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darling. If you want me, you'll have to come to me. No victimvand
perpetrator, no hit-and-run, no trap and no escape. You'll come to me,
and you'll touch me, and you'll give of your own volition, or you'll get
nothing at all.'
Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly. She really did not know
what to think; she couldn't remember how to think at all.
'You're insane.' It was meant as a scream, and came out as a whimper.
He groaned an unsteady laugh and struggled to his feet. It looked like
a mammoth effort. 'I know,' he whispered. 'I'm going crazy with
waiting, going out of my mind with holding myself in check. It'll
probably unman me, but that's how we're going to play it. Don't take
too long in making up your mind, will you? The suspense is killing
me.'
He was leaving her. He was walking to the door and leaving her
aching. The sexual frustration nearly sent her out of her head; she
watched his departure and felt as if he was ripping her heart out of her
chest with every stride.
'It'll be a cold day in hell before I come to you,' her demon pride
snarled, without her approval.
'A cold day in hell could very well be a relief. Beats the thought of a
cold shower, at any rate,' he threw over one shoulder with great
feeling, then he paused to clench the edge of the door with one
whitened hand. He looked back and smiled at her. 'Welcome back to
the human race, Yvonne.'
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE next day.
Yvonne hadn't slept. Adam appeared to be just fine;
Fortunately the slight shadows under her eyes enhanced the 'betrayal'
scene that was scheduled to be shot that day, where Hannah was to
discover her husband in the arms of her sister. She worked like a
plough-horse the entire long, hot day, and avoided speaking to
anyone if she could help it, aside from saying her lines on cue. Most
especially she was not speaking to her father. He didn't, however, get
the message very clearly, for he wasn't in any of the scenes and had
driven to Phoenix for most of the day.
The day after that.
She looked at food with revulsion. Jerry summoned up his courage
and sought her out. He was only concerned about the depth of anger
Adam had shown over their little escapade. She nearly bit his head
off.
Then she apologised very nicely indeed; after all, what had come
after, what hadn't come after none of it had been his fault. She left
the man somewhat puzzled but relieved, then stalked off to have a
blazing row with Christopher.
Her father was having none of it. He was patient, and reasonable, and
reasonably contrite, and loving, and worried that she could ever
forgive him for employing such a deception with the best of
intentions. When Yvonne finally left him, she was wild-eyed with
frustration.
The third day.
Adam was everywhere she looked. Strolling past, on his way from
here to there. Standing outside, hands on his lean hips, wide shoulders
at a negligent angle as he squinted in the intense white sunshine and
talked with other cast members, or the cameramen, hearing
complaints, taking advice, soothing anybody's ruffled feathers but
hers.
Come one, come all, was the winter king's continuous message to the
entire complex of people. Come to me, Yvonne, was the message in
his eyes whenever he talked to her, ostensibly about mundane things.
He was the soul of generosity, he was.
No, I won't, said her haughty dark gaze in stubborn reply.
It was insupportable, unthinkable. Men chased her; she didn't chase
them. Men chased and tried to catch her. Come one, come all she
was generous with her rejection, but the one man she most wanted to
reject didn't come back.
Inevitably there was a fourth day, and eventually the passing days
became a week.
She couldn't believe the fuss she was making, inside her head. Why,
she didn't even like sex that much, if her brief and unsuccessful
experience years ago had been anything to go by. And why shouldn't
it have been? Both she and her only lover had been adults.
The filming went on. Take, take, take. Any taking and she ran away,
he had said. She tried to take her ease. She tried to take time off. She
tried to take control of her temper, to take comfort in the solitude of
her trailer, to take offence. She was sinking in a morass of so much
taking that it was taking the heart out of her struggle.
Adam snapped at her over some trifling matter, and she blew up in his
face. He seemed unsurprised enough, but their witness, Rochelle, was
thoroughly disapproving. She looked at Yvonne with pinched nostrils
and walked away, and it was a perfectly ridiculous reaction, for she
was the injured party the the uninjured party, the party that had
had absolutely nothing done to her, aside from a little titillation.
Yvonne knuckled her dry eyes, refused to groan, and then said from
between her teeth, 'I'm sorry.'
'Don't mention it,' said Adam mildly, and he walked away. On to
another trifling matter; there always seemed to be a crushing
mountain of them awaiting his attention.
How could she be jealous of that? But she was; she wanted all his
attention on her. Just so that she could reject him? Just so that he was
fully aware that she was not taking advantage of his invitation?
She thought that he was probably well enough aware of that fact
already.
'You've gone around the bed, Yvonne,' she whispered to herself, and
then was overcome with mortification. Oh, my God, she'd meant to
say around the bend.
There was something wrong with Adam's logic. There had to be. She
looked and looked for it. Some inadequacy, some human mistake,
some unforgivable failing.
She considered the issue obsessively, as she sat side by side with her
father under the green-speckled shade of the copse of trees by the
river. An array of picnic tables had been set in the area that three
times a day was converted into a huge dining area. The catering crew
were competent in dealing with the communal meals, and nearly
everyone took advantage of their quality cooking. The only other
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