Love Play by Rosemary Rogers (6 page)

'It... it was merely one of my mother's flights of fancy, I'm afraid!'
Finding her voice at last, Sara strove for coolness while he watched her like a
smiling predator who was only too sure of his prey. Well, she'd show him! And
she'd ignore that last suggestively questioning statement! She must strive for
her sister's air of cool impudence and face him down. Now she pouted slightly,
putting her hand on his arm and feeling steel-corded muscles tense under her
touch.

'Look, I'm sorry if I sounded rude just now, but a girl in this town
learns to be cautious, if you know what I mean? It was nice of you to come pick
me up ... Riccardo. Can we start all over from there?'

A Duke, no less! Was he real? And Paul Drury had said 'rich' - she had
imagined that what was left of the Italian nobility were penniless, for the
most part.

'We can start from anywhere you please, Delight.' Another one of those
double-edged remarks, Sara thought mutinously, feeling her temper rise. But she
didn't protest when he gripped her elbow firmly and led her out to where his
car was parked, guarded by an admiring teenager who accepted the unobtrusively
passed bill Riccardo handed him without taking his eyes off the shiny
Lamborghini.

'It was my pleasure, mister. That's some mean machine!'

'Yes — but hard to drive here in Los Angeles.' Helping Sara in, his
fingers brushed against her skin for an instant, and she was glad he could not
feel the involuntary catch of her breath. 'A machine like this is meant to be
driven very fast, especially this one, for I have had the engine modified
for
 
racing.'

'You ever raced her?'

'A few times. But not in this country. Not yet.'

'Well- good luck!'

As they drove off Sara could not help murmuring, 'A democratic Duke?'

Concentrating on the traffic, he did not look at her, although she could
feel, rather than see his slight shrug. 'We had something in common. The love
of beautiful machinery and the taking of risks.'

'Well, I'm glad you save that for the racing track. It's risky enough
just driving around Los Angeles as it is -especially during rush hour!'

'It depends on the driver of course. Do you drive . . . Delight?' She
thought he said her name almost reluctantly -perhaps it sounded too fancy and
frivolous for his taste!

'Just a plain, ordinary Volkswagen, I'm afraid!' Sara said, shrugging.
'I can't afford one of these - yet.'

'Ah, but perhaps you hope to, some day?'

His voice was without inflection, but Sara could feel herself tense. She
felt, for no real reason, as if he was playing some cat-and-mouse game with
her. She forced herself to sound casual.

'Of course - doesn't everyone have dreams? But I think I'd settle for a
Mercedes myself — a white SL convertible.'

'And - if I may ask without appearing to pry — what of your other
dreams? I am sure a beautiful young woman like yourself will have no difficulty
in getting anything you desire.'

'Well, I do try to think positively!' Sara affirmed lightly. Wishing
he'd drop the subject, she added quickly, 'Where are we going for dinner?'

This time she saw him glance briefly at her before he turned his
attention back to the traffic.

'I am staying at L'Ermitage - you have heard of it? A European-style
hotel, with an excellent restaurant that caters only to guests .., and their
guests, of course. Paul and Monique ought to be waiting for us in my suite by
now, and after a drink we shall all go to dinner.'

All Sara's suspicions surfaced again.

'We're going to ... your hotel suite?'

She heard him sigh impatiently. 'Miss Adams, I do not know what events
have occurred to make you so ... shall we say wary? But I assure you I have no
intention of luring you up to my suite in order to seduce you. Believe me, Paul
and Monique Drury will be there - and if they are not, we can leave a message
for them and go straight to the Cafe Russe, if that will make you feel . . .
safer.'

Sara was glad he could not see the flush that made her whole face seem
hot. He was an arrogant, impossible man, and she hated the way he kept making
her appear ridiculous; 'putting her down' as Delight would have said.

'I'm quite capable of looking after myself, thank you!' she said
frostily. 'And I'm sure, besides, that the average mass murderer or rapist does
not drive his victims about in a Lamborghini!'

'Oh, but you are right to be cautious. I have heard that the famous Jack
the Ripper was really none other than the heir to the throne of England!'

Sara gritted her teeth.

'What an interesting piece of gossip! But I'm sure none of his victims
knew karate. I happen to have won my black belt.'

'That is indeed admirable. Perhaps we might practise together sometime?
I also am a black belt. Fifth degree,'

So much for her bluff! 'Stay cool, Sara!'

'Thank you, but I'm really very busy most times, and my instructor —'

'Oh, but I am also a qualified instructor. And since Los Angeles seems
to be quite a dangerous city for attractive young women on their own such as
yourself, perhaps I could teach you a few useful little tricks to help you
defend yourself against other karate experts?'

'I'd really rather not. I do it mostly for the exercise, anyway.'

'I see. And what other kinds of exercise do you enjoy?'

He had to have heard her furious gasp, but he carried on smoothly
without so much as a look in her direction, 'Every day through my window I see
people jogging. Is that what you
 
would
call the "in" thing these days?'

Remembering her role Sara said briefly: 'I really don't like getting up
early in the morning unless I'm working and have to. And jogging's far too
strenuous for me.'

They should have reached the hotel by now. Was he driving with
deliberate slowness? Or taking her there the long way around so he could
totment her with questions and sly double entendres?

'Jogging is also not the most glamorous form of exercise, I suppose. All
that puffing and panting! But I would guess that you might enjoy dancing. Am I
right? The disco, for instance?'

She almost slipped there. 'I don't - that is, I just adore dancing, but
I don't go too often. I can't afford late nights when I have to be up bright
and early.'

'You sound like a case of all work and no play! For shame, with a name
like Delight.'

She didn't choose to answer that, responding instead: 'I'm glad you like
my name. It is rather unusual, isn't it? Mona told me that she was quite high
on champagne and orange juice when they asked her what she wanted to name me!'

'Mona?'

'My mother. Mona Charles. Not the sort of mother one calls Mom or
Mother!'

'I see.' For some reason his voice sounded grim; but at least he paused
in the third degree, and with a small sigh of relief Sara caught sight of the
hotel up ahead.

I'm almost sure I don't like him, Sara thought. But what a strangely
complex man he was! All contrasts - one moment she could swear he was flirting
with her as he dropped those suggestive comments, and the next he was quizzing
her with what seemed to be a sneer underlying his voice. Why had he wanted to
meet her? How could he have become a 'fan' as Paul Drury had put it?

But then, with a strange wrench of feeling Sara realised that it wasn't
her the Duca di Cavalieri had gone to such lengths to meet, but her sister.
Delight, whose very name seemed to fascinate him. A name that held promise,
hadn't he said soon after they had met?

'Well, here we are.' Before one of the red-tunicked attendants had
rushed forward to open her door he had leaned across her to unlock it himself.
Sara felt the hardness of his arm against her breasts like a jolt of
electricity, jarring her all the way to her ankles. She felt - even when the
bright-faced young man had assisted her out and she stood there on the lighted
sidewalk waiting for Riccardo to come around and lead her into the hotel - as
if she had been naked and he had touched her with deliberation. She wanted to
slap him, and she wanted to run - but she stood there, outwardly cool, until he
put his hand on her elbow again, saying in his deep, rather grating voice:
'Come.'

And the only way her feet would take her was the way he was taking her,
without a will of her own.

Chapter 6

Sara's first feeling of relief when she discovered that Paul Drury and
his wife were waiting for them in the Duke's suite had soon dissolved into
watchful caution. The Drurys would be no help at all, should she happen to need
help. They were both obviously too impressed by the combi¬nation of a title and
money! But at any rate they were there, and Sara was thankful when after the
usual small talk Monique decided that she was ravenously hungry.

Monique Drury didn't look at all like a Monique, Sara thought
irrationally. They had retired to the ladies room, and Monique - tall, skinny
and slightly stoop-shouldered, was combing ineffectually through her straight,
blunt-cut blonde hair.'

'I really have to change hairdressers. Which one doyou go to ?

Remembering what Delight had told her, Sara grinned. 'A gay friend of
mine does it - in his spare time.'

'Oh-really?'

In the mirror, Monique Drury's eyes looked startled. Childishly, Sara
thought, Well, I don't care if I do shock her! She's so impossibly vulgar and
pretentious! Making sure everyone knew, from which side of the family the money
had come.

It had been 'Daddy used to say this' and 'Daddy used to do that' all
through the first part of what was turning out to be an interminable dinner;
with Paul Drury sitting in grim silence and the Duke di Cavalieri leaning back
in his chair with a smile of sarcastic appraisal on his saturnine face. Sara
could almost feel him thinking: A typical American femalel And it irked her so
much that she had deliberately encouraged Monique to boast.

'I've got to use the loo.' Shameless
 
escape
  
from Monique's narrowly
questioning eyes. But what did she really care what Monique thought?

What Sara was trying not to think about was the Duca di Cavalieri and
the mixture of emotions he had managed to evoke in her; very much in spite of
herself. Telling herself she disliked him immensely did nothing to help. The
fact remained that she was fascinated by him, like a bird by a snake; hardly
able to force her eyes away from him. There was something feral and very
primitive about him, barely veneered by the politeness that civilisation
demanded. And he was treating her like mesmerised prey he was already sure of;
with offhand gallantry that was merely that and nothing else. Why had he wanted
to meet her in the first place? Why had he pushed and manoeuvred for this
meeting with her, only to sit and observe her from across the table with those
inscrutable black eyes?

The two women returned to their table in silence, and with formal
politeness both men rose. Again Sara felt the brush of those strong, tanned
fingers across her bared back, and could barely repress a shudder that mixed
fear with apprehension.

'Would you like to go dancing after dinner? You have the figure of a
good dancer and you walk lightly.'

Sara forced her head back, her mouth tilting in a challenging smile. 'Do
you like disco? That's the only kind of dancing I enjoy. It's tremendous
exercise, you know.'

Monique gave an exaggerated shudder, her mouth puckering as if she'd
tasted something acid. 'I love to watch dancing. The ballet . . . Paul and I
see every performance of the New York City Ballet, you know. Daddy was a
patron.'

Monique had her uses, after all! Sara let her smile become brilliant as
she murmured challengingly, 'I don't really care for watching, I like music
with a beat that makes my body want to move.'

What was she talking about? Actually, she loved ballet — adored the
opera even more. But the man had wanted to meet Delight, and Delight he was
going to get!

His eyes had narrowed slightly, the only reaction she was able to
obtain.

'So you'd rather participate than watch? I was talking of dancing of
course, Miss ... Delight.' From holding hers, his eyes moved casually away, as
if her answer didn't really matter. 'And how about the two of you? Paul. . .
Monique . . . what do you say, shall we all go to a disco tonight? I leave it
to you - or my delightful dinner partner - to name the place, since I am a
comparative stranger here.'

'I really don't feel up to a late night tonight, thank you all the
same.' Sara was remembering with panic that Delight was a really fabulous,
uninhibited dancer, while she hadn't had enough practice to know if she could
or not. And no doubt he was a fantastic dancer too - the light-footed way he
moved and the way he held his body reminded her of a fencer or a fighter. He
was a karate black belt, fifth degree, he'd said. No doubt he danced very well,
too. Well, he wasn't going to show her up!

'You're the one who's always complaining about having to get up early in
the morning . ..' Paul and Monique were engaged in a low-voiced argument,
ignoring her. Riccardo leaned close to her with a quizzical lift of one black
eyebrow. ' I have read everything about you in the press, but if I didn't know
better I would think you were... afraid, for some reason. I do not bite,
Signorina, nor do I believe in... forcing a woman who is not willing.'

Sara could feel the warmth of his body, far too close to hers. And the
warmth of the tell-tale blood that rushed into her face. To hide it, she bent
her head, pretending to rummage in her purse as she said lightly: 'Oh, good!
Then I can trust you take me home without the usual hassle, can't I? Looking up
at last she met his angry eyes with what she hoped was an air of insouciance.
'It's not that I haven't enjoyed the dinner, but I am a working girl, and six
o'clock comes awfully early!'