One Reckless Night (21 page)

 
She said hurriedly, 'No-oh, no.'

 
'And fortunately Lantrell Galleries operate worldwide. There'll be no shortage of excuses for me to be elsewhere.' He poured boiling water into the beakers and left the tisanes to infuse. 'Well, is it a deal?'

 
Zanna felt deathly cold. 'I-I don't know. I've only just got my independence. I-I can't surrender it so soon-walk into another place that's been prepared for me.'

 
'Isn't that what you'll be doing in Brisbane?'

 
For a second she stared at him, her hastily concocted story a thousand miles from her mind. She recovered herself just in time.

 
'Not exactly. Caro wants to expand her business,' she invented wildly. 'So I'll be boxing my own corner. It won't be a free ride to this kind of privilege.'

 
His mouth twisted. 'You don't approve of privilege? You've undergone a sea change since our first meeting. You were the most imperious thing since Catherine the Great.'

 
She didn't meet his gaze. 'Perhaps I've gained a different perspective since then.'

 
'Or had it forced upon you,' he said dryly.

 
'That, too.' Zanna held out her hand. 'Thank you for the tisane. I look forward to trying it.'

 
'I'll take it to your room.' Jake lifted the beaker carefully. 'Drop this, and you could end up scalded.'

 
'I don't,' she said, 'make a habit of breaking things.'

 
'No?' His smile was swift and bleak. 'You could have fooled me.'

 
Their glances met, clashed, then Zanna turned and swept from the room with as much dignity as her bare feet would allow.

 
She was hotly aware that he was close behind her on the stairs. On the landing he walked past her, opened her door, and motioned her to precede him with a courtly gesture.

 
Heart thumping, but head high, Zanna obeyed. She retreated to the window in the pretext of fiddling with the drapes, conscious of his every movement. Not that he was doing anything particularly alarming-just switching on her lamp, setting the beaker down on the night-table. And going.

 
As he reached the doorway she halted him. 'Jake. About what you were saying downstairs...' She paused, touching her tongue to her dry lips. 'I-I don't know. Wouldn't it be better if we both just made an effort for the time remaining? Tried to-get along with each other somehow?'

 
He shook his head. 'I'm afraid that isn't possible.'

 
'But why not?'

 
'Do I really have to spell it out?' His voice startled her with its sudden raw savagery.

 
She didn't even see him move, but there he was, beside her, reaching for her. She felt his fingers twist in the silkiness of her hair, his other hand cupping her throat, forcing her mouth up to meet his with stark urgency. As their lips met she heard a roaring in her ears, felt a pulsation in her veins as old and primitive as the earth itself.

 
There was no past, she recognized in some hidden corner of her mind. There could be no future. There was only now, and the fire and honey of Jake's kiss.

 
He wasn't gentle, but she was too famished for the taste and touch of him to require more subtlety or consideration. Her own need was fierce-overwhelming. As their mouths strained together Zanna felt Jake's hips grind against hers in overt demand, conquering her grace with his strength. Her soft moan was a cry of yearning- a plea for assuagement.

 
He pushed the robe away from her shoulders, baring her to the waist. She arched herself back over his supporting arm, offering him her breasts, their rosy peaks already hardening in greedy anticipation.

 
For a moment he seemed to hover above her, his mouth a fraction of an inch from her tumescent flesh, and she realised that he was breathing the scent of her skin as if it were some new and erotic incense.

 
Then, at last, when every nerve-ending seemed to be screaming at him to put her out of this torment, he bent to her, and she felt the faint roughness of his cheek on her body as he suckled from her, deeply and languorously, his tongue a delicate flame flickering on her nipple.

 
She buried her face in the curve of his neck and shoulder, licking away a salt droplet of sweat, her mouth tugging at his taut skin. She felt drugged-intoxicated by his nearness, her senses at fever-pitch.

 
His hand parted the skirts of her robe, seeking the secret heated moisture of her, assuring himself of her readiness-her acceptance.

 
As he lifted her fully into his arms to carry her to the bed Zanna heard herself sigh in pleasure and anticipation. Her arms wound round his neck and her mouth sought his softly, but with sensuous emphasis.

 
Jake put her down on the mattress and leaned over her, stroking the edges of the robe completely apart as if unwrapping a longed-for gift. His eyes glittered down at her. He was trembling, holding onto his control with a supreme effort.

 
'Lovely,' he whispered. 'You're so lovely, darling. Even more glorious than before.'

 
His fingers, tracing a questing path down her body from breast to hip, lingered for a moment on the faint swell of her stomach.

 
And with that one, simple gesture he brought her crashing back to reality.

 
The baby, she thought with sudden anguish. The doctor had said that lovemaking could be dangerous in the early months. That she should be careful.

 
She'd dismissed the warning as irrelevant in her case. Yet here she was again-seduced, spellbound and ready to give herself. Only she dared not-not if there was even a remote chance of putting at risk the tiny life she was sheltering.

 
She would have to tell him-to explain-whatever the consequences. There would never, she thought, be a better moment.

 
As he lifted himself away from her to remove his own clothes Zanna sat up, reaching out a staying hand.

 
She said, on a little sob, 'Jake-no. I can't. We-we mustn't...' Her words tailed away as she tried to think- to find the right words.

 
There was a silence, then he sighed, briefly and harshly, turning his head away as if he could not bear to look at her.

 
'No,' he said. 'Indeed we must not insult your mother and my father in this way. Thank you for the badly needed reminder.' Moving to the edge of the bed, he began to refasten his shirt.

 
'Listen, please.' She gripped his arm. 'You don't understand...'

 
'Yes, I do.' Jake detached himself from her clasp. His voice was bleak, his unsmiling face that of a stranger. 'I understand only too well. This is what I was trying to tell you only a few moments ago.'

 
'No,' Zanna almost wailed. 'You've got to let me explain.'

 
Jake shook his head, placing a silencing finger on her parted lips. 'Explanations are unnecessary and excuses impossible. What happened between us in England was a serious mistake. I had no right to behave as I did-no right at all. And any repetition would be a disaster.'

 
He drew a deep breath. 'So, I have to leave, Suzannah, because I can't trust myself to share a roof with you.' He gave a small, harsh laugh 'I seem to be addicted to you, and that's something I can't afford.'

 
He got to his feet. 'They say the best cure for addiction is to go cold turkey. So I shall. Starting tomorrow.'

 
At the door, he turned and looked at her, his gaze impersonal, almost clinical.

 
'Don't forget your tisane. It's supposed to bring you deep sleep and sweet dreams.' His mouth twisted. 'I really hope it works-for both our sakes. Goodnight, Susie-and goodbye.'

 
And the door closed behind him with quiet finality.

 
CHAPTER TWELVE

 
'SUCH a shame that Jake had to leave,' Susan said over breakfast the next morning. 'I hoped so much that he'd stay-spend some time with us all.' She glanced at Zanna, whose eyes were fixed on her plate. 'I do want you both to be friends.'

 
'He'll be back soon, sweetheart,' her husband said comfortingly. 'Just as soon as he's got things sorted out in London.'

 
Susan sighed. 'I suppose so, but sometimes I worry that he's turning into a workaholic. That there's nothing else in his life but the galleries and those classic cars of his.'

 
'He'll change when the right woman comes along.' Gordon Lantrell grinned at his wife. 'I did.'

 
'But when's that going to be?' Susan fretted.

 
Gordon's look was droll. 'Maybe when he's finished having fun with the wrong ones.' He took his wife's hand and kissed it lightly. 'Something tells me it'll be for Jake like it was with us. One look-one touch-and he'll know for sure and for ever.'

 
'I hope so.' Susan brightened. 'And he's promised faithfully to make it back here for the party.'

 
That wasn't what she wanted to hear, Zanna thought unhappily, reducing her croissant to inedible crumbs. If she was ever to recover her peace of mind she needed him to stay away, and as far as possible, until she, herself, could make her escape.

 
Rather to her surprise, the lukewarm tisane had produced the desired effect the previous night, and, in spite of her emotional turmoil and aching senses, she had fallen deeply asleep. And if her dreams had not been sweet at least they'd left no unhappy traces in her psyche either.

 
A searching look in the mirror this morning had revealed that she was still pale and slightly hollow-eyed, but relatively composed.

 
In retrospect, she could only be thankful that Jake had prevented her from speaking-from telling him about the baby. He would never know that the 'serious mistake' had already turned into a disaster. But at least it had underlined for her, irrevocably and without ambiguity, that he looked back with nothing but regret on the night they'd spent together.

 
Whereas she, with all the difficulties and loneliness of single motherhood to face, regretted nothing. Now there's an irony, she told herself. Because she knew now, with total certainty, exactly what spell Jake had cast over her that night-the spell of love.

 
And that, she thought fiercely, made it all worthwhile, even though the love was all on her side and not his.

 
She knew that even if she had the time over again she wouldn't forego one moment of their brief night together, or lose any of the bitter-sweet memories which were all she'd have to take with her into the future.

 
But everything she'd just heard at the breakfast table reinforced her need to get away as soon as possible. She could endure a great deal, she told herself, but not the heartbreak of seeing Jake finally fall in love with someone else.

 
Days passed and turned into a week, and then another, and still Jake stayed away. In spite of the sad ache in her heart, and her ever-present guilt over the secret she could not tell, Zanna found herself relaxing and settling almost insensibly into the gentle routine of life at Les Etoiles.

 
Most days she worked with Susan on the projected book. Much of their time was spent in travelling round the region, armed with a pocket tape-recorder and a camera, visiting some of the places which had inspired Van Gogh, Picasso, Matisse and Renoir. She was thrilled to find that Paul Cezanne's studio in Aix had been lovingly preserved, right down to his cape and beret hanging in a corner and glasses and a bottle on the table.

 
In the evenings she transcribed Susan's ideas from tape to computer or swam in the pool, relishing the coolness of the water after the sultry heat of the day.

 
At other times she went with her mother and Gordon into Cannes or Nice. In spite of her protests, an account with a generous deposit-'Advance salary,' Susan had excused it-had been opened for her in a local bank. In addition, they'd insisted on buying her a dress for the forthcoming party in one of the boutiques along the Croisette.

 
In the end she'd allowed herself to be persuaded into an ivory silk ankle-length shift, saved from demureness by the skirt, slashed almost to the thigh at one side. But she'd been shocked to find that her dress size had already increased from a ten to a twelve, although she'd managed laughingly to blame Sylvie Cordet's cooking. She only hoped the gown would still fit by the night of the party.

 
The kitchen at Les Etoiles had become one of her favorite places. She'd had little time or inclination for cooking up to then, and to watch Madame Cordet serenely and skilfully preparing the family's meals was a revelation.