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was having on her.
'Your opinion is a matter of total indifference to me,' she
managed at last in a calm, clear voice. 'I don't know what you're
implying, but Kit's very fond of Ziggy, they get on very well,
they always have, and Ziggy loves Kit. There's never been any
trouble between them.' She looked round at him again and her
breath caught in her throat; his hair in the sunlight had the gleam
of a blackbird's wing and the lean body so close to her the
savage elegance of the jungle, a power made beautiful by the
smooth co-ordination of muscle and bone under that golden
skin.
He was still watching her in that silent intensity she was
drawn inward by that gaze, sucked into the maelstrom of the
black pupils, drowning, breathless, unable to save herself and
yet unable to guess what he was thinking, not even knowing
what she thought herself, only what she felt, a chaotic jumble of
emotions. He was as dangerous as midnight, and she flinched
from him.
'Why are you so nervous?' he murmured with a mockery his
smile underlined.
'I'm not!'
'Liar,' he said, and his hand slid up her bare arm; his skin
familiar, troubling, making her tremble, so sensitive to that
touch that her heart rammed against her ribs, as if it meant to
smash through them, batter her to shreds. His fingers made her
too aware of her own flesh, their caress was already beginning
to build up a sensual urgency inside her; her throat raw with
sexual longing, heat between her thighs, awaking too many
memories of languorous summer afternoons in a warm bedroom
with the blinds closed or long, dark nights of gentleness and
desire. She had been too innocent then to know how passion
could burn and melt the flesh; she had loved without knowing
love, yielded to the imperative hands without understanding
what made them shake. Eager and excited as a child with a new
toy, how could she guess love was sharp and glittering as a
knife? Only when she had learnt to cry, bled, run away, did she
begin to understand, and to fear love.
'You're even more beautiful now than you were when I first
met you,' Logan whispered, his hand on her shoulder. 'You were
almost skinny then; you have a few new curves that suit you.
That's a great tan you have, too are you that colour all over?'
Before she could answer his fingers tugged at the strings
tying her bikini, and Christie gave an angry wail as the tiny
piece of black cloth fell away. She grabbed for it, stepping back
from him, her face deeply flushed. Logan was staring at the
exposed flesh; nascent, smooth, untouched by the sun.
Christie did not follow the Riviera fashion of going topless, you
never knew when photographers would sneak up and take a
picture of you. She fumbled with the straps and tied them
firmly, her back to him.
'You'd better go before I lose my temper,' she said fiercely.
'Why the fuss? I've seen you naked before.'
He was amused; she heard the mockery in his drawling
voice and it made her even angrier.
'The fact that we were married once doesn't give you the
right to ... to . . .' she stammered into silence, confused, not
knowing how to end that sentence, and Logan laughed softly.
'To what? Take your clothes off?'
'No,' she muttered, hating him. 'It doesn't. Just keep your
hands to yourself in future!'
'Why the scene? If I go down to Cannes I'll see dozens of
girls sunbathing topless.'
'That's their affair. I never go topless.'
'So I noticed,' he murmured, and her flush deepened at the
reminder that he had seen her pale breasts, their skin untouched
by the sun. 'Have you ever been asked to do a nude scene in a
film?' be asked as though curious. 'I suppose you'd refuse?'
'Yes, I would, and I have,' she snapped. Swinging round, she
looked at him with scathing dislike. She must have been out of
her mind to feel that intense sexual awareness a moment ago. It
had taken her by surprise, she hadn't expected it; she had never
felt anything like that with anyone, looking back at the years of
their marriage she knew that even Logan had never got to her
like that before. She had been too young, too inexperienced, at
eighteen to understand the magnetic force of her own sexuality,
the mesmeric lure of the senses. At that age love had all been in
the head; the body's demands hadn't begun. She wasn't an
unawakened young girl any more, though, she was a woman,
and she had wanted Logan with all a woman's sensuality.
'I still don't know what you're doing here,' she said. 'I like
Ziggy and so does Kit but that's nothing to do with you.'
'I didn't say Kit didn't like him, but 1 don't want my son
spending so much time with someone like Molyneaux,' Logan
said, and Christie lost her temper.
'He could do a lot worse!' she almost snarled, and Logan
arched his brows.
'I doubt that.'
'He could spend too much time with you,' Christie threw at
him. 'I wouldn't wish that on any child!'
Logan's mouth hardened and his smile went. 'That's a pretty
vicious thing to say! You've made sure I don't see much of him,
haven't you? I haven't interfered before because Kit was so
young, but once he starts taking notice of what's going on
around him he'll need a father.'
'Then maybe I'd better find him one,' snapped Christie.
Logan watched her, narrow-eyed. 'So now we get to the
point,' he said with each word bitten out clearly.
'Well, I'm glad to hear it, I wondered if we ever would.' [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]