which rippled like the fur of a silky cat, there was a scent of pine
and warm grass, early swallows looped across the blue sky.
Christie hadn't slept too well last night, she had had too much on
her mind. She closed her eyes and let the tranquillity of the
garden sink into her.
She must have slept, although she wasn't aware of it,
because when she became aware again her mind was full of the
remnants of dreams voices, faces, an emotion which still
echoed inside her, although as she opened her eyes they all
faded and she stared at the man standing in front of her as
though he was a part of those dreams which had broken through
into the real world and become flesh and blood. For a minute
she was held in suspension; her blue eyes wide and shocked, her
silvery hair fanned around her face by the breeze.
Logan watched her startled face, then his eyes coolly drifted
down over the golden curve of her tanned body in the brief
black bikini, and her immobility broke up under the stab of
sharp sensual awareness; her pulses beat in the blue veins
behind her wrists, in her throat, deep inside her body.
'I thought you'd gone back to the States,' she said huskily,
sitting up.
'As you see, I haven't,' he returned with dry derision.
'Kit isn't here; he and Janet have gone to the beach.'
'I didn't come to see Kit.'
She had been afraid of that; she swallowed and looked down
to hide her nervous apprehension.
'I came to see you,' he added, but far from pleasantly, his
tone was a threat and she braced herself to meet whatever was
coming.
'What about?'
'I gather this guy Molyneaux is a permanent fixture in your
life,' he began, and she bristled, guessing that he had been
picking up gossip about herself and Ziggy which would
probably paint their relationship in pretty lurid colours.
'Who says?' she challenged, frowning.
'Kit,' he said drily, and she bit her lip.
'Kit?' Taken aback, she stared at him, wondering what else
Kit had said, then her temper soared. 'You've been interrogating
him about my private life? How could you stoop so low? I might
have known; you're capable of anything, but what a despicable
thing to do, getting Kit to tell you things like that!'
'I did nothing of the kind,' Logan bit out angrily, a dark red
invading his face. 'I never ask about you! I never mention you to
him.'
Christie didn't like that much, either; it was irrational after
accusing him of questioning their son about her to resent the fact
that he never talked about her at all, but she didn't stop to
unravel her own tangled reactions, she simply simmered with
fury, glaring at him. He was looming over her, very tall and
powerful in a pale blue lightweight suit and shirt in a deeper
blue which he wore open at the throat, without a tie. He looked
casual; yet the effect he had wasn't casual. Being around Logan
was like sitting on top of a pile of dynamite; Christie felt she
might get caught in an explosion any minute. When she was
with Ziggy it was like drifting, light as thistledown, in sunny
summery air. Logan was storm and whirlwind; his grey eyes had
the impervious metallic glitter of steel, emphasised by the
smooth tan of his skin around them.
She pretended to laugh disbelievingly. 'I see, he just
happened to bring the subject up.'
'That's exactly what happened,' Logan said curtly. 'He talks a
blue streak in between firing off questions of his own and
yesterday this guy
Molyneaux seemed to be on his mind, he never stopped talking
about him. I merely listened.'
'And drew conclusions of your own, I suppose!'
'Naturally. I'm human.'
'You kid yourself,' said Christie, and felt him tense, drawing
a fierce breath. The prickle of the hair on the back of her neck
warned her not to provoke him further; his eyes gave the same
advice. She slid off the lounger and stood up. It might be wiser
to terminate this discussion before they both lost their tempers.
'Anyway, my relationship with Ziggy is no business of
yours. We're divorced, remember? I haven't even seen you for
years you aren't walking in now and putting me through a quiz
about one of my friends!'
She moved sideways to pass him and go into the villa, and
Logan's hand shot out to grasp her wrist.
'I don't give a damn who you're sleeping with . . .' he began,
and she felt that buzz of fury again; her ears were deafened by it.
'Thank you!' she almost shouted at him. 'That's very broad-
minded of you I've got carte blanche, have I?'
His eyes narrowed, his expression altered and Christie could
have kicked herself for losing her temper; she knew she was
flushing, and tried to pull herself free, but Logan's fingers
tightened.
'Would you rather I minded?' he asked oddly, very softly,
watching her with an intent observation that made her look
away.
She stared at the villa wall and saw a tiny green lizard dart
from a cluster of ivy and halt; throat pulsing, it stared around
with a moist fixed eye, then shot out of sight again under an ivy
leaf. Christie tried to pull herself together; it was absurd to be so
disturbed, nothing had happened, nothing had changed, the
tremors of fear running through her had no real cause, yet she
felt like some hapless insect on that sunlit wall, stalked by the
silent predator behind the sway of green ivy. She was nervous
and intensely aware of the man beside her; his cool fingers
pressed on her veined wrist as though he was checking the rapid [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]