Authors: Amanda Carpenter
pressing and uncomfortable, and they never came back.
At least, before now. Now she was dealing out of her league, which
she'd known all along. Now she was dealing with a mature,
intelligent man, who thought quickly, was more secure, who reached
out and grabbed her by the wrist to yank her laughingly back. She
fell into his arms, one of which snaked around her waist and hauled
her hard against him, one of which, curved around her shoulders. She
didn't even see his head as it plummeted.
BUT she felt his mouth drop down hard on hers, she felt that just fine.
And she felt his lips open as he drove deep, pressing her entire body
length, from top, to slim hips, to legs, against his taller, slightly
curved torso. Through her dress, she felt his slim belt and body heat.
Her hands curled into the material of shirt at his shoulders, as her
head fell back, and warmth flooded her.
He took his time as he took her lips, leisurely, with a concentrated,
enthusiastic thoroughness. The sheer sensuality of it had her longing
to respond, but she wouldn't, she wouldn't, not to him, not this man,
not to this. The force of her conflicting impulses sent a deep tremor
through her.
He lifted his head. Through the dimness, she saw him smile, and she
knew he must have felt the shiver also. 'Good night, Caprice,' said
Pierce, serenely, and he let her go to walk down the hall.
Furious, shaking, she watched him leave, and then came to life,
bolting into her room and slamming the door shut behind her. What
was even more infuriating was that she was reacting just exactly how
he wished her to, and she kicked viciously at the end of her bed with
a muttered, 'Damn it!'
It did not help her feel better.
When she slept, she dreamt strange and disconnected images with the
recurrent theme of entrapment threading through them. When she
awoke, she lay for several minutes, thinking over the dreams and
puzzling over their meaning. Her body warmth had made a snug
cocoon between the sheets, and she was reluctant to move and
disturb that. But finally her muscles protested, and she arose, to
shower and dress quickly, and consider how she was to keep herself
busy until the others emerged from their bedrooms.
Avoid uncomfortable situations at all cost.
Yes, she should keep busy
doing that. It was her cardinal rule, especially involving
relationships. But somehow Pierce, either by chance or design,
managed to burrow under her skin, and he kept burrowing until it
hurt. For God's sake, they'd only danced together, rowed on a smelly
lake, and shared a kiss. Or really, she supposed) it had been two. But,
these days, any self-respecting eighteen- year-old should be able to
handle that sort of thing, and she was no teenager, nor was she inept
at dealing with people.
Or manipulating them. A rather tired feeling, one that had nothing to
do with time of day or length of her sleep, descended on her. That
was the crux of the problem. She was used to being the master
manipulator, and having the ability to attract or repel people,
according to the situation and her mood. It was not necessarily a bad
trait, for she rarely used it for reasons other than her own comfort,
but the problem was, Pierce refused to be manipulated. He did not go
away on command, nor did he put a halt to his penetrating
observations simply for her pleasure.
What an awful man he was. She had at first been attracted to him, but
she was thankful she was no longer, for now she knew better.
Feeling much lighter at heart, she left her room and skipped down the
stairs lightly, looking around her as she couldn't decide what to do
with herself. Perhaps the library? She could pick out a light novel,
and then move to the family room to listen to music while she read.
But no, she felt too restless for that, and who wanted to read when
the sun was shining so brightly outside?
Sounds from the library, someone approaching, and somehow,
somehow she just knew who it was going to be. A wild feeling, close
to panic, came over her and she nearly bolted for the front door, but it
was too late. She would not give him such a view of her, scrabbling
to escape. Instead, she turned to smile coolly as Emory came into the
hall.
Almost, she let surprise show ridiculously on her face, but he
wouldn't have been in any state to notice it, anyway. Deep lines of
exhaustion were cut into his face, and he looked older, discouraged;
curiously, heart wrenchingly; not at all the puppy-dog personality
she'd always attributed to him.
'Good heavens, man,' she said quietly, shocked Out of all social
frivolity as she walked towards him. 'What's happened to you?'
'Hm? Oh, good morning, Caprice,' he replied, a heaviness in his
voice which was unusual. He looked around him, as if seeing
everything for the first time. 'I—couldn't sleep.'
She regarded him sharply, frowningly, and then jerked her head
towards the library. 'Why don't you tell me about it?'
He followed her back into the room and, as she turned to stare at him
questioningly, he strolled over to the large windows comprising most
of the far wall, staring out, his blond head gleaming a pale gold in the
reflected sunlight. He looked as if he would like to speak, and then
just bowed and shook his head.
'Come on, Emory,' she urged in a low voice. 'If you'd like to talk, feel
free. I don't gossip, nor do I break confidences.'
He glanced back at her, his good-natured blue eyes dark. 'I proposed
to Petra last night, and she refused,' he said simply.
She blinked once or twice, and tried to fit what he'd said into the
framework of what she had observed of the pair. Petra had shown as
much sincere interest in Emory as he had for her. 'I find that a bit
hard to believe,' she said finally, and she sat in an armchair, crossing
her legs. 'I could have sworn she was in love with you.'
'I'd thought so.' His face shook, and she felt suddenly appalled. This
was was not a man with a sadly bruised ego, or a disappointed heart.
This man was shattered.
'Emory,' she said, as gently as she could. 'Come sit down.' He sat,
leaning forward and staring down at his hands, laced and hung
between his knees. 'Now listen. Several people have noticed you and
Petra this weekend. Even I, who hadn't met her before, could see that
you two must have some son of history together. And I've noticed
how she would look at you. If someone else has noticed, then it can't
be your imagination. That girl does care for you.'
'Then why?' he whispered to his hands. 'Why did she say no?'
'I suppose,' she replied drily, 'you didn't think to ask? No, I can see
you didn't. I don't know; who can say what went through her mind?
Perhaps she was simply afraid of the thought of marriage. God
knows, it's a serious commitment.'
'I have a steady, well paying career. I don't smoke, rarely drink and
never heavily, and my family has an excellent background. I—I'm a
gentle man,' he said. 'How could she be afraid?'
'You'll never know, unless you ask her,' she said, leaning forward to
touch at his hands. He looked up, and into her dark violet eyes. She
smiled faintly. 'Take your time, get your courage up and your
composure back, and then talk to her about it. Ask her to explain. It
might have been nothing more than that she simply needed to hear
what you would say if she refused you. Since apparently you didn't
even question her reply, she may now be as shattered as you are.'
A hope was born in his eyes, and grew. 'Do you really think that's it?'
She shook her head. 'I don't know. Someone once told me, though,
that we never do something without a reason. I didn't say this to him,
but he was right. It's just that sometimes we don't know the reason
ourselves.'
She didn't know why, but she looked up and to her right. In the
doorway, Pierce stood leaning against the doorpost, hands in pockets,
making the material stretch tightly over lean hips, feet crossed. He
appeared as though he had been listening for some time, face quiet,
without a smile.
She was shocked, immensely so, and feeling vulnerable. But Emory
was talking then, and she had to drag her eyes back to him. 'You've
made me feel tremendously better,' he told her, gratitude sincere in
his eyes. 'I think I'll go upstairs to shower and change. Maybe if I can
bring myself to it, I'll talk to Petra later today.'
Caprice touched him again, lightly. 'Let me know what happens.'
He stood, and bent to press a kiss to her cheek. 'Thank you. I will.'
Then he turned to the doorway, and she was able to risk another
glance in that direction. It was empty, for Pierce was already gone.
Or at least she'd thought he was gone. When she followed Emory into
the hall, feeling an absurd relief that Pierce had had enough
sensibility to make himself scarce, she found that he had merely
backed up in the hall and was walking towards them again, as if
having just come down the stairs.
Emory saw him first and said to the older man, 'Oh, good morning,
Pierce. Nice day.' He turned to Caprice, and his expression softened.
She gave him a small smile back, and he touched at her arm before
running up the stairs to his room.
Pierce and she were left looking at each other, silently;' He was in
deep burgundy red slacks, with the cream cardigan she'd borrowed
yesterday over a pale rose shirt. In it he appeared darker than ever,
and for the second time she noticed the beginning of lines which
were carving themselves on either side of his thin nostrils.
'Oh,' she said, deliberately offhand, eyes wary and pebble flat. 'Good
morning, Pierce.' She turned to walk away.
He fell into step beside her, a slight smile beginning at the corners of
his mouth. 'Nice day. Running away again?'
She lurched to a stop, and refused to look at him as she said between
set teeth, 'What do you want?'
She felt, rather than saw him shrug. 'Did I say I wanted anything?' he
asked, limpidly. Then, as she refused to look at him, he said quite
seriously, 'I didn't mean to overhear. You were obviously sharing
something confidential with Emory.'
'You made no quick effort to get away, I noticed,' she said, with a
snap. They entered the dining room, which was empty.
'I'm only human.' That, with another careless shrug.
A quick turn of her head, and she stared at him. 'What does that
mean?'
He went to the other end of the dining room, pushed open a dark
panelled swinging door, and said cheerfully, 'Good morning, Mrs
Vandusen. Would coffee for two be any trouble this early? Thanks.'
Feeling left on a dangling end, she wandered around the table,
touching chairs lightly with her hand. If she'd thought she could get
away with it, she would leave him right then and there, but that, even
for her, would be too appallingly rude. No, that's not true, she
realised, as soon as she'd thought it. She felt a curious desire to thrash
out the rest of the conversation with him.
He turned back, neatly. She knew, suddenly, that he wouldn't answer
her question. People always had a limit to how far they would open,
in social circumstances. God knows, she certainly did.
'I meant,' he said quietly, strolling to the table, 'that I had come to the
doorway at a very enlightening moment and, since I wanted to hear
more, I waited.' His eyes met, and held hers, dark diamond bright.
'No excuse.'
He drew out a chair for her courteously, large, slim hands curling
around the edges of its back, and hers were the eyes to fall first. She
sat, head bowed, and he then took a seat directly to her left, just
around the corner of the end of the table, his knee brushing hers. She
was intensely aware of him so close, and held herself tight because of
it.
'Here you are!' said Mrs Vandusen smilingly, as she backed through
the swinging door, laden with a tray. 'Shall I set it on the sideboard,
or would you like it on the table?'
'The table's fine, thank you,' replied Pierce, and the housekeeper set
down the things close to him, and then poured.
'Would either of you like breakfast?' the older lady then asked.
Caprice, who had been watching silently, reached for her offered cup
and declined with a smile. After letting her reply first, Pierce shook