He did not meet her eyes, but instead looked down at the hand he held, his thumb absently caressing its palm. The music soared to an exquisite crescendo of sound. Sensuality, sharp and sweet, stabbed through her as she stared at his dark, downbent head. There was a stillness between them that seemed to be waiting only for the right word or gesture to break it. All her senses urged her to reach out and touch him. But something held her back from doing so.
'Briony,' his voice throbbed strangely and at his next words she tingled the length of her spine, 'I can't deny that I also find you very attractive—physically. There have been moments when I've believed you felt the same way?'
She wanted to respond to him, but some instinct of self-preservation kept her silent.
'No, dammit!' His head jerked up and he stared into widened blue eyes. 'If I'm being honest, let me be totally honest.' There was a moment of charged intensity, then Teale said forcefully, 'I want you, Briony. The moment I clapped eyes on you that first day in the shop I felt it. It was there, all mixed up with the anger, the contempt. It made me even angrier that I should be attracted to you—to Matthew's mistress, as I thought you were then. Then, when I found out you weren't… Since then, I've fought against it. I even stopped seeing you at one point, because I didn't want to get involved. But when I wasn't with you I found myself thinking about you. I told you today something was coming between me and my writing. I pretended I didn't know what it was. But I can't pretend any more, not even to myself. It's you, Briony. I stare at a blank sheet of paper and find myself seeing you. I try to write lines of dialogue and instead I find myself talking to you, telling you… wondering if… Briony, if I'm not to remain in that state for ever what I need to know is, do you want me?'
'Teale,' she began, 'I…'
'No, let me finish. I think I've told you enough about myself for you to realise I'm essentially a loner? Experience has proved that. There's no way I can commit myself to any permanent relationship.'
'Yes, I know.' Briony's voice was muffled. She felt suddenly choked by tears, for she knew what was coming.
'As I said, I've thought sometimes that you weren't altogether indifferent to me? Do you care enough for me to accept the little I can offer? Or was I mistaken? Don't you care for me at all?' He looked searchingly at her flushed face and unconsciously quivering lips, and it was Briony's turn to lower her eyes.
Her thoughts raced desperately. She loved him, more than she'd ever loved anyone else in the whole of her life. She wanted him, too. But there was more to it than that: she needed him far more than he could possibly need her, for she also needed the sustaining warmth of permanent love.
'Briony?'
She thought he was pressing her for her answer, and she looked up at the precise moment that he reached for her and pulled her almost roughly into his arms.
'Perhaps you need help making up your mind,' he murmured huskily. 'Let me show you how it is with me.' His kiss was sensuous, searching, reinforcing his claim that he needed her.
If it occurred to Briony to resist, the instinct lasted only a brief second. She had waited so long for this moment and her mouth was sweet and softly parted beneath his.
His fingers plunged into the thickness of her red curls, moved sensuously in, around and behind her ears. As the kiss continued, he captured one of her hands and pressed it against his chest, then undid the buttons of his shirt.
'Touch me, Briony,' he muttered. 'For God's sake, touch me.'
His skin was hair-roughened, warm and slightly moist, and as she explored the muscled contours she could feel the increased rhythm of his heartbeat. She felt desire grow and expand within her. The demand of her mouth became as active as his own.
He slipped his hand beneath the thick sweater she wore and released the fastening of her bra. He pulled her across his lap, making her wholly aware of his arousal, and she felt the tender torture of his lips at her breasts, mouthing their swollen fullness with caressing appreciation, tightening over their hardening nipples with disturbing effect so that she gasped his name in an agony of pleasure.
Her arms about Teale's neck, she strained closer to him, shudder after shudder running through her awakened body and, in acknowledgement of her response, she felt the unsteady rise and fall of his chest. Caressingly, his hands slid the length of her, curved about her buttocks, stroked and kneaded. Slow, selective caresses set her pulses leaping, and a fierce, warm throb of sensation akin to pain flowed through her. She ached for complete fulfilment.
'Briony,' he muttered the words into the softness of her neck, 'come upstairs with me—now.' His caress had an increasing urgency, and at his words she trembled convulsively. Every bodily instinct urged her to agree to give him what he wanted, to take what she so sorely needed. It would be so easy to comply, to assuage the needs of their bodies. And, surely, once they had made love he would find he cared for her…
But Briony knew she was only deluding herself. He'd been brutally honest; for him, this wasn't love, merely a brief, sensual pleasure. For her, it could only mean future heartache. Mere physical fulfilment would leave her emotionally empty.
'No, Teale.' Despite his attempts to restrain her, she found the strength to struggle free of him, and stood up. 'I'm sorry, but I don't want it to be this way.' With trembling fingers, she straightened out her clothing.
'You want me,' he protested throatily. 'I know you do. You can't deny it.'
For long seconds, grey eyes battled with blue. She was the first to look away.
'No, I can't deny it. It would be hypocritical to try,' she said quietly. 'Like you, I'm only human. But unlike you, I wouldn't find a casual relationship acceptable, or satisfying.'
'Briony,' he groaned her name. He stood up, and for a moment she thought he was going to try and take her in his arms again, that he would try to persuade her otherwise. 'I thought we understood each other. We've discussed this so often. Art is a jealous mistress, any form of art, whether it be composing, painting, writing, whatever. I thought we were two of a kind, that we both wanted to be free to lead our own lives, free from entanglements. But that…'
'But that we'd be able to hop in and out of bed from time to time, whenever the urge took us,' she finished his sentence for him, her tone bitter.
Unbelievably, he grinned. 'I wouldn't have put it quite like that. But, yes. Oh, come on, Briony.' And now he did move towards her, but she retreated, putting the long sofa between them.
'No, Teale. You've been frank with me. Now I'm going to be perfectly frank with you. I wanted you just then. I've admitted it. I still want you and,' low-voiced, 'it hurts.' She saw him swallow and he moved restlessly.
'Briony…'
'No. Hear me out.' She faced him squarely, though it cost her an effort to do so. 'If I let you make love to me, exactly what you don't want would happen. I'd fall in love with you. That's the way I'm made. I honestly believe most women are made that way. I'd want to be with you all the time, to belong to you, to bear your children.' Her voice was husky with feeling and she knew her eyes were overbright with unshed tears. 'And I'd want the same commitment from you.'
He didn't answer her immediately. His dark, lean face was drawn into hard, expressionless planes, and she thought that she had angered him.
'I'd better go,' she said unhappily. She moved towards the door.
'No, wait.' All the tension seemed to have drained out of him, and he spoke wearily. 'I understand. No,' he contradicted himself. 'I don't understand. I don't think I'll ever understand women, but I accept that you mean what you say. I suppose I was hoping that being an artist would make you different.'
'In what way?' she puzzled, not sure if she should take offence. 'Because you think artists are more inclined to promiscuity? Anyway,' sarcastically, 'I thought you had strong views on that subject?'
'No,' he said harshly, 'I don't think artists are less moral than anyone else. Not even my worst enemy could accuse me of such a sweeping generalisation. And I don't believe what I'm suggesting
is promiscuity. It would be a one-to-one relationship, as binding in its way as marriage. Even though we wouldn't be living under the same roof, there wouldn't be anyone else for me, if I had you. I'd expect it to be that way, too, for you. No, it's a question of realities. I thought you'd see them more clearly.'
'I'm afraid you'll have to explain.' Briony knew she should leave. Her heart was aching unbearably and there was a painful emptiness within her. She wanted to be alone to cry out her misery. But she also wanted desperately to understand this man. As though by understanding she could alter him, she mocked herself.
'Matthew paints red skies, all the time. Right?'
'Right,' she agreed dully, still not seeing the point of his argument.
'I'm trying to make an analogy with painting. We know skies aren't red, except for natural phenomena such as sunsets and so on. But Matthew lives in a world of his own, he doesn't acknowledge reality. That's always been one of his problems. So he paints his skies red, regardless. For him, skies are red.'
Briony nodded, following him thus far.
'You're different. You could colour a sky red simply because you know it's blue.'
She nodded again, though her attention was more for him than for his words, for the things about him that she loved.
'I'm not an artist,' Teale persevered. 'I colour things the way they really are. And I know that what you see, when you think of marriage to me, you see through rose-coloured spectacles. That's not the reality. You and I, we can never colour our skies red. The reality would be a grey hell.' Bitterly, 'Ask Charlene.'
That was the last straw.
'I don't want to ask Charlene!' No longer able to contain her feelings, Briony exploded suddenly, 'I'm not Charlene, I'm me! I'm different. How dare you lump me with her? How dare you tell me that I couldn't make marriage work? Because that is what you're telling me.' She knew her voice was shaking, knew to her shame that the tears so long held back were spilling over.
'Briony! Briony! Please don't cry. Oh, God! Look, love, I didn't mean to upset you.' He moved swiftly towards her and put his hands on her shoulders, but she resisted his efforts to pull her any closer. If he once did that, she might break down altogether. 'Of course I'm not saying marriage wouldn't work for you. I'm sure you'd make someone a splendid wife. Seeing you with Scott these past weeks tells me you'd also be a good mother. What I'm saying is, it wouldn't work for me. And you deserve something better.'
'And you think something better is an affair!' she choked.
'No! No!' He sighed exasperatedly. 'I can see now I was wrong to think that, wrong to suggest it. Oh, look, love, can't we forget this ever happened? I don't want to lose your friendship.' He looked anxiously into her face. 'Briony?'
'I don't know,' she said wearily. 'Things can't be unsaid, however much you might wish it. Things can never really be the same as they were before. Let me go, Teale.'
'Not yet. Not until you tell me…'
'Oh, don't be so damned selfish, Teale!' Anger at last came to her rescue, and she beat small, ineffectual fists against his chest. 'You want everything your way. You don't want love. You don't want a permanent relation-ship. But you still want me to go on coming here, no matter how much it hurts me.'
'Damn it!' He gave her an angry shake. 'Do you think I'm incapable of feeling hurt?'
'All that's hurting you is your pride—because I've turned you down.'
'Is that all you think it is?' His jaw tightened. 'I'll show you what hurt is.' There was passion and ruthlessness now in his dark face. 'Hurt is wanting what you can't have.' One of his arms ensnared her waist, while his free hand tangled itself in her hair, holding her head so that she could not evade his seeking lips, his kiss blazing into a consuming demand.
At the hardened thrust of his thighs against hers, Briony felt a quiver run over her and was furious with herself for reacting. But, as she parted her lips to protest, his probing tongue invaded them, his anger transformed into deep, driving hunger. Though she struggled, making little sounds of protest in her throat, he did not slacken the relentless onslaught on her mouth.
Gradually, Briony felt her will being sapped. Despite herself, her body curved against him, trying to achieve the maximum closeness. Her hands crept inside his shirt, traced the hard lines of his body, explored the roughness of hair that made a V down over the flat, muscular stomach.
He pulled her down on to the sofa, his hand brushing her skirt back over her thighs. The sudden movement made her breath catch in her throat as his hand moved upward, shaping her slowly, unhurriedly, sensuously, with an expertise that left her totally without resistance, until she was oblivious to everything but the wild desire she felt for him, the helpless agony of wanting. She longed for him to take her. She knew that if he swept her up in his arms now and carried her upstairs she would go unresistingly.
As he held her a little away from him, she looked into his eyes, hers all too revealing. She was dazed, flushed, mindless, trembling.
'Teale,' she murmured. 'Oh, Teale,' her breath sobbed in her throat.
'Briony?' he questioned her.
A storm of passion shook her, the thunderous call of her senses deafening her to everything else. Oblivious to right and wrong, to future heartache, she knew only that she loved him.
'Yes! I want you, Teale! Oh, love me!' she gasped. 'Please, please, love me!'
She was utterly devastated when he put her away from him and stood up.
'No, Briony!' His breathing was ragged, but his voice was harsh, determined.
'Why? Oh, Teale, why?' She held out an imploring hand but he turned his back on her and spoke into the glowing fire.
'You've already told me why. I'm not particularly proud of my behaviour just now. But I do have enough self-control to stop before things go too far.' The colour drained from Briony's face, making her eyes seem larger, a darker shade of blue. She had been the one lacking in self-control. 'I won't make love to you, Briony,' Teale went on, 'unless you can tell me—in cold blood—that it's what you want. That you're prepared to accept me on my terms. And somehow,' he said it heavily, 'I don't think you'll ever do that.'
He was right, of course. Though her body still ached and yearned for his, sanity now prevailed.
'I think it would be best,' she said, low-voiced, 'if we didn't see each other any more. I shan't come here again. Oh,' as he turned as if to protest, 'I'll finish the painting—if you still want it. I've done enough preparatory work now to be able to complete it in the studio.'
'Briony—' he began, but she held up a slender hand that trembled slightly.
'No, don't say any more. I think we've said all there is to say. Goodbye, Teale. I hope…' She had to pause to regain control of her voice, which had a tendency to crack under stress. 'I hope things work out well for you and little Scott.'
'I'll run you home.'
'No, please. If you'll just phone for a taxi…'
'Don't talk nonsense.' His tone was brusque. 'By the time you've waited for a taxi to come out from Gwinvercombe, I can have you home.'
Several times on the journey she had to brush a surreptitious hand across brimming eyes. She had been given just a brief view of the paradise she yearned for, and it made it all that much harder to accept that it could never be hers. But, for her, paradise signified perfection, and Teale's offer to her was flawed.
As the Rolls drew up outside the Blue Unicorn, Briony was ready, her seat-belt unfastened, to slide out of the car and make a swift getaway. But Teale's hard hand on her upper arm detained her. For a moment he did not speak, and her heart thudded violently against her ribcage. But she refused to hope. Just as well, she thought afterwards.
'I'm sorry, Briony. Sorry, I mean, that things turned out this way. I'd no idea you felt so strongly.' He hesitated, and Briony's nerves screamed for him to release her so that she could get away and seek the privacy she needed. She was still close to tears, tears she would not shed in front of him. 'I don't know how to put this without sounding presumptuo
us or conceited…'
'Then don't say anything,' she told him in low, urgent tones.
'But I must. Believe me, I never meant to hurt you, Briony. I thought we understood each other. But…' again he was hesitant, 'but it seems your feelings for me go deeper than…'
'Heavens!' She knew she sounded shrill and brittle, but at all costs she had to preserve some fragments of her shattered pride. 'Is that the impression I gave you?'
'Briony,' he interrupted her harshly, 'don't demean your feelings by denying them. You've no reason to feel ashamed of them. I'm the one to blame. I should have stayed away from you as soon as I realised… I should feel…'
'I don't think there's any point in holding a postmortem.' In her turn, Briony interrupted. She succeeded in freeing herself as, momentarily, his grasp slackened. Then, lightly, she said, 'Don't lose any sleep over it, Teale. I certainly shan't,' she added mendaciously. 'I've survived worse things than this. Goodbye!'
He made no further protest, and from inside the darkened shop she watched his departure. It seemed a long time before the Rolls finally glided away. The sight of it moving out of sight seemed to release the tight control she had kept over herself and, muffling her sobs so as not to disturb Promilla, she made for the sanctuary of her room. Once there, she was able to let the tears flow freely.
'I don't know whether I ought to go away at Christmas and leave you all alone like this.' Promilla looked worried as she surveyed her friend the next morning. 'You look terrible,' she added with more truth than tact.
For all her efforts, Briony had been unable to obliterate the traces of her sleepless, tearful night and, when pressed, she had confided the cause of her unhappiness to her friend.
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