Carole Mortimer - The Flame of Desire

by Carole Mortimer

  He shrugged. "No reason, I suppose." He gathered her close again. "But I was glad to come home just now and find you here, although this—" he tugged at her nightgown"—I do not like."

  "Shall I take it off?" she offered eagerly.

  "It is not necessary." With a sharp tug he had ripped the garment from neck to hem. "I have my own way of dealing with these things."

  Sophie giggled. "I wish you wouldn't keep doing that."

  His lips teased and parted hers with sensuous passion. "Do you?" he breathed against her mouth. "Do you really?"

  Her mouth opened to receive his kiss. "No___"

  "I thought not."

  "You're very arrogant," she reprimanded softly.

  "I have to be. I’am your lover."

  "Luke…"

  "Mmm?"

  "Why have you stayed away from me for so long?"

  "Because I was waiting for some sign from you that .you wanted my lovemaking. I am afraid that tonight I have run out of patience."

  "I'm glad," she sighed before his mouth took possession of her, his body soon following example.

  SHE AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING with a feeling of well-being, a warm arm around her waist, Luke's body curved against her back. She smiled contentedly as she remembered then- night together, stretching her body with feline satisfaction.

  Warm lips nuzzled against her throat. "I thought you were never going to awaken," Luke murmured softly.

  "Did you have any special reason for wanting me to?" she teased lightly.

  "Oh, yes," he said throatily.

  She turned to face him. "And what reason was that?" She caressed the dark hairs on his chest, running her tongue provocatively over her lips.

  "I have plans for you," he smiled down at her. "Very important plans."

  "Mmm?" She kissed his shoulder, her hands on his firm muscled back.

  "Yes, very important plans." He sat up, throwing the bedclothes off her naked body. "I am waiting for you to go and cook my breakfast." He grinned at the indignation on her face.

  "Cook your—Why you—"

  He leaned over to slap her bottom. "My appetite is not for you this morning. I did not have dinner yesterday and I am hungry."

  "

  She hadn't eaten dinner, either, now that she came to think about it, but it hadn't exactly been the first thing on her mind when she woke up. "How mundane," she climbed out of bed.

  "Not mundane at all." Luke lay back, his arms behind his head, watching her as she put on a robe. "How can I make love to you when I am almost fainting with hunger?"

  "Worse than mundane—practical." She pretended disapproval. "And stop looking at me like that."

  He smiled slowly. "I am just wondering if I might perhaps have been a little hasty." He lunged for her, but she laughingly evaded him.

  "Too late," she taunted from the bedroom door. "Breakfast in ten minutes."

  She moved around the kitchen, squeezing fresh orange juice and cooking bacon and eggs. She usually had only toast, but it was almost eleven and it was a long time since they had eaten.

  She had the bacon nicely sizzling in the pan when the telephone rang. Before she could pick it up the ringing stopped and she could hear the sound of Luke's muffled voice through the closed bedroom door as he picked up the extension.

  She went happily back to her cooking. The call was probably for Luke, anyway. The table was nicely laid, the last piece of toast in the rack when Luke finally put in an appearance, dressed now in navy blue slacks and matching shirt.

  Her smile faltered and died at the look on his face. "Is there anything wrong?"

  He leaned back against one of the units, his arms folded, across his chest. "Should there be? "

  '' I—why no. But you… you seem different.''

  His brown eyes were narrowed. "Different from what?"

  "Just…just different."

  "Different from the fool who made love to you last night, perhaps?" he snapped harshly.

  "I—what do you mean?"

  "Do not pretend innocence with me, Sophie. That was your father on the telephone just now."

  Her cheeks paled. "Oh."

  "I notice you no longer feign surprise," he sneered. "He telephoned to ask 'if we would like to go down for the weekend—but then you already knew that, didn't you?"

  “I ——“

  "And you did run to him yesterday; You lunched with him, "he accused.

  "Yes, but—"

  His mouth turned back. "Do not make excuses, Sophie. Perhaps I should really give you a reason to run to him telling tales."

  She backed away from the violent anger in his eyes. "I didn't! I only—"

  "You only gave him reason to be so worried about you that he felt it necessary to see the two of us together, to judge for himself just how badly I am treating you. And to think that last night I told you how pleased I was that you had not gone to him with your troubles, that you were being adult about it. You even lied to me when I asked where you had lunched. You are not worthy of trust and so I will no longer continue to do so. You will not go out alone any more, and you will tell me of any further contact you have with your father."

  "You can't run my life like that," she retaliated. "I'm not a child. I will not—"

  His hand flicked out and struck her across the cheek. "You will do exactly as you are told!"

  Sophie held her reddened cheek, her surprise much greater than the pain. The slap had been given to put her down rather than hurt her. "I won't! I—"

  "Would you like me to hit you again? And with much more force this time."

  "You wouldn't dare!" Her eyes flashed angrily.

  "Are you sure of that?"

  She wasn't sure of anything—she hadn't believed he would hit her at all. Perhaps she had asked for it, but it didn't make the pain of humiliation hurt any the less. "Aren't you afraid the marks of your brutality will show when we see my parents?'' she taunted.

  “Who says we are to see your parents? "

  She paled, her eyes deeply violet. "You mean we aren't going?" Tears filled her eyes. "You're going to keep me a prisoner here just because I didn't tell you I met my father yesterday? You can't do that, Luke!''

  "I can if I choose to. But I do not intend depriving you of your family, although your father can make what he wants of the marks on your face. I am not answerable to anyone for my actions regarding my wife."

  ' 'Then we are going?'' she asked hopefully.

  "Yes," he bit out shortly. "We will arrive in tune for dinner tomorrow."

  Things were so strained between them the next1 day as they drove to her parents' house that she knew no one could be in any doubt as to the tension between them.

  "Couldn't we at least try not to show my parents how disastrously our marriage is turning out?" she finally ventured.

  Luke looked at her coldly. "I do not intend living a lie to suit other people."

  "It wouldn't be living a lie." Her eyes pleaded with him.

  "The antagonism is between us. I don't see why we should involve other people."

  "I do not intend involving other people, but I will not put on an act, either."

  "All right, then don't," she said, suddenly angry. "Let everyone know. I don't care."

  "I am sure you do not," he agreed tightly.

  "There's just one thing I think you should know—my father thinks there's a certain coolness between us because I haven't managed to become pregnant.''

  He laughed harshly. "A child between us now would be a total disaster."

  "I know that," she said fiercely. "But daddy mistakenly got the idea that was the reason we weren't getting on too well."

  "Did you tell him that was the reason?"

  She shook her head. "He just assumed it."

  “And why did you not inform him of the truth? "

  "Because I don't know the truth! All I knew was that you no longer wanted me."

  "That is not true, rather the other way around. You did not want my lovemaking. You
made excuses." Because he had been with her stepmother that afternoon! "There was a reason for that," she said evasively.

  "I would be interested to hear it. Last night proved you are not averse to me."

  "Did you doubt it?" she asked huskily.

  He shrugged.'' I could not be sure."

  "It wasn't that. It was just that…1 thought you might tire of me," she lied.

  "After only a few days of marriage?" he scoffed. "Hardly likely."

  "Well, I didn't know that. I don't know much about men," she added lamely.

  "That is true," he agreed immediately. '

  "Do you have to insult me all the time?" she snapped.

  Luke raised dark eyebrows. "Insulting? I was not being insulting. Your knowledge of men is limited."

  "I'm sorry I've proved so unsatisfactory!" she flashed. "I'm sure you would have preferred a wife versed in all the arts of love."

  "Not at all." He wasn't drawn by her anger. "I told you I wanted a virgin, someone to be a mother to my children." He pulled her face around to look at him, his fingers gently touching her mouth. "Your lip is swollen here," he said thoughtfully.

  "Yes!" .

  "I did this when I struck you?"

  "Yes!" she answered even more vehemently, liking his touch in spite of herself. .

  His hand dropped away. "lam sorry," he said softly.

  Sophie's eyes widened. "You.. you're sorry?"

  "Yes. I despise myself for resorting to physical violence." His voice was stilted.

  "Oh, yes, of course," she said bitterly. "Why resort to physical violence when good old-fashioned lust would have silenced me just as effectively?"

  "I do not understand."

  "Oh, yes, you do," she contradicted forcibly. "You've always known the effect you have on me physically. Good grief, that was partly the reason you found it so easy to persuade me to marry you. I'm a complete fool where you're concerned," she added disgustedly.

  Luke's brown eyes swept over her coldly. "Physical pleasure is not the whole of marriage."

  "Perhaps not, but it's all we've got.".

  "Yes," he agreed quietly. "But matters are not helped by your lies."

  She gasped indignantly. "I only lied because I didn't want you to be angry again. Telling you I had seen my lather would have done that."

  "Has it never occurred to you that your father may have marital difficulties of his own?''

  She gave a bitter laugh. "He's always had marital difficulties."

  "But lately they have become more intense."

  "Oh, I know that. I also know the reason for it."

  "You do?" he probed.

  "Of course I do. It's no big secret, is it?"

  "It would appear not" he said dryly.

  "It's not something that can be hidden."

  ''But if you know all this why have you given your father the impression that we are not happy together? That can do nothing to help the situation.''

  "I don't intend helping the situation. Why should I?"

  "Indeed." He nodded abruptly. "That is the sort of "answer I would have expected a child to make. It appears that is what you are."

  "Don't start using my age as a weapon against me," she snapped. "I may be young, but you still wanted me."

  "Fool that I am," he muttered in a strangulated voice. "But I cannot begin to understand you."

  "Then that makes two of us. I don't understand you, either."

  "You do not try to," he told her curtly.

  Her father greeted them with obvious warmth. Rosemary's greeting was much more welcoming than Sophie had expected. But then it probably wasn't meant for her, as her being here meant Luke was here, too. Nevertheless, she was taken aback by the warmth of Rosemary's kiss on her cheek, and completely puzzled by the happiness shining out of her china-blue eyes.

  Rosemary straightened the curtains in the bedroom she had just shown them into. Luke had left the two women after depositing their suitcase at the foot of the double bed. "You're looking pale," Rosemary remarked abruptly.

  "I—I'm a little tired…from the journey," she added hurriedly.

  Her stepmother gave her a knowing smile. "Honeymoons have that effect, don't they?''

  "It was the journey," Sophie repeated crossly.

  Rosemary shrugged. "If you say so. But if I were married to Luke I—"

  "Well, you're not!" she interrupted sharply. "He's my husband, not yours."

  Rosemary frowned. "Your father said you were very tense. I didn't realize how much." She sat down on the bed. "Would you like to tell me about it?"

  Sophie's look was scathing. "You're the last person I would talk to about it." '

  Her stepmother stood up, her movements jerky. "I know we haven't always been the best of friends, and I know that it's mainly been my fault, but I had hoped things would be different now. If you could just understand that a lot of my bitchiness has been due to jealousy—"

  "Oh, I know that," Sophie cut in.

  "You do?" Rosemary looked relieved. "Then you know what your marriage to Luke means to me."

  "Yes!" She knew what it meant to her, too—being second best.

  "Your father would like it if we could try to be friends."

  She felt sure Rosemary would like it, too; it would allay suspicion. "Yes," she acknowledged unenthusiastically.

  "I—I'm sorry about your baby—about your not having one, I mean."

  That made Sophie see red. "Why does everyone assume that I wanted one?" she snapped angrily. "I'm too young to have a baby. And I've only been married a couple of weeks."

  "In your case time doesn't seem to have been important. You didn't waste any capturing Luke."

  "Look, we both know that I followed you to Luke's bedroom that night."

  "It was the painting that condemned you," Rosemary said softly.

  "Yes," she accepted dully. "If you don't mind, I'd like to wash and change for dinner."

  Rosemary gave her a friendly smile. "Of course. And if you do feel like a chat at any time, you know where my room is."

  "Next to daddy's."

  Her stepmother looked at her closely. "A lot of married couples have separate bedrooms, Sophie. It doesn't mean they don't have a normal married life together. You and Luke may even decide to have separate rooms later on."

  They might as well now for all the intimacy there was between them. Last night she had slept on her side of the bed, conscious of Luke's naked body beside her, his back turned toward her not encouraging any contact from her.

  "Maybe." She nodded agreement, doubting if there would be any "later on" between Luke and herself.

  "Has Luke finished ^our portrait yet?" Rosemary changed the subject.

  "I have no idea."

  "Will he have finished it for your father's birthday, do you think?"

  Sophie put the suitcase on the bed, snapping open its lid to begin unpacking the contents. "You'll have to ask him. He's been working on another portrait this week."

  "Anyone interesting?"

  She shrugged. "Someone called Madelaine." She sounded much more casual than she felt—her jealousy for the other woman was still very strong. But perhaps it wouldn't hurt Rosemary to know she had other competition besides herself.

  "Madelaine Drury?" Rosemary queried sharply.

  "I really couldn't say," she said disinterestedly.

  "A redhead, with catlike green eyes?" "That sounds like her."

  Rosemary sighed. "In that case, a little word of warning, Sophie. Madelaine has been after Luke for months." She could have laughed out loud at the irony of her stepmother warning her about another woman being after

  "I couldn't do much about it if he wanted her." 'Don't be a fool," Rosemary snapped. "You may only have been married two weeks, but even that should have told you there are ways of keeping your man."

  "Is that how you've managed to hold on to my father all these years?"

  Her stepmother was pale. "Your father loves me."

  "And you love him,
" she sneered. "Yes, I do. God, Sophie, marriage to Luke has certainly changed you."

  She gave a tight smile. "Hasn't it just?"

  "I wouldn't let your father see just how hardened -you've become. I don't want him worried or upset right now." -

  "Why especially now?"

  "You'll find out…later." She left, the smile still in her eyes.

  It all sounded very mysterious to Sophie, and she wasn't sure she was going to like "later." Her father and Rosemary obviously had something they wanted to tell them. Oh, God. She sank down on the bed. They couldn't be going to divorce after all these years, could they?

  Just the idea of it filled her with dread. But no, it couldn't be that. Her father wouldn't be looking so happy. She may doubt Rosemary's love for her father, but she could never doubt his for her.

  No, there had to be some other explanation, something else that was causing that inner glow to her stepmother. She couldn't begin to guess what it was. She was patting the finishing touches to her hair when

  Luke came into their bedroom half an hour later. Sophie looked at him expectantly for some sign that he approved of her choice of gown—the black silk jersey clinging to the rounded curves of her body, its seductive elegance given a more demure appearance by the high rolled neckline. But Luke looked right through her after his initial glance in her direction, going into the adjoining bathroom to take his shower.

  "Did you choose that color deliberately?" he finally asked, buttoning the snowy white shirt across his brown chest.

  Sophie was sitting on the bedroom chair waiting for him. "What color?"

  "Black. Are you trying to ruin the evening before it begins?"

  She frowned. “Could my wearing black do that?''

  He shrugged his shoulders into the iron-gray velvet dinner jacket. "It could if it is a reflection of your mood."

  "Why should my mood matter to anyone?"

  "Do not feel sorry for yourself," he snapped. "Self-pity is something I abhor."

  "Self-pity? But I—"

  "You will do nothing to ruin your father's happiness tonight," he ordered. "I hope you did not upset Rosemary when she told you. I know how childish you can be."

  "Right now I don't know what you're talking about. What's mommy supposed to have told me?"

  Luke gave her a sharp look, noting her genuine look of puzzlement. "She did not tell you," he stated.