Private affairs : a novel (68 page)

"Without."

So, sitting where she was, with no accompaniment and no self-consciousness, Holly sang, in French, one of the Songs of the Auvergne. Lush and sensuous, the long notes rose and fell, the melody lingering, then fading slowly to silence. Tony never took his eyes from hers and she held his look through the whole song, completely poised for the first time since he had appeared. He was stunned by her loveliness. He'd always thought of her as a child, but as he watched her, sitting straight, her head high, so confident in her singing that she looked directly at him instead of fearfully left and right and at the floor, she was a woman. She was a young Elizabeth, with no experience in her face. Her ash-blond hair fell like silk about her shoulders, her mouth was wide, exquisite, and vulnerable, her gray eyes were . . . her gray eyes, fixed on his, were adoring.

He forgot the emptiness and helpless anger of the past month, when he could not drink enough to wipe out Elizabeth's words and the contempt on her face. He forgot his fears about "Anthony" 's future, the humiliation of dealing with Bo now that he knew Bo represented his father, and his father's peremptory order to come to Houston. In the bright kitchen, everything disappeared but the lovely girl across the table. The blush in her translucent skin was caused, he knew, by Tony Rourke, nothing else.

But she's Elizabeth's daughter. She's only seventeen or eighteen, still in high school — and Elizabeth's daughter.

Of course.

"Dearest Holly," Tony said, and a tremor came into his voice. "I've never been so moved by a song. You almost made me weep."

"Oh." Her face was radiant. "Thank you. I can't tell you what that means to me."

"I can't tell you what your singing means to me. And I thank you." He leaned forward. "May I ask just one more favor?"

"Of course. Anything."

"If I could have one more drink before I leave—"

"But you're not leaving for a long time!"

"I have my marching orders, remember."

"But . . . wouldn't you like coffee? You can help yourself to Scotch, but you must want some coffee, too!" Jumping up, she filled the cof-feemaker. "Would you like cookies? Or ice cream?"

"No, my dear. You're taking very good care of me. But I would like to sit in the living room. Would that be all right?"

"Oh, yes, of course, it's much more comfortable. Do you want some coffee?"

"If you'll share it with me."

"Of course."

He carried the Scotch; she carried the coffee carafe and two mugs, and they sat at either end of the couch. Holly switched on the lights on the placita, just beyond the sliding glass doors, and the trees and tubs of green plants sprang into view. "It's too bad it's so bright in here," Tony said. "It dims that lovely picture through the glass."

Without a word, Holly rose and turned off the living room lights. They sat in the soft glow that reached them from the outside lanterns and Tony sighed, loosening his tie and stretching out his legs. "This is the first time I've relaxed in over a month. Thank you for that, dear Holly. You've made me feel wonderful."

"I'm glad." Her face was hot, her voice almost inaudible. Her hands were clenched in her lap to hide their trembling.

"Tell me about yourself," he said. "I heard you're going to the Juilliard School. What will you study? What do you want to do?"

"Everything."

"Good. Tell me."

She poured coffee into their mugs and talked, hesitantly at first, then more easily, about college and travel, her favorite books and music, the concerts and operas she dreamed of. She made no mention of high school graduation in two months.

"Go on," Tony said when she stopped. He refilled his glass, then put his arm along the back of the couch, leaning toward her. "I have to know all about you. You are the most extraordinary woman—unbelievably lovely—and your voice—! I want to know you, dearest Holly; everything about you."

Holly was dizzy. His voice was dark velvet, wrapping her in soft muffling folds. She sank into it. "I don't know what else—"

"What kind of jewelry do you like? And clothes? And perfume? What do you dream of? Whom do you love?"

There was no more talk of his leaving for Houston. It was a dream, Holly thought: Tony Rourke, alone with her, neither bored nor impatient, but interested, admiring, intent on everything she said, wanting to stay. He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, and, with his elbow on the back of the couch, leaned his head on his hand, watching Holly's face grow animated as she talked.

"I feel like everything's just waiting for me; the future—all of it— foggy, you know, not really clear, but I know that it's all going to be amazing and incredibly wonderful . . ."

"To believe in that," he said. "A fairy tale. . . ."

"But I know it's there, waiting for me—it's mine and it's real, waiting for me to find it. I just can't get there yet. It takes so long and I get impatient because it hurts to want something so much and not know exactly how to get it. ..."

"You want someone to teach you about the world," Tony said very softly.

"Yes, all of it: everything there is to learn and see and feel . . ." She was giving away secrets she'd told only Luz—and some she hadn't told anyone. But she was floating in the embrace of Tony's eyes and his dark velvet voice and it was almost like talking to herself: he was so quiet and so absorbed in her he made her feel safe. He made it seem they were the only two people who were real; the rest of the world was distant and shadowy, but he could lead her through it; he would take care of her.

The lantern light cast shadows on his face, hollowing his cheeks, deepening his eyes, making his thin lips seem fuller. His eyes never left hers, his smile was only for her. I wish he'd kiss me, Holly thought; why does he sit so far away?

Unexpectedly, the thought frightened her, and she gave her head a little shake. "I'm talking too much about myself. You're hardly talking at all."

"Later," he said. "I've never talked to you; you wouldn't deny me the chance now, would you? What if I asked you"—his voice became casual —"to appear on my show? A young woman at the beginning of her career. ..."

"Oh ..." The word drew out into a long sigh. "Could I? I'm not a famous person; no one knows me. ..."

"I know you."

"But your producer-—Bo—doesn't he decide—?"

"I make the decisions. No one else. The show is 'Anthony,' remember? Leave it to me, my lovely Holly; I'll make you famous. People will forget about me—all they'll remember is that I'm the man who discovered Holly Lovell. My bewitching Holly; lovely and so very sweet, so full of life and excitement. ..."

"Oh, don't," Holly whispered. For some reason she felt like crying even though she was breathing rapidly and her heart was pounding. "Don't tell me things you don't mean. ..."

"I would never he to you. You're a dream I've longed for all my life. I

came to this house and found a vision, more exquisite, more warm and welcoming than I ever could have imagined; a desert flower, hidden away, waiting to be found. Thank God I found you. Dearest Holly, you would make the days bright and the nights even brighter for any man lucky enough—"

"Not any man," she whispered.

Tony moved along the couch until he sat beside her. "No, you're too precious to love any man . . . you have the whole world to choose from . . ." He touched his fingertips to her eyebrows, and lightly stroked them, again and again, following their curve to the soft skin beside her eyes and along the sides of her face to her chin, then moving back to her eyebrows, his light touch stroking the delicate outline of her face, past her mouth quivering at the corners, and down to her small chin.

Holly closed her eyes. She was melting; her body flowed toward Tony's. She began to lift her arms, to embrace him, but she was not sure, she didn't know what he wanted, so she lowered them, her hands in her lap, waiting. She felt heavy, barely able to move, sinking, as if a door had opened below her and she was falling through it into a darkness that had nothing in it but the touch of his fingers sending pulsing ripples through her body, to the soles of her feet and the palms of her hands and her mouth, open, waiting for him. "Tony," she whispered, loving the sound of it. "Tony . . . Tony. . . ."

Slipping his arm around her shoulders, he eased her back until she lay full length on the couch. He leaned over her, brushing her lips with his, forcing himself to go slowly. Very lightly, he brushed them again, barely a kiss, feeling them quiver beneath his. With feathery fingers, almost imperceptibly, he began unbuttoning the long row of tiny buttons that ran from her throat to the hem of her white dress, cursing the number of them, but patiently taking them one at a time. "Tony," Holly whispered, and made a slight move to sit up.

"Dearest Holly," he murmured. His hands held her down. "My sweet enchantress; you've woven a spell around both of us ... I won't hurt you, my lovely, lovely one; I promise I would never hurt you ... I only want to love you. . . ."

The top of the dress was unbuttoned and he slipped it back over her shoulders, sliding his hands slowly around her back, her skin warm and silken beneath his palms. She shuddered as he unhooked her brassiere, freeing her breasts, small and firm with a slight curve hinting at fullness. Just like Elizabeth's. . . .

For Holly the room had turned dark; there was a roaring in her ears like the sea when it thundered just before a storm. She was trembling;

sighing in little bursts; not thinking, just feeling. The cool air on her breasts was a caress and she waited for Tony's hands to hold them. In her mind she could feel his hands and his lips: she had never let any boy touch her breasts, but she had imagined an unknown, perfect man doing it—she had imagined Tony Rourke doing it—and now she waited, her nipples taut and puckered as if Ins hands and mouth were on them. . . .

But he did not touch her. Holly thought she would burst from the trembling of every nerve. Touch me, please touch me, Tony. Please kiss me; I can V stand it if you don 7. . . .

She opened her eyes and saw him watching her. holding his hands above her breasts, curved to match their curve. It gave her a little shock to see him. his eyes dark on hers, his hands held above her. refusing the caress she ached for. but she was barely aware of the shock before he her a small smile and bent again to her buttons, those tiny buttons that marched down the pure white of her dress. He slipped them from the small loops that held them, his hand moving slowly from one to the next until the dress lay opened on either side of Holly like the petals of a flower spread apart to expose its hidden center.

"My God." he murmured. "So fragile and perfect, like porcelain . . " He slipped his hands beneath the waistband of her pantyhose, lifting her and pulling them down, his hands burning on Holly's skin as. very slowly. he drew the sheer nylon down her thighs, her legs, and over her slender feet.

Silently he studied her. from her silken hair to her long legs. He was as taut as a wire, wanting to bite and tear into her. to pound her. but he devoured her first with his eyes, watching, with the faint smile that never left his face, the ripples of her muscles, the arched back that lifted her breasts to him. the plea in her eyes. She wanted him: she was begging him to take her.

He stood and tore off his clothes. When he turned back. Holly's eyes were closed— Just like Elizabeth, the first time —and he lay beside her. whispering her name as his tongue played in her ear. then kissing her nipples, taking them into his mouth, rolling his tongue over them, sucking until she was making small breathless gasps. He raised himself on his elbow and parted her legs, stroking the inside of her thighs, exploring her wetness with his ringer. And then at last Tony Rourke lay on Holly Lovell's slender body. Elizabeth, he thought, and ruthlessly thrust himself into her.

Holly cried out at the pain, like a knife twisting inside her. Desire fled: languor and sensuality vanished. Her eyes filled with tears, pain radiating through her as Tony moved inside her. What am I doing?

But then, through the pain, his name rang in her mind like a song. Tony. Tony was making love to her. For years she had dreamed it, and her dream had come true. So it had to be all right, it had to be wonderful and ecstatic and passionate. Because Tony loved her. She just had to wait for it to be wonderful; she had to be careful not to disappoint him, and then everything would be perfect, as it always was in her dreams.

She spread her legs wider and lifted her hips, even though that drew him in more deeply and made the pain worse. It didn't matter; this was what she had dreamed of. Opening her eyes, she tried to smile into his dark look. "Tony," she whispered. "I love you."

JLh(

.hey've asked me to stay over another day," Elizabeth told Holly on the telephone. "I'd rather not, but as long as I'm here, it probably makes sense. I'd be home late tonight or early tomorrow morning; what do you think? If you want me home, I'll be there this afternoon; I still have my ticket. Maybe that would be best; I haven't had a chance to spend much time with you this week, and anyway I'm awfully tired. I think I'll tell them I can't do it now; maybe another time."

"No, stay," Holly said. She shuddered as Tony's hand slid from her breast to her stomach and probed between her legs. She'd wanted him to leave last night so she could be alone and think, but the most he'd done was to slip outside and drive his car into the garage, closing the door behind it. Then he was beside her again, holding her, begging her to let him stay. "I didn't reserve a room because I thought I'd be going on to Houston . . . how could I know I would find you and my whole life would change? Dearest Holly, I can't bear the thought of leaving you; please don't send me away."

So they had gone to bed in her room, where Tony fell asleep in an instant and Holly didn't sleep at all. She hurt and her mind churned, and

all night long she felt tears running down her face before she even realized she was crying. Once she slipped out of bed and went to her mother's room and crawled between the cool, smooth sheets of her mother's bed, but as she lay there, she realized that what she really wanted was to curl up in her mother's lap, and that confused her so much she carefully remade the bed and went back to her own room where Tony sprawled across her bed and she had to tuck herself in a corner, staring at the rectangles of her deep-set windows as they grew light with the morning.