Carrie didn’t have the usual succession of dance partners she’d had in the past. Things had changed since she had become engaged to Scott. She realised she was starting to worry that Scott was so possessive. She wasn’t property. She was a woman, a human being. The last thing she wanted was a stormy married life with a control freak for a husband. But then her thoughts turned to how understanding Scott was about her desire to remain a virgin until their marriage. It pleased her that he was so considerate of her wishes. She had never been one to bow to peer pressure so she hadn’t been part of the general sexual experimentation that had attended her university years. She knew some of her fellow students had labelled her a bit of an extremist, but the idea of sex without genuine strong feeling had little appeal for her. It was her body that would be invaded after all. Men came from a different place. Most of them she had found, saw sex as satisfying an appetite like food and drink. At the same time they were notoriously quick to pin cruel labels on their willing female partners. Carrie thought there was not only a moral standard, but a health standard that made fastidiousness matter.
Then again she had to take stock of the fact she had no real conflict with remaining a virgin. There was even the odd moment when she had to consider perhaps she hadn’t met the man who could overturn all her defences? Or maybe her libido wasn’t of the intense sort? Not that Scott hadn’t awakened her romantic desires. He had. She knew about sensual pleasure. But still it had been relatively easy to keep to her vow. Or it had been up until now.
She was momentarily alone. Scott was caught up in settling an argument about some polo match when she heard her name—her full name—spoken.
‘You dance beautifully, Caroline. Will you dance with me?’
He was standing in front of her, looking down at her from his superior height. The corners of his mouth were upturned in a smile. His dark blue eyes held a current of electricity that bathed her in its glow.
She managed to smile back. It felt like taking a risk. A tremble shook her body. The music…the laughter…the voices…oddly started to recede. She knew her lips parted but for the smallest time—maybe a few seconds—no words came out.
‘Caroline?’
The oxygen came back to her brain. ‘Yes of course I will,’ she said, unaware a nerve was pulsing in the hollow of her throat.
His arms came around her. He held her lightly yet his arms enclosed her. Letting him hold her—she knew—vastly increased the risks.
She couldn’t relax. Not there and then. He was, she realised, gifted with sexual radiance and he was using that gift. Consciously or unconsciously? She couldn’t tell.
She tried to distract herself by looking at the sea of happy, excited faces around them.
‘I know, I’m too tall for you.’ Clay’s voice was wry. ‘And I’m not much of a dancer. Never had time to learn.’
‘No, you’re fine.’ Indeed, it seemed to her he moved with natural ease and rhythm.
‘And you’re kind.’ He pulled her in a little closer and she lifted her hand higher on his shoulder. She could feel the strength in it; the warmth of his skin. He wasn’t formally attired like Scott. He wore a beige coloured linen jacket over a black T-shirt and black jeans. A simple outfit, yet on him it looked very sophisticated. He would have absolutely no difficulty finding a wife. In fact, the frenzy had already started. It was her role to watch. Never let it be forgotten she was taken!
She realised she was luxuriating in his clean male scent, redolent of the open air, of fragrant wood smoke. Inhaled, it left her with a feeling akin to a delicious languor. The overhead disco lights dazzled, throwing out blue and silver rays over the swirling crowd, their faces and clothes streaked with light.
For long minutes they danced without speaking, he leading her expertly for all he claimed he couldn’t dance. She was beginning to feel a degree of trepidation at the forces set loose by their physical contact. She didn’t want it. She certainly didn’t need it. She didn’t even understand it. Her reaction wasn’t normal. She couldn’t allow herself to think it was akin to being in a state of thrall!
Be careful with this! A warning voice said.
There was a pressure behind Carrie’s rib cage. Could he incite emotion as easily as he could incite his high mettled horse to victory? She feared that might be the case. It was even possible he could be looking at her as a conquest? Retribution for the way he had been treated? A perverted desire to win over Scott Harper’s fiancée? She saw how he had won the Cup. His was a powerful determination and maybe she was next on his list? Only time would prove her right.
Meanwhile he was making her feel decidedly odd. It was as if she were someone else. She couldn’t allow that. She had to be herself, yet the feel of his arms around her had deep chords resounding within her. His hand on her back could even be playing her like a master musician. What was he really thinking?
‘You look very beautiful,’ he said. His voice, which was resonant and deep, had considerable emotional power.
Carrie took a quick breath, thinking she wasn’t going to give him any help.
‘Harper is a lucky man.’
Now she tilted her head to stare into his eyes. ‘What went wrong between you two? It seems strange—you were both so young when you moved away, yet I sense a history between you and Scott. An animosity that still clings.’
The flash in his eyes was as blue as an acetate flame. ‘Scott Harper used to like to scare me when I was a kid.’
She felt shame on Scott’s behalf. ‘It still matters?’
He shrugged. ‘You saw how your fiancé was. I’m sure he’ll be right with us any moment now. Do you mind that most of the guys here, though they’re dying to dance with you, are keeping their distance?’
That hit home. ‘I do realise,’ she said, more severely than she had intended, ‘but Scott is my fiancé.’
He nodded. ‘A pity’
‘A pity he’s my fiancé?’ Now she was really on the defensive.
‘How do you know I don’t want you for myself?’ He unfolded a slow smile, keeping his tone light.
Hectic colour swept into her cheeks, enhancing her beauty. ‘I’m sorry, Clay, but I’m taken.’
‘Have you set a date for the wedding?’ he asked, with interest.
‘Why aren’t you married?’ she countered, aware something potentially dangerous was smouldering between them.
‘Because I believe a man has to be able to provide for a wife before he embarks on matrimony.’
She realised she was becoming agitated. She had to rein herself in. ‘The rumour around town is you’re looking for a wife. Could that possibly be right?’
His smile was self mocking. ‘You might very well see me on the doorstep of the Bulletin some time soon. I understand you’re Pat Kennedy’s right hand woman. You can help me run an ad. “Bush Bachelor Seeks A Wife!” You could advise me what to say, maybe help me read through what replies come in.’
‘You’re joking!’ She felt an odd anger.
Clay’s blue, blue eyes were alight with what? Devilment? A taunt? He was still holding her lightly but she was starting to feel she couldn’t breathe.
‘I couldn’t be more serious,’ he replied. ‘I want a wife beside me. I want children. I’ve been so flat-out working all my life, I’ve had little time to play the courting game. Besides, eligible young women aren’t all that easy to find. I thought an ad might work. It would certainly speed things up.’
He was obviously waiting for her response.
It came out soft but tart. ‘Why don’t you simply walk up to one of the girls here?’