Love Play by Rosemary Rogers (8 page)

She felt as if she had been drugged, as if even her voice didn't belong
to herself any longer.

'No - don't! Please don't!'

'Delight... cara. You see how much we want each other?

Let's go upstairs quickly — you're right, this is too public a place for
making love.'

His words shocked her back to reality; her eyes, half closed and
unfocused blinked into sharp awareness that they were parked in front of her
apartment house. And that he had called her 'Delight'!

'Cara . . . come.'

She was shaking all over - she had dropped her purse and had to grope
for it, thankful that that small action hid her turmoil from him.

'No! And please don't . . . touch me again,' She had to keep talking, to
keep him at bay, and her words stumbled and jostled against one another while
she fought for control. 'So you proved whatever it was you wanted to prove -
that.,. there's a certain physical chemistry between us. But honestly — one
kiss and you expect me to take you to bed? I'm just not. . . that free and
easy. And I don't go for one-night stands.''

She didn't know, not knowing him, what she could expect. Rage? Bitter,
caustic words? She didn't at this point, really care - needing only to get away
from him and his . overpowering closeness. Her lips still burned from the force
of his kisses and her nipples felt hard and swollen from the caress of his
fingers.

While Sara held her breath with terrified anticipation she tried to read
some expression on his shadowed face. Why didn't he say something?

Surprisingly — annoyingly — his voice sounded quite calm; politely
regretful, nothing else. 'That's so? Well -then I'm sorry. Although I must
admit that now ... there is still the anticipation of what might yet be between
us - yes?'

Without giving her a chance to respond he had already opened the door on
his side and was walking around to let her out with long, impatient strides
that made Sara feel, a sudden jab of irritation, that his try at seduction had
been merely perfunctory and now he was bored and anxious to be rid of her.

'Good night.'

 
He saw her into the lobby and as
far as the elevators. She imagined that his eyes dwelt, for an instant, on her
mouth, but the next instant they were hooded and unreadable.

'Good night!' she said brightly. 'Thank you for dinner.'

"You made it a very interesting evening.'

Sara was left alone to ponder on those words when the elevator doors
slid shut. Riccardo had already turned away.

Chapter 7

By the time Sara was able to fall asleep she had noticed the almost
imperceptible lightening of the night sky that always presaged dawn. She had
done everything she could think of to compose herself for sleep - made herself
a cup of steaming hot tea, creamed and massaged her face, brushed her teeth,
brushed her hair. She had even tried reading a

couple of scripts that had arrived for Delight with Lew Weisman's office
address on them. The trouble was that whenever she tried to visualise herself
as the female lead, the leading man in her mind movie seemed to look too much
like the Duca di Cavalieri.

How dare he invade even the privacy of her imagination? Squeezing her
eyes shut Sara began to think of all the things she should have said, should
have done to put him in his place. Once and for all...

When did she slide into sleep and when did dreaming take the place of
conscious thought? He had kissed her - she had slappped his face with all the
scorn and hate she could muster; was running away from him with the sound of
her heels echoing hollowly on the stairs. Why on earth hadn't she thought to
take the elevator? She was getting tired, slowing down to almost a crawl when
she heard him behind her. No - no! There was something relentless about the way
he was pursuing her like a wolf loping after a wounded deer.

Sara wanted to scream, but there was no breath left in her body.
Helplessly, numbly, she lay sprawled across the steps with her fingers clinging
to the railing.

'Did you think you would escape from me so easily?' She managed a last,
despairing cry as he swooped down on her, lifting her easily in his arms as he
bounded up the stairs, kicking open her door far too easily - striding in to
fling her down across the bed.

'No! Oh, please! What do you want with me anyway?' 'Little fool! What do
you think?' His meaning was unmistakable - and when she would have tried to
evade him, to beat at him, she was trapped by the covers that held her like
ropes; by the weight of his body and the force of his kisses that drained
everything from her . . .

'NO!'

Drenched with sweat Sara bolted upright in bed — the sound of her own
voice and the malevolent buzzing of the electric alarm in her ears. Her heart
was pounding, her head ached. And she had kicked the bedcovers off so that they
were all tangled about her legs, imprisoning her.

Had she really been dreaming? Had she? There was no one else in the
room. She was alone and the small night lamp was still on, the script she had
been reading had fallen open on the rug beside the bed, along with one of her
pillows.

'Oh, damn!' Sara said aloud, rubbing childishly at her eyes. How many
hours of sleep had she had - two, three? And then to have a nightmare like the
one she'd had ... her body still felt strangely weak from it.

Face flushing, Sara forced herself to briskness. Enough of that! She
wasn't going to waste any more thought on either her ugly nightmare or its
cause!And she had -glancing at her clock — barely an hour and a half in which
to put herself together for the studio.

Lew wasn't there this time, but Sara found her way to Make-up, her
sister's identity firmly donned to mask her own weakness.

'You probably won't be needed today - Garon's doing some of his scenes
with Lockwood.' Mike, the slim young make-up man clucked disapprovingly at the
dark smudges under Sara's eyes. 'You certainly do look like hell this morning,
darling! Late morning? I hope it was worth it!'

He started patting white stuff under her eyes, and Sara managed what she
hoped was an insouciant shrug.

'Just a dream!'

'Lucky guy! Hi, everyone - Mike, how about some hot coffee before we get
started?'

Too late, Sara saw Garon Hunt himself come up behind her in the mirror.
His eyes grinned into her startled clown-face, grin widening when her cheeks
began to burn with spots of colour.

Sara longed to cover her face like an embarrassed child as he lowered
himself on to the stool beside her.

'Hi!'

'Hello.' Her response was diffident.

Garon Hunt! And he had to see her looking like this - a mess! If she had
dared, Sara would have grimaced nastily at her own reflection.

'Heyyy . . .! Can't you think of anything more to say than just
"hello"?'

Garon's voice was teasing; he put a finger under Sara's elevated chin
and turned it gently towards him. Sara's eyes darted about the narrow, brightly
lit room with the beginnings of apprehension, and found that they were alone.
She and Garon Hunt. Quite alone!

What would Delight have done? The thought rescued her.

'Well... I could say "good morning, Garon Hunt" . . .'

'Good morning, Delight Adams.' He was smiling his famous, slightly
crooked smile at her! 'What comes after that?'

Her mind raced desperately: I hope he doesn't try to kiss me! At this
angle, if I turned I'd fail off this stool! And so would he, probably.

Sara's smile had a desperate brilliance to it that came across as being
provocative.

'Isn't it your turn now, Garon?'

'How about dinner tonight?'

Unprepared (even Delight would have been taken aback surely?) Sara's
voice deserted her — she could only stare at Garon, wondering if she had heard
right.

She had. Obviously taking her silence for acquiescence Garon squeezed
her nerveless hand and gave it a light kiss.

'Look - before Mike comes back in here — Sally's going off early this
afternoon and we'll probably stop shooting around four. You start walking
towards the gate at five sharp and I'll be coming out of my bungalow at the
same time, right? I'll offer you a ride.' He smiled at her again, more deeply
this time, with those bright blue eyes almost mesmerising her. 'I'm going to be
looking forward to this evening, baby. And to learning about you/

'Well!' Mike said on an expelled breath when Garon Hunt had walked out.
'And what was that all about - or can't you tell?' He had a pointed, pixy beard
that positively quivered with curiosity.

'What are you talking about?' Sara said evasively as she leaned forward
pretending to admire her make-up.

'As if you didn't know! Think I don't know that when he comes in early
and asks someone to go get coffee, that that someone isn't supposed to come
back in for at least five Minutes? Ha! I've been around long enough!'

'Well.. .' Sara conceded reluctantly, turning back to face his indignant
expression.

'He asked you out, didn't he? That'll mean another late night, I guess.
Come in extra early and I'll do an extra-Special job on you - while you tell me
all the details!'

'I'm sure you already know all the details!' Sara muttered equivocally
as she left.

Garon Hunt! Sara's mind was in such a whirl that she couldn't be
bothered by Mike and his sly insinuations.

Garon had asked her out, was going to pick her up precisely at five this
afternoon . , .

Of course I'm going! Sara answered her own question. She felt both
scared and elated. Delight would never turn down Garon Hunt!

The long, slow morning in which she was called upon to do nothing gave
Sara time enough in which to think, and even to doze off as it became hotter
and hotter on the huge sound stage.

She had been lying on the small couch that took up most of the space in
the 'dressing room' she shared with two others. It felt good to feel herself
float off into nothing¬ness . . .

With annoyance, Sara at first tried to pull away from the rough hand on
her shoulder. And then she remembered that she was supposed to be on call and
sat up with a dismayed murmur,

'Well, I see that at least you are alive. I am sorry if I was rough and
startled you, signorina, but I knocked first, and came in when you did not
answer.' Of course he wasn't sorry at all! Sara thought inconsequentially as
she heard that harsh, rather grating voice and met obsidian eyes. Catching her
look he continued in a rather mocking tone, 'You looked pale enough to be
actually dead! Did you not sleep well last night?'

It was he. It was actually he, the bete noire of her . nightmares! Sara
pushed hair back from her eyes, blinking them to glare at him.

'What are you doing here? This is supposed to be a closed set!'

'Ah, but you see I happen to own a part of this picture. So I am a
privileged person - I'm afraid.' He added the last softly, like a challenge,
his hard eyes flickering over her rather dishevelled state.

'Not privileged enough to be able to walk in here without knocking!'
Sara responded heatedly, choosing to forget what he had told her earlier. 'This
is my dressing room, and . . .'

'Of course I knew it was your dressing room!' he said smoothly, one
black eyebrow tilting with mocking amusement at her sputtering fury. 'Why else
would I be here, after all? I thought I would take you to lunch, since everyone
else has gone to the cafeteria. Or are you fasting as a form of penance for
some sin?'

'Sin? Why . . . now just you listen to me . . .!'

'It is too bad that American schools do not teach that sentences should
never be allowed to trail away into nothing! If you begin to say something,
then you should finish what you have begun, yes? But no matter — there is still
time for lunch if you hurry. Come.'

He had uttered that curt command to her before, taking it for granted
that she would follow her leader. But this time . . .

'No!' Sara said loudly, hoping she had sounded curt and positive enough.
He ought to understand that one word, rely!

But no — he already had hold of her wrist, pulling her with him,
seemingly without any effort at all. Her wrist felt paralysed and her feet
seemed to move of their own volition, Sara could have cried with rage and
frustration. Why had he come back to torment her, the dark demon of her dream?
Why wasn't she fighting with more determi¬nation his arrogance, his calm
presumptions?

'It is very obvious that you are the kind of woman who subconsciously
desires having her mind made up for her. I am
 
sure you did not take the time for breakfast this morning, and you do
not look as if you can afford to miss another meal!' His black eyes raked over
her slim body with scathing impatience, as if she had been a stupid child who
needed to be reprimanded.

'It... it's really none of your business if I miss a meal or NOT!'

Sara's words came between gasps. If he hadn't been tagging her along
quite so fast she would really have enjoyed giving him a piece of her mind! Bully!
Her mind hesitated over the word before she thought it defiantly, Bastard!

He chose to ignore her feeble rebellion, hurrying her along with only
perfunctory words of caution before she (inevitably) tripped over trailing
wires, having to be recovered by him with the same careless ease that he might
retrieve a long pass in football.

'Here we are.' His voice
sounded brisk and businesslike. The black-lettered sign over the door read:
Paul Drury.

Not another meal with Paul and Monique! Unable to speak by now, Sara
shook her head vigorously, hanging back against his grip in a last, rebellious
spurt of energy.

This time it took his arm around her waist to take her inside. He was
frowning at her. 'You are acting very strangely, Delight. Have you been
drinking - or is it those pills that everyone here seems to take?'