by Penny Jordan
'My eyes are a bit sore. It must have been the salt water ... the main light's too bright.'
'It's all right, Stephanie. You don't have to make any excuses to me,' he told her roughly, putting the tray down on a small table and cutting right across her stammered explanations. 'After all, we both know you're hardly likely to have set the scene with anything intimate in mind, don't we?'
There was a barbed quality to his words, an acid backlash, almost as though he wanted to hurt her, and he had. Her nerves quivered painfully under his flint- eyed scrutiny and she wanted to cry out in protest that she couldn't help it if she wasn't Carla.
Instead she looked blindly at the supper he had prepared and said huskily, 'Is there anything to drink? Wine? Somehow tonight I don't think I'm going to find it easy to sleep.'
She saw his eyebrows go up, his voice terse as he said curtly, 'I'll go and get a bottle from the kitchen, although if you really think that you should have let me phone the doctor.'
'No, I couldn't take any more tranquillisers, Gray. They remind me too much of...'
'Of Paul,' he said, suddenly grabbing hold of her arm in an almost painful grip. 'What happened to you today, Stephanie? Did you think he had come back from the dead to claim you?'
She went white with shock and pain. She couldn't believe this was actually Gray speaking to her like this, with bitterness and contempt.
He released her almost immediately, swearing under his breath, and she watched him blankly as he opened the door.
She was still standing in the same spot when he returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
'It's red,' he told her curtly. 'I hope that's all right.'
She shrugged, not really caring, too hurt to make any comment as her mind still grappled with the shock of his verbal attack on her.
He had heated up the chilli left from the previous night and it was deliciously warming, but Stephanie was in no mood to appreciate its spicy taste. She gulped down her wine, and poured herself a second glass. She was thirsty—a legacy from her intake of salt water, no doubt.
The intimacy of the room seemed to have been replaced by a brooding silence. Gray was watching her in a way that unnerved her, although she couldn't have said why.
She saw him frown slightly and make to check her as she drained her second glass of wine. It was smooth, filling her with pleasant heat, driving away the ghosts that haunted her.
'Do you think you ought to have any more?' he asked her drily when she reached for the bottle again.
She never normally drank more than the odd glass, hut now she pushed out her bottom lip as rebelliously as any child and said huskily, 'Why not—after all, I'm not going anywhere, am I?'
'You could regret it in the morning,' he warned her, hut made no move to stop her from refilling her glass.
In point of fact she was already beginning to feel distinctly hazy, but she welcomed the woolly anaesthetising sensation.
Gray had finished his meal and he watched in silence as she toyed with what was left of her chilli. He had bought in a pot of coffee and he poured them both a cup. She ignored hers, drinking her wine instead.
He waited until she was half-way down it before taking it away from her. 'I think you've had enough of that, don't you?'
She wanted to protest, but the room was swaying disconcertingly around her.
She tried to stand up and sat down again almost immediately, as she felt the floor tilt beneath her feet.
'Why did you think I was Paul, Stephanie?'
Gray's quiet voice seemed to reach her from a long way away. She opened her eyes wide and tried to focus on him.
'Because it was like it was before when he tried to drown me,' she said calmly, proud of the way she managed not to slur her words. She smiled at Gray in her pride, but he wasn't smiling back. In fact; the icy look in his eyes almost dissipated her alcoholic daze.
'Paul tried to drown you?'
Didn't he believe her? She frowned in indignation. 'Yes, when we were out sailing. He swung round to quickly and I went overboard. I held on to the side, but he tried to prise my fingers away. I was frightened.' Suddenly her face crumpled and she shivered. 'The coastguards came, and Paul let me get back on board. He wanted to kill me, Gray. He wanted to kill me.'
She repeated the words in a whisper, her brain suddenly clearing of the wine fumes, her expression stark with remembered pain and fear.
'Oh, my God!'
She heard the words and felt their anguish, and then suddenly she was in his arms and he was cradling her trembling body, murmuring soft words of comfort against her ear. She was sobbing out her terror against the warmth of his throat, letting the heat and security of his body engulf her.
'Why did you never tell me this before?'
'I couldn't ... I couldn't tell anyone what our marriage was ... I wasn't even sure myself. I used to dream about it after . .. after Paul was drowned... and I sometimes thought I was making excuses for myself... trying to give myself a reason for not loving him any more.'
'He hated me, Gray. He really hated me towards the end. He wanted to be free. We should never have got married ..Her voice died away and she felt a tremendous sense of release sweep through her. She yawned tiredly and stretched in Gray's arms, burrowing into his warmth, suddenly exhausted.
Her eyelashes fluttered down, her eyes closing.
'I think it's time you were in bed.'
She could feel the reverberations of his voice deep in his chest and she snuggled closer to him, giggling deliciously. 'Only if you promise to come with me.'
She felt the tension invade his body, but her own was still too affected by the aftermath of her ordeal and the wine she had drunk to be aware either of what she had said or Gray's reaction to it.
'You're going to regret this in the morning.'
She opened her eyes wide and smiled up at him, seeing her image reflected in the dense blue depths of his, as his eyes darkened and his pupils dilated as though he was held fast in the toils of some intense emotion.
He stood up with her and she curled her arms around his neck, smiling sleepily as he carried her upstairs.
Her room was warm, and when Gray pushed back the bedclothes and sat her down on her bed, she refused to let him go.
'You've got to get undressed,' he reminded her, his eyes narrowing slightly as he added sardonically, 'if you ran.'
If she could? What on earth did he mean, of course she could! She'd show him.
Her fingers fumbled over the buttons of her jumpsuit, suddenly seeming ridiculously unable to obey the command of her brain. She heard Gray make a snort of ironic sound beneath his breath as he pushed her fingers away.
'Here, let me. You'll never get out of the thing, the state you're in right now. I should have known better than to let you drink three glasses of that wine. You'll have to manage your own underwear, although I don't suppose it will do you any harm to sleep in . . .'His voice was silenced abruptly as he eased down the top of her jumpsuit, and saw for himself that she was unlikely to face any problems removing her underwear, since all she was wearing was a pair of minute silky briefs.
For a moment he could only stare at the smooth perfection of her body, her skin warm and supple now; her feminine shape reminding him tantalisingly of how long it had been since he had held a woman in his arms.
He was past the age when he could enjoy sex simply for sex's sake. Unable to share his life with the woman he wanted, his conscience hadn't allowed him to give false encouragement to the ones who would have liked to take her place. He could feel the blood beating through his veins, feel the heat building up inside him. He breathed deeply, feeling the pain of his cramped lungs. He wanted her so much, and Paul and her love for him no longer came between them.
With a sudden gesture of revulsion he moved back from the bed. Sensing that he was about to leave her, Stephanie reached out and clutched his arm, her eyes pleading with him not to go.
'Don't leave me, Gray,' she begged huskily. 'P
lease stay with me, I need you.'
For a moment he let the words fill his senses, drinking them in, absorbing them greedily into his heart, and then reality intruded. She wanted him as a friend. She was more than a little tipsy, and hardly knew what she was saying.
'Stephanie, no . .. I. ..' His voice was rough with all that he dared not betray to her, and the harshness of it brought weak tears to her eyes.
Stephanie heard him swear and then say thickly, 'For God's sake, don't cry. You don't know what you're asking me, what you're doing!'
'I can't bear to be alone tonight.' She was really crying in earnest now and he felt his resolve weakening.
'You lie down. I'll be back in a minute.'
With those few words he had committed himself and lie knew he could not go back on that commitment—did not want to go back on it.
Alarm thrilled through Stephanie. He was lying to her, trying to soothe her. He was going to leave her and he wouldn't come back. She cried out in protest and clutched desperately at him.
'No ... no ... you mustn't go.'
In a voice almost suffocated with anguish Gray said harshly in protest, 'Stephanie, I'm not wearing a damn thing under this robe. I can't stay with you like this.'
She was beyond listening to reason, driven almost insane with the fear that still haunted her, and it showed in her lace and eyes. She whimpered helplessly and clung to him, pleading with him not to leave her, babbling that she was frightened that if he did Paul would come back.
One part of her brain knew that she was exaggerating and that she really wanted him to stay because she wanted him close to her, because she wanted to have this one night, even if it was all only a pretence; but she refused to heed it, and Gray, with a sudden, savage
exclamation of despair, gave in.
'All right, I'll stay ,'he told her grimly, reaching out to snap off the lamp and plunge the room into darkness.
He had kept his robe on, Stephanie felt the roughness of the towelling brush her arm as he slid into the bed next to her and pulled up the covers.
She felt him begin to turn away from her and instinctively snuggled closer to him, wrapping herself around him with a determination she could never have shown when she was quite sober.
Part of her registered the shock go through him as Gray felt the warmth of her body against his own, but before he could protest she begged in a tremulous whisper, 'I just want you to hold me, Gray. Please, just hold me.'
He wasn't proof against such a plea. With a groan of submission he turned round and took her in his arms, pillowing her head against his shoulder.
He could smell the clean, fresh shampoo scent of her hair and the faint rose fragrance that still clung to her skin. Beneath his fingertips her body felt like silk. He wanted to touch her so badly ... to drive out for ever her memories of Paul.
It was bliss, sheer bliss being held in Gray's arms like this, thought Stephanie, even with the thick blanketing fabric ofhis robe between them, preventing her from enjoying the sensual delight of feeling his flesh against her own.
Stephanie scarcely knew what had happened to her. It was as though another, different Stephanie had suddenly stepped out from behind the old, a Stephanie who knew instinctively all that it meant to be a woman; a Stephanie who ached for the touch of the man she loved, who felt no fear or inhibitions about expressing such feelings; the Stephanie she might have been had she never married Paul.
She felt positively light-headed, delirious almost; and dangerously free of all past repressions.
The wine still sang dizzily in her veins; she tugged impatiently at the lapel of Gray's robe and trembled as her fingertips encountered the male heat of his skin. She felt the silky texture of the hair on his chest and stroked her fingertips through it until the tie belt of his robe prevented her from going any further. Dreamily she dragged her nails lightly back again, excitement spiralling through her as she heard Gray's indrawn gasp of protest, and his hand clamped down over hers, trapping it against his body.
'What the hell do you think you're doing?'
His voice sounded thick and unsteady. Beneath her hand she could feel the wild pounding of his heart.
Her fingertip touched the hardness of his small, flat nipple and he groaned out loud, pushing her flat against the bed and leaning over her, his face contorted in an expression of savage rage.
Poised above her in the darkness, he reminded her of a pagan god. She felt small, fragile and unbelievably feminine, and all her instincts told her that despite his anger she had aroused him.
She ignored the tiny voice that reminded her that he loved Carla; she ignored the cautionary voice of warning telling her not to do anything she would regret. His fingers still manacled her wrists either side of her throat where he had pinned her to the bed as he pushed her away from him. She could see his chest rising and falling as he breathed raggedly. His body, where it was exposed by the gap in his robe, gleamed slightly as though it was damp.
'Stephanie, I can't ...' He leaned closer to her, his anger starting to fade, and without even thinking of the consequences she lifted her head and placed her lips delicately against his nipple, enveloping it with their softness and caressing it experimentally with the moist tip of her tongue.
She heard him cry out, a thick, tortured sound that reached her ears, but not her consciousness, which was given over fully to the pleasure of touching him so intimately. When he wrenched away from her, dragging her into a sitting position and holding her at arm's length from him, she felt so acutely deprived that her body ached and trembled.
'Do you know what you're doing?'
As though it was someone else who said the words she heard herself replying calmly, 'Yes, I'm touching you the way I want you to touch me. Make love to me, Gray. Make love to me tonight. Let me believe tonight that I'm a desirable woman, that I'm not what Paul said.'
He should stop her. He knew that. She didn't know what she was saying . .. what she was asking. She was still in shock, still traumatised by what had happened. He tried to resist the lure of her words, to deny the surge of feeling that poured through him. He had wanted her, loved her, for ten years. But for her sake. She didn't
want him really. She just wanted to exorcise Paul's ghost, to prove to herself that she was finally free. He closed his eyes and remembered the feel of her soft mouth against his body. A hot tide of need convulsed him.
'Gray, I know I'm not Carla ... but don't reject me, please ..
Stephanie heard him groan, a low, tortured sound that tore at her own nerves and she tensed, waiting for the words that would end her secret fantasy of being with this man, being the woman she had never allowed herself to be.
Gray moved, shifting his weight so that he could take her fully in his arms. She shivered in a mixture of shock and delight as she felt his mouth moving against her skin—her forehead, her eyes, her cheek and down her jaw. She tilted her throat eagerly, quivering beneath the hungry ferocity of his kisses as his lips caressed the taut, smooth vulnerability of her skin.
Her head fell back against his arm, her body trembling with frantic pleasure as his mouth closed over the pulse thudding erratically at the base of her throat.
It was beyond her wildest dreams; as though he was as desperately hungry for her as she was for him.
Her fingers scrabbled for purchase against the thickness of the terry robe, and with a thick sound of impatience Gray shrugged his upper torso free of it.
His skin was hot, smooth like satin or velvet, she thought hectically, almost kneading it in her pleasure, tiny muted sounds of delight emerging from her throat.
Gray tilted her head, his mouth moving from her throat to her lips, biting gently and then not so gently at their softness, inflaming her until she wrapped her arms impatiently round him, dragging his head down so that he couldn't pull away.
The sensation of his mouth on hers, his tongue tasting, exploring, and finally thrusting passionately within the softness of hers, was a delight beyond anyt
hing she had known or dreamed of knowing. She clung to him, offering herself to him with reckless abandon.
His mouth released hers, his thumb rubbing softly over its swollen contours. His breath filled her ear, making her squirm in renewed pleasure.
'I want you to touch me the way you were doing before. I want to feel your mouth against me here,' he murmured huskily.
She quivered with joy that she could make him want her touch, scattering eager kisses against his skin until he moaned and dragged her head down against his chest, his whole body shuddering as she repeated the provocative caress she had given him earlier.
The tiny nub of flesh seemed to swell and harden, and as he cried out her name in a voice rough with need, she felt her own body swell and tighten almost shockingly.
'See how you make me feel when you touch me like that? And I'm going to make you feel the same way.'
His voice was thick and unfamiliar, and she shivered under the sensual rasp of it.
Paul had never particularly enjoyed touching her breasts. He had been too young and impatient to indulge in caresses, she recognised now, and then her whole mind went numb and her body arched in ecstatic pleasure as she felt Gray's lips against her breast and then her nipple as it swelled eagerly to meet the raw heat of his mouth.
The slight drag of his teeth, instead of bringing pain, brought only a fresh upsurge of pleasure. Her soft moans were almost lost beneath the harsh staccato of his breathing as he gave in to the need that had burned in him for too long, cupping both her breasts in hands that trembled slightly, pampering their swollen crests with the erotic lash of his tongue until they were so sensitised that merely to feel the warmth of his breath against her skin was enough to convulse her with the aching need to have his mouth against her body.