Passionate Awakening Page 11

  But when she had left Willa to make her own life she had vowed that never again would she be one of those called upon to spend long wearying hours flattering the star's ego. She wasn't about to go back on that vow now. She would do all she could to help but she wouldn't employ the worthless tactics of flattery.

  'You don't care, do you? Willa said spikily when Annie made no reply but calmly helped herself to a slice of Nora's chocolate cake. 'You just don't understand, but then you never did. I don't know how to tell you, but there's more—'

  'There always is, isn't there?' Annie interrupted firmly. Another good hour's worth, at least! And it was time she directed a few constructive home-truths towards her mother. Flattery, even if it were sincerely meant, would not help Willa out of the depression which was, Annie hazarded, more genuine than any of those she'd claimed to suffer over the years.

  Leaning back in her chair, she said levelly, 'You certainly will be finished if you go on the way you are now. But if that's what you want, then go ahead—shut yourself in here, starve and neglect yourself. That way it won't be long before you've completely lost your looks and the only parts you'll be offered—that's if you're in any state to take them—will be tottery old grandmothers!'

  'Bitch!' The empty water glass from the bedside table missed its mark, smashing against the wall several feet away from Annie's head.

  Annie swallowed a smile of relief. Willa was back on form! It was the first positive response her mother had made since she had entered this room. And although Annie hated hurting her she knew that Willa had benefited more from those few plain words than she would have done from any amount of pleading or flattery. And, much as she loathed having to do it, she pressed on.

  'I don't think the defection of a self-seeking pretty boy is worth the destruction of a legend, do you? But if you think it is,' she continued remorselessly, hating what she was doing yet seeing no other way to shock Willa out of this self-destructive mood, 'then go on exactly as you are. It shouldn't take too much longer to make the damage irreversible. But if you've got half the sense you were born with you'll begin picking up the pieces, starting now. You're no longer young enough to indulge in this kind of tantrum and emerge physically unscathed.'

  Annie disregarded the blackly hostile expression of the woman in the bed and began methodically to tidy the room, folding the fallen bed-hangings, picking up the scattered debris of pots and jars, flinging one window open to let in the sweet fresh air. And all the time her heart was aching for the silent woman crouching in the big bed. For all she knew she might have made matters worse, but she had had to try.

  Willa had been a poor parent by any standards, but she was Annie's own flesh and blood and she couldn't walk out on her now. Besides, she thought with a trace of defiance that had her lifting her chin, she loved her, metaphorical warts and all!

  But her heart was in her mouth as she advised, 'If you put your mind to it you can come out of this room looking a million dollars, and in a few days' time you can throw one of those glitzy parties you're so good at and let everyone know that the great Willa Kennedy doesn't go to pieces because a silly boy got ideas way above his station.'

  Trying to disguise the tremor in her hands, she emptied the cup of cooling tea, poured a fresh one and put it into her mother's hands.

  'Drink this for a start. I'll go and see what's keeping Nora. She was bringing something to tempt your appetite.'

  Outside in the corridor she leaned weakly against the closed door. Willa hadn't uttered a word since she'd called her a bitch and hurled the water glass.

  She'd just lain there, her puffy eyes sullen, listening to the kind of things that no one, but no one, had ever dared to say to her before.

  But at least she'd accepted the cup of tea. That hadn't been hurled at the wall! Annie hoped that was a good omen.

  'How was she?'

  Annie hadn't heard Nora's approach and she started visibly, a slender hand flying to her throat.

  'I—Heavens, you made me jump!'

  'That bad, was it?' Nora remarked drily. 'Was she pleased to see you?'

  'Not that you'd notice,' Annie responded ruefully, pushing herself away from the door. 'I told her a few home-truths, tidied up a little, and—'

  'Bully for you!' Nora's eyes widened in grudging respect. 'She's made that lovely room into a pigsty and yelled blue murder if I tried to put it right. Think she'll eat this?'

  Annie considered the dish Nora held. Succulent fresh prawns lay on a bed of crisp lettuce, and were garnished with tiny cubes of tomato and cucumber, lightly coated with a delicate dressing and accompanied by very thin slices of brown bread and butter. It looked delicious enough to tempt anyone, but…

  'Goodness knows. But if she does eat it we'll know the battle's won. Good luck!'

  Muttering darkly, Nora tapped on the bedroom door and pushed it open. Annie, wandering downstairs to get a much-needed breath of fresh air, hoped that all would go well. But beneath her very real concern for her mother her emotions were taking on a strong life of their own. They had nothing at all to do with Willa and everything to do with Luke.

  For the first time in her life she had actually pitied Willa, and out of that pity had sprung understanding. Not of Willa, but of herself. Ever since she could remember—apart from that brief and traumatic affair with Hernando—she had been determined not to emulate her mother's lifestyle, her giddy affairs, her numerous marriages, her perpetual pursuit of the illusion of love.

  But what if love wasn't an illusion? What if love, true love, could be real and earthy, solid and sound?

  Willa had never been able to settle for one man, but had been too busy searching for a perfection that didn't exist, fated by some emotional flaw that refused to allow her to accept that life, even love, could not forever be perfect, a high romance. No man or woman was ever perfect, and real love, devoid of immature illusions, gladly adored the loved one's good points while learning to accept the not so good.

  Had she, she wondered restlessly, been wrong to run from Luke? The astonishingly strong sexual chemistry between them could so easily have turned to love, on her part, at least.

  Restlessly, she moved through the hours of the lazy afternoon, Luke walking through her mind. She wouldn't have believed it possible to miss someone so much. Her whole body ached for him. She felt sick and tearful.

  She was on the point of phoning The Laurels in the vain hope that he might still be there when she admonished herself to grow up. All he wanted from her was a short-lived affair, a glorious but fleeting gratification of the senses. And so, no matter how her body responded to his, she couldn't go along with that. She couldn't be stupid enough to lay herself open to that kind of heartbreak.

  She had done the only sensible thing. She had put distance between herself and the overwhelming temptation he offered. So why—away from his beguiling eyes, his magic touch—was she totally unable to put him out of her mind?

  CHAPTER NINE

  'She's doing wonderfully well, isn't she?' There was an almost maternal pride in Nora's voice as she carried the lunch tray in from the patio. 'And you can take most of the credit for that. I can usually handle her but I was out of my depth this time.'

  'Nonsense,' Annie denied listlessly. 'Sooner or later she would have realised what a fool she was making of herself. Now, if you're sure you can manage, I'll drive into town.' The food she had already prepared for this evening's small party was stowed away in one of the giant refrigerators, and she needed to get right away from the villa for a while. Oh, how she needed that!

  'Of course I can manage.' Nora plunged the lunch dishes into a sink of hot water. 'She's going to have to rest now and then I'm to give her a face pack and massage, and do her hair. I don't know, though…' Her busy hands stilled in the hot water. 'Is tonight's party a good idea? It's early days.'

  'It's what she wants. She wants to prove to the few close friends she has around here that she's as good, if not better, than usual.' Annie gave Nora a reassuring
smile and headed for the door. 'Don't worry so.'

  Personally, the idea of one of her mother's parties—although a small one—appalled her. But Willa had made a supreme effort to pull herself together and it seemed sensible to go along with her wishes, within reason.

  Annie herself had no wish to attend the party tonight but she had to, if only to keep an eye on Willa, to see she didn't overtax herself or get upset by the type of vitriolic remarks her so-called friends were apt to come out with. Because although the star had made remarkable progress her nerves were still tightly strung.

  And it would be a thankless task, Annie thought wearily as she slid behind the wheel of her mother's Porsche. Willa would resent the idea that anyone was keeping an eye on her, especially as it happened to be her daughter! Annie hadn't missed the ice in those big dark eyes, even though Willa had been superficially pleasant all day. No doubt she was still remembering the harsh truths Annie had come out with. The tactics had worked, but they obviously still rankled!

  But to the party she must go; therefore a dress she must have. She had brought only a rudimentary wardrobe with her, and an afternoon's shopping might take her mind off Luke and the content of the dreams she'd had about him, which had been erotic enough to make her blush whenever she thought about them!

  But nothing worked. Wandering through the little town left her mind freer than she wished. All day yesterday, and this morning, she had been at full stretch—organising the immediate return of the servants, arranging for Willa's secretary to report for duty after the weekend, making nourishing little meals to tempt her mother's capricious appetite, contacting Griff in the States, at Willa's request, to beg him to get himself over here post-haste, helping Nora to organise the food, drink and floral decorations for the party, issuing telephoned invitations…

  Even busy, as she had undoubtedly been, she hadn't been able to stop thinking of Luke. The wretched man was becoming an obsession!

  Sick of herself, she dived into the first boutique she came across and walked out less than ten minutes later, her purchases made with impatience and no pleasure.

  She would drive back to the villa and go for a swim. A long, strenuous swim. It was a beautiful afternoon and the exercise might tire her sufficiently to dull her mind, to make her muscles ache so that the ache in her heart would blend in with all the other twinges and become unrecognisable for what it was.

  After dumping her packages in her room she tapped lightly on her mother's door and obeyed the summons to 'Come!'

  'Do you have a swimsuit I could borrow?' she asked, ultra-polite. 'I didn't think to pack my own.'

  'But of course, dear. Nora will show you where they are.' The tone was sugary sweet but the brown eyes were frosty and Annie looked away from the graceful, kimono-clad figure reclining on the broad windowseat and glanced at Nora, who was busy with a box of heated rollers.

  'Third drawer down in the white chest,' Nora instructed, then turned to Willa. 'It's time we got your hair washed if I'm to do anything with it.'

  Running over the smoothly cut emerald-green terraces, a towel draped around her shoulders, Annie felt deep desperation claw at her, making her stomach churn, her throat burn tightly with unshed tears. She knew she was literally running away— from Willa's concealed resentment, from herself, from memories of Luke. The only trouble was, there was nowhere to run.

  The sea beckoned, a glittering, crinkled blue silk, edged with lacy white foam, and Annie shrugged the towel away and felt stupidly self-conscious as the Mediterranean sun lapped lovingly over her almost naked body.

  Willa's selection of swimwear had comprised a multitude of bikinis, not a one-piece in sight, and nothing to choose between them in the skimpiness stakes. She was slightly larger than Willa, practically everywhere, and she was sure she looked positively indecent in the tiny wisps of jade-green fabric.

  But there was no one to see her, she reassured herself as her long legs carried her over the clean, honey-coloured sand. The beach was private, access between the high cliffs only gained through the villa's extensive gardens.

  The water, when she plunged into it, felt wonderful, cool and silky against her heated skin, and she swam until her protesting muscles could no longer be ignored with safety and reluctantly waded out to face the rest of her life, a future without Luke, without love. Because love him she did. The knowledge came with shocking clarity.

  She stood like a sleepwalker, disorientated. She loved Luke. She had found within herself a potential for deep, passionate, enduring love. And this was worse, far worse, than merely wanting him, because, for him, love didn't come into it.

  Stunned, she recalled the vital immediacy of their attraction, how he'd only had to touch her to make her forget his manifold faults and respond as she'd never responded to a man before. She simply hadn't realised she was falling in love.

  If, just once, he'd said he loved her, had spoken of marriage, of commitment, she would have accepted him gladly—she knew that now. She would have trusted her future to him because, days ago, her body had known what her mind had refused to accept. She had actively fought what she now knew was her growing love for him, but she had lost the battle.

  And precisely what she was going to do about it, she didn't know.

  And then she saw him and her heart stopped in its tracks. He was wearing narrow black denims belted low on lean hips, and a black sleeveless T-shirt which moulded his torso to aching perfection. His dark hair was ruffled by the offshore breeze, otherwise he might have been carved from rock, the incredible deep blue of his eyes steady, watching her.

  Her stomach lurched over as her heart began to beat again, picking up speed, her pulses racing as she faced the unbelievable.

  Had she conjured him out of her imagination? Was that still, silent figure there by some freak of yearning? A figment of a fevered imagination?

  And then her heart turned over inside her, very slowly, with sweet, sweet painfulness, because he moved, he was real, and he was here. Standing motionless, too bemused by the sheer, blinding quality of her joy even to breathe, she watched him pace deliberately towards her.

  His past didn't matter, nothing mattered but the glory of seeing him again, and she knew what people meant when they said that love was blind.

  Sea-water was gently lapping her calves, gathering in glittering droplets on her skin, sticking her hair to her skull. And Luke walked through the water until he was standing over her and she smiled in simple ecstasy, her arms instinctively reaching for him and nothing had ever felt this right before.

  'I ought to give you a beating. I never want to have to live through the past two days again,' he growled huskily, just before his arms gathered her nearly naked softness into the hard, impatient strength of his body.

  The kiss seemed to last forever and yet it was nothing like long enough. It was as if soul spoke to soul through the fusing of lips, the erotic interplay of tongues, the desperate clinging of hands. And when he at last raised his head she stared at him breathlessly, her lips swollen and bruised, her eyes dark with love.

  Sunlight glistened on bronzed skin covering hard muscles, was reflected from the depths of his eyes, making them glitter like precious gems. And his clean male breath feathered her skin as he muttered, 'When will I be able to get it through your skull? There's no point in running, Annie. I'll always follow you. Always.'

  Emotionally overwrought, she felt her throat clog with tears and she said shakily, 'I can't run, Luke, not any more.'

  She heard the sharp drag of his breath, saw the kiss-softened line of his lips part as he groaned, 'Oh, Annie, my love!' and then his hands were on either side of her head, his fingers splayed in her wet hair as his tongue explored the parted sweetness of her lips with a seductive promise that turned her blood to fire.

  His body pressed urgently against her own, transmitting wildly clamouring messages. She received them open-heartedly, with joy. She loved him, she always would. Nothing mattered now but that. She could no longer fight the for
ce of their mutual and shattering attraction.

  His hands were moving over her heated flesh now, moulding her, exciting her almost beyond endurance as the floodtide of desire relentlessly pressured her senses, insistently, urgently demanding a release from the burning, aching need that possessed her, a need only he could satisfy.

  'I couldn't believe you'd gone,' he muttered hoarsely, moving his lips from hers, his mouth trailing erotically along her jawline, from the hollow behind her ear to the point of her chin, feathering down the length of her throat, leaving a trail of burning sensation that had her clinging weakly to the strength of his rock-solid body.

  Convulsively, her hands clutched at his chest, her fingers uncurling against the warmth of his T-shirt, the heavy beat of his heart transmitting its rhythm to her own as she began a fevered exploration of the hard, well-defined musculature of his body, his wide shoulders, the warm, tanned skin of his throat.

  She was melting all over, disintegrating with her love for him.

  He demanded thickly, 'Why did you run?'

  'Because I was afraid. Because you're not my type,' she whispered, a catch in her voice as her mouth moved against his sun-warmed throat, and his hands tightened around her hips, pulling her close into his body, making her shockingly aware of how very much he wanted her.

  'And what is your type?' he questioned thickly, his lips finding hers again, touching and tasting.

  'It's not—not—' She could hardly speak, her voice was so thick with the force of the desire he was arousing. 'Not the whizzkid, entrepreneurial inhabitant of Glitz City type!' she managed, stumbling over the unmanageable words.

  Clearly exasperated, he roughly drew her even closer, and answered, 'Do you always prejudge people? I assure you, I'm not a kid, and I never whizz, and if Glitz City exists I've never been there!'