When the Devil Drives

Joanna shook her head silently, numbly, staring down at the swirl ofbrown liquid. Cal finished his own cup, then sat back in the corner ofthe sofa, watching her, his fingers laced behind his head. He'ddiscarded his jacket and unbuttoned the waistcoat he wore beneath it.He looked relaxed, but Joanna, herself taut as a coiled spring, couldsense the tension emanating from him.She made the coffee last, drinking it down to the last drop andbeyond, playing for time. As she leaned forward to replace the emptycup on the tray, Cal's hand closed round her wrist. She sat motionless,not looking at him, as his fingers stroked across the swelling moundat the base of her thumb, then found the indentation of her soft palm,and lingered.It was the lightest of caresses, but she was as sharply aware of it as ifhe'd kissed her on the mouth, or taken her breasts in his hands.To her astonishment, she could feel some of her nervousnessbeginning to ebb away under the gentleness of his touch.She had fastened her hair up into a loose knot on top of her head, andhe reached up and began to take out the pins, very slowly andcarefully, until the whole shining mass was loose on her shoulders.'Shake your head,' he directed softly, and she obeyed mutely.Cal gave a low sigh of appreciation, twining a long blonde strandround his fingers and carrying it to his lips.'You don't have it cut,' he murmured. 'Not ever.'She should have resented the proprietorial note in his voice, but oddlyit didn't seem to matter in this strange new euphoria which waspossessing her. This isn't me, she found herself thinking. This can't behappening. Yet she didn't have the energy or the will to pull awayfrom him.