'That's .. . that's ...'
'Blackmail,' Tod said unexpectedly. She wouldn't have expected him to admit it. 'You see, Gina ...' He joined her on the settee, placing himself so close to her that they touched at shoulder, hip and thigh, and the heat his body exuded seemed to penetrate the very fabric of the wrap she wore. 'You see, I don't intend to let you just walk out of my life. It would be impossible, now.' He reached out for her and, as he pulled her into his arms, she felt a weakening warmth engulf her body. Her eyes seemed unable to drag their mesmerised gaze from that attractive mouth now smiling crookedly ,at her. 'We have to try and work something out.' His voice was throaty and she recognised the fire of passion that leapt dangerously in his dark eyes.
'Tod ... I ...' She licked painfully dry lips. 'You can't enjoy keeping someone against their will...'
'No,' he agreed. 'I'd far rather you stayed willingly. Will you stay, Gina?'
'No,' she croaked, 'I can't ... I...'
'You're afraid,' he accused, 'afraid to admit the truth, that you want to stay. You still want me, Gina. Oh, you've tried to pretend. You even tried to make me think you were interested in Gibson, but I soon saw through that. Why do you have to be so damnably proud? Why not admit what your body tells me?'
If it were only her body, Gina thought miserably, perhaps she could bring herself to have a casual affair with him. But heart and mind were too closely involved with what her body felt, and all three would be broken on the wheel of despair if she gave herself to him on his terms.
'Please let me go,' she whispered. 'You ... you said we'd come here to talk business.'
'I brought you here,' Tod said, his voice raw with undisguised emotion, 'because I wanted to make love to you. Because I'm going to make love to you.'
'No! No, damn you! Oh, why can't you be satisfied with Marcha?' It was a cry of despair. 'Or does it turn you on because I'm so like her? Well, we're not alike, not under the surface.'
'No, you most certainly are not,' he agreed obscurely. 'This has nothing to do with Marcha. This is you, Gina, you and me.'
She had taken a bath earlier, to ease some of the bruises gained during filming, and, since she was only going to sit with Melanie, she hadn't bothered to dress again, slipping along to the child's rooms in nightdress and robe. She had never expected to encounter Tod, believing him to be out as usual, with Marcha, or at whatever mysterious rendezvous he'd been keeping of late.
Now his hands were dexterously parting the front edges of her dressing-gown, had it open before she could prevent him. In fact, one hand trapped both of hers, while with his free one he continued to reveal the warm, curvaceous swell of her breasts, their contours outlined by the soft, smooth silk crossover front of her nightdress.
Common sense, pride, told her she should repulse him; use feet and legs, since her hands were captive; but her body seemed independent of her brain, her breasts hardening against the soft fabric, a shudder of fierce, breathtaking pleasure destroying all will-power as his dark head bent and his mouth pushed aside the flimsy barriers, until he found the scented shadowy cleft between her breasts.
'Tod! Please! Don't!' Mingled pain and pleasure drew the tortured plea from her. But it was only a token protest and they both knew it, for he freed her hands which had ceased to struggle in his clasp, his whole attention centred now on holding, cupping her breasts, while his tongue wrote moist, burning messages of desire against the creamy flesh, igniting a thousand aching, answering fires within her.
As her arms went about his neck, he gathered her up and rose, all in one easy movement, carrying her towards a door which led into an adjoining bedroom.
Her heart was drumming so loudly, it deafened her to the words he was muttering against her throat, her temples, her mouth. He dealt swiftly, competently, with the removal of her dressing-gown and nightdress, before setting her down in the centre of his bed. She was past all protesting now, with no time to be shy or embarrassed by her nakedness. He knelt over her, his mouth moving lingeringly over her from throat to breast, down over her ribcage, the silken smoothness of her stomach, his tongue making sudden erotic, tormenting little forays that left her gasping, half senseless with the urgent need for fulfilment.
Tod knew there was no need for tentativeness on his part as if Gina had been an untutored virgin, but made an assured, sensuous progression towards what he knew they both desired. She was already a woman, a woman starved, ripe and hungry to know a man's possession once more, but above all, his possession. Despite all her dissembling, to an experienced man all the signs were there, plainly to be seen. He wanted her, wanted her more than he had ever desired any other woman, since Maria; and he realised with a sense of wonder that the pain of that loss had become less in these last few weeks, knew that the miracle had been achieved by the presence of Gina in his life, in his home. It wasn't, as Gina had accused him, because of her superficial resemblance to Marcha. Since he had met Gina, seeing her, knowing her, was like possessing the print of a photograph after having only seen the negative. He knew she had penetrated the armour he had grown slowly and painfully during the years since Maria.
Gina's fingers fumbled frantically with the buttons of his shirt, with the waistband of his trousers.
'Help me, please help me.' She muttered the words against the slightly rough texture of his jaw and throat, a sensual stimulus that increased the intensity of the sensations riding her.
Together they removed his shirt, sliding it from his muscular body, the roughness of his chest hair brushing her breasts in erotic tantalisation. Desperately she whispered his name, her hands spanning his back, her gripping fingers raising weals on his naked flesh, causing him to cry out in husky pleasure as his mouth covered hers, his tongue plunging again and again in simulated possession.
'Tod, love me ... oh, love me!' Her whispered plea was almost lost against the warm, sweat-bedewed dampness of his shoulder.
'I will ... I do ...' came his fervent reply.
Somehow he had discarded his trousers and now, as he lowered himself against her, the hirsute flatness of his stomach, the thrust of his desire against her, the acute sensation, brought a sobbing breath from her throat.
His hands shaped her hips, curved around beneath her, lifting her towards him. In the light that filtered through from the room beyond, she could just make out his features, knew he was watching her face, waiting for her reaction.
'Was it ever like this with your husband?' he demanded suddenly, the words accompanied by an increasing pressure of his body upon hers that forbade her to answer in the affirmative. He need not have feared. There was no comparison. She had never loved before, not like this.
'No ...' She could scarcely speak. Speech was the last thing she wanted of him now; all she wanted was for him to fill this empty, aching cavern within her.
'Tonight I'm going to make you forget there ever was another man in your life,' he promised huskily.
Molten heat built between her thighs, her body craved that final union and she moved against him, an involuntary convulsion of fluttering nerves. Then there was no more delay, only a series of movements, mounting in their intensity. Again her hands contoured his back, traced his spine, caressed the sensitive spot at its base, feeling the unmistakable shudder of response that ran through him. She felt those shudders grow in intensity as she arched into him.
'I've wanted this for so long,' he groaned huskily, 'wanted you for so long.'
Desperately she pressed kisses against his jaw, the corner of his mouth, the closed lids of his eyes. It was heaven to feel and taste the salty flavour of his male body, to know the increasing intimacy with it. She didn't know how much longer she could bear this feverish insanity of longing. Then, as though in answer to her unspoken cry for mercy, he was between her thighs, his arms locking her to him as he moved into the rhythm of possession.
Something seemed to snap within her, all the months of pent-up emotions, of self-denial, the belief that love was not for her ever again, and she
cried out her satisfaction at the same moment that Tod uttered her name; it was a sound of awed jubilation.
For a moment or two there was nothing but sweet release, the aftermath of lethargy. Then she began to realise what she had done. Despite all her vows to the contrary, she had become one of Tod's women. What she had felt for him had been love, a need to give of that love, freely, generously; but in spite of that there had been no sign, no indication from him, other than that of physical need.
In a sudden access of self-loathing, she wrenched herself away from the heavy encircling arm, the hand that still covered one love-swollen breast.
'Gina? What is it? What's wrong?' Instantly his senses were alert and he half raised himself to look at her.
'You know what's wrong, damn you!' she whispered, as she scrabbled on the floor, looking for her robe. 'Damn you for . . . for making me ...'
'For making you want me?' he challenged softly. His eyes, warm with remembered satisfaction, were also gently laughing at her. 'I didn't have to do anything about that. You've wanted me for a long time, Gina. All I did was to help you cast aside your inhibitions, make you admit it.'
'And what good has that done me?' she demanded as she dragged the belt of her robe, jerking it in a tight, double knot, a belated precaution. 'It seems to me you're the one who's benefited, by a build-up to your already inflated ego, by having your sexual appetite appeased. Did you have to have me as well as Marcha?'
'No!' he said softly, eyes -and voice caressing her. instead of!'
'Instead ...' She gasped, then broke off, speculation rife within her. Marcha, it seemed, had fallen into the same trap as her predecessors; she had begun to be too possessive and Tod was retreating to his defensive position; and what better defence than to install another woman in Marcha's place? Only Gina wasn't going to be used like that. 'Sorry Tod,' she said, trying to steady her voice as she retreated towards the door. 'But you'll have to look elsewhere for your substitute. Tonight was . . . was . ..'
'A glorious experience for both of us, and you know it.' The sensuousness in his voice sent shudders racing along her spine.
'I was going to say it was a mistake,' she continued more firmly. 'You took an unfair advantage, caught me tired and off guard. But it won't happen again.'
He made no move, but his voice was husky, mocking as he said,
'Oh, yes it will, Gina. You'll see. Now that you know how it can be between us, you'll crave it, like a drug, every time we're together.'
And, God help her, she knew he was right; that was why they mustn't be together again. She must get away. She must!
'I'll find some way of getting out of here,' she told him defiantly. 'Some way out of that contract. This is the twentieth century. There's no way you can hold me prisoner indefinitely.'
'No?' The amusement, the arrogant self-confidence in his voice made her uneasy. 'I wasn't going to tell you this. It could have been against my own interests, but not now, I think. The only way you could be released from that contract is if you were to become pregnant. Obviously a stuntwoman in that condition would be very little use.'
She stared at him. Oh, the irony of it.
'On the other hand ...' His eyes roved over her in a considering way that brought an involuntary, convulsive flutter to her stomach muscles. 'Pregnancy could keep you here just as effectively. Either way I win. Wouldn't you agree?' Then, before she could answer, 'I'd like a son.'
'That's something you'll have to ... to apply to Marcha for.' She nearly choked on the words. If he had been deliberately seeking for some way in which to hurt her he couldn't have succeeded better. If he only knew it, she would like nothing better than to give him the son he wanted. It might bind him to her and it would mean as much to her in other ways, but it just wasn't possible.
'Marcha?' Unaware of her mounting distress, he was smiling broadly. 'Marcha is a career woman. She wouldn't dream of risking her future ... or her figure.'
'Not even for the chance of marrying you?' she couldn't help asking and felt the immediate rejection in him.
'I've no intention of marrying Marcha,' he said coldly.
'Or anyone else?' she returned shrewdly, and felt a chill within herself as he dipped his dark head in agreement.
'But Gina ...' he began, holding out his hand to her.
'No!' She didn't let him finish. Dared not. Every nerve in her body was still highly sensitised. Now that she had known intimacy with him, she knew that if he attempted a repetition of his lovemaking she would succumb just as easily. 'You've said enough, Tod. I get the picture, quite clearly ... and I want you to know this. I despise you. Oh yes ...' as he seemed about to protest, 'I despise you ... But I despise myself just as much. When my marriage broke up, I swore I'd never risk getting involved with another man, that I'd never marry again. So in a way I can understand how you felt about Maria. Marriage is an entanglement, it's an inextricable relationship painful to get out of, to forget. Just for a while there, you made me forget my resolution and I'm bitterly ashamed of myself. Sex without love, without commitment, is just lust and we've just been guilty of one of the deadliest sins.'
'Gina, wait a moment. I...'
'No!' she said again. She backed towards the door. 'You may think you've got the upper hand. But I'll break that contract somehow. I won't stay here, give you a chance to catch me off guard again .. .'
'And if you become pregnant?' His words were cut off as she began to laugh, wildly, hysterically.
'Even you aren't man enough for that!' she cried, despair in her voice.
'Why! You little ...'
'Oh, don't worry! Much as I'd like to dent your intolerable ego, I don't stoop to insults of that kind. What you don't realise ... what I've never told anyone else ...' she was sobbing jerkily now, 'is that I can't get pregnant... not by you ... or any other man. I'm barren. Do you hear me, barren. I'm no use to anyone . .. not even to myself... and certainly no use to you! Look elsewhere for your son ...'
With these words she fled and, such was the shock she'd dealt him, his reactions were delayed long enough for her to reach her own room, to lock its door against intrusion.
CHAPTER NINE
After not expecting to sleep at all, Gina overslept. Groggily, she supported herself on one elbow in order to look at the bedside clock she'd forgotten to set, wondering what had finally woken her.
The sound of voices raised in altercation drifted up from the courtyard below. Wide awake now, for surely one of those voices didn't belong here, she ran to the window, threw it open and leant out. A curious little tableau was being enacted.
Tod's car stood, doors still wide open. In his wheelchair, beside the car, sat Rusty, Tod's hand on his shoulder as, together, they faced Marcha's spitting venom.
'So this is what it's all about. This crippled brat! A fine pack of lies I dare say he's told you ... he and Gina between them.'
'Don't you dare say anything against Gina, you bitch!' Rusty began, but Tod silenced him.
'No, Rusty! She's not worth your breath. Gina,' he continued harshly, not shouting, but overriding Marcha's frustrated mewls of rage, 'Gina has more decency and loyalty in her little finger than you possess in your whole body. She hasn't a malicious bone in her. What I've learnt about you, Marcha, has been from other sources, merely confirmed by Rusty here. I wondered how anyone could be so callous as to subject a boy of Rusty's age to such a dangerous risk and, in spite of what you told me, I couldn't reconcile that kind of behaviour with what I've learnt of Gina's character.'
'It was at Rusty's own insistence.' Marcha managed to insert the excuse.
'Maybe! But as his next-of-kin you had the power to veto it. Gina begged that it shouldn't be allowed, but you welcomed the risk, didn't you?' His tone became contemptuous. 'As far as you were concerned it was one well worth taking, and not just for the sake of your programme ratings. Only it didn't quite come off, did it?'
'I don't know what you mean.' Marcha was trembling visibly now, not with rage, but with wh
at seemed to the watching Gina to be an ague of fear.
'Piecing together what Rusty's told me, plus information from your late father's solicitor ... that your father left everything to your stepbrother ... it seems to me Rusty's death would have been very convenient for you. No wonder you couldn't wait to get away from the scene of the accident. Even you, my dear Marcha, weren't hard boiled enough to witness the outcome of your "calculated" risk. I wonder what it felt like, for those few hours until they told you Rusty would live, to feel like a murderess?'
'This is all rubbish, guesswork,' Marcha cried shrilly. 'How could I know there would be such a dreadful accident? You can't prove a thing like that.'
'No,' Tod agreed, 'you couldn't know, but you could hope .. . And no, I haven't any proof, luckily for you. But I'm certain enough in my own mind. Get out of my house, Marcha! You've got an hour.'
'I've also got a contract,' she cried triumphantly. 'I still have two more films to do. I could sue you.'
'Go ahead! It would be worth the money to be rid of you. But I don't think you'll succeed. In fact I don't think you'll even try, just in case I let a few rumours leak out.'
Breathlessly, Gina waited for her cousin's reaction. Would it be one of further defiance? But it seemed the older girl realised she had lost. Yet she retained sufficient of her normal hauteur to enquire,
'I presume I'm allowed to use the telephone to make my arrangements?'
'Obviously you'll need to call a taxi,' Tod said, 'since I've no intention of chauffeuring you anywhere.'
Gina felt like cheering as Marcha turned away and flounced out of sight, back into the house, but her main concern now was with showering, getting dressed and going downstairs to see Rusty. It was obvious what he was doing here. Tod had brought the boy to confront his stepsister, so Marcha could be in no doubt that Tod possessed all the facts he claimed. But how long had Tod known that Rusty was Marcha's stepbrother?
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