by Robyn Donald
Closing her eyes, she lost herself in memories until at last, to the background of music from the tape deck, she slept.
The Beringers owned a house in Remuera, an elegant, weatherboarded building, cared for superbly by another housekeeper. Kyle introduced them, then followed them up the stairs to the bedroom allotted to Arminel with her suitcase.
‘I’ll be back for dinner,’ he told the housekeeper. The cold eyes searched Arminel’s shuttered face. ‘You look as though you could do with a rest.’
Blue lights gleamed in her hair as her head moved, was averted.
She thought he hesitated, but when her eyes slid to follow him he was on the way to the door, moving with the leashed relaxed strength which was as typical of him as his incisive brain and his splendid physical presence.
She smiled meaninglessly at the housekeeper, who was too well-mannered to reveal the rampant curiosity she must be feeling. ‘I think I’ll have a bath,’ she said, surprised at the evenness of her voice.
‘Very well. The bathroom is the next room down the hall. Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘I’d love one.’
‘I’ll bring it up here, shall I?’
It tasted like nectar, stimulating enough to drive away her lassitude. Somehow she had to get through this evening and do it with dignity; when she got back home she could wallow in self-pity and bitterness and whatever emotions a broken heart brought in its train. How trite! Victorian misses suffered from broken hearts, not twentieth-century women. But the pain that gripped her seemed centred in her heart, a griping, dull ache. I can’t bear it, she thought, staring blindly down into her empty teacup. A tight lump blocked her throat as her brain repeated endlessly, I can’t bear it, I can’t. . .
But she had to because there was nothing else to do. Her life seemed an endless repetition of rejections great and small, from her parents’ defections to this, the most painful and wounding. She had fought her way through the cold fear each one engendered, and she would do the same now, drawing on her reserves of strength. At the moment they seemed pitifully scant, but her head lifted proudly and she said aloud to the watchful room, ‘I’ll manage.’
Kyle didn’t return for dinner.
‘He asked me to give you his apologies,’ the housekeeper told her. ‘He’s still at the office. Would you like your meal on a tray?’
‘Yes, please.’
It was superbly cooked, so she forced herself to eat at least half of it. Later, she sat in an opulently furnished room and listened to music, choosing carefully so that the bitter pain that racked her wasn’t reflected in the music. But even as the exquisitely joyous notes of a Chopin piece played by a master ravished her ears the slow tears formed and fell and she whispered, ‘I wish I could die.’
Exhaustion must have overtaken her; when she awoke the room was silent, silent and cold and waiting, and she was stiff. Yawning, her hand pressed to a tightly throbbing temple, she walked towards the door.
Halfway up the stairs the click of a key in the front door jerked her head around. For a moment she stared down at him, ominous, his head tilted to watch her, his face impassive in the subdued light. Her hand tensed on the balustrade; it took a positive action of will to relax it and continue climbing, head held high, shoulders squared against the dark menace of his regard.
Once inside the room she relaxed, leaning against the dressing table as though she had run a marathon, one hand pressed against her wild heart. There were no footsteps to warn her. When the door opened she gasped and paled.
He stared at her, lashes hiding his emotions. ‘You left the stereo on.’
‘I’m sorry.’ But the words were silent. She had to clear her throat and say them again, and all the time his gaze darkened and heated as it roved her face and the long gentle line of throat and breasts.
‘I could make you sorrier,’ he said unevenly, closing the door behind him.
She winced. ‘Please go. I can’t—I’ve had enough, Kyle.’
‘I could make you weep for the day you were born.’ He came towards her, ignoring her plea, until he stood a pace away. She could feel the dangerous instinct to hurt beating out from him, sledge-hammering into her form.
He smiled at her involuntary retreat and said deeply, ‘Shall I do that, Arminel? I’d like to. I’d like to hurt you until you tremble at the thought of me and those tantalising red lips pale. I could, couldn’t I?’
The pulse at the base of her throat fluttered with a speed that revealed her fear. His eyes fixed on to it until she thought that the skin burned and stung with the intensity of his gaze.
‘Yes,’ she whispered hopelessly. ‘You know you could.’
Ferocious triumph sprang into his eyes. ‘Why?’
Her lips were dry, her mouth parched. She shook her head Kyle smiled again, slowly, and pulled her towards him with hands that were cruel on her arms.
‘Why?’ he insisted remorselessly. ‘Tell me why, you beautiful bitch, or I’ll force it from you!’
Her lashes flickered. What black desire to humiliate was this? Her eyes slid sideways to the bed.
‘Yes,’ he said softly between his teeth. ‘Like that, darling. Who knows what else I might force from you?’
Black hair swirled in a cloud about her shoulders as she flung her head up. Her face set in proud lines, her eyes flashing.
‘Why?’ he demanded, voice urgent with an unknown emotion.
‘Because I love you,’ she said clearly, her face challenging, almost exultant for one fierce second.
His chest lifted and fell. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Why, Arminel?’
‘Because I’m a fool. A poor fool.’
Again that slow, freezing smile. ‘You are, indeed. If you hadn’t been so greedy you might even have got yourself a rich husband. God knows, you’re beautiful enough. But I dislike rapacious women. So do most other men. Remember that next time you get a rich one in your sights.’
She reacted to such mocking derision with a violent wrench at his wrists, but when her fingers touched his skin they curled around the strong bones, sliding over the places where his pulses beat, faster and more fast yet, betraying him.
His hand slid up her arm, over the slender bones of her shoulder to her throat. The long fingers tightened just enough to hurt. He bent his head. His hostility was open and stark, his mouth twisting as he saw the fearful submission in her expression.
‘Kiss me, Arminel,’ he ordered silkily.
There could be no further shame to inflict on her. Slowly she lifted her head and moved her lips, lightly, sensuously, against his. Her body swayed and his mouth tightened.
‘Goodbye, Kyle,’ she whispered.
He smiled, his eyes gleaming-like burnished steel. ‘Not quite yet, darling.’
The kiss was almost tentative, totally unsatisfying. For a moment Arminel was rigid, her head pressed back, her hands clawing his, then she groaned into his mouth and relaxed, giving him the surrender he demanded.
Deep inside the slow sweet hunger burgeoned; she swayed, longing to be caught against his hard strength, but he held her away so that the hunger became an ache of frustration and she struck at him with her clenched fist.
‘Gently, darling,’ he taunted as he put up a hand to brush back a lock of hair from her cheek. His touch was deliberately sensuous, moving up to the vulnerable hollow at her temple before sliding into the thick black tresses and pulling her towards him. ‘Is this what you want?’
His arousal sparked an answering torment in her nerve-ends. She turned her head into his hand, kissing the hard palm.
‘Yes,’ she said simply, the word a caress.
His mouth swooped, closing her eyes. ‘I’ve never seen such eyes,’ he murmured in a thick undertone. ‘Like sapphires lit from within, star sapphires blue as the sky on a summer night.’
His voice quickened as his mouth travelled towards her ear. Between kisses he said, ‘And skin like living satin, warm and glowing.’
As his teeth toyed with the
lobe Arminel’s pulses surged and began to race. Although every instinct she possessed warned her of her danger she could no more resist this seduction than she could stand up straight. Limp, held up only by the strength of his arms and the support of his body, she melted against him, her hands sliding around his neck to find their way into the burnished crispness of hair and pull his head down to meet hers in a kiss which began as a teasing ploy and ended with both of them out of control.
‘You drive me out of my mind,’ he groaned as he picked her up and laid her on the bed, then came down beside her, a hand cupping the smooth curve of her breast, his mouth at the hollow in her throat where a frenzied pulse beat. Almost absently his thumb brushed the hard promise of her nipple, before moving to the small buttons of her shirt.
‘You wear too many clothes,’ he complained, but he seemed to enjoy the process of taking them off. His mouth swooped, explored the hollows of her shoulder exposed by his probing fingers. As if unable to wait until he had freed her completely from her clothes his teeth sought the erect nub of her breast through the fine material of her bra. Very gently he manipulated it for a moment. Arminel’s breath locked in her throat; her hands clenched and a shudder shook her.
Kyle lifted his head and gave a curious, breathy laugh before sliding his hand beneath her to free the clip of her bra. Now he could see her, naked to the waistband of her velvet skirt, the smooth globes of her breasts inviting his mouth and his hands.
Against the soft skin he whispered, ‘Would you stay with me if I asked you, Arminel?’
Before she could answer his mouth moved and she felt a long moan break through her lips as it fastened on to her breast. Her body arched into a. rigid bow. Sharp stabs of sexual pleasure rendered her helpless. She moaned again, holding his head against her.
‘Well?’ he asked.
‘Can’t you guess?’ she asked bitterly, because of course he knew, he knew exactly what he was doing to her.
He laughed again, sliding his hand beneath the heavy velvet of her skirt. Then he said nothing more, his hands and mouth saying it all for him until she lay naked in his arms, her head flung back, her body on fire for him as he tormented her with kisses which were agony, caresses which made her sob. His shirt had joined hers on the floor and he loomed over her, shoulders gleaming in the soft light, the scrolls of body hair tracing out the magnificent structure of chest and arms.
‘Will you stay with me, Arminel?’ he tempted, watching her through narrowed eyes which were lit by a flame.
‘Yes.’
His mouth covered hers in a deep, thrusting kiss. Completely out of control, she pulled him down on to her until his body pressed hers into the bed.
‘It will have to be here, in Auckland,’ he whispered, sliding his hands down beneath her hips to prevent her withdrawal.
Arminel shook her head numbly, sickened by what he was offering her. Yet even before she answered she knew what it would be.
‘Yes,’ she said, the word acid on her tongue, her wild eyes agonised.
There was triumph in the half-closed eyes, triumph and something else. ‘I’ll find you a flat,’ he said, ‘and I’ll be able to get down quite often to see you.’ His face hardened. ‘But I’m a possessive lover, so there’ll be no other men.’
‘Lover?’ Defiance throbbed in her voice even as she ran her hands over the smooth width of his back, revelling in the way he trembled at her touch. ‘Owner would be a better word!’
Kyle laughed and ran his hand from the bruised softness of her lips to her breasts and down, down, in a gesture as possessive as it was exciting.
‘Do you like the thought of being owned by me?’ he asked on a taunt. ‘Owned body and soul and mind, mine do with as I wish, my slave bound to me by chains stronger than iron or steel?’
Her eyes, dark with fear, met the blazing heat of his. She could not sustain the look and turned her face into his shoulder. ‘No, I hate it,’ she responded huskily.
‘But it excites you,’ he jeered, and he knew, his experience told him just how much her body craved him. And he repeated the gesture he had made before, letting her feel the possession in his hand before he pushed himself away, saying quite calmly, ‘But it doesn’t excite me all that much, so perhaps you’d better catch that plane after all.’
She wasn’t surprised. Every trace of colour fled her skin, but she was able to summon up some kind of strength and meet the savage derision of his expression without flinching, even though for a moment she thought she was going to faint. Beads of sweat broke through her skin and the beautiful, demonic mask of his face whirled and dipped. Her breath hurt her lungs; she lay like a marble statue while every vital process of her body seemed to halt.
She understood his need to humiliate her. The night before it had been he who lost control, she who had used the power of her sexuality to force him to surrender to it. To such a self-sufficient, dominant man this could only have made him a lesser man in his own estimation. His pride was hurt, his view of himself cheapened.
He would not know that she had not intended to shame him, her pleasure had been an almost innocent one in her own body and its allure. But she had shown him that she had power over him. Now he was doing the same to her, adding refinements of cruelty because he despised himself for his weakness.
But he wanted to kill her self-respect. She looked into his watchful eyes and said quietly, ‘If you get off the bed I’ll get into my nightdress.’
Only for a moment his expression revealed shock before he rolled away and sat on the side of the bed. He didn’t watch as she pulled on her nightdress and dressing gown. Arminel’s whole body screamed with frustrated desire, but she forced herself to move with her usual deftness. There was nothing she could do to retrieve the situation.
As she went across to the dressing table he stood up and watched her, his expression completely without emotion, the strong bones of his face clenched as the aloof, dispassionate eyes slid over the delicate contours of her face.
Then he said, ‘Congratulations, Arminel. You’ve got enough nerve to go a long way,’ leaving her in no doubt that he understood the motivation behind her actions.
Slowly she stroked the brush through hair tangled by his fingers, her dark gaze steady as he stooped to pick up his shirt and walked out with it slung over his shoulder, the lean tapered body perfectly balanced. Even from across the room the physical magnetism brushed her nerves.
At the door he paused, half-turning to say impassively, ‘I’ve booked you a seat on the Air New Zealand flight to Brisbane tomorrow morning. Be ready to leave by nine.’
The hard gaze raked her averted profile. ‘Naturally Beringers is paying,’ he finished.
She looked up. ‘Not Rhys?’ and could have bitten her tongue out at the mocking comprehension that sprang into his eyes.
‘No, the firm. Did he offer to? Poor Arminel!’
Still smiling, he walked through the door, closing it noiselessly behind him.
When he had gone she removed her make-up and lay crouched in the bed. No tears came, no conscious thought. Nothing but a wrenching agony of heart and mind and body. It was not yet the time to weep for Kyle, weep for her lost innocence and the dark chains of a love gone wrong, weep for the years ahead when the sight of a tall man with shoulders wide enough to shut out the world and hair the colour of bronze would bring back the memory of this desolation and for a few moments she would be young and completely alone again.
The big jet was swooping down on to the coast of Australia when her voice tailed away into silence. She stared hopelessly into the almost empty glass he had ordered after the meal and insisted she drink. She was exhausted, her tones flat and dull, but she felt a little better for unburdening herself. Not that she had told him everything, of course, but she was sure that he was astute enough to read between the lines of her bald narrative.
Strange to have bared her soul to a complete stranger while all around was the quiet activity of stewardesses passing up and down the aisles
, serving meals and taking orders for drinks. But then the whole thing had been strange, from her instant attraction to Rhys to the final traumatic scene with Kyle.
Her companion said drily, ‘Well, my dear, I think you’ve earned the right to shed a few tears. What do you plan to do now?’
‘Pick up the pieces.’ A flash of spirit firmed her mouth. Painfully she continued, ‘I’m not the only person to suffer from unrequited love, if that’s what this is. I’ll get over it. When I’m ninety I’ll wonder why on earth I made such a fuss.’
Her answer pleased him, because he laughed softly and said, ‘Ah, I knew you wouldn’t let it sour you. Tell me, what are your immediate plans?’
‘Kyle booked me into a hotel for a week.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ll use the time to get a job.’
He insisted on taking her to the hotel and when he said goodbye wished her good luck. She waved after the departing taxi, then turned to follow the porter into the hotel. She would never know who he was, her unknown rescuer, but she would never forget him. He had been kind when she had almost forgotten that kindness existed.
That night she went out like a light, sleeping for twelve solid hours before waking with a headache and the swimmy sensations of one who needs food.
It took all her willpower to force down the meal she ordered, but starving herself was foolish.
After that she packed and went downstairs to tell the desk clerk that she was leaving.
‘But, madam—Miss Lovett, the booking was for a week,’ he protested. ‘I hope you are not dissatisfied with us?’
‘Of course not.’ Impossible to tell him that she couldn’t bear to accept Kyle’s bounty. ‘I’ve just changed my mind about staying, that’s all.’
After finding herself a room in a boarding house well out of town she bought some newspapers and began to look for work.
As she had suspected, the following days proved that it was not easy. There were not many positions vacant, and those that were advertised had plenty of applicants. Although her qualifications and references were excellent employers jibbed at the knowledge that she had thrown up a perfectly good position to go to New Zealand. As one woman at an employment agency put it, it did seem to smack of some giddiness of purpose.