Diana Hamilton - Waiting Game

The steel-sharp voice cut through the layers of sleep as a hand flicked the silk and straw confection away from her face. Fen went rigid with shock, then wriggled frantically, trying to get upright without sacrificing too much of her dignity. But a warm hand—a burningly warm hand—on her thigh sent all thoughts of dignity scattering in the ether, her temper and temperature going through the roof.

Not only had her skirt rucked up to an indecent level, it had also gaped embarrassingly. And that lean, olive-toned hand was curved around her thigh, on the soft white flesh above her stocking-top.

‘How dare you?’ She slapped fiercely at his hand, but it didn’t budge an inch. The pressure of his fingers increased by a fraction and Fen pulled in a scorching breath, appalled by the electrifying sensations that spread all over her body. Then she twisted away, ending up on her hands and knees, hardly knowing how to contain her fury when he simply reached for her, dragging her down on to the grass, his arms pinioning her beneath him.

Down, but not out, she glared into his unsmiling eyes and tried to control her hectic breathing as she rasped out, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Mr Ackerman? If this is a sample of the way you treat your female guests I’m surprised you weren’t locked safely away years ago!’

And then he did smile, a sweet, slow smile that took her breath away all over again, a smile that touched his eyes like the rays of the moon on a silver sea and made the harshly modelled planes of his face seem far less uncompromising.

‘I treat my female guests in exactly the way their body language leads me to believe they expect,’ he murmured, his voice as soft as velvet now. ‘The invitation you posed was impossible to resist. And as for what I was doing—’ He moved off her and her eyes went wide and wild. Why, her body seemed scorched by the imprint of his, as if she would never be able to rid herself of the way all that power-packed virility had felt as it had crushed her into the grass! ‘I was looking for you. Alex has been going frantic. And having found you, pinned you down so to speak, I wasn’t willing to risk losing you again.’

He got to his feet, as if nothing had happened, as if he tumbled women he barely knew in the grass every day of the week, insulted them and put his hands…Oh, it was unendurable! And if he touched her again she would kill him!

But she didn’t. Because when he hauled her to her feet, and smoothed down her wrinkled skirt, pulled together the gaping bodice of her dress and settled her silly hat on her head, his touch was completely impersonal, as if he were dressing a tailor’s dummy, making it fit for the public gaze. And that, strangely, was miff-making enough without his almost curt command, ‘Come. Alex has something he wants to tell you. Besides, if you’re missing for much longer he’ll get withdrawal symptoms.’

SAUL didn’t touch her as he walked her back to the party, not even a hand beneath her elbow as they mounted the flight of stone steps that led up from the lower walkway to the pool and terrace level.

Which didn’t mean a thing. Because Fen couldn’t have been more aware of him if his hands had been all over her. Her body was burning, her mouth suddenly dry, her breath thick in her lungs. Yet she was shivering, quivering all over like a startled mare. But that was just a symptom of the tension she’d been under ever since she and Alex had started out on this mad charade, she informed herself tartly, trying to wipe away the memory of being pinned beneath Saul Ackerman’s hard male body, the way his hand had felt on the soft warm flesh of her thigh.

But the memory wouldn’t go away and she had never been as pleased to see anyone in her life as she was to see Alex when he met them at the end of the now almost deserted terrace.

‘So there you are!’ His face lit up with relief. ‘I thought you’d run out on me, sweetheart.’

‘Never!’ In her eagerness to reach him and the safe normality he represented, one of her spindly heels twisted beneath her and only Saul’s lightning-fast reactions, the hand that snaked out to steady her, prevented her from falling in a heap and saying goodbye to what little was left of her dwindling composure. ‘If you’re this eager in bed I can understand why he hates you to be out of his sight,’ Saul murmured close to her ear, his breath fanning her thick honey-gold fringe beneath the dipping, rose-laden brim of her hat.

Fen shuddered with scalding outrage. She wanted to tell him to shut his insulting mouth but the words wouldn’t come. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. And the hand that had steadied her relaxed, just a little, his thumb making lazy circles on the inside of her arm, scorching her through the thin silk sleeve. And the most bewildering, the most horrible thing of all was the way she was just standing there as if turned to stone, letting him do it. Enjoying—

No! Never!

She slapped that thought away smartly then went hot all over as he released her arm, his hand brushing her silk-clad bottom as it fell back to his side, brushing against her so lightly that she could almost have imagined it.

‘Excuse me for a moment; there’s someone I must have a brief word with,’ Saul said, turning away, his movements very fluid for a man whose body packed so much power. And Fen gave him a sourly reluctant ten out of ten for urbanity, for behaving as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t foully insulted her with both word and touch!

‘Can we go now?’ Fen glared at her uncle, unfazed by the way his eyebrows shot up to his hairline at her tone. He hadn’t been close enough to catch Saul’s lowvoiced insult, and the touching had gone on out of sight!

‘Not yet.’ Alex pulled her out of the way of the waiters who were already dismantling the buffet tables. The party was long over. She must have slept for longer than she’d thought. ‘Listen,’ he began in a rush, his flushed face close to hers, ‘while you were missing I had a word with Laurence Meek—he’s the director of programmes, the man who can put ‘em on and take ‘em off. And the only living soul who can sway the decisions he makes is—’

‘Saul Ackerman,’ Fen put in drily, hatred bubbling up inside her all over again at the mere thought of him.

‘Dead right. Anyway, Laurence gave me a very strong hint that, after all, my show mightn’t get the shove. His actual words were, “Don’t go anywhere else with your c.v., old man. There’s a big decision in the offing and I think it will go your way.”’

‘That’s great news!’ Fen’s golden eyes shone, her bad mood disappearing like mist in the summer sunshine. She was really pleased for him. His own show meant a lot to him—his pride, his self-respect, his sense of worth. Slowly, she walked over to the stone balustrading that edged the terrace and gazed out over the now deserted gardens, Alex at her side. His good news meant that soon they would be able to stop the pretence of a torrid, adulterous relationship. She had never been wildly ecstatic about the idea but she hadn’t foreseen how tawdry and besmirched it would make her feel. The relief was heady.

The Ackerman monster certainly had a beautiful home, she decided, the tranquillity of the scene soothing her. She could almost imagine herself putting down roots if she owned something like this. Almost. She sighed. No, she couldn’t see herself putting roots down anywhere, any time. She couldn’t really see the point. There was always something new over the horizon, something to draw her wandering feet onwards…

‘And when’s this big decision to be taken?’ she asked.

‘I’m not sure. But soon. And when it’s made, either way, we can drop this act.’