Love Play by Rosemary Rogers (11 page)

'Of course! And your money is safe, I assure you.'

She didn't care if he did raise one deliberately sarcastic eyebrow at
her. She was here with Garon Hunt, and Garon was going to look after her
tonight - in more ways than one, probably!

The Duca di Cavalieri moved on with his companion and Sara resisted
sternly the temptation to stick out her tongue at his retreating back. Part of
her mind was appalled at herself. She had never, ever, done anything as
impossibly vulgar as that in her life before! Maybe she was tipsy enough already.

'Feel like exploring?'

Thank God Garon had seen fit to rescue her. Sara's smile burst out at
him brilliantly. I'd love to. Especially the tennis courts.'

'You got it!'

Sara was to wonder, afterwards, what might have happened if all the
others hadn't come traipsing after them.

'What's the bet, anyway?' someone said vaguely, and she shrugged.

'How would I know?' But she had begun to have a suspicion. More than a
suspicion, especially when Uncle Theo came up to her, still frowning.

'I put my money on you, darn it, in spite of the fact that your sister
Sara's the tennis champ! Maybe she's taught you a few pointers.'

'Oh, but she's taught me everything she knows!' Sara was hefting the
racquet she had chosen from the five Ted had handed her. She hoped she felt as
cocky as those words sounded. 'Who am I playing against?' Now she was on
familiar ground!

And she should have known who would answer her!

What was Riccardo doing without his clinging lady? Sara swung around,
looking him in the eye.

'But against your innamorata, of course! The challenge was between you
two — although frankly, signorina, I cannot imagine why you would challenge a
man for a game of tennis! Because either way, you will be the loser.'

'I challenged? Challenged who?'

He didn't need to answer, and maybe that was just as well. On the other
side of the net, Garon Hunt waved at her.

'Okay, baby! Let's go. And remember you promised not to be mad at me if
I get too rough on you. Tennis is like driving a car to me - once I get into
it, I forget about everything but winning!'

'So do I.'

This was going to be very quick. She was going to let Garon beat her -
putting up enough opposition not to make her look silly. And as for His Grace,
the Duca de Cavalieri, Sara hoped fervently he had bet a lot of money on her!

Then, when the first game started, Sara forgot everything else but her
concentration, pushing away the memories.

You could be a professional! And in fact you would be wasting your
talent if you didn't at least try out as an amateur!

Shades of Pat, who had taught her tennis. Sara had worn her hair in
pigtails at that time. She remembered the weight of each braid against her
shoulders as she shook her head vigorously.

'You know Daddy wouldn't hear of it! He'd stop my taking lessons or even
playing for fun if he thought I might want to do it seriously. And it's too
much fun for me, Pat!'

'Your serve, baby!'

What she remembered most of that first game was Garon's surprised face
when she slammed the ball across the court, right in the corner. She saw the
bright blue excitement leap into his eyes. From his eyes to hers.

'So you're good! I kinda thought so from the begin¬ning . . .'

He let the double entendre sink in, smiling at her. His serve was by no
means patronising, making her run for the ball. Sara felt elation rise in her.
He was good! Would she be able to remember that she must lose this contest?

Chapter 10

'Fantastic game! Jesus Christ, the girl can sure play tennis!* Better to
remember the accolades after the almost even game than her thirst.More Harvey
Wallbangers. She never wanted to taste orange juice again!

Sara fought back a moan of sheer agony as she shifted her head on the
pillow. Her insides felt sore and her throat ached too. Into her mind came a
hazy recollection of herself, trying to fight back nausea and not quite
succeeding. An even hazier picture of Garon's face bending over hers as he
began to undress her . . .

In a cold sweat, Sara jerked upright. Even her eyes ached when she moved
them. But she had already seen what she had been looking for. On the other side
of the king-size bed she had obviously slept in was a deep indentation where a
head had lain on the pillow next to hers.

And she didn't even remember! Lying back again, Sara pressed her fingers
against her temples, trying to think. She didn't feel different. She didn't
feel anything! Maybe she'd passed out before and he hadn't done anything.

Cautiously, Sara opened her eyes again. No blood — no nothing. Garon had
been a gentleman, after all - not that it mattered, because he probably would
never want to see her again.

'Oh, good! Mr Kohler was real worried about you. Had me come in here to
watch over you after your gentleman left.' The maid spoke from the doorway.

Sara could have groaned out loud. Now she had to face Uncle Theo. And
Garon must be disgusted with her. She shuddered at the recollection of herself,
getting sick. No more Harvey Wallbangers, ever again!

Efficient fingers felt her forehead, touched her pulse. 'You'll be fine.
Just a slight hangover, maybe, and I'm going to bring you something to fix that
right away!'

'Well. ..! I feel as if I've had to kidnap you in order to have you
spend some time with me! I'm surprised your mother didn't have you get in
touch!'

Uncle Theo's voice sounded gruffly annoyed, before he brightened up
briefly. 'At least you play a damn good game of tennis . . . Sara, is it? And
don't think I didn't notice that you let Garon win that last game!'

She had to try to keep her voice from shaking. 'No Uncle Theo, it isn't
Sara. It's Delight, remember? The black sheep.'

His eyes, still alert and intelligent, swept over her before he shrugged
impatiently. 'Well - Delight or Sara — it doesn't really matter. Both Mona's
daughters, aren't you? And both take after your mother, I guess!'

'When did Garon leave?' It was a deliberate non sequitur, but Sara was
beyond the point of worrying about it.

Uncle Theo merely grunted. 'Right after you fell asleep, I reckon! He
had a call from Sally — something to do with one of the kids. But he did ask me
to tell you that he'd like to see you again.'

'Oh . . .' Sara said bleakly. What an idiot she'd made of herself! And
poor Garon, having to be kind.

'I think . . .' Sara massaged her temples exploratively, 'I think I was
supposed to report to the set today. Oh, God. Lew will be furious!'

'What the hell use do you think all my money is? Nobody's going to miss
you. You've got a week off while they're shooting the chase scenes.'

Belatedly, Sara remembered that Uncle Theo 'dabbled'in almost
everything. Just like her father (she winced at that thought).

'Great. I think I'm going to go into hibernation.' 'Well, if you really
feel that way, you're welcome to stay here! I tend to get lonely sometimes.'

'I just don't believe that!' she teased him gently, knowing better.
Uncle Theo had always surrounded himself with people. 'And besides, you have a
house-guest.'

'I like Riccardo . . . but he doesn't stay around much.'

'You wouldn't like it if he did, would you?' He gave an explosive
chuckle. 'Damned if you don't sound more like Sara! She always did lock horns
with me -contradict me. Well, I'll give you the same licence! But come along
now — I've fixed you one of my special omelettes!'

Afterwards Sara would wonder why she hadn't stayed longer to enjoy the
comfortable familiarity, the security, that Uncle Theo offered. She could rest,
be herself, gather herself up ... The thought might have been too tempting not
to accept if Uncle Theo had not had a house-guest. To stay under the same roof
as the detestable Riccardo, Duca di Cavalieri, was more than she could cope
with at this point in her life — especially since she had to think very very
seriously about Garon, and how she was going to deal with him.

Sara spent the rest of the afternoon sunbathing under Uncle Theo's
benevolent aegis. To anybody watching she might have appeared to be sleeping in
the golden warmth of the summer sun — but her mind was far too busy with
questions and imagination. Deliberately centred around Garon . . . Was she
going to have a properly casual affair with him or not? Under the unravelling
heat of the sun, Sara's mind-pictures were ambivalent, and she wavered between
being herself and being Delight - reminding herself firmly that as far as Garon
was concerned she was Delight the outgoing; not Sara the introvert. And did
this fact allow Sara the inhibited to let down all her barriers while she
play-acted at being Delight, who lived up to her name in every way?

Oh, yes, she could have stayed there forever under the sun, forgetting
about decisions and answers and limitations — not having to deal with anything
more serious than the effort of turning over from her stomach on to her back.
Could have and would have perhaps, if not for the feeling of a shadow across
her relaxed body, and a harshly grating voice that seemed to rasp across her
nerves.

'You look as if you are giving yourself up as an offering to the sun!
And unfortunately I am no Apollo - being a more comfortable citizen of hell
than of heaven! Are you awake?'

'I'm awake - now. And you're Pluto, not Apollo. What do you want?'

'Obviously, you were not taught any manners!'

'That's right! I was never in one place long enough to get taught much
of anything. So -1 just evolved. My own way.'

She was Delight. This was what Delight felt, only she never said it,
barricaded by her stubborn, fragile pride. Everything Delight had had as a
child had been borrowed from someone else, never altogether her own. No
settled-in home, no comfortable Nanny Staggs to take the place of a
beautiful-butterfly mother. Not even a father who cared enough to acknowledge
her.

How dare this man, or anyone else, criticise her?

Rejecting him and his dark, impersonal arrogance, Sara turned back on to
her stomach, pillowing her head in her arms. Maybe he'd go away if she ignored
him.

'I'm sure your many analysts have helped this - evolving as you call it.
And perhaps your many experiences? Or do you prefer to call them experiments?'

'Go away!' She was proud of the evenness of her voice. 'I'm not any of
your business. In fact — since we're being honest with each other - I don't
even like you.'

'Is that supposed to be an incentive for me? Is it a challenge or a
goad?'

'What an ego!' She stirred angrily - then held her breath as she sensed
that he had lowered himself down beside her. For some reason, he wanted to do
battle with her. He was pushing for war, and the realisation made Sara
cautious. For a supposed 'fan' he was turning out to be more of a cynical
critic. An irritant, in fact!

'Why can't you leave me alone? I was hoping for some peace - some space
. . .'

'And, poor little girl, here you are subjected to the harsh demands of
an ogre. Or — do you compare me to a ravening wolf, in your imagination?'

'I try not to think about you at all. . .!' Sara said frostily, turning
her head away from his annoying voice. 'And I usually succeed. Where is Uncle
Theo? I think I should go home.'

'As a matter of fact, that is why I ventured to disturb your ...
"space", as you call it. Our host has been called away on urgent
business, which will take him several hours -perhaps as much as a day. He asked
me to tell you that you are welcome to stay on here; or, if you want to go
home, that there will be transportation arranged at any time.' His voice
lowered to a deceptively silken purr. I'm afraid that I have already dispatched
Albert, Ted's reserve chauffeur, to drive my friend home. It will be a long
drive - she lives in San Diego. But I will gladly drive you anywhere you wish
to go ... if you wish to go, that is.'

So much for relaxation and letting go! Sara tensed for battle, willing
herself not to stir. While her mind was searching for a suitably scathing
response, she was silent -and obviously he mistook her silence for surrender,
for his hand touched her shoulder in a way that was almost possessive; stroking
lightly from there down her back to the curve of her hip and up again - fingers
lingering as they traced the canyon of her spine from her coccyx to her neck.

'Why don't you stop fighting me - and yourself? Garon Hunt is very much
married — all he wants on the side is a little piece of... you Americans have a
crude expression for it that I will not repeat; I think you know what I mean!
Why don't you forget about him?' Warm, strong fingers massaged her shoulders
and the back of her neck. Oh, God, it would be all too easy to give way. To let
him, and go along with the tide that was building up inside her. Let herself
crest like a slowly gathering wave . . . not thinking, only feeling. Letting it
happen while the warm trickle of feeling became a dangerous current that alarmed
her into belated awareness.

Somehow, his hand had moved downwards from her shoulder to insinuate
itself between the brief protection of her borrowed bikini-top and her skin.
And if she let it be, if she continued to let feeling take her, then maybe she
would discover what it was all about. Maybe . . .

But the sudden rush of emotions she wasn't used to jerked her upright,
tugging minuscule straps back into place.

'Cut it out! And I'm nobody's piece of you-know-what -better get that
clear.'

In a thin madras cotton shirt and tight-fitting denim pants, he was
hunkered down far too close to her, like a sleek-muscled animal so sure of his
prey that he would allow her to run - as far as he chose before he caught her;
enjoying her futile struggles before he ...

Sara looked furiously into his eyes, challenging their coal-dark depths.
'I really don't understand where you're coming from - and I don't care either.
I'd just be ... much more comfortable if you left me alone - capisce? I'm your
typical obnoxious American liberated female, remember? And you, Signer Duca,
can, I'm sure, have your pick of panting, submissive, docile women who'd be
happy to lie down and roll over for you. Why don't you take what's freely
offered?'