think she
was afraid of him - what a ridiculous thought!
Afterwards Sara couldn't quite remember how they all found themselves
outside the hotel again. That second bottle of Puligny-Montrachet with dinner
perhaps? She took several breaths of the warm night air, and the next thing she
knew Paul and Monique Drury had disappeared and she was being helped into the
Lamborghini once more.
She leaned her head back against the soft upholstery, closing her eyes
for an insant. No more fencing, she wished silently. Let him be quiet, or let
him . , .
Her mind jerked sharply back from her own half-finished thought, and she
straightened up abruptly, not willing to have him recognise any signs of
weakness in her. No doubt he was used to women who would swoon all over him,
encouraging him to think himself irresistible. There were some women who
actually liked arrogant, forceful men, but she wasn't one of them!
Sara suddenly became aware that he had said something, addressed some
question to her. Now he repeated it in an exaggeratedly patient voice.
'I was asking whether you still wanted to visit a discotheque . . . But
of course it's obvious that you are too sleepy - or too bored!'
'Bored? Of course I haven't been bored at all! Honestly, it's been such
a fun evening, and I just love Paul and Monique, but you must understand,
signor (is that correct?) that I didn't get too much sleep last night, and I
had to report to the studio by six this morning. Normally I'm quite a party
girl, but tonight . . .'
The way the car took off, Sara thought her neck might snap as she was
slammed backwards in the seat. She heard herself gasp, and almost immediately
his arm was banded across her body, robbing her of breath.
She heard him swear under his breath before he said in comparatively
civilised tones: ' I am sorry. Normally I am a fast driver, and when I am here
I find myself forgetting that there are speed limits. You are all right?'
'You don't have to ... hold me! I'm fine ... I just wasn't expecting . .
.'
'No?' The words sounded grated out between his teeth. 'I wonder what it
is that you were expecting from this evening, party 'girl? You love to dance at
discos, but when I ask you, you are too tired — from last night, I am correct?
when I try to prevent your being hurt you object to my arm against your body.
What are you afraid of? Yourself? Or the fact that you have met a man who is a
man and not one of your easily manipulated puppets?'
'You're really conceited, aren't you?' Sara's voice was breathless from anger. 'Honestly —
you belong in the Dark Ages! I accept a dinner invitation, and you act as If
that means I'm your property for the evening! Well, I'm not. Capisce? I belong
to me, and nobody else; and I Pick my . . . my lovers! And if you don't like
hearing that,you can drop me right off here and I'll find my way back home.'
"How? Hitch-hiking? That would be an invitation to rape - unless,
like some women, that is your secret fantasy.'
Sara gasped again. 'You . . . you're really sick, you know that? I'm
sure you read both Playboy and Penthouse -probably Hustler in your spare time.
You certainly have a lot to learn about women - women, that is, who aren't
after money, or whatever it is you promise them. I'm an actress, NOT a call
girl, Signor Duca! Don't look to me for having your fantasies fulfilled!'
'What a temper! Your accent becomes very English when you get angry, did
you know that? Is that your Mother's influence?' He was laughing at her!
Almost blind with rage, Sara reached for the door handle, but with the
speed of a striking puma he reached across her, trapping her fingers painfully.
'No, no! That would be stupid! And you do not seem like the suicidal
type. Sit quietly, for I do not believe in rape, only seduction. You will be
delivered to your door quite safely, believe me.'
Just when she thought her fingers might break under the pressure of his,
he released them - almost
was afraid of him - what a ridiculous thought!
Afterwards Sara couldn't quite remember how they all found themselves
outside the hotel again. That second bottle of Puligny-Montrachet with dinner
perhaps? She took several breaths of the warm night air, and the next thing she
knew Paul and Monique Drury had disappeared and she was being helped into the
Lamborghini once more.
She leaned her head back against the soft upholstery, closing her eyes
for an insant. No more fencing, she wished silently. Let him be quiet, or let
him . , .
Her mind jerked sharply back from her own half-finished thought, and she
straightened up abruptly, not willing to have him recognise any signs of
weakness in her. No doubt he was used to women who would swoon all over him,
encouraging him to think himself irresistible. There were some women who
actually liked arrogant, forceful men, but she wasn't one of them!
Sara suddenly became aware that he had said something, addressed some
question to her. Now he repeated it in an exaggeratedly patient voice.
'I was asking whether you still wanted to visit a discotheque . . . But
of course it's obvious that you are too sleepy - or too bored!'
'Bored? Of course I haven't been bored at all! Honestly, it's been such
a fun evening, and I just love Paul and Monique, but you must understand,
signor (is that correct?) that I didn't get too much sleep last night, and I
had to report to the studio by six this morning. Normally I'm quite a party
girl, but tonight . . .'
The way the car took off, Sara thought her neck might snap as she was
slammed backwards in the seat. She heard herself gasp, and almost immediately
his arm was banded across her body, robbing her of breath.
She heard him swear under his breath before he said in comparatively
civilised tones: ' I am sorry. Normally I am a fast driver, and when I am here
I find myself forgetting that there are speed limits. You are all right?'
'You don't have to ... hold me! I'm fine ... I just wasn't expecting . .
.'
'No?' The words sounded grated out between his teeth. 'I wonder what it
is that you were expecting from this evening, party 'girl? You love to dance at
discos, but when I ask you, you are too tired — from last night, I am correct?
when I try to prevent your being hurt you object to my arm against your body.
What are you afraid of? Yourself? Or the fact that you have met a man who is a
man and not one of your easily manipulated puppets?'
'You're really conceited, aren't you?' Sara's voice was breathless from anger. 'Honestly —
you belong in the Dark Ages! I accept a dinner invitation, and you act as If
that means I'm your property for the evening! Well, I'm not. Capisce? I belong
to me, and nobody else; and I Pick my . . . my lovers! And if you don't like
hearing that,you can drop me right off here and I'll find my way back home.'
"How? Hitch-hiking? That would be an invitation to rape - unless,
like some women, that is your secret fantasy.'
Sara gasped again. 'You . . . you're really sick, you know that? I'm
sure you read both Playboy and Penthouse -probably Hustler in your spare time.
You certainly have a lot to learn about women - women, that is, who aren't
after money, or whatever it is you promise them. I'm an actress, NOT a call
girl, Signor Duca! Don't look to me for having your fantasies fulfilled!'
'What a temper! Your accent becomes very English when you get angry, did
you know that? Is that your Mother's influence?' He was laughing at her!
Almost blind with rage, Sara reached for the door handle, but with the
speed of a striking puma he reached across her, trapping her fingers painfully.
'No, no! That would be stupid! And you do not seem like the suicidal
type. Sit quietly, for I do not believe in rape, only seduction. You will be
delivered to your door quite safely, believe me.'
Just when she thought her fingers might break under the pressure of his,
he released them - almost
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