember, this is the moment you’ve been waiting for. Don’t stuff it up.’
Madam’s room was on the same floor but at the opposite end of the long corridor. He hadn’t wanted to be too obvious by asking for adjoining rooms.
Luke felt some resurgence of nerves during the longish walk down to her room, but remained in firm control of them. He found it irritating, however, to have to knock twice before she opened the door.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ she said briskly. ‘I was on the telephone. I’ll just get my purse.’
She left the door open while she did so, showing Luke a carbon copy of his own room. There might have been some minutely different details, but the blue and yellow colour-scheme was pretty much identical—the warm-wooded colonial furnishings very comfy, and pleasing to the eye.
It was classy accommodation with classy accoutrements. Luke was no stranger to five-star hotels all over the world, and this was as good as any he’d stayed in.
She walked back towards him, looking stunning and elegant in a silky green trouser-suit which had wide bottoms and a long flowing jacket with long sleeves and buttons right up to the neck. Despite the modesty of her clothes and the subtlety of her make-up, she looked incredibly sexy as she moved. Her loosely curled blonde hair swung about her face and shoulders. Her breasts—which might or might not have been braless—swayed sensuously beneath her top, riveting Luke’s eyes.
He could have sworn her nipples peaked as he stared at them, but she didn’t miss a beat as she swished out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
‘Did you have that long hot bath you wanted?’ she asked, her manner so cool that he might have imagined his staring had affected her in any way.
Except that Luke was gradually getting used to the fact that Miss Rachel Manning had two barometers. Her brain and her body. She could say one thing, he was beginning to appreciate, and feel quite another.
Luke determined to look past her words in future, to her more revealing body language. Yes, a quick glance revealed that her nipples very definitely had hardened. He could see them clearly outlined against the thin silk. He wasn’t sure if he was contemptuous of her sexual vulnerability to such a small stimulus as a look, or excited by it.
Both, probably.
‘Sure did,’ he drawled. ‘And a good stiff drink as well. And how did you fill in the last two hours?’
She slipped the key into her purse, her expression blandly pleasant. ‘Oh, I soaked in a tub as well, then wickedly indulged in several cups of coffee while watching my favourite game-shows on television.’
‘You’re a caffeine addict, are you?’ he remarked as they walked together down the corridor towards the lifts.
‘Decidedly. A game-show addict as well.’
‘Would that we all had such harmless addictions,’ he murmured drily.
‘Oh? And to what are you addicted, Luke St Clair?’
They had stopped at the twin lifts and she’d turned to face him, her expression seemingly ingenuous and curious. He eyed her closely in return while wondering what game she’d decided to play with him tonight. She appeared bent on a more leisurely seduction this time, confident in the power of her physical attraction and knowing full well that she only had to crook her finger at most men and they would come running. It would never have crossed her mind that he might knock her back.
Luke almost wished he could, but masochism had never been one of his fetishes.
‘Where would you like me to begin?’ he said nonchalantly.
‘At the beginning might be a good start. I’d like to know what you were like as a little boy. Where did you grow up? How did you get into photography?’
He was startled, and showed it. Damn, she was doing it again—taking further control and reversing more roles. He should have been the one asking her questions, not the other way round.
‘Why do you want to know?’ he asked, punching the ‘down’ button on the wall between the twin lift-wells.
Her shrug was superbly nonchalant. ‘We have to talk about something over dinner, don’t we? I’ve never known a man who didn’t like talking about himself.’
‘Ouch,’ he said lightly, though underneath he was piqued by her answer. There he’d been, suddenly thinking she was interested in Luke St Clair the man, not just Luke St Clair the male body. More fool him. ‘You don’t seem to have a high opinion of the male gender,’ he added blithely.
‘No,’ she returned wryly. ‘I can’t say I’m overly impressed in gen
eral.’
This judgemental reply sparked a sharp response from Luke. Who in hell did she think she was—a saint?
‘I’m not in the business of impressing women,’ he said rather coldly. ‘As far as I’m concerned they can take me or leave me.’
‘I wasn’t talking about you, Luke,’ she denied. ‘But from the sounds of things you’re not all that impressed with the female gender in general either.’
His slow, sexually knowing smile was designed to melt even the iciest of women. ‘You shouldn’t take my cynicism personally, Rachel,’ he said, in a low, silkily seductive voice. ‘Believe when I say I’m very impressed with you.’
Their eyes clashed, and for the first time he didn’t bother to hide the extent of his desire for her. It blazed, hot and strong, compelling her to keep staring deep into his eyes. Immediately that peculiar fear zoomed back into her face, but still she couldn’t seem to drag her eyes away from his. Gradually, her fear changed to a flush of acute sexual awareness. Colour flooded her cheeks and her lips fell ever so slightly apart.
In that moment Luke knew that she would be his once again.
His sense of triumph was intense, and he might have kissed her then, if the lift doors hadn’t opened to reveal another couple waiting to go down to dinner. Still feeling invincible, Luke put a masterful hand on her elbow and ushered her inside, thrilled to feel her arm quivering uncontrollably.
His thoughts were primitive and savage as they rode down to the first floor. He was secure in the knowledge that no matter what she said or did over dinner she would not refuse him afterwards.
Once out of the lift on the first floor, they soon found themselves alone again—Luke steering her right while the other couple turned left and headed for the La Mer restaurant, which was a more formal restaurant and not what Luke had wanted for this evening. A more relaxed atmosphere was preferable when seduction was on the menu for supper.
‘You’re hurting me,’ she said shakily.
‘Sorry,’ he said, releasing his grip on her elbow to trail his fingers down her arm then link his hand with hers. ‘I don’t know my own strength sometimes. This better?’
He lifted their entwined hands and pressed the backs of her fingertips lightly to his lips. The heat which flooded her cheeks brought another wave of black triumph, as did the tremor which ricocheted through her. Luke felt it right down to her fingertips.
He held her flustered face for a long, long moment. ‘We’d better go inside,’ he said at last, with an intimate little smile, ‘or they might think we’re not turning up. Don’t want them giving our table to someone else, do we? I don’t know about you, but I’m suddenly awfully hungry...’
CHAPTER SEVEN
LUKE’S triumph was short-lived, as he should have expected. Rachel Manning was not the sort of female to relish being at a disadvantage for long-especially sexually.
Actually, he didn’t begrudge her the sanctuary she found behind a rapid resumption of her usual composure. He rather admired the way she took hold of herself as he ushered her into the restaurant. The speed with which her heated cheeks cooled to a more dignified and very faint blush was testimony to a will of iron.
It gave Luke a glimpse of why he was so obsessed with this woman. She might be a lot of things, but never weak. Hell, no. She didn’t know the meaning of the word.
‘What a lovely view,’ she said with superb style, after the waiter had departed with their drink order. ‘We have the best table in the house.’
Which they did—right in the far corner, where the large plate glass windows met, providing them with a panoramic view on all sides. Although night had well and truly fallen, Terrigal was still a pretty sight, with the many streetlights showing the seaside town and the beach to advantage, their reflections sparkling like diamonds in the darkened water as it rolled in gentle waves onto the semicircle of golden sand.
Not that Luke was interested in views. His attention was all for the woman sitting opposite him.
Their eyes met momentarily, hers holding his quite coolly, revealing that she’d totally recovered from what had happened earlier.
Luke wasn’t worried. He knew exactly what to do to whip her right back into that highly desirable state of flustered arousal. He would simply kiss her. No woman in all his wide range of experience had ever reacted to his kisses as she had done eighteen months before. He’d never forgotten those little whimpering noises, or the way she’d simply melted against him, like liquid velvet.
The waiter coming back with the bottle of white wine he’d ordered put a welcome halt to Luke’s train of thought. He dragged his mind back from the minefield of his memories to sample the crisply cold Chablis, gave his nod of approval and relaxed in his chair while the waiter filled both their glasses, then wiggled the bottle into the portable ice-bucket.
‘Time to tell me the story of your life, I think,’ she said abruptly, once the waiter had departed.
‘You’ll be bored to tears.’
‘Believe me, I won’t.’
Luke frowned at the edge in her voice, then decided just to go along with what she wanted. Besides, if he told her about his own life then she might tell him about hers.
‘I have no idea where to start,’ he said.
‘Then just answer my questions. How old are you?’
‘Thirty-two.’
‘Are your parents both living?’
‘My mother is. Dad died a few years back, of a heart attack. Mum lives in Monterey, in the same house I was born in.’
‘I’ll bet you’re an only child.’
‘Not at all. I have two older brothers—both married and both breeding like rabbits. Well, not exactly. Andy has two children, Mark three.’
‘And you’ve never been married?’
‘No.’
‘Are you living with anyone?’
‘No.’
‘Got a girlfriend?’
He looked her straight in the eye. ‘No.’
She arched one eyebrow, then stopped her questions to take a sip of her wine, sighing as she replaced the glass onto the crisp white tablecloth. Her hand, he thought, was trembling a little, but her eyes were as cool as ever as they lifted to him, and a wry smile was playing on her lips. ‘I’ll bet you were very popular at school. And good at everything.’
‘Yes and no. I was popular, but not at all good at everything. Sport, yes—I was crazy. about soccer—but not schoolwork. I had a type of attention deficiency syndrome, where my mind would wander off in all directions—never on the subject I was supposed to be studying. My report cards all said the same. “Would do better if only he would concentrate.” Still, I knew I was going to become a professional photographer from the age of thirteen, so my poor grades didn’t really matter.’
‘What made you decide to become a photographer so young?’
‘Dad gave me a camera for my twelfth birthday, and I was immediately hooked. I found I had a talent for taking really flattering shots of people. I also found I could make money out of that talent.’
He smiled at the memory. ‘I took glam photos of the best looking girls in school, then beefcakey shots of the hunkiest guys, and made a fortune selling copies around the playground. I even put out a calendar each year, using the pick of the bunch. Got into a bit of trouble when the tax department showed up in my classroom one day and demanded to see my books.’
Luke laughed. ‘Luckily, the money I’d made up till then was in a tin under my bed. They went away in the end, after I’d convinced them photography was just my hobby, and I used all the money I’d made to buy equipment.’
‘Clever,’ she murmured.
‘Streetwise more than clever, Rachel. I’m no genius, but I’ve made a success of my life. So far,’ he added a touch bitterly.
She frowned and stared down at the table. Luke found her silence irritating and swept up his wine glass. ‘So, what shall we drink to?’ he said. ‘My success, or yours?’
She glanced up, her rueful little laugh star
tling him.
‘Can I share the joke?’
‘Not really. The joke’s definitely on me—but it is funny, in a way.’
‘Funny ha-ha, or funny peculiar?’ he drawled, knowing full well why she found the situation ironic, but since he wasn’t supposed to know he had to play dumb.
‘I doubt either of those adjectives fit,’ she said drily, and took a decent sip of wine. ‘It’s certainly not amusing, and “peculiar” seems such a pathetically inadequate word.’
‘To describe what, Rachel?’
She lifted the glass towards him in a toast-like gesture. ‘You... Me... Us...’
‘But there is no us... yet.’
‘No, but there will be, won’t there? In a fashion, that is,’ she added, dropping her eyes while she sipped her wine.
Luke straightened in the chair. ‘Precisely what do you mean by...in a fashion...?’
Her shrug seemed superbly nonchalant, but he fancied that it hid a lot of tension.
‘You know exactly what I mean, Luke. You intend seducing me later. But come tomorrow morning that will be it, won’t it? Unless, of course, you’re tempted to finish up early and have another romantic interlude during the afternoon. Either way, by the end of the day you’ll get in your car, I’ll get in mine, and we’ll go our separate ways.’
Luke’s fingers tightened around his wine glass. ‘Is that so?’ he said curtly, not bothering to deny a thing. It certainly fitted one of the possible scenarios he had fantasised as happening with her.
‘Yes, that’s so,’ she said with a soft sigh.
Her air of weary resignation infuriated him. ‘You sound like you have no say in the matter,’ he bit out, angry with her for assuming he was that kind of man, and angry with her for admitting that she would give herself to him on a silver platter like that.
Her eyes moved slowly to his, and Luke flinched at the pain in their depths. ‘I don’t,’ came her simple but strained admission.
Luke didn’t know what to say. Or think. Something was going on here that he was not privy to. But once again the secrets were all on her side, and he was not going to be let in on them. He wondered if she was some kind of nymphomaniac who, once turned on, could not stop herself from surrendering to the object of her desire. Maybe her sexual needs were so strong on occasion that she became an almost unwilling victim of her own body.
