‘It’s like stepping back in time,’ marvelled Marc, looking around him. ‘No roads, no shops. There’s not even a permanent population, is there?’
‘Only the ranger and his family,’ replied Jane.
They both loved the pristine beauty of the island, drowsy and peaceful in the sun, although there were reminders of the more troubled past. The ruins of the convict settlement at Darlington stood eerie and deserted with its rows of cells and empty administrative quarters. And once, from the top of a rise, they glimpsed an abandoned farmhouse being slowly engulfed by a creeping tide of vegetation. But, for the two winemakers, the most fascinating remains of all were the traces of Diego Bernacchi’s vineyard.
‘I hope ours will do better than this,’ said Marc, shading his eyes and looking down across the dense bracken to the blue sea beyond. ‘I’d like to think that in five hundred years our winery would still be operating, just like my family’s place in France.’
Jane felt a bittersweet tinge of emotion as she stood beside him. If they had been genuine lovers, she would have put her arm around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder and assured him fervently of her faith in their future. Instead she stood stiffly apart from him and yearned with all her heart to be in his arms.
The weather was growing distinctly colder on the trip back to Triabunna. The waves were steely-grey with white crests and there was a strong headwind blowing off the land so that they hit each wave with a choppy impact. Once ashore, they were grateful to get inside the warmth of the car and drive back to their cottage. Marc lit the fire which was already laid in the glass-sided wood heater and drew the curtains. As the kindling began to crackle and orange tongues of flame leaped up the flue he turned to Jane with a questioning look.
‘What do you think? Shall we stay home tonight and cook something ourselves for dinner?’
‘Oh, the weather’s not really too bad,’ protested Jane, who found the invitation distinctly alarming. ‘I’d rather go out somewhere.’
‘All right,’ agreed Marc. ‘We’ll have dinner at the restaurant on the headland. But I’m warning you, if it does rain, then you will make breakfast tomorrow. And wash up.’
Marc looked triumphantly at her an hour later. They had just finished their smoked salmon entrées and were gazing out of the uncurtained restaurant windows when there was a sudden noise like the thunder of distant hooves and the dark, tossing seas beneath them vanished in a blur of driving rain.
‘I’ll have fruit yoghurt, cereal, eggs and bacon, orange juice and percolated coffee,’ he announced in a smug voice.
The waitress, who had just come to take away their empty plates, looked startled.
‘Are you sure, sir?’ she asked. ‘I’ve already ordered the beef tournedos with vegetables for you, but I suppose we can change it.’
Jane dissolved into helpless giggles and almost choked as a harassed-looking Marc attempted to explain. She was still giggling weakly when the bemused waitress finally beat a retreat. Marc scowled at her.
‘I suppose you enjoy seeing me make a fool of myself?’
‘I do,’ she agreed blithely. ‘It’s a change from always seeing you being perfect.’
Marc’s face shadowed and his eyes grew sombre.
‘I’m far from perfect,’ he growled. ‘If I were perfect, I wouldn’t be having the thoughts I’m having right now.’
‘What thoughts?’ asked Jane unwisely.
He leaned forward and spoke in a hoarse, sibilant murmur, so low that only she could hear it.
‘I’m thinking that I’d like to take you back to the cottage, undress you slowly in the firelight and kiss every inch of your body until you were burning with desire for me, just as I am for you. And then I’d drive deep, deep inside you, until you started to thresh and moan and cling to me. And finally your whole body would convulse and you’d cry out my name, and I’d know that you were truly mine.’
Jane’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes dilated and her heart began to beat in a suffocating rhythm.
‘Marc, don’t!’ she begged huskily. ‘Don’t joke like that.’
‘I’m not joking,’ he said through his teeth. ‘It’s what I want, Jane, and you know it. It’s what you want too.’
‘It isn’t,’ she whispered. ‘It isn’t.’
But it was. Even as he spoke, his words seemed to have tripped some switch inside her, so that her whole body was pulsating with a tingling current of desire. Her breath came in shallow flutters and her pulses were racing, while a dark heat seemed to uncurl and throb deep within her. Although she was urging him to stop saying these delicious forbidden things, she found that she was leaning towards him with her lips parted and her breasts thrust forward. Shock and dismay made her stiffen and then shrink back in her seat, with her eyes lowered and her cheeks flushed. Marc reached out and took her hand, running his fingers caressingly down the back of it.
‘You see?’ he murmured. ‘Lie to me if you like, but your own body betrays you.’
Fortunately, at that moment, the waitress arrived with Marc’s Tournedos chasseur and Jane’s steak au poivre. During the ensuing ritual of sampling the burgundy which Marc had chosen to accompany the meal and then sinking her teeth into the juicy, peppery beef, Jane was able to forget the passion which had blazed up between them. Even her fear that Marc would raise the subject again after the waitress left proved unfounded. Instead they talked about overseas holidays, Australian cuisine, grape varieties and their favourite films. By the time they left the restaurant Jane felt safe and relaxed, which was a serious mistake.
The rain was still falling in a steady, soaking downpour when they reached the cottage and the fragrance of wet earth and drenched flowers filled Jane’s nostrils as she stood huddled and shivering on the veranda. Marc inserted the key in the lock and held the front door open for Jane to enter the house. She turned on the hall light and Marc followed her inside and stood patiently waiting as she took off her damp coat. She had just enough time to glimpse the mahogany sideboard, with the vase of jonquils standing on it and the gold-framed mirror hanging on the wall above it, before the light flickered and went out. Jane, who had one arm trapped in her sleeve, gave a cry of surprise and Marc gripped her shoulder reassuringly. She stiffened and caught her breath at his touch. It was the kind of reassurance that she found more alarming than helpful. In the unexpected darkness she was intensely conscious of the warmth and size and masculinity of his body so close to hers.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said calmly. ‘It’s probably just a fuse, unless the storm has brought some wires down somewhere. I’ll soon fix it.’
‘How will you see?’ she asked.
‘There are some candles and matches in the third drawer next to the fridge in the kitchen,’ he replied.
Jane gave a muffled giggle. Trust Marc to notice something like that! Feeling like Houdini, she finally escaped from her coat, then felt her way gingerly to the row of brass hooks on the wall and hung it up. A moment later the damp softness of Marc’s cashmere overcoat brushed against her as he did the same.
‘Ready for the big adventure?’ he asked.
Without waiting for a reply, he took her left hand and together they groped their way down the hall. She found the warmth of Marc’s grip unsettling. Instead, she tried to concentrate on the other sensations that she was noticing. The drumming of rain on the tin roof, the roar and shriek of the wind, the softness of carpet underfoot, the carved newels of the staircase that suddenly met her questing fingers, the scent of rose pot pourri that wafted out from the dining-room doorway. There was something primitive about total darkness, something about its dense, black, enfolding quality that made her want to cling to Marc as if hidden terrors might be lurking out of sight. Ancient childhood nightmares of witches and monsters and huge, hairy, poisonous spiders began to teem in her head. When her hand brushed against something damp and cold and clinging at the foot of the stairs she gave a startled shriek.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked M
arc.
‘Something grabbed me.’
She felt his muscles bunch and harden as he reached to investigate. Then a groan of laughter escaped him.
‘It’s that wet towel you left hanging over the banisters,’ he said in an exasperated voice.
‘Oops,’ mumbled Jane.
After that they reached the kitchen safely without being bitten or devoured or changed into creepy crawlies by any magic wands. Marc released her hand and located the candles and matches. There was a scraping sound, then the room was filled with a friendly, flickering gold light and the world suddenly seemed safe and welcoming again. Marc looked at her with an incredulous lift of his eyebrows.
‘How could you possibly believe something had grabbed you?’ he asked. ‘There’s nobody here but us.’
‘If you laugh at me, I’ll hit you!’ warned Jane, her eyes flashing. ‘It just so happens that occasionally I have an irrational fear of the dark, especially when I’m taken unawares.’
‘Don’t worry, chérie. I’ll protect you,’ promised Marc with just a hint of mockery. ‘Why don’t you go into the living-room? There should still be some light from the fire there, unless it’s gone out. I’ll see if I can mend the fuse and then come and join you.’
Taking a candle, Jane padded out of the kitchen into the living-room, which had been added on at the back of the house. A comforting red glow still came from the glass firebox and she sat on the couch with a sigh of relief. It was so cosy here that she almost felt like going to sleep. Kicking off her shoes, she curled up with her legs beside her and gazed into the fire. She was already drifting in a warm, dreamlike trance when Marc rejoined her a few minutes later.
‘How did you go with the fuse?’ she asked. ‘Is it fixed?’
He shook his head.
‘No luck, I’m afraid. There must be a wire down somewhere. Would you like a glass of port before we go to bed?’
‘Mmm, please.’
Marc put two more logs on the fire and poured the drinks.
‘Move your legs,’ he ordered companionably, and sat beside her.
I wish it could be like this always, thought Jane with a bittersweet twinge of regret. It would be so lovely to be married to Marc and sit together at night in front of the fire with a glass of wine and perhaps some soft, romantic music.
As if he had read her thoughts, Marc rose to his feet, went across to the cassette deck and put in a tape of one of Jane’s favourite musicals. Once the nostalgic notes rippled into the air, Jane sank lower in her seat, closed her eyes and felt a pang of longing go through her. I love you, she thought silently. I love you, Marc. To the end of my life I’ll never forget this moment. She felt as if she had never been more vigorously, achingly alive than now, when all her senses tingled with a heightened consciousness. The voices of the singers soared above her, male and female gloriously intertwined; the heat from the fire radiated fiercely on her skin, and the light flared orange through her closed eyelids. She took a deep, slow sip of the port, letting its sweet, sticky potency linger on her tongue, and then swallowed. I wish this moment could last forever, she thought.
Marc was sitting so close that she could smell the spicy scent of his aftershave, feel the way his thigh muscles tensed and hardened when he moved, hear the quiet, deep rhythm of his breathing. Knowing she was being foolish, but powerless to resist, she let her head droop for a moment so that it brushed his shoulder. At once he leaned down and nuzzled her hair, inhaling its fragrance. His left arm came around her shoulders and with a deliberate, unhurried movement he plucked the port glass from her fingers. Jane’s eyes flew open. She saw that he had set both glasses on the table and was gazing down at her with an expression that made her heart begin to thud in a frantic, uneven rhythm. The intense, hungry look of need in his face left her in no doubt of what he was about to do as he bent towards her.
‘Don’t!’ she begged in a tormented voice, turning her head aside so that his kiss met her cheek instead of her lips.
‘Why not?’ he asked lazily, taking her chin in his hand and turning her back to face him. This time his mouth brushed hers in a provocative, fleeting caress that left her quivering and unsatisfied. ‘It’s what we both want.’
‘No,’ she gasped. ‘N-no…It isn’t…I—’
Abruptly his mood seemed to change. Gone was the casual mockery and in its place came an unfamiliar, stormy intensity. With a sudden, swift movement he fell on his knees before her and cupped her face in his hands. His eyes seemed to blaze like molten fire and a muscle in his cheek twitched sharply.
‘Tell me you don’t want me and I’ll go upstairs this moment and never touch you again,’ he said in a harsh, urgent voice. ‘But for the love of heaven, let me have the truth, Jane! I’ve wanted you from the moment I first saw you. You’re like a fire in my blood, some kind of madness that grips me and won’t let me go. And it’s the same for you, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Answer me, woman!’
Jane opened her mouth to protest, to lie, to make some excuse that would keep her safe from the dangerous tide of longing that was engulfing her. He didn’t say he loved me, she told herself, only that he wanted me. And he might still be planning to marry Simone…He might…This might only be…a game…a trick…a…
‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘Tell me! Do you want me or not?’
His face was thrust close to hers, so close that she could see the glittering light in his eyes, the twist at the corner of his mouth, could hear the rapid, uneven sound of his breathing. The thought crossed her mind that once she had wondered what it would be like to see Marc Le Rossignol blaze out of control. Well, now she knew. And the smouldering intensity of his gaze demanded nothing less than the truth. Jane caught her breath and shuddered.
‘Yes,’ she gasped.
A triumphant flame blazed in Marc’s eyes and he engulfed her in a hug so fierce that she thought her bones would crack. Then his mouth came down on hers in a long, thrilling kiss that was no longer fleeting, but deep and urgent and wildly arousing. Jane was breathless when at last he released her. His hands gripped her shoulders and he scanned her face as if he was learning every feature by heart.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Beautiful, wild and passionate. And I’m going to make you mine.’
With a slow, sensual arrogance, as if he was taking possession of her, Marc began to unbutton the silk bodice of her suit. His eyes never left hers for a moment and they were dark, heated, infinitely demanding.
Jane felt as if she were a slave girl being inspected by her new master. Yet, instead of feeling outraged, she found the sensation violently arousing. The truth was that she wanted Marc to take her, dominate her, possess her utterly and claim her as his woman. Waves of moist, pulsating heat throbbed through her as he drew off the silk jacket and flung it indifferently aside. Her bra was a mere wisp of coffee-coloured lace and soon met the same fate. The moment her pink-tipped breasts came into view she felt a wash of colour flood into her cheeks. This far she had travelled already, but not often enough to be calm about it. And beyond this was uncharted territory. Would Marc guess her true inexperience? Even if he didn’t, wasn’t it crazy to let this happen when she was so unsure of his feelings for her? Crazy or not, I love him! she thought defiantly. He’s the only man I’ve ever loved and I’m willing to take the risk.
Marc flashed her an exultant smile and she smiled back at him, trying to match his recklessness with her own. When he bent his head to her breast and drew her tender, tingling nipple into his mouth she arched her back wantonly, offering herself to him as if she were as expert as himself. But the unfamiliar, tugging caress of his lips sent thrills of excitement through her so intense that she could no longer contain herself. She began to writhe and whimper under his touch and her fingers clutched convulsively at his hair as if she would press him even closer to her.
He was in no hurry, but subjected her other breast to the same delightful torment. By the time he sat back on his heels and looked at her, his eyes dark a
nd strange with desire, she felt as if her whole body were on fire with aching, throbbing need. His deft fingers unzipped her skirt and dropped it to the floor. Then he peeled off her tights and undies and tossed them aside. For the first time in her life Jane had the unsettling experience of being totally naked in front of a man. Her colour came and went, her lips parted and she had to suppress an urge to cross her hands in panic over the silky blonde triangle at the fork of her body.
‘Don’t be shy,’ Marc ordered, running his hand down over her breast and belly and then touching her in the most intimate place of all. ‘Relax. You have a beautiful body; you should glory in it. Ah, that’s better. Yes, yes. And I can give you greater pleasure than that, chérie. Just let me part your legs, so…’
She could not believe what he did next. Of course she had read about things like that in women’s magazines—furtively, in doctors’ offices, turning back to the decorating page when anybody looked at her—but actually to experience it…Magazines didn’t tell you what it felt like to have the man you loved excite you in such an intimate way. Thrill after thrill tingled through her and she began to moan and gasp with incredulous arousal. Unable to believe the sensations that were mounting inside her, she suddenly felt her whole body arch backwards in a stunning climax of satisfied need.
‘O-o-o-h!’ she gasped, and then slumped forward, shuddering and barely able to breathe.
As she dragged herself into a sitting position Marc pulled her against him, nuzzling her hair and shoulders and letting his hands stray over her body in a slow, caressing rhythm.
‘I knew you’d be a passionate, sensual woman,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘There’s some secret wildness that hovers in your eyes like smoke.’
Is there? thought Jane uncertainly. I wish I had more idea of what to do with it, then. If only I could arouse Marc the way he arouses me! I’m so afraid that I’ll be a disappointment to him, but if I don’t try it soon, I’ll lose my nerve. Anyway, it feels strange to have him fully dressed when I’m totally naked. Unable to look him in the face so soon after what he had just done, she turned her head and whispered in his ear.
Unwelcome Invader (Harlequin Treasury 1990's) Page 9