'I want you so much, Flame. Want me—show me again. I'll settle for six months if that's what it takes.'
Without giving her time to answer he brought his free hand skimming over her thigh, smoothing down the fine cream silk of her dress with the flat of his hand so that she could feel the heat of it through the thin material. The recognition of what it was doing to her made her cheeks glow with a soft sheen, and she squirmed as she felt a response like a fireball between her thighs. Her body began to arch towards him despite the hammering of her mind ordering her to resist.
Dragging her face away with an effort, so that only her neck was bared to the pressure of his lips, she tried to bend away, pushing at the taut muscles crushing her back among the yielding cushions. But by now her desire was evident in her shallow, rapid breaths, and Marlow murmured hoarsely against her cheek, 'You don't want to fight me... We don't need that, Flame. We can be so good to each other. Let me show you how. Come to me...'
He began to lift the hem of her skirt, centimetre by centimetre, his own breathing laboured now, warm breath fanning her heated skin. She felt his hand slide to the moist warmth beneath the froth of lace she wore, forcing an involuntary gasp of pleasure from deep within as he found and caressed her, making ripples of pleasure follow themselves in increasing waves up the length of her spine. Her breasts ached with a new fullness and she longed for him to touch them, to ease the burning need he was deliberately arousing.
It didn't seem to matter now that he was going to take everything she possessed. He was the only man she had ever loved. Maybe one day he would learn to love her with a similar self-destructive hunger, with a love that had no limit.
'We want each other,' he was murmuring, running his tongue tauntingly over her swollen lips. 'You try to pretend you don't want me, but despite yourself you can't resist.' His restless, taunting lips hovered over her mouth. 'You can't resist this...' His lips, pressed down on her own sending shoots of pleasure through her. 'And this --' he murmured, touching the swelling tips of her breasts with his tongue. 'And this --' He moved his head lower, seeking the heated centre of her being. And then he lifted his head, saying, 'I could take you, Flame. I could have you now, and God knows I want to... But...' He paused, and the night was still and the stars silent above their heads.
Flame's breath caught in her throat. He looked so strong, shoulder muscles bulging as he supported himself above her, and with her head thrown back against the cushions on the stone parapet she knew she was expressing the state of abandonment to which he had brought her. But she saw his eyes like two slits of blue ice glinting through the veil of lowered lashes, and she tensed at what she saw in them, feeling, before he began to draw back, that he was going to desert her.
He was still hesitating, perhaps regretting the impulse that had led him to carry her to such a pitch of desire she didn't know. But he was going to turn away from her; she could read it in his eyes. Panic at being deserted by him made her struggle up. He couldn't reject her. He mustn't! Her fingers feverishly reached for his face, tracing the hard line of his brow-bone, then tangling avidly in the thick dark hair, hunger too long unsatisfied shuddering through every nerve as she inexpertly tried to show him the depth of her need. He stilled her hands in one of his, a look of indecision hovering over his face.
'You want me...' He gave a slight groan and bit the tips of her fingers, crumpling them painfully in one hand as he leaned towards her. 'You always wanted me... but what does it mean?' he demanded. He released her hands and she trembled as his tormenting caress began to trace the jutting outline of her breasts, finding the hard peaks at once, possessing them in a sudden plunging of his head so that his mouth claimed them, moving from one to the other, licking and teasing them to quivering arousal again. His eyes darkened to indigo as his clutching fingers grasped folds of silk, ripping open the ribbon fastening of her dress so that it fell away in a ripple of cream silk.
His sudden coolness subsided under the raw heat of his primitive response at the sight of her naked body and he gave a sharp groan of helpless rage as their bodies twined together in unashamed hunger. 'I need you, Flame. You're my wife,' he muttered possessively against her swollen mouth. 'Give me what belongs to me. Give it to me, darling. You're mine. I need you...' His voice became a hoarse, demanding whisper that thrilled her as much by its urgency as by the words he used.
As she pulsed to the insatiable greed with which he demanded her response, his words aroused in her the tiny voice of reason, for his words echoed too with the greed of his insatiable empire-building. She knew why he wanted her. And it was nothing to do with love.
She tried in vain to argue herself into making one final effort to resist, but, despite herself, the liquid honey of his caresses numbed her last shred of resistance, and she moaned against him, clinging to the broad muscles of his back as he crushed against the pale form opening helplessly for him. Her glowing limbs spread beneath him in a luxury of surrender.
She was barely conscious of any other sound but the repetition of her name whispered urgently by the man leaning over her, but with her eyes wide, drinking in the gorgeous beauty of him, she saw first a beam of light, a spotlight, from somewhere out of the darkness down below as it lit up the muscular curve of his shoulders. Sight was quickly followed by sound with the thrumming note of a car labouring up the steep lime.
'Who the devil is this?' rasped Marlow, freezing in the act of lifting her pliable body into his arms. Melded together in stillness, they listened for the sound of the car as it drove at speed through the open gates. It came to a skidding halt in the courtyard below and light footsteps were heard running across the paving stones towards the casita.
'Someone for you,' said Flame dully, recognising at once the direction in which the footsteps were going. They were light steps too, those of a woman for sure. Her flesh crawled with apprehension.
'Hell and damnation, not now!' Marlow dragged her roughly against him.
A voice called from below, called his name. It was unmistakably a woman's voice.
'I'd better see what it's about.' Marlow released her with a show of reluctance and began to fasten the buttons of his shirt as he got up.
'Yes, go!' she cried in a sudden desperation, pushing at him so she could wriggle free from under his restraining weight before he could stop her. His body followed hers, dragging her against him, shirt still unfastened.
'Go!' she cried again, shaking off his hands. 'Go to her! You don't have to pretend—I know who it is! Go to her, Marlow. And don't ever touch me again!' In a storm of despair she flung herself away, pulling her dress closed as she fled across the roof to the steps.
'Flame, wait!' He followed, catching her round the waist as she reached the top. 'Why are you running away again? Are you going to do this sort of thing forever?'
'Why should I stay to be humiliated?' she bit out, grappling wildly with him, feeling his superior strength quell her feverish attempts to free herself.
'What humiliation? What are you talking about? You don't imagine it's some girlfriend, do you?'
'Isn't it?' She crouched in front of him like a wildcat.
'Let's go and see,' he suggested mildly, trying to calm her. His tone had lightened, at once fuelling her suspicions again, for how could he joke at a time like this, unless his feelings were totally under control? And if they were under control, what had the last few minutes of abandoned lovemaking been?
'You're coming with me.' He gripped her by the shoulder. 'Come on.'
Flame had no choice but to allow him to force-march her down the steps. At the bottom he slackened his hold, and she had time to retie the front of her dress and smooth her hair as she reluctantly followed him to the edge of the pine trees. A pale figure was already running back towards them. She felt Marlow jerk to a standstill, and his grip slackened. With a cry Victoria came running out of the trees and threw herself hysterically into his arms.
'Thank God you're here!' She was sobbing, her arms laced around his
neck. Flame watched him hold her in his arms. He was murmuring something to her, but she couldn't hear what.
A hand of ice drew her back into the shadows. Marlow had already forgotten she was there. His head bent as Victoria lifted her face to his, and in a moment she was dragging him towards her car.
Something made him turn. 'Flame!' he called. 'I've got to go and sort something out...'
She couldn't bring herself to say anything. With a fixed expression she swivelled and made her way inside like somebody in a dream. Then she went to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, took a shower, being careful not to wet her hair, then went along to her room and, after undressing, lay down naked underneath the duvet.
Hours passed. She thought she heard voices outside, then nothing. Silence. Dawn came. Her eyes stared as if lidless at the window. A bird stood on the window-sill and sang its contribution to the dawn chorus, then it flew away. Flame still stared. Her face felt hot and dry as if she had a fever. Sweat trickled icily between her breasts, but she didn't care. Her limbs had been on fire; now they felt as cold as lead. She began to shiver. It was then that Marlow entered the room.
Before he could offer excuses she sprang up to sitting, taut as a bow, her face tight with pain. 'Don't tell me. It was work again. Night duty! Quite unavoidable. Just get out!'
'Flame, I can explain --'
'Don't waste your breath.' Her voice sounded as cold as death. 'I simply want to apologise for my performance on the roof. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. Actually the truth is I was missing Johnny, and I'm sure you know how it is—any port in a storm, as they say.' She gave a shaky laugh, wondering why he didn't say anything.
He was staring at her with eyes like hollow pits, made worse by the sudden blanching of his cheeks.
'I can see you're shocked. It must be a surprise to find you're not the only one who can put up a good act when the occasion demands.' Flame tried to give a little laugh. 'You see, I have learned something in London, contrary to what you thought.' She paused, striving to control her voice. 'I just wanted you to know,' she went on steadily, 'there's no need to come out with a trail of excuses. We agreed on truth, remember?' She raised her head. 'What's the matter?' she asked sharply. 'You're looking serious. It's only a game, Marlow. I hope you didn't take me seriously?' She gave another peal of laughter, more assured than the first. 'I know you're too sophisticated not to realise it's all a game.'
'You were faking?' His voice was scarcely audible.
'Not entirely. It was lovely, Marlow. Pity we couldn't finish the scene. Tell your girlfriends to time their entrances with more care in future. If there is a future,' she added.
He ignored that and demanded, 'Was it just sex with you? Has there never been anything more? I thought --'
'Don't worry, you don't have to feel guilty.' She gave a hollow laugh. 'I'm sure your ego can cope with the fact that I don't happen to be as besotted with you as she is,' she said, voice rising as she almost lost control again. She managed to force an artificial playfulness into it as she went on, 'As you can see, it doesn't matter a damn. We might even be able to have fun together when you've sorted out your other problems. Who knows?'
She gave an exaggerated yawn. 'I'm so sleepy. You are naughty for waking me up!'
She lay down and pulled the duvet over her face, knowing she couldn't go on any longer with the charade. Marlow's face had been wiped of any response and her own heart was thundering so loudly she felt he must be able to hear it.
She was a living wound. But she didn't know who she hated most, him or herself for allowing him to dupe her once again. If he doesn't leave my room soon I won't be able to hold on, she thought, biting her bottom lip so hard in order to stop herself from sobbing out loud that she tasted blood.
There was a slight sound, then a bang as she heard the door close. When she flung the covers back he had gone.
Aching in every limb, she stayed in bed until late that morning, eventually falling into a fitful sleep. During it she dreamed she was back on the roof with Marlow. They were arguing in a friendly fashion about something or other, and what he said made her run lightly to the edge of the roof. His shout made her spin as she teetered on the edge. Just before she plunged to the flagstones below he was beside her, crumpling her in his arms. 'It's a long drop,' he breathed, 'for heaven's sake be more careful!'
They clung to each other, and Flame knew he truly cared by the way he held her. She felt his heart beating hard against her own ribs and her own heartbeats increasing to match his. She wanted to tear aside the clothes that stopped them from touching each other, but when she unbuttoned his shirt there was another one underneath it, and when she tried again there was another one beneath that. 'Time to go,' he told her. 'I have to work.'
When she woke up her pillow was wet with tears.
CHAPTER NINE
Feeling bruised all over and wondering how a broken heart could show itself in such a totally physical way, Flame crawled outside just before lunch and collapsed behind a pair of dark glasses on one of the sunbeds. A lather of tinted sun-screen covered her tear-scoured cheeks, and by now she felt she had no more tears left.
At least it proves I'm still alive, she told herself fiercely, snatching at any small comfort she could find. While she was in London her feelings had been switched off, and she had sometimes wondered if she was doing permanent damage to her emotions by shutting down so completely.
Now she knew it had only been temporary. All she had been waiting for, it seemed, was for Marlow to come back into her life—Marlow, with his tortuous double-dealing—Marlow, with his soft lies that could wound worse than the most biting words ever spoken—Marlow, who alone of all the men she'd met could really make her feel... even if it was only like hell.
The children were splashing each other by the water's edge in a game that seemed to go on without sense or end. She tried not to let it get through to her, but there was something about their sweet babyness that made her own pain the harder to bear.
She remembered the look on Marlow's face when he'd pointed to her mother's desire to see the casita's spare room do duty as a nursery. Now she saw with a painful stab that it had been what she secretly wanted all along.
The continual squeals of delight coming from the shallow end of the pool began to make her long to get out of earshot. Samantha was just as bad, and Britt too, both women laughing uproariously as they dunked the three little ones in turn into the pool. By rights she should have been with them, fulfilling the happy role of aunty.
She got up, disgusted by her own spinelessness. Perhaps if she had let rip with her true feelings for once, instead of pretending to be so hard-boiled, she wouldn't feel so bad now. But it wasn't in her nature to shout and rave. Her pride wouldn't let her wear her heart on her sleeve. She wouldn't allow Marlow the satisfaction of chalking up one more victory. Why should she?
She went restlessly indoors, intending to fix herself a drink. She smiled bitterly at the thought of drowning her sorrows. There was plenty of opportunity. But she wasn't about to let Marlow see her lose control.
She was brought to a halt beside the phone. In all that had happened she hadn't yet made that call to Johnny. Now she thought about it, maybe it had been for the best. For only yesterday she would have told him she thought it doubtful that she would be going back. Now, the more she thought about it, the more likely it was that she would be going back just as soon as her mother was strong enough.
An abrupt longing to hear his friendly voice again swept through her. There would never be any melodrama with Johnny. He was far too casual about everything to let anything bother him for long.
God, how she needed someone like that now! Someone to laugh her out of this black despair that had got her in its grip. Brushing aside the fact that Johnny hadn't actually helped her forget Marlow when she'd been working for him, she built up an idealised picture of his boyishly handsome face. He would take her in his arms and tell her what an idiot she was. And maybe this time
, this time she might feel something... She looked at the phone again. He was only a call away. Then she paused, her hand actually touching the receiver. He would be busy right now. Instead she would ring him this evening before he left for home. Then they would have a nice long chat. It was a thought to help her through the day.
Without her realising it her senses were attuned to the sound of Marlow's return. He obviously wasn't at the casita, for his car was gone. But when he didn't appear at lunchtime she was compelled to ask Samantha where he was, surprised she could even say his name without spitting with fury or alternatively bursting into tears.
'Meetings in town. You know him, always busy.'
'I expect he is,' Flame said sarcastically before she could stop herself.
Samantha gave her a look. 'Call him if you want a word.'
'Maybe I will.' But she knew it wasn't true. Not if it meant having to go through his so-called assistant to reach him.
Somehow or other she managed to get through the long hours of the afternoon. While everyone slept she raided Marlow's bookcase and came up with a Raymond Chandler she hadn't read for years, but before she left the casita she looked round the sitting-room. It had an unused air, more like a hotel lounge than a home. Given the chance she could have made it into a cosy retreat for them both. If only, she thought. If only he'd been different! She went out hurriedly, slamming the door firmly behind her.
At half-past five, still with the book in her hand, she went to the phone in the kitchen. Samantha and Emilio were on the terrace, so she couldn't use the one in the sitting-room in case they overheard her. For some reason she didn't care for them to know who she was ringing. They would demand explanations she couldn't give.
'Johnny?' She got through straight away. 'It's me.' And when there was silence at the other end she added, 'Flame. I'm ringing from Spain.'
'Flame, sweetie!' Johnny sounded surprised. 'So how's it going? Made it up?'
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