Oriental Hotel (33 page)

At the E & O it was the cocktail hour – the ‘blue hour' as the Americans called it – and laughter, chatter and the chink of glasses could be heard from the cocktail lounge.

Elise hurried by. Brit was not one for cocktails – whisky and ice under the palm trees by the swimming pool was much more his style – but it was possible he was there and she did not want to meet him unprepared.

In her room she was amazed to see the first of the gowns made by the hotel dressmaker completed and hanging there for her approval – a cheong-sam in glowing scarlet brocade, cut on simple traditional Chinese lines with a high-buttoned mandarin collar. When she had bathed she tried it on.

This morning's fitting had been well worth-while and the dress hugged her figure perfectly from shoulder to hip, then fell in a shining sheet to her ankles. From the front view the impression created was demure, a cover-up for everything but her slender, sun-browned arms, but when she turned sideways, demure became provocative, with a split seam reaching almost to her thigh.

Elise smiled ruefully. The dress seemed to sum up all the things she was discovering about herself. At first sight, she seemed the very epitome of a perfect wife and mother. But seen from another angle, who knew what would be revealed? Yes, beautiful as it was, the cheong-sam would be quite the wrong dress to wear this evening. It was a dress for a temptress, and the last thing she wanted to do was to give Brit the impression that she might be available after all.

She had made it quite clear that it would be better if they were not seen together again, of course, and after the later episode surely he would not try to force himself on her? But with a man like him, one never knew. He was quite capable of ignoring any of the accepted proprieties. Whereas another man would respect her wishes and pretend she was not there, Brit was quite likely to come directly up to her and say whatever came into his head, whether or not it meant making an exhibition of them both.

Perhaps, she thought, the wisest thing would be to have dinner sent up here to her room. She picked up the house telephone and ordered her meal, then regretfully took off the cheong-sam and slipped into a silk kimono.

How long she could continue to avoid Brit in this way, she did not know. But for the present she simply felt she could not bring herself to face him.

Dinner arrived – chilled soup followed by King prawns, and then coffee as Elise had not wanted any dessert. A boy poured it for her and set it at her elbow, she thanked him and he left the room soundlessly. Then, a few minutes later, there was another knock at the door. She glanced up in surprise.

‘Come in!' she called. There was no response.

‘Come in!'

Still no reply, but another knock. Puzzled she got up, crossed to the door and opened it. Then she froze, the colour rushing to her cheeks and draining away again.

All day she had been avoiding him, but now she could avoid him no longer.

‘Oh, it's you!' Embarrassment made her voice hard and at the same time she was so acutely aware of him that she began to tremble. ‘ I hope you're not drunk this time!'

‘No – but I've still got a bloody hangover.'

‘That serves you right.'

He smiled ruefully. ‘ I suppose I asked for that! I've been trying to see you all day to apologise, but you seem to have been keeping out of my way.'

Unable to deny it, she did not answer. Then a dread of other guests seeing him here and overhearing their conversation suddenly took precedence over any other considerations, and she opened the door wider.

‘Do you want to come in? Here is hardly the place …'

He followed her into the room, then stood with hands in pockets, watching her with a look she found disconcerting.

‘Sit down … have some coffee …'

He shook his head, his eyes still on her. ‘ I thought you might slam the door in my face.'

Like her turbulent emotions, this conversation was not quite under control, she decided.

‘I still might do so. Why did you come?'

‘I told you to apologise for my drunken behaviour last night …'

She bent to pour more coffee for herself – anything to escape those wicked hazel eyes which even now were saying things he had not put into words.

‘… and also to tell you that I have made arrangements for us to travel to Singapore.'

‘Oh!' Even that made her flush. Here she was thinking he might have come to her room with a repeat performance in mind, when actually the visit was pure business.

‘I thought you would be pleased.'

‘Of course I am! I'm just surprised. When do we sail?'

He took out his cigarette case and offered it to her. Rarely though she smoked, she found herself accepting, though she coughed on the smoke as the lighter flared.

‘The day after tomorrow.'

‘Really?' There was a flatness inside her suddenly, as if all the nervous tension had escaped at once. She was aware of him watching her through the smoke and wished she was better at hiding her feelings.

‘Yes. So we could be back in Hong Kong in not much more than a week if there is a good connection.'

‘My husband said he might meet me in Singapore.'

The hazel eyes narrowed as he drew smoke, half turning away.

‘Good! The sooner you are safely back with him, the better it will be for you.'

Something raw tore at her suddenly, finding a chink in all the confusion and embarrassment – deep gratitude to him for getting her through where all the officials had insisted it was impossible, combined with a sense of utter, inexplicable desolation. ‘Brit

He had turned away towards the door and impulsively she caught at his arm. ‘Brit – I owe you so much. Thank you!'

She felt rather than saw his flicker of surprise. Then he put his arm around her shoulder, squeezing gently and smiling down at her.

‘That's all right.'

His mouth was twisted into that familiar humorous curve and there were deep crinkles at the corners of his eyes. The strength seemed to drain out of her suddenly and her head, heavy on her neck, rested against his shoulder.

The contact made her reckless for a moment – his shoulder felt so good beneath her cheek, hard and safe – and without thinking she raised her arm to curl it around his back. Beneath her fingers the sinews were taut and the thrill of awareness that ran through her was warning enough. Like a trapped bird she tried to move away, but before she could translate thought to action his free hand came up to hold her head against his chest. His thumb was across her mouth, his fingers straddled her face with a touch that was at once protective and aggressive. Breath caught in her throat and she stood motionless while flickers of warmth darted within her. Then slowly he turned her to face, him so that their bodies met.

At the contact the spirals of warmth grew sharper and more insistent. She was becoming aware of him now with every one of her senses. The faint musk smell of the soap he had used clung to his skin at the open neck of his shirt; the taste of his tobacco was on her tongue. She could feel him, too, with the length of her body – the lean maleness of his hips, the sinewy strength of his legs.

Little by little the warmth spread through her until she seemed to be on fire with it, but it was a living fire which left her sensitised and sharply aware. His hands moved in gentle, caressing circles over her back and wherever they touched the nerve endings seemed to move in response.

When he drew away slightly her clinging arms moved to hold him back. But he only took the cigarette from her fingers, reaching over to stub it out in the crystal ashtray; as he turned back, she raised her face to his.

His mouth was tentative at first, a gentle pressure as if he half expected her to hit out at him again. But when her lips softened and parted his hand moved to the back of her neck, holding her head firm while he pressed down hard on to her mouth – exploring, relaxing and then exploring again.

Beneath that kiss her world shrank until it was all encompassed in their two bodies. Guilt and fear melted away as sensation after sensation flowed through her like the molten lava of an erupting volcano. Gordon, Alex and Hong Kong not only ceased to matter – they ceased to exist. She was aware of nothing but the two of them and the power of the magic they made together.

‘Elise!'

Her hair had begun to come down from her combs and he tangled his fingers in it. The sensation was a mixture of pleasure and pain as he twisted and tugged; as her head twisted along with the movement of his fingers, her breath came out on the softest of moans. The pressure of his mouth on hers was more brutal now, his teeth biting into her swelling lips; there was pleasure mixed with pain there too and it lifted her to a new height of desire.

‘Oh, Brit,' she whispered.

All the emotion within her was mirrored in the soft, despairing longing of her voice, and it was all he was waiting for. His hand moved decisively across the slippery fabric of her kimono and untied the sash at her waist before sliding the wrap off her shoulders. As his fingers touched her bare skin she shivered, but it was a long, shuddering shiver of delight, not fear or cold, and she moved towards him, not away.

Beneath the kimono she wore only a brief silk slip; that, too, whispered to the ground.

For just a moment she was aware of acute shyness, but as his eyes moved over her appreciatively this was replaced by pride that he should look at her like that.

She moved with unconscious sensuality beneath his awakening touch, allowing his hands to explore the roundness of her hips while he bent to take the tip of her breast into his mouth, biting it to rigid erectness. The tug of his teeth sent spiralling sensations to the very core of her and she moved her long bare leg against his trousered limb, feeling delicious eroticism even in the roughness of the cloth.

How long they stood there entwined, while his hands and lips brought her whole body to unbearable, tingling awareness, she never knew. Time, like the world outside her bedroom, had ceased to exist. Nor could she afterwards remember how she came to be lying on the bed. Vaguely she was aware of him pushing back the covers, dimly she remembered him disentangling himself from her arms; then she was lying back against the pillows watching him undress swiftly and without embarrassment, leaving his clothes where they fell.

For a moment he towered above her – his body strong, lean, matted with dark hair and totally male; then he lowered himself onto the bed beside her and she turned to him, every inch of her magnetised by him, wanting only to feel his skin against hers.

As soon as they touched it was flint on flint. Too much loving, too much longing – too many pent-up emotions of every kind – had gone into the last weeks for them to hold back now. Their hungry mouths sought for one another, their moist skin clung. There was no timefor guilt or remorse, no room for doubts, only the crying need of her body for his.

Dimly Elise was aware that never before had she experienced desire such as this. The glimpse of unknown heights now within her reach gave a new twist to her sensuality, so that she moved as he did, lifting her hips to his thrusting body. For a moment they were poised on the brink, still separate. Then, with a movement that made her cry out, they became one.

Too soon it was over. They lay entwined, skin damp with perspiration, and as the after-shocks subsided the delicious languour of satisfied love settled on them.

Brit's hand still rested on her breast, his leg lay across hers with a gesture indicating possessiveness and she ran her fingers slowly and wonderingly down the hard, ridged muscle of his forearm.

‘Oh, Brit!'

He turned his lips into her hair, half afraid she was about to start agonising. ‘Ssh!'

Her fingers ran up to his shoulder and across to the tight-drawn line of his neck. ‘Why?'

‘Don't spoil it!'

‘I wasn't going to.'

A pause, into which she wanted to say, ‘I love you, Brit.' She had known it since the torpedo attack and been afraid to admit it, even to herself. Now, with the release of love, she longed to say the words aloud. But she was shy again suddenly and the words would not come. Instead she heard herself say, ‘Don't go.'

‘Don't worry, I won't.'

His hands moved caressingly over her breast and beneath the weight of his leg she stretched luxuriously. He reached over to the bedside lamp, there was a sharp click and then the room was velvet darkness, soothing her eye-lids, hastening the return of the rich, delicious languour.

She moved against him, nestling into him like a child, and he held her until the languourousness overtook her, floating her asleep.

It was morning when Elise awoke and surfacing slowly through the layers of sleep she reached out for him. But her hands encountered only cool, empty sheets. She opened her eyes to bright sunlight streaming in through a crack in the heavy curtains and realised she was alone.

For a momenr she lay with her arms spread across the empty bed, wondering if last night's encounter had really happened or if it were a dream. There was a dreamlike quality about it, certainly. But there was plenty of evidence to deny the idea.

An ache or two in unaccustomed muscles, for one thing, and a low niggle deep in the pit of her stomach – not really unpleasant, more sensitive than anything, drawing attention to remembered delights. And in addition …

She brought her hands up to explore the aching muscles and the tender areas where his rough chin had grazed the soft skin of her breasts. No nightgown, she thought. And how good it felt, lying free and unfettered instead of tangled up in a swathe of silk. She stretched her legs sensuously beneath the loose tent formed by the sheets and wondered why she had never thought of sleeping nude before. Because Gordon would not approve, she supposed.

Gordon! The fluid contours of her body tensed to rigidity. She had not given him a thought, neither this morning when she had woken rosy with contentment, nor last night when she had given herself to Brit.