Caprice (14 page)

you must have heard my reply to her. She said we were exact

opposites. I said I knew that, and it was the major reason why I was

attracted to you.'

Without even realising, she laid her head back to his blue sweater. He

drew in a careful breath, and one hand left her shoulder to stroke at

her hair. 'I didn't hear. I must have already headed back to the

library.'

'We don't have to hurt each other. We have . that choice. Why don't

we just take things as they come, instead of worrying so much that it

cripples us? Do you want to spend the day with me, tomorrow?'

'Yes,' she whispered, and that, too, was the truth. A strange and

trembling excitement filled her, as she gave into her wishes and his

persuasion.

'I'll pick you up tomorrow, at seven.' He waited a moment, but she

didn't or couldn't say anything. 'All right?'

'Yes.' Bare thread of sound. She felt him relax at her back, and emit a

low laugh.

'Good. I'll be leaving, then. Tomorrow's going to come early.' She

walked him to the front door, hearing the dissimilar sounds of their

footsteps intermingling, the light tap tap of her heels with the heavier

sound of his. When they reached the door, and she opened it with

slow hands, she was warm and lightly flushed with the half-

acknowledged hope that he would take her, hold her, open his mouth

hungrily over hers and drink her dry ...

She turned to him, and searched his dark eyes, but found nothing but

a smile. The chilly wind blew over them like an invisible cloak,

stirring his black hair. The air felt wet and heavy, full of rain. He bent

close, saying lightly, 'See you in the morning, sweetheart.' His lips

brushed her cheek.

Light and meaningless, like the first smile he'd given her that

evening,, soft as when he had brushed them against the nape of her

neck, brief and frustrating, when all she could think of, all she could

want, was the hardened, exciting feel of his lips rough on hers.

She turned her head before she knew she wanted to, and met his

mouth with hers already open. A heart-thudding, still moment, and

then he carefully kissed her back, measured, controlled, and pulled

away. He looked odd, his face rather set, eyes full of the black

outside night, and then he smiled in her general direction, muttered

another good night, and lightly raced down the steps. She watched

him, uncomprehendingly, as he reached the Jaguar and got in, the

first heavy drops of rain splattering on his head and shoulders.

She shut the door, locked it too carefully, and then leaned against it

as she stared down at the fingers which shook, showing her

discomposure. No passion. No emotion in that kiss. Certainly no

anger, as there had been the last time.

Gradually her leaping senses calmed, and she began to think more

coolly. She found that, as she was free of his presence, so then was

she free of her conviction-weakening desire to get near him, get to

him, to drown in the heady feelings that were aroused whenever she

was around him.

She shook her head in wonder at what he brought out in her, and then

moved slowly for the den. Liz had been in the room to pick up the

used glasses and wash them, so she rummaged for a clean one under

the bar, set it on the counter, and then forgot about it. She leaned her

elbows on the quality, glossy wood, and put hear face in her hands.

She wished, achingly, that she'd had a different influence from her

mother when she'd been a young child. She remembered those early

days. Her mother had been a goddess, a lovely, spellbinding,

fascinating parent. She remembered, wryly, how she used to perch on

the counter by her parents' bathroom sink, watching Irene put on her

make-up before a party. Glittering, beautiful clothes, a light tinkling

laugh, effusive affection showered on her when Irene had the time, so

many things impressing themselves on a young adoring person.

Caprice knew what she wanted out of life. She wanted to be just like

her mother. And so she grew, watching, learning, assimilating.

She took a good, cold, calculating look at herself. Would she be

happy, doing anything else? The answer was quick, blunt, and rather

devastating. No. She didn't want a career that absorbed her free time,

and tied her to responsibility and commitments. She didn't want to

forsake the parties, teas, the fun and the laughter. She liked to dress

well, and she liked other people to know it. And, fortunately, she had

a father wealthy enough to see her secure for the -rest of her life.

As she had grown older, though, she'd begun to see her parents in a

different light. Irene was as lovely in maturity as she had been in her

youth. But Caprice also loved her father, and throughout her teens

became gradually aware that Richard and Irene at best tolerated each

other. Her mother's glitter went just exactly skin deep; underneath it,

Irene was a shallow woman. And Richard, hard-working, career-

orientated, influential, was as different from his wife as night is from

day. They didn't understand each other. He was heartily bored with

the details in Irene's life, as she was with his. They existed.

Caprice often wished that she had taken after her father. She grasped

business concepts, was intelligent and quick with numbers, but she

had no more desire to work in the family business than she would

wish to work at the local car wash. And she knew the kind of man

she should meet and fall in love with. He should be witty, a good

socialiser, charming, and interested in the same things that she was.

He wasn't a bit like Pierce. Pierce was a lot like her father. Pierce was

responsible, quiet, deep. He was sexy, he was devastatingly attractive

to her, he was dangerous. She should run screaming in the other

direction.

But she wasn't. She'd agreed to see him tomorrow, and wanted to see

him Sunday. She shouldn't fall for him, she knew that. One look at

her parents was enough to convince her of that. But this weekend,

what could one weekend hurt? She would see him, laugh with him,

look at him and perhaps let herself care a little for two days. Just this

one weekend. And she wouldn't see him again, after this.

Surely she could control herself that long.

She bumped the empty glass with her elbow, and remembered that

she was making herself a drink. But she didn't want it any more, and

tucked the glass away again as her father: strolled into the den.

He sent a quick glance to her as though she were a chair, and then

went to the window at the far end of the room. She knew

immediately that it was all a front, and he was there purposefully to

speak to her. He cleared his throat, and rocked back and forth, hands

clasped behind his back. She loved him very much.

'Langston's gone, I see,' he said to the curtains.

'Yes, he left not that long ago,' she quietly replied. 'Would you like a

drink?'

He did, and she poured him a brandy, his favourite after dinner

liquor. 'Seems to be a good man.' She walked over to him, and gave

him the snifter.

'Yes, I believe he is.'

'You seeing him?' The question was short to the point of terseness,

yet she didn't take it amiss. He was interested in her life, and she

appreciated it.

'This weekend I am. I—don't think there's a future in it.' She ran her

eyes over her father's greying head and distinguished figure with

affection.

He turned his head and looked her directly in the eye. 'Too bad. I was

thinking.' He fell silent, and her attention sharpened. 'We need to sit

down for a talk, you and I. It's time you had more independence. I'm

going to set up an annuity for you, and stipulate its continuance in

my will so that you're taken care of.'

She touched his sleeve, and rubbed up and down lightly. 'Surely

there's plenty of time for that?' she murmured, disturbed by the talk.

He shrugged. 'Never know. I'm already fifty, and I'm not getting any

younger. Anyway, that's not the point. Somewhere along the line,

why, I guess you grew up without me knowing it.' His grey eyes met

hers, and she saw his pride in her. 'Think of it. You're already twenty-

two, and a fine young lady. You'll be wanting to do things, to go

places, and—well, we need to sit down and have a talk.'

'I love you, Dad,' she whispered quietly.

He smiled. 'You kids have to leave some time. Sooner or later, and I

know it. But it won't be the same without you around here.' His smile

faded, and he briefly looked old and sad. 'Just won't be the same.'

She went up on her toes and pressed a kiss on his cheek. He put his

arms around her and hugged her tight, and then told her good night in

a perfectly normal voice. After he left, she found his brandy,

untouched, on a nearby table. Carefully, she poured it back in the

bottle, spilling only a few drops. Then she took the glass to the

kitchen, clean and empty as Liz had quit for the evening, and she

washed it up. She couldn't think why her eyes blurred unexpectedly,

and made her small task impossible to see.

SHE readied herself for bed, and fell into it without much hope of

sleeping, and sure enough, she tossed and turned for most of the

night. As a consequence she overslept, and Liz woke her just before

seven with the news that Pierce had already arrived and was waiting

downstairs for her.

Feeling befuddled, she stumbled out of bed, threw on her pale blue

bathrobe, and went to the head of the stairs to call softly down. Pierce

immediately appeared from the direction of the den, and she saw the

quick grin that slashed across his features. 'I'm sorry,' she said,

pushing her tousled hair from her forehead. 'I'll be down in a few

minutes. I just wanted to ask you about what I should wear.'

'Something sturdy and casual should do it, I think,' he replied, taking

his time as he looked her over from head to foot. His lids drew down,

making him appear lazy, indolent. 'Of course,' he added silkily,

'there's not a thing wrong with what you're wearing.'

She laughed and let her hair fall forward in an attempt to hide her

blush. 'Have you had breakfast?'

'Coffee.' He was watching her, his head thrown back, with every sign

of fascination.

'Liz could fix us something to eat, if you'd like.'

'Only if we can have it alone. I'm not in the mood to share you today,'

he told her, with a slow smile.

'On Saturday, nobody around here shows for breakfast before nine,'

she assured him with another laugh. Despite her broken sleep, she

was beginning to feel positively cheerful. She started down the stairs,

intending to talk to the housekeeper, but he forestalled her.

'No, you go on and get dressed. I can talk to Liz,' He waved a hand at

her, and she backed willingly enough up the steps, feeling a distinct

vulnerability in her night clothes. She could feel his eyes on her slim

figure until she disappeared from his sight.

Rushing through her bedroom to her small bathroom, she stared at

herself in the mirror for a brief, horrified moment, pressing hands,

against her cheeks. What a wreck she was! And she simply must

wash her hair! Whirling around, she grabbed at her hairbrush, yanked

it through her tangles a few times, wincing, stripped and let her

clothes fall to the floor, and then jumped into the shower. Five

minutes later, dripping wet, she shiveringly crept into her bedroom

and drew out clothes. A glimpse outside at the overcast day had her

grimacing as she dressed accordingly. Snug- fitting jeans were

shaken out and then drawn over her hips. She then took a white,

tailored blouse and drew that on, and pulled an oversized, bulky,

light brown sweater over it. Suede, low-heeled boots, a swept up,

thigh length jacket, and she was ready for just about anything.

The sound of her skipping lightly down the stairs brought Pierce back

into the hall. He walked towards her as she landed with a small,

childish hop, dressed much the same as she was, in sturdy jeans, dark

shoes and sweater. He looked lean and lovely, and she turned to toss

her jacket into a hall chair in an attempt to hide her reaction to him.

He was behind her before she realised it, his warm hand curling

around her hips and drawing her back against him. 'Hmm, hallo,' he

said in her ear. She laughed, and bent her head. 'Your hair is