They lusted after each other. That was the plain and unvarnished truth. In a way, it was fortuitous that Ebony was of such a highly sexed nature, since not many women would have endured the kind of unrestrained lovemaking he'd insisted upon in an effort to rid himself of his own insatiable need. With a bit of luck, he might not need any repeat performance.
Or so he had deluded himself at the time.
Alan made a scoffing sound just as Ebony came out of the bathroom, made-up but not dressed. She was breathtakingly nude, the exquisiteness of her beauty stabbing at his heart. And elsewhere.
God, but Mother Nature had been cruel, sending a creature like her to torment him. Or was it the devil himself who had fashioned that incredible face and body? Yes, that sounded right. Who but Satan would be wicked enough to combine all those assets, to give one woman everything that a man could possibly want? Long, silken black hair that screamed out to be stroked; exotic, thickly lashed ebony eyes that flashed fire and promised pleasure at the same time; a full-lipped smouldering mouth which would tempt a saint. And that was only her face.
Her body was another dimension, another hell to be endured. High, pointy breasts with large pink aureole and long, sensitive nipples, a delightfully tiny waist, deliriously curvaceous hips and long, long legs that wound their shapely way down to dainty ankles and feet.
Then there was her skin...
What man wouldn't want to run his hands over her skin, the pale magnolia-like skin whose texture was like cool velvet, till it was heated by
desire. Then it would glow. It was glowing now. But not with passion. With the heat of the shower. Her eyes were cold as they raked over him.
'You still here?' she said scathingly.
He gnashed his teeth as she went about dressing in front of him, first
drawing on a silk black teddy, then sliding into a black woollen jumpsuit.
Black was Ebony's trademark. She wore nothing else, modelled nothing else. So was her lack of smiling, her full lips looking far better fashioned into a sullen, sulky or seductive pout.
Alan would have thought that such restrictions would have been disastrous to her career, but, surprisingly, it had all worked in her favour, creating an individual and highly sensual image that kept her and her agency busy.
'I have to go, Alan,' she said briskly, popping on black pumps before picking up a black holdall and heading for the bedroom door. Only then did she stop for an indifferent look at him over her shoulder. 'Lock up when you leave, will you? And wash up any mess you make.'
One day, Alan thought as he lay there, fuming. One day he was going to wipe that cool composure from that beautiful face of hers. One day he was going to make her cry. And what would he do? Walk away. That was what he'd do.
Oh, sure, sure, came a dark, cynical voice.
Flinging back the sheet, Alan leapt from the bed and marched into the bathroom where he snapped on the cold water jets. Bracing himself, he stepped under the freezing cold spray, telling himself it was penance for his sins.
He must have had a lot of sins on his soul, for he had to stay in the shower for a long, long time.
CHAPTER THREE
EBONY slumped into the back seat of the taxi, strain telling on her face. The fagade she always put on in a vain attempt to punish Alan was beginning to take its toll. How long before she actually became that person for real? Brittle and cynical and cruel.
It was the cruel part that bothered her the most.
There was no doubt about it. She had to get out from under the crippling effects of this appalling affair before she self-destructed.
Sighing, Ebony closed her eyes, her head tipping back against the seat. It wasn't far from her flat in Randwick to the Ramada Hotel, but at eight-thirty in the morning she was in for at least half an hour's run into the city. Might as well try to rest.
Rest was not on the agenda for her troubled soul that morning, however. She was too full of regrets and bitter recriminations, the main one being why she had allowed Alan to become her lover in the first place. There'd been no seduction, no courtship, no nothing. All he'd done was look at her a few times on the night of her twenty-first birthday party.
But that was all it had taken to start her heart beating madly for him, not to mention make her grasp at straws where his feelings were concerned, especially when once or twice she had surprised him staring at her with desire in his eyes. Had he too not forgotten that kiss in the library three years before? she'd begun wondering. Could he have been lying that night, saying he didn't really want her when all along he had?