Chasing Summer: Date with Destiny / Marooned with the Maverick / A Summer Wedding at Willowmere

He must have seen her suddenly out of the corner of his eye, for his head jerked round, his startled gaze raking over her towel-clad body, lingering on bare shoulders before dropping to her equally bare feet. For a moment it was as though he didn’t recognise her, his eyes narrowing with a kind of disapproval as they swept back up to land on her freshly scrubbed face.

Salome’s heart lurched, then sank. Apparently he preferred his women glammed up, even at breakfast.

He was shaking his head. ‘You look about fifteen,’ he said. His dry tone brought a spurt of anger, and she pulled the towel from around her head, letting the red-gold curls spill in damp disarray around her face and shoulders. She knew if anything could destroy the illusion of youthful innocence it was her wild mass of hair. ‘Better?’ she snapped.

His eyes raked over her again, and this time desire flared in those ruthless black pools. Salome was shocked. My God, hadn’t he had enough last night? She tore her eyes away from him, alarmed that recognition of his desire had stirred her also. If this kept up they would spend all their days in bed, not just their nights!

A black wave of dismay rolled through her. What in heaven’s name was she doing, wasting more of her life on another man who didn’t love her? This was even worse than her marriage to Ralph. It didn’t even have the respectability of a wedding-ring, or the illusion of love! If she had any guts she would walk out of here right now.

Her dismay grew, for she knew she couldn’t do it. She wanted Mike too much. All she could hope for was that their affair would be a short one, that her mad desires would be sated before he succeeded in ensnaring more than her bodily responses. In her present vulnerable state, it was within the realms of possibility that she might really fall in love with him. And that, she could do without.

Irritation at her own weakness brought a surge of pride-filled resolve. Get a hold of yourself, woman! You’re an independent adult, not a simpering idiot with no will of your own. You call the shots. You decide what will be done and when. Don’t let another man turn you into a puppet on a string!

Feeling infinitely stronger, she lifted cool green eyes, giving a still staring Mike a sophisticated smile as she walked slowly over and settled herself on one of the stools. ‘Pour me some of that coffee, will you, darling?’ she said, draping the damp towel in her hand over the stool next to her. ‘I need something to wake me up.’

He glared at her, clearly annoyed with her casual attitude; or was it the socially meaningless ‘darling’ that had irked him?

Too bad, her eyes projected back with savage indifference. If you want to have an affair with a woman whom you think has few moral scruples, Michael Angellini, then don’t be put out when she acts like one. Or did you honestly expect her to be the complete fantasy, and pretend undying love as well?

Clenching his jaw, he swung his attention back to the coffee which he poured into two stoneware mugs. Salome got the impression he would have liked to throw hers right at her, but he didn’t. Instead, he put it down in front of her with that cold smile and exaggerated politeness he’d always treated her with at his restaurant. A jug of milk and a basin of sugar were deposited with controlled movements, as was a spoon.

‘Do you want some eggs to go with that?’ he asked with his cold restaurateur voice. ‘Or some toast?’

‘Some toast would be nice,’ she returned blandly.

Actually, she didn’t want toast. She wanted to get the hell out of here. Inside, she still felt thoroughly ashamed of herself, not only for what had happened the previous night, but also for what she knew was going to happen again tonight, and many nights to come. She would never have believed she could become addicted to sex like this, but the least she could do was control her new-found desires as best she could and dissuade Mike from any idea he might be harbouring of a master-slave relationship. Which meant she would have to make a stand on certain matters before it was too late, before she fell more under this man’s sexual power than she was already.

‘Mike,’ she began firmly before she could change her mind. His head snapped up from the toaster, eyes hard.

‘About my moving in with you,’ she went on, her chest tightening at the way his eyes hardened even further. ‘I would rather stay in my own place. I...you said it would be all right with you if I gave you a key.’

He said nothing for several seconds, his glare a troubled mixture of fury and undeniable disappointment. This latter reaction evoked a dangerous weakness within Salome. Incredibly, she was tempted to change her mind, to tell him she would do whatever he wanted, that she would be here for him always, whenever and however he wished.

In the end this very same weakness was her salvation. My God, if this was how her amazing new sense of sexuality was going to make her feel, then it was doubly imperative that she keep her own place and her own counsel, that this affair be on her terms, not Mike’s.

‘On second thoughts,’ she resumed, her voice firming again, ‘I’d rather not give you a key either. All you have to do is knock and I’ll let you in. After all...’ she gave him one of her coolest looks ‘...if I’m not at home, there’s no point in your coming in, is there?’

For a long time they just stared at each other, with Salome again crazily wanting to take back what she had just said. But it was what she began wanting Mike to do that disturbed her the most. She wanted him to sweep her into his arms and tell her not to be so silly, that he really loved her, cared about her, that he wanted to spend time with her, not just in bed but out, wanted to be her friend and companion, not just her lover.

These unexpected desires were so unbelievably strong that they made her head spin. If she wanted him to love her so much, did that mean that the awful had already happened—that she had already fallen for him?

Her gaze went to his broodingly handsome face, his beautiful hands, his impressively virile body, probably naked under the dressing-gown. But she didn’t concentrate on any of these things. Instead, she thought of all she had ever felt for this man, right from their first meeting, when hot black eyes had clashed with cool green ones, and her whole world had tilted, never to be the same again. Could the intensity of her reaction to him back then be reasoned away by blaming it on a thwarted though superficial sexual desire?

She didn’t think so, and, as the scales of self-deception fell from her eyes, something deep moved inside Salome, something as intrinsically emotional and binding as it was physical. There seemed to be no separating them, no matter what she did, and finally she had to accept the truth. Yes, she did love him. Perhaps, in a weird way, she always had.

Her reaction to this acceptance was a wild mixture of despair and relief. Despair that it made a mockery of what she had always thought she’d felt for Ralph. Yet relief that she hadn’t fallen victim to some unexpectedly promiscuous change in her nature. What more natural than to want to make love to the man she loved?

And it was while she was battling with a new rush of weakness towards him that Mike spoke up. ‘Whatever you’re comfortable with, Salome,’ he agreed curtly.

She silenced the crazy words of confessed love that kept bubbling up in her throat by drinking down the scalding coffee and talking to herself. Don’t you dare tell him, you silly little fool, she repeated over and over again. Ten minutes later she had gobbled down the toast and was excusing herself.

‘I must go, Mike. Your kitchen clock says it’s after ten. The day will be over before you know it, and I promised Molly I’d visit. Besides, I’ve many more things to bring over.’

He wasn’t going to let her go that easily, however, and he walked her along the corridor to her still-open door, where he drew her into his arms, his cold eyes warming irresistibly when she made no moves to stop him. Salome found it impossible to concentrate on any resolves for her survival when he looked at her like that, particularly now that she knew she loved him.

Yet, this knowledge should have been making her more wary, more careful. If she had any sense she would put a halt to this right now, do what she’d decided to do yesterday and move back home.

‘You’re an intriguing woman, Salome,’ he murmured. ‘A woman of many colours. A chameleon. I thought I knew you, but I haven’t touched the surface, have I?’

It took every ounce of her control to keep a cool and somewhat mysterious smile on her face. If she let him inside her head and her heart, she would be truly lost.

‘I am what I am,’ she said cryptically.

‘Mm...and that’s very sexy.’ He bent to kiss her mouth lightly with his, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. ‘I have to work tonight,’ he whispered into her parting lips. ‘It’ll be late by the time I get in.’

‘I’ll wait up,’ she returned shakily.

‘I was hoping you’d say that.’ His mouth completed what it had started, her acceptance of loving him giving the experience a poignant edge. It seemed to pierce into her very soul, making her want to cling to him, never to let him go. Her arms shot up around his neck, and she pulled him to her, returning his kiss with sudden blind urgency. He responded accordingly, his arms tightening around her, his hunger inflamed. But when he urged her inside her penthouse, and tried to remove the towel from around her, she wrenched herself away.

‘No!’ she cried, panic-stricken. ‘No,’ she repeated, with a shaky, apologetic smile, hoping it would waylay his troubled astonishment. ‘There isn’t time, darling. Sorry...I’ll make it up to you tonight.’ Clutching the dangerously drooping towel around her, she went up on tiptoe and gave him a dismissive peck.

He stared back down at her, not totally mollified. ‘I wish I knew what went on inside that gorgeous head of yours,’ he growled.

She laughed. ‘What would be the fun in that?’

His face darkened with ill-humour. ‘Who said this is fun? More like bloody torture!’

Salome blushed guiltily, knowing that her burst of love had unwittingly aroused him.

‘And now she blushes,’ he grated out. ‘God!’ He whirled around and stalked out into the corridor, where he seemed to have second thoughts, spinning round to throw her an exasperated though forgiving look. ‘By the way, I’ll see the janitor later about having the locks changed on your door and the basement lift,’ he said. ‘And I’ll find out if we’re likely to have any more of those blackouts. Hopefully, it was a one-off thing.’

Salome’s stomach tightened as she thought of what had happened in the lift. Even her acceptance of loving Mike didn’t stop the automatic feeling of shame.

Mike made a disgruntled sound, as though he too was remembering something best forgotten. ‘I guess I’ll see you later tonight,’ he bit out in clipped tones, and stalked off.

‘I guess so...’ She closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a shuddering sigh. A whole day without him, she thought. And despite all her resolves, all her common-sense reasonings, her heart plummeted. ‘How am I going to stand it?’ she groaned to the cold, empty rooms.

CHAPTER NINE

WALKING into the bedroom and seeing the brass lamp lying on the floor beside the rumpled bed sent a chill through Salome. What would have happened if she had missed, if Charles had overpowered her, or if Mike hadn’t been next door to come to the rescue? She slumped down on the end of the bed and dropped her head into her hands, feeling unexpectedly nauseous.

Mike was right to get the locks changed. Charles still had his set of keys. What was to stop him sneaking back some time, perhaps when Mike was out? The thought sent shivers up and down her spine, and she reminded herself always to put the chain across and also to buy one of those alarms which women could use to frighten off an assailant.

Salome sighed and straightened, feeling better with her resolves. She had never been a physical coward, and she wasn’t about to start now.

Less than an hour later the bedroom was tidied, the stale coffee in the percolator poured away, the towel around her replaced by a tailored pair of khaki trousers and a cowl-necked lemon mohair jumper, her hair tied back with a lemon ribbon. Her make-up was at a minimum. Grey-green eye-shadow, mascara and coral lipstick. No foundation or blusher. The lengthy bath had put a healthy glow in her normally pale cheeks.

With tan loafers on her feet and a matching bag slung over her shoulder, she fairly dashed along the corridor, then started the long trek down the fire-stairs, determined not to go in that lift again till she’d been assured it wouldn’t break down. Hopefully, this would be by the time she needed to go back up!

The first thing she saw when she stepped out into the basement car park was Mike, standing behind her Ferrari with his hands on his hips. If she hadn’t been so taken aback by his clothing she might have noticed that he was staring down at something, his face grim. As it was, all her attention was riveted to his tight, stone-washed grey jeans, white T-shirt and black leather flying-jacket.

She smothered a groan. Wasn’t he sexy enough, without dressing like Marlon Brando in The Wild One? And what in heaven was he doing down here anyway?

He glanced up at her as she approached, his expression turning to one of open admiration as it flicked over this more softly casual though still stylish version of herself. It was when his dark brows suddenly bunched together in a black frown and he glared back down at the car that she realised something was wrong.

‘What is it?’ she said, hurrying forward. She followed his downward glance with her own. The Ferrari was low on the cement, all four tyres viciously slashed. ‘Oh, no...’

‘It’s easily fixable,’ he assured her.

She grimaced, then frowned up at him. ‘Charles, do you think?’

‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. It could have been the gang of kids who apparently sabotaged the main fuse-box with fire-crackers last night. Hence the blackout.’

‘Oh...’ Salome hoped it was. The image of Charles doing anything as vindictive as this was frightening. Mike wasn’t looking too happy about it either.

‘I think, Salome,’ he began firmly, ‘that we should drop in on your ex-husband and tell him what his lawyer’s been up to.’

She panicked at the idea. She no longer wanted to see Ralph. She certainly wasn’t up to facing him today. ‘That’s impossible,’ she said hastily. ‘He...he won’t see anyone.’

‘He’ll see me.’

Salome stared at his supremely confident face, and didn’t doubt it. There was a force in Mike that could be quite unstoppable once on the move.

‘He...he has cameras on top of the gates,’ she went on nervously. ‘If he sees me with you, he won’t let you in, believe me.’

‘Then he won’t see you with me,’ he stated unequivocally. ‘You can duck down.’

What could she say? She had gone on and on to Mike just yesterday about all the times she had tried to see Ralph. Now here he was, giving her the perfect opportunity to confront her ex-husband with moral support at her side, and she didn’t want to take it. What was she so frightened of finding out? She already knew about the other woman.

She shook her head in frustrated resignation. ‘Oh, all right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Once Ralph finds out we’ve tricked him, he’ll throw us out.’

‘He wouldn’t want to try,’ Mike said darkly.

Salome shivered. There was something about Mike that frightened her at times, an air of suppressed violence. Was it this quality that had cowered Charles so devastatingly? Or had she been right when she’d wondered if Mike had an unsavoury background?

‘Mike...’ she began gingerly.

He glanced up from where he’d been looking at the tyres again. ‘What?’

She swallowed. ‘What did you do to Charles last night? What did you say to make him back down? I couldn’t believe it when he came out looking so...so defeated.’

A wry smile lifted the corner of his mouth. ‘There’s no great secret. I merely pointed out what might happen if he chose to do certain things.’

‘You mean you physically threatened him?’

‘I suppose one could put it that way.’

‘What exactly did you threaten to do?’

His glance was blackly amused. ‘You really want to know?’

She took a deep breath. ‘I really want to know.’

He leaned back on the car behind him and folded his arms. ‘Just the usual. That he might wake up one night to find his kneecaps nailed to the floor and certain parts of his anatomy missing.’

‘You didn’t!’ she gasped. ‘You wouldn’t!’

He laughed. ‘Yes, I did, and no, I wouldn’t. But he doesn’t know that,’ he added drily. ‘Look, Salome...’ He straightened, black eyes flashing. ‘When your parents are Italian immigrants, and you grow up in the western suburbs of Sydney, you learn three things. One—not to react to racial abuse. Two—how to fight. And three—how to handle a bully. Your Charles is a typical bully—physically big, but with no real courage or tolerance of pain. All you have to do to get the upper hand is hurt the bastards once. After that they will heartily believe whatever physical threat you make. Of course, with a man like Charles, who does have a degree of intelligence, it doesn’t hurt to have a second string to your bow, such as the threat of losing his very comfortable lifestyle. After all, I’m sure your ex-husband, if he is any sort of a man, won’t appreciate his lawyer trying to assault his ex-wife. Some pressure applied from that quarter can only help. It’s amazing, too, how often the pain of losing one’s money can sometimes be more persuasive than the pain of losing—er—other things.’

He smiled down at her wide-eyed face, taking her elbow and leading her somewhat stunned self over to his Jaguar. What kind of man was this? she thought dazedly. So tough, so forceful, so ruthless!

‘We’ll go to your mother’s first,’ he went on in that deceptively mild tone he could adopt when he chose to play the gentleman, ‘and pick up your things. I’ll need to make a call from there as well. I was supposed to be at my parents’ place for lunch, but there might not be time for that.’

‘Your parents?’ she repeated blankly.

His eyes gleamed with a sardonic light. ‘Yes, I do have parents, Salome. I didn’t ooze out of a man-hole up at the Cross. There’s even an older brother, Angelo, as well as three younger sisters—Gina, Antonia and Therese. All respectably married. I’m the only black sheep.’

Very black, came the automatic thought.

Her mind suddenly clicked into gear. Here was her escape from going to see Ralph. ‘Oh, well, then, please don’t put yourself out for me. Just drop me off at Molly’s and go on. You could always ring Ralph about Charles later. You shouldn’t miss an important lunch-date with your parents.’

They had reached his car, and Mike inserted the key in the passenger-door. ‘Hardly all that important,’ he threw over his shoulder. He wrenched open the door, and stepped back to wave her inside. ‘I go out to see them every Friday for lunch. They won’t die of disappointment if I miss one time.’

The image of Mike as a dutiful son distracted Salome for a moment, and she just stood there. She hadn’t thought of him with parents at all before now, let alone having the capacity to love and care about them, as he so obviously did. ‘Where do they live?’ she asked. ‘Your parents...’

‘Kellyville. They own a market garden.’

‘Oh, but that’s not far from Ralph’s!’ she said, before realising she was putting her foot in it.

Mike’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Are you suggesting we might continue on there for lunch, together?’

‘Well, I...’ Did she want that? To meet his parents? It seemed perfectly pointless and futile under the circumstances, but in an odd sort of way, yes, she did want to, did want to fill in the hazy picture of Mike’s background. It seemed sad to love a man and not really know him.

‘If you like,’ she said lamely.

‘I don’t like,’ he snarled.

She blinked shock at his attitude.

‘You don’t know my mother,’ he went on testily. ‘One look at you and she’ll start knitting baby-bootees.’

Salome blinked again.

‘My dear Salome...’ he tipped up her chin with a single fingertip, looking deeply into her eyes with a dry, cynical expression ‘...all Italian Mammas want their sons married with a whole brood of children to spoil. You might not realise it but, dressed as you are today, you look the image of wholesome womanhood, ripe for marriage and babies!

‘So much for images,’ he muttered and, sliding his hand around under the weight of hair at her neck, he captured her mouth in a kiss not intended to convey anything wholesome.

Salome wished she hadn’t responded, wished she had kept her lips pressed firmly together, her tongue still. But her love doomed her to failure. She moaned under his seductive onslaught, which only made matters worse. Impassioned by the sound of her arousal, his fingers tightened in the soft flesh of her neck, his mouth increasing its pressure, his free hand sliding up under her jumper to cover a single lace-cupped breast, to tease her nipple to rock-like hardness.

When he let her go she staggered back against the car. ‘I think, perhaps, you’d better get in,’ he ground out. ‘Or shall we forget the whole damned business and go back up to bed?’

She stared at him. He meant it. He actually meant it. And, worst of all, she was tempted. God, what was she coming to, accepting this man’s derision in the same breath as his kisses? Surely love didn’t demand that a woman give up her self-respect, did it?

Yet if she tried to convince him he was all wrong about her he wouldn’t believe her. Not that she could entirely blame him for that. She had dug her own grave with her behaviour at his restaurant over the years. Even as late as last night, she had implied that she had taken various lovers since her divorce, ones which she didn’t even bother to go out with.

Then there was the way she had acted with him in bed, with such uninhibited abandon. How could she explain that away if she was to claim relative innocence? By admitting she loved him? He would laugh. Or, even worse, use her admission to corrupt her further to his wishes. For he didn’t want her love, only her total submission. Which, from the way he could make her feel with a simple kiss, was not far off anyway.

Even now he was looking at her with a smug, expectant look on his face, waiting for her to agree to a return to bed.

With great difficulty Salome dredged up a semblance of a smile, letting her eyes cool as they looked up at him. They landed on his smouldering eyes, drifted down to his beckoning mouth, dropped further to his taut virility, all without so much as a visible flicker.

Once again, she was struck by her capacity to act a part. Thanks to her treacherous husband! But how well she had learnt her lessons, managing to go from tortured, aroused woman to controlled sophisticate in twenty seconds. ‘They say pleasure is increased by the waiting, Mike,’ she said in a voice designed to dampen even the hottest lover. ‘Let’s wait.’

She turned away and lowered herself gracefully into the car, sliding the seatbelt across her breasts, trying to ignore their swollen state and the way her nipples were jutting hard right through her soft bra to be outlined against the lemon wool. Her cheeks pinked under the feel of Mike’s searing glare, but she refused to look up. Finally, he swung the door shut, striding around to unlock his side and climb in behind the wheel. His sidelong glance was savage as he shoved the key into the ignition, fired the engine and slammed the gear-stick into reverse. But the car remained stationary, his hand curling over the gear-stick, his knuckles whitening as he again looked daggers at her.

‘That was what the fiasco in the lift was last night, wasn’t it?’ he pronounced harshly. ‘A game of tease. You always planned to give in eventually, didn’t you? Tell me, did it titillate you further, hone your undeniably voracious sexual appetite, to make me wait?’