His One-Night Mistress(30)

"Certainly, sir. My pleasure."

Seth thanked him and took a cab through the unrelenting rain back to his hotel in the Old Town. The next move was up to Lia.

Either she came to him of her own free will, or not at all.

He had a shower, changed into casual slacks and a sweater and poured  himself a drink. The post-concert reception, he knew, could take a  while. All he had to do was wait. When had he ever sat in a hotel room  in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe and waited for a woman to  come to him?

Never.

The minutes ticked by. He flicked through the channels on the TV, trying  to attune his ears to the various languages, then giving up in disgust.  It was nearly midnight. Shouldn't she be here by now?

The phone rang on the cherrywood desk, making him start. Seth snatched it up. "Yes?"

"It's Lia. I'm in the lobby."

"Suite 700. Take the elevator to the top floor."

"I'll be right up," Lia said and put down the phone.

But for a moment she stayed where she was, gazing blindly at the elegant  Art Nouveau decor. She knew what would happen if she went to Seth's  suite. Was that what she wanted? If not, why was she here? Gathering her  skirts in her hand, she walked swiftly toward the elevator.

Just as she raised her fist to tap on the door of his suite, Seth opened  it. Instinctively she took a step backward, and saw his jaw harden.  "Lia," he said, "come in. Did you get soaked in the rain?"

"The taxi driver very kindly held his umbrella over me, and then parked  under the awning of the hotel," she prattled. "He loves Dvořák, so we  had lots to talk about."

"You probably made his night. Would you like a drink?"

"No, thanks. Not after what happened in Vienna."

"Were you pleased with the concert?" he asked, cursing himself for making small talk as though she were a casual acquaintance.

"Yes. Were you?"

So the small talk was over. "How could I not be," he said, "when you played only for me?"

She didn't bother denying it. "Another way of telling you I love you."

"You think I'm so thickheaded that I wouldn't realize that? I heard you. Heard love, desire and tears."

"I was pleading my case." Her red dress swishing softly as she moved,  she walked closer to him, resting one hand on his sleeve. "Perhaps too  strongly. But I can't make myself into another kind of woman, Seth. I am  who I am. Impatient. Passionate. Uncompromising. Can you not love that  woman?"

"I've never in my life fallen in love. Had no use for it."

"So I'm the same as all the rest?" she flashed.

"You're utterly different-but I can't make myself fall in love to order!"

"Won't, you mean."

"Can't is what I said."

"Then I won't marry you."

"What is this," he demanded, "a battle of wills to see who comes out on top?"

"As it stands now, we're all losers. You. Me. And Marise."

"Now you're fighting dirty," he grated.

"Did you expect any different?"

In spite of himself, he lifted one hand to trace the soft curve of her  cheek and the jut of bone above it. "I want to go to bed with you."

Unconsciously she swayed toward him. "I want that, too," she whispered.

His heart was juddering in his chest. "Suits me a lot better than arguing."

"No more words, Seth," she said with sudden fierceness. "Take me to bed.  Make love to me, make me forget everything but your body."

He lifted her off her feet, carrying her across the thick carpets to his  bedroom with its imposing four-poster bed; there, he laid her down on  her back and flung himself on top of her, hauling his sweater over his  head. "You drive me out of my mind," he muttered, then plunged to ravage  her mouth. Her tongue laced with his, her teeth scraping his lip, a  small pain that only served to inflame him. She was writhing beneath  him, mouth and hands so hungry that he lost all restraint. Throwing  himself sideways, carrying her with him, he yanked on the zipper of her  dress and tugged it down the length of her body.

Her bare breasts, the slide of silk over her hips … would he ever have  enough of her? She was fumbling with the clips in her hair, tossing them  onto the floor so that her hair spread like dark satin on the pillow.  Her irises, so dark he could lose himself in them, were blurred with  desire.                       
       
           



       

Fiercely he took from her, giving no quarter, feeling her nails rake his  back, her teeth nip his shoulder. She was his mate, meeting him in  every way that mattered, hunger for hunger in a primitive dance.  Tasting, teasing, arousing, he traveled every inch of her body, making  it his own.

She was his.

But he didn't love her.

When he entered her, she arched and bucked, her fingers like manacles  around his wrists. He plunged, deep, deeper, groaning her name as he  fought for breath.

The climax ripped through her, leaving her breathless and spent; his  whole body pounding his own release, Seth dropped his head to her  shoulder, feeling sweat cool on his bare back.

He had no memory of how he'd gotten out of the rest of his clothes. Or where they were. Not that it mattered.

He turned on his side, burying his face between her breasts. This was  what he wanted, Seth thought dimly. Lia in his arms. What more could  there be?

He'd left Malaysia very early that morning after three days of intense  meetings. With the suddenness of a small boy, Seth fell asleep.

Lia lay still, listening as Seth's breathing settled into a smooth  rhythm. For the first time after making love to him, she felt less than  fulfilled. Physically she was satiated; that was a given. But her soul  felt empty, she thought unhappily. At the moment of climax, she'd wanted  to cry out how much she loved him; and hadn't done so. He didn't want  to hear those words from her, because he didn't share them.

How strange to feel lonely when Seth's arm was draped over her hip and  his breath was wafting the curve of her breast. Yet lonely was how she  felt.

She waited another few minutes before slipping free of his embrace. He  muttered something in his sleep, reaching for her. Paralyzed, she  crouched on the bed. Only when his breathing had steadied again did she  scramble to the floor. There were two fleecy robes in the bathroom.  Belting one around her, she went to sit in one of the window seats,  upholstered in embossed brocade. The lights of Prague twinkled through  the leaded panes. Like diamonds on black velvet, she thought, fingering  the earrings Seth had given her.

A church spire lanced the darkness. Several streets over, the river  wound its lazy way through a city where she'd always felt at home, so  permeated was it with music.

But now she felt exiled. In playing for Seth, she'd given him her heart;  yet she'd failed to reach him, or to change him. Dropping her head to  her knees, Lia let the slow tears course down her cheeks.

She wept in silence until she was drained of emotion. Getting up, she  went to the bathroom, washed her face and walked slowly back to the  bedroom. Her dress was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. Red as  blood, she thought with a superstitious shiver, and picked it up. Her  underwear was on Seth's side of the bed, tangled in his trousers. Moving  as quietly as she could, she got dressed.

But as she reached for the cold sparkle of her hair clips, she bumped  the side of the bed. Seth stirred. "Lia?" he muttered. "What are you  doing?"

Frozen to the spot, she watched him rear up on one elbow. He reached for  the bedside lamp and switched it on. Blinking in the light, she said,  "I'm going back to my hotel."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, running his fingers through  his tousled hair; he was instantly awake in a way that frightened her.  "You're running away," he said. "Just as you did in Paris."

"It's too late for that," she said bitterly. "Because of Marise, I'm  tied to you." She dropped the clip into her evening bag. "I have to fly  to Basel in the morning-a final concert before I go home."

"Why are you leaving now, in the middle of the night?"

The truth, she thought. Why not tell the truth? "I can't do this," she  said, despair thinning her voice. "I love you. To be with you like this,  knowing you don't love me-it's too painful. It tears me apart."

"You came to my hotel. Knowing what would happen."

"I didn't know how I'd feel afterward-how could I? Tell me, Seth, why did you come to the concert?"

"I couldn't stay away. I needed to touch you, hold you in my arms. It  nearly drove me crazy having you stay in my house last weekend, knowing I  couldn't take you to bed. Couldn't even kiss you the way I wanted to."

"There's more to making love than the physical," Lia cried. "Do you know  how I felt tonight? Why I couldn't go to sleep? I was lonely. Horribly,  desperately lonely. I can't separate making love with you from being in  love with you. It's that simple. And that complicated."