'I will see you safely upstairs,' he declared brusquely.
'There's no need to be so gallant—I'm quite able to take care of myself.'
He smiled slightly, but refrained from making any comment as he summoned the elevator.
Sally fought off a disturbing mixture of emotions that alternated between fear and awareness, sending prickles of apprehension tingling down the length of her spine. He wasn't a man she could successfully ignore, and never before had she encountered anyone quite like him.
'Your key?' Luke queried as they stepped out into the corridor, and she directed him a waspish look.
'Really—you can leave now.'
'When I have seen you into the apartment,' he responded unperturbed, and she gave an expressive sigh as she stood to one side while he fitted her key into the lock.
As the door swung open, she couldn't resist querying, 'Satisfied?'
'Not quite.'
She was too emotionally weary to struggle as he caught her close, and she closed her eyes in an effort to control the threatening tears welling up inside. They were a luxury she daren't indulge—at least, not yet. Later in the privacy of her room she could give way to a storm of angry weeping. Her lips trembled slightly beneath his, dreading a further assault, but it never came. Instead, his touch was little more than a light caress as his lips moved gently back and forth on hers, warm and insistently probing, before trailing up over her cheekbone to settle gently on each closed eyelid in turn.
'Carlo will drive both you and your father to the register office,' he intimated, setting her away from him. 'I will see you then. Ciao, piccina.'
Slowly Sally closed the door, switching off the light as she made her way towards her room. The entire day had been too fraught with various emotions for sleep to be an easy captive, despite an overwhelming weariness that seemed to seep into her very bones. Tomorrow involved a twelve-hour working day, her last at 'Claude's', and would preclude any shopping. There was nothing else for it but to make an early start on Friday morning. At least she'd be so busy she wouldn't have time to think!
CHAPTER FOUR
THE wedding ceremony had been brief and impersonal, the luncheon elaborate and superb—prepared, surprisingly, by Claude.
There was champagne, Dom Perignon, and the wedding cake was a two-tiered affair with intricately- patterned icing that it seemed a shame to desecrate. However, slice into it they did, and a small piece was solemnly sampled by each of them.
Sally had selected a two-piece ensemble of beige swiss jersey, comprising a blouson-styled jacket and a skirt that flared softly down to calf-length. Together with slender-heeled strappy shoes and a shoulder-bag in matching beige, she looked incredibly elegant and wraith-like.
Luke Andretti had chosen a superbly-tailored suit of dark brown, beneath which he wore a beige silk shirt and matching tie, appearing the sophisticated businessman he undoubtedly was.
To all outward appearances they seemed a well- matched pair, but Sally could only wonder that her father, Carlo, or even Claude for that matter, could possibly be taken in by any of it.
'We will need to leave soon.'
Sally looked up at the tall man by her side, and endeavoured a smile. 'Whenever you're ready.'
'Carlo has stowed our bags into the boot of the car,' Luke declared, flicking back the cuff of his jacket to ascertain the time, and Sally responded evenly,
'I'll slip into the kitchen and say goodbye to Claude.'
The trolley was loaded and the kitchen restored to an orderly state when she entered, and Claude gave her a wide grin.
'Ready to leave? So am I. Mr Andretti's manservant will attend to the lounge on his return.' He looked at her closely, observing, 'You look very pale—hardly the radiant bride, at all.'
Oh heavens, she'd have to perk up a bit! 'Nerves, Claude,' she dismissed lightly. 'I suppose every girl experiences a few doubts on her wedding day.'
'I'm sorry to lose you,' the Frenchman evinced sincerely. 'With your talent, I doubt you'll need my services in the future.'
She swallowed the slight lump in her throat, hesitating fractionally. 'I'd better go. The others are ready to leave.'
'Good luck, Sally.'
She smiled her thanks, then slipped out of the room and had almost reached the lounge when Luke stepped into the hallway, obviously with the intention of fetching her. His slightly raised eyebrow brought a faint flush to her cheeks, and she suffered his clasp on her arm downstairs to the car.
The drive to the airport was achieved in half an hour, and there was scarcely any time for more than a few interrupted snatches of conversation as Luke passed in their suitcases, then filled in the necessary forms for customs.
'Bye, honey,' Joe Ballinger bade, embracing his daughter warmly. 'I know you'll be happy. God bless.' He looked completely relaxed, and most of the tension that had added years on to his age had all but disappeared.
'I'll ring you when we get back,' was all Sally could find to say as the tannoy announced their flight, instructing passengers to proceed through the departure lounge to Customs.
Then they were out of sight of the mingling crowd, and she felt oddly vulnerable—all too aware of having passed through a one-way door in more senses than one. The man at her side was now her husband, and that fact added a new dimension to their brief, stormy relationship.
Without conscious thought her eyes slid down to her hands, and as if to deliberately taunt her, a stray shaft of light effected a myriad prismatic scintillations from the magnificent diamond in its solitaire platinum setting adorning the third finger of her left hand. The wedding ring was platinum, its plainness relieved by several small diamonds inset into the wide band, and together their perfection brought a silent gasp of ad-miration to her lips. No less exquisite was the platinum wristwatch, its clockface encircled with diamonds, that Luke had gifted her less than an hour ago. She had been momentarily embarrassed, for she hadn't thought it necessary to gift him anything.
Aboard the large DC-10 Sally moved down the aisle and took her seat nearest the window, thankful that this was not her first major flight. Two years previously she had crossed the Atlantic to spend a month's holiday with her mother in New York, and now she was able to present a reasonably relaxed façade during take-off and the jet's rapid ascent.
'Magazine?'
Sally cast a startled glance in the direction of that cynically-amused drawl. 'Thank you,' she accepted calmly, taking the gaily-printed periodical from Luke's hand. With outward casualness she flipped the pages, pretending interest.
The three hours' flying time seemed to be taken up by the seemingly endless endeavours of the stewardesses to ply them with both food and drink. Consequently, by the time dinner was served, it was all she could do to sample a little from each course. Throughout, Luke set himself the task of being an urbane companion, keeping up an easy flow of conversation that was in direct antithesis to her rather monosyllabic replies.
The only part of the conversation that registered was that New Zealand observed daylight-saving during the summer months, which, with the two hours' time difference between the two countries, would put their arrival time at approximately an hour and a half before midnight. After clearing Customs and collecting the hired car, they would undoubtedly drive straight to their motel.
It all seemed to be happening too fast, Sally reflected, reluctantly suffering Luke's light clasp on her elbow as he led her towards the large car parked in readiness beside the kerb. She felt she should be excited at being in another country—enthusiastic, at least. Instead, there was no sense of having crossed an ocean or touching down on strange soil. There was nothing, only an impending sense of dread.
She was vaguely aware of Luke's voice informing her that their motel was situated in Parnell, an inner-city suburb, but she had no inclination to ask how far Parnell was away from the airport, or how long it would take to get there.
As soon as the car was in motion she sat staring sightlessly ahead out the windscre
en, consciously aware of every passing minute bringing her closer to the mo-ment when Luke would truly make her his wife. She suppressed a bitter laugh. Oh God, it was incredibly ironic that in this era of sexual freedom and the pill, she had stoically held on to her moral principles. Now she was irretrievably committed to a man whose sole purpose for marriage was to beget a son. There was not even the slightest measure of affection between them so that she might hope for a little tenderness in his lovemaking.
The street lights outside cast a white glow, illuminating the adjacent pavement in evenly-spaced patches, and there was little to be seen beyond the dark perimeter of shadow. An increasing flow of traffic and frequent computer-controlled intersections indicated that they were nearing the city itself, and within minutes the car deviated from the main road to come to a halt inside a large sweeping courtyard. At once Sally felt her stomach lurch into a series of painful somersaults, and only determined effort allowed her to slip out from the passenger seat and walk with Luke to their allotted unit.
Inside it was luxurious and not in the least utilitarian, and splendid view of the city's lights from wide glassed windows. A terrace led off from the lounge, but Sally was conscious only of the adjoining bedroom, the closed front door, and the inescapable fact that they were now completely alone;
She was acutely aware of Luke surveying her with a deep unfathomable expression, and the silence seemed to grow until it became a huge threatening void, so that words—any words, were preferable.
'Would you like me to unpack?' Her voice sounded strange and stilted.
'Eager to assume your wifely duties?' Luke parried, and Sally felt a faint stirring of anger.
'I don't imagine you'll allow me to be neglectful of any of them.'
Luke's eyes narrowed slightly, and his lips moved in a mere facsimile of a smile. 'Particularly in the bedroom?'
'There least of all,' she flung incautiously, taking a backward step as he moved close. It took all her courage to remain where she was. 'I'm not a willing partner—you must know that,' she ventured defiantly, hugging her arms together across her breasts as if that action would somehow protect her.
'You are either incredibly naïve or deliberately playing the innocent. Which, I wonder?' he drawled musingly.
'The latter, of course!' Sally exclaimed with intended sarcasm, uncaring that she implied otherwise.
He reached out a hand and idly tilted her chin. 'Ah, yes. Dewy-eyed virgins have become a rarity beyond the age of eighteen in our so-called enlightened society. Emancipation of women, and the freedom of equality, hmm?'
She suddenly had great difficulty in swallowing, for there seemed to be a lump in her throat that wouldn't subside. 'I'll go and unpack,' she managed quietly, and escaped his hold.
In the bedroom she took as much time as she dared to hang clothes into the wardrobe, placing remaining articles into the drawer space available. Then with a sense of icy fatalism she gathered up a nightgown and robe together with assorted toiletries, and made for the bathroom.
By the time she emerged she was consumed with a mixture of sheer nerves and a cold unshakable sense of rage that she had allowed herself to be coerced into such an alliance.
Only the lamp beside the bed was alight, and she almost stopped still at the sight of Luke in the process of discarding his clothes. With total unconcern for her presence he divested the last remaining garment and slid on a towelling robe before crossing to the bed.
A brilliant flood of colour warmed Sally's cheeks, and in a state of acute embarrassment she turned away on the pretext of hanging up the clothes she held over one arm.
'I do believe you are shy,' Luke drawled, and she started visibly at the sound of his voice so close behind her. His fingers released the ribbon that held her hair, so that it cascaded down to her shoulders, and she felt his fingers thread lightly through its silky length. 'Do not play the child, Sally,' he warned softly, tugging her hair, and she retorted swiftly,
'I'm not playing at anything.' A shiver of fear slid down her spine as he turned her round to face him, and she lifted a hand to smooth back a stray tendril of hair in a gesture that was purely mechanical.
'You would escape if you could, and flee into the night.' His voice was sardonic and full of amused cynicism, as with slow deliberate movements he slid the robe from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, then his hands curved over the delicate bones of her shoulders, drawing her close.
Fear was replaced by anger the instant his head began to descend, and she turned her face aside, struggling with all her strength to fight free of his embrace. Not that it did the slightest good, for Luke thwarted each attempt with remarkable ease, and his soft laugh close to her ear was the last straw.
'Oh!' she gasped furiously, hating him with every nerve in her body. 'You're a barbaric—savage!' she accused, sorely tried, as his mouth continued its exploratory path, touching the delicate hollows beneath her throat, the pulsing cord at the side of her neck before travelling up to nuzzle an earlobe.
'Let go of me,' she implored, desperately trying to free her hands from behind her back where he held them together. Her shoulders and upper arms were beginning to ache with muscular strain, and her bosom heaved.
'Why fight me, piccina? You will become tired before we begin.'
'What did you expect?' she tossed bitterly as she drew a deep breath. 'A docile, amenable lamb?'
'If I had desired such a mate, I could have chosen one from any number of women,' Luke assured musingly as he calmly lifted her into his arms and carried her towards the bed.
'I shall hate you,' Sally threatened furiously, only to hear his tigerish chuckle in response. Her back touched against the springy softness of the mattress, and she began struggling with every ounce of energy she possessed the moment his weight trapped her body.
Nothing moved him. Not even her pleas, or beseeching entreaty, and her only moment of satisfaction came when she managed to free her mouth from his for a brief second, long enough to sink her teeth into his shoulder.
His muttered curse was a sweet revenge, but only momentary, for he retaliated in kind on a much softer, more vulnerable part of her anatomy.
Sally gave a shocked whimper of pain and outrage, and pushed her hands against his chest in an effort to effect some sort or leverage. As her fingers came into contact with a liberal quantity of springy hair, she clenched and pulled—hard!
'Little she-cat,' he accused grimly. 'You are no chaste maiden—you admitted as much.' His voice was harsh and totally forbidding, and her desperate cry of protest died in her throat as his mouth fastened mercilessly on hers.
Oh dear God! The folly of her hastily-flung denial was bitter gall, and her sense of outrage increased as he sought with relentless persuasion to evoke an unwilling response, until, exhausted, she became caught up in the heaven and hell of his possession.
Later she lay at his side, cradled against him by an encircling arm, which even in sleep refused to allow her freedom. The slightest movement and his arm tightened about her, and at last she drifted into a storm- tossed sleep in which numerous demons chased and taunted her subconscious mind until the torment forced her into wakefulness in the early dawn hours.
Her whole body seemed one large ache, and she longed for a shower. Cautiously she moved an inch or two towards the side of the bed, then gradually eased her way free of Luke's sleep-heavy arm. Mercifully he seemed unaware, and she managed to slip to her feet.
The contact of soap and water on her skin provoked tingling sensations of an almost sensual quality, and with something akin to anger she scrubbed beneath the shower until her skin was aglow and rosy-pink from top to toe. Only then did she complete her toilette and slip silently back into bed.
There was a subtle aroma of freshly-brewed coffee wafting on the air, and combined with the tantalising smell of grilled bacon and toast, it teased Sally into wakefulness.
At first she was unsure of her surroundings, then returning memory brought reality sharply in
to focus, and she slowly turned and raised her head. Of Luke there was no sign, and a glance at her wristwatch revealed that it was late—a few minutes past ten, to be exact. Remarkably she had slept, despite a firm conviction that such blissful release would be an impossibility.
Quietly slipping from the bed, she collected fresh underwear, a skirt and top, then hurriedly slipped out of her nightgown. The day stretched mercifully ahead of her—until darkness fell and she had to face whatever the night would bring. A wry grimace passed fleetingly across her features. How women could rhapsodise over such indignities was beyond her!
Scorning any use of make-up, she ran a comb through her hair and decided her appearance would pass muster. Then she lifted her chin, took a deep breath, and determinedly made her way towards the kitchen.
Luke's broad frame was instantly visible, and a brief glance was all Sally needed to set her pulse-beat accelerating at an alarming rate. Sheer nerves, she dismissed crossly. Attired in grey suede trousers and a casual navy shirt, he projected a physical magnetism that was impossible to ignore.
'Buon giorno.'
He must have heard her enter the room, and after a momentary pause Sally made a slightly strangled rejoinder.
'Shall I pour the coffee?' She had to make some attempt at normality.
'Please. I feel in need of it.'
It was impossible to gauge much from his voice, she decided warily as she moved towards the table. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him switch off the element and transfer the contents of the frying pan on to two plates.
'I'm not very hungry,' she ventured, eyeing the quantity of food on the plate he placed before her.
'Eat, Sally,' he commanded as he took the chair opposite.
At once her hackles began to rise. 'Surely you'll allow me the right to choose the quantity of food I eat?'
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