The Hollow Heart Part 18

"Always making an entrance." His eyes twinkled as he pushed his nose against hers in greeting. "Great to see you."

"And you." She grinned at him and, for a moment, they were back on the beach at Innishmahon, the time that had elapsed, dissolved, and they were, once again cohorts, compatriots, brothers-in-arms.

"Well," she said, as his eyes swept appreciatively over the dark green off-the-shoulder velvet gown, cut daringly low to the back; an investment piece the sales a.s.sistant had said. An investment in what, she had wondered at the time. "Who else is joining us for this editorial conference?" She took in the fabulously appointed suite, blazing fire in the baronial fireplace, flanked by large curved sofas, strewn with fur throws and velvet cushions; the table in the bay window, with only two place settings. In the far corner of the room was a desk littered with paper. A laptop's standby light blinked intermittently. A huge carved bureau stood in another corner, housing a flat screen entertainment centre. Soft jazz oozed from invisible speakers.

"Just us," he said softly.

"Lovely." She took the flute of champagne he offered, feeling the blush of excitement on her chest. If she were to be seduced, this is how she would want it to be. This would be how she dreamed it. She put the gla.s.s down. He did the same.

"Okay?"

"No. Sorry, can you excuse me for a moment? I've left something behind, er, in the car."

"Of course." He opened the door and she charged through it, picking up her coat as she left, flying down the stairs as fast as her heels would allow. At the bottom, she caught sight of herself in a huge gilt mirror. She stopped. Her skin was flushed, her eyes bright, heart pounding. I can't do this, she told herself, I can't let this happen, be seduced, allow myself to be swept off my feet, fall in love. She watched as her eyes glittered. Anyway, how dare he? How dare he a.s.sume I am interested, that I will fall for his undoubted charms, that I am his for the taking. Oh s.h.i.t, but I so am.

A porter appeared from nowhere.

"Madam, can I help you? Is there anything you need?"

She took a deep breath, yes there is, she thought, and it is waiting for me up those stairs.

"No. No, thank you," She took another deep breath and, smiling at her reflection, turned to slowly mount the staircase.

He was standing in the window when she returned.

"Okay? You didn't go out to the car?"

"No, silly, I had it after all. By the way, which is my room?"

"Straight across the hall, shall I show you? I've asked them to light the fire and put your luggage there."

"No, not now. That's fine. Just so I know for later," she said, more to herself, pleased there was an exit strategy, glad he had not taken anything for granted. She took up her gla.s.s, visibly relaxing. She noted his beautifully manicured hands, expertly cut hair, the grey disappeared. His Savile Row dinner jacket fitted his frame to perfection, all hint of paunch toned away.

"You really do look like an International all-action spy hero, you know?"

"Of course I do." He twirled, preening. "But that's only the day job and it's not long term either, three movies, then I'm out."

"Will the three-movie deal fulfil all your heart's desires?" She sipped her drink, the bubbles tickled.

"I'll be very well-heeled at the end of it, anyway. Heart's desires? Well, that's a different subject altogether."

He showed her to a seat and rang for room service. He had pre-ordered their dinner of lobster, fresh asparagus with wild mushroom risotto, and a Belgian chocolate sour-cherry mousse.

They chatted easily as they ate; Marianne was fascinated to learn how a major movie is made, the sets, the costumes, the scheduling. Ryan's stories were captivating, animated, scurrilous, hilarious. Laughing, she lifted her napkin to her lips to dab away drips from the b.u.t.ter-drenched asparagus.

"May I do that?" he asked, and before she could answer, he leaned across the table, his mouth hovering millimetres from hers, and proceeded to lick her lips clean of the warm oil. Shocked, she drew back, staring at him. He calmly returned to his seat and continued his meal. He looked up then, eyes questioning. She struggled to regain her composure, stilling the b.u.t.terflies in her stomach. There was only one course of action.

"Like to taste the wine?" she asked. And before he could answer, she took a drink and, putting her mouth against his, pressed the wine through his lips. He sputtered, as the liquid dripped from his chin.

"Good vintage." His eyes were fixed on hers.

"Like some more?" she whispered, leaning towards him. He dropped his napkin and, rising from his chair, walked round the table to take her by the hand. He pulled her gently to her feet and, clasping her shoulders, drew her mouth to his. They kissed with every fibre of their being. She had never been kissed like it, ever. He had never given so deep and loving a kiss.

"Please let me make love to you, Marianne. I've wanted you ever since I first laid eyes on you. Please," he whispered hoa.r.s.ely.

Heart thumping in her chest, Marianne stood back and slowly unzipped the back of her dress. It fell to her waist. She stepped out of it and threw it aside. She stood before him in the most beautiful lingerie she owned, silently delighted that she had not opted for the comfort of her big pants.

He stripped quickly down to his dress shirt and boxer shorts. Pulling her to him, she slowly un-b.u.t.toned his shirt, pulling it back from his strong shoulders and broad, smooth chest. Then naked in the candle light, they fell upon each other. Collapsing to the floor, they rolled together before the fire, kissing and laughing, pushing each other away to feast on their nakedness in front of the flames and then pausing briefly, they locked eyes and silently agreed their desire.

He took her quickly and urgently, until she shrieked with delight and he groaned with ecstasy into her hair as he pushed hard inside her. Sighing and kissing each other repeatedly, until their mouths and tongues were sore, they finally lay glistening in the candlelight, their breath slowing in unison, as the sweat dried on their bodies and their skin cooled.

After a time, Marianne stretched out and, taking the remains of the champagne, unceremoniously poured it over him, laughing as he squealed. Then pushing him onto his back, she licked him back to fullness before climbing astride, tearing strips off the abandoned lobster and feeding it to him piece by piece, rocking rhythmically backwards and forwards, until he exploded inside her again.

Dessert was eaten off her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the chocolate mousse coating her nipples as he sucked her clean, stroking softly between her legs, teasing her to such a shuddering final climax with his fingers, she almost wept with pleasure.

With the feasting over and all desire spent, he took a wolf-skin throw from a chair and wrapped it around them as they nestled together in front of the dying embers, softly dozing in each other's arms.

"You okay, my darling?" he asked her, holding her tightly.

"Mmm..." was all she could manage.

"Sleep tight, my heart's desire," he whispered, as she slept.

Dawn was breaking when Marianne woke. The fire had been rebuilt and was blazing. She pulled the throw about her as she went to the window, the snow storm still swirling outside. She pushed open a door, a huge four poster bed draped in red tapestry and silken fringe dominated the room, a smaller fire burned in an elegant hearth. She could hear water running. She followed the sound to a white marble bathroom the size of a ballroom. A former chapel, it featured paintings of saints and bible stories along the walls, sealed in gla.s.s frames against the moisture. The roof was a dome of sapphire blue adorned with faded silver stars.

She could see his body outlined through the gla.s.s of the shower. She hesitated, the only thing a.s.suring her it had not all been a dream was the soft burning between her legs and the sweet soreness of her nipples against the throw.

He saw her and stepping out pulled her to him gently, letting the water spill over them both, as he carefully began to soap her hair and wash her body, kissing her throat, moving down to the scars on her shoulders and back, as he worked his hands all over her. He pulled away the arm she held against the scar that dissected her lower torso, and ran his fingers along the fine white line.

"You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," he whispered, and she responded, taking him in her hands and stroking him until he was hard. He made love to her again, softly, smoothly, and with such tenderness, she was moved near to tears. They clung to each other under the water until it ran cool and then he wrapped her in white fluffy towels and carried her to the bed, placing her between clean linen sheets.

"I bet you're tired my darling," he said, smiling down at her, "tired but happy?"

"Happy, yes, but a little bit sleepy too." She smiled back at him.

"Okay, I'll make a start on the script, you doze awhile. See you later." He kissed her forehead and then, dimming the lights, padded out of the room to begin work on the final scene of the screenplay. She drifted off into slumber, too happy to care if she were dreaming, to dreamy to care if she should wake.

Marianne was up and dressed in suede jeans and Ryan's evening shirt when room service came to clear away the evidence of last night's pa.s.sion. The butler brought coffee, croissant, scrambled egg and smoked salmon. Ryan grinned at her as she entered the room.

"Good morning, Muse. Hair of the dog?" He poured Bucks Fizz, skilfully ensuring the fresh orange juice did not cause the champagne to overspill.

"Don't really need one, but that looks delicious."

"Talking of dogs, how is the little fella?"

"Staying with my ex-boss and his wife, but in fine form. What about Larry?"

"In fine form also. Delighted with the film deal, he and Lena will do well out of it it's all good."

"And Innishmahon, heard from anyone there?" She took the irons to poke the fire.

"Gregory, the priest emails from time to time and, Miss MacReady, she keeps me up to speed."

"Me too. And Oonagh from the pub, I'm very fond of her and Padar."

"Everything happened so quickly, I didn't have time to..."

She shrugged. He took her by the shoulders, turning her towards him.

"Because I left in such a hurry I asked Lisa to track you down. Miss MacReady came up trumps. I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Abandoning you, rushing off, full of big plans. Not letting you know how I felt...how I hoped you might want me to feel."

"It's not up to me to dictate how you feel. But I'm not a home-wrecker I know what that feels like. It's not surprising I don't want a relationship with a man who already has a partner." She sipped her drink. "So, truthfully now, how is Angelique?"

"Over. Definitely over, but like these things often are, messy. Well, the thing is..." He looked away, the atmosphere shifted.

She put her hands to his face, bringing him back, "Hey, it's okay. Come on, let's get to work, looks like you've written loads."

He smiled, relieved.

"There's a lot of waiting between takes."

"A lot of waiting when you're out of work, too."

"Really?"

She ignored the question, taking spectacles out of her bag and arranging the pile of paper in order.

"Missed you." He kissed her on the top of her head as she bowed over her work. She started to make notes. He joined her at the desk. They did not look up until the butler returned to re-lay the fire and enquire if they wished to make a reservation for dinner in the restaurant.

"Have you boots?" he asked her. "We need some air."

The sun was gold and glorious against the ivory of the winter sky, trees turned black against the backdrop of early evening iridescence. They walked hand in hand, silent footprints of powder soft snow in their wake.

"And what of Paul Osborne's book? The series of articles? How does that sit with you?" He gave her a sidelong glance.

"For goodness sake, Ryan, I'm not an undercover agent, any more than you are. Trust me, I mean it. I'm not party to his work, or secretly researching you on his behalf, or indeed, anyone else's."

They walked on in silence for a while.

"There's been a bit of a family rift to say the least," he said.

She nodded, encouragingly.

"Paul is persona non grata as far as Zara and Mike are concerned, you can imagine. Although Lena likes the added value the frisson brings to the whole scenario, she thinks the publicity can only help the movie. Me? I'm disappointed he's written such rubbish about me. Seems I rescued all the survivors of the terrorist attack single-handed, and the sequel is me salvaging Innishmahon after the storm. He's the one over-playing this All-Action Hero stuff. It's all unauthorised and every now and then my PR has to issue a statement refuting the more ridiculous claims, but beyond that I am not too worried, just disappointed."

"More sales when you get round to writing the authorised version though."

He frowned.

"There is that. Don't turn into a Lena on me now."

"Just an observation, I'm opting out of the world of commerce and journalism for a while anyway."

"What are you going to do?"

"Not sure. I still feel strongly about the stolen babies' story. I'm sure there are lots of mothers and children who would love to be reunited, if not reunited, just told what happened, told the truth. Every woman I interviewed said something was wrong. They knew deep down their babies had not died. It feels unfinished to me, maybe this is the s.p.a.ce and time I need to finish it, do something positive. I don't know yet, and won't make a decision until I have to."

"That's admirable, and I understand what you mean about unfinished business and not making decisions until you have to. But what about me? Have you decided about me?" He gave her that look again.

"What's to decide? Film star, fantastic lover, gifted writer, excellent company. You tick all my boxes."

"But do you like me, Marie? Are we friends?" He stopped, his eyes burning into her. She blushed.

"Ah, come on." She laughed. "That's going a bit too far now."

They kept to the roadway until they found a stile. He brushed the snow off, helping her over.

"Race yer," he called, and was away, taking off as fast as he could up the hill. She followed, failing hopelessly to make any ground. He reached the top of the hillock and started sparring Rocky-style. Marianne tried to run, breathless and laughing, but her feet could not take hold in the new snow. He held out his arms and then, as if in slow motion, her foot caught a rock and she fell, head first, arms flailing, to glide gracefully down the slope on her front, her chin leaving a small trench in the snow as she went.

Ryan headed after her, but he too lost his footing and ended up on his bottom, sliding at speed towards her splayed figure, now stuck in its own little snow drift. She was just setting herself right when he ploughed into her. Throwing her back to the ground, he seized the opportunity to pin her down with a full body dive, pushing her hair off her face, to kiss her pa.s.sionately in an old-fashioned teenage snog. Eventually gasping for breath, she wriggled free, laughing.

"Stop it, I can't breathe, nutcase."

"I can't help it. You really turn me on. I feel like a kid with a crush, I'm mad about you, can't stop thinking about you. It's driving me crazy."

"Now that sounded like a script."

He pulled his mouth down, like a clown. Marianne kicked at the snow as he made s...o...b..a.l.l.s and, within minutes, a battle ensued ending when Ryan, with an overzealous throw, slipped again and Marianne took the opportunity to climb onto his chest pinning him down to claim victory.

"Call yourself an All-Action Hero?" She laughed, helping him to his feet.

"It's only acting." His eyes grew dark.

"I know that." She took his hand. They walked on for a while in silence.

"Do you fancy the restaurant tonight? What about roast pheasant and a nice bottle of Bordeaux in front of the fire. That final scene needs some more work, doesn't it?"

"Are you on the menu for dessert?"

"Could be," he teased.

"That's a yes then. Ryan O'Gorman, you're such an easy lay."

"I'm not really." He was serious.