She flattened her hands against her head, trying to contain the disarray of her hair, wishing she’d thought to tidy it instead of wallowing in confusion and despair. It was bad enough to be regarded as a tramp; she didn’t have to look the part.
She wished now that she’d made herself scarce before he came in, gone upstairs to her bedroom or busied herself with some household chore. Anything not to have to talk about what had happened. She was too vulnerable and too near the tears that must not be shed at all costs.
There were menace and purpose in his every step as he crossed the room. Towering above her, he lifted her face with one curved forefinger. ‘I hope you are satisfied.’
‘Satisfied?’
‘I fired Andy. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’
Her spirits soared, putting the glow back in her eyes. ‘No, it isn’t what I wanted. I’m not that vindictive. I just wanted you to believe me. I’m not gloating because you’ve forced Andy to leave; I’m just happy that you believe me.’
The cynicism on his face dashed her hopes. ‘What put that into your head?’ His eyes drilled into hers. ‘You asked for what you got. Andy’s a mere boy, used to uncomplicated, straight-dealing girls. He was out of his league with you. I’m sure you’re capable of distracting a much stronger character from the dull path of duty, so what chance did he have? You’d go to any man’s head.’
The pressure of his finger on her chin increased, as if he was working some vengeance out of his system. The way he’d said, ‘You’d go to any man’s head,’ gave her the strangest feeling that this touched him personally and had nothing to do with either his brother or Andy. She didn’t think he’d meant to say that. He had spoken his thoughts out loud. Did she go to his head? Was he having difficulty keeping his own emotions in check? It didn’t seem possible for her to be so electrically aware of him as a man and for him to feel nothing in return. It was more probable that he was generating some of the heat, that the intense current was flowing from one to the other, a two-way thing. Even now, as her mind ran to fervent conjecture, the sensual pressure of his touch on her chin was sending abrasive shock waves, shafts of fire, through her entire system.
His hand dropped away with shattering, telling abruptness. Thumb and forefinger were rubbed agitatedly together, as if he was trying to rid the intensity of feeling that was burning there. The tension was such that she thought if it didn’t ease, if the atmosphere between them didn’t find a more relaxing level, something would snap, like a tautly held piece of elastic that just needed one final twist to fragment
‘If you think I’m to blame for the way Andy acted,’ she said gruffly, her voice gaining more composure as she went on, ‘why did you fire him?’
‘He had whisky on his breath. On his own time, providing it doesn’t interfere with his work the next day, he can drink himself insensible for all I care. I won’t have him drinking on my time.’
Was that the only reason? she wondered. ‘Isn’t dismissal harsh treatment for a drinking offense?’
‘If it were the first time, perhaps. It wasn’t. I’ve had to reprimand him about this twice before. I warned him that if it happened again I would send him packing.’
‘I see.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re regretting your part?’
‘My part!’ she said in rising indignation. ‘I’ll tell you what my part amounts to. If I hadn’t skipped out of the house with the intention of trying to take the boat you wouldn’t have followed and I don’t suppose you would have had cause to talk to Andy and you wouldn’t have known that he’d been drinking.’
‘You could be right about that.’
‘I’m glad I’m right about something. It makes a change. As far as Andy is concerned, in one way I’m sorry he’s got the sack because I don’t like to hear of anyone losing their livelihood, and especially not because of me.’
‘Don’t burden your conscience on that score. You’ll observe that I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt and assuming that somewhere in that self-centered and conniving little head of yours there is a conscience. Andy got the push because he took a dram too many. If it hadn’t happened today it would have happened at some later date.’
‘Don’t get me wrong. I feel as though it’s through me, even though I’m no way to blame, but I’m certainly not sorry that I won’t have to see him again. I wish I’d never got involved.’
She was aware of the disdain in his eyes and hated him for it.
‘You should regard this as a lesson, then. In the future, only seduce men who can take it.’
‘That’s the most preposterous, unfounded accusation you’ve thrown at me yet. I did not seduce Andy. I asked him if he would take me over to the mainland. He strung me along that he might, and then he made a grab for me. Something like that couldn’t happen to you, more’s the pity, and you don’t seem to possess the compassion to know that it isn’t a very pleasant experience.’
‘Come on. Andy wouldn’t have dared to lay a finger on you if you hadn’t made an offer.’
‘Believe what you want. You always do. When I said I wished I’d never got involved I didn’t mean just over this. I meant right from the beginning.’
‘I imagine that Ian does, too.’
‘I’ve never met Ian.’ She might as well not have spoken.
‘You bewitched him. If he hadn’t fallen for those wide, melting eyes and that beguilingly pure and angelic little face he would have got round to marrying Fiona and he wouldn’t be where he is now.’
‘Got round to marrying Fiona?’ she said, jumping on that, her brow crinkling on the cold tone in which he spoke. ‘That sounds a negative approach to marriage. I might even risk a calculated guess that in considering it Ian would have been bending to family pressure.’
‘Fiona would have been a sensible match for Ian. She’s sweet and affectionate, with a keen sense of loyalty and moral responsibility and she keeps her nose clean. Ian should have had his head examined for preferring a packet of trouble like you.’
‘Why bother about Ian?’ she flashed at him. ‘Why be so altruistic as to let your brother pick this peach of a girl from under your nose? Why don’t you marry her yourself?’
‘I could do worse.’
‘Huh! It wouldn’t do for me. I can see it all so clearly. Your perfectly laundered socks would always be in matched pairs, your slippers warming by the fire, your favorite meals cooked to perfection, no hint of extravagance and little wifey falling into a faint if another man so much as looked at her. So tediously predictable.’ She raked her hand through her hair, as if by doing so she could bring the words she was searching for out of her head. ‘Believe me, I’m not scoffing at those qualities in a marriage, just as long as they’re not the reason for getting married in the first place.’
‘Interesting. What would your reason be for getting married?’
‘That’s easily answered. Sense wouldn’t come into it. I’d love him insensibly. And I’d consent to marry him only if I couldn’t bear not to marry him. It wouldn’t matter if our characters were poles apart if we were compatible in other areas. I’m not denying that it’s nice when everything is comfy and a bonus when it’s wrapped up in family approval, but sometimes it seems to me that a few obstacles along the way can forge a stronger partnership. There could be no danger that you had drifted into it because it makes a tidy arrangement.’ For some reason not quite known to her, perhaps because she was vexed by his rock-solidness and inflexibility, she slid him a flirtatious look from under her lashes. ‘You wouldn’t enter into marriage with Fiona, or anyone for that matter, to please your family. You’d marry to please one person only—yourself.’ Her tongue rested on this last word with savage emphasis.
‘I would also please one other person—the fortunate girl I married. I would give pleasure as well as take it. The more I took, the more I would give.’
Furious with herself for being the one to introduce that sensuous note, she lashed out tautly. ‘Does everything ha
ve to come down to sex?’
‘Have I misunderstood something? I thought I was agreeing with you. Didn’t you say that if the other areas were all right—and by ‘other areas’ I took it that you meant sexual compatibility—things like friendship, shared interests and having temperaments that complement and don’t clash weren’t all that important?’
Had she really said that? Yes, she supposed she had. He had merely brought her words into sharper focus and given them more punch. She sighed. He was getting her confused. Moreover, it was not in her nature to maintain a quarrel and she felt she had been drawn into this one against her better judgment. She had been manipulated into saying what she had by his manner. It had taunted her to try to provoke a reaction in him and, instead, he had turned the tables on her by inviting her reckless comments. She always seemed to be in the unenviable position of backing down. Be damned with caution, and the consequences, too! This time she would not back down.
With a lift of her chin and a significant sparkle in her eye she said, ‘There are many kinds of love. The affinity you have for a parent, a brother, a sister or a favorite relative. The tender love you feel for a helpless creature, a child or an animal. The love you have for a work of art, a piece of sculpture or a painting, and for growing things, trees and flowers and all the beauty of the earth and sky. But most important of all, perhaps the reason for our existence, is the love that’s strong enough for you to give yourself to one person in a marriage which you hope will last for the rest of your life. That’s some love; it’s got to be to match up to such a huge commitment. The most precious love of all and, because of its intimate nature, the most physical. That side’s got to be all right, otherwise the whole structure will fall down. And if it is, if you feel that intensely about someone, how can love not follow?’
‘What if the fascination doesn’t last? What if the chemistry burns itself out like a meteorite?’
‘I don’t know. It’s a risk I would have to take.’
She heard him laugh and the laugh was the perfect partner to the cold and humorless smile on his lips, heard it and took an involuntary step back because she knew what it masked. She knew what he was thinking, knew it as surely as if he had placed his lips on hers to prove the point. Their chemistry was right. It took only a look to send shock waves down to her toes, but under no circumstances would she marry him.
He was playing with her, she realized wretchedly. He had put words in her mouth and now he was putting unnecessary fear in her heart because he was only looking, employing eye-play to make her admit to the attraction that leaped between them like a living flame. The fascination she felt for him was the devil’s doing, poles apart from love, and would always remain so. She could never love him. Never. It would make nonsense of everything she had said.
She lowered her eyes, conceding victory to him.
Perhaps he didn’t realize that, or didn’t want to. That kiss on the quayside, administered to prevent her from crying out for help, had a lot to answer for. It had stirred things between them. If he had been looking for an excuse to repeat it she had given it to him by airing her views and he wasn’t going to have it snatched back until he’d taken advantage of it.
His arms came out to her and she allowed herself to be pulled into them like someone in a trance. She went forward with a puppet’s compulsion, but also with a puppet’s jerkiness and non-involvement, showing neither resistance nor willingness. Even in her mesmerized state she knew that it was the expression on his face which held her aloof. His pupils were dilated, indicating arousal, but his eyes also showed scorn and bitter contempt. She didn’t know which of them he hated more, and all because of his wrongful assumption that she belonged to his brother. Himself for desiring her, or her for being so wantonly free and not thrusting him off?
In a sense they were both putting things to the test. He was intent on making her eat her words and she was finding out if she could blank out the memory of Andy. She had read somewhere that the most common cause of coldness in a woman was an unhappy experience. Luckily for her things hadn’t gone beyond horseplay, but her revulsion had outstripped the deed. She had wondered if she could be in a man’s arms again and not feel a recurrence of that emotional upheaval.
It was a relief to feel stirrings within her, to respond in warmth, to acknowledge the pangs of sweetness running through her like melting honey and wallow in the joy of knowing that something wonderful hadn’t been spoiled for her. She was grateful to Maxwell for taking this lurking fear from her and perhaps that was why she gave her lips to him so readily. Yet she did not lose herself so totally in that kiss as to be unaware of the danger she was inviting, the risk she was taking in permitting familiarity with a man while being in his care. She knew that Maxwell would not force her into anything, but that in no way wiped out the danger, because he would never have to force his attentions on a woman. The touch of his lips, so gentle on hers, was a powerful persuasion, ensuring his welcome.
She was divided by the emotions she felt and the ones she knew she ought to feel. She was a traitor to herself, a disgrace to her sex to enjoy the advances made by someone who thought so ill of her. The confusion of her thoughts was intensified by the fact that it was Glenda he hated, but not Glenda he held in his arms.
She wasn’t in his arms under false colors. It wasn’t anything in Glenda that was invading his senses and drawing him to her. He might have Glenda’s name on his lips, but the lips that were tormenting him to frenzy were hers. It was Gemma Coleridge he was so strongly attracted to that he was losing track of reason.
‘What is it about you?’ he despaired huskily.
‘Maxwell.’ His name was gentle on her breath and then his mouth swooped again, drawing her back into the dangerous excitement
Time, place, nothing mattered except desire. Desire burning on their lips and tingling along their nerve-ends, holding them enraptured in fascination’s spell. There wasn’t a thing she could do to hold aloof from it. One moment she was on relatively safe ground and the next she was hurtling into a vortex of passion. Their mouths, his firm and demanding, hers subservient to the sensuality of his, clung and parted and clung again. Passion without compassion as the bruising exploration claimed not only the obedience of her lips but compelled every part of her body to yield to him.
With a sigh of resignation her hands lifted to link submissively round his neck, an action which brought her body close to his. His splayed hand on the small of her back brought her closer still, and with that the awareness of his masculine response and the disturbing realization that it was not unpleasant to her.
A weakness attacked her limbs, making her his slave. Instead of raising barriers against him, which she ought to have done, she found herself rising on tiptoe to get nearer to him. His tongue trailed down her cheek. His free hand went to her neck, caressing its white column before moving down over her sweater. Her breasts firmed in tingling anticipation as his hand hovered and she knew the meaning of frustration in the endless moments before his fingers molded to her shape. Her thick, chunky sweater was an obstruction and she made no protest as he pushed it up out of the way to stroke the swell above the satin and lace cups of her bra. She didn’t even offer to evade his hands when, having dealt with the fastening, he removed even the intrusion of that dainty covering. Her breath rose and fell with such alarming rapidity that she wondered if her heart could take it even as she delighted at the intimate abrasions of his firm but surprisingly gentle fingers.
When his head bent so that he could take the rosy tips of her breasts into his mouth, each in turn, she gasped aloud in shock. The warmth of his mouth was entrancing, hypnotic. Her nipples swelled as the blood coursed like fire through her veins and when he took one between his teeth and nipped gently she shuddered with unwilling arousal.
So caught up was she in the heady sensations running through her that she hardly noticed when his hand strayed to the waistband of her jeans, undid the snap, and slipped inside. The thin fabric of her panties w
as the only barrier between his caressing fingers and her soft, moist womanhood and she groaned as one finger dipped quickly beneath the elastic and teased her gently. With small, circular, tormenting motions he brought her tremblingly against him, assailed above and below by a dangerous excitement she could not combat Just when she thought she could stand no more he raised his head and his hand ceased its delicate play. She couldn’t be sure but she thought she actually moaned in regret when his hand dropped away. It was such an anticlimax. She knew from the expressions crossing his face that she was not the only one in turmoil. Horror, pain, and contempt followed each other in rapid succession as his eyes held hers until, her cheeks glowing with embarrassment, feeling shame where none should exist, she tilted her chin at him in blazing fury. Yet even as his icy glance raked over her she knew that it was Glenda Channing his conscience had made him push away; his body wanted Gemma Coleridge back in his arms, her face pressed close to his heart’s aroused, clamorous beat.
Why wouldn’t he listen to her? She wasn’t his brother’s property and he had no cause to feel guilty or make her feel disloyal.
‘I’m my own woman,’ she shrilled in anger. ‘No one, not your brother nor any other man, has a claim on me. I wear no rings on my fingers.’ She waved them under his nose. ‘I’ve promised myself to no one; I’m as free as the air.’
‘Free?’ he queried, his voice sneering but his face impassive. Only a working muscle in his cheek betrayed the strain of keeping up the front he was putting on. Having seen the explosion of his anger once, when she’d brought Barry’s name into the conversation and he’d flown into a demented rage at the thought that she might have slept with him, she was sure that it was only a front, that fire and violence were locked none too securely beneath the ice. ‘I don’t know about your being free,’ he drawled sarcastically. ‘I do know that you’re cheap.’
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