Escape Me Never (8 page)

He said quietly, 'I notice you didn't join us.'

'I wanted to do the dishes,' she said shortly. 'And it's a very small bedroom. There's hardly room for more than one person beside Jodie.'

'That of course depends on the amount of space you require,' he said drily. 'I can see why you'd find the situation cramped.'

'Then I'd be glad if you'd carry your understanding a stage further and leave,' Cass said, hearing with panic the ragged note in her voice.

His brows lifted. 'I've met more gracious hostesses,' he said sardonically. 'Why such haste, Cass? Expecting the boyfriend?'

'No,' she denied unthinkingly, and could have bitten her tongue out.

'Then why?' he said. 'If you're as indifferent to me as you say, what the hell difference does it make whether I go or stay? What possible danger are you in?'

'None,' she said shrilly. 'I—I just prefer my own company.'

'Then you must have had an enjoyable afternoon,' he said pleasantly. 'You can't expect to have your own way all the time, Cass. Life isn't like that. Besides I'm not sure in your case that too much solitude is good for you.' He smiled at her, and she felt the unwilling pull of his attraction, of that almost charismatic sexuality which disturbed her so. 'And I know it isn't good for me.'

'On the contrary,' Cass said between her teeth. 'I think a period spent as a hermit might be extremely salutory for you.'

He laughed out loud. 'Do they allow double beds into hermitages, Cass? I wouldn't go on any other terms. Being cut off from the world might have some attraction if you were with me.

'Please.' Her voice shook. 'Please—don't say such things. You must know I hate them…'

'I know,' he said. 'And I wonder why.' He paused and his voice gentled. 'Don't fight all the time, Cassie. Relax a little. Come and sit with me—finish the wine—watch some television, if that's what you want. You look tired, and stopping three lively kids from throwing themselves to the bears isn't my idea of a quiet time either, although I wouldn't have missed it.' He reached out a hand. 'Sit with me, Cass. Please.'

Inexplicably she was moving towards him. Felt her hand taken gently, herself led back into the living room, where the sofa unshrouded from its dust sheet waited in front of the glowing welcome of the fire. She sank down on to its cushions, looking almost with bewilderment at the wine glass he put into her hand. A faint alarm bell sounded in her head.

'I don't want any more to drink,' she began, and he put a silencing finger on her lips.

'You're fighting again, and tonight we've declared a truce,' he said softly. 'And I'm not filling you full of booze so that I can seduce you. It's not my style. I don't want our first time together blurred by alcohol, or anything else.'

She tried to summon the energy to tell him there would never be a first time for them, but all that emerged from her lips was a little sigh. She sipped her wine, and watched the steady flames of the gas fire, and felt almost imperceptibly, the tension seeping out of her.

She stole a sideways look at him, sitting at the other end of the sofa, very casual, very relaxed, the leather jerkin he'd been wearing discarded now, the sleeves of his shirt unbuttoned, and the cuffs turned back over tanned forearms. The neck of his shirt was undone too, revealing a brown muscular chest, faintly shadowed with hair.

Only the wealthy could afford a year-round tan, Cass thought idly, and, guiltily, caught herself wondering whether it extended to the whole of his body. There was no future in that kind of speculation, she thought, and was thankful he could have no idea what she'd been thinking.

Then she realised he was watching her too, and suddenly the long silence between them was loaded, but, in some strange way, with anticipation, not alarm.

He leaned towards her, taking the glass from her hand, and setting it down, before he drew her into his arms, so that she lay across him, cradled on his thighs. Then he began to kiss her, brushing her mouth with his in endless tiny caresses, that aroused but did not satisfy. His fingers slid through her hair touching her sensitive scalp with little stroking movements, then finding the vulnerable nape of her neck, and cupping it softly in the warmth of his hand as his mouth lingered on hers, letting the kiss deepen sweetly and enticingly. He was tormenting her again, she recognised dimly, tantalising her into opening her mouth, and offering him of her own free will the deeper intimacy he sought.

His other hand was at her waist, tracing its slenderness through the thick enveloping material of the brown dress, moving slowly and unhurriedly across the lower reaches of her rib cage, then down across the smooth flatness of her abdomen, and back to her waist. A gently exploring ellipse of a movement which never reached the surge of her small breasts, their nipples tautening in impatient desire against the constricting lace cups of her bra, or the sudden fierce tremulousness of her thighs.

Oh God, she'd never wanted anything in her life as much as she wanted his hands on her in desire. And he knew it. And that was why he was keeping her waiting this age, this lifetime, this eternity.

He was waiting for her surrender, and she gave it suddenly, urgently, her hands clinging to his shoulders, her mouth parting in swift intense demand. His response was immediate, and fiercely, passionately sensual, locking their mouths together in an erotic fusion totally outside any of her previous experience.

And at the same moment, his hands found her breasts, cupping them tenderly, intimately, as if the cumbersome folds of material between his warmth and hers did not exist.

As soon, she realised, they would not. One hand was already at her throat, releasing the first of the tiny buttons which fastened her dress from neck to waist.

She heard a moan rising in her throat, a moan of greed, of the necessity his kisses had forced into being.

But what echoed in her head was a scream, and then another. And another…

Rohan's hands had stilled. He lifted his mouth from hers, the hazel eyes staring down into hers in horrified enquiry.

She twisted off his lap, and ran to the bedroom where Jodie lay, her small body twisting restlessly, eyes tightly closed, as her mouth continued to utter those unearthly cries.

'Cass, what is it?' Rohan demanded tensely. He was beside her already bending towards Jodie, and she pulled at him frantically.

'No, don't touch her. She's having a nightmare. I know what to do. I can cope. Go— please.'

He went without protest, and Cass got on to the narrow bed, gathering her daughter in her arms, murmuring to her, stroking her hair, calling her the names of babyhood, until Jodie opened her eyes, shuddering, and said, 'Mummy?'

'I'm here, darling.'

'I thought—that man.' The small voice was woeful and terrified and Cass's heart contracted in pity.

'No, darling. There's no man. Everything's all right. It was just a nasty dream.'

'Just a dream,' Jodie repeated obediently. Within minutes she was asleep again, breathing softly and regularly.

Cass got up slowly and gingerly, fearful of disturbing her. In the early days, she'd stayed with Jodie all night sometimes, terrified of a recurrence, but gradually she'd realised that the nightmares, when they came, came singly.

Slowly, reluctantly, she went back to the living room, hoping against hope that Rohan might have taken her at her word and left altogether.

But he was there, waiting for her. He swung round impatiently as she entered.

He said without preamble, 'What brought that on?'

Cass began to shake up the crumpled cushions on the sofa. She didn't look at him. She said, 'At one time she used to have these nightmares quite often. Ever since her father died. She found his death—traumatic. I was told she would grow out of them, and she—seemed to be. She hasn't had one for ages. I'm afraid that—being round men for any length of time has tended to—trigger them in the past.'

'Then it's my fault?'

'It's no one's fault, although naturally, I try and protect her whenever possible,' She paused. 'It's all right, when it's just the two of us.'

'Is it now?' he came back at her grimly. 'So you're going to cut yourself off from normal human contact for the rest of your life to protect Jodie from nightmares? To hell with that. If Jodie needs help, then she must have it. But this isn't helping, Cass, although it may furnish you with a ready excuse for keeping the rest of the world out,' he added harshly.

She walked to the door, and opened it. 'Go,' she said. 'Just go. I don't need your help, Rohan, or your patronage, or your advice. It would be better for Jodie, better for both of us, if you just—kept away.'

'Is it that resemblance you once mentioned?' he asked, his eyes hard. 'Do I remind her of him, Cass? Is that the reason for tonight's trauma?'

Cass shook her head. 'I don't know. But you're not good for her, Rohan. And you're not good for me. I want my life back the way it was, and I'll have it, even if it means leaving the agency to get away from you. There must be some corner somewhere where your shadow can't touch me.'

In a shattering silence, he picked up his jerkin, shrugged it on, and walked past her, out of the door. Out of her life.

Tremblingly, she closed the door, locked it, put on the chain, then leaned against its thick panels, trying to steady her breathing.

Safe, she thought. Safe at last.

And shivered, because she now knew how tenuous and fragile her whole notion of security really was.

'The trouble is,' Serena Vance said plaintively, 'I'm simply not used to this kind of commercialism. I've been used to working with truly creative people.'

She smiled wistfully around, appealing to each of the men in turn, but letting her eyes slide dismissively over Cass, who sat at the corner of the table doodling absently in her notebook.

Roger cleared his throat. 'I'm sure we're all aware of your difficulties, Miss Vance, and we do sympathise. But the fact is the shooting of this
Moonglow
commercial should have been wrapped up yesterday. And the director does have other commitments, and our studio time is limited too.'

He didn't actually say, 'Time is money' but the words seemed to hung unspoken round the room.

Serena shrugged perfect shoulders, rising from the deeply shirred frill which adorned the low cut bodice of her midnight blue taffeta evening gown. 'Darlings, I'm so sorry,' she apologised charmingly. 'But I'm sure, with a few adjustments, the script could work quite well.'

Cass said quietly, 'A number of changes have been made already, Miss Vance. It's difficult to see what other areas we can move into without getting right away from the product image we're trying to project.'

Serena shuddered elaborately. 'All that terrible jargon, Ms Linton. Is it any wonder we're having problems. We simply don't speak the same language.'

Cass smiled faintly. 'And yet the
Sundance
ad went quite smoothly,' she pointed out.

There was an electric silence. The shooting for the commercial had gone through without a hitch, because at that time Serena had not been aware that Cass was largely responsible for the script, and there wasn't a soul in the room unaware of the fact, including Serena herself.