The Insiders (24 page)

"I'm not really hungry, thank you."

"Polite girl, aren't you?"

She flashed him a quick, angry look, meeting his measuring blue eyes for an instant. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"I like it." And then, without giving her a chance to reestablish her defenses, he said evenly, "Why don't you come back to the house with me and have a drink?"

Her reaction was instinctive. "Oh, no! If you think I—"

"For Christ's sake, Eve. I mean every
th
ing I said to you earlier. And this isn't part of some elaborate plot to kidnap you. If that was all I wanted, I could have it done by experts. There's no one else at the house; I
promise you that. And
you can leave anytime you want
to.

She thought again, My God, he
means
it! What am I going to say?

Eve put her hand up to brush flying strands of hair out of her eyes, teet
h
worrying her lower lip. She had to resist the desire to laugh hysterically at the sheer irony of it all.

"Well?" he said impatiently.

Damn, he was an impatient, far too arrogant man!

"You're insane!"

He laughed shortly. "I've been called far worse than that! Is that all you have to say?"

"No. I mean I—I really don't
understand.
Me—you— David at the airport with that girl—how—"

"If there's anythi
ng you're still curious about, we could talk about it over that drink I offered you. Hell, Eve, at least we're not starting off with any illusions about each other, are we? And maybe we both need to exorcise old ghosts."

She saw his hands clench whitely over the steering wheel—that was the first and only indication she'd had so far of any tension in him. It was the first
human
thing.... And when he spoke of ghosts, why did David's name, David's face flash across her mind?

Brant, still maneuvering the Mercedes with amazing skill, turned his head to glance at her with one eyebrow slightly raised. Eve felt her pent-in breath expelled with her sigh.

"All right, I—a drink sounds fine. But that's
all
I'm committing myself to for the moment."

Why had she added "For the moment?" What did she have to lose, anyhow? Feeling suddenly tired, Eve leaned her head back, closing her eyes, letting her hair blow free and wild.

Eve, you're such a wild bitch in bed!
David again. David, who had also named her a tramp, a whore; using her just as if she had in fact been all those things. And she'd let him. She'd felt this way before, after David had walked out on her that first time. Reckless, uncaring, wanting to spite him. She had a feeling that he'd call her apartment later on that night. Checking up—just to make sure. Of what—her? His hold over her?

Eve opened her eyes, watching Brant's profile almost furtively. What was
he
after? She didn't quite trust him, but some part of her mind that was wiser, older, pragmatic, told her that at least this complex, surprising man beside her
did
want her for some strange reason of his own, that he really didn't need to play games or tricks on her and wouldn't bother if all he wanted was a female body to use or party with.

The leather upholstery was soft to lean against. Eve looked toward Brant again, measuring, and caught him looking at her. For a moment, like strangers first encountering each other, they stared—then looked away.

They had reached the city now. When they stopped for a light, Eve noticed people watching them. Two young women crossing the street slowed down to stare. A woman in a car alongside, fur jacket open indolently at the throat, looked at Brant hungrily, openly. Well, he was that kind of man, and if she had not been warned about him, had not found out about him, she, too, might look at him that way. Hadn't she stared, too, the very first time she had seen him? Until she had become afraid

But she wasn't afraid any longer—was she? The car stopped abruptly, and Eve found herself looking upward at the closed, private face of the tall row house again, seeing it in the sunlight this time. A shiver of fear shot through her. Oh, God, what am I letting myself in for
this
time? How far down will my need to shrive myself of David's memory take me?

It was too late for regrets; Brant had already opened the door on her side and was helping her out, his fingers closing around her cold hand, wanning it.

"No tricks, Eve. I won't hurt you again—I give you my word."

He said it quietly, and it was the nearest he would come to an apology of any kind. She accepted it silendy, but a small sigh escaped her and her knees felt weak as she walked inside the house with him, the sunlight suddenly shut out.

Being back in there felt strange. It was so dark, so quiet, with no crowd of people and no party noises. The huge living room looked empty—clean and tidy, too, smelling faintly of lemon wax; bowls of hothouse flowers arranged on tables. She wondered who cleaned for him and where they hid.

He released her hand and walked behind the bar. "Still drink Scotch, Eve?" Catching her tiny hesitation without seeming to, he produced a sealed bottle of Chivas Regal, opened it, and poured amber liquid into two glasses, dropping in ice cubes. "Nothing in there but Scotch and ice cubes. Pick either glass."

Suddenly Eve was able to manage a wry smile. She reached for a glass, holding it with both hands. "You must be a mind-reader."

"Hardly that. I try to read faces, and yours is pretty transparent."

"Oh." It was ridiculous; she could think of nothing to say. She tasted the drink, and it was strong and cold, just what she needed.

Brant was watching her, leaning his elbows on the bar, leaving a distance between them deliberately— to give her a sense of security? Thank God for the drink —that first sip had helped relax her; the second swallow she took now made her feel stronger, braver.

Silence stretched between them. From somewhere behind her, a clock chimed softly. Time. Too little of it left, with so many things she had to do. And if not for David showing up when he did, she wouldn't be here with Brant—he with nothing to say, she with nothing to say.

"Now what?" She hadn't meant her thought to slip out into words, but she got a reaction from him. He grinned at her suddenly, his teeth white and even against the bronze of his skin. She thought again, il-logically, that no man had a
right
to look like Brant did.

"I was thinking the same thing myself," he drawled, those very blue eyes of his keeping hers trapped somehow. "Do we spend the next hour or two playing question-and-answer games, or will you come upstairs with me?"

Catching her instinctive movement of recoil, he said impatiendy, "Dammit, Eve! I'm trying to talk you into marrying me. And I wasn't talking about a Platonic relationship, either. I want to make love to you—and listen, there's no need to shy away like that. I said make lov<\ not screw. If we can't make it in the sack, we're never going to make it, so what the hell difference will it make? It's going to happen if we marry; it's something we're both going to have to accept and
enjoy.
I don't expect
that
from you yet, but at least you can find out for yourself if you can stand me or not. If you can't— if my touch turns you off—I'll take you back home, and I promise I won't bother you again. As it is, you can still back out at any stage of the game. I won't try to rape you, Eve. And you're the only woman I've ever taken into my bedroom. I do my playing in the—other room."

She thought he added the last deliberately, bringing the memory of what had happened the last time she'd been in his house out into the open between them— another specter from the past that needed exorcising?

Afterward, Eve didn't know why she hadn't turned to run or why she stood there while he came from behind the bar and took her hand in his. Afterward was already too late, because she had let him take her with him, and they were climbing a beautifully curving staircase, passing through rooms she didn't remember seeing before.

The door to his room stood closed, somehow forbidding—a massive and aged-looking carved door that seemed embedded in the rough-textured wall. There was no knob or conventional handle on it—Brant pressed a button somewhere in the carving, and it swung open like the entrance to some robber baron's cave or secret passage. Catching her look, he smiled.

"Relax. There
is
a handle on the inside. Turn it, and the door will open right away. No magic to it, just electronics."

Inside the room, Eve was surprised all over again at its starkness. She hadn't been in a condition to notice very much the last time she'd been inside here, but now she looked around curiously and saw sparse, austere-looking antique Spanish furniture, heavy and dark. The lack of anything that was in any way fussy or elaborate. It was a
functional
room; there was nothing in it to show what kind of person he was.

It was also an enormous room by any standards, but when he pressed the switch on the wall that made the drapes move apart, Eve caught her breath. There was an effect of a whole wall opening suddenly to let in a new dimension of height and breadth. There was the sky and the rooftops and treetops and even, somewhere in the distance, the blue curve of the bay.

Eve couldn't help being entranced. "Oh—but it's beautiful!" she said, being completely natural for the first time. Brant turned the music on, and she turned, surprised again.

"I love that, too. Handel?" " 'Water Music.' It seemed to fit" "You surprise me. I didn't expect—" "You didn't expect I'd like Handel? Who knows, Eve Mason, I could surprise you some more if you'll let me. Want another drink?"

She shook her head, turning back to the window wall and the amazing view; standing there still undecided, poised for flight, maybe—not yet knowing what she would do in the end, how she would react to whatever
he
might do next. Nervously, with the toe of her shoe, she tested the softly opulent pile of the carpeting. Persian, all dark reds and night-blues—somber colors that matched the rest of the room. She had noticed that there was a fireplace in here, too, in the wall to the side of the bed. And no mirrors. No mirrors anywhere at all, not even over the large triple dresser.

Eve felt, rather than saw, him come up behind her, and fought down the impulse to shiver. She didn't want to turn around—but she did, making herself do it, her chin tilted defiantly. Her thoughts echoed her words earlier. Now what?

Brant could tell
, from her determined stance at the window and her almost studied avoidance of his eyes, that she was still afraid—probably already regretting having come up here with him. Impatience rose in him, the urge to tear down her defenses in order to penetrate to whatever lay beneath that defiant surface manner of hers. She was wearing a brown-and-beige silk dress that suited her coloring—high-necked and long-sleeved. And suddenly, something in the set of her shoulders under the thin silk reminded him of Francie, of all people. Perhaps because Francie had sometimes shown the same defiant attitude. But in Francie you knew it was scheming and calculated with an eye to
effect,
while with Eve it was real—maybe more defensive than defiant after all, as if she were telling him hands off, she wouldn't let him hurt her or have her.

He walked up to her, standing behind her, and after a moment, when he could hear the catch of her breath, she turned quickly to face him. He caught her shoulders and looked down into her face, unsmiling. Her eyes mirrored fear, and something else, too—a kind of despair, maybe, or hopelessness. And suddenly he felt a stab of contempt for David Zimmer, the man she was regretting. Her lost lover, who was probably the main reason she was here now, with him.

They stared silen
tl
y at each other, adversaries about to do battle. And Brant began to wonder at himself. What had made him go after her and offer her marriage, anyhow? What was he doing here with this particular woman? Lust was such a casual thing. It had always been so for him. You saw; you wanted; you took. And after that—it was finished. Hurt feelings could always be paid off. What was the difference with Eve?

Suddenly, not desiring to think any further, needing for a change not cerebral but physical reactions instead, Brant bent his head and kissed her half-open mouth, cutting off whatever it was she had wanted to say—at first harshly, feeling her tense up, and then, recalling himself, very gen
tl
y and almost exploratively.

Her body, so rigid and unyielding at first, began very gradually to relax against his. Now she was giving her mouth to him, at least, and he became conscious of her high, rounded breasts pressed against him; aware of her firm, smooth thighs lying against his, slightly parted as she stood braced against him. And between those thighs —he
knew
what lay between them, had looked, had touched, had tasted. He'd meant that much, at least, when he'd told her that night how beautiful she was down there. And then, soon afterward, the others had come bursting in and he'd called for a camera, for them all to see the prize that for a moment had been his alone by right of capture.

He brought his mind back to the present. Well, this time, at least, there were just the two of them, and he wouldn't think dark thoughts. He could smell her hair again, faintly perfumed, and he suddenly put his hands in it, feeling again its particularly soft and silky quality. It was a new experience for him to be consciously and carefully gentle, to take the time to kiss and hold a woman he wanted to fuck. Normally, he wouldn't have wasted time on preliminaries—the women he'd had, had known what they were there for, so why bother? But now, remembering the time he had promised her, conscious of the newness of this particular experience, he stood there and did nothing but kiss her, his hands still in her hair, until he felt her begin to kiss him back—her body leaning into his, instead of away.

"All right, let's do this properly," he said in her ear
a
little later.

He carried her over to the big bed that waited, and she lay there with her face averted and her eyes closed while he undressed her, still trying to be gentle with her.

Eve's body was the color of old ivo
r
y, its feel just as smooth, almost polished. His lips grazed her breasts, finding a path between them, tracing their outline and their peaks until he could feel her sudden trembling. He touched them, letting his fingers resume the exploration he had begun, while his mouth moved lower, finding the indentation of her navel, traveling lower and feeling her body move, responding in spite of herself. But when he would have kissed her between her legs, she shuddered and closed them together, pleading with him breathlessly.