Golden Fever

A young boy came to take her order, and she looked up and smiled at him, the smile deepening to sympathy as he recognised her and instantly dropped the menu on the floor.

He fumbled picking it up again. ‘I—Sorry.’ He licked his lips nervously. ‘It was just that for a moment you——’ He frowned, shaking his head. ‘You are Clare Anderson, aren’t you?’ he queried disbelievingly.

Maybe she would have been wiser to have eaten in her room after all; she didn’t relish the thought of being on show as she ate. If this boy had recognised her then other people would too.

She didn’t bother to look at the menu, neither confirming nor denying the boy’s statement. ‘Could I have a chicken salad?’ she requested softly, finding the boy’s stares a little unnerving.

‘I’m sure you could,’ he nodded eagerly. ‘Are you here with the others making the movie?’

‘Yes,’ she sighed, realising he wasn’t going to give up.

He nodded again. ‘There are several other people in here that are going to be in it too. I’m David, by the way. If you need anything, just ask.’

‘Thanks, I will.’

She accepted the offered coffee, glad when David at last left. By tonight she was going to be dead on her feet; the time difference would have caught up with her by then, although right now she didn’t feel too bad.

‘Clare!’

She turned with a frown, her tension relaxing as she recognised Rena Dawes. Rena was to play her sister in the film. The two of them had been at drama school together, and Clare had been delighted when she found the two of them were to be working together.

‘How lovely to see you,’ she said warmly. ‘Can you join me?’

‘Of course,’ Rena was a pretty girl of her own age, also blonde, with a mischievous grin never far from the surface. She sat in the chair next to Clare. ‘I was sitting over the other side of the room with some of the camera crew, but their talk got a bit technical for me.’

Clare laughed. ‘It gets too technical for them sometimes!’

Her friend looked at her appreciatively. ‘I don’t have to ask how life’s been treating you—you look marvellous. And where’s that handsome fianc$eA of yours?’

‘Resting. Have you eaten?’

‘Not yet.’

Rena ordered her meal, and the two girls chatted as they ate, recalling old times; the two of them had once shared a flat for a few weeks.

‘Whatever happened to that boy Alan you were always trying to evade?’ Clare teased, relaxed as they drank their coffee.

Rena spluttered with laughter. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t remember that.’

‘Why?’

‘I married him!’

‘Rena!’ Clare laughed, a low husky sound that had several male heads turning in their direction, obviously appreciatively. ‘Did you really?’ she asked once she had sobered.

‘Mm,’ Rena nodded. ‘I got tired of running.’

‘And?’

Her friend gave a rueful shrug. ‘I love him too much to describe how happy I am, how happy being with him makes me. But then I don’t need to explain that to you, do I?’

Didn’t she? The sadness returned to her golden eyes, the cool haughtier back. She was fond of Harvey, knew that he was equally fond of her, that they would have a good marriage, but they certainly didn’t have the nerve-shattering ecstasy Rena meant. They were comfortable together, shared the same interests, but their lovemaking never gave her such intense pleasure that the rest of the world ceased to exist.

But no, Rena didn’t have to describe those feelings to her. She knew about them, she just didn’t have them with Harvey.

‘Do you have any children?’ she asked now.

‘Not yet,’ Rena grinned. ‘Maybe soon, although we aren’t in any hurry.’

‘Where is Alan now?’

Her friend pulled a face. ‘In England,’ she sighed. ‘He’s a lawyer, a busy one. It gets harder and harder to accept these parts that take me away from him.’

‘Then don’t,’ Clare said simply.

‘It’s this business, it gets into your blood,’ Rena dismissed. ‘One day I’ll know it’s time to stop, but I’m not quite ready yet.’

‘Talking of business,’ Clare looked pointedly at her wrist-watch, ’I’d better go and tidy up for this meeting this afternoon. Jason doesn’t like unpunctuality.’

‘Jason?’ the other girl frowned.

‘Our director, dear,’ she teased.

‘Oh, but he isn’t,’ Rena shook her head. ‘At least, he wasn’t the last I heard.’

Clare frowned her puzzlement. ‘And what did you hear?’

She shrugged. ‘That Faulkner had an accident of some sort, I’m not sure what. They were looking around for another director.’

‘Did they find one?’

‘Well, we’re here, aren’t we?’ Rena grinned.

‘I suppose so,’ Clare agreed slowly.

‘I would have thought they would have told you.’

So would she, which meant she had to talk to Harvey. ‘I’m just going back to my room. I’ll see you later.’

‘Sure.’ Rena stood up, giving a casual wave.

Clare hurried back to Harvey’s room, getting lost a couple of times and having to ask the way, being further delayed as the people she asked recognised her and asked for her autograph.

The feelings of apprehension she had been experiencing since she had accepted the part of Caroline suddenly seemed to loom up black and dangerous. She should never have agreed to come here, should have followed her instinct and stayed far away from Los Angeles.

Harvey took some time to answer the door, and she tapped her shoe impatiently on the floor as she waited. He looked less than his usual immaculate self when he at last opened the door, a robe pulled hastily over his nakedness, his fair hair tousled from sleep.

But Clare cared nothing for this, walking agitatedly into the room and closing the door behind her.

Harvey blinked to clear the sleep from his head. ‘What’s the matter? Shouldn’t you be on your way to the meeting?’

Her mouth twisted. ‘The meeting Jason called—only it wasn’t Jason, was it?’ Her tone was brittle.

‘Oh lord!’ He put a hand to his temple. ‘With the rush of the last few days I forgot to tell you——’

‘Tell me now, Harvey,’ she encouraged sharply.

‘Faulkner had an accident a week or so ago, a fall from a horse, I think. He broke his leg.’

‘So he’s completely out of the picture?’ Clare said with dread.

‘Afraid so,’ her fianc$eA nodded.

‘But I—Who’s replacing him?’ she demanded abruptly.

‘Didn’t I tell you?’ he frowned. ‘No, I don’t suppose I did. Well, it obviously had to be someone who could act as well as direct——’

‘Yes?’ she prompted tensely.

‘They managed to get Rourke Somerville,’ Harvey told her excitedly. ‘A piece of luck really. Normally he wouldn’t have been free, but the film he should have been working on has been delayed several months. I think he …’

Harvey’s voice continued to drone on, but Clare was no longer listening. Rourke … Oh God, Rourke was here, on this very ship, and she was going to be working with him!

CHAPTER TWO

‘CLARE!’ Harvey was frowning at her.

She blinked dazedly. ‘Yes?’

‘I was talking to you,’ his tone was petulant, ’and you haven’t heard a word I said.’

‘You were saying how lucky we were to get Rourke Somerville,’ she recalled dully.

‘Yes,’ he acknowledged eagerly. ‘If anything he’s better than Jason Faulkner.’

Clare was regaining her composure now, forcing herself to mentally collect herself together. ‘Do you think so?’ she said in a bored voice, once again the ’Ice Lady’ one perceptive newspaper had nicknamed her. The name had mainly been chosen out of pique by the reporter when she had refused his invitation to dinner, but nevertheless it was a truer description than ’Golden Lady’.

‘Of course.’ Harvey seemed not to have noticed her withdrawn attitude, that momentary slip of composure. Which was perhaps as well, because she had no intention of explaining the reason for it to him! ’If anything Rourke Somerville is a bigger box-office draw then you are.’

Clare gave a mocking smile. ‘Is that a good thing? As my manager aren’t you supposed to get me top billing?’

‘Oh, you’ll get that,’ Harvey took her seriously. ‘Somerville has no objection to your taking top billing over him. After all, his name will be under director too.’

Yes. And Rourke had had a sight longer than she had to become accustomed to the fact that they were to star in this film together, were to act as lovers. God, he must find the situation funny! If Rena hadn’t casually mentioned the change of director to her she would have walked into that meeting this afternoon totally unprepared. As it was she was going to find it difficult, if not impossible, to do.

‘Clare!’ Harvey gave her an impatient frown for her lack of attention. ‘Maybe I should call and tell them you can’t make the meeting,’ he frowned. ‘You seem to be suffering from jet-lag.’

She longed to accept the reprieve offered to her, and yet she couldn’t do it. Rourke was sure to know the real reason, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking she was frightened of meeting him again—even if it were true!

It was five years since she had last seen him, five years when she had tried not to even think about him, five years during which she had matured into a self-confident woman who wouldn’t allow a rake like him to get to her. He couldn’t touch her, not now or in the past; she had Harvey now, and would one day be his wife. Then why was she filled with such alarm just as the prospect of seeing Rourke again …?

She straightened her shoulders determinedly. ‘That won’t be necessary, Harvey,’ she said coolly. ‘I feel perfectly well enough to attend this—meeting.’ The nervous fluttering in her stomach wouldn’t be stilled. ‘I have to go now,’ she told him jerkily. ‘I don’t want to be late.’

‘Okay, darling,’ he kissed her tenderly on the mouth. ‘And if you would rather have dinner in your room tonight that’s fine by me.’

‘Thank you, Harvey,’ she said, touched by his gentleness. ‘Perhaps you would like to join me?’ she offered generously.

His handsome face became flushed with desire. ‘Clare …!’ he murmured huskily, his lips claiming hers in a kiss that told her of his passion.

Harvey desired her, she had always known that. And after accepting his ring she had allowed him more intimacies with her body, feeling his hand on her breast now, and yet so far they had never completely made love. Maybe if they had she would be able to banish rakishly attractive untidy black hair and twinkling blue eyes from her mind. Maybe from her body too …

She extricated herself from Harvey’s arms with a consoling smile. ‘I have to go. I’ll see you later.’

He was breathing raggedly, his eyes bright with suppressed desire. ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ he told her throatily.

Clare left with a quick, warm smile, but the smile faded as soon as she closed the door behind her. Twenty to two—she didn’t have to go to the Windsor Room quite yet, so she hurried back to her suite, shutting herself in with a feeling of relief.

Rourke Somerville! God, Rourke … She collapsed into one of the comfortable armchairs, closing her eyes to shut out the pain just hearing his name again had caused. In her mind she could see it all, all the pain, the disillusionment that she had thought forgotten, or at least buried. But it was far from being that, the memories, all of them, as vivid as if it had all happened yesterday.

She was eighteen again, newly arrived from England, having left school to come home and consider what she was going to do with the rest of her life.

Charles, her mother’s chauffeur, had met her at the airport as usual, her girlish pleasure as she climbed into the limousine still as delighted as the first time she had come home from school and been met in this way. She had been coming to Los Angeles for holidays for the past ten years, but this time it was different, this time she didn’t have to go back to England if she didn’t want to.

The house in Beverly Hills had seemed as spectacular as usual, the pink and white painted hacienda-style house at the end of the long tree-edged driveway. Her mother had lived in this house for the last fifteen years, much acclaimed by the film world, often not even at home when Clare got there, more often than not on location in some exotic part of the world working on her latest film.

But she was home today, resting after a gruelling year filming the movie that was taking the world by storm.

Laughter could be heard coming from the direction of the pool as Clare stepped out of the car, both male and female.

‘Your mother had guests for lunch,’ Charles informed her in a deadpan voice. An import from England, he had been with her mother for the last twenty years, his trust and loyalty to his employer never in any doubt.

Clare had often wondered whether he and her mother had once been lovers, for Charles’ devotion to her mother was almost dog-like, despite her often volatile temper.

Clare had never known her father; he had apparently been killed in an automobile accident just after she was born. He had been an actor too, as famous as her mother was now, and with two such talented parents she was seriously considering an acting career for herself.

‘Thank you, Charles,’ she smiled as he carried her suitcase into her bedroom, moving forward to the balcony once he had left the room. There were about a dozen people sitting around the pool, but only one person actually in the water.

Her mother was draped decorously on one of the loungers. She was already forty years of age, despite her claim of being thirty. She was wearing a black bikini, two scraps of material that were only just decent, so it was no wonder she didn’t want to get it wet. It would probably dissove in the water! Her beautiful face was partly obscured by huge, round sunglasses, but Clare knew her eyes were deeply brown beneath them, her skin clear and youthful. Her hair was a deep auburn, thick and naturally straight to just below her shoulders, although having seen photographs of her mother as a child Clare knew it was kept that rich red colour by artificial means; her hair was really a mousy brown.

She considered her mother the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, magnetically so, and she could see the men in the party were all in love with that beauty. All except the man in the pool …

She looked at him with interest, mainly because he wasn’t one of the men who paid court to her mother. He was swimming the length of the pool with long, easy strokes, black hair plastered over his forehead, worn longer than was fashionable at the moment, although he didn’t look as if fashion particularly bothered him.

As he swung out of the pool Clare gasped her recognition. Rourke Somerville! He was the man starring with her mother in her latest film, the one everyone was raving about at the moment. One of her friends at school had a poster of him on her bedroom wall, and at the time Clare had thought the picture flattered the actor; now she knew that if anything it understated.

Rourke Somerville had the physique of an athlete, was tall, extremely so, with wide powerful shoulders, a slim waist, and muscular thighs, his only clothing a pair of black swimming trunks, and by the look of his tan he didn’t always wear them! His legs were long and firmly muscled, the whole of his body covered lightly with black hair.

As if sensing her scrutiny he suddenly looked up at the balcony she stood on, and Clare quickly ducked back into the room, but not before she had taken in every devastating feature. He had towelled his hair dry on stepping out of the pool, and it now hung in damp waves about his face, as black as night. His brows were the same dark colour, jutting over the deepest blue eyes Clare had ever seen, his lashes long and thick. His nose was long and straight, arrogantly so, his mouth full-lipped, the lower lip sensually so, his jaw square and determined, giving the impression of a haughty disregard for anyone’s wishes but his own. A gold medallion hung about the wide column of his throat, suspended there by a thick, chunky gold chain; even the single piece of jewellery he wore was totally masculine.

She wanted to go down and join them, to perhaps talk to Rourke Somerville. How jealous Diana would be when she wrote and told her about it! Her friend knew everything about him, his Irish-American parentage, his upbringing in an orphanage until he was sixteen years old, the way he had worked his way up to the top of his profession, until now, at the age of thirty-four, he could pick and choose the parts he played for any fee he demanded.

In one of the infrequent letters Clare had received from her mother she had been full of praise for her co-star. And it seemed they were still friends, otherwise he wouldn’t have been invited here. She wondered what Perry, her mother’s boy-friend for the last year, would think of that.

She was in the process of putting on her bikini when the door opened. Already wearing the yellow briefs that matched the top, she had paused to study her body in the full-length mirror before putting on the bra-top. Her breasts were full and pert, the tips rosy peaks, her waist flat and slender, her hips and thighs reed-thin. Until this last year she had had puppy-fat to contend with, and added to her height she had felt like an elephant. Fortunately she had slimmed down, and might even have considered a career in modelling if it weren’t for her full breasts.

To the man now standing in the doorway she must have looked as if she were blatantly admiring herself. She snatched up the bra of her bikini, clutching it in front of her as she stared at Rourke Somerville in fascinated horror.

His gaze was frankly appraising as he came farther into the room, closing the door behind him, still wearing only the brief black trunks. ‘I thought I hadn’t imagined you,’ he murmured, his voice having a magical lilt to it that charmed without effort. ‘Where have you been hiding yourself?’ he asked huskily.

‘I—Why, nowhere.’ But she wished she could hide herself now, knowing this man had taken in every naked inch of her—and by the glint in his eyes he had liked what he saw!

He walked slowly over to where she was, unsuccessfully, trying to hide herself, plucking the bikini top out of her nervous fingers, holding her hands down at her sides as he slowly looked at her. The eyes he finally raised to hers had flickering flames lighting their deep blue depths. ‘I’ve certainly never met you before,’ he said throatily.

Clare licked her lips, not realising how provocative the movement was. ‘You haven’t?’ she delayed, her embarrassment fading, and a languorous warmth starting to invade her lower limbs under his avid gaze, her eyes the colour of rich, molten gold.

Rourke Somerville smiled, his teeth very white against his tanned skin. ‘I would have remembered you,’ he murmured, releasing her hands to run his fingertips lightly over the flatness of her stomach, a devil entering his eyes as his hands came to rest at the top of her bikini briefs. He laughed softly in his throat as he heard her catch her breath, those sensuous hands moving up towards her breasts now, his gaze fixed firmly on her flushed face, smiling as he watched her reaction to his caresses.

She flinched as he touched her breasts. Ten years of convent education had not prepared her for the sensuality of this man. The nearest the nuns had ever come to discussing sex had been in the Biology class, and then it had only been mentioned briefly as part of life’s cycle.

But this man was everything the nuns had ever warned her about in a man—and everything the other girls had ever whispered about in their secret fantasies!

‘Please don’t do that!’ She shuddered as his hands resumed their exploration of her lower body.

He raised heavy lids. ‘Why not?’

‘Because—well, because——’

He shook his head. ‘But I want to touch you. You’re like sunshine, do you know that?’ One of his hands moved to cup her chin, rubbing his thumb caressingly over her lips. ‘Young, fresh, and bright.’

‘Please——’

‘No need to ask, Sunshine,’ he said huskily, his head bending towards hers. ‘I have no intention of leaving this room until I’ve at least kissed you.’

Dating boys hadn’t exactly been encouraged at the convent, although Clare had had her fair share of dates. But they had been with boys, boys of her own age, and Rourke Somerville was definitely a man, in every sense of the word.

As his mouth moved druggingly over hers he pulled her thighs in between his, their bathing suits no barrier to the throb of Rourke’s body, and her lips parted willingly beneath his.

His hands moved beneath her bikini to cup her heated flesh, moving his thighs against her as he held her steady, leaving her in no doubt of his full arousal.

Clare panicked. Everything was moving too fast for her inexperience, and she wrenched her mouth away from, his, pushing at his hands. ‘Please—stop!’ She looked at him with darkened eyes. ‘Stop …’ she groaned as his lips moved to the sensitive cord in her throat.

‘You don’t really want me to do that,’ he taunted softly. ‘And I don’t want to either.’

‘But I do!’ she cried, finally managing to push him away, her breathing heavy as she escaped his arms. Rourke watched the heaving of her breasts until she snatched up the blouse she had worn for the flight, pulling it on over her nakedness.

Rourke shrugged, making no effort to hide the arousal of his own body. ‘What’s the panic?’ he shrugged.

She gave him an angry glare. ‘The panic is that you shouldn’t be in here.’ And he certainly shouldn’t have touched her the way he had! Her skin still tingled from the contact.

‘Why?’

‘Because—You just shouldn’t!’ she said angrily, knowing that while she might tell Diana she had met Rourke Somerville, she would never tell her what else had happened between them.

His eyebrows rose. ‘You aren’t the maid or something, are you?’

‘Of course not!’ She flushed.

‘Of course not.’ He looked pointedly around the luxurious bedroom she was occupying, the totally feminine lemon and white decor. ‘Darling, anyone who comes to one of Carlene’s parties knows the score,’ he drawled.

Clare blinked hard. ‘They—they do?’

‘Mm,’ he nodded. ‘Anything goes—and I mean anything. So if we choose to spend the rest of the afternoon in bed together no one is going to mind.’

‘No!’ She backed away as he advanced, more shocked by what he was saying than she wanted him to know. Did her mother really give parties like that?

‘Why not?’ His deep blue eyes narrowed. ‘Or is one of those guys downstairs yours’?’

‘Guys? Downstairs …? Oh no,’ she realised he meant the other men by the pool. ‘No,’ she shook her head firmly.

‘Then what’s wrong?’ His mouth twisted. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t like me!’

She knew she deserved his mockery. Of course she couldn’t deny liking him, she hadn’t exactly screamed the place down when he had kissed and caressed her. And this man was too experienced with women not to know she had responded totally to him.

‘No …’ she acknowledged faintly.

‘And I certainly like you. Relax, beautiful,’ he grinned, his hands lightly grasping the tops of her arms to pull her slowly towards him. ‘If you want to take it slow we’ll take it slow,’ he shrugged. ‘But not here. Let’s go back to my place, relax—you can even sunbathe nude if you want to,’ he added throatily. ‘I often do.’

He was only confirming what she had already guessed, and the transition from the convent to nude sunbathing was too much of a shock for her to do anything else but blush.

Rourke’s eyes narrowed on her fiery cheeks. ‘Who are you?’ he asked in a puzzled voice, his hands dropping away from her arms.

‘I——’

‘Rourke? Rourke, where are you?’

His mouth twisted as he half turned towards the door. ‘Our beautiful hostess,’ he drawled. ‘Which means I’d better get out of here.’

‘Yes,’ Clare agreed, her eyes wide, terrified her mother was going to come in here and find her in a state of undress with Rourke Somerville. He might claim that her mother gave wild parties, but she had never seen any evidence of them; her mother was very strict about her behaviour whenever she was at home.