by Margaret Way
“Stand away from him, Cecile. He’s not going anywhere.”
“You’ll answer for this!” Wheeler moaned, turning his head to give Cecile a black, betrayed look. “There was no abuse. Ellie was lying. That’s what she is, a little liar.”
“You’re the liar, Dr. Wheeler,” Cecile said. “Long term abuse has been confirmed.”
That appeared to astound him, though why it did Cecile was at a complete loss to know. Wheeler began to bash his own forehead against the carpet in intense frustration. “She belongs to me,” he cried as though offering the perfect defense. She’s my own flesh and blood. It’s my right to do to her whatever I want.”
“God Almighty!” Rolfe was filled with revulsion. “Shut up!” He directed another kick at the man’s ribs. He turned to stare into Cecile’s brilliant eyes. “What is this guy?”
Contempt was etched into her expression. “A pedophile. A monster. My little patient, Ellie, is ten years old. His daughter!”
“You sick bastard!” Rolfe began to flex his powerful right hand, punching it into his left palm like a boxer. “And what did you intend doing to Ms. Moreland?” he asked with quiet menace.
“He was going to kill me,” Cecile’s voice was toneless, but her whole body was shaking. “He was going to jab me with that syringe. God knows what it contains, but he told me it would have done the job. I think we can believe him. As a doctor he has access to drugs. The police will be wanting to take the syringe into evidence.”
“For God’s sweet sake!” Rolfe groaned. He moved toward her, feeling in some ways she was handling the shock better than he was. “I arrived in-the nick of time, then.”
“Funny you should say that!” She gave him the faintest little smile before crumpling slowly to the floor.
THERE WAS A WHOLE LOT of noise outside. Rolfe laid Cecile on the bed, welcoming the pounding on the door. It was followed up by the crunch of glass being trampled under heavy boots.
There were loud identifying shouts of “Police, Police!”
“In the bedroom,” Rolfe yelled back. “The woman’s safe.”
Their weapons drawn, two police officers responded, inching their way along the hallway, much as Rolfe had done, the first officer’s nose rounding the door frame of the bedroom, neither man prepared to trust an anonymous voice.
“Clear!” One notified the other. .
What they saw was a young woman lying on the bed, moaning softly, a young man standing beside her, his hands up and turned palm out in the universal gesture of no threat, another man trussed up on the floor. The trussed man was bawling like a baby.
ROLFE WATCHED as the police car carrying Dr. Peter Wheeler drove away. It was well over an hour later. The streetlights were on. A storm was threatening. He and Cecile had given their statements. Wheeler would have attempted murder added to his list of charges.
“That should put him away for a long long time,” Rolfe observed with intense satisfaction. “Suddenly your little patient has a future free of fear.”
“They’ll have to keep an eye on the mother,” Cecile said, feeling oddly numb. A policewoman had made her a cup of tea with lots of sugar. She had drunk it even if it had been sickeningly sweet. “I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if Marcie Wheeler rolled up to prison every month for a visit. Why is it certain women are drawn to evil men like moths to a flame? I would never have guessed at that hidden evil when I met him. He seemed so caring, and he was a doctor!”
“Plenty of doctors are murderers,” Rolfe commented, “the infamous Dr. Crippen for one. People who knew him described him as a pleasant man who wouldn’t hurt a fly.” He moved back into the living room, shutting the sliding glass doors. It was hot and humid outside—a thunderstorm was building——but inside the apartment it was pleasantly cool. “How do you feel now?”
She let her head fall back against the sofa. “Shaky, whereas you’re a rock.”
“Don’t you believe it!” He sat down on the white upholstered sofa opposite her, a marble-topped coffee table the barrier between them. “I’m still in a rage. I wanted to beat that guy to pulp.”
“I thought you were going to,” Cecile murmured dryly, laying her head back again and closing her eyes. “His wife warned him, you know. She told him to run. I can’t believe it. I mean I can believe it, but I’m shocked out of my mind. I’d be dead by now if you hadn’t arrived.”
“When you feel better, maybe you can say thank you,” he suggested lightly.
“Maybe.” She rubbed her arms.
“You’re not cold, are you?” His eyes ranged over her. She was still very pale.
“A little. It’s just the shock. There are shawls on one of the shelves in the walk-in wardrobe. Could you pick one out for me?”
“Sure.” He stood up at once. “Do you want to lie down?”
“I think I can hang in there for a little while yet.”
Rolfe rummaged through the shawls and picked one out—long black and fringed, lavish with amethyst, blue and emerald scrolls. The label said silk, but to him it looked and felt like velvet.
“This do?”
“Perfect.” She went to take it from him, but he arranged it around her shoulders. “Thank you.” She waited until he’d resumed his seat. “In all the excitement I forgot to ask how you knew my address.”
“Does the word granddad mean anything to you?”
“Of course!” She gave a little click of her tongue. “What exactly does he think he’s playing at?”
“One of the oldest games in the world. Cupid!”
Cecile frowned at the levity of his tone. “Granddad has been very successful at just about everything he’s attempted, but he’ll come a cropper here. I’m finished with you, Rolfe. I thought I’d made that abundantly clear.”
“You’d better not say that,” he warned. “You might need me. I seem to get to you faster than anyone else.”
Cecile exhaled a long breath. “And I’m grateful, but you’ve lost all your power over me. I can’t trust you. Trust is very important.”
“Can’t you give me a chance?” He leaned forward, speaking as persuasively as he knew how. “I don’t make a living out of lying to people, Cecile. I’m not the hustler you seem to believe I am.”
“I’m past caring, Rolfe.” She shook back her long hair, but it kept sliding over her shoulder. “You’ve got a lot to answer for. I let you make love to me.”
“You gave yourself to me completely,” he corrected, his gaze dark and mesmeric.
“And it was wonderful! The only thing missing was the all-important trust I’m talking about.”
His eyes stayed on her. So beautiful! The fairest of them all. She was wearing a loose turquoise caftan of some almost sheer material that clearly displayed the contours of her body. The silk shawl twisted around her made an exotic contrast. Her skin shone luminous under the lights. Her eyes sparkled. Yet she looked fragile. And why wouldn’t she with a maniac bursting in to kill her? ‘
“Don’t let’s talk about it now,” he said quietly. “You need a chance to recover from your ordeal. So do I, for that matter. The bastard’s strength was unbelievable.”
“He was the one facedown on the carpet,” Cecile pointed out dryly.
“Yes, in the end and blubbering like a baby. Why is it those who inflict the most pain on others have such a low pain threshold themselves?”
“Bullies and cowards,” Cecile said, her voice racked with emotion. “That little girl has lost something irretrievable. She’s lost—” She broke off, unable to go on.
“You’ll help her. You’ve already helped her.” Rolfe offered swift consolation, wanting to go to her, but knowing he had to hold back. He had to wait until she came to him. He had visions of tenderly peeling off her clothing, entering her body, feeling her surge up against him. He wanted her to beg him to make love to her. Would that ever be again?
“Don’t tear yourself to pieces,” he went on. “I know it can’t be easy but you know you have to maintain
your emotional balance just to function. How about I make us something to eat?” he said in a brisker tone. “You can’t have had anything. Neither have I.”
For the first time Cecile gave a real smile. “Seriously, can you cook?”
He gave his elegant shrug. “Not terribly well, now that you mention it. In my stepfather’s house there are lots of servants.”
“Speaking of which, what name are you going to call yourself from now on?” she asked with cool sarcasm.
“Rolfe Chandler,” he confirmed. “When I go back to Argentina to visit my family, I’1l be Raul Montalvan. I never lied to you about that.”
IN THE END THEY SHARED what Cecile had originally intended to have for dinner, the light pasta with ricotta and prosciutto. She let Rolfe handle the pasta. Lack of experience in the kitchen or not, he was characteristically adept. She prepared a green salad, tossing it in a Thai chilli dressing. Rolfe opened a bottle of very good shiraz, which they continued to drink long after the meal had ended.
“You’ve got your color back,” he said, greatly relieved. “You seem more yourself.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be misled. I’m still very angry with you, Rolfe. It’s just I’m not up to showing it tonight. You did save my life.”
“I’m getting used to it.” He smiled ruefully. “Would you like coffee?”
“If you can find the percolator. I hurled it at Wheeler.”
“It’s okay. Our nice policewoman retrieved it and she cleaned up the glass.”
“She was nice,” Cecile reflected. “I’ll remember her name. Coffee beans are in the fridge in a canister. Grinder on the bench.” She sat back trying to compose herself. A hot prickle of something like shame ran through her. She remembered all the nights of lying awake congratulating herself she’d found the will to finish with him! Oh, frail resolve! Desire crackled in the atmosphere, turning the air inside as electric as outdoors.
AT AROUND TEN—THIRTY, the storm that had been threatening for the past few hours finally broke over the city with the usual spectacular display of pyrotechnics.
“You can’t stay here,” she warned him, beating down her tormented longings.
“I know. But you can’t toss me out until it’s over,” he argued. “You’re going to be all right?”
“Of course, but I can’t guarantee not having a few nightmares.” They were back to sitting on opposite sides of the coffee table. A squat crystal vase was atop it, filled with the beautiful full-blown heads of yellow roses. The perfume was so heady Rolfe could taste it. “I’ll never let anyone in like that again,” she said with a shudder. “I couldn’t see his face. I saw the flowers. That put me off my guard.”
“Who would the flowers have been from?” he asked, keeping his eyes on her beautiful face, the beauty she wore so lightly.
“Strangely enough my first thought was they might be from you. Then I realized—I thought—you didn’t know where I lived. I’ll be having a word with Granddad. He doesn’t usually interfere. This incident can’t fail to get into the papers.”
He nodded, already seeing the big black headline: Moreland Heiress Threatened By Crazed Sex Offender. “The press have gathered down on the street. I don’t know if the police made any statement there and then. Someone tipped them off.”
“Someone always does.” Cecile shrugged.
“I suspect a couple of reporters will hang around hoping you’ll drive out of the building. Your phone would have been ringing, only you’re not listed. Is there any other way out, a back street?”
She shook her head. “You can’t stay.”
“Why not?” His eyes flowed down her throat to her breasts.
“Because we’d only sleep together,” she said harshly.
“ls that so bad?”
His voice was so filled with tenderness, it shook her badly.
She’d seen his face when it was taut with passion. The expression he wore now was incredibly sweet. It reached for her, attempted to gather her close. He had an excess of sexual power and he was bringing it to his service right now. Only, she was committed to fighting temptation.
“Now, Rolfe.” She leapt to her feet. “Go now!” She had to spare herself this dangerous dance of seduction. Remember how he had deliberately deceived her.
“Okay, okay. No need to get agitated.” He hunted up his jacket, shouldered into it. “You’re so cruel. It’s still raining.”
“I’ll lend you an umbrella.” Her voice was brittle.
“No thanks. I expect it’s like something a model on a catwalk might carry. Is there a cab rank handy or do I need to call one?”
“I’ll call one,” she said, then visibly jumped when the sliding doors to the terrace lit up brilliantly from a flash of lightning.
“Oh, sit down again.” She waved him back helplessly as a great rolling thunderclap followed. “Why did you come here?”
“Thank God I did.”
“And I can’t wait for you to leave.” She made to retreat to the safety of the sofa. But he caught her arm.
“I want you so badly,” he told her passionately. “I want to put my arms around you. Comfort you. May I?”
“Don’t, Rolfe!” Her voice was pitched high. “When the storm is over, you must go.”
“I long to hold you.”
His voice was the perfect instrument for seduction. “Oh, spare me the razzle-dazzle,” she said angrily, throwing back her head and exposing her long elegant neck.
Immediately he released her. “No razzle-dazzle, only truth. What’s the number of the cab company? I’d walk back to the hotel if I knew which way I was going.”
Cecile put a hand to her temple. “Just a moment. I have to look it up. I rarely take cabs.” She was desperate for him to go yet the price of maintaining her self-respect appeared to be desolation.
Her face reflected her tormented feelings. So did the agitation of her movements.
“Come here to me,” he said.
How could gentleness be so deeply erotic? Her willpower was fading under the impact, her body thoroughly aroused. She was baffled and beaten by the complexity of her feelings. She had sought respite from him. But she couldn’t lock him out. He had only to look at her, smile at her, speak to her with his voice flowing like honey. She couldn’t, however, let him touch her. But oh, that sinking feeling!
She laughed, a trembling little laugh. “You never give up, do you?”
Her beauty swept over him, her vulnerability. “Not on you,” he said. “One kiss, the price of having saved your life. Then I’ll go.”
She saw the little flames leaping in his eyes and caught her breath.
First he buried his face in her neck, then he kissed her. The now familiar languor stole into her limbs. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was the kiss of a man who had known and possessed every inch of her body. That knowledge alone was an unbreakable bond between them.
Instantly she was drenched in desire. It flowed from him to her. In a way it was a revelation. She had never really known what it meant until he had first made love to her. Now she would never have to wonder again. The composed mask she wore had been stripped from her. All for him. Her mouth opened to greet his questing tongue. Her fascination for him was overwhelming. She had no defense against it, however hard she tried.
She couldn’t resist him or his touch. There was a kind of fear in it, the fear of loss of self. It was as though she had lost all choice. His hands were moving loverlike across her shoulders and down her back while she fell into a thrilling reverie, letting him do what he liked, moving her this way and that, molding her body to his. She slid her arms beneath his jacket, locked them around his waist, feeling his powerful erection settle against the slight curve of her stomach. What an instrument of pleasure and torture that was!
Briefly he lifted his mouth from hers, staring down at her. “If we start this, I’ll never leave.”
“Well, we have started it, haven’t we?” she answered with a little twist of bitterness. She wanted t
o hurt him as he had hurt her. She still wondered if she was part of his plan, but the most primitive sexual excitement had taken hold of her and transformed her into someone else. His for the taking.
Was it any wonder she was frightened?
THEY WERE LYING NAKED together on the bed, while the storm raged outside the shuttered doors as if trying to get in. She was spread out beneath him, arms and legs, toes and soles of her feet sliding across the smooth surface of the bed linen. His palms sought the creamy undersides of her breasts, lifting first one dark pink nipple then the other to his mouth. The horror of the early part of the night was obliterated by the flames of passion that now enveloped them like a great bushfire.
“Forgive me,” he whispered into her ear.
“No.” He had exposed her to too much pain, too much self-doubt.
“I’ll keep doing this to you.”
She had opened herself wide to him. Now she cried out as the pleasure mounted too high to be checked.
“Are you going to thank me for saving your life?” He didn’t say it was one of the worst moments of his life.
“Thank you,” she gasped, while outside the storm howled.
“No, no, you mustn’t come yet.” He taunted her softly, continuing his ministrations that excited her to the point of tears.
She was shaking all over, her body flushed, but she wasn’t going to beg.
Then when she thought she couldn’t stand the shattering ecstasy a moment longer, he moved his hand away and began to thrust deeply into her. In and out. Back and forth, his penis growing so big it seemed to fill her right up to her throat. Swiftly she caught his rhythm, reveling in the ease with which they fitted together. Groups of muscles clenched and relaxed. Their movements were as smooth as oiled pistons, moving smoothly together until they fired. He lifted her legs high and her fingernails dug into his powerful shoulders. It was excruciating torment and it made her eyelids flutter and her heart pound madly. How much more did he want of her? What part of her body was he trying to reach? Her penetrated womb throbbed with heat as if his penis had put a brand on it. The small of her back strained to arch up from the bed, fell back as his mouth swooped on hers again. She had the crazy sensation she was flying…her flailing arms were wings…the whole world was vibrating…