The Devils Price

CHAPTER TWO

THE show wasn’t going well, and she knew it. She only hoped the audience weren’t as aware of it as she was. And it wasn’t entirely due to the disturbing news she had heard that morning. No, that was only part of it, the rest of it was the man who sat so still at the back of the crowded room, every table full in the lounge except the one he sat at, the three other chairs around the table conspicuously empty.

She hadn’t noticed him at first, had entered the stage wearing the glittering gold gown that made her hair look like flame as it swung straight down her back, had gone through the first two bouncy numbers before the steady consistency of that green gaze prickled an awareness down her spine, until she began to search for the only man who had ever been able to physically reach out and touch her across a room.

She had faltered slightly in the middle of a song as she finally found him seated alone at that table at the back of the room. He had changed little, perhaps a little more grey sprinkled among the dark hair, a few more lines on his handsome face, but otherwise he was still the Zack Buchanan she had fallen in love with five years ago.

Their meeting then had been very much the same as now, only that time Zack had been on a cruise with Michael, Cynara one of the people hired for the entertainment for the season of cruises. He had attended one of her shows, his penetrating gaze drawing her to him, and when he had sent her a message by one of the staff to join him after the show for a drink she had eagerly accepted. He hadn’t seemed at all like the other romeos she had encountered so far on this season of cruises, seemed reserved, withdrawn. Besides, what could he do to her on a crowded cruise-ship?

He had stood up as she joined him, her face bare of stage make-up, the cream Victorian-style high-necked lace dress a perfect foil for her long gleaming hair.

‘You’re younger than I realised.’ He had frowned, obviously in his early to mid-thirties.

‘Does it matter?’ Her eyes had glowed with the anticipation of being with this handsome man.

He had shrugged. ‘I’m not sure,’ he had admitted ruefully. ‘Maybe I should tell you from the beginning that my wife recently left me, I’m on board with my very confused and hurt five-year-old son and his nanny, and I’m only interested in a transient relationship at best.’

‘Whew!’ She had laughed self-consciously. ‘That’s honesty for you!’

‘Yes.’ He had sighed.

Cynara had sat forward to cover his hand with hers, a long hand, strength in the lean fingers, his whole body full of ripcord muscle that couldn’t be hidden by the elegant black evening suit. His face was startlingly attractive rather than strictly handsome, his eyes deeply green, his nose long and straight, his mouth a thin line, his jaw square and firm, power etched into every pore. And Cynara knew with shocking clarity that she wanted him!

‘Maybe we could start off as friends,’ she had suggested in her husky voice, a natural huskiness that added such quality to her voice when she sang. ‘And see what happens.’

What had happened was that she had spent every evening after her show with him, and if she didn’t happen to be working in the evening then she had dinner with him too. The days spent in rehearsals, or sunning herself on deck, understanding Zack’s need to establish a relationship with his son, the self-possessed little boy she saw him with on deck very much in need of his father’s love and reassurance.

By the last night of the cruise Cynara knew that she was in love with him, that the thought of parting from Zack in the morning was a depressing one. He had respected her decision that they be friends, too much so in some ways, his good-night kisses too fleeting to be appreciated, their times on the dance floor the only real occasions when she was in his arms. But that last night she had been determined they shouldn’t part so casually. And Zack had seemed to feel the same way, moulding her body to his as they danced, her slender frame dwarfed by his six feet plus. It added to the delusion that she was a child, and that wasn’t how she wanted him to think of her. Her suggestion of a walk in the moonlight had been made with only one idea in mind, to be in his arms, really be in his arms.

It was a cool evening as they approached England, Cynara’s wrap not enough to ward off the chilling wind.

Zack had felt her shiver, his arm about her waist. ‘I’d invite you back to my suite for a nightcap,’ he had told her huskily, ‘but we might disturb Michael or Ruth.’

She knew Ruth was Michael’s nanny, had seen the plump middle-aged woman at the pool with them. But it was the first indication Zack had given that he wanted to be completely alone with her, and she didn’t intend to let it pass them by. ‘My room is small,’ she had told him. ‘But we wouldn’t be disturbed there.’

Zack had looked at her searchingly for several minutes, and whatever he had seen in her candid brown eyes had made him nod his agreement, allowing her to take him by the hand and lead the way to her room.

She had been a bit cramped for space with all her stage costumes as well as her normal clothes, and yet she had made the room comfortable, personalised, and had sensed Zack’s approval as he turned back to her after looking around the room, chuckling as something behind her had caught his attention.

He had walked across the room to pick up the battered doll that sat on her dressing-table. ‘Now I know how young you are,’ he had mocked.

‘What you see here is all I have,’ she had told him quietly. ‘I have no permanent home, my venues are too varied for that, and so my home travels with me, such as it is. The doll is one that my mother gave me when I was a child.’ She had told him of her parents death when she was young, of being brought up in an orphanage, knew of his own privileged background, silently pleading for him to understand the way she clung to that tattered doll.

‘I’m sorry, Cynara.’ He had put the doll down, holding out his arms to her, resting his head on top of hers when she flew into them. ‘I’m really not worried about a nightcap.’ He had moved back to look at her with darkened green eyes. ‘Are you?’

She had known what he had really been asking, and she had answered unhesitantly, ‘No.’ Her voice had been a throaty invitation.

The gentle kisses she had received from him the last week hadn’t prepared her for the raw passion of his devouring mouth, no preliminary searching or questioning, just fiery desire as his tongue had probed the edge of her mouth, the gentle parting of her lips surrender enough as he had plundered the moist warmth within, his thighs leaping with the same need.

She had wanted to touch the hard planes of his body that she had only ever seen when he lazed by the pool after a swim, had helped him take off his clothes, her own dress a diaphanous heap on the carpeted floor, her only clothing a pair of flesh-coloured briefs that rested low down on her hips.

Zack had been a silent lover, telling her with his lips and hands how beautiful he had found her, their lovemaking caresses made as if by instinct, driving them quickly to the peak of need. When Zack had joined his body with hers she had felt complete for the first time in her life, knew she had found the man she loved, had climbed the pinnacle of desire at his side, his equal, tumbling over the edge of trembling ecstasy together.

She had lain in his arms on the narrow bed afterwards, wondering if he were disappointed that he wasn’t her first lover, although he had known of her engagement to Paul, of her intimacy with him, before their engagement ended. She seemed to have told Zack so much about herself in the last week. It hadn’t been a confidence he had reciprocated to the same degree, although she knew he regretted the end of his marriage, still cared for his wife deeply, loved his son very much. She had also come to realise the extreme wealth that gave him his supreme self-confidence, the Buchanan business empire taking up much of his time. And she understood his need for only a transient relationship, knew that they had had fun together this last week, but that it had been a time out of time, that neither of them could ever fit into the other’s world, knowing that Zack would never want to fit into hers.

He had left her reluctantly in the early hours of the morning, explaining that he had to be in his suite when Michael woke up.

Cynara hadn’t slept for the rest of the night, had lain awake dreading the parting that morning would bring.

It had been a very formal parting, both of them conscious of the curiosity of the other passengers as they had watched the progress of their romance through the last week. Cynara had watched from the side of the ship as a black limousine waited for Zack and his party on the dock, banishing the tears to smile and wave as he turned to glance up at her, anxious that his last memory of her shouldn’t be an unhappy one, that he should remember only the laughter and loving they had shared when he thought of her. If he thought of her.

She had thanked God it was her last trip when the next cruise began a few days later, knew that she couldn’t keep up the air of jollity that was expected of her on board ship. Everywhere she went on board there were memories of herself and Zack, the ones in her cabin impossible to live with. Until the note had been delivered.

They had docked in Turkey, and she had taken advantage of the stop to go round the Grand Bazaar, had been enthralled with the exotic jewellery displayed in so many of the windows, coming back from her trip exhausted. She hadn’t taken any notice of the envelope slipped under her door at first, was too used to these ship’s memorandum being delivered in this way, throwing off her shoes to collapse back on the bed.

Finally she pulled herself up, picking up the envelope, ripping it open half-heartedly. The message had been short and brief, ‘Call me. Zack.’ And at the bottom of the page had been a telephone number.

She had paced her cabin frustratedly until they were underway again and the ship’s telephones were back in use, unable to make calls while they were docked.

I’ll be waiting, Zack had told her. And he had been.

She was under no illusions of them becoming friends this time, knew it was the one thing they could never be. The cold contempt in Zack’s eyes as he continued to watch her seemed to say he had lived through the same memories—and came to the same conclusions.

But five years hadn’t changed the shock of awareness she felt at seeing him again, the need she felt to be in his arms. Suddenly, she knew she had only been half alive the last five years, that her heart still belonged to this man. How could she have been completely alive with no heart, she thought hysterically.

The rest of her early evening show passed in a blur for her, singing automatically. It had all become mainly routine for her the last few years, but she usually enjoyed herself; tonight the show couldn’t be over soon enough for her, needing to get away from the steady contempt in narrowed green eyes as her voice slowly deteroriated.

She was aware of Zack’s every move. He didn’t speak to anyone, his glass automatically replaced as soon as it was empty, and his gaze never left her. She was a nervous wreck by the time she stepped gratefully off the stage and out of the spotlights, not sure if she could go back on in an hour and do another show, shutting herself in the privacy of her dressing-room.

‘What’s wrong, Cyn?’

She looked up wearily as Rod, her agent, came in unannounced. ‘Don’t call me that,’ she snapped automatically. ‘What are you doing here?’ she frowned.

‘Josie told me you didn’t seem quite yourself today.’ He shrugged, a tall blond-haired man, with a face and physique that should have taken him into films, but he preferred to be the man behind the stars rather than become one himself. ‘So I thought I’d come and see for myself.’

Josie followed him into the room, grimacing. ‘Sorry,’ she asked for forgiveness.

Cynara gave her a tired smile. ‘It’s a good thing I love you both so much.’

‘What’s happening out there, Cyn?’ Rod wasn’t at all daunted by her show of temper earlier at his shortened version of her name.

‘Not a lot, couldn’t you hear that for yourself?’ she sighed shakily.

‘You weren’t your usual effervescent self—–’

‘I was awful,’ she put in flatly. ‘And everyone knows it.’ Including the man with the contemptuous green eyes!

‘Hey, you’re a professional,’ Rod comforted. ‘You don’t give bad performances, just ones that weren’t as good as they could have been. Besides, half those people out there wouldn’t know talent if they heard it.’

Her vividly painted red mouth quirked into a smile. ‘I think I may have just been insulted,’ she mocked.

Rod made an impatient movement. ‘You haven’t had a break in years,’ he defended, frowning as he realised the truth of that.

Five years. Oh she had had the odd day or few days when she was ‘resting’, but they hadn’t been made through choice. When she stopped this mad merry-go-round of shows she had too much time to think, to dwell on the man she loved and who now hated her with a vengeance. The fact that she had meant him to hate her didn’t help the feeling of desolation when she knew that he did.

‘My life is one bit holiday,’ she dismissed briskly. ‘I was in Germany last month, Las Vegas the month before that. I’m always in one glamourous locale or another.’

‘Working,’ Rod put in firmly.

‘It’s what I do best,’ she shrugged.

‘It’s what you do, period,’ he frowned. ‘Maybe I should have insisted you take a break—–’

‘You happen to be my agent, Rod,’ she scorned. ‘Not my manager!’

‘You need managing—–’

‘Rod, I have only forty minutes before my next show, I’d like to shower, change, possibly have some dinner,’ she told him pointedly.

‘You’re going back on?’

‘Of course,’ she dismissed. ‘The gruffness will have gone by then. Besides, I’m a professional,’ she reminded dryly.

Rod pulled a face. ‘You certainly are. Okay,’ he sighed. ‘But if you change your mind about taking a break just let me know and we’ll arrange it.’

‘I won’t,’ she told him abruptly, knowing that she would fall apart if she ever sat back and thought about the next thirty to forty years without Zack. She lived her life day by day, never thought of tomorrow; it was the only way she could go on.

She ordered a sandwich to be sent to her dressing-room, securing her hair out of the way of the shower as she moved to stand beneath it’s soothing spray. Would Zack have left by the time she went out for her late-night show? Why was he there at all? Curiosity, perhaps. Maybe he wanted to see if she had changed at all. Had she? No, she didn’t think so. Her gleaming red hair had always been this length, the image of beauty she could attain with the expert application of make-up showed her that her face had changed little either. Maybe she was a little thinner, but that only threw into prominence the classical lines of her bone-structure, made her wrists and hands seem delicately beautiful, the figure-hugging gowns she wore on stage showing she didn’t possess an ounce of excess weight. No, on the outside she was still very much the same, it was on the inside that she felt nothing, not allowing pain or pleasure to colour her controlled existence, not daring to in case she fell apart.

‘Leave it on the table,’ she instructed the waiter as she heard him bring in her sandwich, wrapping a towel about her as she heard the door close behind him, intent on fastening it at her breasts as she re-entered the room.

‘Leave what on the table?’

Her head went back sharply at the sound of that voice, looking straight into Zack’s scornful green eyes. She felt all the colour drain from her face.

‘The days when I would bring you a gift after one of your shows are long gone,’ he drawled hardly, his gaze raking over her critically.

She seemed to have stopped breathing, as affected by the deep timbre of his voice as she always had been, pain tightening her chest as she saw the contempt for her in his face. He looked impressive in the black evening suit and white silk shirt, his skin tanned a deep brown, as if he had recently been on holiday. Maybe he had taken his yacht ‘Joanne’ to the Greek islands as he liked to do in the spring. Maybe he had even renamed the yacht for his daughter …

She ignored the taunt he had made about bringing her gifts; she had returned every one of those expensive baubles when she walked out of his life. ‘I thought you were the waiter with my dinner,’ she explained stiffly. ‘Would you mind waiting while I go and dress?’ She picked up the black gown she was to wear for her second show. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘Why not dress in here?’ He lowered his long length into an armchair, taking out a lighter to put the flame to the cigarette he had just taken from his gold case.

‘I thought you had given up smoking,’ Cynara said without thinking, blushing as he looked at her coldly, dark brows raised at her audacity.

‘I started again,’ he said abruptly. ‘I said why not dress in here, we always used to talk while you changed between shows.’

The blush deepened in her cheeks. ‘We used to do a lot of things we no longer do,’ she mumbled.

‘I want to talk to you,’ Zack bit out hardly. ‘And I don’t intend waiting.’

Anger flared briefly in her eyes, and then it faded. Zack had a right to be angry with her, he had asked her to be his wife and she had refused him in the most humiliating way possible. She had hurt him very badly, and it was obvious, even though he had been reconciled with Joanne, that he hadn’t forgiven her for it.

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to,’ she told him calmly, having no intention of dressing in front of him. ‘Or not talk to me at all.’

His mouth tightened ominously as he met the stubborn challenge in her eyes. ‘Go and dress,’ he finally instructed. ‘But I don’t intend waiting longer than five minutes,’ he warned.

It took her almost that amount of time to stop trembling long enough to zip up her dress. Even though she knew Zack owned the hotel, was actually staying here at the moment, had been conscious of his stare all during her show, she hadn’t imagined he would come to her dressing-room like this; the last time they had spoken he had made it plain they had nothing more to say to each other.

But she knew the coldly controlled man he had become wouldn’t allow her a second over the five minutes he had allowed her, quickly reapplying her make-up and brushing her hair. The sparkle that had always been present in her eyes in the past was noticeably absent, but that couldn’t be helped.

‘The waiter delivered your dinner,’ Zack told her coldly once she rejoined him, looking disgustedly at the chicken sandwich. ‘I won’t take it off your fee if you order dinner over five pounds,’ he drawled scornfully.

She shrugged. ‘The sandwich will do just fine.’

‘If you say so.’ He gave a dismissive grimace. ‘I believe you had lunch with my son Michael today.’ His eyes narrowed questioningly.

She sighed, wondering what Michael had told his father about the meeting; nothing good if his angry exit from the coffee-shop were anything to go by. ‘I wouldn’t exactly say that,’ she drawled. ‘I had already finished my meal when he joined me, and he left before he had time to eat his.’

‘Just what exactly did you tell my son about us, Cynara?’ Zack rasped.

Her eyes widened at his accusing tone. ‘I didn’t tell him anything—–’

‘You can’t tell me he already knew about our affair,’ Zack sat forward tensely.

‘Your father—–’

‘Would hardly tell a child of his father’s indiscretions,’ he denied harshly. ‘According to you my father is responsible for most of the world’s sins,’ he bit out coldly. ‘You always were paranoid about him!’

‘Paranoid!’ she gasped indignantly.

‘Yes!’ His eyes glittered angrily. ‘Damn it, the man’s been dead for six months, at least let him lay in peace.’

‘Why should I, he didn’t let me live in peace!’ she flared. ‘And he did tell Michael that we were once lovers! Your son blandly sat across the table from me at lunchtime and said as much.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Then what do you believe?’ she demanded furiously. ‘That I would boast to a ten-year-old boy of how I once went to bed with his father? Credit me with a little more compassion than that, Zack. Especially as you returned to his mother after me.’

His head snapped back. ‘What?’

‘Congratulations on your daughter, Zack.’ Her voice was brittle. ‘If she looks anything like her mother I’m sure she’s beautiful.’ She had seen a picture of Joanne once, a beautiful blonde woman, with kind blue eyes.

‘Kelly is exactly like Joanne,’ he told her abruptly, seeming lost in thought.

She would have liked to have said how sorry she was about Joanne’s death, but perhaps in the circumstances it would be in bad taste. ‘What did Michael tell you about our meeting?’

Zack’s mouth tightened as he stubbed out another cigarette, the ashtray fast filling up. ‘I’d rather not discuss it—–’

‘You can’t come in here breathing fire and throwing out accusations without giving me a chance to defend myself,’ she snapped. ‘I have a right to know what Michael told you—or perhaps I should just go and ask him myself?’

‘That might be a little difficult,’ Zack lit up another cigarette.

‘Why might it? And will you please stop smoking?’ She frowned at his fourth cigarette in twenty minutes.

His mouth twisted. ‘You always were a little nag about that.’ But he stubbed out the cigarette after smoking only a quarter of it.