The Wildest Heart

In spite of the somewhat sarcastic tone I had adopted, I could not repress the nervous shiver that ran up my spine when Lucas came up silently beside me, casually leaning his back against the railing. I told myself that this time I would remain calm. I would show him that his nearness could not affect me any longer.

“I should have guessed it. You’re real good at playing games—always were.”

His husky voice was deceptively soft, but I could sense the bitter anger behind his words as I turned my head to look at him directly.

“As I recall…” and this time I could not prevent my voice from shaking slightly, “you are the one who excels at—playing games, as you call it!” I went on recklessly, determined to have my say before my newly found self-confidence faltered: “Why did you come here after promising to stay out of my life? Was it the thought of the profits you think to gain from this crazy scheme? Or was it the notion that you will at last have the chance to be revenged on Todd Shannon? But I forget—you don’t like to give explanations for your actions, do you? Perhaps you have none that will not incriminate you!”

“You’ve always thought the worst of me, so what the hell difference does it make? You’re giving the orders now, Mrs. Shannon. Maybe you should tell me what you had in mind.”

It was impossible to read any expression in his hard, beard-shadowed face. Against my will, I found myself wondering, does he hate me? Do I really mean nothing at all to him? And then—is there always to be a wall of lies and pretense between us?

I hardly knew what I said, or why. Perhaps I only put my thoughts into words. I heard myself say, in a clear, cold voice, “To begin with, I think you ought to kiss me.”

“You comparin’ notes already, Mrs. Shannon? On your honeymoon? From what I could see this afternoon, your husband takes damn good care of you. Or did you want to find out if he’s capable of feelin’ jealous?”

“Is that what you’re afraid of? You shouldn’t be. Mark’s a very understanding husband, and after all, if I could understand your feelings for Elena…”

I put my arms around his neck, and it was like that afternoon when we had kissed for the first time, and only Elena was between us. I could almost feel my fingers throbbing with pain again as they touched the soft thickness of his hair. I remembered how he had called me a witch, even while his lips were claiming mine; unwillingly, almost despairingly.

And suddenly, I felt time fall away. Like the breaking of an iron band that had kept all my real feelings locked within myself, like a river bursting its banks in flood. How could I have forgotten? How could I have pretended to myself for so long?

There are times when words are unnecessary, when the body knows truer than the mind. And Lucas, when he kissed me now, was no more capable of holding back than I. If they had all come out onto the porch at that moment, we could not have broken away from each other. I had forgotten that they existed—had forgotten Mark, had forgotten all the doubts that had tortured me for

so long.

“For God’s sake, Ro… Why?” His whisper was both angry and agonized. “You and Mark Shannon! When Marta told me I was crazy-mad enough to kill you both! That damned interfering old woman—she had it in her mind it was all my fault. An’ maybe it was, for not tellin’ you straight off why I’d come. But damn you, Ro, when you started flinging all those crazy words at me…”

“You went back? To see me?”

“Oh, Christ! A woman always knows when she’s got a man so mixed up in his mind he can’t even think straight! You knew that, and you… how long did you think I could stay away from you?” He put his hand at the back of my neck, forcing me to look up at him, and his voice held a bitter accusation that made me flinch. “You couldn’t even bring yourself to tell me you were carrying my child, and yet you found it easy to turn to him!”

“Lucas, don’t! Please! If you only knew…”

“All I know is what you’ve told me! Damn it—what do you expect me to think? Seeing you with him, watching the way you acted tonight. Ro, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing this time, but I ain’t good at pretending, not the way you are.”

I couldn’t bear to hear any more. I set my mouth against his, standing on tiptoe, and heard him make a half-smothered sound that was almost a groan as his fingers closed painfully on my arms, pulling me up against him with a violence that drove the breath from my body.

“Do you still think I’m pretending?” I asked at last in a shaky whisper.

Lucas dropped his hands from my arms, moving a little distance away, as if he didn’t trust himself too close to me. I thought I heard him sigh.

“Christ, I don’t know! You’re such a damned unpredictable woman, Ro. I never have known what to make of you, or what you wanted of me.” He had begun to roll a cigarette, each movement swift and impatient. For a moment, as the match flared, I saw the familiar green fires come to life in his eyes. “An’ I still ain’t certain…” he went on in the same deliberately expressionless voice, just as if he had not paused.

In the sudden silence between us I heard Monique’s high laugh from inside the house.

“Then that makes two of us.” I couldn’t keep the slight breathlessness from my voice. “Lucas, don’t you see?”

“I can see that it’s time you went back inside, before your husband starts wondering what you’re doin’ out here for so long, with the hired help.”

Why did he have to remind me of Mark? I bit my lip, trying to keep my voice as even as his.

“But we have to talk. Please, Lucas!”

He shrugged. “Sure. You’re the boss.” In the faint glow of his cigarette his face looked bleak and withdrawn. It was almost as if he was determined, after what had just taken place, to put a distance between us. And I was equally determined not to let it happen again.

“When?” I persisted, and saw his brows draw together.

“Tomorrow maybe. I’ll think of something.”