He expelled a sigh of relief and lengthened his stride to keep up with her. When he spoke, his tone was carefully careless, "That's right, you did. Just checking."
* * *
The phone was ringing when Jason opened the door of his suite two hours later.
"Where the hell have you been?" Eric asked. "I've been—"
Jason cut him short. "What's wrong? Can't you get Bartlin?"
"I haven't had a chance to meet with him yet. We're having lunch tomorrow." Eric paused. "I thought you ought to know Cynthia's here."
Jason stiffened. "In London?"
"She's staying at Claridges."
"How do you know?"
"I went to the theater to check out the box office for the English version of The Innocents and Jessup told me she'd stopped by and inquired about you."
"Does she know where I am?"
"Not yet." Eric hesitated. "Before Jessup mentioned she was here I told him you were in Geneva." He added hastily, "But I made him promise not to tell anyone."
A lot of good would that do if Cynthia got her hooks into Jessup, Jason thought wearily. God, he was tired of it all. "Keep in touch with Jessup. When he tells her, I want to know about it."
"Maybe she won't find out, Jason."
He knew better. Cynthia always found out what she wanted to. "Let me know."
Eric muttered a curse half beneath his breath. "Dammit, it's not fair."
"Forget it," Jason said curtly. "When does Peg get there?"
"Tomorrow evening." Eric asked, "Have you signed Daisy Justine yet?"
"I'm working on It. I'll talk to you tomorrow, Eric. Tell Peg I said hello." He hung up the phone and gazed down at it unseeingly. Time was running out. He could feel the frustration searing through him. He had thought he had become resigned to the situation, but it was somehow worse this time.
He started unbuttoning his shirt as he headed for the bathroom. He needed a shower and a drink before he dressed for the theater to see Daisy.
He turned on the shower, adjusted the spray before shedding his clothes. He stepped under the shower and let the warm water run over his body. His muscles were so knotted with tension, they were impervious to the soothing flow. Maybe he should haye tried a cold shower. At least the chill might have rid him of the arousal he had been experiencing since seeing Daisy. And lust was only part of it. What the hell was she doing to him?
He closed his eyes, tenderness moving through him in an aching tide as he remembered the way she had looked standing in the sunlight, gazing at him with that wondering expression, so luminous she had seemed part of the sunlight itself. He had wanted to hold her and protect her and—
He reached out with an abrupt hand and turned off the water. It wasn't tenderness, it was a mere sexual obsession. She was a different type and her resistance had sparked his libido. It wasn't tenderness. He couldn't let it be tenderness.
Jason was waiting in the alley at the stage door when Daisy came down the concrete steps that evening. Her heart gave a leap, and she tried not to let him see the sudden happiness she felt at the mere sight of him. "I told you this wasn't necessary. I have my own car and I'll need it to get to the theater tomorrow."
"No, you won't." He took her arm and propelled her down the alley toward the street. "No problem. From now on I'll drive you back and forth every day." He opened the passenger door of the dark blue Mercedes parked at the curb. "I'll have someone from the hotel pick up your car and drive it to your home tomorrow."
She cast him an exasperated glance as she got into the car.
He grimaced. "I've irritated you again."
"I'm used to doing things for myself."
He went around the car and slid into the driver's seat. "I . . . like doing things for you."
Again she sensed that uncharacteristic awkwardness in him and again she found herself melting. "I believe we may have to have a few discussions on the principles of women's lib."
"I'm not usually a chauvinist." He looked straight ahead as he put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. "This is different. I want to protect you. I need to protect you."
She looked at him, puzzled.
He didn't elaborate but changed the subject. "I didn't think it was possible, but you were even better tonight than you were last night."
"You were in the audience?"
He nodded. "But I don't think I'll go again."
She smiled understanding^. "I suppose you've seen the play so many times it must bore you to tears."
"Music never bores me." His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "It's you."
"What?"
He laughed harshly. "I'm jealous. I thought I was only caught off balance the other night but it happened again tonight." He shook his head. "Crazy."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
He glanced sidewise at her, his pale eyes shimmering in the light of the dashboard. "I didn't want to share you. I wanted the experience to be all mine." Shock went through her and the breath left her body.
"I've scared you." He muttered a curse. "Now you think I'm some kind of nut. Hell, maybe I am." She said carefully, "I suppose I should be
flattered."
"But you still think I'm a nut." He made a face. "It's all right, I've been thinking the same thing about myself. This has never happened to me before. I've been trying to tell myself that it's just your voice."
Her gaze flew to his face. "Of course it's my voice."
He shook his head, his gaze returning to the street. "Only partly." He paused. "It's sexual." He heard her sharp intake of breath and the glance he shot her was like a blue-green lance. "You can't be surprised. You knew it was there."
Yes, she knew. The sexual chemistry had been present from the first moment she had seen him. "There's an . . . attraction."
"It's more than an attraction. It's damn near kinetic."
She swallowed. "I don't want an affair with you."
"That makes two of us. So what do we do?"
"Ignore it." Her hands clenched on the strap of her shoulderbag. "You could go back to New York."
"No way." He smiled lopsidedly. "And you're wrong, I can't ignore it. Do you know what I've been thinking since you got in the car?"
She shook her head. "And I don't want to know."
"I've been thinking how much I'd like you to unbutton that silk blouse and let me look at your breasts."
Her eyes widened as a hot tide suffused her and she murmured a soft protest as his gaze moved down her throat to the rise of her breasts.
"I've been thinking how ruby-colored your nipples might be in the light of the dashboard. I've been thinking how I'd like you to come over here and let me fondle you as I drive. I've been thinking how much I'd like to pull over to the side of the road and take off—"
"Stop." Her voice was trembling and she tried to steady it. "We're not a couple of teenagers."
"I never felt like this when I was a teenager," he said thickly. "I told you it was new to me." He forced his gaze back to the road. "Will you come back to the hotel with me?"
"No."
He muttered a curse. "Dammit, you want it."
"I don't do one-night stands."
"It's the only way we're going to get rid of it. It wouldn't be an affair. No strings. Just let me—"
"No!" She tried to keep her voice from shaking.
"I'm not an animal. Besides, it would complicate everything. I can't deal with this right now."
"Do you think I can?" He pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the car. He sat hunched over the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the smooth plastic. "Look, it has to happen. You have to play Desde-mona and I can't keep on feeling this—" He stopped searching for words. "Sense of possession. Maybe if we—"
"Oh, I see." They were speaking of lust, not any gentler emotion, and she shouldn't feel so hurt. Yet her tone sounded brittle even to herself. "You think if we hop into bed you'll be able to look at me with mo
re perspective. What a charming way to put it. I believe I prefer your music to your lyrics."
"I'm trying to be honest. Do you think it's easy for me?" He looked straight ahead. "Come with me. I'm not particularly kinky. I promise I'd make it good for you."
"I think you'd better take me home."
He muttered an imprecation beneath his breath and turned on the ignition.
The rest of the drive was made in silence, but the air in the car was so heavily charged with emotion, Daisy found it hard to breathe.
The lights were ablaze in the cottage when Jason pulled over to the curb. "Does your father always wait up for you?"
"He keeps late hours. He's probably working." She reached for the handle of the door. "Good night."
"Wait." He put his hand on her arm, and a bittersweet smile curved his lips as he heard her gasp at this touch. "You see? I can't lay a hand on you without us both going up in flames." His hand moved to touch her throat and then moved down to finger the top button of her blouse. She could feel the warmth of his knuckles on her upper breast through the thin silk. Her breasts were swelling, pushing against the material, and the muscles of her belly instinctively clenched. She knew she should break the spell and get out of the car, but she couldn't seem to move.
He slipped the pearl button from the hole, and his index finger slowly rubbed up and down on the flesh of her cleavage. She looked down at the contrast of his tanned hand against the delicate silk of her blouse, the pale gleam of her breast under his finger. He said softly, "It's going to happen, Daisy."
His finger slipped into her bra and touched her nipple. She bit her lower lip to smother her cry as he rubbed back and forth on the aroused, distended tip. A liquid aching was starting between her thighs. She wanted to lean toward him, she wanted to shrug out of the blouse and pull his mouth down to—
"No!" She opened the door and got out of the car. "The hell it is. Our agreement had nothing to do with sex."
"But what's between us has everything to do with sex. If you'd come with me, we might eventually be able to see the woods for the trees."
She stood on the sidewalk, looking at him. "Please," she whispered. "I don't want to be in your play. I don't want to see you again."
"Don't worry. I'm not going to push it. I guess I knew it was too soon, but I'm running out of time."
"Running out of time?"
"Never mind." He switched on the ignition. "Ill see you tomorrow."
"No."
He frowned. "There's nothing to be frightened about. I'm no rapist. Ill wait until you come to me."
She wasn't afraid he'd use force. She didn't fear him so much as the magnetism drawing them together. "It's not a good idea. I've got problems enough without—"
"Then let me solve them."
"In return for a romp in the hay?"
He flinched as if she had struck him. "I'm not a complete bastard. I told you I wanted to help you."
"To clear my way to play your Desdemona?"
"No, it's more than that."
"I don't believe you."
"I know you don't." He shrugged wearily. "Ill be here at noon tomorrow."
She gazed at him helplessly before turning on her heel and striding toward the cottage. A moment later the door of the cottage slammed behind her.
Charlie stood at the easel across the room and didn't look up. "I'm glad you're home. This damn still life is frustrating the hell out of me. Are you too tired to pose?"
Sweet heaven, she didn't want to pose tonight. She was raw, burning, yearning. . . . She wanted nothing more than to shut herself in her room and go to bed and let the blessed oblivion of sleep obscure those moments in the car with Jason.
Charlie didn't look up. "Daisy?"
She wasn't a sex-crazy adolescent. She had to come to terms with this magnetism Jason held for her. She couldn't hide from what she felt and had no right to self-indulgence when she had such a great responsibility to Charlie. "I'm not tired." She smiled gently at him. "Just let me go change and comb my hair and I'll be right with you."
Daisy was waiting on the doorstep the next morning when Jason's car pulled up to the curb. She instinctively tensed as she watched him get out of the car and come toward her. He was dressed in faded jeans, brown leather moccasins, and a jade-green cotton sweater and looked completely different from the elegant man who had left her last night. He might have been one of the unassuming young artists who lived in St. Geneve. No, she was wrong. As he drew closer she could sense his controlled power that could never be lessened by the casualness of his clothes.
He raised his black brows. "Are you guarding the gate?"
"I thought about what you said last night after I went to bed. It's not logical that it's me you're really attracted to. I'm not the type of woman men develop fixations on." She rushed on. "And I decided it was Desdemona."
He looked at her blankly.
"Don't you see? You have me mixed up with Desdemona in your mind."
"Indeed?"
She nodded. "You're a sensitive, creative person, and naturally you'd identify with the characters in a play you've worked on for so long."
"Sensitive?" The word sounded sour on his tongue. "Lord, I hate that word. I grew up in a rough neighborhood in the Bronx and do you know how many noses I bloodied when I was a kid to prove I wasn't 'sensitive'?"
She didn't know much about him at all, she realized. She had a sudden vision of Jason, totally absorbed with his music and yet struggling for a normal boyhood among his peers. She felt a rush of sympathy. "Oh, dear, it must have been terrible for you."
"I survived." He studied her softened expression and misty eyes and wonderingly shook his head. "Just look at you, I tell you a hard luck story and you melt. Lord, you're easy. You'd never have lasted five minutes in the Bronx."
She bristled. "It's not soft to feel sympathy. Maybe if you'd tried to reason with those kids instead of bloodying their noses, you'd have had an easier time of it."
He smiled. "If you say so." He paused. "So you think I want to go to bed with you because you're Desdemona. Why do you want to go to bed with me? Do you see me as Othello?"
"I wasn't talking about me," she said hurriedly.
"Sure you were." His brows knitted in a frown. "Let's see, I understand Othello, but we're not that much alike. I'm too selfish to kill the woman I loved." His smile gleamed tiger-bright. "I would have killed her lover and then found another way to punish her."
"Listen to me." She was losing control of the conversation. "Once you accept that I'm not going to be Desdemona, you'll probably no longer find me appealing."
He smiled curiously. "Go on."
"I thought we'd go for a walk in the hills. You can tell me about the play."
"I see." He snapped his fingers. "I try to con-
vince you to play the part. You refuse me. I'm immediately rid of this fixation I have on you and toddle on my way. Is that the scenario?" He shook his head and for an instant a flicker of tenderness crossed his face. "Sorry, love, it's too simplistic. Just what I would have expected of you."
She flushed. "I'm not simple."
"Yes, you are," he said quietly. "You have a lovely glowing simplicity of spirit that I've never seen before." He held up his hand when she opened her lips to speak. "I'm not insulting you. I've never equated simplicity with stupidity. You're obviously intelligent, if a little muddle-headed."
She couldn't look away from him. Tenderness, humor, sadness, were all there in his expression. She was seeing dimensions she hadn't known existed in Jason Hayes and had a urgent desire to see more, deeper. She stepped down from the stoop and started along the walk toward the gate. "Shall we go?"
"No."
She looked back at him, startled.
"I stayed awake last night and made a few decisions too." He smiled. "Though I can't claim it was because I was clinically taking apart our situation. I was randy as hell and hurting." He turned back toward the cottage. "And I decided I wasn't going to make it ea
sy for you to get rid of me." He reached for the knob of the door.
"No!" She hurried back up the walk, but he had already opened the door and was striding into the cottage.
"Mr. Justine?" Jason moved across the room toward Charlie. "I'm Jason Link. Perhaps Daisy's told you about me?"
Relief rushed through her. Link, not Hayes. He wasn't going to break his promise to her.
Charlie looked up with a puzzled frown. "I don't believe she has, Mr. Link." His gaze went inquiringly to Daisy. "I didn't know you were expecting company, Daisy. I thought you were going for a walk alone."
"I guess I forget to mention Jason."
"I'm devastated," Jason said lightly as he held out his hand to Charlie. "I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Justine. You must be quite a man to earn a devotion like Daisy's."
Charlie shook Jason's hand. "I'm a lucky man," he said simply. "Where did you meet Daisy, Mr. Link?"
"Jason. We knew each other in Milan, and I joined the company two weeks ago."
"You're a singer?"
Jason grimaced. "You wouldn't ask that if you heard me in the shower. I'm a pianist in the orchestra."
Charlie's sandy brows lifted in surprise. "I thought they already had a pianist."
"It's only a part-time job so far. I fill in on vacations and weekends."
"I see." Charlie's gaze shifted again to Daisy. "I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Link. Daisy rarely brings anyone home. I'm afraid I've been selfish and kept her pretty much to myself for the past year or so."
"Nonsense." Daisy came into the room and closed the door. "I'm the one who has been selfish."
"I like this room." Jason's gaze flicked from the faded beige and cream-colored chintz upholstery of the couch and matching easy chair to the colorful rugs scattered on the pine floor and then to the breakfast bar separating the central living area from the adjoining kitchenette. "It's cozy."
Charlie smiled lopsidedly. "A euphemism for tiny."
"No." Jason met Charlie's gaze. "I say what I mean. It's a home." He moved toward the ancient upright piano against the wall. "I used to have one of these in my apartment in Queens."
"You're a New Yorker?"
Jason nodded. "Born and bred." Jason strolled over and examined the picture Charlie was working on. "Daisy." He tilted his head. "I think you've caught her."