Morning Song Page 9

  Though she shivered in her thin satin pyjamas, she was far from cold inside. Her colour was high and she felt alert and ready for anything, and Shane’s wool-clad arm about her waist was scratchy and warm. Then a slow grin crept across his features in the dark, and he slipped his other arm about her, drawing her firmly into the circle of his chest. ‘You don’t feel a bit cold to me,’ he said. ‘As a matter of fact, you’re the second warmest thing I’ve held in my arms today.’

  The wool jacket smelled of woodsmoke and masculinity, and the feel of his arms about her, the nearness of him, caused her heart to pound faster. But she placed her hand against his chest as though to push away and looked up at him suspiciously. ‘Second warmest?’

  ‘Well,’ he confessed, ‘there was this old grey tomcat that wandered into the backyard at the crack of dawn. However, he wasn’t wearing anything nearly as sexy as you are.’

  Lauren clasped both his wrists firmly and moved his hands away, even though a tingling flush was beginning to warm her entire body. ‘If this is another one of your attempts to improve my self-image,’ she told him firmly, ‘thanks, but no, thanks.’

  Shane’s eyes twinkled as he touched her nose lightly. ‘The best is yet to come,’ he promised, and she felt an automatic and completely uncontrollable clench of anticipation in her chest. He took a firm hold on her hands and stood, pulling her with him. ‘If you’re not down in five minutes,’ he told her, ‘I’m coming back up.’

  ‘Bring a jacket,’ he added over his shoulder as he reached the door. ‘It’s cold out.’

  Until he had left, Lauren stood stubbornly in the centre of the floor, but as soon as the door closed behind him she hurried to her dresser and pulled out a pair of camel-coloured corduroy slacks and a white cable-knit sweater. She dressed quickly—including hiking boots—and braided her hair into a single loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. Then she grabbed a light flannel jacket and descended the stairs, to meet him in the kitchen fully within his five-minute deadline.

  ‘That’s what I like,’ he told her with a grin, opening the back door for her, ‘punctuality.’

  Fog had crept down from the mountains, damp and cold. It brushed across her face like silky cobwebs, clinging to her hair and filling her nostrils with a moist, woodsy scent which was as provocative as it was mysterious. She hesitated on the step, straining her eyes to penetrate the nebulous expanse of grey. ‘Are you sure you want to go out in this?’ she asked.

  Shane chuckled a little and-slipped his arms about her waist. ‘I’m sure I don’t want to go alone.’

  It was like stepping into another world, silent and shrouded except for the soft sounds of dew dripping off the bushes and their own muffled, far-away footsteps. The fog sealed itself around them like a veil, moving with them yet encapsulating them in a private space which included nothing but their two bodies, side by side, two solid objects in a formless void, gently muting other sensory input exclusive to themselves. Automatically, Lauren’s arm went about his waist—not only because it was awkward to walk otherwise, but because she liked the security of his broad back beneath her arm and the warmth of his closeness.

  She felt his fingers tighten upon her ribs in response to her touch, and then he said softly, ‘I almost came up to your room last night.’

  Her heart gave a little lurch, she caught her breath and tried to make out the expression on his face in the mist. But his next words calmed her pulse and drained away the flush of anticipation as he explained, ‘To see why you cut out on us so early. I thought that kind of jam session would be just what you liked.’

  She shrugged, feeling foolish and annoyed that she had read a meaning into his words which was not intended. ‘I could hear it just as well from upstairs.’

  ‘Kept you awake, did we?’

  ‘For a while,’ she answered negligently. Then, ‘Was that you on one of the instruments?’

  ‘The keyboards,’ he answered without much interest, ‘for a while. As a matter of fact, I turned in early myself.’

  ‘Is that right?’ The words were out before she knew it. ‘Alone?’

  He stopped, looking at her with startled amusement, and she wished the fog would cover her right then and let her melt into nothingness. At least it shielded her scarlet face and wretched embarrassment as Shane asked incredulously, ‘Was I supposed to do otherwise?’ She dropped her arm from about his waist, but he refused to release her. She could feel his eyes, peering at her in the mist, and then he laughed. ‘Good lord,’ he exclaimed softly, ‘you must mean Angel!’ And then he laughed again. ‘You do mean Angel! You’re jealous!’

  ‘I am not!’ She broke away from him then, but the only one she was angry with was herself. How could she have been so stupid? She was acting like a thirteen-year-old again, and the worst was, she did not really feel that way at all, it was just that her impulsive speech was always landing her in trouble ... She smoothed away a damp tendril of hair from her face and looked at him, defiantly pushing the miserable embarrassment behind her and explaining calmly, ‘There’s nothing to be jealous about. I was just curious, that’s all. I didn’t mean to infringe on your privacy ... again.’

  His smile was tender, as was the gesture as he reached up to once again smooth away the strand of hair which had strayed over her cheek. ‘You don’t have to apologise,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long time since anyone was jealous of me, and I rather like it.’

  Lauren started walking again, shoving her hands into her pockets to prevent physical contact, and continuing in a calm, matter-of-fact tone, ‘It’s really none of my business, I know. But you two seemed so friendly, I just assumed...’

  ‘Well, you assumed wrong.’ He took her hand from her pocket and closed his own firmly about it. There was a new inflection of seriousness to his voice which made an inexplicable little shiver tingle down her spine as he told her, ‘Angel and I have shared many things in the past, but I assure you, a bed wasn’t one of them.’ Now she was curious. There was something about the sobriety in his voice, the sincerity which indicated to her that her opinion was important to him—the warm clasp of his hand about hers, and perhaps, the secrecy of the fog itself which seemed to invite confidences. For the first time, he had actually brought up the subject of his past without reticence or anger, and that encouraged Lauren, inviting closeness somehow. She had to ask, ‘What kind of things?’

  But then she sensed a withdrawal in him, as though his mind were flickering over those remembrances and sharply turning away from the pain. The sudden tension was communicated from the muscles of his arm to his hand about hers, and he answered only, ‘Life in the fast lane.’

  She glanced at him, for that was an enigmatic reply if ever there had been one, but she dared not pursue it. She said instead, trying to find a way to relax the tension she felt from him and bring him back to her, ‘So what are the plans for the day?’

  For just a moment longer, Shane seemed to be lost in some dark world of his own, but then he looked at her and smiled. ‘I don’t know. What do you want to do?’

  She gave a nervous little laugh, for still some measure of awkwardness clung to her from her faux pas of a moment ago, and she was more aware than she would have liked to have been of the danger of pushing him away again. She said, ‘No, I meant with you and the band. More jam sessions? Big production meetings? What?’

  He said, ‘I don’t know. They’re Van’s guests, I don’t have anything to do with it.’

  She looked at him in surprise. ‘Oh, but I thought—’

  ‘That’s what you get for thinking again,’ he replied firmly. ‘Look, let’s not talk about Angel any more. I’m sure she’s not giving us a second thought, so why should we waste time with her?’ Both of his hands rested firmly on her waist as he helped her up a small, rocky incline, and there, beneath a bare, gnarled tree, they stopped.

  The fog churned upwards about their feet, obscuring everything except the small patch of rocky grass on which they stood and the knotted white limbs o
f the tree which seemed to disappear into the clouds about six feet upwards. The wet, cold air was tinted with the smells of moss, decaying leaves, and dark earth, all mingled into the rich broth of the fog, and it’ was as though they stood upon a precipice at the top of the world ... and suddenly a line from one of Shane’s songs trailed across her mind like the tendrils of the fog: Nothing below you, nothing above/Take what you can where you find it/Nothing behind so you/let yourself love/and don’t turn away till you’ve tried it...

  She smiled a little, embarrassed for her secret indulgence, and leaned against the tree, her hands flat against its barkless, knotted surface. ‘It’s like being on another planet,’ she said softly.

  Shane leaned over her, his hand resting on the tree above her shoulder, smiling softly. Drops of moisture clung to his face and glistened dully in his hair and every fibre of her body was aware of him, misty and nebulous, like a ghost or a dream too long treasured to be real, yet solid and only inches away from her. She knew only seconds separated the warmth of his lips from hers, yet something of the night before crept back to her—something which had meant so much to her yet so little to him, and she was unsure. Again the line from his song haunted her, Take what you can where you find it—and as much as she wanted to follow that advice, something restrained her. She said carefully, watching him steadily, ‘Are we about to begin lesson two on my programme of self-improvement?’

  Some of the warmth faded from his eyes; just as she had intended, the mood was broken. He simply brushed one finger lightly across her cheek, not straightening or otherwise putting any more physical distance between them, and answered, ‘Since the first one seems to have had so little effect, I guess not.’

  Disappointment tasted bitter in her throat, even though she had invited it. She really did not know what she wanted any more, for since meeting him her entire sense of values had been turned upside down. She only knew she could not bear been mocked by him any longer, or teased, or taken lightly. She pressed her palms flat against the surface of the tree as though to draw courage from its timeless strength, and took a breath, her eyes clear and steady as she looked at him. ‘Look,’ she said evenly, ‘we’re both adults here—’

  ‘Or at least one of us is,’ he interrupted with a dry smile.

  Lauren dropped her eyes briefly. ‘All right,’ she admitted. ‘I know I’ve been acting like a child lately, and I deserved that.’

  ‘That’s all right.’ Lightly, his fingers brushed the droplets of fog from her fringe. His voice was soft and melodious against the gentle dripping of the branches and the far-away crash of undergrowth which echoed with the movements of some small bird or animal. ‘I suppose I’ve been caught acting something less than my full thirty-three years the last few days, too. So,’ he straightened up decisively, ‘you want us to talk like adults, we’ll talk like adults. I like your body; what’s wrong with that?’

  She gave a nervous, startled little laugh. ‘Be serious!’

  ‘I am serious.’ And his eyes reflected that he was. ‘Lauren ...’ He hesitated there, and his brows came together slightly, as though with the difficulty of finding just the right words to express his thought. ‘Somehow,’ he continued slowly, ‘you seem to have gotten the impression that just because you’ve lost one part of what you were, none of you is any good any more. Maybe it’s worse because it was a physical thing— maybe your whole sense of identity was wrapped up in your dancing, and you’re letting that reflect now on every aspect of your physical life ... you see yourself as dull and unattractive and undesirable, and Lauren, I’m trying to tell you that’s simply not so.’

  She caught her breath softly because, once again, he had touched with a few simple words the very core of a hidden truth within her, just as he had so many times before with his music. She wanted to reach out to him then in tenderness and gratitude, to simply hold him and thank him for the years he had given to her which had culminated in this moment ... but suddenly the mood changed.

  His lips tightened dryly in an expression which was half apology, half self-deprecation. ‘I know,’ he said, ‘I’m talking like a college professor again.’ And then he touched her nose playfully. ‘I’ve never had to convince a woman with words before that I find her desirable; there’s usually a much more direct way.’

  Lauren stuffed her hands into her pockets again, made uncomfortable by the frankly sensual gleam in his eye and the sudden change of mood. She said, steeling her nerves against the quiver of anticipation which had started within her, ‘I’m not fishing for compliments.’

  ‘You’re going to get them anyway;’ he returned, very casually. His tone was matter-of-fact, but his eyes touched every part of her, his words catalogued, and each glance was like a caress which brought her senses to tingling life. ‘You have a beautiful face, and your eyes are so sad and tender—and then so stormy and defiant—sometimes dreamy, sometimes wild, first like an angel and then like a hellcat ... those eyes could break a man’s heart. Your hair, when it’s loose and straight and falling about your face, makes me think what it would look like tangled on my pillow and in my face and my eyes and mouth ...’ She tensed, even her breathing stilling in her throat with the leap of her pulses and the rush of life through her veins, and each of his words paralysed her with throbbing sensuality more intense than a caress, for his eyes took her to places her hands dared not go. His voice fell a fraction, became more husky, the light in his eyes deeper and filled with unmistakable intent. ‘When your nostrils flare, like they’re doing now, you remind me of a wild filly begging to be tamed, and that scent you wear—gardenia?—makes me think of things hot and humid and very physical, and the contrast of cool sheets and silver moonlight ...’ She could not believe this. This man had the power to arouse her without a single touch, with only a glance, only a phrase ... This man was the master of words and poetry, he had been doing it to her since she had heard his first song and she should not be surprised at the effect now. ‘Your neck,’ he said softly, ‘is one the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, a work of art. And your ...’

  His eyes moved downward, and she knew she had to stop it now. Heat was flaming in her cheeks and a wild pulse throbbed in her throat and her voice was high and breathless as she exclaimed, ‘My! You haven’t lost your touch with prose, have you?’

  Shane smiled lazily, and his hands came forward to rest lightly on her hips. ‘In summary,’ he said, exerting a gentle pressure with his hands which caused her to sway towards him slightly, ‘I find you have a perfectly delightful little body—despite the absence of twenty or so pounds.’

  ‘Ten,’ she corrected hastily, and tried to move away.

  ‘The more there is of you, the better I’ll like it.’ And she felt the firm pressure of his thumbs against her hipbones and his fingers on the small of her back, and she could not have moved even if she desired to—which she did no longer. In his eyes was a gentle light clear with meaning, and he said softly, ‘Are you convinced?’ But, without waiting for an answer, Shane bent his head and his lips were upon hers.

  A sound formed, low in her throat, but it was mingled with his indrawn breath and lost. It was a sound of release, of wonder, of slowly spiralling pleasure which melted throughout her body until she felt as weak and formless as the fog, wrapped around him, melding into him, becoming a part of him. There was only the softness and the warmth of his lips upon hers, the heat which fanned her body, the tremulous, paralysing sensations which pulsed in pinpoints of light behind her closed eyes, and abrupt stilling of everything within her—her breath, her heartbeat, her will and her reason—it was more than she had ever imagined, and it was all. Even her arms were limp at her sides, and her lips moulding helplessly to the demand of his, receiving him, letting the sensations move her into glowing, tingling, pulsing awareness of him and of herself at the point where she became a part of him and was lost.

  When he drew away, slowly, reluctantly, and almost cautiously, she became aware that at no time had any parts of their b
odies touched except their lips, and Shane’s hands, steady and strong, upon her hips. She felt stunned and weak; she knew that if he moved, or for one moment relaxed the supporting pressure of his hands, she would collapse against his chest and lie there, still and helpless, until his touch brought her to life again. But his hands remained steady, the gentle, tender light in his eyes held her hypnotised just as his kiss had done, just as his words had done before that. He said softly, ‘That was definitely worth waiting for.’

  It had never happened to her like this before. Not ever. Still she was trembling inside, still she glowed with an impatient flush which denied the cold and the damp which surrounded her, still the taste of him was on her lips and her mouth pulsed with the warmth of his. Yet all the events which had lead up to this moment came crowding in on her, and with them, confusion. This was Shane Holt, the man of magical words and legendary music, strong, attractive, vital ... he could have any woman he wanted. This was the man who had despised her from the moment they met, who had made her the victim of his cruel tongue on more than one occasion, and who had, overnight, done an about-face ... why? None of it made sense.

  Some of the passion ebbed away with the slow return of reason, and strength and caution took its place. Her hands closed over his and removed their hold; she turned away. The fingers which closed about her waist were swift and sure, but his voice was hesitant as he queried, ‘Lauren?’

  Her body was turned away from him, her arm stretched behind her by the hold he had on her wrist. The fog was beginning to break up, and in the distance silver beams of sunlight fell in straight, iridescent lines through the dense foliage, refracted by the mist and dancing like prismed diamonds on waxy leaves, a fairytale setting, like the stage set for the Enchanted Forest scene in Camelot ... or like the promise of hope for dreams come true. But when she turned her head to look at him there was only caution in her eyes, simple curiosity. She asked carefully, ‘Why are you doing this?’