Morning Song Page 8

  ‘Relax,’ he commanded, and deliberately uncurled her fingers one by one, placing her hand flat against his face. ‘This is serious.’

  ‘This is silly,’ she answered uncomfortably. She was uncertain whether the tightening within, her stomach was due to nervousness or the determined tone of his voice, or the sensuous intent in his eyes—or perhaps all. A moment of indecision convinced her that it would be much more embarrassing to try to break away than to go along with his little game, and she tried to force herself to relax and take it lightly, letting her hand rest without resistance on the rough plane of his face. ‘Now what?’ she demanded.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ he ordered, and she found that a suggestion which was easy to comply with. She could not bear to look at him throughout this ridiculous charade, with her face scarlet and her eyes miserable with embarrassment, knowing that his fingers on her wrist measured every increment of her pulse. She thought it might be easier, after all, to make a scene and break away.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ she warned, and then he moved her hand, urging her fingers to lightly explore the breadth of his forehead, the soft fall of hair there, the smooth arch of his eyebrows and then, very delicately, across his closed lids ... her fingers were unsteady, and she was not certain whether that was due to nervousness or to the other emotion which was tightening steadily within her and was too fragile to be defined. She felt the need to break the mood, and she said, ‘I feel stupid.’

  ‘I like it.’ Gently, Shane urged her fingers downward, slowly over his cheeks; she felt the rough texture of his skin where his face darkened into five o’clock shadow, and the surprising softness of the bridge of his nose and the uneven little bump there, and then she was aware that her fingers were moving and exploring on their own, without his encouragement, and that the tactile pleasure of so simple an exercise was tingling like electricity in the tips of her fingers and tripling the beat of her pulse. She deliberately stopped, and opened her eyes.

  ‘Do you do this with every woman you meet?’ she asked. She had intended to break the mood and shatter the vibrant, totally unexpected atmosphere of sensuality which had surrounded them, but her voice was too soft and breathless to communicate anything other than encouragement.

  Shane replied silkily, lightly striking the back of her hand with his forefinger, ‘I wish someone would introduce me to all these women you seem to think I know. It probably would have saved me a lot of lonely nights.’

  And then, deliberately, he guided her trembling fingers across his face, over the cleft of his chin, around the softness of his parted lips. Lauren caught her breath involuntarily and her eyes closed as he drew one finger inside his mouth.

  New vistas of sensuality opened up to her in the warm moisture of his mouth, the gentle sucking motion encompassed the tip of another finger, and then another ... The light pressure of smooth, even teeth, the warm caress of his tongue exploring nail beds and tingling the tips of her fingers. Her breath was suddenly shallow and uneven, a light film of perspiration broke out across her throat and spread to her chest; the room was over-warm. No parts of their bodies touched except their fingers, and his lips, but behind her closed eyes incredible images were forming.

  She drew her fingers away and opened her eyes, trying once again to break the mood. But it was too late. Already her fingers, still moist from the recesses of his mouth, were trailing downwards across his throat, exploring the rough texture of his skin and the uneven ridges of his throat, the silky tuft of hair that appeared at the hollow where the collarbone separated, and his eyes were smoky and slightly hooded, offering no discouragement. ‘How,’ she managed breathlessly, almost in a whisper, ‘how is this supposed to help my self-image?’

  ‘Very simply.’ His voice was husky and his hand left hers to travel lightly up the course of her arm, his fingers playing with feather-touches across her face and threading her hair. ‘You must know you’re very valuable to me, because I’ve never gone to so much trouble for a kiss before.’

  More than anything at that moment she wanted him to kiss her. Her body cried out for it, and more, as both her hands travelled shyly up his arms to caress the broad expanse of his shoulders. But if Shane sensed her impatience he chose to ignore it, and he simply whispered, ‘Close your eyes.’

  Lauren felt no urge to disobey, and then his fingers were upon her body as hers had been upon his, brushing, exploring, lightly caressing ... she shivered and gave herself over to the experience.

  His hands were upon her face now, and she was amazed at the softness of them, the delicacy with which he stroked her brow and her eyelids, traced the curvature of her nose and the square outline of her jaw. The tension flowed from her arms and she let her hands wander down to his chest, to the brief expanse of bare skin there and then to firm muscles, across his breast where her palm discovered the sturdy throb of his heart. His sweater was like silk beneath her fingers, but it was so thin she could feel the heat of his body through it and the soft mat of hair ... no, it was richer than silk, it was like the soft fur of a warm animal, and she let her fingers travel luxuriously across the full breadth of it, the strength of his ribcage, the firmness of his abdomen, resting when the softness melted into the new texture of a leather belt, and then his hands left her face to begin a new exploration of his own.

  Until tonight Lauren had felt unfeminine and unwanted, and it was true her self-image had suffered badly. But under the sensual touch of Shane’s fingers she discovered there was nothing whatsoever wrong with her libido, for she was helpless against the response he generated within her. His touch was so light it was more of a promise than a fact as it travelled slowly across her ribs, across her thighs, upwards to her breasts. And there, with a gentle circular motion, his fingers discovered the tautness of her nipples and caressed, sending electric waves of tingling sensation through her. Every fibre of her body was alert and painfully aware of him, yet she was motionless, weak, and anything other than the physical response which overwhelmed her was beyond her capabilities.

  He took her face between both hands, very gently, and she could not even open her eyes. She felt his nearness by the warmth of his breath upon her parted lips; her heart began to thud in her throat and she could no longer breathe, and then, lightly, so lightly it was almost a whisper, she felt his tongue flicker along her lower lip.

  A muffled sound escaped her, whether of expectation or surprise she did not know. Heat flamed through her and yearning tightened in her chest and spread slowly to her stomach as she felt his tongue brush delicately across her teeth and the moist portion of her inner lip. Her hands tightened upon his waist, and just as she expected his lips to clasp fully upon hers, he said softly, ‘Unless we want to finish this with an audience, I think we’d better stop now.’

  Shock reverberated through her as his hands left her face and closed about her hands, which were still on his waist. She opened her eyes, but nothing was clear, everything still pounded in a foggy haze of passion and expectancy and yearning so cruelly unfulfilled. She could not believe that he was removing her hands from his waist, that even now he was standing and pulling her to her feet. And then she heard voices outside and a key in the lock and she thought she understood.

  His smile was regretful and in his eyes she saw the same sort of confusion and impatience which was in her own, ‘Try to remember,’ he advised gently as he released her hands, ‘that you’re leaving me in the same condition.’

  And then he turned to greet Van.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lauren turned away quickly, knowing that one glimpse of her flushed face and rumpled hair would give her hosts a perfect picture of what had been going on on the sofa before their arrival. Nervously, she smoothed her hair and took a couple of deep breaths while Shane distracted their attention with light greetings and trivial questions about the drive and the traffic at the airport. The other voices joined those of Marie and Van in the foyer, and Lauren turned to see Angel Roberts.

  Angel was one of th
ose incredibly beautiful women who seem to be the exclusive products of Nashville or Los Angeles recording studios. Her silver-blonde hair fell smooth and straight to her hips, only the minimum of make-up adorned her small, lovely face, and a pair of smoky-lensed sunglasses rested atop her head. She stepped immediately into Shane’s arms, and Lauren watched incredulously as he bent and kissed her tenderly on the lips, murmuring, ‘You’re as gorgeous as ever.’

  Angel smiled up at him, caressing his neck affectionately, and answered, ‘You’re looking pretty fit yourself. God, it’s been a long time!’

  ‘Two years,’ answered Shane, and Lauren was stunned into childish incredulity as she watched them, thinking ridiculously, she got the kiss that was meant for me. Shane is holding her and touching her just as he did me a moment ago ... and what she felt was indignation mixed with a very definite jealousy.

  And then she was ashamed of herself. She had been in show business long enough to know that such demonstrations of affection were not only common, they were almost mandatory—and ultimately meaningless. She herself had played out many such scenes.

  Once, new to life backstage, she had expressed astonishment at all the hugging and kissing that went on among perfect strangers at a theatre party, and a veteran had told her with a careless grin, ‘With the kind of life we lead, you have to take it when you can get it’—then he proceeded to proposition her most charmingly. Of course she was being irrational over Shane’s reaction to Angel, and she told herself she would not have even noticed it if she hadn’t been in such a state of heightened sexual awareness—and if Angel had not been quite so beautiful.

  And then, as Shane was slipping off Angel’s raccoon jacket, Van said, ‘Angel, I want you to meet a dear friend of mine.’ He extended his hand and drew Lauren forward. ‘Angel Roberts, Lauren Davis.’ Two other members of her band were with her, a tall, studious man with frizzy red hair, called Chris, and an older, positively huge gentleman with a bristly beard and a ringing laugh by the name of Chuck. Lauren was introduced all around, but she did not really pay much attention because, after greeting Lauren pleasantly, Angel had turned to Shane and was engaging him in soft, intimate conversation as he led her across the room with an arm about her waist.

  Afterwards there was the usual confusion of drinks being poured and everyone talking at once as six people tried to catch up on all the news and witty gossip, exclusive to their industry, and Lauren quite naturally felt excluded. Angel monopolised Shane’s attention—as well as that of everyone else in the room—with no effort at all, but Lauren could not really resent her for it. She was simply that type of woman, and she could not have reached such a degree of success if she had been different. But, Lauren thought bleakly, if she was expected to compete with Angel Roberts there simply was no contest. And Shane seemed to have forgotten that Lauren existed.

  Chuck lowered his large frame on to the sofa beside her and dropped a companionable hand on her knee.

  ‘So, sweetie,’ he invited, ‘what do you do? Sing? Play? Or ...’ his grin was not in the least insulting, ‘do you just hang around to keep old Shane happy?’

  Lauren could not really be offended by the insinuating remark or by the hand on her knee; it was show talk from a show person, she was used to it. That was not what bothered her. It was the necessity of explaining to a stranger that she was no part of this scene, that she did not really belong here amidst all the success and bright lights, that she was, in fact, nothing.

  ‘I’m—I was,’ she corrected painfully, ‘a dancer. Touring shows, off Broadway. They call us gypsies.’

  ‘Hey, is that right? That’s cute.’ He sipped from his drink, his bright eyes expressing lively interest in everyone and everything about him. Lauren just happened to be in the path of an enquiring mind. ‘What do you mean, “you were”? Did you retire or something? Get too old for the circuit?’

  Van had made something of the same observation while she was still in hospital, trying to comfort her by pointing out that, at twenty-six, her career as a dancer was almost over anyway. It had been no comfort. Van did not understand, any more than this well-intentioned stranger could, that the love of performing was not circumscribed by age and that she would have danced for ever if she could have.

  ‘No,’ she said rather shortly. ‘I had an accident—a knee injury, and surgery. I can’t dance any more.’

  It never failed to amaze her to hear her own voice uttering those fatal words, those earth-shattering words, and every time it was like the first time. But Chuck only looked mildly amused, and said, ‘Hey, no kidding? I did that once. Pulled a muscle or something, right in the middle of a number in front of a packed-out house. Tried to jump over an amplifier and fell off the damn stage. Hey, Chris,’ he turned to slap Chris on the arm, laughing, ‘you remember that, man? Remember how old Archie was running around screaming I was dead when the cable came loose and sparks were flying all over the place?’ He turned back to Lauren, his eyes dancing madly with the memory and the laughter he had elicited from everyone else. ‘Same thing.’

  Lauren tried to smile, but she thought bleakly, No, it’s not. It’s not the same at all. Because when you picked yourself up you could get right back on stage and your life wasn’t over, your world wasn’t changed...

  The laughter and the recapping of memories went on about her and she tried to look polite and interested. In fact she felt only isolated, and vaguely depressed. What did any of these people know about heartbreak? She was glad when the party began to make its way to the music room and she was able to slip away unnoticed to her room.

  It was not until she was there that she discovered one other reason for her mounting depression. She suddenly remembered that Angel had done a duet with Shane on his last album entitled Just Another Memory. She wondered how deep the relationship went. But it was none of her business, and certainly none of her concern. After all, Shane had managed his life quite well before Lauren Davis had come into it—as he had so bitingly pointed out not very long ago.

  The beat of drums and the throb of bass pounded in the walls, and Lauren turned over on her side, trying to get comfortable even if she couldn’t sleep. She thought of them all down there, making music and having a good time, and she wondered if Shane were playing one of the instruments. She wondered if he would sing, and if he would be laughing with Angel and exchanging intimate glances.

  She gave a little groan of impatience with herself and turned over on her back, momentarily drawing the pillow over her head to block out the sounds from below. But then she pushed the pillow away and turned her face thoughtfully towards the door, wondering about Shane, trying to figure him out. What had it all meant, today, and this evening ... why the sudden change in attitude towards her, why the professed interest in her well-being, and above all, why, if he could have a woman like Angel Roberts, would he bother with Lauren? Was he really that lonely, or that bored? He had appeared to be neither in the short time she had observed him. Then perhaps he was simply one of those men who didn’t like to be rebuffed and had made up his mind that first time she had turned away from him to have her just for the sake of his ego. She hoped that was not the case, because she hated to play those stupid games and she certainly had no intention of serving as balm to Shane Holt’s ego. No, more likely it was something much simpler ... what had he said today? ‘Go with the impulse and sort out your mistakes later.’ Yes, that was the way Shane would think, and Lauren’s only mistake had been in taking him too seriously.

  She tried to put him out of her mind, but she lay awake for a long, long time, listening to the music.

  ‘Lauren.’ In her dreams she imagined Shane’s voice, soft and silky, in her ear. In her dream she felt his fingers lightly brush her hair away from her cheek, and heard him whisper her name again. She felt the warmth of his breath on her face, and his hands cupping her shoulders and lifting, drawing her close to him ...

  Only this was no dream. She opened her eyes sleepily, and Shane’s three fingers across her
lips muffled her, startled gasp. ‘Ssh,’ he said softly, ‘everyone else is still asleep.’

  Her eyes opened wide, straining to make out his face in the foggy dark, and she sat up straight, pulling the blanket up high under her chin. ‘What,’ she whispered hoarsely as he cautiously removed his fingers, ‘what are you doing here?’

  ‘Time to get up,’ he returned cheerfully. ‘We have a date to go walking, remember?’

  She stared at him. ‘You’re crazy! It’s the middle of the night!’

  ‘Lower your voice.’ He stood and drew the curtains, letting in only a sparse amount of hazy light. ‘It’s after seven,’ he told her. ‘The best part of the morning is already gone.’

  Lauren groaned and sank back into the pillows, drawing the blanket securely around her shoulders. ‘You are crazy,’ she mumbled. ‘Go away!’

  ‘Hurry and get dressed,’ he said, starting for the door. ‘I’ll wait for you downstairs.’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath!’

  Suddenly the covers were jerked off the bed, exposing her scantily clad body to the chill morning air, and as she sat up in shock and indignation he began to tickle her bare feet ruthlessly. Immediately his hand clapped over her mouth to muffle her squeals, and he sat beside her, one arm about her to still her struggles, his eyes dancing with laughter. ‘There’s a house full of people,’ he warned, ‘who are only going to think the worst if they come bursting in here to rescue you and find us together. Don’t you care about your reputation?’

  She shook her head defiantly against the clasp of his hand, her eyes glowering.

  ‘Well, I care about mine,’ he told her, cautiously removing his hand. ‘So show a little consideration.’

  ‘Me?’ She lowered her voice as his hand moved warningly near her mouth again. ‘You’re the one who came bursting in here without knocking—again—and woke me up—again, and took, my blankets and left me freezing!’