Golden Fever

Her mother’s words reminded her of the body contact she had just had with Rourke Somerville, and she felt suddenly shy. ‘You’re looking well, Mummy,’ she said awkwardly, feeling tall and gauche against her mother’s petite beauty and grace.

‘Thank you, darling.’ Carlene looked pleased by the compliment. ‘And so are you,’ she frowned, tiny lines appearing at the sides of her eyes. ‘When did you grow to be so—attractive?’

Clare gave a happy laugh, flushing her pleasure. ‘I’ve slimmed down, that’s all.’

‘No, that isn’t all!’ Her mother’s voice was sharp. ‘Oh well, never mind,’ she dismissed irritably. ‘Gene’s waiting for you downstairs.’

Clare’s face lit up with excitement. Gene was Perry’s son, and the two of them had dated casually the last time she was home. It would be lovely to see him again.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen—No,’ her mother answered her own question, ’I don’t suppose you have. Come along, Clare, I can’t neglect my guests any longer.’

The two of them walked down the stairs together, totally different to look at, both startlingly beautiful, although Clare would never have guessed that her own youthful beauty far outshone that of her mother. In her opinion no one could be as beautiful as her mother. All her life she had been in awe of that beauty, and now was no different.

‘Seen who, Mummy?’ she asked casually.

‘What?’ Her mother seemed preoccupied. ‘Oh, one of the guests seems to have wandered off. I didn’t know if you’d seen him.’

So she was still looking for Rourke. Maybe he had left; he seemed to have been bored by the party. But he had said he would be waiting for her, and somehow she believed he would be.

The two women stepped into the pool area together, one with hair like sunshine, her youthful perfection giving her a feline grace, the other with hair like flame, a woman conscious that her own beauty was beginning to fade—and determined to hang on to it, and the power it gave her, at all costs.

‘Hello …’

Clare instantly recognised that husky purr, and turned apprehensive eyes on Rourke Somerville. He had a drink in his hand now, a long, slim glass that contained some form of alcohol, she felt sure. And his hair was completely dry now, loose black curls that lay in complete disorder across his brow, giving him a rakish attraction that made her pulses race.

‘Ah, there you are, Rourke.’ It was her mother who answered him, slipping her arm into the crook of his. ‘I thought you’d gone, darling,’ she added throatily, looking very small and feminine against his broad masculinity.

He looked down at her with amused indulgence. ‘And miss meeting your beautiful guest?’ His deep blue gaze caught and held Clare’s gold one, and her breathing was suddenly constricted.

Her mother frowned, her normally smooth brow creased into lines of puzzlement. ‘Guest? What guest——? Oh, you mean Clare,’ she snapped her irritation.

Rourke ignored her, his gaze slowly caressing Clare, his mouth curved into an intimate smile, as if they shared a secret.

She blushed scarlet, knowing that because of her behaviour with him earlier he had a right to look at her in that—knowing way.

‘If that’s her name, yes,’ he answered her mother but continued to look at her, his gaze on her mouth almost a caress.

‘Well, it is,’ her mother’s voice was sharp. ‘And she isn’t a guest.’

His eyes narrowed, his expression wary now. ‘She isn’t?’ he asked slowly.

‘Of course not. This is my daughter,’ he was informed almost angrily.

Her mother had all of his attention now; all the lazy sensuality disappeared as he looked from one to the other of them, apparently trying to see some sign of likeness between them. Clare knew he would find none. She took after her father, Drew Anderson, both of them being tall and fair. Even her features were nothing like her mother’s, her mother having an almost elfin beauty, while her own features were more regular and rounded.

Now he frowned. ‘This is ‘‘little Clare’’?’ he derided.

Her mother flushed. ‘Yes.’

His mouth twisted. ‘She’s hardly little, Carlene.’

Her mother’s laugh sounded forced. ‘She is rather tall——’

‘I wasn’t talking about her height,’ Rourke drawled, his gaze frankly admiring on Clare’s curves.

‘Really, Rourke,’ her mother’s voice was brittlely light now, ’you can’t flirt with my daughter!’

His mouth tightened grimly, his eyes becoming hard. ‘No, I can’t,’ he agreed tautly, extricating himself from her hand. ‘I have to go now, Carlene——’

‘Oh, not yet, Rourke,’ she pouted provocatively. ‘Stay to dinner, everyone else is.’

‘It isn’t possible,’ he refused smoothly. ‘I have another appointment this evening.’

Clare’s eyes widened; she knew this statement to be untrue. He had invited her to spend the evening with him, so he certainly didn’t have another appointment. He looked at her in challenge, as if daring her to dispute his claim, but she remained silent.

‘Oh, Rourke,’ her mother chided disappointedly.

‘Oh, Carlene!’ he taunted.

‘Tomorrow, then?’ her mother insisted.

‘We’ll see.’ He was noncommittal. ‘Miss Walters,’ he nodded in Clare’s direction, already turning to go and change when she corrected him.

‘Anderson,’ she said huskily.

Blue eyes swung back in her direction. ‘I beg your pardon?’ he drawled.

She drew herself up to her full height, still only on a level with his nose. ‘My name is Anderson, Mr Somerville,’ she told him coolly. ‘Clare Anderson.’

‘I see,’ he mocked. ‘I’ll remember that for future reference.’

‘I doubt we’ll meet again,’ she snapped, unable to stop herself. Heavens, he was so arrogant! How dared he treat her mother so casually!

His eyes narrowed as he sensed her resentment. ‘Oh, I think we will, Clare. In fact, I’m sure of it.’

She felt relieved when he at last moved towards the house to change, and turned gratefully as someone called her name.

‘Gene!’ she smiled recognition of the tall sun-bronzed boy standing in front of her. He hadn’t changed at all, was still as good-looking as ever, his blond hair sun-bleached, his eyes a deep attractive brown, wearing only a pair of cut-off denims, his body lean and suntanned.

‘Hello, beautiful!’ He didn’t stand on ceremony, but picked her up to swing her round, kissing her soundly on the mouth.

After being with Gene for ten minutes it was as if she had never been away; the two of them were once again enjoying each other’s company. Perry smiled at them indulgently; a man in his mid-forties, very handsome, with prematurely iron-grey hair, liking the fact that his son and the daughter of the woman he loved liked each other.

‘Rourke’s leaving, darling,’ her mother called Perry over to them.

Clare couldn’t resist looking at Rourke Somerville once more, to find him looking at her too, a lazily amused smile curving his lips. She hurriedly looked away again, but not before she had noticed everything about him, his hair a riot of black curls, a deep blue silk shirt fitting snugly across his chest and flat stomach, tucked into the low waistband of his white trousers. He held a pair of sunglasses in his hand as he talked to her mother and Perry, even such a simple movement looking sensual on this man.

With a mocking nod in her direction he was gone—and with him went all the fun and gaiety of the party, or so it seemed to Clare.