Such Sweet Poison/Blind Passion

by Anne Mather

  But she didn’t want to think about that, and when General Lynch said, ‘Shall we go?’ she got up with alacrity.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve got a parking ticket,’ she murmured, as they walked towards the Mercedes, but Morgan’s father only grimaced.

  ‘A small price to pay,’ he remarked, opening her door. ‘You’ve given me hope, Catherine. That’s worth more than a million parking tickets!’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  HECTOR WAS ESPECIALLY affectionate when she got home, and Catherine wondered if he knew she was going to have to put him in a cattery for a few days. It would be his first experience of being boarded out, and, in spite of her eagerness to see Morgan again, she wasn’t looking forward to leaving Hector with a stranger. But she had no alternative. She couldn’t leave him to fend for himself. He was too valuable to her. She couldn’t run the risk of someone kidnapping him.

  Picking him up, she buried her face in his soft fur, and he purred approvingly. He hadn’t had much attention these past weeks, and she felt guiltily aware of her neglect. ‘I wish I could take you with me, but I can’t,’ she said, carrying him into the kitchen. ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t enjoy it anyway. This trip is strictly for the birds.’

  She phoned Aunt Agnes at six o’clock, and told her what she was going to do. Her aunt took the news in her usual philosophical way, then she said shrewdly, ‘And what will you do, afterwards? Come home again?’

  Catherine’s stomach hollowed. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted honestly. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘And do you think you can cope with that?’ Aunt Agnes’s tone was gentle, but persistent.

  ‘I’ll have to, won’t I?’ replied her niece tightly. ‘But I am going. If—if he is there, I have to see him again.’

  ‘Very well.’ Her aunt accepted her decision, without further comment. ‘But what about Hector? What are you going to do with him?’

  Catherine sighed. ‘I’ll have to find a cattery to take him.’ Then, remembering her aunt had cats, too, she added, ‘Do you know of a good one?’

  ‘Yes. Here,’ declared Aunt Agnes flatly. ‘I’ll look after him while you’re away. Don’t worry, I won’t let Castor and Pollux hurt him. And at least you won’t have to spend your time worrying about him.’

  ‘Oh—will you do that?’ Catherine was so relieved, she could have cried. ‘I feel so bad about leaving him, after the way I’ve treated him these last few weeks. I was afraid that if I put him in a cattery, he’d pine.’

  ‘Well, that’s something you won’t have to face,’ said her aunt briskly. ‘I’ll pick him up on Tuesday evening. If there’s any change in the arrangements, let me know.’

  ‘I will. And thanks.’

  ‘Good luck,’ retorted her aunt drily, and rang off before the conversation got too emotional.

  On Monday, Catherine saw John Humphries, and arranged with him for her to take a few days’ holiday. ‘I think I need a break,’ she said, without elaborating, and John, who had been aware of how hard she had been driving herself these past weeks, made no demur.

  ‘Take tomorrow, too,’ he said, when she broached the idea of starting her holiday on Wednesday. ‘We can manage. Just give what you’re doing to Mel. He hasn’t been exactly overworked lately.’

  General Lynch had said he would phone, as soon as he had any news. Catherine had half expected him to phone on Sunday evening, but he hadn’t, and by Monday evening she was getting anxious. He must know something, she thought. Why didn’t he let her know? Even if the news was negative—which she dreaded—she’d rather know the worst.

  Remembering the night she had put off taking her bath, waiting for Morgan to call, she decided not to alter her normal schedule. If the phone did ring, she could easily jump out and run into the bedroom. And she wouldn’t take very long.

  In the event, she was drying herself when the doorbell rang. Frowning, she quickly catalogued all the possibilities, and then came to the unwilling conclusion that it must be her mother. The probability of its being General Lynch was simply too disruptive to consider. She didn’t want to build her hopes up, just to have them dashed again when she discovered it was Mrs Lambert, come to find out why she hadn’t seen her.

  Wrapping her towelling bathrobe about her, she ran downstairs. In her present state of anticipation, the possibility that her visitor might not be friendly didn’t occur to her, so that when she opened the door and Neil pushed past her without her permission, she was too shocked to stop him.

  Her immobility didn’t last long, however. Almost instantaneously, a sense of outrage gripped her, and without even bothering to lock the front door she charged after him into the living-room.

  Hector, sensing a confrontation, was bristling on the hearthrug, but Catherine scarcely looked at him. Her attention was concentrated on her ex-husband, pacing aggressively back and forth across the floor.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded, her spectacles sliding down her damp nose as she spoke. ‘This is my house, Neil. You have no right to barge in here as if—’

  ‘Shut up!’ Neil’s temper was explosive, and, while he had never been violent, he could be objectionable, as she well knew. ‘What did you expect me to do? Ignore it?’

  ‘Ignore what?’ Catherine clenched her fists. ‘Neil—’

  ‘When you said there was someone else, I didn’t like it. You know that. But I never thought even you would sink that low!’

  Catherine blinked. What was he talking about? He knew nothing about Morgan, and there was no one else. Unless he had seen Denzil. It occurred to her that it might amuse Denzil to tell Neil about Morgan. Particularly if he thought it would hurt her.

  ‘Neil—I think you’d better go—’

  ‘Not yet.’ He halted then, and swung round on her. ‘How does it feel to have an old man crawling all over you?’ he demanded contemptuously. ‘Is he any good at it? Better than you, I’ll bet.’

  Catherine clutched the lapels of her bathrobe. ‘I—don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she protested. But she did. Somehow, Neil must have seen her with Morgan’s father. He thought General Lynch was the man she had been dating!

  ‘Don’t give me that!’ Neil was incensed, so incensed that Catherine suspected he had called at a pub for some Dutch courage before coming here. He couldn’t have been home. What excuse would he have given Marie for going out again so soon? ‘I saw you with him,’ he snarled, gazing at her with glittering eyes. ‘Going into Lowrey’s together. You didn’t see me, did you? Oh, no! You were too intent on letting him maul you!’

  Catherine sighed. ‘You’re wrong—’

  ‘I’m not wrong. I saw you, I tell you. You’re not exactly unnoticeable, Cat. Thinner, perhaps, but just as long-legged!’

  ‘I mean, it wasn’t what you thought,’ said Catherine wearily, and then, realising she didn’t have to explain herself to him, she caught herself up. ‘I’d like you to go. Now! I don’t wish to discuss this.’

  ‘I’ll bet you don’t.’ Neil moved forward, and, although Catherine moved aside to let him pass, he didn’t go. Instead, he came closer, looking down into the V of her bathrobe with insolent, probing eyes. ‘You didn’t think I’d see you, did you?’ he sneered. ‘Well, we often have lunch at Lowrey’s on Sunday, and we had just got into our car when the big Mercedes pulled up. I might not have noticed you, even then, if you hadn’t parked in a no-parking zone.’ His lips twisted. ‘Who is he, Cat? Some old guy with pots of money, I suppose. God, couldn’t you do any better than that?’

  Catherine slapped him then, her fingers stinging where they made contact with his cheek. How dared he? she thought. How dared he? What she did was her affair, and no one else’s. How dare he come here and behave like some latter-day Karenin?

  Her emotions were so incensed that she didn’t stop to think that Neil’s emotions might be equally as high. She had never struck him before, it was true; but then, he had never been so objectionable before. No doubt he had had no reason to be,
she acknowledged. She had been the innocent party in their divorce. He had been the one playing fast and loose with their relationship. But now it was different. Now, he was getting a taste of what it was like to be powerless to stop what was happening. Not that he had any right to those feelings, she argued. Neil had forfeited any right to a say in her affairs when he’d gone to live with Marie.

  Nevertheless, as he lunged for her, she realised that what should be, and what was, were two entirely different things. For some reason, Neil had decided that the rules no longer applied, and she felt the first twinge of alarm when he grabbed her arm.

  Even then, she had no inkling of his ultimate objective. In her heart of hearts, she didn’t re ally believe Neil would hurt her, but when he twisted her arm behind her back, and jerked her towards him, alarm gave way to real fear.

  ‘Neil!’ she protested, not finding it as easy as she had thought to escape him now. He was hurting her arm, and every time she tried to pull away he gave it another vicious twist. ‘Neil, this is ridiculous—’

  ‘How does it feel to be at my mercy for a change?’ he demanded. ‘You were always in control, before, weren’t you? Or at least you thought you were. High and mighty Catherine, with her clever degree, and her clever job! Always thinking she was better than us lesser mortals—’

  ‘That’s not true!’

  Catherine was horrified, and even Hector had come to press himself against her legs, as if trying in his own feline way to give her his support.

  ‘It is true,’ snorted Neil, and, looking into his contorted face, Catherine realised he was completely out of control. And she was frightened. In all the time they had lived together, he had never behaved like this, and she wondered what had happened to drive him over the edge. She couldn’t believe it was seeing her with General Lynch. It wasn’t as if they had behaved like lovers. There had to be something else.

  ‘Let me go, Neil,’ she said, struggling desperately to keep the note of panic out of her voice. Somehow she had to talk him out of this, and fighting with him was not going to do it. ‘Can’t we sit down, and talk about this like normal people—?’

  ‘Normal people?’ he grunted. ‘You’re not normal. A normal woman would have given me a family! Instead of which, your job was always more important than what I wanted.’

  ‘Neil, you know it wasn’t my job that stopped us from having children—’

  ‘You women; you’re all the same,’ he overrode her harshly. ‘I really thought when I married Marie that she’d be different. But she’s not. She’s just like you. What I want just doesn’t count.’

  Catherine blinked. Was that what this was all about? The fact that Marie had refused to have a baby? It sounded crazy, but it was the only alternative she had.

  ‘Listen, Neil,’ she said, wincing as he pressed her arm to the limit of its endurance. ‘You—you and Marie have only been together two years. Give her time. She’s young. You’re still young yourself. You’ve got years ahead—’

  ‘What would you know about Marie and me?’ he retorted. ‘You with your designer job, and your designer home, and your designer cat—’

  He kicked out at Hector then, and the cat’s yowl of protest gave Catherine the determination she needed to bring up her knee and drive it into Neil’s groin. His howl of anguish drowned out the cat’s but, although Catherine managed to free her arm from his grasp, she stumbled over Hector as she tried to get away. She fell, her spectacles flying, and her head grazing the hearth as she did so. And, as she lay there in a dazed haze, Neil flung himself on top of her.

  ‘You bitch!’ he grated. ‘Don’t you think you can try those alley cat tactics on me, and get away with it. I’ve been bloody polite and civilised so far, but now I’m going to teach you—’

  ‘Why don’t you teach me instead?’

  Even in her state of drifting consciousness, Catherine recognised that voice. Although her mind was swimming, she would have recognised Morgan’s voice anywhere, and, although she was sure she must be hallucinating, it gave her the strength to hold on to her reason.

  ‘I’m neither polite, nor civilised,’ that pleasant drawl continued smoothly. ‘Much more of a challenge, wouldn’t you say?’

  Neil moved then, swinging round on his knees to face the speaker, and Catherine struggled up on to one elbow to see Morgan himself propped casually against the living-room door.

  But Morgan wasn’t looking at her. His attention was all on the man who was now scrambling rather inelegantly to his feet, and, even as she watched, he came forward and grasped a handful of Neil’s shirt front.

  There was a look of such murderous hatred in Morgan’s face at that moment that Catherine briefly feared for Neil’s safety. Morgan was so much bigger than he was, and infinitely stronger. Not to mention having the kind of experience of fighting that Neil could only guess at.

  But even as her ex-husband started to bluster that Morgan was interfering in something he knew nothing about, Morgan turned his head and looked at her. The look in his eyes was no longer frightening; it was hot and possessive, though, when he saw the smear of blood on her temple, the hand that wasn’t gripping Neil’s shirt clenched aggressively.

  Ignoring Neil’s frantic attempts to explain himself, he brought his arm back and telegraphed a powerful fist into the other man’s face, and Neil collapsed like a house of cards. Then, hauling him up again, Morgan hustled him out of the door, and presently Catherine heard the front door slam.

  Seconds later, Morgan was back, striding across the floor, and dropping down on to his knees beside her. ‘Are you all right?’ he demanded, examining the slight gash on her temple with almost professional detachment. But he wasn’t detached. Catherine had only to look into his eyes to see that. ‘He didn’t hurt you?’

  ‘O—only my pride,’ she breathed unsteadily, and his eyes darkened.

  ‘Who was he? Why did you let him in?’

  ‘Neil,’ whispered Catherine. ‘Just Neil.’

  ‘Your ex-husband?’

  ‘Mmm.’ She tried to clear her throat. ‘Who—who did you think it was?’

  ‘I didn’t know what to think,’ he muttered, and then, as if the need to touch her overrode his desire to assure himself that she was indeed unharmed, he pulled her up into his arms.

  The mouth that covered hers was hard and passionate, his fingers at the back of her head strong and possessive, but she realised he was shaking. As she lifted her hand to clutch his neck, she could feel the tremors running over his taut body, and, although her head was aching, the need to reassure him was the only thing that mattered to her.

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him down to her, and his weight almost drove all the breath from her lungs. But she didn’t care. It was so good to feel his arms around her again, and when his tongue plunged into her mouth she matched his sensuous exploration with an exploration of her own.

  ‘I love you,’ she breathed, not caring that she was exposing herself to rejection or worse, and his arms tightened about her.

  She had wanted him so much, she thought dazedly, as he parted the lapels of her robe to expose her warm breasts to his hungry mouth. She didn’t know how he was here, and she didn’t care. She only knew that whatever he wanted from her, she would give it. And gladly.

  He was wearing a tweed jacket, and, needing to get closer to him, Catherine pushed the jacket off his shoulders, and Morgan shrugged out of it. Underneath, the rough cotton of his shirt was abrasive to her hands, but she could feel the heat of his skin through it, and smell the male scent of his body. And he smelt so good, she thought, her fingers invading the neckline of his shirt. So good!

  Her bathrobe was open now, her slim body exposed to his possessive hands. He caressed her urgently, looking down at her as he did so, his expression taut, but sensual. Catherine felt no sense of embarrassment beneath his intent gaze. Indeed, just knowing it was Morgan who was looking at her in that oddly wondering way made her whole body weak with longing.

 
‘You’re—so—beautiful,’ he groaned, bending his head to brush his lips to the dark curls that sheltered her womanhood, and her legs parted almost involuntarily.

  His fingers slid between her legs, and then, with an anguished groan, his hands went to the belt of his jeans. Supporting his weight on one arm, he dragged the jeans and the silk underpants beneath them down to his knees, and Catherine, almost afraid to look at what he was doing, stared up into his dark, sweating face.

  ‘God! God!‘he groaned, almost like a litany, and Catherine closed her eyes so she didn’t have to see his raw frustration. If only there was some way she could help him, she thought, tears stinging her cheeks. If only there were something she could do!

  And then, incredibly, she felt the hard proof of his manhood, hot between her legs. As her eyes darted open, he guided himself into her, and the sensation it created was liquid fire.

  ‘Oh, God,’ he said, against her mouth, and with a little cry she wound her arms and legs about him.

  It was over fairly quickly, but Catherine didn’t care. Morgan had made love to her, and the shudders that shook his body long after he had slumped across her were proof of his satisfaction. Not that she needed any proof, Catherine thought triumphantly. She had felt the drenching spill of his seed inside her, and never had she experienced such a shattering sensation as that.

  It was some minutes before Morgan was able to push himself up from her, and when he did his eyes were raw with emotion. With trembling fingers, he smoothed her damp hair back from her forehead, and then, with the utmost tenderness, he kissed her.

  ‘I love you,’ he said simply, releasing her mouth to rest his forehead against hers. ‘And now you know how much.’

  Catherine cried then, the tension of the last hour translating itself into a hiccupping storm of weeping, and, with a gentle touch, Morgan licked the tears from her cheeks.

  ‘I know,’ he said huskily. ‘Believe me, I know. But—God help me! It’s over now.’