Golden Fever. Carole Mortimer

maintained a calm exterior with effort, inside her emotions in complete turmoil. No man had the right to have so much animal magnetism, not and be allowed loose among the susceptible female population—of which she was one.

      She felt sure he would be riveting on the big screen. She had never personally seen any of his films, but Diana had seen every one several times, exclaiming over the sexuality he brought into the roles he played.

      ‘Certainly not what’s going on in there,’ she nodded in the direction of the pool.

      ‘No?’

      ‘No,’ she blushed. ‘I prefer a—a one-on-one basis,’ she added bravely.

      ‘So do I.’ He took another step forward, fitting his body against hers, each hard contour evident against her softer curves. ‘Do you have to go?’ he asked throatily.

      ‘I—Yes.’ Excited colour heightened her cheeks, a fevered look to her eyes. Gene often kissed her, touched her in a casual way—but there was nothing casual about Rourke’s touch, and heat coursed through her body as she began to tremble.

      ‘Do you really?’ he said huskily, slowly bending his head to claim her mouth for the second time since she had known him.

      It was just as nerve-shattering as before, the slow, drugging movement of his lips on hers, the erotic way he ran his hands over her bare back, her flesh seeming to tingle where he touched.

      ‘Stay, Clare,’ he breathed against her mouth.

      ‘I——’

      ‘Stay!’ he urged, his mouth more urgent this time, telling her better than words of his desire for her. ‘Or better still,’ he raised his head to groan, ’come home with me.’

      The warning bells began ringing more strongly where this man was concerned, and she reluctantly pulled away from him. A look of angry irritation flitted across his hard face before it was quickly masked by his usual look of cynicism, telling her that it was a long time since any woman had turned him down.

      ‘Unfortunately,’ she drawled confidently, ’you aren’t the man I want to be one-on-one with.’

      Anger blazed in the deep blue eyes before it was quickly controlled. ‘Are you telling me Gene Lester is?’ he mocked insultingly.

      She raised her brows in cool query, sure that she had a vocation for acting—if this performance were anything to go by? Rourke was completely taken in by her blas$eA attitude. ‘Is there any reason why he shouldn’t be?’ she asked distantly.

      Rourke scowled. ‘He’s too damned young for you!’

      ‘He happens to be twenty.’

      His mouth twisted. ‘And you’re eighteen going on thirty-five!’

      He was being deliberately insulting, she knew that, but was that really how she appeared to him? He made it sound as if she were too experienced for Gene. She might have responded to Rourke’s kisses, but she didn’t think that was any basis on which to make such an assumption about her.

      ‘Clare!’ Gene, luckily, arrived at her side at that moment, placing her lightweight jacket about her bare shoulders. ‘How are you, Rourke?’ he greeted the other man with his usual friendly manner.

      ‘Fine,’ the other man answered tersely. ‘I think I’ll get back to the party.’

      Clare knew this last was added for her benefit, making her wonder if he were about to join in the nude bathing. Livia Marriott had already been in the pool! An angry sparkle lit up her eyes. Well, let him! Why should she care? And no doubt the beautiful actress, or one of the other women here, would be sharing his bed later tonight. No matter how she denied it that gave her a painful wrench in her chest.