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'Is it all right?'
'Oh, David…' Her voice was a velvety murmur, lost in the realisation of a dream. 'It's very… very all right…'
After it was over, Clare knew that David was right. It wasn't enough. Even though she had been shattered by unimagined bliss, she didn't want him to leave her, and cried out at the unbearable sense of loss when he gently withdrew.
'Shhh…sweet girl.' He handled her with exquisite care. 'Come out or we'll drown… or melt… or both…' He helped her out of the pool and dried her body with the thick towel before spreading it on the grass, and lowering her on to it. Clare watched him rescue his trunks from the pool, unable to meet his eyes but fascinated by the undulations of his superbly masculine bo
dy. As he turned to join her on the towel, she drew a choked breath. He might be unselfconscious of his own nudity, but he wasn't indifferent to hers.
He lay on his side, not touching her, and waited for her to rediscover her boldness. When her eyes fluttered to his at last, he gave her a slow smile.
'And that was just the rhapsody.' When she blinked, he explained huskily, 'The enthusiastic, extravagant section of my private composition.'
'O…oh?' Clare was melting, but it had nothing to do with external skin temperature.
His eyes gleamed. 'You didn't think I only had one string to my bow, did you?' Her eyes flickered down, and he laughed in that same, slow, husky tone that was a symphony in itself. He touched her knee, very lightly, and sketched a leisurely line to her hip, tracing the vulnerable, blue-veined flesh to the pulse point at the very top of her thigh. It leapt against the sensitive tip of his finger. 'We still have the adagio…' he sipped from her parted lips '… the slow movement. And the scherzo…' his hand brushed lightly across the honeyed curls he had dried so lovingly '…so light and playful…the caprices, the variations… not to mention the encores… I never play only one. I don't believe in the old adage about leaving your audience wanting Would you like me to run through my whole repertoire, sweet?'
'We can't…' she said breathlessly, wanting it more than she had ever wanted anything in her life.
'That's what I said, but you overruled me, remember? To withhold my favours was sexual blackmail. To be fair, you have to give me the opportunity to acquit myself of such a heinous crime. You must be my judge, my jury, my advocate…'
He acquitted himself very well, Clare had to admit much later. So much later, she didn't dare ask to see the waterproof watch that was David's only apparel. She didn't want to get dressed, she just wanted to lie forever in his arms, rocked to the sweet, sensual music he had created in her heart.
'It's getting late. Our reputations will be well and truly shattered.' David was the first to stir, and Clare resented it.
'What do you care? You're not the one who has to stay and face the… music.' It was a feeble pun which didn't disguise the sting of her first words. Clare hastily began to pull on her clothes. She was supposed to be handling this maturely. She had rehearsed her graceful exit, so why couldn't she stick to it?
Because David wouldn't let her. 'Are you? Staying at Moonlight? Is that what you want?'
She didn't know what he was asking. To block off malicious hope, she said quickly, 'No, actually. I haven't told Miles yet, but I'm going to move to Auckland… with Tim.'
'You're letting him come to the Music School?' David froze in the act of pulling on his sweater. Clare nodded and he slowly completed the task. 'And when did you decide this?'
'I… on Saturday night. I… I couldn't tell you until I'd talked to Tim,' she added hastily, seeing the menacing tightening of his jaw, 'and Miles… I can't just leave ham in the lurch. I—'
'But you knew when you followed me down here tonight. You could have put me out of my damned misery straight away, but no, you had to turn it into some sexual farce—'
'You were the one who made it such an issue—' she began defensively.
'Because I love you, dammit!' he thundered at her. 'Because it was important that you do it for Tim and for yourself—because it was right—not because of me, not as a kind of pay-off for my love!' His voice calmed and gentled when he saw her pale, stunned expression, but it was still thick with exasperated temper. 'When you've lost someone, the way you and I have, it's easier to contemplate accepting sex back in your life than love. But, believe me, sex is nothing without the emotional responses to back it up. We couldn't have made fantastic love the way we did tonight unless there was more than just biological impulse behind it, Clare. You might have thought, when Lee died, that you would never fall in love again…you would never let yourself fall in love again, because it hurt too much. I thought that, too, after Nina died. But I was wrong. We both were…'
'What are you saying?' Clare whispered helplessly.
'I rather thought I was being extremely explicit,' said David ruefully. 'I love you. I believe you love me. I want to marry you. I want us to build a life together. I want your son to be my son and my daughter to be your daughter. I think we'd make one hell of a family. The future can be ours, Clare…'
'But… what kind of marriage would it be?' she made herself ask, feeling for the ground with feet that suddenly seemed to be hovering hazily above it. 'With you always on tour, and me in Auckland with Tim…'
'Only temporarily. As soon as Tim settles in, you'll be free to travel… to live your own life again.'
Don't you mean yours! thought Clare hollowly. He assumed too much with his extravagant declaration of love. She wouldn't just be marrying David, she would be marrying Deverenko, and she didn't think she was ready for that. To hear him say 'I love you' had been like the answer to a prayer, but it had been a thoughtless prayer. Why, he hadn't even asked if she loved him, he had just arrogantly assumed it, just as he assumed that it gave him the right to casually rearrange her life to fit his. How could he love her when he knew so little of her? The kind of freedom he was suggesting would be like a portable prison…trailing around after her famous husband, clinging to the fringes of his busy life, doomed to constant comparison with his vivacious and equally famous first wife. She would not only be utterly dependent on David financially and emotionally, but socially, too, living a life of empty, unfulfilling glamour. She would need to flex her wings before she could even hope to swoop to the heights that David soared at with any confidence.
'David…I don't really know what my own life is yet… I need some time. It's too soon…' She swallowed, wishing the moonlight didn't show his face quite so clearly. She wasn't sure whether it was truly his heart or his pride that she was hurting, but he was definitely stricken by her rejection. But he had rejected her, saying that she needed time. Surely he would understand if she asked for more? 'I… I don't know if I'm cut out to be the kind of wife you want. I… I mean, I'm flattered that you should ask, but I don't think I'm ready for anything so permanent just yet…' Oh, that had come out all horribly wrong! David stiffened.
'You want something impermanent? You want an affair? A string of one-night stands? For that's what an affair would amount to!'
He made it sound sordid and cheap, and yet the thought that she might not have to give him up completely blinded her for a moment. 'It's better than rushing into a marriage that we might regret…'
'So!' He had never looked, nor sounded, so foreign, everything about him thunderously dark. 'I offer you my name, my honour, my lifelong love and respect, and you offer me occasional sex!' He spat the word like a curse. 'Why? Why? Why do you run from love? If I give you time, how will you use it? To intellectualise away your feelings? To dig yourself back into a boring, placid existence where nothing can challenge your smug, emotional complacency?'
