Authors: Amanda Carpenter
you must have heard my reply to her. She said we were exact
opposites. I said I knew that, and it was the major reason why I was
attracted to you.'
Without even realising, she laid her head back to his blue sweater. He
drew in a careful breath, and one hand left her shoulder to stroke at
her hair. 'I didn't hear. I must have already headed back to the
library.'
'We don't have to hurt each other. We have . that choice. Why don't
we just take things as they come, instead of worrying so much that it
cripples us? Do you want to spend the day with me, tomorrow?'
'Yes,' she whispered, and that, too, was the truth. A strange and
trembling excitement filled her, as she gave into her wishes and his
persuasion.
'I'll pick you up tomorrow, at seven.' He waited a moment, but she
didn't or couldn't say anything. 'All right?'
'Yes.' Bare thread of sound. She felt him relax at her back, and emit a
low laugh.
'Good. I'll be leaving, then. Tomorrow's going to come early.' She
walked him to the front door, hearing the dissimilar sounds of their
footsteps intermingling, the light tap tap of her heels with the heavier
sound of his. When they reached the door, and she opened it with
slow hands, she was warm and lightly flushed with the half-
acknowledged hope that he would take her, hold her, open his mouth
hungrily over hers and drink her dry ...
She turned to him, and searched his dark eyes, but found nothing but
a smile. The chilly wind blew over them like an invisible cloak,
stirring his black hair. The air felt wet and heavy, full of rain. He bent
close, saying lightly, 'See you in the morning, sweetheart.' His lips
brushed her cheek.
Light and meaningless, like the first smile he'd given her that
evening,, soft as when he had brushed them against the nape of her
neck, brief and frustrating, when all she could think of, all she could
want, was the hardened, exciting feel of his lips rough on hers.
She turned her head before she knew she wanted to, and met his
mouth with hers already open. A heart-thudding, still moment, and
then he carefully kissed her back, measured, controlled, and pulled
away. He looked odd, his face rather set, eyes full of the black
outside night, and then he smiled in her general direction, muttered
another good night, and lightly raced down the steps. She watched
him, uncomprehendingly, as he reached the Jaguar and got in, the
first heavy drops of rain splattering on his head and shoulders.
She shut the door, locked it too carefully, and then leaned against it
as she stared down at the fingers which shook, showing her
discomposure. No passion. No emotion in that kiss. Certainly no
anger, as there had been the last time.
Gradually her leaping senses calmed, and she began to think more
coolly. She found that, as she was free of his presence, so then was
she free of her conviction-weakening desire to get near him, get to
him, to drown in the heady feelings that were aroused whenever she
was around him.
She shook her head in wonder at what he brought out in her, and then
moved slowly for the den. Liz had been in the room to pick up the
used glasses and wash them, so she rummaged for a clean one under
the bar, set it on the counter, and then forgot about it. She leaned her
elbows on the quality, glossy wood, and put hear face in her hands.
She wished, achingly, that she'd had a different influence from her
mother when she'd been a young child. She remembered those early
days. Her mother had been a goddess, a lovely, spellbinding,
fascinating parent. She remembered, wryly, how she used to perch on
the counter by her parents' bathroom sink, watching Irene put on her
make-up before a party. Glittering, beautiful clothes, a light tinkling
laugh, effusive affection showered on her when Irene had the time, so
many things impressing themselves on a young adoring person.
Caprice knew what she wanted out of life. She wanted to be just like
her mother. And so she grew, watching, learning, assimilating.
She took a good, cold, calculating look at herself. Would she be
happy, doing anything else? The answer was quick, blunt, and rather
devastating. No. She didn't want a career that absorbed her free time,
and tied her to responsibility and commitments. She didn't want to
forsake the parties, teas, the fun and the laughter. She liked to dress
well, and she liked other people to know it. And, fortunately, she had
a father wealthy enough to see her secure for the -rest of her life.
As she had grown older, though, she'd begun to see her parents in a
different light. Irene was as lovely in maturity as she had been in her
youth. But Caprice also loved her father, and throughout her teens
became gradually aware that Richard and Irene at best tolerated each
other. Her mother's glitter went just exactly skin deep; underneath it,
Irene was a shallow woman. And Richard, hard-working, career-
orientated, influential, was as different from his wife as night is from
day. They didn't understand each other. He was heartily bored with
the details in Irene's life, as she was with his. They existed.
Caprice often wished that she had taken after her father. She grasped
business concepts, was intelligent and quick with numbers, but she
had no more desire to work in the family business than she would
wish to work at the local car wash. And she knew the kind of man
she should meet and fall in love with. He should be witty, a good
socialiser, charming, and interested in the same things that she was.
He wasn't a bit like Pierce. Pierce was a lot like her father. Pierce was
responsible, quiet, deep. He was sexy, he was devastatingly attractive
to her, he was dangerous. She should run screaming in the other
direction.
But she wasn't. She'd agreed to see him tomorrow, and wanted to see
him Sunday. She shouldn't fall for him, she knew that. One look at
her parents was enough to convince her of that. But this weekend,
what could one weekend hurt? She would see him, laugh with him,
look at him and perhaps let herself care a little for two days. Just this
one weekend. And she wouldn't see him again, after this.
Surely she could control herself that long.
She bumped the empty glass with her elbow, and remembered that
she was making herself a drink. But she didn't want it any more, and
tucked the glass away again as her father: strolled into the den.
He sent a quick glance to her as though she were a chair, and then
went to the window at the far end of the room. She knew
immediately that it was all a front, and he was there purposefully to
speak to her. He cleared his throat, and rocked back and forth, hands
clasped behind his back. She loved him very much.
'Langston's gone, I see,' he said to the curtains.
'Yes, he left not that long ago,' she quietly replied. 'Would you like a
drink?'
He did, and she poured him a brandy, his favourite after dinner
liquor. 'Seems to be a good man.' She walked over to him, and gave
him the snifter.
'Yes, I believe he is.'
'You seeing him?' The question was short to the point of terseness,
yet she didn't take it amiss. He was interested in her life, and she
appreciated it.
'This weekend I am. I—don't think there's a future in it.' She ran her
eyes over her father's greying head and distinguished figure with
affection.
He turned his head and looked her directly in the eye. 'Too bad. I was
thinking.' He fell silent, and her attention sharpened. 'We need to sit
down for a talk, you and I. It's time you had more independence. I'm
going to set up an annuity for you, and stipulate its continuance in
my will so that you're taken care of.'
She touched his sleeve, and rubbed up and down lightly. 'Surely
there's plenty of time for that?' she murmured, disturbed by the talk.
He shrugged. 'Never know. I'm already fifty, and I'm not getting any
younger. Anyway, that's not the point. Somewhere along the line,
why, I guess you grew up without me knowing it.' His grey eyes met
hers, and she saw his pride in her. 'Think of it. You're already twenty-
two, and a fine young lady. You'll be wanting to do things, to go
places, and—well, we need to sit down and have a talk.'
'I love you, Dad,' she whispered quietly.
He smiled. 'You kids have to leave some time. Sooner or later, and I
know it. But it won't be the same without you around here.' His smile
faded, and he briefly looked old and sad. 'Just won't be the same.'
She went up on her toes and pressed a kiss on his cheek. He put his
arms around her and hugged her tight, and then told her good night in
a perfectly normal voice. After he left, she found his brandy,
untouched, on a nearby table. Carefully, she poured it back in the
bottle, spilling only a few drops. Then she took the glass to the
kitchen, clean and empty as Liz had quit for the evening, and she
washed it up. She couldn't think why her eyes blurred unexpectedly,
and made her small task impossible to see.
SHE readied herself for bed, and fell into it without much hope of
sleeping, and sure enough, she tossed and turned for most of the
night. As a consequence she overslept, and Liz woke her just before
seven with the news that Pierce had already arrived and was waiting
downstairs for her.
Feeling befuddled, she stumbled out of bed, threw on her pale blue
bathrobe, and went to the head of the stairs to call softly down. Pierce
immediately appeared from the direction of the den, and she saw the
quick grin that slashed across his features. 'I'm sorry,' she said,
pushing her tousled hair from her forehead. 'I'll be down in a few
minutes. I just wanted to ask you about what I should wear.'
'Something sturdy and casual should do it, I think,' he replied, taking
his time as he looked her over from head to foot. His lids drew down,
making him appear lazy, indolent. 'Of course,' he added silkily,
'there's not a thing wrong with what you're wearing.'
She laughed and let her hair fall forward in an attempt to hide her
blush. 'Have you had breakfast?'
'Coffee.' He was watching her, his head thrown back, with every sign
of fascination.
'Liz could fix us something to eat, if you'd like.'
'Only if we can have it alone. I'm not in the mood to share you today,'
he told her, with a slow smile.
'On Saturday, nobody around here shows for breakfast before nine,'
she assured him with another laugh. Despite her broken sleep, she
was beginning to feel positively cheerful. She started down the stairs,
intending to talk to the housekeeper, but he forestalled her.
'No, you go on and get dressed. I can talk to Liz,' He waved a hand at
her, and she backed willingly enough up the steps, feeling a distinct
vulnerability in her night clothes. She could feel his eyes on her slim
figure until she disappeared from his sight.
Rushing through her bedroom to her small bathroom, she stared at
herself in the mirror for a brief, horrified moment, pressing hands,
against her cheeks. What a wreck she was! And she simply must
wash her hair! Whirling around, she grabbed at her hairbrush, yanked
it through her tangles a few times, wincing, stripped and let her
clothes fall to the floor, and then jumped into the shower. Five
minutes later, dripping wet, she shiveringly crept into her bedroom
and drew out clothes. A glimpse outside at the overcast day had her
grimacing as she dressed accordingly. Snug- fitting jeans were
shaken out and then drawn over her hips. She then took a white,
tailored blouse and drew that on, and pulled an oversized, bulky,
light brown sweater over it. Suede, low-heeled boots, a swept up,
thigh length jacket, and she was ready for just about anything.
The sound of her skipping lightly down the stairs brought Pierce back
into the hall. He walked towards her as she landed with a small,
childish hop, dressed much the same as she was, in sturdy jeans, dark
shoes and sweater. He looked lean and lovely, and she turned to toss
her jacket into a hall chair in an attempt to hide her reaction to him.
He was behind her before she realised it, his warm hand curling
around her hips and drawing her back against him. 'Hmm, hallo,' he
said in her ear. She laughed, and bent her head. 'Your hair is