Love Play by Rosemary Rogers (7 page)

'You are very good at evasions, are you not? For all that on the surface
you appear to be a typical example of an extremely liberated young American
woman, I think you are a little bit afraid of a man who does not fit into the
mould you are used to.'

"Aren't you flattering yourself, Duke?'

Her deliberate vulgarity was rewarded by the tightening of his jaw
muscles as his eyes flicked over her like whips.

She would not — could not back down now, but Sara was miserably
conscious that Paul and Monique had declared a mutual truce while they watched
and listened with barely concealed curiosity.

'Perhaps I am — but I do not think so. From the moment we met, I have
sensed your hostility — or is it a game you play? Is this attitude of yours
meant to lead a man on?'

'Ohh!' Sara sucked in her breath, fingers tightening over the napkin in
her lap. She would have dearly loved to have thrown something at him, if she
wasn't being stared at.

'Have I made you angry? Is this possible?' The note of false concern in
his voice taunted her before he leaned back in his chair to drawl
sarcastically, 'I am sorry if my plain speaking offends you, Signorina Delight.
But I am long past the stage of playing silly games. There is no reason why
there should not be frankness between a man and a woman, without either one
being diminished in some way. But perhaps you do not agree?'

'I think ... I think . . .' From the corner of her eye Sara became aware
of Monique Drury's fascinated, watchful gaze, and sanity came back to her along
with the resolve that she was not going to let this monster of a man get the
best of her. Deep breathing, Sara! her other voice admonished her, and she in
her turn paused to take a sip of wine, touch her lips lightly with her napkin
before she leaned back, crossing slim legs.

She was rewarded by a flicker of those hawk-like eyes; bolstering the
smile she awarded him.

'But of course I agree with you. Game-playing. Such a silly waste of
time. True. And I don't, usually— play games or waste time, that is. Only -my
mother did din into me that I should be polite,, especially to my elders. But
we're not playing charades or "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf" are
we? So I'm getting tired of all the innuendos and your rudeness, Signer Duca!'

His face had become impassive, like a mask carved from mahogany, but his
eyes remained alive; like coals pinning her in place when she had planned to
push her chair back and leave.

He said stiffly, as if the words had been forced out of him: To be rude
was not my intention, signorina. But if I seemed so I accept your rebuke. As
... one of your elders, and a foreigner at that, I did not realise that you
misunderstood me and the words I used.'

'Oh, but this is all so silly!' Monique interrupted suddenly, her voice
querulous. 'Honestly, Paul, I can't think why you haven't said something yet.
What on earth are we all getting so uptight about? I mean, we're all here
because Riccardo wanted to meet Delight, and now he has and they keep saying
these pointed things to each other. Does that mean you two like each other or
not? It really doesn't matter to me, of course, but it is getting late, and the
waiter keeps hovering around, far too nervous to beard us with the cheque. And
I'd also like to know who's going home with whom. Paul and I live in Malibu and
it's a long drive out there.'

'Shut up, Monique!' Paul said without heat, but his eyes were
questioning as they went from one stony face to mother. He added with forced
humour: 'Now that you two have finally met — and clashed — what is it to be? I
have a feeling they'd like to close this place up, but of course you can always
come out to our place (this last with a quelling look at Monique who had opened
her mouth and closed it sulkily) for bed and breakfast!'

At this point the last thing Sara wanted was more Monique — or more Paul
for that matter. And she didn't care if they cut her out of the picture or not,
why should she? The thought made her brave.

'I can get a taxi . . .' she said at about the same time her dinner
partner uttered between clenched jaws:

' I will settle the cheque with the waiter and I will take the Signorina
Delight home, since I brought her here.' He didn't quite snap his fingers, but
a gesture brought the waiter almost running to his side.

While he signed the cheque, Sara sat stiffly on the edge of her chair,
debating whether she should just get up and march out - or whether that would
seem too much like a retreat to him. Above all she didn't want him to think she
was afraid of him - what a ridiculous thought!

Afterwards Sara couldn't quite remember how they all found themselves
outside the hotel again. That second bottle of Puligny-Montrachet with dinner
perhaps? She took several breaths of the warm night air, and the next thing she
knew Paul and Monique Drury had disappeared and she was being helped into the
Lamborghini once more.

She leaned her head back against the soft upholstery, closing her eyes
for an insant. No more fencing, she wished silently. Let him be quiet, or let
him . , .

Her mind jerked sharply back from her own half-finished thought, and she
straightened up abruptly, not willing to have him recognise any signs of
weakness in her. No doubt he was used to women who would swoon all over him,
encouraging him to think himself irresistible. There were some women who
actually liked arrogant, forceful men, but she wasn't one of them!

Sara suddenly became aware that he had said something, addressed some
question to her. Now he repeated it in an exaggeratedly patient voice.

'I was asking whether you still wanted to visit a discotheque . . . But
of course it's obvious that you are too sleepy - or too bored!'

'Bored? Of course I haven't been bored at all! Honestly, it's been such
a fun evening, and I just love Paul and Monique, but you must understand,
signor (is that correct?) that I didn't get too much sleep last night, and I
had to report to the studio by six this morning. Normally I'm quite a party
girl, but tonight . . .'

The way the car took off, Sara thought her neck might snap as she was
slammed backwards in the seat. She heard herself gasp, and almost immediately
his arm was banded across her body, robbing her of breath.

She heard him swear under his breath before he said in comparatively
civilised tones: ' I am sorry. Normally I am a fast driver, and when I am here
I find myself forgetting that there are speed limits. You are all right?'

'You don't have to ... hold me! I'm fine ... I just wasn't expecting . .
.'

'No?' The words sounded grated out between his teeth. 'I wonder what it
is that you were expecting from this evening, party 'girl? You love to dance at
discos, but when I ask you, you are too tired — from last night, I am correct?
when I try to prevent your being hurt you object to my arm against your body.
What are you afraid of? Yourself? Or the fact that you have met a man who is a
man and not one of your easily manipulated puppets?'

'You're
 
really conceited,
 
aren't
 
you?'
  
Sara's
  
voice was breathless from anger. 'Honestly —
you belong in the Dark Ages! I accept a dinner invitation, and you act as If
that means I'm your property for the evening! Well, I'm not. Capisce? I belong
to me, and nobody else; and I Pick my . . . my lovers! And if you don't like
hearing that,you can drop me right off here and I'll find my way back home.'

"How? Hitch-hiking? That would be an invitation to rape - unless,
like some women, that is your secret fantasy.'

Sara gasped again. 'You . . . you're really sick, you know that? I'm
sure you read both Playboy and Penthouse -probably Hustler in your spare time.
You certainly have a lot to learn about women - women, that is, who aren't
after money, or whatever it is you promise them. I'm an actress, NOT a call
girl, Signor Duca! Don't look to me for having your fantasies fulfilled!'

'What a temper! Your accent becomes very English when you get angry, did
you know that? Is that your Mother's influence?' He was laughing at her!

Almost blind with rage, Sara reached
 
for the
 
door handle, but with the
speed of a striking puma he reached across her, trapping her fingers painfully.

'No, no! That would be stupid! And you do not seem like the suicidal
type. Sit quietly, for I do not believe in rape, only seduction. You will be
delivered to your door quite safely, believe me.'

Just when she thought her fingers might break under the pressure of his,
he released them - almost contemptuously.

'Please lean back and try to relax. It will not be more than a few more
minutes. Quite frankly, melodramatic scenes do not appeal to me.'

Tears of sheer rage filled Sara's eyes and she was glad of the darkness
that prevented him from noticing. Why, oh why, did she always bawl when she was
furious? But she wasn't going to — no, she'd rather die under torture than give
him the satisfaction of knowing how he affected her.

Speechless now and stiff as a board, she leaned back in her seat; trying
to pretend to herself that he did not exist. Deep breathing, Sara! she told
herself. It was what she did before a tennis match, when she knew she was up
against a formidable opponent, and it helped now.

From the corner of her eye Sara caught his sideways glance at her, while
she stubbornly continued her silent disregard of his presence. He was not only
insufferably arrogant, this Duca di Cavalieri, but in spite of his title and
his wealth he was also the rudest and most obnoxious man it had ever been her
bad fortune to meet! Why had he been so anxious to meet her when he so
obviously thought her cheap and easy? And now that she had let him know she
wasn't, would he give up?

'Are you warm enough?' he said abruptly, cutting into her thoughts as if
he had been able to read them; and Sara realised that she had given an involuntary
shudder as a slight frisson of apprehension had coursed down her spine.

'I'm quite comfortable, thank you,' she said stiffly, wishing that he
would hurry. Surely they were taking an unconscionable time to get back to her
apartment?

'Good.' He pushed a couple of buttons and soft music from superb
speakers filled the silence between them. Beethoven's Pastorale, with every
note as clear as a bell. Spellbinding music, mood music. But dangerous in
conjunction with the dark, dangerous masculinity of this man beside her. Sara
shifted uncomfortably on the heels of that thought, and catching her slight
movement he said rather sardonically: 'This music does not appeal to you?
"Whould you care to hear something else?'

Her lips parting to contradict him, Sara remembered again that she was
supposed to be Delight, and she forced an indifferent shrug.

'It doesn't matter. We're almost there, aren't we?'

He was persistent, his voice grating against her ears. 'Tell me,
Delight, what kind of music do you like?'

This tims she forced herself to look at him, catching the arrogant
planes of his face and the slight twist of his lips in the light from a passing
car.

'Well - anything with a beat to it. You know, some jazz.'

'I see. And your other likes and dislikes?'

She was beginning to feel trapped. Why was he practically interrogating
her suddenly?

'Why would you want to know? I mean it's been quite obvious from the
beginning of the evening that you don't exactly Approve of me, hasn't it? Sorry
if I've been a disappointment - but a blind date is a blind date, even in
Hollywood!'

He stopped the car so abruptly that Sara gave a little cry as she was
flung forward, only to be held back by the steely Strength of his arm. When she
would have pushed it away he continued to hold her pinned in place — a
terrifying sensation, especially when his dark, angry face was far too close to
hers.

"Tell me then, Signorina Delight, why you go out on these... blind
dates, as you call them? You are an attractive young woman, but you don't have
a husband or a lover. Is it because you prefer variety?'

Fighting back panic and the impulse to tear at him with her nails until
he set her free, Sara forced herself to be still, staring back, at him
defiantly.

'You have no right to question me - or to expect answers! And you are
not only rude, you , . . you're the most. . .'

'Ah — but whatever you say and whatever I am, there is still an
attraction between us, is there not?' He gave a short laugh that sent ripples
of fear along Sara's nerves.

'You're crazy! I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing
with me, but I'm not playing along, do you understand? Why, I ... I don't even
like you, do you understand that you . . . you arrogant bas - '

'Swearing does not become a woman,' he interrupted her; and now, to her
horror, he had turned his body so that she was well and truly trapped; his
fingers closed over one bare shoulder, forcing a gasp of sheer terror from her
before he said slowly and with deceptive softness: 'And what has liking got to
do with this?'

This was nothing like the kiss that Garon Hunt had given her. The kiss
of this dark stranger did not give, it took — and took - and took. Sara could
feel her mind spinning — swirling spirals that took her away from herself while
her body seemed to melt and was incapable of resistance.

Fingers warmly caressed the back of her neck and moved alongside her
face to tilt it up to his. And all the while he held her mouth captive; first
harshly ravaging, like a barbarian conqueror, forcing her lips to part for him;
and then, as if he had sensed her surrender he took time to be almost tender,
kissing the corner of her trembling mouth, going back to cover her lips
possessively with his.

It was only when his hands moved down to touch her breasts - seeming to
burn through the thin silk of her dress - that Sara recovered some semblance of
sanity.