Free Dancing in the Shadows by Anne Saunders Page B

had figured prominently, his self effacing expression gave no clue.
    â€˜Would either of you girls care for a refreshing drink? Your usual, Isabel?’
    â€˜No.’ Isabel’s face grinned teasingly up at him. Dorcas asked herself: Was it the face of a girl who had always skimmed the surface, never felt out of depth or had her emotions snarled? ‘Tonight I feel . . .’ The Spanish girl paused on the word . . . ‘adventurous. I have the taste for something different. Surprise me, Carlos.’
    Dorcas very nearly missed Carlos’s look of amused appreciation. Her mind was fully and unpleasantly occupied with the thought that Isabel was not as cool and unfeeling as she cared to make out.
    Carlos said: ‘What would you like, Dorcas?’ His eyes were now on her. In them she saw a flame that beckoned and sweetly burned, a glow that met in her an answering glint of tears.
    How could he look at her like this, hold her so close in spirit that they could even block Isabel out? But he could not block out the thought that although the moment was hers, the future was pledged to Isabel.
    I won’t ever be able to have him, she thought with a panicky, violent, self-pitying realization of truth. Everything is stacked against me. Foolish of her to hope that there was some way of controlling the twisting currents that would eventually separate them.
    Memory’s shutter flickered open. His mother’s words came back to her. ‘If Carlos played at love with Isabel, before long he would come to love her.’ Her mind then reproduced Isabel’s voice. Clear as a bell, she again heard Isabel say: ‘Tonight I feel adventurous. Surprise me, Carlos.’ If that was not an invitation to play, she did not know what was.
    How long would Carlos continue to tease the child and deny the beautiful and alluring woman she had become? And could Dorcas bear to be around to see brotherly affection quicken to a lively interest; gentleness and humour warm to desire?
    She would have run from both of them that instant, but she had nowhere to run. So she remained seated, joining in the conversation, sipping from the tall frosted glass Carlos brought her, responding to the mood with as little vivacity as a robot. Until Carlos looked at her with questioning eyes and asked: ‘Are you feeling unwell, Dorcas?’
    She did not know how to answer his thoughtful consideration. She saw Isabel draw the discarded shawl up round her shoulders, and this gave her the inspiration to say: ‘I’m cold, that’s all. I haven’t got as much sense as Isabel.’ She managed to force a smile to her lips, but she couldn’t smooth the edge from her voice as she offered the face-saving explanation: ‘I didn’t bring a shawl.’
    Moonlight sheered the terrace with a cold, silvern touch.
    â€˜I should not have allowed you to sit out here so long,’ Carlos said, instantly contrite. ‘Our nights tend to be cold in contrast to the heat of the day.’
    Warm, hurrying fingers grasped her arms. He used physical force to lift her to her feet. But it was an inner force that lifted and held her gaze. A strength of mind that browbeat her into submission. She had no will to look away. Then no wish to look away. He smiled. He had known this was how it would be. Her battling spirit was no match for his dominance, the superior power, the magnetism he wielded over her. His arrogance was such that he
knew.
From somewhere a thought mocked her. The woman who resists domination hasn’t met her master.
    His eyes laughed into hers, efficaciously, taunting her to applaud his ability to produce the result intended. Yet not in a mocking way, inviting her to share his triumph rather than scoring off her.
    â€˜Who says I want sense in my woman, eh?’
    His hand on her cheek turned it to fire. He had done it again! Shattered her to a tender wreck of her normal self, then expected her to go into company