The Game Is Played

by Joan Hohl

  “Marsh, no!”

  His mouth silenced her weak protest at the same moment as his hands moved up and over the full mounds of her aching breasts. Reason fled and with a soft sigh she wound her arms around his neck, clinging as he slowly lowered her onto the bed. His mouth devoured hers, his tongue teased hers. Her skirt was twisted around her hips, and one hand deserted a hard-tipped mound to caress her nylon-clad thigh.

  Moaning softly, barely aware of what she was doing, her hands came up to clasp his head, fingers digging into his hair ruthlessly to pull him closer, wanting more and more of his mouth.

  She heard him groan before he moved over her, his solid weight pushing her into the firm mattress. Suddenly she froze. The feeling of déja vu gripped her again.

  Suddenly she was being pressed against a cold car seat. Carl’s face rose before her, filling her mind with fear. Tearing at his hair, she forced his mouth from hers with a hoarse cry.

  “Damn you, stop it.”

  Marsh jerked away from her as if he’d been shot.

  “Helen, what is it? Did I hurt you?”

  Shaking with remembered panic, she didn’t hear the words. All that registered was that the voice was male, and it terrified her. Cringing away from him, she brought her forearm up across her face, fingers spread to ward off a blow. The voice that whispered through her lips belonged to a younger woman.

  “Don’t hit me again, please.”

  Marsh froze, staring at her in disbelief.

  “Hit you? Helen, what the hell—”

  “Carl, please don’t.” She was sobbing now. “Please.”

  At the sound of the other man’s name Marsh’s face went rigid, lids narrowing over eyes ice-blue with fury.

  “He struck you?” He gritted. “This ... Carl ... he dared to hit you?” His tone went low with menace. “If I ever find him, I’ll kill him.”

  His cold tone, the words that were not a boast or even a threat, but a statement in the absolute, broke the hold of memory gripping Helen’s mind. The back of her hand slid down to cover her mouth.

  “Oh, God, Marsh.” Her eyes went wide to stare into his. “It was so real, so horribly real. It was all happening again.”

  Sitting up fully, he grasped her shoulders, pulled her up, over his legs. Cradling her in his arms like a child, he asked, “When did it happen?”

  Closing her eyes, she sighed wearily, “Long ago. So very long ago, and yet it seemed so real just now, as if it were all happening again.” A shudder tore through her body, and his arms tightened protectively. She buried her face in the wiry mat of curls on his chest, her wet tears making a few strands glisten.

  “He raped you?”

  The words came softly from his lips, but Helen heard the tone that spoke of tightly controlled rage.

  “No. No.” She shook her head, her forehead rubbing against his chest.

  “A—a patrol car stopped. The patrolman told him he’d have to move along.”

  Helen felt the shiver that slithered through his tough body, heard the sigh that escaped his lips. His arms tightened still more.

  “You called to the cop for help?”

  “No.” Silent tears slid down her cheeks. “You don’t understand, Marsh, I was engaged to him.” She shivered. “I thought I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.”

  “Don’t cry, love.” His fingers brushed at her wet cheeks, smoothed the hair back from her temples. “You’ve been afraid ever since?”

  “I guess so.” She gave a small shrug.

  “This has happened before, when you’ve been with other men?” He paused, then added stiffly, “Or is it me that repels you?”

  “It has never happened before because I’ve never been with any other men. I don’t know—•”

  “What?”

  He went completely still. After several seconds Helen lifted her head to see his face. The face he turned to her was one of total astonishment.

  “You have never been—?” He broke off, his voice mirroring his expression. “Helen, are you still a—”

  “Yes.” Helen rushed before he could say the word. “Yes, yes. There has never been anyone.”

  “Well, I will be damned.” He murmured softly. “I’ve changed my mind.” He bent his head, kissed her lightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m not going to kill him. I’m going to thank him for saving you for me.”

  “He didn’t save me for you or anyone else,” Helen snapped. “I lost my head tonight but it won’t happen again.”

  His hand caught her face, drew it close to his.

  “Not for a little while, maybe. I’m going to give you time to get to know me. I’m going to get to know you. But it will happen again. Nothing can stop it. I told you that you are mine. Nothing you do can change it. A little while ago, before the memories caught you, you were mine. We’re going to be fantastic together.”

  He released her abruptly and stood up. “But not tonight. Right now I’m going to get the hell out of here so you can get dressed. Then I’m going to take you home.” Bending swiftly, he kissed the tip of each full breast then brought his lips to her mouth. “You have a beautiful body,” he whispered between short, hard kisses. “I love it and I love you. You may not be ready to face it yet, but you love me too.”

  Laughing softly at her outraged gasp, he strode across the room, bathing the room in light by the flick of a switch as he went through the doorway.

  The moment the door closed, Helen jumped off the bed. She was wide awake, all her earlier sleepiness banished by the events of the last hour. Moving slowly, she tried to explain away the strange experience, make some logic of it in her own mind. What she’d told Marsh was true; nothing like it had ever happened to her before. She’d had frightening nightmares for some months after the incident, but they had eventually faded. During the last few years she’d rarely thought about it, and when she did, the memory was triggered by odd, unrelated incidents. Even meeting Carl, which she did occasionally, had not disturbed her. Except, her reasoning qualified, that very first time, and she had come away from that meeting with her head high, her poise and cool composure intact.

  Helen used the bathroom that was off his bedroom, absently admiring the masculine-looking marbled black and white tile, the large snow-white bath-sheets. The long glass shelf under the medicine cabinet held just three items: his shaving cream, his aftershave, and the cologne that, on his skin, had the power to make her senses swim.

  Fully aware of her surroundings now, Helen went back into the bedroom, her eyes making a cool survey. The bed, which she’d only seen in semidarkness before, was king-size and, right now, very rumpled. Like the bathroom, Marsh’s bedroom reflected the man. Totally masculine, with an understated core of warmth.

  Agitated at herself for her softened attitude toward him, Helen tossed back her hair impatiently. Within minutes she slipped into her bra and shirt, then on hands and knees she retrieved most of the hairpins he’d dropped carelessly to the floor.

  Rising to her feet, she raked her fingers through her tangled hair. Wincing at the twinge of pain on her scalp, she walked to the door, pulled it open and called irritably, “Marsh, will you hand me my handbag, please? I need my hairbrush.”

  Tapping her foot impatiently, Helen watched him scoop her bag off the floor beside the sofa, then saunter to her, a smile curving his lips at her disgruntled expression. His eyes slid over her slowly, thoroughly, before coming back to study her face, her hair.

  “I don’t know why you want your brush,” he teased, his eyes glinting with devilry. “You look ravishing with your hair all wild around your face.” He paused, head tilted to the side, considering before adding softly, “Oris the correct word ‘ravished’?”

  Giving him a sour look, Helen snatched the bag from his hand, rummaged in it for the brush, then, tossing the bag onto the bed, she turned her back to him and walked to stand in front of the large mirror above the double dresser.

  His reflection told her that his eyes follow
ed her every move and, made nervous by his perusal, she pulled the brush through her knotted mane with unnecessary force. Tears sprang to her eyes from the self-inflicted pain. Pausing in mid-stroke, she blinked her lids rapidly to clear her vision and thus missed the reflection beside her own growing larger. The sound of his voice close behind her made her jump.

  “What are you punishing yourself for, love?” His fingers plucked the brush from her hand. “Nothing happened here tonight that shouldn’t have happened long ago.” Very slowly, very gently, he drew the brush through her hair. “Don’t misunderstand. I am, egotistically, very happy that it did not. You are mine and the thought that you have belonged, however briefly, to another—or several other—men has been tearing my guts apart since I left you at the hospital last night.”

  The brush was tossed onto the dresser, and with a shiver she felt his hand draw aside her now-smooth and shining mane, felt his lips caress the sensitive skin on the back of her neck. The shiver increasing in intensity, she heard him draw deeply the scent of her into his lungs, felt the delicious tingle of his breath as he exhaled slowly.

  “I’m nearly out of my mind with love for you, Helen. And I want you so badly, I can taste it. But I can wait until my lovemaking doesn’t activate the ugly memories. Until I hear, from your own lips, that you want me every bit as badly as I want you. But, dear God, love, I hope the waiting period is a short one.”

  As he spoke he turned her around, into his arms, his intense blue gaze staring into her wide, wary eyes.

  “Marsh,” she began firmly enough. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like this. I don’t want to get invol—”

  His mouth covered hers, effectively cutting off what she’d been about to say. Undaunted, Helen began speaking again the instant he lifted his head.

  “Marsh, listen to me. I don’t want any kind of emotional involvement. Besides which—” she hesitated, wet her dry lips, then said flatly, “I’m older than you.”

  A deep frown brought his dark, beautifully shaped eyebrows together. A tiny fire leaped in his eyes.

  “Did you think I was unaware of that?” Just the sound of his quiet voice made her shiver. “Exactly how old are you?”

  Helen’s eyelids lowered, then came up again defensively. Never before had she hesitated about stating her age. The fact that this man could make her feel defensive about, resentful of, her years was a shocking bit of self-knowledge she didn’t want to face. In retaliation she forced a note of pride into her voice.

  “Thirty-five.”

  “And I’ll be thirty-one in March.” His shrug was eloquent. “I hardly think four years is just cause for argument.”

  His blithe unconcern angered her. Jerking her shoulder away from his hand, she turned away.

  “Four years can be very important.”

  She was immediately swung back to face him. His hand grasped her chin, held it firmly.

  “The only years that hold any importance for me any longer are the years we are going to spend together.”

  At her wince the pressure on her chin was eased, although he did not let her go.

  “I’m not going to argue about this anymore tonight, Helen,” He lowered his head and Helen’s eyes became fascinated with his mouth. “I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that we belonged together. Nothing you say, nothing you do, is ever going to change that.”

  His lips were almost touching hers and Helen tried to ignore and deny the warm curl of anticipation in her stomach.

  “There isn’t anywhere on this earth you could run to to get away from me, or yourself for that matter. Now close your eyes like a good girl, because I’m going to kiss you.”

  And suiting action to words, he did, his arms sliding around her to draw her close against him. The kiss was long and deep and wildly arousing, and Helen could no more have stopped her arms from clinging to him, any more than she could stop the passage of time. She felt a tremor run through his body before he put her firmly from him. Eyes smoldering with smoky blue fire, he stepped back.

  “I’m taking you home now. Because if I don’t, I doubt you’ll ever see the place again.”

  He drove her car, brushing aside her protests with a careless “I’ll grab a cab back.”

  Before they were halfway to her apartment, Helen was having trouble keeping her eyes open. Numb with fatigue, she finally gave up the battle and allowed her lids to drop, block out the hurtful glare from the headlights of the approaching cars.

  “Where should I put the car? Do you have a designated space, or can you park anywhere?”

  Marsh’s quiet voice nudged her eyelids up. The car was motionless, the engine idling, at the entrance to the covered parking area adjacent to her apartment building.

  “What? Oh, anywhere. It doesn’t matter.”

  Even fuzzy-minded Helen could not miss the indulgent expression on his face. A smile curving his lips, he set the car in motion and drove onto the parking lot.

  Too tired to argue, Helen simply shrugged when he insisted on seeing her safely into her apartment.

  While she hung her coat in the closet, Marsh used her phone to call for a cab to pick him up. Standing by the door, she watched him cradle the receiver, then walk to her, a tingle of apprehensive anticipation growing stronger with each step he took.

  “I won’t be able to see you tomorrow or Saturday.” He stopped in front of her, his tone regretful. “I have previous commitments that I can’t break without causing friction on the homefront.”

  “Marsh, you don’t have to explain your actions to me.” Helen was experiencing that trapped, panicky feeling again. “You owe me nothing.”

  He smiled, raised his hand to caress her face, then went on as if she hadn’t said a word.

  “I’ll be bored out of my gourd, but I can’t get out of it without hurting my mother’s feelings. But I want to spend the whole day with you Sunday—if you’re free.”

  The feather-light touch of his fingers on her cheek set off a chain reaction along her nervous system. Her breathing growing shallow, she murmured, “Yes, but—”

  “Out.” Laughing softly, he shook his head at her. “I’ll take you out somewhere. I’ll pick you up in the morning at ... ?” He lifted a questioning eyebrow.

  “Not too early,” she sighed, too tired to argue with him. “Unless I have a call, I sleep late on Sunday.”

  “Ten?”

  Helen shivered with weariness, nodded.

  “Okay.” Feeling her shiver against his fingers, his eyes grew sharp. “Don’t eat anything. We’ll start the day with breakfast or brunch. How does a walk in the park sound?”

  “In January?”

  “Of course.” He laughed again. “You’ll see.”

  His eyes moved over her face, clung for a moment on her mouth before coming back to her eyes.

  “You’re exhausted, love. Go to bed and go to sleep. Don’t think. Don’t speculate. Block everything out and sleep.”

  His thumb stroked the dark smudges under her eyes as he lowered his head to hers and said softly, “I love you, Helen.”

  His lips, though firm, held no passion, no demand. Comforting warmth spread through her, easing the beginning ache at her temples. All too soon the warmth was removed, as moving away, he opened the door, murmured, “Sleep well, love,” and was gone.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  Sunday dawned bright and cold. The end of January sunlight, glittering fiercely through Helen’s bedroom windows, warned her not to go outdoors without her sunglasses.

  Yawning hugely, stretching luxuriously, Helen glanced at the clock on her nightstand and gave a small yelp. Marsh would be arriving in less than an hour and here she lay, basking in the sun like a fat house cat. Scrambling out of bed, she grabbed her robe off the end of the bed and ran into the bathroom.

  Helen felt good. Surprisingly she’d slept well the last few nights, including Thursday. She hadn’t expected to, in fact, after Marsh had left her with his murmured, “Sleep well, love,” sh
e’d been convinced she wouldn’t sleep at all. Contrarily she was asleep not three minutes after her head hit the pillow.

  With two deliveries, plus the usual number of office patients, on Friday, and several hours in the operating room on Saturday, she’d tired herself enough to sleep on those two nights. The thought of Marsh, and what had happened in his bedroom, she’d managed to push to the back of her mind by concentrating fiercely on her work.

  When, at the odd moments, the thought of him, the remembered feel of him crept to the forefront of her mind, she’d gritted her teeth, fighting down the shakiness that assailed her. Afraid, and unwilling to examine exactly why, she’d silently battled against the memories, using sleep as an ally.

  Her door chimes pealed at exactly ten o’clock. Fastening the belt to her slacks, Helen walked to the door and pulled it open, her breath catching at the sight of him. He was dressed for a day out of doors in brown corduroy slacks, tan heavy knit sweater, and a fur-lined, high-collared parka.

  Before she could speak, he dipped his head and placed his cold lips against hers.

  “Good morning,” he murmured, his breath fresh and tickly on her lips. “May I come in?”

  “Yes—yes, of course.” She stepped back to allow him to walk by, then added hurriedly, “I’m ready to leave. All I have to do is put on my coat.”

  A grin slashed his mouth, revealed perfect white teeth. His eyes danced with gentle mockery.

  “Although I’ll admit to being tempted, I’m not going to jump on you and drag you into the bedroom, Helen, but”—his arm shot out, snaked around her waist, pulled her to him—”I am going to kiss you properly.”

  As he lowered his head his hands came up to cup her face, cool fingers sliding over the smoothed back hair above her ears.

  “Marsh! Don’t you dare touch those pins.”

  Laughter rumbling in his throat, the tip of one finger gently nudged the curved metal hair anchor back into place under the neat coil.