Another Life by Rosemary Carter

By Rosemary Carter

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Nobody would see her. But she made no effort to move. It was as hot as Mary had said. Even here, where the tracery of creepers provided shade of a sort, the sun shafted through in burning rays. Yet Sara felt cold, a numbing coldness that came from inside. Much of what Belinda had said could well stem from simple dislike, a clash of different personalities. But it was impossible to dismiss everything. Clyde had been alone at the ballet, a strange situation now that Sara considered it for the first time.

Easily, without loosening his hold, he pushed her hands downward, and kept them both in one of his, while his other arm pulled against her back. Once he lifted his head for breath and looked down at her. The eyes that met his were big and wet and distressed. 'Please, stop,' she whispered. If the sight of her obvious unhappiness affected him, there was no indication of it in his tone. 'This is just the beginning. You made the offer, Sara. ' Again the strong mouth came down, but this time the cruelty was gone, and in its place was a tantalising seductiveness that sent explosions of desire flaming through her body.

The gallant kindness of the man was warming. And Sara had much need of warmth and reassurance. The first performance of Swan Lake was drawing near, and with it the pressures within the company were increasing. There were new demands on the dancers, doubts and fears and insecurities. There were temper tantrums and fierce differences of opinions. Nerves were stretched to breaking point. In a sense Sara welcomed the crowded hours, the feverishness. She had little time for thought. Only at night, when she lay in bed, her body and her emotions throbbing with exhaustion, did she think of Clyde.

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