Guilty Passion (18 page)

He was flirting with her, and a frisson of apprehension inside her mingled with a bubble of delight.

“Don't be frightened,” Ethan said rather gently. “I'm not going to leap on you and tear you limb from limb.”

“I have wondered,” she said, regarding the liquid in her glass, “if that wasn't exactly what you had in mind. Metaphorically speaking.”

Ethan shook his head. “Have you really not been in contact with Steven since leaving the island, until you got his letter?”

Celeste took a quick sip of her drink. She felt herself tense in anticipation of his reaction. “Once,” she said, looking away from him. “I phoned him before I left Sydney. He. . . came to my hotel.” She glanced at him, daring him to make anything of that. There was a frown line between his brows, a smouldering light in the navy blue eyes, but he just nodded as though to encourage her to go on.

“We talked,” she said. She didn't say so, but they had talked in a deserted hotel lounge, over cups of coffee. She had only phoned to say goodbye to Steven and give him a forwarding address, in case he needed to contact her over Alec's papers. He had asked to see her, and with nothing to do now except wait until it was time to leave for the airport, she had agreed.

Steven had seemed a little distracted, she thought, and he had been rather insistent that she try to recall if there was any other place that Alec might have left documents or disks relating to his work.

“I can't think of anywhere,” she told him. “Honestly, everything he had has been sorted, and I'm sure that Ethan would have given you anything that you could use.”

He sighed. “Yes, I guess so.”

“Is there a problem, still?”

“You might say that,” he said, baffled. “I'll just have to go through the lot again. Maybe I've missed something. How are you?” he asked, forgetting that he had already made the expected, perfunctory query. “I mean, really?”

“Recovering,” she told him. “I'll be fine.”

He said, almost unwillingly, “Celeste, do you think Alec was. . . quite himself, before he died?”

“I think he hadn't been for some time,” she said softly. Watching his troubled face, she made a decision. “He did commit suicide, you know.”

Oddly, he looked almost relieved. “I. . . suspected it,” he said. “In fact, I was pretty sure.”

“Why?”

“Well, you know that field trip that we'd just got back from? There was a fair bit of clambering about rocks and stuff that Alec of course wasn't able to take part in, although he was brilliant at deciphering what we'd found. The final day of the trip we were late getting back to camp. Alec had broached a bottle of whisky before we arrived. We made it a bit of a party in the end, but he'd had a head start on the rest of us. In the early hours, everyone else had gone off to bed, and he and I polished off the last bottle between us. I've never known him so talkative. He began telling me about his early expeditions—fascinating stories. I was riveted. Then he went on to say how he felt about. . . the way things were now—then, I mean. How he couldn't keep up anymore, and he was going to be pushed off the peak by. . . people like me. He said his work was his life, and if he couldn't do it anymore, he couldn't go on living. And a lot of stuff like that. I thought it was the drink talking. Then when. . . when the accident happened, I wondered. But there didn't seem any point in dragging it up.”

“There wasn't,” Celeste said. “But thank you for telling me.”

“I had the feeling,” Steven said, “that maybe you need to know that it wasn't because of anything to do with you. He never mentioned you the whole time. Just his work and how he'd loved it as he loved nothing else.” He flushed then. “Sorry, I probably shouldn't have told you that. Maybe that makes it worse.”

Celeste shook her head. “It's okay. I knew anyway.”

“Yeah. I guess you'd know him better than anyone.”

“Celeste?” Ethan was saying. The frown had intensified.

“Sorry. I was thinking. Steven wanted to know if there was any other place Alec might have kept notes. I wasn't able to help him. He must have suspected even then that there was no more.”

Aunt Ellie bustled in, pulling an apron from her substantial waist. “Dinner!” she announced. “Come along, you two, before it gets cold.”

She was a superb cook. As Ethan told her, it would have been a crime not to give all of their attention to the moist pink smoked marlin served with asparagus spears, the creamy curried soup garnished with the finest grated carrot, the pork served with tiny potatoes and baby kumaras, and a sauce that Aunt Ellie said proudly was made to her own secret recipe.

“It's wonderful!” Ethan assured her, speaking carefully into her ear. Celeste added her tribute, but looked doubtfully at the chocolate mousse and whipped cream that followed, saying, “Honestly, Aunt Ellie, I don't know if I can eat any more.”

Her hostess scowled. “Eat it up,” she bellowed, as though addressing a recalcitrant child. “It'll do you good.”

Celeste met Ethan's eyes and hastily looked away. It wouldn't do if the two of them burst out laughing and had to try to explain the joke—loudly—to Aunt Ellie.

The dessert was so light it melted on the tongue, and Celeste managed to do it justice in the end. Aunt Ellie inspected the empty dish approvingly and said, “There! I told you.”

“Yes, you did,” Celeste agreed meekly, not at all sure what exactly the older woman meant.

“You've blossomed since Alec died,” Aunt Ellie said, staring at her fixedly. “It's usually a mistake to marry someone nearly twenty years older.”

Celeste flushed, and Ethan began to look rather austere. Quite unabashed, Aunt Ellie ploughed on. “Never much of a man for women anyway. Didn't understand them. Even his stepmother said she found him difficult to know. Used to worry her.”

“It did?” Ethan said, his brows shooting up.

But she obviously hadn't heard. “Don't think he was cut out for marriage, really. Blame his father for that. After Ann left them. . . gave the boy too much attention, in a way. Always wanted his son to be the best at everything. Said ambition never did anyone any harm. Too pushy, I thought. Told him so once. The man Ann left him for, of course, was one of those tycoon fellas. Had the Midas touch. Always thought that had something to do with it, you know. By the time his father married again, mellowed a bit on the subject of women, it was too late to do Alec any good. Not that he was. . . like that,” she added trenchantly. “Was he?” she suddenly demanded of Celeste, who shook her head, trying to control her expression. “Mm. Thought not. Well, he's gone and that's that,” Aunt Ellie finished, with an air of washing her hands of the problem. “And you needn't poker up like that,” she admonished Ethan. “I've only spoken the truth, young fella.”

Ethan's face relaxed into wry humour. “Yes,” he said. “You always do.”

Aunt Ellie looked from him to Celeste and back again. “Girl needs a social life, you know. She works too hard.” Celeste said, “Aunt Ellie, I have—”

“Why don't you take her out, Ethan? Do her good. Both of you. Go on.” She sat back with an air of pleased expectancy, as though she had just invented sliced bread and was waiting for someone to butter it.

Celeste's cheeks were scarlet, and Ethan said in a shaking voice, “Good idea, Aunt Ellie. I intend to.”

Celeste's eyes flew to his face. He was humouring the old lady, she thought. He had made no such suggestion to
her
.

They helped Aunt Ellie wash up, and had some coffee, leaving on the dot of ten when she consulted the clock and said, “Well, I hope you've enjoyed your evening. . . .”

Assuring her that they had, Ethan called a cab. When it arrived, he handed Celeste in, and seating himself next to her with his head back, he blew a long “Whew!” at the ceiling.

“My sentiments exactly,” Celeste said, and began to laugh.

Ethan joined in. “I'd forgotten,” he gasped, “what a human tornado she is.”

“She's wonderful,” Celeste said warmly. “But so embarrassing!”

“I wasn't embarrassed.”

“
I
was!”

“I noticed. Not so sophisticated as you'd like to pretend, are you?” He turned his head to study her with smiling curiosity. He had a mad urge to take her in his arms. So he folded them instead, before he said, “When can I take you out? Would you like dinner? A show? A film? Or dancing? There must be nightclubs in this town where people dance.”

“You don't need to.”

“Didn't you hear what I told her? She jumped the gun on me, that's all.” “Why should you—”

“Because Aunt Ellie will interrogate me—both of us. And hound us until we can tell her we've had at least one date.”

Celeste shuddered. “So she will.”

“Is the prospect that terrible?” Ethan asked drily.

“No, of course not. I just don't think you should be forced. . .”

“Nobody is forcing me. Okay?”

Celeste shrugged. “If you say so.”

They went to a film, a multiple Academy Award winner that they agreed was less good than its publicity. To make up for it, Ethan suggested they try another outing a few nights later. “Aunt Ellie,” he said solemnly, “will want a blow-by-blow description. We can't let her down.”

She refused to go dancing, afraid of what being held close to him might do to her equilibrium. He said, “Ever been to Theatre-sports? It's supposed to be great fun. Sunday night, I believe.”

It
was
great fun, a complicated version of the old game of charades played by teams of actors and turned into a very funny spectator sport, with cheering and booing from a packed theatre, and judges who deliberately provoked boisterous audience reaction.

“I haven't had such a good time in years!” Celeste told Ethan as they made their way out of the theatre.

He smiled at her even as she caught herself up, wondering if he would see the remark as a reflection on his stepbrother. His arm came about her shoulder, and he kissed her on the lips. Her mouth was soft and warm, and for a moment he held it under his, tempted. . . so tempted. Then he pushed her gently away as someone close by whistled and hooted.

When he left her at her door he brushed her cheek with his lips and said, “Thank you. I had a great time, too.”

Celeste climbed into bed and lay wakeful in the darkness. “I don't understand,” she muttered to herself. “I don't understand him.”

Sometimes she passionately wished that he had kept away, but the thought of his going again wrenched at her heart. She didn't know if she could bear it.

Ethan had said she was a different woman each time he met her after a long absence, but he seemed to have suffered a sea-change, too. He had, according to Aunt Ellie's instructions, taken her out. And treated her with what appeared to be affection, although every moment they were together was mild torture for her. On one level she loved being in his company, felt twice as alive when he was near, and desperately wanted more. And yet, that was exactly what she had left the island to avoid—finding herself enmeshed in her love for him with no hope of escape. There could be no lasting happiness in a passion that was so intertwined with distrust, with anger—and with guilt.

He came into the shop and casually invited her to dinner. She was tempted to ask him point-blank what his game was, but she was afraid to rock the boat.

Later, as they were eating, he said, “Did you get your new dress?”

When she looked up, surprised, he said, “For the legal ball. It's next Saturday, isn't it?”

“Sandra and I made one,” she said.

“Sandra?”

“My bridesmaid,” she reminded him. “She sews my fabrics.”

“Ah, I remember. A nice girl,” he said without interest.

Then he changed the subject, and that was that. After dinner he saw her home and left her with his usual quick brushing of lips on her cheek. She let herself in and had to severely check an irrational impulse to slam the door.

Judging by the admiration on Grant's face, the dress was all that she and Sandra had hoped it would be. He looked moderately stunned, and said, “That is
beautiful!
”

Suppressing a twinge of sadness that it was not Ethan who was her escort, she thanked him smilingly and tucked a few of the shop's cards into a small leather bag. If anyone else admired the dress, she was ready to do a little discreet advertising.

They did, and she found herself handing out the cards to several eager women who were among the party sharing a table with her and Grant.

She had danced a couple of times with Grant, and they were sitting down again when he said, “Isn't that your brother-in-law over there?”

“Oh, I don't think. . .”

Celeste looked where he was indicating, and saw Ethan entering the ballroom, with his hand resting lightly at the waist of a girl with striking red hair. She was wearing a strapless gold dress that exposed slim, shapely legs that seemed to go on forever. She gazed about as though searching for someone, and Ethan saw Celeste and raised a negligent hand in greeting.

“It is, isn't it?” Grant asked curiously.

“Yes.” Why hadn't he told her he was going to be here? What
was
he playing at?

“There aren't many seats left,” Grant said. “I'll ask them to join us, shall I?”

He was already half out of his chair. “They might have friends here,” she said.

“If so, they don't seem to have found them,” Grant answered.

She watched him cross the floor, saw the two men shake hands, and then the newcomers came back with him and someone secured chairs for them. Introductions were made all around and she found herself sitting opposite Ethan, who laid an arm along the back of the redheaded girl's chair, his sleeve touching her creamy bare shoulders.

Celeste said coldly, “You didn't say you were coming here tonight.”

“Thought I'd surprise you,” he answered, his smile a little too wide, his eyes watchful.

“Yes,” she said. “You did.” The girl looked awfully young, she thought, with what she immediately realised was a ridiculous feeling of outrage. To compensate for it, she smiled nicely and said to her, “Are you a lawyer. . . Renalda?”

The girl smiled back. “Call me Rennie. Everyone does. I'm studying law. My dad is one, though. He's here somewhere, with my mother and some old, er, older people.” She looked slightly flustered, glancing about the table. Everyone was probably a good ten to fifteen years older than she was, but Celeste supposed that at least they were not of Rennie's parents' generation.

Ethan laughed down at his companion. “You'll never make it,” he said. “Lawyers have to have silver tongues, Rennie.”

She made a face at him and laughed back. The music started again, and she unselfconsciously dragged Ethan to his feet to partner her.

Grant said quietly, “You're very pensive.”

Celeste gave him a bright smile. “I was miles away.”

“Want to dance?”

“Yes, why not?”

She saw Rennie glance at her, and then say something to Ethan. He nodded, giving her a rather rueful little grin, and Rennie laid her glorious head against his shoulder, snuggling into him. Ethan caught Celeste's eyes as she danced by with Grant. There was a thoughtful expression on his face, she noticed, before Grant swung her into a turn and she lost sight of them.

When next she caught a glimpse of them, Rennie and Ethan seemed to be engaged in a humorous argument. The girl had her arms about his neck, and her pretty face was alight.

After they had returned to the table, Rennie leaned close to Ethan and whispered something in his ear. Celeste heard him mutter, his voice full of laughter, “Behave yourself!” She noticed he had made a grab under the table and was now holding Rennie's hand firmly in his. At a guess she had been sliding her fingers up his leg.

Rennie laughed, and Ethan smiled indulgently back at her. Then as the music began again, a young man came and touched the girl's shoulder.

“Do you mind, Ethan?” she asked him.

“Not at all.” But he took a good look at the young man.

“It's all right,” Rennie assured him. “Kevin is perfectly safe. Daddy knows him.”

Kevin, Celeste thought, didn't seem too thrilled about the description, but he folded Rennie into his arms like a piece of precious china, and she wafted across the floor with a satisfied smile on her lips.

“Dance, Celeste?” Ethan stood up rather abruptly. “You don't mind, do you?” he asked Grant perfunctorily.

“Not at all.” Grant gave Celeste an absentminded smile and went on talking with one of the other men across the table.

Celeste hesitated, but Ethan was at her side now. She got up and went into his arms.

“Perfect,” he murmured. And at once she was back on the island, lying with him in the darkness with the stars spilling across the sky, and the waves washing on the shore. She shivered and, raising her head, whispered, “What?”

He had eyes like the sea at night, she thought, like the clear, silky water just before the last of the daylight faded away.

He said, “Your dress—it's perfect. Like sunrise on the beach at Sheerwind.”

“I. . . thank you.” She licked her lips. She couldn't stop looking at him, at his eyes. Sunrise on the beach. . . she knew he was remembering, too.

Someone collided with her back, and she managed to drag her eyes from Ethan's, even as he pulled her closer. “Sorry,” he said in her ear. “I wasn't paying attention to where we're going.”

The lights suddenly dimmed as the band began a slow, dreamy number. Ethan's breath stirred her hair against her temple.

Rennie and Kevin passed them. Rennie's arms were hooked around the young man's neck, and he had a besotted expression on his face.

Ethan's eyes followed them, and Celeste said, “Is she trying to make you jealous?”

“She couldn't,” he said succinctly, “even if she wanted to.”

“Oh, I think she wants to,” Celeste said drily.

He looked down at her. “Do you, now?”

“You must know enough about women to be aware that she's trying to. . . keep your attention.”

“Over the past several months,” Ethan said, “I've begun to think I don't know the first thing about them. I've never actually been a womaniser, whatever you might think.”

How had they got into this conversation? Celeste asked herself, beginning to panic. It was much too dangerous.

“Does it matter what I think?” she said, prepared to dismiss the subject.

But Ethan had stopped dead in the middle of the floor. Other couples glided around them, and coloured lights washed across the room in waves. “Yes, it matters,” he said. “And—Oh, the hell with game playing!” he added disgustedly. “As a matter of fact, the only one who was supposed to be jealous was you!”

“Me?” she said in amazement. And then, before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “Well, I am!”

She sounded to her own astonished ears like a hurt, angry child. Trying to retrieve some dignity, she babbled, “I mean. . . I don't mean that! Just that Rennie's very pretty, and young, and I'll be thirty in less than two years. . . . She's a nice girl. Of course I envy h—”

She was stopped by Ethan's mouth on hers, his lips moving with hard, sweet passion. And then he said, “We're getting out of here.”

As he led her across the floor, she protested, “Ethan, we can't! You're with Rennie, and—”

“And you're with Grant,” he said. “But there's nothing
important
between you two, is there?”

He glanced back at her as he led her through the crowd, and when she didn't answer he scowled and stopped, turning to face her. “
Is there?
”

Celeste shook her head.

“Right,” he said, satisfied. “I'll deal with it.”

He scooped up her bag from the table and said, “Grant, will you excuse Celeste, please. I'm taking her home. We have some unfinished business to discuss.”

Grant stood up, rather bewildered, and raised his brows questioningly at Celeste.

“I'm your partner,” she said. “If you don't want me to. . .”

“I don't mind, if you
want
to go with Ethan.” He cast a curious look at the other man. “It appears,” he said, “that this unfinished business has acquired some unexpected urgency.” Looking at Celeste again, he said, “It's entirely up to you.”

His eyes quizzed her, and she smiled rather shakily. If he thought she was being coerced, he would do something about it. She knew that. But it would create an unpleasant scene in front of his colleagues, and he would hate it. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I've enjoyed myself. Thank you, Grant.” She gave a meaningless smile to his friends at the table.

“Well, the evening's almost over anyway,” he said, and kissed her cheek. “Take care of her,” he said mildly to Ethan.

Ethan met his warning gaze and nodded. “I intend to.”

He spoke to Rennie on the way out, detaching her from Kevin long enough to murmur something to her that made her throw a laughing glance of curiosity at Celeste and fling her arms about Ethan in a quick hug.

“That child's a menace,” Ethan said, as he hustled Celeste outside.

“She's not really a child.”

“She is to me. I've been a sort of honorary uncle to her since she was knee-high to a grasshopper.”

“I wondered when you came in if she was the friend you've been staying with.”

“She is.” He laughed. “Along with her parents and her kid brother. Her father was the friend I was referring to.”

He waved down a cab going by with a lighted sign, and helped her in. “Your place?” he asked.

Celeste nodded, suddenly unable to speak. What exactly did he expect once they got there? An invitation to her bed? Unfinished business, he had said. All the doubts and fears that his reentry into her life had awakened, began crowding in on her.

When they got there, he took the key from her shaking fingers to open the door. In the sitting room, she walked around switching on lamps, and asked him, “Do you want coffee? Something else?”

“Nothing. We have to talk. Can we sit down?”

She nodded, and sank into the nearest armchair. He stood there for a moment, and then reached down and gently pulled her up, and moved to the sofa. “Here,” he said, “if you don't mind. I don't fancy shouting at you across the room.”

“It's only a small room. And if you're going to shout at me. . .”

He had his arm about her, loosely, but his hand was firm on her shoulder. “Figure of speech,” he said soothingly. “It's the last thing I want, believe me.”

“That's the trouble,” she said. “I'm not sure if I can.” She raised her head to look at him steadily.

“Believe me?” he said slowly. His arm came away from her and rested on the back of the sofa. “Why shouldn't you?”

As she hesitated, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, he said, “Go on. Tell me.”

She took a deep breath. “Since you've been here, you've been. . . friendly, affectionate, even. Gentle.”

“I've tried.”

“Yes, well, I can't help wondering if it's just a ploy in some complicated game you're playing with me. Cat and mouse, perhaps.”

“Why?”

“Because you blame me for what happened to Alec, and you have some twisted idea of revenge. . . don't you?” She met his eyes bravely, determined to face the truth.

He sighed. “My tactics seem to have backfired.”

“Tactics?”

“You don't trust me.”

Celeste shook her head.

He said, “Perhaps I should have just dispensed with being clever, and—”

He reached for her, his eyes purposeful, but she pushed against him violently and jumped to her feet. “No!”

He hunched forward, passing a hand over his face. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I thought. . . I don't know what I thought. When I came back to Sheerwind, I expected you to be there. When you weren't, I didn't know what to do, what to think. The only thing that made sense was that you didn't care. . . that making love to me meant absolutely nothing to you. It was even, maybe, some form of getting back at me for the way I had treated you—a kind of revenge.”