Guilty Passion (12 page)

“I rather hoped you could entertain him on your own while I'm at work,” he said with a hint of testiness. “You know I can't take too much time off. Finding it a bit of a drag, are you?”

She must have imagined the half-hopeful gleam that briefly lit his eyes. “No, not at all. And of course I know you're busy. I just thought, Ethan hasn't seen you for ages and it would be nice to spend some time together.”

“Oh, I expect he'd rather have you, anyway,” Alec said, smiling at her. “I don't think Ethan is immune to your charms any more than the next man.”

For the first time, Celeste snapped at him. “I wish you wouldn't keep harping on my looks! And I don't think that's a very nice thing to say about your brother.”

Alec showed surprise. “I don't know why you should object to a compliment,” he said. “And I wasn't suggesting that Ethan would try to make a pass at you. He hasn't, has he?”

“Of course not!”

“Of course not,” Alec echoed soothingly. “But no man worthy of the name is totally oblivious to a beautiful young woman, my dear. What a little innocent you are!”

His manner was amused and patronising, and she shut her teeth on a sharp retort. He was trusting and generous, and she knew he was merely making sure that Ethan had a good holiday while he stayed with them. Perhaps he had her welfare at heart, too. He had fretted occasionally that he was unable to join her in active pursuits that he knew she enjoyed, and although she denied wanting to take part in them on her own, he must have realised that she missed them. It was hardly fair to blame him for her confused anger and resentment.

“There's no reason why you shouldn't swim with us at the weekend,” she said. After his broken bones had knitted, swimming had been part of his therapy.

“Thanks,” he said, “but I don't fancy making a spectacle of myself, having to be helped out of the water and trying to use my cane to drag myself over the sand.”

“I know it embarrasses you,” she said, “but we could find a quiet beach, and if Ethan helped you, probably no one would notice you at all.”

He shook his head. “I have my pride, Celeste. I don't want even his help.”

When they were invited to a dinner with dancing afterwards, Alec insisted that Ethan accompany them, and when the dancing began, he almost pushed Celeste into his brother's arms.

“I'm sorry,” Celeste murmured. “He's very conscious of being unable to dance, and so determined that I shouldn't be deprived of the chance. After this, I'll understand if you want to disappear from our party and find someone else to dance with.”

“I like dancing with you,” Ethan said. “And I have the feeling that Alec would rather it was me than some other man. Is there anyone you'd prefer to be dancing with?”

“It isn't that.” She shook her head vehemently. “I like doing things with you, Ethan.” She looked up at him and caught a sudden glint in his eyes that made her miss a step.

As she swayed closer to him, off balance, he said quietly, “Do you?” And then he was holding her away from him, his eyes disconcertingly dark and rather measuring.

“You know I do,” she replied uncertainly. “It's been great having you around. Alec wanted us to. . .”

He was gazing past her shoulder at where Alec was sitting. “I know,” he said softly. “Alec wants you to have all the things that he can't give you.”

When his eyes returned to her, his face was taut and questioning. She said carefully, “There is nothing I want that he can't give me.”

Ethan's eyes narrowed, then he nodded and gave her a strange smile. His hand tightened on her waist, and he whirled her around in a complicated turn, and for the rest of the bracket they danced in silence.

They sat out the next dance, and then one of the older men asked her to try a waltz with him. Although Ethan scarcely left their table, he didn't ask her to dance again.

During the final weeks of his stay, Celeste was more relaxed with Ethan. Some small reservation that she had sensed in him seemed to have melted away. She felt that they were establishing a real friendship, and she responded sweetly and honestly to the gentle, teasing affection that he showed her.

“We should give a party,” Alec said, “before Ethan leaves.”

Ethan had the offer of a good job, designing and installing a computer network system for a large engineering firm in Hamilton, centre of the prosperous Waikato dairy farming region.

“A party?” Celeste was surprised. They had hosted the occasional dinner, but a real party was not Alec's preferred way of entertaining.

“Yes, a party. He's met a few people while he's been staying with us, and I'm sure they'd like to farewell him. Would it be too much for you?”

“Oh, no! It's just not your usual style.”

Alec frowned. “I'm not such an old stick-in-the-mud as you may think,” he said humorously.

“I don't think anything of the sort. Who would you like to invite?”

Alec moved restlessly, grimacing, and she said swiftly, “Is your leg hurting? Shall I get you one of your pills?”

Impatiently, he shook his head. “I'm all right. We should invite some of the younger crowd. Junior lecturers and their wives and girlfriends. . . or boyfriends.”

It wasn't a big party, but it went on quite late. When the last guest had gone, it was almost two o'clock. Ethan drove a young woman home who had rather obviously been making a play for him, and Alec, chuckling, said, “We may not see him until morning. Not if Charmian has her way.”

Charmian was a striking brunette, with beauty as well as brains, and she hadn't made any pretense of hiding either. In fact, the dress she had been wearing, which left precious little to the imagination, had made Celeste wonder if she had a defensive desire to show the world that female intelligence was no bar to traditional notions of femininity.

“I don't think Ethan was exactly averse to her having her way,” she said, trying hard to echo Alec's tone of worldly amusement. “He didn't
have
to take her home. She actually asked him to call her a taxi.”

She had, too, although she could equally well have asked Celeste, who was much nearer the phone at the time. But Charmian had been standing by Ethan. As she had practically all evening, Celeste recalled. Well, she couldn't blame the young woman. Ethan was handsome and unattached, and so, presumably, was Charmian.

Alec yawned. “I'm off to bed. Coming?”

“I'll clear up a bit first.” She had a strong, illogical urge to start hurling crockery about. She was ashamed of herself, but that didn't lessen the feeling.

“Leave it until tomorrow.”

“I'll just tidy up here and stack the dishes,” she promised.

He shrugged. “All right.” He hobbled over to her, leaning heavily on his cane as he did when he was tired. His arm came about her shoulders. “But I'll probably be asleep. How about a good-night kiss?”

She obliged, guiltily glad that it was all he was asking for tonight. She didn't think she could summon up the right mood for lovemaking.

He left her, and she began automatically gathering up ashtrays and glasses. Her unsettled, grumpy mood was no doubt a reaction to the gaiety and stimulation of the party, as well as the inevitable work that had gone into the preparations. It had been a definite success, she told herself, wiping away a stupid tear. She would be sorry to see Ethan leave; he had been a brilliant guest. But life had to go on.
Settle back into the rut
, ran her thoughts, and she scolded herself. Life with Alec was not a rut. She met lots of interesting, intelligent people, and by and large they had accepted her, although she couldn't help but be aware of raised eyebrows now and then when a new acquaintance discovered she was Alec's wife. There had been a couple of nasty moments when men who apparently imagined that Alec had become disabled since their marriage made veiled suggestions to her of giving her what she must be missing, but she had told them in no uncertain terms what to do with their offers.

She shivered. There was nothing wrong with Alec in that department. The vague uneasiness that sometimes invaded her after his lovemaking had nothing to do with inadequacy, but with the strange, desperate possessiveness that often seemed to pervade it, especially lately. But she was inexperienced with other men and had no way of knowing if there was anything unusual about it. She must try to conquer the odd aversion that it engendered in her. It didn't need much experience to know that shrinking from him would only make the problem—if it could be called a problem—worsen.

She had the lounge almost back to normal and was running hot water into the sink over a stack of glasses when the back door opened. She looked around to see Ethan in the doorway.

“You came back!” she said.

His brows rose. “Surprised?”

“Yes. We thought. . .”

He closed the door, leaning against it with his arms folded. “I see.”

Celeste flushed. “Well. . .” She shrugged. “Surely Charmian didn't send you away.” Her voice, she realised, sounded ever so slightly waspish. She turned off the tap that must have covered the sound of the car, and started swishing a dish-mop around in the water, rattling the glasses.

Ethan came away from the door and inspected a plate full of leftovers on the table. “No,” he said, picking up a cheese straw and nibbling it. “Actually, she didn't.”

“I see.” She took out a glass and plonked it down on the stainless steel counter.

“
No you don't
,” he said almost under his breath, and yet with such violence that she jumped, dropping the next glass into the sink with an ominous tinkle. “You don't know a damn thing,” Ethan said. “Or if you do, then I've been led up the garden path, and so has Alec.”

Shaking, she scrabbled among the suds, muttering, “I don't know what on earth you're talking about.” Then she gave a tiny shriek as a sharp pain pierced her hand, and she lifted it from the sink, seeing the suds clinging to it stained pink.

Ethan dropped the cheese straw on the table and strode over to her. “What in God's name are you doing?”

“I broke a glass,” she said in a muffled voice. “I didn't realise—”

His fingers clamped about her wrist. “God, you're a little fool!” A watery pool of blood was forming in the palm of her hand. “Where's the first aid stuff?”

“Over there.” She nodded to a cupboard above the refrigerator.

Without letting go of her hand, he pulled her over to the cupboard and lifted down the red box. Then he thrust her into a chair.

“I can do it,” Celeste said. “It's only a small cut.”

He ignored her, swabbing the cut with disinfectant on a cotton wool ball and drying it carefully with more cotton wool before smoothing a plaster over the wound. He did it all slowly but efficiently, with grim concentration.

“Thank you,” she said.

He still held her hand in his. His head was bent, so that she couldn't see his face properly. He said, “You know why I didn't stay with Charmian, don't you?”

Her fingers trembled in his. She said, “Ethan. . .”

He looked up then, and she saw the glazed brilliance of his eyes and caught her breath. “Ethan. . .”

He closed his eyes, and bent his head again, bringing her hand to his lips. He was kissing her fingers, almost reverently, and she found it both unbearably sad and unbearably erotic.

“I've been drinking,” he said. “I shouldn't really have driven anyone home tonight. All night I've been drinking and trying to persuade myself I wanted Charmian. But it isn't Charmian I want.” His mouth was warm and gentle, and he took the tip of one finger into it, until she felt his tongue, rough and moist, against her skin. He made a sound in his throat like a moan, and she brought up her other hand to his hair, feeling it springy and soft under her fingers. “Ethan,” she whispered. “You mustn't. . .”

He took a deep, ragged breath, and let her go. “No,” he said. “I know.” His head was still bent, and she pushed herself to her feet, forcing herself to stand and walk past him. As she made to go by him, he lifted his face, and she looked at the naked need in his eyes and cried, her hands going out to him, her eyes as naked as his, “Oh, Ethan!”

He was on his feet instantly, his chair scraping the floor, and then she was held tightly in his arms and he was kissing her. Her mouth parted for him, and her body fitted perfectly into the protective, passionate curve of his, her arms around his neck as her head fell back against his arm.

She drowned in that kiss. Time and the world disappeared. His mouth and his arms were her world, and his warmth and his love and passion enclosed her. She felt him shudder, and nestled closer, shivering in response. His hands were stroking her gently, finding out about her body, silently worshipping it. He lifted his mouth, and when she whimpered he placed tender kisses on her closed eyelids, her temple, then all the way down her cheek and along the line of her throat. When she felt his hand on her breast she gave a small cry and raised her own hand to press it against his and keep it there.

He gave a wordless exclamation and took her open mouth under his, his palm moving roughly over her breast, the friction sending darts of pleasure through her whole body. She freed her hand from his and touched his shoulder, his hair, the taut strength of his neck as he bent over her.

When he broke the kiss, she gasped. His hands dragged at her hair, putting a space between them, holding her so that he could look into her eyes.

“I can't believe it,” he muttered. “You feel the same!”

Unable to deny it, knowing he could see it in her eyes, she was silent.

He closed his eyes again. “Oh, God! I. . . we can't do this, Celeste.”

She watched him, her heart breaking for him, for both of them. “No,” she said with a terrible, tearing act of will. “We can't.”