An Unexpected Song

  He began to move, thrusting, bucking upward.

  It was wild, and hard and nearly animalistic in its intensity—and exactly what Daisy wanted. The eroticism that had gone on before had whipped her responses into a frenzy and she heard herself moaning, gasping, as they moved closer and closer toward climax.

  When the release came, it was as wild and explosive as the journey itself, and Daisy could only cling desperately to Jason while ripple after ripple of sensation washed over her.

  She collapsed against him, her hair flowing over his chest, her breath coming in short, sobbing gasps.

  She was so dazed, she was scarcely aware of Jason's gentle hand stroking her hair. "You- see," he said huskily. "We have to have this." His lips brushed her temple. "No matter for how short a time. We have to have it."

  Passion, not love. No strings ... A bittersweet sadness rippled through her.

  His lips moved to caress her ear. "You'll come again?"

  Passion wasn't enough, but at this moment she couldn't afford to throw it away. Whatever he could give, she needed so she could get through the days ahead. "I will."

  His hand stroking her hair stopped in mid-motion. "Every night?"

  How could she stay away? The bond between them was growing stronger, tauter, with every encounter. She buried her face in the dark, springy hair thatching his chest. "Every night."

  "What are you doing?" Daisy raised herself on one elbow, her eyes straining in the darkness to see Jason's naked silhouette framed against the moonlight pouring through the window across the room. "Don't you feel well? Is something wrong?"

  "No." His shoulders moved as if throwing off a burden. "Just thinking. I'm sorry I woke you."

  "I didn't mean to doze off. I have to go soon." She sat up in bed and brushed her tangle of golden hair back from her face. He wasn't telling the truth. In that instant of waking she had sensed a sadness, a poignant loneliness. "Thinking about what?"

  "You." He gestured with his hand to encompass their situation. "This. We're very special together, you know."

  Hope leapt within her. "Are we?" It was the first indication that he had even given any thought to their affair. Conversation had been low on their list of priorities during these past two weeks that had been an erotic dream. During the time they spent with Charlie at the cottage Jason maintained the same casual, friendly cheerfulness, but she was always aware of an underlying tension in him. He could scarcely wait for her to walk through the door of his hotel room before joining with her, and then the only words between them had been feverish mutterings of lust and frantic need. They couldn't get enough of each other, and she had been as frantic as he in their couplings. She seemed to want him all the time now. Color stung her cheeks as she remembered how she had made him pull over to the side of the road the night before on the way home to the cottage. Her eagerness had made him wild, and he had driven into her with— She blocked the thought and said dryly, "I don't know about special, but we're enthusiastic anyway."

  "No, it's more than that." He was silent, looking out into the darkness at the street below before he said haltingly, "It's like a song."

  She wrapped the sheet around her and sat back on the bed. "A song?"

  He nodded. "That's how a song usually comes to me. Out of the darkness, completely unexpected, and yet suddenly it's there." He turned and walked toward her. "Playing over and over in my head until I have to put it on paper and let it out before it will go away." He stood over her and reached out to cup her face in his unsteady hands. He whispered, "You're like a song. I have to play you over and over."

  "So that I'll go away?"

  "No." His fingers tangled in her hair as it usually did, and he pulled her head back to look down into her eyes. "No matter how many times I play you, you don't go away." His head bent, and he kissed her with exquisite gentleness. "I start hearing you again as soon as I've finished."

  Her throat tightened with tears, and to keep them from falling she had to make a joke of it. "Daisy's theme?"

  He nodded. "It's as good a name for it as any."

  He pushed her back on the bed. "Daisy's theme." He parted her thighs and moved between them. "Gentle and shining and honest. I lay beside you and I hear it. You leave me and I still hear it." His hands searched and found her. "But you're here now and the cresendo's building."

  "Jason, I have to go. I've been here too—" She stopped as his fingers sank deep, probed, and began a lazy rhythm. She gasped and her spine arched up off the bed toward him.

  "Soon," he muttered. "I don't want to let you go. One more time. I have to play you again. . . ."

  "Stay the night."

  Daisy looked over her shoulder at Jason lying naked on the bed as she slipped on her blouse. She felt a hot shiver ripple through her as her gaze ran over him. He was all brawny muscle and arrogant male power. They had made love twice tonight, and yet she suddenly wanted him again. "You know I can't do that. I have to get home."

  "Just a quickie and then home to Papa?" He saw the hurt clouding her expression and muttered a curse. "I'm sorry." He threw the covers aside and jumped out of bed. "I'll be with you in a minute."

  She slipped her foot into her low-heeled sandal. "Perhaps I'd better take my own car from now on. It makes no sense for you to have to get out of bed every night to take me back—"

  "I said I was sorry," he interrupted roughly as he disappeared into the bathroom. "I know you never stay. It just came out." She heard the sound of running water in the basin.

  She put on her other sandal and sat down on the bed to wait for him, a troubled frown knitting her brow. Jason had been moody as the devil since two nights before, when she had awakened to find him standing at the window. Not surly, just tense, and at times she thought she could detect an element of desperation. "I know it's inconvenient for you to—"

  "Crap." He came back into the bedroom and began dressing. "I don't mind the drive." He tucked his shirt into his pants and slid his feet into his moccasins. "I guess it's the Othello in me."

  She looked at him, puzzled.

  "I'm jealous." He picked up his jacket from the chair where he had tossed it and smiled sardonically as he shrugged into it. "I once told you that you had that crazy, effect on me."

  "Jealous of Charlie?"

  "I don't have a bigger rival." He picked up his wallet and keys from the table and jammed them in his pockets. "Or one who's harder to fight." He crossed the room and pulled her to her feet. "Come on, let's go."

  She stared at him, puzzled as she moved toward the door. "But you like Charlie."

  "That why he's harder to fight." His hand tightened on her elbow. "Does he know about us?"

  "Yes." She glanced at him soberly. "But not from anything I've said. He's not blind or stupid. Before, I posed for him after the performance every night."

  One corner of his lips rose in a lopsided smile that held a touch of bitterness. "And I guess I'm pretty obvious to Charlie. I can't look at you these days without getting hard."

  His bluntness surprised her. "I'm the one who's obvious. Charlie's always been able to read me." Her hand clutched nervously at her bag. "I've never wanted to deceive him."

  "He wants the best for you." With suppressed violence he punched the button for the elevator. "I know damn well he'd relocate to New York if you starred in Night Song."

  She didn't answer.

  "And you know it too. Why the hell won't you—"

  "He's lived here for the last fifteen years. He's happy here."

  "And what about you?"

  "I'm happy too. I don't need Night Song."

  "But you want it," he said softly. "I saw it on your face when I was playing 'Last Love.' "

  "It was beautiful. I'm a singer and naturally—"

  "You want it."

  She met his gaze steadily. "Yes, but I'm not going to take what I want. Forget it, Jason."

  "The hell I will." The elevator doors slid open and he stepped into the cubicle. "Lord, you drive me crazy. You look
like the most gentle angel this side of heaven and you have the obstinacy of a mule."

  "I'm being perfectly reasonable."

  "Reasonable people don't throw away chances like Night Song."

  "Please. I don't want to talk about it anymore."

  He glanced at her strained expression and relented. "Okay, we'll forget it for now." His mouth tightened. "But I'm not giving up."

  She knew he wouldn't give up anything he wanted. She had discovered his will was as implacable as it was irresistible. She sighed resignedly. "I know you won't, Jason."

  Five

  "Would you like to come in and say hello to Charlie?" Daisy asked as she reached for the handle of the car door.

  "I might as well." Jason got out of the car and came around to stand beside her on the street. "I haven't seen him since yesterday." He slanted her a look shimmering with recklessness as he started up the walk toward the cottage. "Maybe 111 play him another number from Night Song."

  "No!"

  He stared at her with mock innocence. "Why-ever not? He liked it." He added softly, "And so did you."

  "I thought we weren't going to talk about this." She glanced sidewise to see the same dark moodiness she had noticed before in his expression and asked quietly, "Why do you want to hurt me?"

  "I don't want to hurt you." He shrugged wearily. "Or maybe I do. Tit for tat."

  "I'm not hurting you."

  "Aren't you? Then why does it feel as if you are?" He threw open the door and stepped aside to let her precede him. "Never mind. It's a moot question when I—"

  "Charlie!"

  Charlie was lying sprawled in his favorite easy chair, one hand hanging limply over the arm. His face in the half darkness was as still as marble.

  "Oh, dear God!" Daisy pushed past Jason, raced across the room, and fell to her knees beside the chair. She could feel something warm and moist running down her cheeks. "No, Charlie!"

  "Daisy ..." Charlie muttered as he opened his eyes.

  Relief poured through her, and she collapsed back on her heels. "You were only asleep." She ran a shaking hand through her hair and laughed tremulously. "You're such a workaholic, I never expected to see you sit down on the job. Lord, you scared me."

  "Did I?" Charlie reached out and touched her wet cheek. "I got disgusted with that stupid fruit and gave it up."

  "It's not stupid." She smiled brilliantly at him. "But I'm home now. Wait until I change and you can work on the portrait."

  "That's good." His blue eyes twinkled. "Your skin tone's much more of a challenge than that idiotic banana's." He looked over her shoulder to grin at Jason. "Stay and watch, Jason? We'll put you to work running us coffee to keep us awake." Jason's arrested gaze was still fastened on Daisy. He forced himself to look at Charlie and shook his head. "I refuse to be used as an errand boy at two in the morning. I just dropped in to say hello. I'll run along now." He lifted his hand in farewell. "Maybe I'll come by to chew the fat tomorrow evening while Daisy's performing, Charlie."

  "Do that." Charlie wrinkled his nose. "Any-thing's better than facing that awful banana."

  "Thanks," Jason said dryly as he moved toward the door. "Ill pick you up at three tomorrow, Daisy. Good night."

  "Good night." Daisy scarcely heard him. She was already heading for her bedroom to change, her entire being filled with profound thankfulness.

  Not yet. It wasn't going to happen yet.

  "What's wrong with him?" Jason asked as soon as Daisy got into the car the following afternoon.

  Daisy stiffened. "I beg your pardon?"

  "You heard me. Stop treating me as if I were feebleminded." Jason put the Mercedes in gear and pulled away from the curb. "Last night it would have been clear to anyone that Charlie was asleep, but it threw you into a panic."

  "I made a mistake," she said evasively. "Charlie never falls asleep that early and I—"

  "Bull," Jason said succinctly. "Everything fell into place last night. I should have suspected something before now, but he doesn't look sick."

  "I didn't say he—" She broke off as he glanced directly at her. It was no use trying to fool him any longer. "All right, he's sick."

  "How bad?"

  "It couldn't get much worse." She didn't look at him. "It's a blood disease that generates blood clots. Very rare." She paused. "And fatal. He's had it for over five years and it's getting worse. He's already had one heart attack. The doctor said the next one would kill him."

  "Are you sure? There are discoveries made every day."

  She smiled sadly. "I'm sure. Do you think we didn't explore every possibility? It's too rare a disease to merit any all-out effort to find a cure."

  "How long does he have?"

  "It could happen anytime. A few weeks, a month. A year at the outside. So you can see how impossible it would be for me even to think of leaving."

  His hands gripped the steering wheel. "May I ask why you didn't tell me?"

  "I promised Charlie. He didn't want anyone to know. He wants'to live a totally normal life until the end."

  "So you let me try to bulldoze you, harass you, and didn't say a word. Do you know how that makes me feel?"

  "I promised Charlie," she repeated. "I keep my promises, Jason."

  He was silent for a moment. "Yes, you do, don't you?"

  "And you can see why I can't play Desdemona?"

  "Yes." His foot jammed on the accelerator. "I can see why you can't leave him."

  She glanced at him, puzzled. His grim expression chilled her, and she said haltingly, "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you. I know you must feel you've wasted a great deal of time trying to talk me into playing Desdemona."

  "Don't be ridiculous. I don't feel like that at all."

  "What do you feel?"

  "Sad for you and Charlie. Frustrated that I can't wave a wand and make it all right."

  Relief surged through her. He wasn't angry.

  "Stop looking like that." His tone was ragged.

  "Did you think I'd be bastard enough to think about myself and my damn play while you're going through this?"

  "I didn't know what—the play's so important to you."

  "So are you."

  She went still. "Am I?"

  "Too damned important." He drew up before the theater and leaned across to open the passenger door. "Ill see you tonight."

  She nodded, her eyes shining radiantly as she jumped out of the car. He had said she was important to him. There was the faintest possibility he meant he loved her. "Tonight."

  She slammed the door and walked quickly into the theater.

  "She knows," Eric said as soon as Jason picked up the phone. "God, I'm sorry. I warned him. I thought for sure Jessup wouldn't—"

  "When?" Jason asked curtly. "When did Jessup tell her?"

  "Last night."

  "Then she could be on her way now."

  "Not yet. I bribed the desk clerk at Claridge's to call me when she checks out. You'll have warning."

  "Thanks, Eric."

  "I got Bartlin for Iago."

  "What? Oh, that's great."

  "What about Justine?"

  "No, she can't do it."

  "Rats." Eric's voice brightened. "But if you already know that, maybe Cynthia's timing isn't so bad for once. She won't interfere with your negotiations."

  "No, she won't do that."

  "Jason?" Eric hesitated. "What's wrong. You sound . . . funny."

  "Do I? I wonder why?"

  "Look, if you need more time, maybe I could stall her. I can go see her and—"

  "No! Stay away from her." Jason made an effort and steadied his voice. "It will be all right. I just have some details to wind up here. Let me know when she checks out of the hotel."

  "Okay." Eric paused. "What will you do then? Come to London?"

  "No, I'll take a plane to New York, tie up a few details, and then go to Eaglesmount."

  "Back into your hermit's cave?" Eric asked sourly. "Can we count on you to come out for the opening?"

/>   "We'll see. When you find a decent Desdemona, let me know and I'll check her out." But he knew there would never be a Desdemona like Daisy. "Look, I have to go. I have some things to do."

  "Right. I'll be in touch."

  Jason hung up the phone and closed his eyes as wave after wave of despair and pain washed over him. Lord, he didn't want it to end. Dammit, it couldn't have happened at a worse time. Why couldn't he have had a few more weeks before the curtain fell? Daisy was going to need him and he wouldn't be there.

  The tigers have never come to me.

  Well, the tigers were drawing closer to Daisy every moment, and he wouldn't be around to protect her or to help heal the wounds.

  Not if he was to save her from the most ferocious tiger of all.

  He dropped down on the chair beside the desk and tried to clear his mind of pain and anger. He couldn't have what he wanted, but at least on this occasion he had a little time to try to help where he could, to ease the way for the people he had come to care about.

  "So stop feeling sorry for yourself," he muttered. "Get off your duff and get to it."

  He reached for the telephone on the desk. First, he would call the manager of the theater, and then go to the cottage and see Charlie.

  He couldn't keep the tigers from coming, but maybe he could add salve to ease some of the pain from the wounds they would inflict.

  "Hi, Charlie! Got time to stop for a cup of coffee?" Jason strode into the cottage and moved toward the kitchenette. "I know, don't tell me. Make it myself. You're too busy."

  "Don't you ever work?" Charlie looked up from his easel. "You don't seemed worried about making that part-time job steady."

  "Actually, I got a telephone call when I got back to town tonight. I have to go back to New York for a while, so I dug up a replacement for a few weeks."

  "Bad news?"

  "Depends on how you look at it." Jason plugged the coffeemaker into the socket. "Nothing I can't handle."

  "There's not much of anything you can't handle, is there, Jason?"

  "I have my problems like everybody else." Jason strolled out of the kitchenette toward the easel. "What are you working on?"

  "Daisy's portrait. I should finish it tonight."