by Penny Jordan
When he eventually hung up he was smiling
contentedly as he walked over to join her.
'You're pleased with your progress so far then?' she asked him as he sat down opposite her and picked up a hook from the coffee table.
'Yes, very.'
Her heart sank. Only now was she prepared to admit to herself that she had hoped that somehow the yacht would not pass muster and he would change his mind about the Fastnet.
The silence wrapped round them as Stephanie worked on her tapestry, and Gray read his book. It should have been a companionable silence, but it wasn't.
Stephanie was acutely conscious of every movement he made; every time he turned a page she looked up; every time the fire crackled and spat she used it as an excuse to study him.
At last she couldn't stand it any longer. Putting aside her work, she got up.
'I'll go and make us some coffee.'
'No, you sit down, I'll do that. You made the supper, it's my turn now,' Gray told her easily, putting down his book and pushing her gently back into her chair.
The moment she felt his fingertips touch her arm, she flinched. She couldn't help it. The shock of him touching her, when she had yearned so much for some contact between them, had her cowering back in her chair petrified that she might betray herself in some way and that he would see how she felt about him.
Immediately, his expression changed, his smile turning to grim surveillance of her tense features. His hands locked round her upper arms, causing her to tense even more.
'What's the matter with you ?' he demanded bitterly. 'I'm not going to hurt you, Steph.'
But he already was, and although he didn't know it, his words were an exact echo of the ones Paul had used to her so often after he had lost his temper with her and was trying to coax her' round.
Immediately, it was as though she were back in the past, and it was Paul who was holding her so tightly, Paul who was looking down at her. Paul …
She gave a small moan of panic, and cried out hoarsely, 'No, no, please don't hurt me . . .'
Immediately his hands dropped away, his fa ce registering his shock. 'Hurt you? For God's sake, Steph, I wouldn't hurt you.'
He sounded so tortured that her fear dropped away, leaving in its place a need to comfort and reassure him.
'No... not you . . .I. . .for a moment, I thought you were Paul.' The husky words seemed to hang on the air while they stared at one another. It seemed to Stephanie that they were seeing each other properly for the first time.
'Paul used to hurt you?' Gray demanded incredulously.
Too late, Stephanie realised the trap she had set for herself. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, her throat dry with nervousness.
'Stephanie?'
'No ... no ... I ...'
Her denial was so obviously a lie that she didn't blame Gray for the hard look that tautened his face.
'You're lying to me,' he gritted. 'I want the truth, and I intend to have it—no matter how long it takes. For ten years you've been acting like a tragedy queen, who's lost everything that made life worth living, and now you tell me ., .'He shook his head and she caught the bleak bafflement in his eyes before he lowered his gaze.
'I always knew that Paul had a wild streak—he could be violent as a child, but I never imagined ...He did hurt you, didn't he?' he demanded thickly. 'And yet despite that you loved him. You all but fell apart when he was drowned.'
'No . .. no, I didn't love him,' Stephanie heard herself whispering, her own shock as great as Gray's, as his eyes mirrored the stunned expression in hers.
'I fell apart because of my guilt. Can't you understand, Gray ? He had already told me how much lie hated being married to me. He wanted to be free.' She moistened her lips again, not seeing the man standing in front of her, her thoughts back in the past. 'When he got angry .. .his tempers...' She shook her head in despair. 'I thought he might have deliberately let himself drown to escape from me.'
She heard Gray make a bitter, derisive sound in his throat and her eyes lifted to his in tragic entreaty.
'Not Paul,' he told her roughly. 'He loved life and himself far too much for that. Don't blame yourself for his accident, Stephanie, you mustn't do that. I know he had a bad temper, and probably said ... unkind things, but he did love you.'
'No.' She marvelled that she could say it so calmly, 'No, Gray, he didn't love me,' she repeated quietly. 'He wanted me, and the only way he could have me was through marriage. I was so naive, I didn't really understand. I thought he did love me, but he soon grew tired of my in experience, of my—' She flushed deeply and forced herself to look directly at him. '—my lack of sexuality.'
She could feel the tension surrounding them and realised that it wasn't coming from her, but from Gray. He was looking at her as though he was on the point of, erupting into blazing anger, and for a second she automatically flinched.
He reached out and touched her arm, keeping his eyes on her face. 'I promise you you have nothing to fear from me, Stephanie. Do you believe that ?'
His voice was deep, and reassuring; she felt as though she could drown in the intensity of his eyes. A flood of relief and warmth swelled up inside her, and she smiled shakily at him.
'Paul used to say that I wasn't really a woman, that sexually I was still a child. I ... I bored him. I . . I didn't like it when we made love. He had someone else, I think, in Southampton. He used to go there a lot.'
Suddenly she wanted to tell him everything; she wanted to unburden herself of the secrets she had kept for so long. But most of all she wanted to look into his face and see there the knowledge that he refuted Paul's accusations; that in Gray's eyes, she was a woman , . . that she was desirable.
That knowledge brought her to an abrupt halt, hot colour flooding her skin, until it burned with painful intensity. Immediately, her lashes dropped, concealing her expression from him, in case he read what she was thinking. What was happening to her? What could she possibly gain from manoeuvring Gray into telling her she was a desirable woman?
If he had desired her she would have known it before now; he would have betrayed it to her without the need for any words.
A feeling of desolation swept over her, making her droop slightly in unconscious defeat.
'And despite all that you went on loving him . . . mourning him.'
She couldn't look at Gray. It was enough to hear the condemnation in his voice.
She shook her head, her voice husky and unsteady.
'No . . .I realised very quickly that what I loved was the idea of being in love. I had been playing at being an adult. Once Paul realised how . . . how disappointing I was in bed he soon destroyed all my illusions. He told me he had only married me because it was the only way he could get me into bed.' She drew a shaky breath. 'I think we'd been married less than a month when I realised what I'd done.'
She heard Gray swear, but she couldn't look at him. She felt too ashamed. This was his cousin she was talking about. He must hate her for saying these things about Paul.
'You knew that, but you stayed with him?' His lingers dug into her arms as he grabbed hold of her and swung her round to the light. 'Why . . . why, Stephanie? Did your parents know what he was doing to you?'
She shook her head, her throat choked with tears. 'I couldn't tell them. Don't you see, Gray?' she cried desperately, reading the grim lack of comprehension in the hard line of his mouth. 'It was my fault.. .mine.. If I'd been better in bed . .. more responsive ... less frigid.' She shuddered as she dragged out the word.
Instantly Gray released her, turning his back towards her, and she sensed that he did not want her to see his expression.
Her whole body went rigid. It was just as she had thought. He was angry with her, he was blaming her for Paul's death.
'Why haven't you ever told me any of this before? Why did you let me think you loved him ... that you mourned him?'
He delivered the questions in rapid succession, in an even, careful to
ne, as though he was frightened of doing something violent.
Her throat went dry. 'I. . .'
Suddenly he spun round, catching her off guard as he grabbed hold of her. His eyes were blazing with emotion, his muscles straining under the control he was exercising over his body.
His anger swamped her fear and sparked off an answering response within her, freeing her from the thrall of her guilt.
Firelight illuminated both their faces as they stood opposite one another—like adversaries, Stephanie thought achingly.
'Because I couldn't. . .I couldn't tell anyone.' She saw his eyes harden, and continued bitterly, 'You can't imagine what it was like. Knowing that I was a failure as a woman . . . knowing that my lack of response frustrated Paul so much that it made him violent. And people wonder why there have been no other men in my life,' she added wildly. 'Well, now you know ...?
'Because you're frightened that another man would hurt you—use violence against you?'
She shook her head despairingly. Had what she just said made so little impact on him!
'No, not that. Paul only hit me because I failed him as a woman. I told you, Gray, there's something wrong with me. I ...She avoided looking at him and swallowed thickly. 'I don't like sex.'
There was a long, tense silence that sawed at her fragile nerves, and eventually she risked looking at him. He was staring into the fire, his face averted from hers.
When at last he spoke, his words caused a shock that thundered through her.
'Have you ever thought that Paul might have been the one at fault? That he might have been responsible for your inability to respond to him? Have you ever tried to find out if any other man affects you in the same way ? Have you never even tried to love someone else, Stephanie?'
The words hit her like blows. She opened her mouth to deny them and then closed it again, her eyes widening as she took in their full, shocking impact.
Of course she loved someone else. She loved him, but how could she tell him that? Gray had enough problems of his own without taking on the burden of hers, and she knew him well enough" to know that he would try to do so.
'I...' She shook her head. 'I ... no ...'
A strange expression crossed his face as she voiced the lie; one she found it impossible to read.
'Paul couldn't have been the one at fault,' she went on quietly. 'I... I know there were other girls, both before and after we were married.'
'I'm sure there were,' Gray conceded grimly. 'But knowing my hot-headed, selfish cousin, if he gave them any more pleasure than he gave you I should be extremely surprised.'
'You're ... you're not angry with me, then?'
She had to ask the question, had to know if he still accepted her.
'Angry ?' He frowned and looked at her as though the meaning of the words was unfamiliar to him.
'Paul was your cousin,' she elucidated. 'You. . . I...'
'For God's sake!' Suddenly he seemed furious. 'And because of that, you expect me to condone what he did to you? I thought you knew me better than that, Stephanie,' he said bitterly. 'I am angry, yes, but not with you. Paul always was a selfish little b ...' He broke off, quite obviously fighting for control. 'It's just as well for his sake that he isn't alive. Because if he was . ..I'm not a violent man, but when I think of what he's done to you ...'
He swore briefly, shocking her, his face contorted with rage and pain.
Slowly, like dawn creeping in on a winter morning, gladness was replacing the fear in her heart. Gray hadn't rejected her! He still cared about her. He was still her friend. She started to tremble, slow tears gathering in her eyes and rolling down her face.
She heard Gray make a muffled sound deep in his throat and then she was in his arms, her face pressed a gainst his neck.
'What is it? What did I say?'
'Nothing. I'm just so happy that you're still my friend.'
She felt his whole body tense as he held her away from him. 'Your friend?''
There was an odd note in his voice, a combination of .... acceptance and almost bitterness. 'Does my friendship mean that much to you then, Stephanie?'
'Every thing,' she assured him truthfully. 'Much, much more than I can ever put into words.'
It was only later that she realised she might as well have been making a declaration of love, but, at the moment the words were uttered, all she was conscious of was the tenderness of Gray's smile and the warmth in his eyes as they stood together in front of the fire.
'How does all this fit in with your phobia about the sea?' he asked her some minutes later.
His question stunned her. She had opened her heart in him and told him so much, but there were still some filings she could not bring herself to voice. Panic flared briefly in her eyes, and she shook her head.
'I... I don't know.'
She suspected he guessed that she was lying, but he didn't press her. It was only later when they were both on their way to bed that he referred to their conversation again. She was walking towards the door when he stopped her, saying softly, 'You know, Steph, there's a school of thought that says there are no frigid women, only inept men. Next time you get an attack of guilt over Paul, I should try thinking about that if were you.'
She smiled shakily at him from the doorway. She had reached the door, but his words stopped her, Before she could stop herself she heard herself saying huskily, 'It's just as well you're in love with Carla, Gray, otherwise I might ...' Appalled by her own stupidity, she broke off in mid-sentence.
'Might what ? Want me to prove that statement with actions and not words?'
Hot colour spread betrayingly over her skin at hi quick grasp of her thoughts.
'Would you like me as your lover, Steph?'
The words seemed to hang on the air, tormenting her. What would he say if she told him? She swallowed hard, and wondered if he knew how weak and shaky she felt. It was her own fault; she should never have uttered what had, after all, been an openly provocative remark.
'I...I...' She was looking everywhere but at him, but even so she was st ill aware of him coming towards her.
'We're just friends, Gray. You love Carla!' she managed to blurt out just before he reached her, instantly turning on her heel and almost running upstairs.
In her room she sank down on to the bed, her hands cupping her hot face. Dear God, what had come over'! her ? She had practically begged Gray to make love to her. Had she no pride? No self-respect?
She was deeply asleep when Gray's hand on her shoulder shook her awake. It was just barely light and she stared groggily up at him. He was dressed in jeans and a fine cotton shirt. Alarm spread through her as she realised how early it was, a sudden spiral of fear replacing her initial embarrassment as the events of the evening came rushing back.
'What's wrong?'
'I need you down at the yard.'
He looked so grim that she didn't even think of asking what for, but simply dived out of bed, showering and dressing quickly, the moment he left her room.
In the kitchen he had c offee and toast ready for her, ba rely giving her time to eat and drink before bustling her outside. No one else was about; it was too early. The tide was just on the turn, and the sea lay still and calm under the lightening sky. During the night the storm had died, and already the sky was flushed with the promise of a fine day.
Gray was walking so fast it was hard work keeping up with him; she was too breathless to question him when they reached the yard, and instead of heading for die office he swung off in the direction of the deep- water moorings.
The yacht he was using for the Fastnet lay at anchor. Stephanie caught her breath as she glimpsed the beautiful craft. Fear mingled with admiration for her sleek lines.
Gray was walking on to the wooden pier, expecting her to follow him. She hesitated momentarily and then went after him. He stopped alongside the yacht and turned to wait for her. What was so important that he had rushed her down here almost before it was light?
She saw tha
t he was frowning and felt a familiar tug of anxiety. 'Gray, what's wrong?' she demanded as she caught up with him.
'That's what I'm just about to find out.'
She was taken off guard when he bent down and picked her up in his arms. When she realised he was carrying her on board the yacht she cried out in protest, struggling to break free, but his grip on her body only tightened.
Like all racing yachts, its cabin was strictly functional and full of equipment. A life-jacket lay on one of the two bunks and as he put her down, Gray said, shockingly, 'I think that should be your size, put it on.'
And then, before she could object, he turned his back on her, leaving her to hammer helplessly on the closed door as he stepped outside and locked it against her.
Panic and anger kept her hammering on the door long after she realised that he wasn't going to let her out. She heard the engine start, and felt the movement of the yacht as it left its mooring.
Gray was taking her out to sea! Sheer surprise held her motionless as she realised what was happening. He must have planned to do this. .. getting her up when it was too early for anyone else to see them . . . providing her with a life-jacket. And then she remembered his cryptic words as he carried her on board. He was doing this because he thought it would reveal why she was so terrified of sailing.