Golden Fever. Кэрол Мортимер

      ‘Nick,’ he said eagerly, watching as she scrawled his name across the bottom of the photograph, accompanying it with her own. ‘Thanks,’ he accepted it gratefully, disappearing into the crowd as suddenly as he had appeared.

      Harvey took hold of Clare’s arm, guiding her outside with a firmness that dared even the most ardent fan to accost them, ushering her into the waiting limousine as a crowd began to gather about them.

      ‘What’s the matter with you? he demanded as the car glided smoothly away from the excited people staring in the windows. ‘You almost didn’t give that boy your autograph,’ he added sternly. ‘A couple of stories in the press of you not appreciating your fans and you’ll have your nickname changed to ‘‘the Golden Bitch’’!’

      Clare smiled, with her lips only, her eyes remaining coolly golden. ‘That ‘‘fan’’ walked off with my pen,’ she told him sweetly.

      Irritation furrowed his handsome face. ‘You should have stopped him——’

      ‘And risked my image?’ she taunted softly, the smile still curving her peach-coloured lips. Her make-up was very light, her lashes naturally dark, her skin the colour of honey and glowing with good health. Only the dullness of her eyes showed her dissatisfaction with her life, the questioning of whether, now that she had her fame and fortune, that were all there were to life.

      ‘The pen was gold, Clare,’ Harvey snapped.

      She shrugged. ‘Gold for the Golden Lady.’

      ‘But I gave it to you!’

      Her expression instantly changed to one of contrition, her hand moving to rest lightly on his thigh. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I’ll make my—thoughtlessness up to you later,’ she added provocatively.

      His frown told her that this didn’t please him either, the look he shot in the direction of their driver showing her the reason why it didn’t. He firmly took her hand in his, shaking his head.

      Clare turned to look out of the window, at the palm trees that grew along the roadside, the abundance of tropical plants. The weather was hot and humid, a smog shrouding the city like a blanket, looking almost like a London fog. Harvey was already beginning to look hot and uncomfortable, perspiration starting to bead his forehead. Of course the grey suit he wore was more suited to an English summer than the humidity of L.A., but then the weather had been cool in England for August.

      Clare frowned as the limousine turned on to the all-too-familiar Sunset Boulevard. ‘Where are we going, Harvey?’ she asked sharply, emotion at last etched into her face.

      ‘Your mother——’

      ‘Tell the driver to turn the car around, Harvey,’ she ordered stiffly, sitting tensely in her seat.

      ‘But, Clare——’

      ‘Now!’ she bit out, her eyes flashing deeply gold.

      ‘But your mother——’

      ‘Can wait. And she can go on waiting.’

      ‘Clare——’

      ‘Will you tell the driver or do I have to do it myself?’ Her tone brooked no further argument.

      Harvey sighed his impatience, leaning forward to issue new instructions to the driver. Clare watched him with angry eyes. Her fianc$eA was very good-looking in an executive sort of way—blond hair almost as gold as her own was kept short to control its tendency to curl, his eyes were the blue of the sea, his nose short and straight, his mouth thin, unsmiling now, his jaw thrust out aggressively, his body slender, the sort of body that wore clothes well.

      Harvey had taken control of her career—and her life—three years ago, and she very rarely opposed him in this way. But about her mother she would remain adamant.

      He sat back, still angry with her. ‘I’ve told him to take us to the hotel,’ he told her tightly.

      The hotel was the ship Queen Mary, and it seemed strange to think of an over eighty-thousand-ton ship as a hotel. Moored at Long Beach since 1967, it was now run as a hotel. Clare had never travelled on her while she had been in service as a cruise liner, and she was curious to see the huge ship that had been saved in this unique way from being broken up for scrap.

      But she couldn’t let Harvey off this lightly. ‘When did you speak to my mother?’ she wanted to know.

      ‘I called her——’

      ‘You did?’ Her eyes widened in exasperation. ‘Why would you call my mother?’

      ‘She is going to be my mother-in-law——’

      ‘That’s never bothered you before.’ Her mouth twisted.

      He flushed his irritation at this unexpected show of anger from her. ‘It doesn’t bother me now, it wouldn’t bother any man to have Carlene Walters as his mother-in-law.’

      Clare could hear the admiration in his voice, and she prickled resentfully. ‘Then maybe you should be marrying her and not me.’

      His eyes narrowed. ‘Now you’re being ridiculous!’

      She sighed, smoothing the yellow dress down the long length of her thighs. ‘What did you talk to her about?’ she asked casually.

      ‘You, mainly,’ Harvey was eager to explain. ‘She really wants to see you, Clare.’

      ‘I’ll bet!’ Her tone was derisive.

      ‘Clare, please,’ he sighed. ‘It’s been years now——’

      Once again she turned to look out of the window, no longer listening to him. She knew exactly how long it was since she had last seen her mother, could have told Harvey down to the last minute exactly how long it was since she had walked out of her mother’s house determined never to see her again—and nothing had happened in the last five years to change her mind about that.

      ‘Clare, are you listening to me?’ Harvey asked impatiently.

      She didn’t even turn. ‘No.’

      ‘You’re being unreasonable——’

      Now she did turn, more angry than she could remember being in a long time. ‘I’ve never tried to interfere in your life, in any way,’ her voice was cold. ‘Now you can manage my career, you even have a say in my future, but my past—and that includes my mother—is none of your business.’

      He looked as if she had mortally wounded him. ‘Clare!’ His tone was reproachful.

      God, what was wrong with her! Ever since this L.A. location had been mentioned she had been as tense as a coiled spring, and taking it out on Harvey wasn’t going to make the next few weeks any easier to bear.

      ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ she said warmly, bending forward to kiss him lightly on the mouth, deliberately pressing her breasts against his chest, knowing that he could see their gentle swell as he looked down at her. He was flushed with pleasure by the time she moved to her own side of the seat.

      She had known of Harvey’s physical interest in her from the first, but for the first eighteen months they had both ignored it. Harvey had been suffering from a broken relationship with the girl he had managed before her, and she had been suffering emotionally herself. But time had healed both of their raw emotions, and soon Harvey was making it clear that when she was ready for an emotional involvement he would be waiting for her.

      And he had been. Eighteen months ago she had given him the green light, and he hadn’t lost a moment, pursuing her relentlessly, only relaxing that pursuit when he had his ring on her finger. They were perfectly suited, and Harvey never demanded more than she wanted to give, despite the fact that he had had a deep physical relationship with Shara Morgan, the girl who had so deeply hurt him. So far their own relationship hadn’t deepened to intimacy, but Clare knew Harvey was waiting for the day—or night, that it did.

      They