The drive to back to the office was almost totally silent. It was still raining and on-coming headlights were refracted into iridescent sparkles on the wet edges of the windscreen. Combined with the ghostly green glow cast by the instrument panel, the illumination threw David’s face into sharply contrasting shadows and plains. He was concentrating on driving, the wet roads taking all his attention.
It left Anastasia free to think and to watch him covertly.
He had swapped his suit jacket for the black leather one he had been wearing on the boat but left the ruined shirt on. She could see its open edges lying against the loose folds of the jacket, just beneath the metal teeth of the zipper. His sitting posture made the leather billow out and beneath was the pale tan of his chest.
The combination of reminders of two occasions where her sensual nature had reigned dominant for a while made her uncomfortable. So much for her promise to apply self-discipline to her life and ward off the threat.
“Do you always wear your hair up and business suits?” David asked suddenly, startling her.
“Nearly always.”
“It doesn’t suit you.”
She felt herself bridling. “It suits my professional image,” she said. “Or have you forgotten that I’m a partner in the business?”
“No. And I’m not disputing that the iron maiden image is sometimes necessary when dealing with men in a business capacity. But if you went with your personality sometimes and dressed accordingly, you might find the reactions around you interesting.”
“And probably unprofitable,” she shot back.
“I don’t know about that…” He fell silent for a moment, while he negotiated an intersection. “I can see you in a soft white silk shirt and a slim black skirt, high black shoes, to show off your legs, your hair loose and with red, red lipstick. That would make them sit up.”
“I’d never be taken seriously.”
“Why not? You don’t have to prove your reputation any more—that’s rock solid.”
“I couldn’t.”
He turned the corner into the driveway that led into the underground car park under her office block and followed her instructions, steering the BMW up alongside her convertible. “Bright red,” he commented, looking the car over. “Appropriate.”
She picked up her handbag from the floor at her feet and grasped the door handle. “Thank you for the ride,” she said.
He turned the engine off and swivelled to face her. The corkscrew motion forced the jacket and shirt to gape wide open and she found her gaze caught by the expanse of skin displayed. The muscles of his chest and shoulders were contoured with the clarity one expected of athletes, showing the anatomy of his tendons and bones. The skin was a smooth tanned coffee cream, lightly covered in fine dark body hair, made darker by the car park lights filtering through the band of darkened glass at the top of the windscreen. His nipples grew tight and hard as she watched and she looked up at his face, knowing her eyes had widened with shock at the power her look had on him.
“The expression in your eyes…” His voice was gravelly, harsh.
She closed them, schooling her face into neutrality.
“That dress you were wearing that night on the river…have you ever worn it for Hugh, Anna?”
She opened her eyes again. “No. Never.” She had left it lying in the corner of the room. The cleaner would have picked it up. She didn’t want to know what had become of it.
He looked out over the hand that rested on the steering wheel for a moment. “No one but me, then,” he murmured.
“I have to go,” she said, opening the door.
He nodded. “Yes, it’s late. And my resistance is low. Go straight to bed when you get home, Anastasia.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you look like a woman who wants desperately to be kissed and thoroughly at that. And I know that Hugh often stays at Numeralla. So go to bed unless you want to put Hugh through a trial by fire.”
Anastasia paused to study her mother’s portrait on her way down to breakfast the next morning. She noticed the smile and the languid pose that had created a riot when first seen.
Did you really have a torrid affair with the artist, Mother? Have I inherited your passionate nature along with your looks? Is that why I am in the mess I’m in now?
Anastasia tried to read the expression in her mother’s eyes. But she was as inscrutable, as mysterious, as always.
Anastasia smiled at her own foolishness and went in search of coffee.
She was munching on toast and drinking her third cup of coffee when Hugh appeared in the kitchen, followed closely by Aunt Benitta.
Hugh kissed her temple. “Morning, sweetheart.”
“Good morning,” she murmured, straightening up from her slouch at the table. “Morning, Aunt Benitta.”
The tiny, energetic lady waved a hand at them both. “Point me toward the coffee,” she said.
“I’ll get you one, Benitta,” Hugh said. “You sit down.” He moved over to the stove. “Late night, Anna?”
Anastasia nodded. “Around midnight,” she said. “I was at the office late.”
“Yes, so David said.”
She felt her heart give an extra beat and she said cautiously, “David? You’ve spoken to him?”
“This morning. I’ve been up for a couple of hours already. Your father wanted a report on last night’s meeting first thing this morning. You’re the only one in a bathrobe, you know.”
She closed the collar of her peignoir more firmly about her throat, belatedly noticing that Hugh was fully dressed and so was Benitta. She glanced at her aunt. Benitta was watching her curiously.
“David came up to the office last night,” Anastasia said.
“Obviously,” Benitta said, with a smile.
Hugh brought two cups of coffee over to the table and placed one in front of Benitta and sat down on Anastasia’s right. “He said I was working you too hard. He phoned to invite us over to his place for lunch today. I accepted but we can always call back if that’s a problem for you, Anastasia.”
She bit her lip. What could she say? Hugh knew she tended to laze around on Saturdays and if she did have an engagement, he probably would have been invited too. “That sounds nice,” she said at last. “We did say we should all get together. And last night I was too tired to concentrate on chit chat.”
Hugh nodded. “That’s what David said.”
“David is your friend who’s going to be your best man, isn’t he, Hugh?” Benitta asked.
“That’s right.” He sipped his coffee.
Anastasia looked at him. Whatever David had said had obviously registered as completely innocent with Hugh. David appeared to have kept to the truth as much as possible, as she herself had instinctively done. Is that what he had meant by not being underhanded? If so, he was playing a dangerous game. She was not sure she would be willing to play along. It may not be sneaking behind Hugh’s back but it was ethically equivalent to it.
Hugh’s next statement proved her suspicions were way off target. He chuckled softly. “You’ve certainly made an impression on David, Anastasia. He told me he’s going to try to steal you away from me.”
She managed to keep her face under moderate control, while she clawed together her scattered wits. “He said that?” she asked, her tone bewildered. Some of her dismay showed but both Benitta and Hugh appeared to accept it as a perfectly normal reaction.
Hugh’s smile broadened. “Almost word for word.”
“It doesn’t seem to worry you,” she said carefully.
He shook his head. “I’ve known David nearly twenty-five years. He always comes out with melodramatic statements like that. He does it to shock people, to gauge their reactions, which tells him a lot about their character. The statement itself is usually pretty meaningless—or at best a wild exaggeration. So I took it as a compliment to you.”
Aunt Benitta cocked her head on one side. “And what did your reaction tell him, Hugh?”
“I didn’t react. I’m used to it.”
“You didn’t answer at all?” Anastasia asked, knowing that silence as a reply would have told David a great deal more than Hugh suspected.
Hugh shrugged and said with a note of irritation, “I don’t remember. It really wasn’t an issue. I think I laughed.”
She bit her lip. She couldn’t ask Hugh any more questions about it for fear of making him suspicious. She had to drop the subject—although what she really wanted to do was cross-examine him on every nuance and tone David had used when pronouncing such an extraordinary intention. For she knew that on this occasion David had not been exaggerating or bluffing. He had stated the simple truth.
Hugh was far too trusting of her and of his best friend, to see it.
She pushed her toast and coffee cup away. The coffee tasted like sludge and the toast had grown cold.
“So lunch is on, then?” Hugh asked.
“I guess so,” she said reluctantly. “Although I was hoping to have a quiet day today. It’s been a long week.”
“I know. What can I say? David won’t be here for much longer. He’s flying back out to China in three weeks.”
She felt a tiny seed of hope. “Three weeks?” If it were true, she only had to hold David at arm’s length for three more weeks and then it would be all over. She would be safe.
“More or less. Although from what David was saying this morning, there’s always the possibility that he may have to drop everything and return at a moment’s notice. The Shanghai branch is at a vulnerable stage just now.”
“I see.” Better and better, she thought. She stood and returned her dishes to the draining board. “What time are we leaving for lunch, then?”
“Will eleven suit you?”
She nodded and turned to face him. “I’ll be ready.”
Hugh smiled. “Thank you, Anastasia. It means a lot to me.”
It would mean more to David. To him it would mean one little victory. She smiled back at Hugh. “I know it’s important to you. He’s your friend. You want us to get to know each other. You would like us to be friends.”
“Very close friends,” Hugh added. “I don’t want you to miss the chance of having one of the finest men I know as a friend and ally.”
She kept her smile firmly fixed in place, while inside her, the acrid tang of guilt curdled her breakfast and cramped her stomach. She fought the feeling off with a reaffirmation of the promise she had made. She was going to marry Hugh. In three weeks or less, David would be gone, out of her life and she wouldn’t have to deal with the treacherous reaction of her body to his presence, or the guilt that erupted every time Hugh extolled his virtues.
Just three more weeks, Anastasia kept repeating to herself, as she dressed for lunch. She could discipline herself for three more weeks. She could withstand anything for three weeks, knowing there was an end in sight.
Deliberately, she chose one of her formal business suits and pinned her hair up into a tight, smooth French pleat. She selected flat, plain shoes to complete the outfit. David could have his little victory but she would minimize his enjoyment of it.
She glanced at her mother’s portrait on the way downstairs to the entrance hall where Hugh was waiting for her, then looked away. She was not like her mother. She had grown past that. She would never hurt Hugh the way her mother had hurt her father. It could never happen if she married Hugh, for he was like water to her fiery nature—he would ensure she remained doused and controlled.
By the time they arrived at David’s house, her nerves were stretched taut. The trip from Numeralla to Seattle had been mostly silent, which didn’t help distract her from contemplating the approaching meeting. The few words they had exchanged had been short and she had been terse because of her distraction.
Hugh pulled up outside the front of the house and turned to her. “Is something wrong, Anna? You’re very distant today.”
She looked down at her lap. What could she say? There were so many possible answers. She settled for the truth—as much of it as she could give him, anyway. “I know David is your very good friend, Hugh but I think…maybe…I don’t like him very much. I don’t trust him.”
Hugh rested his key ring over his forefinger and rocked it gently, thinking. “Well, it’s up to you to form your own opinion about him, of course,” he said. “But I think you’re wrong.” He smiled at her. “And if you give him some time and opportunities, he’ll be able to show you how wrong you are.” He patted her shoulder. “Let’s go in. He will have heard the car.”
She gave a sigh as she got out of the car. Hugh’s response didn’t make it any easier for her. His utter faith in David’s good character was virtually pushing her into the other man’s arms.
David was waiting at the front door. He had turned to rest one shoulder against the closed half of the heavy mahogany door, his arms crossed, while he watched them. He was wearing a white shirt and faded blue jeans which tightly moulded his powerful thigh muscles and emphasized the length of his long legs.
She felt overdressed but was pleased with her strategy when she saw David’s gaze flick over her clothing and hair, before he turned to Hugh to greet him.
He drew them into an enticingly cozy room filled with comfortable, overstuffed furniture, thick warm rugs underfoot and a large fire blazing in a correspondingly large fireplace. The lighting was dim, the curtains shut tight against the gray weather. Anastasia found herself drawn to the fireplace, to watch the flames dance and to warm her hands.
“Sit down, both of you. Relax. Let your hair down,” David said from behind her. “Well, figuratively, in your case, Hugh. But Anastasia’s welcome to let her hair down literally, if she wants.”
She kept her back to them and remained silent. He hadn’t addressed her directly and she wasn’t going to make his task any easier by meeting him half way.
“This looks like you’ve set up one of your marathon gourmet picnics, David. Just like the old days.”
“Something like that.” His voice was close behind her now. She felt his hands on her shoulder. “Let me take your coat,” he said, his voice dropping to a tone that resonated in her mind. She let him slide the heavy overcoat off her shoulders.
“You may as well take your jacket off too. I’ve made it very warm in here so we can relax properly. And we’ll be lounging around too.”
She turned to look at him then. “I’m fine,” she told him.
Hugh was already sitting, reclined back into the corner of one of the two sofas that formed a right angle bracketing a large low coffee table. “Give him your jacket, Anna. You’ll just end up crumpling it, otherwise.”
She looked at him, a little surprised. It was unlike Hugh to deliberately flout formality. Wordlessly she took off her jacket and handed it to David.
He smiled, a warm friendly expression that lit up his eyes. “Relax. I won’t eat you. Contrary to whatever horror stories Hugh has told you about me, I only practice cannibalism during the full moon.” He crossed the room to the door. “Sit. I’ll hang these up and get lunch going.”
Hugh patted the sofa as he left the room. “Come and sit down, Anastasia. You’re in for a treat, believe me.”
Hugh was right.
David set up a hedonist’s delight. He loaded a varied and entrancing selection of music and kept the fire stoked. The first treat for their taste buds was a chilled, fruity white wine, which Anastasia and Hugh sipped while David spread a feast out upon the coffee table. Oysters, both smoked and au natural, prosciutto and home-preserved black olives. A mound of the best Russian caviar and cracked pepper biscuits to scoop it up with. Leg ham sliced so thinly Anastasia could see the silhouette of her fingers through it. Thick crusty rolls of fluffy white bread and a cream cheese to spread upon it, or curls of yellow butter. A crisp, cold salad. Freshly cooked and cooled shrimp, so large each single shrimp was a handful, to dip into their own tangy sauce. Slices of mango and various melons, dusted with dill and with a piquant dressing drizzled over. And always a cold glass of white wine to wash each delightful mouthful down with.
Anastasia felt the selection of food was somehow highly suggestive. All of it was best eaten with their fingers and they sat on large floor cushions around the coffee table, with oversized napkins and indulged themselves with whatever took their fancy. It was reminiscent of Roman feasts and the parallel constantly reminded her of other activities the Romans would mix with their feasts. The overtone to the meal kept her alert to all the various shadings of the conversation and she found herself fascinated by the interplay between the three of them.
Hugh was more relaxed than Anastasia could ever recall. He happily sat cross-legged on his cushion, his jacket off, sleeves rolled up, talking endlessly and happily about subjects he rarely touched on, never once lingering on discussions about his work.
David was the foil. He sat with one knee bent, his arm resting on it and ate with one hand. He contributed just enough to the conversation to keep it going, piloting it through changes of direction.
And step by step Anastasia was enticed into relaxing, letting down her guard and finally, to lowering the barrier of discipline she had never voluntarily lowered for anyone.
A little over three hours later, she sat on her huge floor cushion next to the glowing fire, her legs curled up beneath her, her shoes off. At some time or another she had unbuttoned a couple of buttons on her shirt, for air. Her tall crystal wine glass sat next to her, on the edge of the bricks making up the fireplace. The glass was filled with a cabernet and warmed gently in the radiance from the coals of the fire.
“Dessert,” David announced.
“I never eat dessert,” she declared.
“You’ll eat mine,” David replied, with complete assurance. “You won’t be able to help yourself.”
“I won’t?” She lifted one arched brow. It was a challenge.
He smiled. “I prepared what I think is your favourite dessert—one that you’ll have trouble not eating. Of course, I already know what Hugh’s is. He gets his too.” He stood and walked out.
She looked at Hugh. “Cheesecake?”
“I told you he knows me well,” Hugh said with a contented grin.
David reappeared with two dishes in his hands. One he handed to Hugh.
“Where’s yours?” Hugh asked.
“Host’s privilege. I get to watch you enjoying yours.” He walked over to the fireplace and crouched down in front of her. He held out the dish in his hands. “Chocolate Bavarian—rich, light and it melts in your mouth. I speak from experience.” His eyes sparkled with a devilish mischief. “Shall I take it away?”
She swallowed as her mouth suddenly watered at the thought of eating it. Until now she hadn’t known what her favourite dessert was. This was exactly what she wanted to finish the perfect meal.
“Okay,” David said, standing up. “Back to the kitchen, then.”
“No! I’ll eat it,” Anastasia said, holding out her hand.
He grinned and placed the bowl into her hands. “Enjoy,” he told her and returned to his seat.
It was wonderful. Each mouthful slid down her throat, a sumptuous delight. She finished the bowl and put it aside, replete and utterly satisfied.
The conversation had lapsed for a moment, as it had done occasionally throughout the meal and no one felt the need to fill the silence. So it took a moment for her to look around and discover that both men were watching her.
“What is it?”
David lifted his hand away from his chin, where he had been resting it and said, “You look like the cat that ate the cream.”
Hugh nodded.
She looked away.
“Why don’t you take your hair down?” David asked.
Why not? Anastasia asked herself. She had wanted to for a while now, to remove the last restrictions to letting her physically relax.
Hugh picked up the threads of the conversation again. “Angelique and Pierre Therion’s annual Ball is on in three weeks. Are you going to come this year, David? I was talking to Pierre last week and he knows you’re in town again…”
After a moment, Anastasia lifted up her arms and began sliding the hairpins out of her hair, disentangling the riotous locks and letting them fall.
David’s response to Hugh was monosyllabic.
Anastasia looked around at him. He was watching her. She rolled her head back and gently shook it to let her hair fall properly, running her fingers through it. Deep within David’s eyes she saw a light flare, as they dilated. Their rain-washed gray color darkened.
She felt her breath catch in her throat. David hadn’t moved a muscle but she saw the change in him. His attention had narrowed down to focus solely on her and she could feel a powerful wave of want radiating from him, reaching out to draw her nearer. Her skin warmed, then glowed, the warmth of the fire on her flank diminished under the rush of sensuality. Her lips parted a little, so she could draw breath and the air she breathed tasted thick and heavy with the charge flowing between them.
It was then that she realized David had selected their meal with her in mind, planning a seduction of the senses rather than a physical plundering. And he had played her tastes and emotions so skilfully she had succumbed completely to the spell. He had reduced her to a dishevelled wanton, without a single touch.
“Any advice, David?”
David looked away from her and the spell’s mesmerizing quality was broken. She dropped her gaze to her lap, breathing fast, restoring her senses to order.
“Sorry, Hugh. What did you say?” David replied. “I was miles away.”
“And here I was, handing out a compliment,” Hugh complained but his tone said he wasn’t upset. “I was saying this would have to be the best lazy weekend lunch you’ve ever put on. You’ve outdone yourself, my friend.”
“And the advice?” David prompted.
“I think it only fair that the host who provides the hangover should also provide the cure. What would you suggest?”
“Greta Garbo used to swim naked, morning, noon and night, summer and winter alike, in her neighbours’ swimming pools. That’s supposed to be a quick fix.”
Anastasia looked up to see if David was looking at her as he spoke. It was just the sort of comment she thought he would direct toward her but he was facing Hugh and his expression did not change at all.
Was this the blatant style of tactic David promised? She pondered the question as she relaxed again and returned to staring into the fire. She wasn’t interested in following the conversation between the two men. She’d rather follow her thoughts and feelings and wonder what David was up to. She knew without having to look around and confirm her guess that David was watching her every move and probably following her every thought.
He had produced this mood in her and she wasn’t sure what his payoff was. Or was it simply satisfaction that he could successfully orchestrate her emotions?
She knew she had to build better defences against him, or her battle would be lost before it had fully begun.
She sipped her wine and rolled her head slowly around, stretching her neck muscles. The fire crackled and popped cosily next to her.
Tomorrow. She’d start tomorrow.