‘Woman troubles?’ she asked, sitting on the sofa and patting the cushion beside her.
‘Julia, what do you know about Evie? Clearly it’s more than you’re prepared to tell me. Why won’t you tell me?’
Julia took a lugubrious sip of her brandy.
‘It’s not my place,’ she said. ‘I can warn you to keep away from her. I can’t do much more than that.’
‘That’s not enough,’ he said, bringing a fist down on the sofa arm. ‘Why is she used like some kind of sexual talisman? What is it about her?’
‘Oh, the cricket thing. I see.’
‘What would happen if she said no?’
‘The sky would fall in.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘So am I.’
He shut his eyes and took a breath, too close to blasphemy to trust himself to speak.
‘Please, for the love of a
ll that’s holy, stop talking in riddles and help me understand.’
‘Now listen.’ She put her drink down on the coffee table and came to stand behind him, putting long fingers on his shoulders and rubbing them in. ‘Poor darling. You’re shaking.’
He tried to shrug her off but the series of tremors running down his spine blanked his resistance.
‘Evie Witts,’ Julia continued, ‘wishes you no good. If she pays you attention, it’s all part of a game. A nasty game that you can never win. I know you don’t want to believe it, my love, but you must.’
‘Evie is a victim in all this,’ he said, his voice weakened by the increasing waves of pleasure. Julia’s hands were confident, her thumbs pressing into the tense muscles at the back of his neck. He shut his eyes and focused on his breathing. ‘I’m sure she is. There’s somebody behind it all … I wish I knew – who it was.’
‘Put down your drink,’ whispered Julia.
He obeyed without reflection. The fumes had unsettled him enough; coupled with Julia’s seductive massage, he was in danger of losing his head completely.
‘I’m in love with her,’ he said, a desperate attempt to shake Julia off that didn’t work.
‘I know that, sweetheart. Everyone knows it. But she can’t love you. She never will. Let it go. Come to the one who wants you.’
Her hands were in his scalp now, easing the pressure so beautifully. His skin fizzed and celebrated, his hair standing on end.
‘The one who wants you,’ he repeated, voice barely audible.
‘Such lovely hair you have,’ she told him, running her fingers through it. ‘Lustrous, that’s the word. And so dark. Dark enough to get lost in. I always wanted dark hair, but I’m the palest thing imaginable. I’m drawn to the dark, though. Perhaps because of my own pallor. Who knows?’
Adam’s breathing lost its hard-won regularity as she began to twist coils of hair around her fingers, then she lowered her lips to his ear and spoke directly into it.
‘God made you desirable, Adam Flint. Why would he do that if he didn’t mean for you to be desired?’
‘Temptation,’ he murmured. ‘To show strength of purpose.’
‘What purpose?’ She kissed the tip of his ear.
‘Purity.’
‘This world is impure. You belong in this world. Purity is so terribly overrated.’