Unwelcome Invader (Harlequin Treasury 1990's)

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Unwelcome Invader (Harlequin Treasury 1990's) Page 10

by Angela Devine


  ‘Why don’t you get undressed too? You’re making me feel lonely.’

  He gave a soft growl of laughter, deep in the back of his throat.

  ‘All right, my little siren,’ he murmured. ‘I can’t refuse you anything when you ask me in that hoarse, sultry voice. And I certainly don’t want you feeling lonely at a moment like this.’

  With the grace of a jungle cat he rose to his feet and began to peel off his clothes. Not until that moment had Jane realised just what a magnificent body Marc had. There was not an ounce of spare flesh on him. From his broad shoulders to his narrow hips and powerful legs he was all hard, virile muscle. In the orange glow of the flickering fire Jane thought she had never seen anything so superb as this naked, fully aroused male. Yet what moved her most of all was the way he looked at her.

  His eyelids were half closed and his smouldering brown eyes scanned her body with a feverish intensity that terrified and elated her. There was lust in that look, a shameless animal hunger that offered no apologies, but beneath Marc’s raw, urgent need she thought she glimpsed something else. A momentary spark of tenderness that transfigured his passion into something glorious. He cares about me, she thought wonderingly, he really cares about me…At least I think he does. Her breath caught in her throat at the realisation and a feeling of wild elation and recklessness overwhelmed her. When he stretched out his hand in a sudden, urgent gesture of command, she rose to her feet and glided into his arms like a sleepwalker.

  The touch of his warm, muscular body came as a complete shock to her. It felt unfamiliar but wonderful to be hauled against his nakedness, to feel that rough, wiry hair, that heated masculine hardness strained against her. He was so big, so powerful, so demanding that she felt gloriously, intoxicatingly feminine in his embrace. When he buried his face in her neck and nibbled her ear she shuddered with pleasure. That instinctive wriggle of her hips brought a harsh groan from Marc’s throat. Closing his eyes, he cupped her soft buttocks in his hands and thrust himself hard against her.

  ‘You drive me wild,’ he gasped. ‘I’ve never wanted a woman as I want you. And I’m going to take you until you beg for mercy.’

  Just how it happened she didn’t know but, a moment later, Jane found herself flat on her back with Marc’s weight crushing her satisfyingly into the ticklish sheepskin rug. She thought she would die of pleasure as he braced himself on his elbows and began to explore her body with his tongue. Those nibbling, licking, tantalising kisses were too exquisite and tormenting to be borne and at last, with a groan of protest, she caught her fingers roughly in his hair and drew his head up to hers. He looked at her with a mocking question in his eyes and she kissed him full and fiercely on his open mouth.

  Marc had no need of any second invitation. He gave a low growl of triumph deep in the back of his throat, parted her legs with his hand and then drove in. There was a momentary sharp pain of something resisting and tearing that made Jane cry out, then instinct took over. Her body became soft, slick, yielding, welcoming him in as if he had been her lover for years. The rhythmic force of his thrusts had no further power to alarm her and she abandoned herself to a heady, intoxicating surrender.

  The room seemed to swirl around her; her eyes closed and she was only dimly aware of the fire’s heat, the prickly rug, the drumming of the rain on the roof. All her senses seemed to be focused on the unfamiliar but addictive thrill of what was happening to her. She wound her arms around Marc’s neck and clung to him, revelling in the way his hard, masculine strength was driving deep inside her, feeling an anguished delight at the knowledge that the man she loved was taking her for the very first time. It was so special, so momentous that tears sprang to her eyes and she felt a breathless mingling of joy and nostalgia. I wish he knew. I wish I could tell him. I wish it could be as special for him as it is for me, she thought. Then all her feelings suddenly spiralled crazily out of control as an unfamiliar sensation began to build and build inside her like the massing of a tidal wave.

  ‘Marc, I——’ she began. And then stopped as the

  wave suddenly broke, plunging her into a maelstrom of pleasure that made her shudder and cling to him and gasp his name. ‘Oh, Marc! Oh, Marc! I love you!’

  His breathing quickened, his hold tightened on her; she could feel the frantic thudding of his heart. Then with one final, groaning thrust he too reached his climax and collapsed against her. For a long time there was no sound but their laboured breathing and the hiss and crackle of the log fire with the howling wind and rain as a distant counterpoint.

  Marc was still lying on top of Jane, his fingers tangled in her hair, his rough cheek pressed against her smooth one, but she did not complain. In fact, she gloried in the warm, hard mass of his body that was crushing her and making her ache. Would she ever again hold him like this, ever experience such an intimate union once more? Absurdly her eyes began to prickle with tears at the thought and she blinked twice and swallowed, hoping Marc would not notice. A vain hope.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked in an appalled voice, raising himself on one elbow and touching one of the drops that was sliding down her cheek. ‘You’re not crying, are you?’

  ‘N-no,’ she choked.

  ‘Jane! What happened? Did I hurt you?’

  ‘No!’ she flared. ‘Stop interrogating me! I’m fine.’

  ‘Look,’ he began, levering himself off her. ‘If there’s something wrong, you must——’

  As he moved he made a discovery. Jane stared back at him in consternation as his eyes slowly rose to meet hers. His face wore a look of mingled pride and exasperation.

  ‘This was your first time, wasn’t it?’ he asked softly.

  She nodded, biting her lip, unable to speak. To her surprise, he bunched her hair on either side of her face and looked down at her searchingly.

  ‘Chérie,’ he murmured. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? The first time is so special. I am honoured that you chose me to be the man.’

  She had expected him to be hostile, defensive, afraid of being trapped into a commitment he didn’t want. His scorn would have been easy to bear—it would have goaded her back into fighting mode, restored her to her tough, aggressive self. But his kindness was more than she could bear. To her horror the tears began to gather faster than ever, blurring her eyes and running down her cheeks.

  ‘I wish you didn’t have to go back to France!’ she blurted out. Then she covered her face with her arm to hide her stupid, maudlin self-pity.

  The hand that drew aside her arm was quite ruthless. Marc’s brown eyes gazed down at her with an inscrutable, appraising expression. She glared back at him, hating him for being so aloof, so cool, so untouched by the emotions that were raging through her like a forest fire. Yet his next words took her completely by surprise.

  ‘So,’ he said at last. ‘If you don’t want to be parted from me, then why don’t you come to France too?’

  CHAPTER SIX

  A PAINFUL hope began to flutter deep in Jane’s breast. Did this mean that Marc shared her feelings? Could he have fallen in love with her just as she had with him?

  ‘Do you mean…that you love me too?’ she asked, her eyes kindling.

  Marc’s features, which had been first indulgent and then calmly appraising, underwent another transformation. His eyes narrowed, his mouth tensed, his expression grew hard and mocking.

  ‘I didn’t say that, sweetheart,’ he replied caustically. ‘I just think it would be a pity if our little affair were to stop when it has barely begun.’

  His cruelty cut her to the quick, but at least she no longer felt like crying. Instead she wanted to punch him in the nose. Dashing away the tears, she sat up and wrapped herself into a tight, protective ball with her arms around her knees. How could she have been such a fool as to expose herself to ridicule like that? Her warm, tremulous yearning was suddenly replaced by blazing antagonism. A dangerous expression crossed her face.

  ‘Why would it be a pity?’ she asked aggressively.

 
; He shrugged.

  ‘Well, sex improves after the first time.’

  ‘Are you telling me I wasn’t any good?’ she demanded.

  ‘On the contrary, I think you were stupendous. For a beginner.’

  ‘You patronising swine!’

  The violence of Jane’s emotions astonished her. She hated Marc, she wanted to hit out at him for humiliating her so unbearably. Only moments before she had thought he was sensitive, tender, loving. Now his mood seemed to have changed completely and he seemed bent on transforming an experience of almost mystic beauty into something sordid and ugly. Why? Why was he being so hateful? Were all men like this once they had taken what they wanted?

  ‘There’s no need to be crude,’ he chided.

  ‘Go to hell! I wouldn’t cross the road with you, much less go to France.’

  ‘A pity. We could have a wonderful time together. I could take you to Paris—we could eat dinner in a restaurant overlooking the Seine, visit Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower, go to some great nightclubs. Then we could drive down through the countryside to Bordeaux. France is very beautiful at this time of the year and we could stop at some of the best vineyards and caves on the way.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ retorted Jane with heavy sarcasm. ‘And after that?’

  ‘Who knows?’ asked Marc, his eyes looking opaque and fathomless. ‘There’s no point in trying to erect fences around love, or in tying it down to contracts and regulations. That only spoils the magic.’

  Jane was silent, biting her lip and trying to come to terms with her own anguish. It was all very well for Marc to talk about ‘love’, but it was perfectly clear that what he actually meant was sex. Their love-making had left her feeling exalted and transfigured, but after his first brief hint of tenderness Marc now looked like a hunted man on the run. Ready enough for a ‘no strings’ passion, but deeply uneasy at the thought of being trapped. Obviously he was worried to death that she might want something more serious from him—like a wedding and a lifetime commitment.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to ask you to marry me!’ she said scathingly. ‘I know you wouldn’t have the courage.’

  His mouth tightened at that, then his eyes glittered challengingly.

  ‘Just as you wouldn’t have the courage to have a love affair with me,’ he retorted. ‘I thought you had spirit, but it seems I was wrong.’

  ‘It’s not a lack of spirit,’ flared Jane. ‘I just have a healthy measure of self-respect and I don’t want to be used by you as if I’m a female on heat and you’re my lord and master.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ taunted Marc. ‘I thought that was exactly what you wanted.’

  He caught her by the hair and hauled her against him. For an instant she flailed wildly, hissing defiance, then her own treacherous hormones made her succumb. His looming, masculine presence was so arousing that when his arms tightened like steel around her and his tongue thrust urgently between her lips she only gave a faint whimper before surrendering completely.

  It was hard to believe that they could both catch fire with such intensity so soon after their previous lovemaking, but within moments their passion was raging out of control as if it fed on the very anger which had ignited it. Yet what had begun so violently soon became tender, exquisite, a complete fusion of body and soul. This time Jane felt only a minor discomfort as Marc slipped inside her and the rhythm of his lovemaking brought her higher and higher to some invisible peak until she soared in ecstasy again.

  She had thought she hated him, but she lay beside him, clutching him as if she could never bear to let him go. At last he raised himself on one elbow, trailed his forefinger down between her breasts and looked at her with an odd, bitter smile.

  ‘I’m sorry for what I said to you before,’ he announced abruptly. ‘You wake the strangest emotions in me, Jane—some of them extremely destructive. But I do want you to come to France with me. Will you?’

  Jane stared at him in bewilderment. As an apology it was totally unsatisfactory, because it explained nothing. Marc didn’t even sound particularly sorry. He sounded angry and resentful about the feelings she aroused in him, whatever they were. She would be a fool to accept such an ungracious, cryptic invitation and yet…I can’t bear to let him go, she thought. I know it’s madness, but at least he’ll be mine for a few more months. Or weeks. Or days. Until he tires of me.

  ‘Will you?’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes,’ she said resentfully.

  A week later Jane stood outside the front door of Saddler’s Corner, giving Brett a key and a final list of instructions.

  ‘Charlie will take care of the winery and the vineyard,’ she said. ‘But if you could just keep an eye on the house and watch out for vandals I’d be grateful.’

  ‘No worries,’ agreed Brett. ‘You’ve left phone numbers where I can contact you, haven’t you?’

  ‘It’s all written down on the itinerary.’

  ‘When do you reckon you’ll be back?’

  A fleeting array of emotions crossed Jane’s face. Hope, despair, confusion.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted.

  ‘It must be serious, then,’ said Brett. ‘I never would have thought it of that Frenchie, but good luck to you, mate. It all turned out for the best really, didn’t it? You and Marc, me and Karen. Things are looking pretty serious for us too, just quietly.’

  ‘I’m so pleased!’ exclaimed Jane sincerely, standing on her toes to peck Brett on the cheek. ‘She’s a lovely girl. I hope I’ll see you married one of these days.’

  ‘Yeah, likewise,’ beamed Brett.

  Jane gritted her teeth so hard that they hurt in order not to reveal any of her true feelings on the subject of marriage. Marc had made it abundantly clear that marriage wasn’t what he had in mind, but she knew Brett’s loyalty and decency well enough not to want an outright fight between the two men. After all, she had made her choice and would have to live with the consequences of it. In spite of the pain it caused her, she had decided that she wanted Marc Le Rossignol at any cost, even if that meant denying her longing for a husband and family of her own. What was more, she intended to enjoy the relationship as long as it lasted, even though she had to admit to herself that there was a defiant, feverish tone to her enjoyment. Even if Marc dropped her once this trip was over, she meant to make the most of every precious moment that remained.

  Oddly enough, she succeeded—at least for a while. They travelled via America and she spent an unforgettable evening at a Hawaiian luau, eating vast quantities of barbecued pig and tropical fruit before learning to dance the hula on a moonlit, palm-fringed beach with Marc laughing and toasting her efforts. Then there was a magical weekend in New York with a suite overlooking the lights of Manhattan. And after that Paris, a city made for lovers. Jane cherished each day as if it were a jewel that could never be robbed from her once she had taken possession of it.

  Her frenzied gaiety sustained her all the way until they reached Bordeaux. As they drove through the beautiful country of the Gironde estuary her spirits plummeted abruptly. It was no use! While they were jetsetting from continent to continent it had been easy enough for Jane to pretend that she was pleasure-seeking and sophisticated, but seeing this place brought her down to earth with a jolt. This was real! Marc had spent most of his youth and manhood here, his family and friends were here and she realised now that she wanted desperately to be accepted by them, to become a part of their lives.

  How had she ever convinced herself that she could stay light-hearted and smiling when the time came for them to part? She didn’t want to part from Marc! She wanted to belong with him, now and forever. What a hollow mockery this trip was turning out to be! And how differently she would have felt about it if it had been genuine. If only he were bringing her home proudly to meet his family and friends before announcing their forthcoming wedding, how thrilled she would feel. Instead she felt with each passing kilometre that she was an intruder who didn’t belong here.

  A small, stark smile
touched her lips as she looked out at the honey-coloured buildings with their tiled roofs and green shutters, the countryside so neat and orderly with its profusion of trees and rows of vines, its geraniums spilling from windowsills. When they stopped for lunch at a small restaurant attached to one of the caves, Jane was silent and preoccupied, although she was storing away every detail in her memory so that she could draw it all out later and reflect upon it—the sound of birdsong in the trees, the distant roar of motorcycles on the road, the echo of the proprietor’s footsteps as he led them down the cool, winding staircase to the underground cellar where they sampled some of the wines. Then there was the courtyard itself, with water splashing into an ancient stone basin from a lion-headed fountain and Marc smiling at her across a table laden with chicken-liver pâté and crusty bread and quiche and salad, while all the time her misery was building and building until it threatened to choke her.

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ commented Marc as they got back into the car to continue their journey. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Are you sure your parents won’t mind my just arriving like this?’ she burst out.

  He shrugged.

  ‘I told them you were coming. Why should they mind?’

  ‘Because it’s a long way from Australia to France,’ she said unsteadily. ‘It’s not the sort of trip you make just to have a cup of coffee. Won’t they think——?’

  She broke off, but the words hovered, bitter and unspoken, inside her head. Won’t they think there’s something serious going on between us? Surely Marc’s parents were entitled to think such a thing when he had brought Jane such a great distance to stay with them? Surely she was entitled to think it herself? She tossed her head restlessly, sending her mane of tumbling curly hair swirling around her shoulders, as if she could shake off her thoughts. Marc simply glanced at her quizzically, content to let her flounder without offering any help. At last she was driven to ask him a question outright.

 

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