Deceit (11 page)

This was the first time Richard had watched her work for any length of time, and he was struck by how demanding, both physically and mentally, her work was. He knew for a fact how little sleep she had gotten, yet there was no sign of how tired she had to be. She was able to strike the most difficult, awkward pose and make it look natural.

Amazing, he thought, recalling how hot and wildly responsive she had been the night before. Today she was as cool and as composed as the bronze statue she stood beside. She was exquisite in the long cape and gown, but last night, naked and flushed with passion, she had come to life and her beauty had transcended anything he had believed possible.

“Good, Liana, good,” Clay said. “Now open the cape a little more so we can see the dress. Okay, lift the skirt slightly. More. More. Give me another angle, tilt your head. Good.”

A pulse in Richard’s temple throbbed. Clay’s instructions to Liana were getting to him. Even if the man was her photographer, he had no right to order her around as he did. How could she stand it? She seemed to have all the patience in the world, whereas just the constant click and whir of the cameras were irritating him, grating against already raw nerves.

“Good,” Clay called. “Now look this way.”

She did and her gaze encountered Sarah, kneeling as usual beside Clay, watching her intently. Sara smiled at her. For some reason, the act broke Liana’s concentration, and the mood and attitude she had been adopting evaporated.

Clay cursed.

“Sorry,” Liana said automatically.

Sara rose gracefully to her feet and walked over to her. “It was my fault. You were just doing so great, I couldn’t help myself.”

Liana’s reply to the young girl lodged in her throat as she looked over Sara’s shoulder and saw Richard for the first time.

“Liana? Forgive me?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she murmured.

“Get into your next gown, Liana,” Clay said. “I want to use this pre-storm atmosphere as long as I can.”

“In a minute.”

“In a min—?” He broke off as he followed her gaze to Richard. He frowned, then shrugged. “Okay, go ahead. I need to check my film and change cameras anyway. But
only
a minute. Sara, Steve, let’s talk about the next series of shots.” 

Richard crossed the distance that separated them, took Liana’s hand, and led her behind the changing tent where they were out of sight from the others.

Liana shivered. Violent, galvanic air surrounded them, but the weather had nothing to do with the electric current that seemed to arc about Richard. He carried his own energy field, and faced with such a force, she could only wait.

He stared at her for a long moment with eyes as dark as the clouds above them. Finally he flicked the wide ribbons that tied the cape closed at her neck. “You look as if you just stepped out of a tum-of-the-century scene.”

“That was the idea. A romantic look for a romantic setting. ”

“Romantic.” He repeated the word thoughtfully. “You’re certainly the right model for the job. Wearing that gown and cape, you have the perfect blend of femininity, fragility, and melting sensuality. But romance, Liana, is an ideal that doesn’t exist.”

“Maybe that’s your belief,” she said, hurt by his attitude, “but there are other people out there in the world who want very much to believe that beauty, adventure, and love—perhaps even chival-ric love—exist, the kind you read about in storybooks. And if that belief is strong enough, who’s to say that somewhere it doesn’t exist?”

He gave a harsh laugh. “There’s no such thing as love, Liana. You know that as well as I do. But beauty sure as hell exists. A man has only to look at you to know that. But it is what’s beneath that beauty of yours that bothers me, and has for quite awhile.”

Despair gripped her; her love for him really was hopeless. “Was there something you wanted, Richard?”

His smile was quick and not a smile at all. “Of course. Last night should have told you that.” There had been no tenderness in his lovemak-ing, she reflected wearily. Why had she thought he might show her tenderness now? “Richard ...” “How much longer are you going to be doing this?” he asked abruptly.

“I don’t know. That’s up to Clay and the weather.” He scowled. “I don’t mean today. I mean, how much longer is the whole shoot scheduled to last?”

 “We’ve done just about half of the gowns.” 

“You’ll be here until the end of the week?”

“Yes. The final shots won’t be taken until the ball. The next day they’ll auction off the gowns.” She hesitated. “Why do you ask?”

“No particular reason. I was just curious.”

The strange gray light of the approaching storm emphasized the fierce, angry expression of his face. She half turned away from him, finding it easier to look at the wildly churning sea. “How long do you plan to stay?”

“About the same length of time.” He stared brood-ingly at her profile. The hood of the cape had blown off her head. The wind whipped at her hair and her skirts. Feathery streamers of her hair brushed at his face, the chiffon and silk of her skirts wrapped around his legs. Lightning flashed far out over the sea, a silver bolt momentarily connecting sky and sea. He saw her flinch in surprise. He took a handful of her hair in his fist, turned her, and brought his mouth down on hers in a plundering kiss.

The pleasure hit Liana immediately. Then the relief. He might not love her, but at least he wanted her.

She sagged against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Clay’s voice as he gave directions on the other side of the tent faded until she could hear only the soft, heated sounds that she herself was making.

Richard drew her closer, more relaxed now that she was in his arms. His tongue stroked hers with a hunger that vaguely astonished him. He couldn’t remember ever kissing another woman the way he kissed Liana. Last night, there had been very few moments when he hadn’t been kissing her—and there had been no part of her he had left untasted. He craved that same experience now, her taste, her feel.

Restless and needy, he moved his pelvis against her.
This wasn’t going to be enough.
In fact, he felt as if he might come apart if he couldn’t . . .

He slipped his hand inside the cape, down into the strapless dress, and wrapped his hand around her breast. As he did, he felt her shift slightly, making it easier for him to hold her. A hard shudder of satisfaction raced through his body. Her breast was made to fit in his hand.
His hand needed the touch of her.

The smell of rain was in the air now. The smell of her was in his head. Lord, he had to have her!

Sara peeped around the comer of the changing tent. “Liana?”

Richard glanced over his shoulder. But he didn’t release Liana, and he was unable to force himself to move his hand. His broad back shielded Liana, and all the girl would be able to see was that he had been kissing their star model.

“What is it?” he asked gruffly, all the while compulsively kneading Liana. She softly moaned, and he realized his arm around her was sill that was keeping her upright. If they were only alone, he would sink with her to the ground, pull her skirts up out of the way, and take her there and then. Just the thought swamped him with heat.
“What the hell is it?”

“Uh, we’re moving the equipment out to the bluff. Clay wants to try to get a picture of Liana there with the lightning behind her. ”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Liana mumbled, willing to say anything to make Sara leave. Reality was slipping away from her.

“She said in a minute,” Richard snapped to Sara and watched until she retreated.

Thumbing her nipple, Richard looked down at Liana. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly parted. Fresh desire surged through him. And fresh anger. “Why do you let that man order you around?”

Liana's lids slowly lifted. “Because he’s in charge of this assignment. I work for him. ”

“I keep forgetting, don’t I? How important your job and the money you earn is to you. Tell me, Liana. If I hired you to work for me and paid you twice, hell, three times what you’re getting to do this job, would you do what
I
tell you?”

She swallowed, her attention torn between his words and his hand that continued to caress her breast and tease her nipple. “What you’re talking about is making me a prostitute.”

“That’s
your
perception of my offer.”

“Is it an offer?”

“Would you do what I tell you? Anything?”

“Not for money.”

“What then?” he asked gruffly, pulling her closer against him. “Tell me. I'll find it, I’ll buy it, I’ll get it somehow.”

You already have it,
she wanted to say.
You have my love.
Instead, somehow, from somewhere, she summoned strength and jerked away from him.

He flexed the fingers of the hand that had just held her, then slowly rolled them into his palm until his hand was a fist. “Go back to work, Liana,” he said in a low rough voice. “Do what Clay tells you to do. Earn more money. Give the world more of you. But no one will ever know you like I do. And no one will ever have you like I plan to have you.”

Clay never got the picture he wanted on the bluff. Shortly after Richard stalked away, the storm hit. Drenched to her skin, Liana made her way back to her room and took a hot shower. Then she lit a fire in the fireplace, climbed naked into bed, and fell into a deep sleep. She awoke a few hours later and heard the rain pelting against the windowpanes. She got up and added more logs to the fire, then climbed back into bed and snuggled down into the covers. Warm and rested, she watched the shadows dance on the wall, thrown there by the light of the fire.

She didn’t stir, not even when lightning lit the room and thunder rolled and boomed overhead, not even when the door to her room opened and Richard entered.

He closed the door behind him. “Your door was unlocked.”

“Yes.”

He engaged the lock, then walked to the bed. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Yes. ”

Slowly he began to undress. He unbuttoned his shirt, shrugged out of it, and let it fall to the floor. The fire’s light immediately caressed his newly exposed skin, threading in and out of the mat of dark hair that covered his chest, and turning his shoulders and abdomen a warm bronze color. He stepped out of his shoes and reached for the waistband of his slacks. His every movement sent muscles rippling beneath his skin, thrilling her.

The sheer maleness of him overwhelmed her. She itched to run her hands over the strong lines of him, to feel the heat of his body against hers, to inhale his clean masculine scent. When he pushed his slacks over his hips and down his legs, her mouth went dry. He wore no underwear; he was already fully aroused.

He slipped under the covers and took her into his arms. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

He rose over her and cupped her buttocks with his hands, then with a thrust, buried himself in her. The possession was slow, hot, and greater than either of them had ever known before. But that was only the first time, and after that, they lost count. He stayed inside her all night long. Even when they were just resting, he never once separated from her.

They spoke very little. The pleasurable things they did to each other said everything. SwanSea sheltered them; the storm outside never touched them.

They had their own storm, a storm of passion and desire so intense, that daybreak found them in an exhausted slumber, arms and legs entwined, their bodies still fused together.

Liana heard the ringing of the phone through clouds of sleep, and at first she couldn’t connect the sound with an action she should take.

Richard provided a clue. “Don’t answer it,” he said, his mouth somewhere near her ear.

Against her will, her mind began to work. “I should. It’s probably Clay about today’s shooting schedule.”

He made a disgruntled sound and lazily flexed his hips against her. She felt him begin to grow deep within her, and she smiled softly. She pressed her lips against his throat and whispered, “If I don’t answer it, he’ll send someone to find out if there’s something wrong.”

With a muttered oath, he reached out a long arm to wrest the telephone from its cradle. The ringing stopped. Gazing down at her, he raised up on one elbow and pressed the receiver into the pillow. “Tell him you’re going to be late this morning.”

“Richard—”

He moved in and out of her, bringing her body awake and filling her with a liquid warmth.

“Tell him. All right?” he asked, continuing his lazy thrusting.

Her eyes beginning to glaze with passion, she nodded. He placed the receiver against her ear. Caught and held by the heat in his eyes, she murmured, “I’m going to be a little late this morning.”

“Clay’s not going to like that,” an amused voice said.

Her mind instantly cleared. “Jean-Paul!”

Richard ceased all motion.

“I thought you were never going to answer the phone,” Jean-Paul said. “Did I catch you in the shower?”

Richard pulled out of her, rolled to the other side of the bed, and threw his forearm over his eyes.

“Liana?”

“Yes, I’m here.” A look at Richard’s face told her he had retreated both physically and mentally from her. She felt empty and alone. She wanted to touch him, but she had the feeling that if she tried, his body would deflect her hand.

“Liana, you sound strange. Are you all right?”

 “I’m fine, Jean-Paul. How are you?”

Richard surged off the bed and to his feet. “Could you hold on a minute, Jean-Paul?”

“Certainly, cherie. Unfortunately, I have nothing but time on my hands.”

Richard rounded the bed and stepped into his slacks. She covered the mouthpiece of the phone with her hand. “Please stay, Richard. Don’t go.” He yanked his zipper up and fastened the waistband of his pants. “I need fresh air. A lot of it.” “Richard—”

He jerked up his shirt from the floor and held it clenched in his fist. “If you’re going to talk to him, Liana, I’m not staying.”

“He’s been sick,” she said, trying to reason with him. “I want to find out how he’s doing.”

“That’s very, very touching, but I’m out of here.” He crossed the room and opened the door.