The Devils Price. Carole Mortimer

had respected her decision that they be friends, too much so in some ways, his good-night kisses too fleeting to be appreciated, their times on the dance floor the only real occasions when she was in his arms. But that last night she had been determined they shouldn’t part so casually. And Zack had seemed to feel the same way, moulding her body to his as they danced, her slender frame dwarfed by his six feet plus. It added to the delusion that she was a child, and that wasn’t how she wanted him to think of her. Her suggestion of a walk in the moonlight had been made with only one idea in mind, to be in his arms, really be in his arms.

      It was a cool evening as they approached England, Cynara’s wrap not enough to ward off the chilling wind.

      Zack had felt her shiver, his arm about her waist. ‘I’d invite you back to my suite for a nightcap,’ he had told her huskily, ‘but we might disturb Michael or Ruth.’

      She knew Ruth was Michael’s nanny, had seen the plump middle-aged woman at the pool with them. But it was the first indication Zack had given that he wanted to be completely alone with her, and she didn’t intend to let it pass them by. ‘My room is small,’ she had told him. ‘But we wouldn’t be disturbed there.’

      Zack had looked at her searchingly for several minutes, and whatever he had seen in her candid brown eyes had made him nod his agreement, allowing her to take him by the hand and lead the way to her room.

      She had been a bit cramped for space with all her stage costumes as well as her normal clothes, and yet she had made the room comfortable, personalised, and had sensed Zack’s approval as he turned back to her after looking around the room, chuckling as something behind her had caught his attention.

      He had walked across the room to pick up the battered doll that sat on her dressing-table. ‘Now I know how young you are,’ he had mocked.

      ‘What you see here is all I have,’ she had told him quietly. ‘I have no permanent home, my venues are too varied for that, and so my home travels with me, such as it is. The doll is one that my mother gave me when I was a child.’ She had told him of her parents death when she was young, of being brought up in an orphanage, knew of his own privileged background, silently pleading for him to understand the way she clung to that tattered doll.

      ‘I’m sorry, Cynara.’ He had put the doll down, holding out his arms to her, resting his head on top of hers when she flew into them. ‘I’m really not worried about a nightcap.’ He had moved back to look at her with darkened green eyes. ‘Are you?’

      She had known what he had really been asking, and she had answered unhesitantly, ‘No.’ Her voice had been a throaty invitation.

      The gentle kisses she had received from him the last week hadn’t prepared her for the raw passion of his devouring mouth, no preliminary searching or questioning, just fiery desire as his tongue had probed the edge of her mouth, the gentle parting of her lips surrender enough as he had plundered the moist warmth within, his thighs leaping with the same need.

      She had wanted to touch the hard planes of his body that she had only ever seen when he lazed by the pool after a swim, had helped him take off his clothes, her own dress a diaphanous heap on the carpeted floor, her only clothing a pair of flesh-coloured briefs that rested low down on her hips.

      Zack had been a silent lover, telling her with his lips and hands how beautiful he had found her, their lovemaking caresses made as if by instinct, driving them quickly to the peak of need. When Zack had joined his body with hers she had felt complete for the first time in her life, knew she had found the man she loved, had climbed the pinnacle of desire at his side, his equal, tumbling over the edge of trembling ecstasy together.

      She had lain in his arms on the narrow bed afterwards, wondering if he were disappointed that he wasn’t her first lover, although he had known of her engagement to Paul, of her intimacy with him, before their engagement ended. She seemed to have told Zack so much about herself in the last week. It hadn’t been a confidence he had reciprocated to the same degree, although she knew he regretted the end of his marriage, still cared for his wife deeply, loved his son very much. She had also come to realise the extreme wealth that gave him his supreme self-confidence, the Buchanan business empire taking up much of his time. And she understood his need for only a transient relationship, knew that they had had fun together this last week, but that it had been a time out of time, that neither of them could ever fit into the other’s world, knowing that Zack would never want to fit into hers.

      He had left her reluctantly in the early hours of the morning, explaining that he had to be in his suite when Michael woke up.

      Cynara hadn’t slept for the rest of the night, had lain awake dreading the parting that morning would bring.

      It had been a very formal parting, both of them conscious of the curiosity of the other passengers as they had watched the progress of their romance through the last week. Cynara had watched from the side of the ship as a black limousine waited for Zack and his party on the dock, banishing the tears to smile and wave as he turned to glance up at her, anxious that his last memory of her shouldn’t be an unhappy one, that he should remember only the laughter and loving they had shared when he thought of her. If he thought of her.

      She had thanked God it was her last trip when the next cruise began a few days later, knew that she couldn’t keep up the air of jollity that was expected of her on board ship. Everywhere she went on board there were memories of herself and Zack, the ones in her cabin impossible to live with. Until the note had been delivered.

      They had docked in Turkey, and she had taken advantage of the stop to go round the Grand Bazaar, had been enthralled with the exotic jewellery displayed in so many of the windows, coming back from her trip exhausted. She hadn’t taken any notice of the envelope slipped under her door at first, was too used to these ship’s memorandum being delivered in this way, throwing off her shoes to collapse back on the bed.

      Finally she pulled herself up, picking up the envelope, ripping it open half-heartedly. The message had been short and brief, ‘Call me. Zack.’ And at the bottom of the page had been a telephone number.

      She had paced her cabin frustratedly until they were underway again and the ship’s telephones were back in use, unable to make calls while they were docked.

      I’ll be waiting, Zack had told her. And he had been.

      She was under no illusions of them becoming friends this time, knew it was the one thing they could never be. The cold contempt in Zack’s eyes as he continued to watch her seemed to say he had lived through the same memories—and came to the same conclusions.

      But five years hadn’t changed the shock of awareness she felt at seeing him again, the need she felt to be in his arms. Suddenly, she knew she had only been half alive the last five years, that her heart still belonged to this man. How could she have been completely alive with no heart, she thought hysterically.

      The rest of her early evening show passed in a blur for her, singing automatically. It had all become mainly routine for her the last few years, but she usually enjoyed herself; tonight the show couldn’t be over soon enough for her, needing to get away from the steady contempt in narrowed green eyes as her voice slowly deteroriated.

      She was aware of Zack’s every move. He didn’t speak to anyone, his glass automatically replaced as soon as it was empty, and his gaze never left her. She was a nervous wreck by the time she stepped gratefully off the stage and out of the spotlights, not sure if she could go back on in an hour and do another show, shutting herself in the privacy of her dressing-room.

      ‘What’s wrong, Cyn?’

      She looked up wearily as Rod, her agent, came in unannounced. ‘Don’t call me that,’ she snapped automatically. ‘What are you doing here?’ she frowned.

      ‘Josie told me you didn’t seem quite yourself today.’ He shrugged, a tall blond-haired man, with a face and physique that should have taken him into films, but he preferred to be the man behind the stars rather than become one himself. ‘So I thought I’d come and see for myself.’

      Josie followed him into the room,