had entered the stage wearing the glittering gold gown that made her hair look like flame as it swung straight down her back, had gone through the first two bouncy numbers before the steady consistency of that green gaze prickled an awareness down her spine, until she began to search for the only man who had ever been able to physically reach out and touch her across a room.
She had faltered slightly in the middle of a song as she finally found him seated alone at that table at the back of the room. He had changed little, perhaps a little more grey sprinkled among the dark hair, a few more lines on his handsome face, but otherwise he was still the Zack Buchanan she had fallen in love with five years ago.
Their meeting then had been very much the same as now, only that time Zack had been on a cruise with Michael, Cynara one of the people hired for the entertainment for the season of cruises. He had attended one of her shows, his penetrating gaze drawing her to him, and when he had sent her a message by one of the staff to join him after the show for a drink she had eagerly accepted. He hadn’t seemed at all like the other romeos she had encountered so far on this season of cruises, seemed reserved, withdrawn. Besides, what could he do to her on a crowded cruise-ship?
He had stood up as she joined him, her face bare of stage make-up, the cream Victorian-style high-necked lace dress a perfect foil for her long gleaming hair.
‘You’re younger than I realised.’ He had frowned, obviously in his early to mid-thirties.
‘Does it matter?’ Her eyes had glowed with the anticipation of being with this handsome man.
He had shrugged. ‘I’m not sure,’ he had admitted ruefully. ‘Maybe I should tell you from the beginning that my wife recently left me, I’m on board with my very confused and hurt five-year-old son and his nanny, and I’m only interested in a transient relationship at best.’
‘Whew!’ She had laughed self-consciously. ‘That’s honesty for you!’
‘Yes.’ He had sighed.
Cynara had sat forward to cover his hand with hers, a long hand, strength in the lean fingers, his whole body full of ripcord muscle that couldn’t be hidden by the elegant black evening suit. His face was startlingly attractive rather than strictly handsome, his eyes deeply green, his nose long and straight, his mouth a thin line, his jaw square and firm, power etched into every pore. And Cynara knew with shocking clarity that she wanted him!
‘Maybe we could start off as friends,’ she had suggested in her husky voice, a natural huskiness that added such quality to her voice when she sang. ‘And see what happens.’
What had happened was that she had spent every evening after her show with him, and if she didn’t happen to be working in the evening then she had dinner with him too. The days spent in rehearsals, or sunning herself on deck, understanding Zack’s need to establish a relationship with his son, the self-possessed little boy she saw him with on deck very much in need of his father’s love and reassurance.
By the last night of the cruise Cynara knew that she was in love with him, that the thought of parting from Zack in the morning was a depressing one. He had respected her decision that they be friends, too much so in some ways, his good-night kisses too fleeting to be appreciated, their times on the dance floor the only real occasions when she was in his arms. But that last night she had been determined they shouldn’t part so casually. And Zack had seemed to feel the same way, moulding her body to his as they danced, her slender frame dwarfed by his six feet plus. It added to the delusion that she was a child, and that wasn’t how she wanted him to think of her. Her suggestion of a walk in the moonlight had been made with only one idea in mind, to be in his arms, really be in his arms.
It was a cool evening as they approached England, Cynara’s wrap not enough to ward off the chilling wind.
Zack had felt her shiver, his arm about her waist. ‘I’d invite you back to my suite for a nightcap,’ he had told her huskily, ‘but we might disturb Michael or Ruth.’
She knew Ruth was Michael’s nanny, had seen the plump middle-aged woman at the pool with them. But it was the first indication Zack had given that he wanted to be completely alone with her, and she didn’t intend to let it pass them by. ‘My room is small,’ she had told him. ‘But we wouldn’t be disturbed there.’
Zack had looked at her searchingly for several minutes, and whatever he had seen in her candid brown eyes had made him nod his agreement, allowing her to take him by the hand and lead the way to her room.
She had been a bit cramped for space with all her stage costumes as well as her normal clothes, and yet she had made the room comfortable, personalised, and had sensed Zack’s approval as he turned back to her after looking around the room, chuckling as something behind her had caught his attention.
He had walked across the room to pick up the battered doll that sat on her dressing-table. ‘Now I know how young you are,’ he had mocked.
‘What you see here is all I have,’ she had told him quietly. ‘I have no permanent home, my venues are too varied for that, and so my home travels with me, such as it is. The doll is one that my mother gave me when I was a child.’ She had told him of her parents death when she was young, of being brought up in an orphanage, knew of his own privileged background, silently pleading for him to understand the way she clung to that tattered doll.
‘I’m sorry, Cynara.’ He had put the doll down, holding out his arms to her, resting his head on top of hers when she flew into them. ‘I’m really not worried about a nightcap.’ He had moved back to look at her with darkened green eyes. ‘Are you?’
She had known what he had really been asking, and she had answered unhesitantly, ‘No.’ Her voice had been a throaty invitation.
The gentle kisses she had received from him the last week hadn’t prepared her for the raw passion of his devouring mouth, no preliminary searching or questioning, just fiery desire as his tongue had probed the edge of her mouth, the gentle parting of her lips surrender enough as he had plundered the moist warmth within, his thighs leaping with the same need.
She had wanted to touch the hard planes of his body that she had only ever seen when he lazed by the pool after a swim, had helped him take off his clothes, her own dress a diaphanous heap on the carpeted floor, her only clothing a pair of flesh-coloured briefs that rested low down on her hips.
Zack had been a silent lover, telling her with his lips and hands how beautiful he had found her, their lovemaking caresses made as if by instinct, driving them quickly to the peak of need. When Zack had joined his body with hers she had felt complete for the first time in her life, knew she had found the man she loved, had climbed the pinnacle of desire at his side, his equal, tumbling over the edge of trembling ecstasy together.
She had lain in his arms on the narrow bed afterwards, wondering if he were disappointed that he wasn’t her first lover, although he had known of her engagement to Paul, of her intimacy with him, before their engagement ended. She seemed to have told Zack so much about herself in the last week. It hadn’t been a confidence he had reciprocated to the same degree, although she knew he regretted the end of his marriage, still cared for his wife deeply, loved his son very much. She had also come to realise the extreme wealth that gave him his supreme self-confidence, the Buchanan business empire taking up much of his time. And she understood his need for only a transient relationship, knew that they had had fun together this last week, but that it had been a time out of time, that neither of them could ever fit into the other’s world, knowing that Zack would never want to fit into hers.
He had left her reluctantly in the
