Caprice (19 page)

swiftly, and she saw something burning at the back of his eyes. He

said, very low, 'Get over here.' His hand snaked out, grabbed hold of

her upper arm, and dragged her to him.

He held her head, fingers pressing their imprint against her skull as

he passionately took her mouth. She moaned involuntarily as his

tongue drove deep, without preliminaries. Deeper, and yet deeper,

driving into her with frustration, with something impelling him on,

with his hands shifting her weight uncomfortably over the gearstick

so that she was sitting in his lap, off-balance, and clutching at him.

Her head now lay nestled against his shoulder and her weight was

carrying her back. She was staring blindly up at the car's ceiling as

his mouth left hers, and he emitted an audible, small groan as if it

were torn from him, slanting his mouth hungrily along her throat as

his hand dragged away the shoulder of her wrap and dress. She was

barely aware of her hand sinking deep into his hair as he found her

breast and suckled excitedly. All his muscles were rigid, and

throbbing hard. His whole body radiated his tension, bewilderingly.

This wasn't the man who was so cool and controlled last night. This

was the man of last weekend, exuding unleashed, powerful passion.

This was the man who scared and excited her half to death. Her head

came up and leaned into the straining, bent muscles in his neck as she

whimpered, without even realising it, from the force of her confused

emotions and desires.

He stopped gradually, leaning his face into her bare chest, breathing

harsh and deep. His muscles relaxed, and he raised his head,

expression blank, intent. He was in full control once again, and she

didn't know if she was disappointed or not. He cradled her briefly

against him, and only then seemed to realise how awkward her

position was, and he helped her back to her side of the car, waiting

until she had straightened her appearance.

Then he walked her to the door, saying quietly, 'This week is going to

be hectic for me, so I can't say exactly when, but I'll give you a call.'

'Sure,' she said, and she hadn't meant it to come out so sarcastically.

'I will,' he insisted, staring into her eyes hard. He looked troubled and

seemed about to say something when he caught himself up and shook

his head, slight and quick, as if impatient with himself. 'I promise.'

As there was nothing left to say, he pressed her already swollen lips

with another hard kiss, and sprinted back to the car. Her fingers went

to the cool metal of the front doorknob, and she dragged herself

inside, knowing full well she had no intention of taking the call he'd

been so adamant about promising.

SHE basked in the mellow golden sun's rays, clad in her briefest

swimsuit and stretched comfortably on a lounge chair, with

sunglasses perched on her nose and a frown between her brows. It

was a valiant effort to concentrate on her book. Several more, brand

new, were stacked on the grass beside her .

Thursday already, and he hadn't called. Perhaps he never would.

Well. She had resolved not to take the call, anyway, if he did. She

had also changed her mind half a dozen times in the last four days.

He wouldn't come up this weekend, without encouragement. That

was best.

The problem was, if she had no intention of taking his call, why did

she refuse all social invitations just to stay home? And there was the

party Roxanne's mother was giving on Saturday. She had already

been asked by several of her acquaintances, and she'd turned them all

down. She was a fool for expecting him to fly down to Virginia. It

had to be a clean break, with Pierce. With some men, it didn't have to

be that way, but with him, it was different, as it had always been

different.

Her heart was tangled into knots over him, and she didn't know how

to get herself out of it.

Lazy movement from her left made her look up. Ricky strolled her

way, in shorts and tennis shoes and nothing else, and he flopped

beside her in the grass. 'Whew! My muscles are melting.' He turned

his head and squinted up at her. 'You don't need those sunglasses.

Hand them over.'

'Take a hike,' she muttered serenely, turning a page in her book. He

grinned, and then peered closely at her paperback.

Suddenly he was all concern, as he came up on both knees and

pressed the fingers of one hand against her forehead. 'Do you feel

sick? Good God, I think you have a fever.'

She shrugged his hand away laughingly. 'What's got into you? Cut it

out!'

'I think I should be the one to ask that!' he retorted. He shifted to the

other side of her chair, and picked up her stack of books. 'You're

seriously reading this stuff, for fun? Kierkegaard, Pierre Teilhard de

Chardin's
Hymn qf the Universe,
ye gods! Karl Marx, Franz Kafka—

what has got into you?'

'Just because I've graduated from college doesn't mean my education

has to stop,' she said waspishly, and gave up trying to concentrate on

her book. She closed it with a snap, bringing Ricky's attention to it. It

was Kafka's
The Metamorphosis,
and he picked it up from her lap to

leaf through it.

'You're not just skimming, are you?'

'Of course not! I'm close to finished with that one.'

'Have you read any of the others?'

'Not yet. That's the first I've read. I picked it because it's the shortest,'

she confessed, with a grin.

He laughed, and handed it back to her. 'Well, is it any good? What

happens?'

She shrugged. 'Some guy turns into a bug.' She listened to his snort,

and then she became serious, picking up the book and fiddling with it

absently. 'It actually isn't as stupid as it sounds. It's bizarre, certainly,

but very haunting.' Her voice turned dreamy. 'Think about it for a

moment. Changing into something new, something alien, something

different. Your life is changed forever. Your family and friends shun

you. You pine away from lack of proper nourishment, and then

you—die.'

'Mmm. But is that a realistic portrayal? I mean, not of course in the

physical sense, but mentally people change all the time.'

She shook her head slowly. 'No. People grow, but to
change
, Ricky,

is something entirely different. It's like taking a leap sideways,

leaving accepted patterns of behaviour, making people realise that

their concept of you is no longer accurate. Think of what it would do

to your life. It's an utterly terrifying thought.'

Silence, settling over them and the scene like a sprinkling of

windblown pollen. A bird winged by with the enthusiasm of a mad

bomber. An immense grasshopper bounced his way across the

immaculate lawn. 'But Caprice,' said Ricky quietly, 'unless someone

changes from Doctor Jekyll to Mr Hyde, it's perfectly acceptable.

Nobody changes so completely that there's nothing left in them that is

recognisable. It might even be for the good.'

* * *

consequences. She longed to see him. She couldn't get last Sunday

evening out of her mind. The memory of his mouth on her breast

nipple stirred her to sexual excitement; his passion brought her a

wave of heat. She had never been so tugged by physical sensation

and emotional desire. They were one and the same, intertwined so

that she couldn't distinguish between them. It boiled down to pure,

unadulterated lust, and she winced away from the thought, disturbed.

She wanted his mouth, his hands, and his affection. She was

beginning to want it past all thought of future happiness.

But then he didn't call, and by late' evening he still hadn't called,

leaving her to stew in a welter of feverish emotions. Just as suddenly

as she'd decided to take his call, she swung back to refusing it in a fit

of pique. Nobody could be that busy. He could have called even for a

minute or two any evening during the week. She didn't know what he

was thinking or planning, but she'd had enough. This prolonged,

intensified anticipation was extremely wearying and certainly not

pleasurable.

Saturday morning, she was dressed in casual shorts and tank top,

sipping listlessly at her coffee while trying to decide what to do with

herself before the party, when Liz walked into the dining room.

'You've got a phone call,' said the housekeeper.

Her cup went to her saucer with a cacophonic clatter. 'Who -' she

began, but decided she didn't want to know. Her jaw tightened. 'I'm

not home.'

'Are you sure?' asked Liz, clearly puzzled. 'He said you were

expecting it.'

She pushed her coffee away, and jerkily stood. 'I'm positive. I'm not

talking to anyone today.' Ignoring the other woman's speculative

stare, she stalked out of the room. She stopped dead, turned back to

take the call and, cursing, turned around again.

'Before, I had my doubts, but this definitely clinches it,' said Ricky

from the stairs. He descended the rest of the way. 'You're going crazy

so fast, you can't keep up with yourself. Like spinning in circles?'

'Oh, shut up!' she said savagely.

He pretended to be frightened and drew back from her with a

shudder. 'Well! I was going to ask you if you wanted to play tennis,

but you might bite my head off, instead of answering in a civilised

manner.'

'Always knew you were a coward,' she grumbled, with a partial

return of good humour.

'Like to play tennis?'

'Not really. Oh, I guess so. There's nothing else to do!'

'A split personality, forming before my very eyes,' he marvelled.

Then, sagely, 'They're quite rare, you know. I'll write a book about

you, and astonish the psychology world.'

'Get the racquets, smart ass,' she said, grinning reluctantly.. 'I'm going

to plaster you all over the court.'

'Bloodthirsty to boot!' he exclaimed, delightedly.

Ricky made her laugh with his clowning, and she was nearly light-

hearted, tossing her tennis ball up in their air while sending an evil

glare to her unaffected opponent. Then she glanced casually over

towards the house, as she was facing in that direction, and froze into

rigidity.

Pierce was dressed in faded jeans, tennis shoes, and a light blue,

sleeveless T-shirt. She'd never seen him so carelessly dressed. His

hair was windblown and in glossy disarray, and he was staring

intently at her as he strolled her way.

She abandoned her serving pose and stood with bent, averted head

and grim expression as she bounced the ball hard upon the court,

catching it with a swipe of her hand. 'What's up?' called Ricky,

obviously not seeing Pierce yet.

'We'll play later,' she said shortly, and watched as his head turned

towards Pierce, and then back to herself.

'Yeah, sure,' he replied, shifting from foot to foot in uncharacteristic

uncertainty. He sent her one more questioning look, and then silently

headed bade for the house.

Pierce approached in an indolent manner, hands is pockets, and then

looked about him appreciatively, eyes squinted against the glare of

the sun. She avoided meeting his eyes. 'You didn't have to quit

playing,' he said. 'I'd have waited.' She didn't say anything, feeling his

quick, sharp regard. 'Of course, you didn't have to lie, either.'

'Would you have accepted that I didn't want to talk to you?' she

retorted, striding over to the edge of the court to throw down her

racquet and the tennis ball. When she glanced back over her

shoulder, she was amazed to find that he didn't appear angry.

'I don't know. You didn't give me the chance,' he pointed out, his

gaze steady. At her raised, sardonic brow he relented. 'All right.

Probably not.'

An awkward silence fell over them both. She longed to walk away,

but didn't know where she would go, for he would certainly follow.

She longed to turn around and greet him with the pleasure she

wouldn't let herself feel. What she did was to say, 'I didn't know

you'd be coming this weekend.'

'If you'd taken my call, you would have,' he retorted, the snappiness

revealing at last his frustration. He walked over to her side and stared

down into her rebellious, miserable expression with a frown between