His Last Gamble (11 page)

He pulled out the chair nearest to her, and she sank down gratefully, her heart fluttering in her breast.

The flicker of the candle glow cast her face into light and shadow, and rendered her silvery gold hair almost magical. When he reached out to pour the wine, his hand was not quite steady. He brought a huge wooden salad bowl to the table, then deftly slipped two perfectly fried pieces of fish onto the plates.

It looked and smelt wonderful, but Charmaine doubted her ability to force down a single bite.

‘Is everything all right?' Payne said, sitting opposite her and opening out his napkin. The natural guttering of the candles were doing wonderful things to his dark gold hair and deeply bronzed skin, and she was almost sure she could feel the male strength oozing out of him with his every movement. She supposed working so hard in the gardens every day kept him super fit.

She wondered what it would feel like to slip her hand under his shirt and explore the washboard hardness of his abdomen and the flat, silken muscles in his chest and biceps. What must it be like to touch a man that way?

She reached for her glass of wine and took a shaky sip. ‘Of course, everything's fine. Just perfect,' she said, with a smile that felt as false as her words.

And
suddenly, and for the first time, it occurred her to what a mean thing she was planning to do. Lucy had got her heart broken by this man, and in spite of her denials to the contrary, she knew that her sister's ‘accident' with her sleeping pills had been the result of despair, caused by this man's heartlessness. But now that she'd actually met and had seen for herself his careless attitude to life, the insane risks he took, and the way his gambler's, playboy mind seemed to work, she would have bet her last penny that at least it hadn't been deliberate.

Lucy would have been fair game in his eyes—an up and coming actress, here for a holiday and perhaps a romance. It would never have even crossed his mind that she wouldn't know the rules. That she might actually fall in love. He would probably be amazed if she were to blurt out right now that her sister had been almost mortally wounded by his treatment of her.

So he was reprehensible, yes. But he was not deliberately cruel.

But she would have no such defence to put forward, should her own plan succeed, she realised miserably. She would have come here expressly to hurt and wound, humiliate and belittle. She'd have done it with her eyes wide open.

And as she stared at him across that candlelit table, she knew she couldn't do it.

Not
now.

Payne too reached for his wine and sipped, but his eyes were shuttered and revealed nothing. Behind them, though, his mind was racing.

What was going on? She looked as if she'd just seen a ghost, or had lost her best friend, or had some other life-changing calamity befall her. What could he possibly have done or said in the last few hours or minutes to make her look like that?

‘I'm really not very hungry, I'm afraid,' Charmaine said, picking up her fork, but only to listlessly part her fish and push the tender flakes around her plate.

‘Not dieting I hope,' he said softly. ‘You don't need to lose weight.'

Charmaine smiled. ‘No, you needn't worry. Besides,
Jonniee
doesn't employ ultra thin models.' She had always been horrified by the prospect of even unintentionally endorsing anorexia nervosa by going along with the trend for almost skeletal models, a policy in which Jo-Jo was in total accord. They both designed clothes for healthy women of all sizes.

Payne nodded. ‘I'm pleased to hear it. You obviously run a good company,' he said, with deliberate emphasis on the word ‘you.'

Charmaine nodded, and took another sip, apparently unaware of the implications in what he'd just said. Payne watched her closely, then saw her suddenly stiffen.

Charmaine
looked at him with wide blue eyes, which had darkened in alarm. ‘What do you mean? I don't run the company. Jo-Jo does.'

So she was still lying to him. Though it saddened and puzzled him, it somehow didn't surprise him. Payne leaned slowly back in his chair and swirled the wine in his glass. ‘Don't you think it's time that that particular lie be allowed to die a graceful death, Charmaine?' he asked softly. ‘I know you and Jo-Jo are full business partners, and that, creatively, you are the driving force behind one of the biggest and best Fashion Houses in the world. Tell me, are you ashamed of your designs? Or your partner? Or the company?'

‘No, of course not! I love clothes, and stand by all my creations!' she said hotly. ‘And Jo-Jo's marvellous at all sorts of things—promotions, getting orders from the big-name stores, doing the publicity and everything.'

She abruptly subsided as she realised, a little late, that she'd risen to the bait far too quickly. ‘Anyway, how did you know?' she asked after a moment of tense silence.

Payne shrugged. ‘Does it matter?'

Charmaine wasn't so sure. It depended on what else he knew. Did he know who her family was—who Lucy was! And if he did know, or regularly made it his business to know these sorts of things, how long would it be until he found out about Lucy's overdose?
And
guess that she had come out here hot foot on some vendetta?

It would be ironic if, just when she'd come to her senses and realised that she couldn't go through with her revenge, he found out about it and sent her packing.

The thought of never seeing him again was so painful it actually made her wince.

‘So why all the secrecy?' Payne prodded softly, determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, and unwilling to let her off the hook now he had her on the run.

‘It's no big deal. I just don't have that in-your-face personality that a Fashion House needs to promote it,' Charmaine said, and gave what she hoped was an uncaring shrug. And wondered if it was a good thing that she was becoming an expert liar.

‘Unlike Jo-Jo,' Payne acknowledged with a grin. ‘All right, I can see how your business partner earns his fifty percent, but what's wrong with your own contributions being acknowledged? Jo-Jo can still be the larger-than-life front man, whilst others are still made aware of your own input.'

‘I don't like the limelight, I never have. That's for the rest of the family,' she said, then could have bitten off her tongue.

‘Oh? They sound famous,' Payne said. So it was confirmed. He wondered who they could be. ‘Entertainers of some kind are they?'

Charmaine went pale. ‘Only father,' she
lied,
trying to gather her scattered wits. ‘He's rather a name. On the stage. I don't want to talk about him,' she said, making it sound as if there was some big family rift. In reality, of course, nothing could be further from the truth. Her father, Lucy and herself, were actually very close.

‘Look, it's getting late, I really must go,' she said, putting down her napkin with a shaking hand. Any moment now he was bound to think of Lucy, the nearly famous actress with a famous father. And then the game would be up.

But when she looked at him, he showed no signs of guessing her secrets. Instead, he looked bitterly disappointed.

And suddenly she knew why.

It was because she'd said she'd wanted to go, and he realised he would not have a bedmate for the night after all. She almost wanted to laugh—except she felt like crying more.

‘I have a shoot tomorrow,' she said, then wondered why she was trying to let him down lightly. Next she'd be anxiously trying to reassure him that he was a very sexy man, and of course she wanted him, any woman would.

But why should she, she thought defiantly. He was big enough and mean enough to take care of himself. And if he wasn't used to rejection—well, the change would do him good!

‘But not until the afternoon,' he said,
then
raised an eyebrow as she looked at him askance. ‘Jo-Jo told me the photographers would be all morning setting things up.'

Charmaine bit her lip. ‘Even so, we models have to get our beauty sleep. Nobody wants a girl to show up with dark rings under her eyes.'

She glanced longingly at the door. Why wasn't he taking the hint? Would she really have to go out in search of a taxi? The marina had been far off the beaten track, and a mile or so from the nearest town. Still, she could walk it, if she had to, no problem. She took far longer walks in the countryside back home.

‘Yes, why are you suddenly modelling for your own Fashion House, Charmaine?' he asked softly, and watched as all the colour drained from her face. ‘I mean, a moment ago you were telling me you were the shy one in the family, but now—voila. You're reborn as a
Jonniee
model. You couldn't get to stand in more limelight than that if you tried.'

Charmaine gazed him hopelessly. Why hadn't she seen that coming?

‘I . . . I. . . er . . . I. . .' she swallowed and gulped, but no glib lie came to save her this time.

And slowly, Payne rose to his feet and came around the table. She pushed her chair back, glancing around wildly, the urge to flee send her pulsing rate rocketing.

‘Let me guess,' he said softly, reaching for her and lifting her chin up tenderly with
two
fingers. He looked down searchingly into her lovely face, reading fear, pain and bewilderment in her eyes. ‘You finally realised that life was passing you by, and knew you had do something about it. That's it, isn't it?' he said softly.

Charmaine blinked. What? ‘Oh, y-yes,' she said. ‘That's right. I needed a change.'

Payne's eyes narrowed for a moment. She was lying to him again. He just knew it. For a while there, he'd thought he was onto the truth at last. Unbelievably, this beautiful woman was shy and introverted, living a restricted and boring, loveless life. It had made sense to think that she'd come to her senses and realised she needed to break out of her shell. But that wasn't it, he knew that now. There was still something else. He was sure of it. She was up to something, or hiding something.

Well, two could play at games like that.

‘Well,' he drawled, stepping even closer, watching a tiny vein throb nervously at the base of her throat, ‘I can help you with that. You want to live life to the full, Charmaine Reece, I'm your man. I'll show you the time of your life.'

And what, he wondered, fascinated, would she make of that?

Charmaine choked back a wild desire to laugh. She'd just bet he could. Oh yes. You wanted to dabble your toe in the world of male-female sexuality? Payne Lacey was an
expert.
You wanted to throw all caution to the winds and let chance or fate or sheer luck dictate your life—who better than a casino owner and noted gambler to lead the way. You wanted to get your heart broken and your life smashed to smithereens—call on an impresario.

‘No thank you!' she snapped, stepping back and flushing wildly. ‘Now, are you going to take me back to the hotel, or do I have to walk?'

Payne grinned. ‘Oh, I think we can do better than that. There's a spare bedroom on board. More than one in fact.'

‘If you think I'm going to spend the night on board this boat with you, then you have another think coming!' she all but shouted at him.

‘What's the matter, little Charmaine? Scared?' he taunted. ‘And I thought you were trying to be all grown up now,' he mocked. He saw her hands clench into fists, and anticipated a stinging blow.

At least, if she were out of control, she might at last reveal her true self. He was sure, now more than ever, that she was covering up something, and doing herself no good in doing so. This woman was made for love and life and the good things. If only she'd let him give them to her!

Charmaine swallowed hard. Things were getting out of hand. She had to do something.
Salvage
something from this miserable mess.

‘All right,' she said quietly. ‘I have no sleeping things, no toothbrush even, but . . .' she tried to sound wearily resigned, like a grown-up indulging an aggravating child.

‘We have all that in the guest bedroom,' Payne interrupted her ruthlessly, but his voice, in contrast, was soft and warm, almost apologetic. ‘And it's all right. Really. Your sleep will be undisturbed, I promise.'

Charmaine smiled grimly. You bet it would be, she thought flatly. Because I intend not only to lock my door, but also push a chair under the handle as well!

And as she allowed him to show her to her room—a lovely room in shades of peach and cream with turquoise accents—she was determined to remain cool and aloof at all times. No more acting like a screaming fishwife.

‘The bathroom's just through there. Goodnight sweetheart,' he said softly, and closed the door behind him.

He'd sounded so tender just then, so gentle, that for a moment she just stood there gaping at the closed door. Then she stopped daydreaming and reached for the lock, turning it with a sharp, rewarding click, then reaching for the nearest hard-back chair and rammed it hard underneath.

But as she did so, she couldn't help but wonder. Was she really doing this to keep
Payne
Lacey out? Or to keep herself in? Because as she got ready for bed, then lay tossing and turning sleeplessly in the big Queen-sized bed, her body ached for something far more alluring than sleep. And she knew that, if she didn't keep herself rigidly lying in the bed, then no locked door or cleverly placed chair would keep her from making an utter fool of herself.

* * *

When she awoke, she was puzzled. Something was very strange. And then she realised what it was. She was moving. Or rather, the whole room was moving!

It took her a moment to remember the events of last night, and then she shot up in bed and glanced wildly around. But the chair was still in place and she hadn't gone sleepwalking in the night.

Another glance at her watch showed her it was nearly eleven o'clock in the morning! With a small cry she shot up and went to the shower, washing her hair and changing back into her shorts and T-shirt. What she really wanted to put on was something white and floating. But what was the use of making herself look good for Payne? It was not as if she could ever allow him to actually be her lover.