you knew me in another life?” Her voice dropped low.
Another trick? Her voice was magic, the little foreign accent, the wide range of intonations, the pitch. That was the trouble with powerful attraction. The alarming way it took control.
“Strangely enough, I believe it.” He cupped the globe of her small breast in his hand. Then with a muffled exclamation he bent his head and crushed her captive silken mouth….
Sparks lit into a conflagration. Sensation was boundless; a wild clamouring in the blood that beat up waves of heat. It was as if every single light, every appliance in the apartment were turned on and burning, sucking in all the air. She gave a little moan, thinking nothing could ever be the same again. Her breasts were throbbing under his urgent caressing hands, the nipples gone cherry-hard when she felt her flesh were actually dissolving …
If the ringing phone had not penetrated the thickly meshed web they were caught into, he didn’t know what would have happened. One minute they were mindlessly devouring each other, the next they were forced to break apart, breathless and trembling, trying to make the adjustment to the real world.
“That’s the phone,” she said, now humiliated by her headlong response to him.
He laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of it. “Don’t answer it.”
“I should.” She shook her head, trying to clear it. Her legs were so weak it was an effort to reach the kitchen. When she picked up the receiver, she heard a woman’s familiar voice, speaking with urgency.
“Sonya, it’s Rowena. Would David be with you? I’ve had a call from the hospital. Marcus has been admitted.”
“Then you know he had a sick turn, Lady Palmerston,” Sonya said. “He gave us such a fright. I’ll put David on. He brought me home.”
“Thank you, dear.”
She held out the phone to David. He took it, catching her around the waist and locking her into his grip. She freed herself none the less, moving away to allow him to speak in private. For years she had known the desperation of flight. Of always being on the run from those who would do her harm. She had never known the desperation of passion. He had felt it as much as she.
It was quiet on the balcony. She had filled it with a luxuriant array of plants in large pots; flowering baskets she had attached to the brick wall. She stood in the night air, tears gathering in her eyes. She had long regarded crying as an intolerable indulgence. It had never helped her. Now she found herself on the verge of tears. For years she had told herself she wasn’t scared of anything. But she was scared. She was scared of the depth of feeling she had for David Wainwright. She knew nothing would come of the violent attraction they felt for each other. It could only end badly. She was very worried about Marcus as well. Worried about what she would have to tell him. But when? For ghastly moments earlier that night she’d thought Marcus was about to suffer a heart attack. As it was, they wouldn’t know the results of his tests for days.
You’re in over your head, girl.
She had to give Marcus his ring back. There was faint conciliation in the thought Marcus should not have taken her acceptance as a given. But then the rich were different from everyone else. She put up a hand to pull the pins from her coiled hair. That done, she pressed her hands to her face. Sometimes life was merciless. She didn’t love Marcus. Not in any romantic way. She did love David. In every way possible. Only it was Marcus who had given her the ring. Marcus who wanted to marry her. David didn’t. He wanted nothing from her. But sex.
She still had her eyes closed when David came behind her, pulling her hands from her face. “You’re crying.” He flicked a salty tear off her cheek with his finger, placing it on his tongue. The cloud of erotica surrounding them was dense.
“It isn’t with happiness,” she said, turning to confront him. “What are we doing, David? I can see no way out of this short of disappearing.”
“Isn’t that what you’ve done before?”
His glittering eyes and his tone made her nerves jangle. “God, I hate you,” she muttered.
“Just like I hate you,” he returned in an openly self-mocking voice. “Isn’t it better to hate me than love me if you’re going to marry Marcus?”
“That will be my decision.” Let him believe what he wanted to believe. It was a certain protection. “What is love really?” she asked.
He laughed briefly. “I have to let that one go at the moment, Sonya. But I can tell you a hell of a lot about wanting a woman.”
“Marcus wants me but his kind of love I can’t return,” she said, torn by pity and sadness.
“Then you have to tell him.”
His voice cut like a lash. “You want I should do it in the morning?” she challenged with a return of spirit. “Then you could all breathe a great sigh of relief. You don’t fool me, David. It’s not the time to upset Marcus. You know that as well as I do.”
The truth of it made him angry. Yet desire for her was becoming something ungovernable. How could he be so uncaring of his uncle? “I have to go, Sonya,” he rasped. “In another minute I’ll pick you up and take you to bed.”
“What, and betray Marcus?”
She threw up her head in a way now familiar to him. “That’s why I’m going,” he bit off. “I’m not proof against your witchcraft.”
“So go, then.” A soft poignancy replaced the anger in her voice. “How will it end, David?”
Abruptly the wild clamour that was in him turned to an even odder tenderness. He found himself turning back to cup her face in his hands. “I can’t think about it right now, Sonya. I truly can’t. We have to find out what’s going on with Marcus.”
“He was so excited! It was a flag signalling trouble.”
She was the very image of lamentation. It caused his anger to flash back. “Has Marcus ever kissed you? I mean, really kissed you?” There was conflict here. The disloyalty associated with having to ask; the fear of how he would handle it if the answer was above and beyond yes.
She threw up her head. He would never give his trust. “This love affair is in Marcus’s head. His life has been so lonely, for a woman, I mean. I know you all love him. It’s extraordinary when you think about it. A kiss on the cheek, dinner, a few outings, one day on his yacht, and suddenly he can’t part with me.”
Holt forced his hands to drop to his sides. “Look at you! Why would he?” he asked harshly. “That’s what falling in love is all about, Sonya.” He moved with purpose to the door. He had to get away from her fast. Hunger for her was at cyclone-force, a headwind that could drive him back to her.
“I am not going to marry Marcus,” she called after him.
“You need to marry someone.” His retort was delivered with quick fire. “It doesn’t do for a woman like you not to be safely contained.”
They learned early the next morning Marcus had suffered a heart attack. He would be released in a few days, allowing time for the battery of tests. A top cardiac
