Torn Asunder Read online

  The waves had been getting progressively bigger and Cle could see the crease of worry between Dev's brows as he scanned the waves behind them. Cle wanted to reassure him but the thunder of the water prevented conversation. Finally Dev signaled a wave and she began paddling, watching as Dev had instructed her. She rose in slow motion to her feet as she entered the curl, the feeling of excitement almost choking her. She rocked several times but managed to keep to her feet... then she was flying as the board lifted like a live thing and she sped toward the beach. Was there ever such a feeling before? Cle's mind reacted to what Dev had taught her, the thrill only seeming to sharpen her reflexes. She was doing it. She was riding the surf.

  When she sank into the water, Dev was there, his hand on her at once, making her realize that somehow he had managed to ride with her all the way.

  Dev called a halt for lunch. It was a lovely meal of cold prawns with a hot sauce, slices of chicken breast, fruit salad, dark bread, and small pieces of cake that Dev told her was called fruitcake in Scotland. To Cle it looked like flaky squares of pie dough with apples, raisins, and currants spread thinly between the layers. There was lemonade to drink and Australian beer that Dev told her tasted like good English ale.

  Cle looked at him. "And you say that I'm such a Yankee. You should listen to yourself talking about Scottish things and English things. You brag more than I do."

  Dev looked up at her as he reclined on one elbow with the bottle of beer in his hand, studying her as she knelt on the blanket. "I will never tease you about being a Yankee again. Not after today when I've seen such a display of Yankee courage."

  Cle felt weak at his words, boneless, embarrassed yet delighted. "I... I wasn't brave. I was really very frightened."

  "Yes. You were frightened but when I asked you to go back into the water with me, you didn't hesitate." He rose to a sitting position, bringing himself closer to her. "You Yankee ladies are something special, ma'am," Dev mimicked a Southern drawl.

  "I'm glad you realize that, suh." Cle tried to match his mood; his nearness was making her giddy.

  Even though Cle begged him, Dev wouldn't let her take the board out again. He said she was more tired than she realized. She started to argue with him. When the Carstairs jaw jutted forth, she gave up. It was a waste of time... and breath. Dev was capable of throwing her over his shoulder and carting her to the car. Besides she did feel a strange lassitude.

  "It's a delayed reaction." Dev said as he entered the car and sat sideways watching her, her head lolling against the back of the seat.

  Cle turned her head slowly. "Don't be silly. I'm strong as an ox."

  Dev leaned over, his lips feathering her cheek before they clamped with the gentlest pressure on her mouth. "You have the heart of a lion... true, but you still suffered a trauma. It will be warm milk, an omelet, a soothing bath, and bed for you as soon as we get home."

  "English aristocrats sure are bossy." Cle's eyelids fluttered. "Especially lords." She couldn't lift her lids.

  "Right. And don't you forget it." His mouth pressed her lids tighter shut.

  When Dev lifted her from the car, she mumbled that she was too heavy, that she had had enough sleep in the car and now she could walk. Still she was so glad when he muttered something about not being so stubborn and held her tight in his arms.

  She could remember telling him that she was sorry she had slept all the way home from the beach as he removed her clothes, then lifted her into a tub of water that seemed to make her even sleepier. She yawned hugely in Dev's face as he used the loofah sponge on her stomach and breasts. "Ummm?" She muttered when she heard him curse about bruises. Cle wondered for a hazy moment where his bruises were.

  He wrapped her in a fluffy bath sheet that covered her from neck to ankle. She smiled when she heard him chuckling about not being able to dry her when she kept sagging against him like that. She heard her own long, satisfied sigh when he placed her between the sheets. She tried to open her eyes when he said something about forgetting the omelet for the time being.

  Cle had a hazy awareness of something warm embracing her body. She snuggled closer, contented. Sleep was falling down a black, quiet well.

  She awoke once in the night, fuzzily aware of contentment and a feeling of security. There was something that wasn't quite right and she knew that if she concentrated it would come to her what it was, but that sense of contentment was too strong. She fell back into the cocoon of sleep.

  Sunlight performed a macabre arabesque on the ceiling. Cle blinked at it for long moments letting the puzzle pieces of her mind take shape, then assemble.

  She stiffened at the familiar warmth at her back. Her eyes blinked once, twice, three times. Yes, she was awake. She wasn't dreaming again about being with Dev back in the apartment in New York. No, it was real! She was awake! It was still a holiday because New Year's Day had been Saturday this year. Today was Sunday, she catalogued in perspiring dread, not wanting to turn around and see that face, not wanting to look down and see that arm around her waist, knowing if she did that arm would be coated by dark hairs, that the skin would be tanned. My God, she thought, if he wakes up right now, he'll make love to me and I'll not only let him, I'll beg him to. Cle groaned to herself, hating her weakness. Damn him to hell! She hoped when he did marry the right woman, she'd have a nose like the LondonBridge, a face like the map of Scotland, legs like London lam posts, and hips like the gates to BuckinghamPalace.

  Gritting her teeth, Cle readied her body for flight, knowing that if Dev were awake his reflexes wouldn't give her a second chance to escape his hold. With a feather touch she lifted the sheet, then catapulted out of the bed. As her feet hit the floor she was running for the bathroom. She heard the rustle and thump behind her and knew that Dev had made a grab for her. She slammed the door, locked it, and took deep, long breaths as she leaned against it.

  "Don't be too satisfied with yourself, darling," Dev crooned from the other side of the door, making her leap away from the wood as though it had just caught fire. "You have to come out of there sometime."

  "Are you set on raping me?" Cle squeaked, reaching for a towel and cuddling it to her like a security blanket.

  "You know damn well it wouldn't be rape between us, Cle." Dev's voice hadn't risen, but there was a thread of steel in it.

  "I'm not staying in here like a prisoner. When I come out of here if you touch me, I'll call the police."

  "Don't get hysterical, love. You know I'd never threaten you. Take your bath, then come out. I'll get breakfast ready."

  "Dev, wait." Cle went closer to the door. "I'm supposed to go to Max Brainerd's today for cocktails and a buffet at four..."

  "I know. I've already been invited. We'll go together."

  "We can't," Cle wailed into the wood of the door.

  "Do you still keep your phone numbers in a drawer in the kitchen?" Dev's peremptory tone threw her off.

  "Yes," she answered without thinking. "Dev? Dev, are you there?" She listened at the door for a moment, then decided that he had left the bedroom. Shrugging, she turned to her bath, then looked at the shower and back to the bath. Shower! Yes! That's what she'd do then she could shampoo her hair at the same time.

  She smiled at the thought that at that moment in New York people would be walking in snowstorms, slush, and sleet while here there was hot sunshine in January. She mumbled to herself as she stepped under the cool shower. And if she didn't stop talking to herself this way, she'd be wheeled into the white wagon and driven away.

  Again Dev shocked her by preparing a perfect omelet for breakfast. The coffee was black and rich, the toast crisp and oozing with butter. She looked at him, suspicion uppermost in her mind. "Bucking for head chef at McDonald's?" she asked sweetly, taking a big sip of the hot coffee.

  "I thought you'd be pleased that I was multi talented."

  "You know darned well that you never once cooked when we were in our... that is your apartment in New York."

  "Mrs. Hubbard would ha
ve been hurt," he said as he scooped more of the omelet onto their plates, then served wedges of crisp broiled tomatoes.

  Silence reigned while they ate. Cle couldn't help the "ummm" of pleasure that escaped as she forked the food into her mouth. She glared at Dev when he smiled in satisfaction.

  "About tonight—" Cle dabbed at her mouth with a napkin then reached for her coffee cup as Dev gestured with the pot.

  "Don't worry about this afternoon and tonight." Dev smiled, his teeth reminding her of a crocodile. "I called Brainerd's place and told him that I would be taking you." He poured coffee into her cup, careful not to spill it when the cup jerked in her hand.

  "You have a nerve telling them that when I told them

  that Oh, God..." Cle blanched. "Did you tell them

  where you were calling from?"

  Dev didn't answer her but his crocodile smile widened, making Cle want to pour her coffee down his shirt.

  CHAPTER SIX

  As the day wore on, Cle's anger increased. She went looking for Dev, bound and determined to have it out with him. She found him in the bathroom off his bedroom scrubbing the tiles. "Dev, this charade has gone far enough. Your blue-blooded family would turn purple with rage if they could see you now." She stood there arms akimbo, her anger out of all proportion. She wanted to tilt the scrub bucket over his head. She wanted to take the brush and ram it between those even rows of teeth now widened in a smile. "Now you get off that floor and get out of here."

  "I thought you said that we couldn't—" "I never said we, not once!" She inhaled an angry breath as he slowly uncoiled his length and stood,

  dwarfing her, dwarfing the bathroom. She lifted her chin, forcing herself to look into those green eyes. "I want to talk to you." She sniffed, turning her back on him and starting to move away. "Right now. In the lounge," she stated, still moving away. Inhaling, she marched to the lounge area, turning to take a stance in front of the fireplace. Her resolve wobbled a bit when Dev was nowhere to be seen.

  By the time he strolled into the front room, her rock-hard speech had a melting, jello like consistency. "Where did you go?" she squealed at him.

  The dark arch of eyebrows rose, the green eyes were emerald fire. "Why I washed up a bit, love. Did you miss me?"

  "Yes... No, of course, I didn't. I want to talk to you."

  Dev ambled to her side, took her arm and sat her down next to him, his thigh alongside hers, one of his arms stretched along the back of the couch. "So you said." He smiled down at her, then leaned toward her, a crease in his forehead as one finger came up to swipe at her cheek. "Smudge."

  "Stop that." She tried to move away but Dev's arm came down to her shoulder, holding her. When she found that she couldn't budge him, she turned to face him, looking at his chin. "You can't stay here any more. 1 don't want a roommate and I don't want people talking about me."

  "That didn't bother you in New York." Dev leaned toward her, his breath feathering her cheek.

  "That's different. Nobody talks about anybody in New York," Cle argued lamely, trying not to think about that warm breath near her ear. "I don't know what people think here in Sydney and I have no intention of starting off on the wrong foot."

  "To use your sweet Yankee phrase, 'Balderdash,'" Dev said, speaking absently.

  "That's not Yankee. It's English." Cle almost whimpered.

  "Is it? Whatever." Dev hitched his body closer, his fingers dancing on her shoulder. She felt a tingle—even through the cotton of her long-sleeved working shirt. "Your problem is that you fight the inevitable, Cle, darling."

  "No such thing. I just don't want you here."

  "Yes, you do. You want me here. I want to stay here. I'm going to stay here."

  "What about your work? You were swamped with work when we were in New York. What about International Soft Ware? Triad Digitronics? You said that you had to handle them personally." Cle's voice wavered.

  "So I did. The sooner we get back to New York, the sooner I'll be able to handle them personally again, too." Dev crooned the words into her ear.

  "I'm not going back to New York." Cle gulped, trying to keep her body stiff.

  "Then I'll handle it with a few phone conferences." Dev's index finger traced her cheek. "I've been talking to people we've worked with before out here and they seem eager to merge an office with ours. It would be good business on both sides."

  "I won't be manipulated."

  "No. You generally manipulate me," Dev observed.

  "Me? You're insane. When have I ever tried to manipulate you? Not once. Admit it." Not giving Dev a chance to reply even as he opened his mouth to do so, she rushed on. "And even if I tried, what a joke that would be. Can you just see Lord Carstairs being pushed around by me?"

  Dev's warm look hardened, but when Cle would have backed away, his arm tightened on her shoulder. "You seem to be a tiny bit obsessed with Lord Carstairs, my love. No matter how often I have told you to forget that part of me you continue to bring it up. Can it be that you have a fancy to be Lady Carstairs?"

  Cle could feel her mouth opening and closing, like a gaffed fish. "How dare you? What a fool you are to say such a thing. I am an American citizen and that's good enough for me. Now you let me go and don't you ever say such a thing to me again." Cle shoved at him with a determined effort, rocking him hack enough to free herself. She jumped to her feet and turned to face him. "You're a conceited ass. You belong with Lady Clare and Clive and all those other phonies and even though 1 was your damned mistress for want of a more modern word, I'd never be your damned wife. Do you think I'd sit still for you getting tired of me, listening to your friends laugh about your 'Yankee' and laughing with them.... Well, you can think again, Dev Carstairs. I wouldn't have you if you were gold plated." A shuddering sob shook her. She swung away at a run. When she reached her room, she slammed the door behind her.

  Standing in the middle of the room, both fists pressed to her mouth, she cursed Dev, she cursed herself for loving him. "He's a sadist, a sadist. How dare he mention marriage to me knowing that he didn't mean it? How could I ever think that I could love such a man? God, I hate him." She threw herself face down on the bed. She wouldn't cry. She would never cry about Dev Carstairs. She would root him out of her life. She would stomp his memory to death.

  She had no idea how long she slept, but when she woke she had the feeling that she was on a sinking boat. She felt smothered in water. The motion of the boat rocked her body back and forth. She lifted her head from its place deep in the pillow and the smothering feeling went away. Hands at her waist turned her onto her back and the, rocking sensation stopped. It had been Dev shaking her awake. She looked up at him through the wool of sleep.

  "Time to get dressed, Cle." His voice was soft but there was a reserve to it that Cle recognized. Dev was behind his British barrier where none could penetrate.

  "You look like a little girl with the sleep still in your eyes. I don't think you'll ever be old." The smile changed and he leaned back. After a few moments he rose and crossed to the door, closing it softly behind him.

  She decided to wear a strapless blue cotton street-length dress. She peeled off her clothes and put on the cotton wrap she wore to apply makeup. She was finishing her face, adding a touch of pink gloss to her lips, when Dev walked into the room without knocking. "Leave," she said hoarsely.

  He ignored the command. "Toner called again. I told him to get back to the States fast. If he persists in coming around you, I'll break his damned neck for him." He pivoted and left the room.

  Cle looked at her openmouthed image, the streak of lipstick running upward from the corner of her mouth where her startled hand had smeared it. Wiping viciously at the mark, she wondered how she ever had imagined that she could love a despot? How could she have ever thought that that dry land piranha who stood six feet plus was charming? Witty? More sexy than any other man in the world? She was going to see a good psychiatrist as soon as possible!

  She slipped into the pale blue strapless
dress. It was cotton but had the feel of silk. The wrap around style with a Spanish ruffle hem that just touched the knee was more attractive on than it looked on the hanger. She wore slings in pale blue hopsacking with high wooden heels. She stared at her twin in the mirror. Who would have thought such a simple looking cotton could have such a daring effect? She complimented Jaime for the clever mind's eye that allowed him to see a creation totally before he put it to paper, much less to needle and thread.

  She put tiny dot pearls into her ears. She was ready. Now if she could only find a matching baby blue .357 magnum pistol, she'd be perfectly outfitted! For a moment her wry humor failed her and she wallowed in self-pity as she pictured her struggle to keep Dev from knowing of the emotional stranglehold he had on her.

  When she strolled into the lounge, she wasn't conscious that she had taken the model's stance as a type of inner self-defense. Jaime had taught her to use that pose if a customer made her very nervous.

  Dev was standing at the bar in the corner, a short glass of deep amber liquid swirling from the absorbed motion of his hand.

  Probably plotting my murder, Cle thought, taking a breath and stepping down to the lounge.

  Her sound or movement must have penetrated Dev's deep thoughts, because he turned, his head lifting to look at her in the same motion. Those green eyes lasered her from toe to eyebrow.

  Cle saw the tightening of his lips, the white bracketing of his mouth but he only inclined his head.

  "Ready?"

  "Yes."

  He gestured for her to precede him out of the apartment, then he followed her into the lift, punching the button with a force that could have broken the circuit.

  The car ride was punctuated only by the traffic noises around them. Cle had the feeling that Dev could hear every painful swallow she made.

  Max's place was a very modern high-rise apartment that had a view of the ocean and was reached by an outside elevator. She longed to make some remark on the beauty of the Sydney waterfront but Dev's closed look forestalled any small talk.