Golden Fever

And she was attracted, very much so. She had known it the moment she saw him again; a nervous fluttering was beginning in the pit of her stomach, an excited flush coming to her cheeks. And she could quite cheerfully have scratched Livia Marriott’s eyes out for the way she kept touching him, pressing herself against him while he looked on in amusement.

It was that amusement that attracted too, the challenge his contemptuous attitude towards women gave every female who so much as looked at him. And he was contemptuous. He found women amusing, playthings, and to her shame Clare knew that she would like to act just as clinging as the other women in his life. But she wouldn’t. She might only be eighteen, lack the experience to control a man like this, but she was sensible enough to know that Rourke Somerville enjoyed the chase more than the capture. With a maturity beyond her years she knew that he was intrigued by her, that he found the contradictions of her sun-kissed appearance and her convent upbringing a challenge he had never faced before.

‘It matters to me what you want,’ he answered her now. ‘Do you want me?’

His direct approach was too much for her, and she blushed a deep red. ‘Certainly not!’ she replied in a shocked voice.

‘I want you.’

Clare swallowed hard. ‘You—you do?’

‘Mm,’ he nodded, his eyes warm on her lips. ‘When can I have you?’

‘You can’t!’ She moved completely away from him. ‘Excuse me, Mr Somerville, I have to get back to Gene.’

He shrugged philosophically, letting her go without a word of protest. Clare couldn’t decide whether she was piqued or relieved at his easy acceptance of her departure from his side. In the end she decided she was piqued. She hadn’t been so clever after all; Rourke regarded her with just as much amusement as he did every other woman he came into contact with.

She found Gene out by the pool, and her eyes widened as she saw there were several people in the water—all of them completely naked, male and female alike!

Gene put his arm protectively about her shoulders. ‘Time to leave, I think,’ he grinned.

‘I’m not a prude, you know,’ she snapped, still raw from Rourke’s casual treatment.

‘Hey, I know that,’ Gene chided. ‘But it’s getting late. And I make it a rule never to get involved in this sort of scene. It can only get worse,’ he grimaced. ‘Let’s leave.’

Clare was secretly relieved by his decision, although she remained outwardly calm, waiting in the spacious hallway while Gene went in search of her jacket.

‘Leaving already?’ remarked an all too familiar voice.

Her hands clenched at her sides, but she faced Rourke coolly enough, tall and beautiful, the cream colour of her dress giving her skin a golden glow, her hair like burnished gold as it hung straight to her shoulders, the fringe winged back over her tawny eyes.

They were strangely alone out here, as the rest of the party were in the spacious lounge and pool area. Rourke looked dark and disturbing—mainly disturbing, all amusement gone now as he continued to look at her, his eyes a deep, dark blue.

‘The fun’s just beginning,’ he added in a murmur, standing perhaps six feet away from her, his masculinity a tangible thing.

Clare’s mouth twisted derisively. ‘It depends on what you call fun,’ she drawled, pleased with herself as she managed to infuse just the right amount of contempt into her voice.

One dark eyebrow rose, and Rourke moved several steps forward, standing only inches away from her now. ‘And what’s your idea of fun, Clare?’ he asked huskily.

She maintained a calm exterior with effort, inside her emotions in complete turmoil. No man had the right to have so much animal magnetism, not and be allowed loose among the susceptible female population—of which she was one.

She felt sure he would be riveting on the big screen. She had never personally seen any of his films, but Diana had seen every one several times, exclaiming over the sexuality he brought into the roles he played.

‘Certainly not what’s going on in there,’ she nodded in the direction of the pool.

‘No?’

‘No,’ she blushed. ‘I prefer a—a one-on-one basis,’ she added bravely.

‘So do I.’ He took another step forward, fitting his body against hers, each hard contour evident against her softer curves. ‘Do you have to go?’ he asked throatily.

‘I—Yes.’ Excited colour heightened her cheeks, a fevered look to her eyes. Gene often kissed her, touched her in a casual way—but there was nothing casual about Rourke’s touch, and heat coursed through her body as she began to tremble.

‘Do you really?’ he said huskily, slowly bending his head to claim her mouth for the second time since she had known him.

It was just as nerve-shattering as before, the slow, drugging movement of his lips on hers, the erotic way he ran his hands over her bare back, her flesh seeming to tingle where he touched.

‘Stay, Clare,’ he breathed against her mouth.

‘I——’

‘Stay!’ he urged, his mouth more urgent this time, telling her better than words of his desire for her. ‘Or better still,’ he raised his head to groan, ’come home with me.’

The warning bells began ringing more strongly where this man was concerned, and she reluctantly pulled away from him. A look of angry irritation flitted across his hard face before it was quickly masked by his usual look of cynicism, telling her that it was a long time since any woman had turned him down.

‘Unfortunately,’ she drawled confidently, ’you aren’t the man I want to be one-on-one with.’

Anger blazed in the deep blue eyes before it was quickly controlled. ‘Are you telling me Gene Lester is?’ he mocked insultingly.

She raised her brows in cool query, sure that she had a vocation for acting—if this performance were anything to go by? Rourke was completely taken in by her blas$eA attitude. ‘Is there any reason why he shouldn’t be?’ she asked distantly.

Rourke scowled. ‘He’s too damned young for you!’

‘He happens to be twenty.’

His mouth twisted. ‘And you’re eighteen going on thirty-five!’

He was being deliberately insulting, she knew that, but was that really how she appeared to him? He made it sound as if she were too experienced for Gene. She might have responded to Rourke’s kisses, but she didn’t think that was any basis on which to make such an assumption about her.

‘Clare!’ Gene, luckily, arrived at her side at that moment, placing her lightweight jacket about her bare shoulders. ‘How are you, Rourke?’ he greeted the other man with his usual friendly manner.

‘Fine,’ the other man answered tersely. ‘I think I’ll get back to the party.’

Clare knew this last was added for her benefit, making her wonder if he were about to join in the nude bathing. Livia Marriott had already been in the pool! An angry sparkle lit up her eyes. Well, let him! Why should she care? And no doubt the beautiful actress, or one of the other women here, would be sharing his bed later tonight. No matter how she denied it that gave her a painful wrench in her chest.