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wouldn't be able to remember when to stop.'
'I felt as if I couldn't seem to do anything right,' she whispered. One
corner of her brain said, Stop confessing so much, stupid, but still she
couldn't help herself. Still the need for reassurance came shining out
of her words. Her pride had got her into so much trouble that she'd left
it at the door. 'The death scene; today with Richard. I've tried so hard
to get it right, and I don't know what else to do.'
His sigh was a heavy reply, gusting through the feathery hairs at her
temple. 'Then I couldn't have made a bigger mess of things had I
tried,' he said in grim self- disgust. 'Yvonne, don't argue for once,
don't fight what I tell you, just listen to me. Your performance has
been exemplary. You've gone from giving nothing to giving more
and more every time you get in front of the camera. You're giving so
much, it humbles me. For the first time in my career I don't quite
know what to do with it all. I've misplaced my objectivity; I'm
straining at the edge of a creative crisis. I nearly killed Richard today
for what he was doing to you because I misplaced Hannah and her
husband, and I forgot that the real man would never be capable of
doing to you what Hannah's husband did to her. I don't know how I'm
going to look him in the face tomorrow.'
Her mind shot back to what the actor had whispered to her in the barn,
and it was the one thing she couldn't bring herself to confess to him,
the one thing she suspected he wouldn't be able to hear. 'Richard,' she
said instead, darkly and with a covert wisdom, 'laughed at me. He told
me war stories of his previous films which far outweighed your loss
of temper, and then went whistling off to his supper without a care in
the world. If I were you, I wouldn't waste any more time agonising
over his finer sensibilities; the man just doesn't have any.'
She held her breath, and waited, and nearly sagged with relief at her
success when his taut posture relaxed, the powerful muscles shifting
fluidly against her torso, and he emitted a dry ghost of a laugh.
'Speaking of suppers,' he murmured, his touch moving to the shell
curve of her ear to finger it with a delicacy that made her shudder,
'you should eat something.'
He could think of food at a time like this? She gritted her teeth and
growled, 'I'm not hungry.'
He didn't move. Why did she feel as if a thousand- watt jolt of
electricity had just coursed through his body?
'No,' he breathed in a sultry croon, 'but you will be.'
She pulled back her head, searched the heated glitter in his eyes, and
snapped in warning, 'Don't try to shove anything down my throat. I'll
eat when I want to, and not a moment before.'
She must have read the message wrong; she must have
misunderstood, for he smiled in slow, ferocious anticipation, and said
simply, 'OK. Let's go to bed instead.'
She froze, not quite able to accept the evidence of her own ears, and
stared at him, rabbit-like, caught in the twin glare of approaching
headlights.
He let her go and strolled languidly over to the door, and locked it.
His movements were shattering, deliberate; she was overcome with
anxiety and disappointment. Whatever she had expected to happen in
coming here tonight, this definitely wasn't any part of it. If anything,
from Adam, she had expected more finesse.
He walked back over to her, and the fulminating expression on her
angular face was almost enough to make him smile. He put an arm
around her slim shoulders and said quietly, 'Come on, then.'
Well. She had made her choice, hadn't she? She would just have to
put up with it. If nothing else came out of it, at least tomorrow she
wouldn't be so eaten up with the obsession that had dogged her
footsteps for what felt like an eternity now. Still, it was a worry and a
complication.
She turned, pliant as a doll, and walked with him down the short hall
to the darkened bedroom.
Adam led her straight to the bed without bothering to turn on the
light. The only illumination was diffuse, silvery, the far-away
weakened overspill from the light still shining in the kitchenette. She
turned her huge, overwrought eyes to his shadowy figure. She heard
everything the whispery brush of his jeans as he walked, the slight,
almost negligible friction of their shoes on the carpet.
Now what? She took the bottom edge of her T-shirt in shaking hands
and would have lifted it over her head, but he forestalled her. 'Don't
undress,' he murmured. 'Just lie down on the bed with me.'
What was this? He kicked off his shoes; she followed suit. Then he
lay down on the bed, on his back and stretching out his long length
with a weary sigh, and his head turned on the pillow towards her. She
stared at the shadowy glimmer of his eyes as he held open his
arms.She was too weak to remain upright. She went down to him like
wax. She was too rigid to relax. She tried to force her frozen muscles
into compliance and broke into another involuntary rash of trembling.
He guided her untidy head to rest on his shoulder. She curved her
body to fit to the length of his. She struggled to find something to say,
found nothing but a roaring emptiness inside her head, and started to
breathe unevenly.
He rested the side of his cheek against her forehead, his arms wrapped
firmly and without urgency around her quaking body, one hand
splayed along the long line of the side of her neck. His little finger
rested on her collarbone, the forefinger touching her ear, the thumb
rubbing slowly across the soft skin beside her bewildered mouth. He
was so big; he could snap her with one careless flick of the wrist.
'Just relax, baby,' he murmured peaceably. 'You're not going
anywhere.'
She lay beside him, her mind in a rabid, compulsive whirl.
Long, silent moments ticked by, and he did nothing to her. He was a
tired and overworked man, and by the very stillness of his posture she
suspected he had probably gone to sleep. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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wouldn't be able to remember when to stop.'
'I felt as if I couldn't seem to do anything right,' she whispered. One
corner of her brain said, Stop confessing so much, stupid, but still she
couldn't help herself. Still the need for reassurance came shining out
of her words. Her pride had got her into so much trouble that she'd left
it at the door. 'The death scene; today with Richard. I've tried so hard
to get it right, and I don't know what else to do.'
His sigh was a heavy reply, gusting through the feathery hairs at her
temple. 'Then I couldn't have made a bigger mess of things had I
tried,' he said in grim self- disgust. 'Yvonne, don't argue for once,
don't fight what I tell you, just listen to me. Your performance has
been exemplary. You've gone from giving nothing to giving more
and more every time you get in front of the camera. You're giving so
much, it humbles me. For the first time in my career I don't quite
know what to do with it all. I've misplaced my objectivity; I'm
straining at the edge of a creative crisis. I nearly killed Richard today
for what he was doing to you because I misplaced Hannah and her
husband, and I forgot that the real man would never be capable of
doing to you what Hannah's husband did to her. I don't know how I'm
going to look him in the face tomorrow.'
Her mind shot back to what the actor had whispered to her in the barn,
and it was the one thing she couldn't bring herself to confess to him,
the one thing she suspected he wouldn't be able to hear. 'Richard,' she
said instead, darkly and with a covert wisdom, 'laughed at me. He told
me war stories of his previous films which far outweighed your loss
of temper, and then went whistling off to his supper without a care in
the world. If I were you, I wouldn't waste any more time agonising
over his finer sensibilities; the man just doesn't have any.'
She held her breath, and waited, and nearly sagged with relief at her
success when his taut posture relaxed, the powerful muscles shifting
fluidly against her torso, and he emitted a dry ghost of a laugh.
'Speaking of suppers,' he murmured, his touch moving to the shell
curve of her ear to finger it with a delicacy that made her shudder,
'you should eat something.'
He could think of food at a time like this? She gritted her teeth and
growled, 'I'm not hungry.'
He didn't move. Why did she feel as if a thousand- watt jolt of
electricity had just coursed through his body?
'No,' he breathed in a sultry croon, 'but you will be.'
She pulled back her head, searched the heated glitter in his eyes, and
snapped in warning, 'Don't try to shove anything down my throat. I'll
eat when I want to, and not a moment before.'
She must have read the message wrong; she must have
misunderstood, for he smiled in slow, ferocious anticipation, and said
simply, 'OK. Let's go to bed instead.'
She froze, not quite able to accept the evidence of her own ears, and
stared at him, rabbit-like, caught in the twin glare of approaching
headlights.
He let her go and strolled languidly over to the door, and locked it.
His movements were shattering, deliberate; she was overcome with
anxiety and disappointment. Whatever she had expected to happen in
coming here tonight, this definitely wasn't any part of it. If anything,
from Adam, she had expected more finesse.
He walked back over to her, and the fulminating expression on her
angular face was almost enough to make him smile. He put an arm
around her slim shoulders and said quietly, 'Come on, then.'
Well. She had made her choice, hadn't she? She would just have to
put up with it. If nothing else came out of it, at least tomorrow she
wouldn't be so eaten up with the obsession that had dogged her
footsteps for what felt like an eternity now. Still, it was a worry and a
complication.
She turned, pliant as a doll, and walked with him down the short hall
to the darkened bedroom.
Adam led her straight to the bed without bothering to turn on the
light. The only illumination was diffuse, silvery, the far-away
weakened overspill from the light still shining in the kitchenette. She
turned her huge, overwrought eyes to his shadowy figure. She heard
everything the whispery brush of his jeans as he walked, the slight,
almost negligible friction of their shoes on the carpet.
Now what? She took the bottom edge of her T-shirt in shaking hands
and would have lifted it over her head, but he forestalled her. 'Don't
undress,' he murmured. 'Just lie down on the bed with me.'
What was this? He kicked off his shoes; she followed suit. Then he
lay down on the bed, on his back and stretching out his long length
with a weary sigh, and his head turned on the pillow towards her. She
stared at the shadowy glimmer of his eyes as he held open his
arms.She was too weak to remain upright. She went down to him like
wax. She was too rigid to relax. She tried to force her frozen muscles
into compliance and broke into another involuntary rash of trembling.
He guided her untidy head to rest on his shoulder. She curved her
body to fit to the length of his. She struggled to find something to say,
found nothing but a roaring emptiness inside her head, and started to
breathe unevenly.
He rested the side of his cheek against her forehead, his arms wrapped
firmly and without urgency around her quaking body, one hand
splayed along the long line of the side of her neck. His little finger
rested on her collarbone, the forefinger touching her ear, the thumb
rubbing slowly across the soft skin beside her bewildered mouth. He
was so big; he could snap her with one careless flick of the wrist.
'Just relax, baby,' he murmured peaceably. 'You're not going
anywhere.'
She lay beside him, her mind in a rabid, compulsive whirl.
Long, silent moments ticked by, and he did nothing to her. He was a
tired and overworked man, and by the very stillness of his posture she
suspected he had probably gone to sleep. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]