Even now she could still recall the animal cry of satisfaction he had emitted when his body had finally fused with hers. Never mind that he hadn't waited to undress properly, or that someone could have come down from the house and caught them in the act. She had been making love to the man she loved and who loved her.
It was not till the morning after that she was forced to review her way of looking at their first coupling, then all their subsequent couplings during that long and tempestuous night. Not till Alan had made his appalling suggestion in his bed at dawn had Ebony seen that what she'd thought of as love on his part had been only lust, and that his 'making love' to her had been no more than 'having sex'.
She had hoped to become Alan's wife. Instead he'd offered her the role of his secret mistress. She hadn't been at all happy about it, but he'd secured her continued co-operation by turning up at her flat when least expected, then seducing her with a finesse that was as intoxicating as it was merciless.
For fourteen months, she'd endured his spasmodic visits, dying a little each time he came and left, hating herself for her weakness, yet unable to stop. More than once, she'd vowed to cut him dead, to send him away, unsatisfied. Whether he had sensed this or not, she couldn't be sure. But whenever she'd reached that point, he wouldn't come near her for weeks. Then he'd turn up out of the blue and, without saying a word, take her into his arms and start kissing her before she could utter a word of protest.
Those were the worst times—and the best—their lovemaking on the edge of violence, but so passionate and intense that she would despair af- terwards of ever being able to give him up.
Could she now? Would she have the courage to take that step and
walk away? No, fly away.
'Lady! We're here,' the taxi driver growled.
Ebony snapped to attention. Already the concierge at the Ramada
was opening the car door for her. Checking the fare on the meter, she
handed the driver a twenty-dollar note, told him to keep the change, then
alighted with her usual style. Old habits died hard, and she was a model
first, cool and composed and sophisticated. The shattered woman inside
would remain hidden from everyone, even Gary. She was not about to tell
him all the grim details of her relationship with Alan, only enough to
make her plan feasible.
'Bob says you didn't come home last night.'
Alan took a sip of the black coffee his secretary had just brought in.
'Really, Mother,' he sighed into the phone, 'I'm not a child who has to
answer for his actions. So I stayed out all night? So what? It's not the
first time.'
'I realise that. That's what's bothering me. You're working too hard, Alan. Only yesterday you said how tired you were. Yet I'll guarantee you went from those awards to the office again. Or was it the factory this time?'
'Neither.'
'Neither! Then where, in heaven's name, did you get to?'
'Need I spell it out for you? I spent the night with a woman.' Something inside Alan twisted as he said that last word, yet he could not deny that Ebony would be a woman in everyone else's eyes. Though maybe not his mother's. God, but she'd be appalled if she knew whom he'd spent the night with.
'Oh,' was all she said, ever the tactful parent.
'No more questions?' Alan mocked.
'Would you tell me if I asked?'
'No.'
'So I won't. But I feel sorry for whoever she is.'
Alan bristled. 'What's that supposed to mean?'
'It means I hope she isn't in love with you, because you and I both know you're not in love with her. Or are you?'
Alan was startled, then annoyed. Ebony, in love with him? That was a laugh. As for himself... to even think about what he felt for her in terms of love was preposterous. Love was what his mother and father had shared, what Adrianna felt for Bryce McLean. Maybe even what Vicki felt for that excuse for a man she was living with. Love was not this black torture that wrung his soul every time he thought of Ebony, especially when he thought of what she might be getting up to when he wasn't around.
Had she lied to him about Stevenson this morning? he began worrying. Was she, at this very moment, in bed with her ex-lover? If she was, and he found out, he wasn't sure what he'd do, but it wouldn't be pleasant.
'I hate to disillusion you, Mother,' he bit out. 'But these days, women are as capable of staying the night with a man without love as vice versa.'