She could go with him as Sabine—the woman he took her to be—as assured as he in the world that this dark, powerful man moved in. A world of physical affairs that sated the body but left the heart untouched. As Sabine she could indulge in such an affair, could drink it to the full, like a glass of heady champagne that would intoxicate the blood but leave her clear-headed the following day.
The temptation was like an overpowering lure, dominating her senses, her consciousness. Then, like cold water douching down upon her, she surfaced from it.
She was not Sabine.
She was Sarah. Sarah Fareham. Who had striven all her life towards the moment that was so close now—the moment when she would walk out on stage and give the performance upon which her future life would depend.
I can’t go with him—I can’t.
She felt her head give a slow, heavy shake.
‘C’est impossible.’
The words fell from her lips and her eyes were veiled beneath the ludicrously over-long false eyelashes.
His face stilled. ‘Why?’
A single word. But she did not answer. Could not. Dared not. She was on a knife’s edge—if she did not go now, right now, she would sever her resolve. Give in to the temptation that was lapping at her like water on a rising tide.
She shook her head again, drained her coffee cup with a hand that was almost shaking. She got to her feet. Cast one more look at him. One last look.
The man is right—the time is wrong.
‘Goodnight, m’sieu,’ she said, and dipped her head and walked away. Heading to the door beside the low stage, moving back towards her dressing room.
Behind her, Bastiaan watched her go. Then, slowly, he reached for his cognac. Emotion swelled within him but he did not know what it was. Anger? Was that it? Anger that she had defied his will for her?
Or anger that she had denied what burned between them like a hot, fierce flame?
I want her—and she denies me my desire...
Or was it incomprehension?
He did not know, could not tell—knew only that as his fingers clenched around
the bowl of his cognac glass he needed the shot of brandy more than he needed air to breathe. In one mouthful he had drained it, and then, his expression changing, he pushed to his feet and left the club. Purpose was in every stride.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SARAH’S FINGERS FUMBLED with the false eyelashes as she peeled them off her eyelids, then with shaky hands wiped the caking foundation off her face, not bothering to tackle her dark eye make-up. She felt as if she was shaking on the inside, her mind shot to pieces. She’d made herself walk away from him, but it hadn’t seemed to help.
All she could see in her vision was Bastiaan Karavalas, saying in his low, deep voice, ‘Do we need to wait any longer?’
Emotion speared in her—a mix of panic and longing, confusion and torment. An overwhelming urge to get away as swiftly as possible, to reach the safe haven of her room in the pension, surged through her. She wouldn’t wait to change. She simply grabbed her day clothes, stuffing them into a plastic bag and seizing up her purse, then headed for the rear exit of the club. Max was long gone and she was glad.
She stepped out into the cool night air of the little road that ran behind the club—and stopped dead.
Bastiaan’s Ferrari blocked the roadway and he was propped against it, arms folded. Wordlessly he opened the passenger door.
‘Give me one reason,’ he said to her, ‘why you will not dine with me.’
His voice was low, intense. His eyes held hers in the dim light and would not release them. She felt her mouth open to speak—but no words came out. In her head was a tumult, a jumble of thoughts and emotions and confusion.
He spoke for her. ‘You can’t, can you? Because this has been waiting to happen since I first set eyes on you.’
The intensity was still in his voice, in his gaze that would not let her go.
She was still trying to find the words she had to find, marshal the thoughts she had to think, but it was impossible. Impossible to do anything but succumb. Succumb to the emotions that were coursing through her. Impelling her forward. She felt one last frail, hopeless thought fleeting through her tumbling mind.