Golden Fever. Carole Mortimer

Somerville, she would never tell her what else had happened between them.

      His eyebrows rose. ‘You aren’t the maid or something, are you?’

      ‘Of course not!’ She flushed.

      ‘Of course not.’ He looked pointedly around the luxurious bedroom she was occupying, the totally feminine lemon and white decor. ‘Darling, anyone who comes to one of Carlene’s parties knows the score,’ he drawled.

      Clare blinked hard. ‘They—they do?’

      ‘Mm,’ he nodded. ‘Anything goes—and I mean anything. So if we choose to spend the rest of the afternoon in bed together no one is going to mind.’

      ‘No!’ She backed away as he advanced, more shocked by what he was saying than she wanted him to know. Did her mother really give parties like that?

      ‘Why not?’ His deep blue eyes narrowed. ‘Or is one of those guys downstairs yours’?’

      ‘Guys? Downstairs …? Oh no,’ she realised he meant the other men by the pool. ‘No,’ she shook her head firmly.

      ‘Then what’s wrong?’ His mouth twisted. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t like me!’

      She knew she deserved his mockery. Of course she couldn’t deny liking him, she hadn’t exactly screamed the place down when he had kissed and caressed her. And this man was too experienced with women not to know she had responded totally to him.

      ‘No …’ she acknowledged faintly.

      ‘And I certainly like you. Relax, beautiful,’ he grinned, his hands lightly grasping the tops of her arms to pull her slowly towards him. ‘If you want to take it slow we’ll take it slow,’ he shrugged. ‘But not here. Let’s go back to my place, relax—you can even sunbathe nude if you want to,’ he added throatily. ‘I often do.’

      He was only confirming what she had already guessed, and the transition from the convent to nude sunbathing was too much of a shock for her to do anything else but blush.

      Rourke’s eyes narrowed on her fiery cheeks. ‘Who are you?’ he asked in a puzzled voice, his hands dropping away from her arms.

      ‘I——’

      ‘Rourke? Rourke, where are you?’

      His mouth twisted as he half turned towards the door. ‘Our beautiful hostess,’ he drawled. ‘Which means I’d better get out of here.’

      ‘Yes,’ Clare agreed, her eyes wide, terrified her mother was going to come in here and find her in a state of undress with Rourke Somerville. He might claim that her mother gave wild parties, but she had never seen any evidence of them; her mother was very strict about her behaviour whenever she was at home.

      Rourke shrugged. ‘Maybe the daughter’s arrived from the convent. You have her to thank for not being able to show us all that beautiful body of yours.’

      She gulped. ‘I—I do?’

      He nodded. ‘Mm. Carlene ordered bathing suits to be worn in her daughter’s honour.’

      Did that mean they usually bathed nude …? Including her mother? No, she couldn’t believe that. And this man obviously didn’t realise that she was ’the daughter’ who was spoiling all his fun.

      ‘You’d better go,’ she advised softly.

      ‘Yes,’ he sighed, looking impatient. ‘Are you coming down to join us?’

      ‘I—In a minute.’ When she had recovered from the shock of the last fifteen minutes!

      He strolled casually over to the door, tall and lithe, moving with an animal grace that was totally sensual. ’I’ll be waiting for you,’ he said softly. ‘And don’t forget the rest of your bikini—we wouldn’t want to shock the child.’

      Clare’s mouth compressed in consternation as Rourke Somerville left the room. How old did he think she was, for goodness’ sake!

      Her sense of humour got the better of her, and she giggled at the idea of the little girl he expected her to be. How surprised he was going to be when he found out he had just been making love to ’the child’!

      But it wasn’t really funny, and she sobered instantly. Rourke Somerville had touched her intimately, hadn’t expected her to be surprised by his behaviour. Just what sort of man was he? And what sort of girl did he think she was!

      She had all her bikini on when her mother entered the room a few minutes later, running to meet her with a tiny sob. She hadn’t seen her mother for almost a year because she had been busy filming, and yet she found her little changed, her beauty as youthful as ever.

      ‘Mummy!’ She hugged her, feeling ridiculously tearful.

      ‘Hello, darling,’ her mother greeted in her offhand voice. ‘Don’t cling, Clare, it’s much too hot for body contact.’ She stepped away from Clare, her sunglasses now pushed back into her hair.

      Her mother’s words reminded her of the body contact she had just had with Rourke Somerville, and she felt suddenly shy. ‘You’re looking well, Mummy,’ she said awkwardly, feeling tall and gauche against her mother’s petite beauty and grace.

      ‘Thank you, darling.’ Carlene looked pleased by the compliment. ‘And so are you,’ she frowned, tiny lines appearing at the sides of her eyes. ‘When did you grow to be so—attractive?’

      Clare gave a happy laugh, flushing her pleasure. ‘I’ve slimmed down, that’s all.’

      ‘No, that isn’t all!’ Her mother’s voice was sharp. ‘Oh well, never mind,’ she dismissed irritably. ‘Gene’s waiting for you downstairs.’

      Clare’s face lit up with excitement. Gene was Perry’s son, and the two of them had dated casually the last time she was home. It would be lovely to see him again.

      ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen—No,’ her mother answered her own question, ’I don’t suppose you have. Come along, Clare, I can’t neglect my guests any longer.’

      The two of them walked down the stairs together, totally different to look at, both startlingly beautiful, although Clare would never have guessed that her own youthful beauty far outshone that of her mother. In her opinion no one could be as beautiful as her mother. All her life she had been in awe of that beauty, and now was no different.

      ‘Seen who, Mummy?’ she asked casually.

      ‘What?’ Her mother seemed preoccupied. ‘Oh, one of the guests seems to have wandered off. I didn’t know if you’d seen him.’

      So she was still looking for Rourke. Maybe he had left; he seemed to have been bored by the party. But he had said he would be waiting for her, and somehow she believed he would be.

      The two women stepped into the pool area together, one with hair like sunshine, her youthful perfection giving her a feline grace, the other with hair like flame, a woman conscious that her own beauty was beginning to fade—and determined to hang on to it, and the power it gave her, at all costs.

      ‘Hello …’

      Clare instantly recognised that husky purr, and turned apprehensive eyes on Rourke Somerville. He had a drink in his hand now, a long, slim glass that contained some form of alcohol, she felt sure. And his hair was completely dry now, loose black curls that lay in complete disorder across his brow, giving him a rakish attraction that made her pulses race.

      ‘Ah, there you are, Rourke.’ It was her mother who answered him, slipping her arm into the crook of his. ‘I thought you’d gone, darling,’ she added throatily, looking very small and feminine against his broad masculinity.

      He looked down at her with amused indulgence. ‘And miss meeting your beautiful guest?’ His deep blue gaze caught and held Clare’s gold one, and her breathing was suddenly constricted.

      Her