by Lynne King
Chantelle lay there and watched, her gaze locked on his powerful torso, to the fine line of springy dark hairs rising from his navel and spreading out across taut muscle. As if drawn to it, her fingers reached out touching the swarthy skin as he lowered his body down beside her. Gently he kissed her again becoming more urgent as his hand slipped under her T-shirt. He drew away to pull the shirt completely away from the confines of her shorts and off over her head. Her bra was next to follow, his index thumb and finger expertly tracing the outline of her rose-colored nipple. Then his lips were sucking first on one swollen bead, then the other, his tongue deliciously teasing her, causing soft moans as she writhed beneath him.
Her hands moved over the smoothness of his back, feeling every inch of muscle flexing beneath her touch. Gradually, he positioned himself so that he was straddling her, his lips breaking away as he leaned back, taking his weight on his knees. His fingers went down to the clasp on her shorts and began to pull them down over her hips, his gaze lazily running over the full length of her, a lustful glint sending quivers through her body. She felt an attack of shyness at being so exposed with the sun still coming through the window, the rays burning a path across her face and shoulders, causing her to turn her face toward the pillow.
“Chantelle,” he murmured huskily. “Don’t turn away from me.”
Slowly she brought her gaze back to him, watching as he freed himself from his chinos and threw them on the floor. Removing the last of his garments along with hers, he lay back down next to her, drawing her into his arms. His warm kisses sent traces of fire through her body as their fingers explored every inch of each other and her body arched up against his.
She could feel his breath quickening, his voice a breathless whisper in her ear. “Don’t move. I hate the damn things, but better to play it safe.”
He might as well have shouted, for it was like having a bucket of water thrown over her. Her whole body tensed up with the implication of his words. She felt so naïve not to have even given it a thought up until now. David obviously had, his expertise revealing itself as he gently maneuvered his position.
It made her go numb within. Being protected against pregnancy wasn’t the main concern here; there was a far greater danger and David wasn’t taking any chances. It made her feel cheap.
They knew nothing about each other. For all she knew, he could have half a dozen women he bedded regularly. She was merely another notch on his manhood. He certainly had all the right seduction techniques, the silent I’m-a-no-strings macho type, this room and condoms at the ready.
“Chantelle, are you okay?” He stopped caressing her and leaned on one elbow, frowning down at her.
“I’m sorry, this is a mistake.” She forced the words out, unsure of his reaction. He had every right to be angry. She had led him on. They were at the point of having sex and now, unaccountable it must seem to him, she had changed her mind.
A dark shadow did come over his features. The warmth in his eyes vanished as if he now saw her in a different light, but he said nothing. In one swift movement, he swung his body off her and stood up, placing his back to her.
It was then that she noticed his shoulder, having only felt the uneven texture beneath her fingers. The four-inch scar stood out against the bronze hue of his shoulder blade; the thin white line was pitted with fading stitch marks on either side of it, revealing how recent it was. She wanted to know how he had come by such an ugly scar in what was otherwise a perfect body. Strangely, she felt it was connected to violence and maybe wise not to ask. Still the question left her lips.
“Chantelle, we know so little about each other and maybe it’s best we keep it that way,” he said coldly, impassively. He didn’t even turn around, just strolled into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Chantelle pulled the covers up around her, wanting to cry but refusing to succumb. Why couldn’t she have simply given herself to him and lived for the moment, like her mother had tried to instill in her, instead of acting like some virginal tease? He was the first man to come along who was capable of arousing such feelings and she had ruined it without ever discovering if he lived up to the promise. Perhaps that was what scared her, the release of her passion and with it, a part of herself she couldn’t merely switch on and off, not like David. She had seen it in his eyes, such intimacy and desire turning to coldness and indifference.
***
Stepping out of the bathroom after a long shower, David picked up his clothing, which lay scattered about the room. At the same time, he picked up Chantelle’s shorts and T-shirt and placed them on a chair. Rubbing a towel over his hair and combing it back, he finished dressing. The whole time, Chantelle remained entirely hidden beneath the covers, a mass of russet hair pushed up against the pillow.
“I’m going down to the bar for a bite to eat; do you want to join me?” He let out a disgruntled sigh at her silence and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
The bar area was empty except for one bored young girl whose expression suddenly changed as she accepted his order with a wide smile. She took the money and noted, “You must have needed that. Usually it’s a whisky chaser, not the other way around.”
He didn’t return her smile. Feeling that he could do without cheeky remarks, he took himself off to an alcove with his pint, already regretting the whisky coursing through his veins. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was still early, not yet six. What the hell was he going to do for the rest of the evening - get drunk? That wasn’t the answer; he knew what he wanted and it wasn’t at the bottom of a bottle.
Those emerald eyes had a way of reaching into a man’s soul. Her body had been crying out for him to take her, but crazy as it sounded, maybe he was glad she had stopped it. She wasn’t like the Catherine’s of this world. Catherine was beautiful and intelligent, and ran her promotions agency with the same ruthless determination and independence as her private life. Neither of them had made any kind of commitment and it was hard to say who was using who, but at least he remained free inside.
Ordering another pint, his thoughts drifted to his parents. He remembered what it had been like growing up in a loving atmosphere and how easily that illusion of security and love could be shattered. By the time he had joined the RAF, the happy family life had turned into a shambles, his once proud father reduced to a drunken wreck by the love he felt for his wife, who in turn felt nothing. She might not have crashed the plane for him, but she was at the controls in the crazed last moments before he took his own life. Feeling that deep-seated bitterness rise up again, David pushed his half-drunk pint away from him just as Chantelle entered and approached the bar.
“A double gin and tonic please,” Chantelle ordered.
The barmaid looked at her, furrows appearing on her forehead. “Are you all right, love?”
“Yes, fine, thank you,” she replied, trying to sound more confident than she felt. Positioning herself up on a barstool, she crossed her bare legs and tried to convince herself she was perfectly entitled to drink alone and to hell with him sitting in that corner acting as if she was invisible. He had brought her here, stranded in the middle of God knows where and she wasn’t going to hide up in that room as if she was ashamed. She was hoping at least he would come and join her, that they could talk and act in a mature manner, making the situation they both found themselves in a little easier to deal with. It wasn’t happening, though.
By the time half an hour had passed, Chantelle was on her second double and feeling lightheaded with no food inside her since breakfast. Ringing for a taxi to take her to the nearest railway station had crossed her mind, but the idea of having to change trains several times while traveling across London quelled that thought. And why should she? That bastard would simply have to find himself another room for the night. Downing the contents of her glass, Chantelle ordered another one.
A group of men who stood drinking around the bar area had been casting curious glances in her direction for some time now, but had kep
t their distance. Chantelle began to feel conspicuous when one leaned over and said something to the barmaid. Whatever she replied caused the man to look over at David before turning back to his friends. It didn’t seem to put him off though, because he sidled up to her at the bar and asked what she was drinking while his friends looked on in amusement.
“What does it look like?” Chantelle replied in a clipped tone.
“It looks like a gin and tonic.” He picked her glass up and held it up to the light as if examining its contents.
Chantelle took the glass from him. “Very funny.”
“Not one of my best pickup lines, but I’m working on it.”
She couldn’t help a halfhearted smile.
“Was that a smile? Do it again, please; you’ve just sent me to seventh heaven.” He held his hand over his heart and sighed.
Giving an exasperated tut, she finished her drink and moved away from the bar. He had the same mentality as Danny and was probably the same age.
“Let me buy your next one, please. You look too sad to drink alone and too lovely to be left alone.”
“I’m not alone,” Chantelle remarked.
“Well, unless I’m standing on the invisible man, you couldn’t appear more alone. Unless you’re counting that guy over there and frankly, if you are, I would say he needs his head examined for leaving a beautiful girl seated at the bar buying her own drinks.”
She turned her head and for the first time, found her gaze meeting David’s. A steely glint of contempt pierced a pathway to her.
Turning away from him sharply, anger replaced the hurt. Knowing all the time of his presence, she had waited for him to come up to her, felt he owed her at least that small courtesy. After all, he had made it perfectly obvious there was no chance of a relationship between them. He had brought her here for sex, hadn’t gotten what he wanted and now she was discarded. Well, if he wanted to make her feel cheap, she might as well act like it. “I’ll tell you what, you’re right. It’s no fun drinking alone.” She handed him her empty glass and smiled.
Taking the glass, he called over the barmaid, allowing a quick glance and a sly wink at his friends. It caused a few titters as one said rather loudly, “Well, I think Paul has scored, the lucky bastard.”
In three strides, David was across the floor and gripping Chantelle’s elbow. “I think the lady has had enough and as I brought her here, I am now leaving with her.”
“Look, mate, it doesn’t appear that way to me - unless I’ve been watching the wrong girl.”
“I don’t care what it looks like.” Angrily, he yanked Chantelle off the stall, causing her to stumble forward. His grip on her elbow prevented her from ending up on the floor as he hoisted her into an upright position, his arm now firmly supporting her around the waist.
“Hey! Don’t be so rough on her.” Another man stepped forward.
“Keep out of this,” David snapped back. “If you don’t mind, I’m taking my wife back up to our room where we can sort out our differences in private.”
The bar was silent, everyone expecting a fight to break out any minute. The bar manager was already reaching for the phone. David released his arm from around Chantelle’s waist and was now facing both men.
This was getting out of hand. Feeling in need of some temporary support before she spoke, Chantelle went to step back up onto the stall. It wasn’t where she expected. Before she could stop herself, she landed on the floor in an unladylike heap. All heads turned at the commotion, their faces a mixture of repressed smiles and awkwardness. The men who seemed as if they were about to fight over her were now looking embarrassed for her, the aggression gone from their features.
The bar manager leaned over the counter. “I think perhaps you should take your wife back to her room,” he said in a low tone to David.
“That was my intention before the others interfered.” David gave her a tight-lipped smile as he leaned forward and gently lifted her off the floor and onto her feet.
“Are you all right, love?” The barmaid from earlier leaned over the bar and lightly touched Chantelle’s arm.
Keeping her eyes lowered, Chantelle nodded and tried to smile. There were not enough words to describe what she was feeling at that precise moment. The whole scene had had a sobering effect and if she didn’t make a fast exit, her final humiliation would be complete, since nausea was beginning to take hold. David was once again supporting her waist and given the circumstances, she hadn’t the strength to argue that this man wasn’t her husband for fear of delaying their departure.
Walking her smartly out the door, his fingers digging into her waist, they approached the narrow, winding stairs. This presented a problem. They were not wide enough for him to continue supporting her. After allowing her to go first and having her stumble back on him, she unexpectedly found herself slung over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
“I’m going to throw up,” she cried.
“For someone who attracts trouble, you show a remarkable lack of gratitude,” he muttered as he wrestled with the lock on the door, remembering to duck as he deposited her in the room.
The moment Chantelle’s feet touched the floor, she went straight into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her and locking it. Several times she heard him knocking to ask if she was okay and each time she gave a muttered response so he knew she hadn’t passed out. The last thing she needed was for him to break down the door and find her leaning over the sink retching with nothing to give, since she hadn’t eaten.
Finally Chantelle staggered from the bathroom, her face a deathly shade of white.
David looked at her, concern showing in his face and in his words. “I’m sorry. This is my fault.”
Her eyes flashed her anger across the room at him. “I don’t need your blasted apology.” Grabbing a pillow and blanket from the bed, she threw them at him. “I hope you’re comfortable in that chair over there! At least you won’t have any more apologizing to do!”
Seeing him shake his head and look at her as if she was mad made her kick off her sandals and climb into bed fully clothed, switching the light off at the same time. A curse shattered the silence and Chantelle could only guess the thump she heard was his head hitting a beam. A dragging noise followed and then she felt a weight on the end of the bed and assumed it was his legs. Sleep was a long time coming.
Chapter 4
During the night, Chantelle had silently removed her clothing and slipped back under the bedcovers. Now having awoken to the morning sun penetrating through the curtains, her bleary eyes tried to adjust to the brightness and her surroundings. Her gaze lowered to the source of the heavy breathing she heard and her eyes opened wider at the sight of David. His blanket having fallen away revealed that at least he had kept his boxer shorts on. His long muscular legs stretched out across the bottom of the bed while his torso was all crumpled up in the chair, his head awkwardly angled. Having had a good night’s sleep in a king-size bed, she felt a twinge of guilt. In that position, it was surprising he could sleep at all.
She lay there watching him sleeping, watching the gentle heaving of his chest and longed to feel him beside her, to relive his touch, his kissing. The memory soured as she remembered his coldness, the indifference he was capable of at the end.
Tearing her gaze away, she threw the sheet aside and swung her legs off the bed. Feeling confident he was asleep, she stood up and stretched. The sensation of being watched made her turn around sharply. His lazy smile revealed he was enjoying the view.
“Damn, sleeping in my plane would have been more comfortable than this.” He tried to straighten up and grimaced.
Any earlier sympathy evaporated as she grabbed up her clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. The shower helped, but she still felt and looked awful. With a quick rummage through her make-up bag, she redid her mascara and tried to put some color in her cheeks. As for her normally sleek shoulder-length hair, it now flicked outward and upward and no amount of damping down and brushi
ng was going to straighten it out. Giving up, she stepped out and found David dressed, the bed made and the armchair back in its original position.
He walked past her into the bathroom and emerged ten minutes later, unshaven but looking refreshed and too damn attractive. Chantelle quickly reminded herself of what else he was: an insensitive, callous bastard.
“We’ll have breakfast and then be on our way.”
“I’m not hungry,” Chantelle lied.
“Well, I am, so you can either sit and watch or join me. Besides, it’s all paid for. I mean…”
Chantelle turned on him before he could word it better, her eyes flashing indignation. “I wouldn’t want you not to get your money’s worth,” she spat.
“For pity sake, Chantelle. Can’t I say anything right?”
“Don’t give me another one of your blasted apologies! This has been one long continuous mistake from the moment I set eyes on you.” Snatching her bag, she threw open the door, ready to rush out.
Before she could leave, he reached out and grabbed her forearm and in one movement, pulled her back, kicking the door shut with his foot. “Now listen here, I don’t want another scene like last night. We go down to breakfast like two mature adults, make polite conversation if that’s what you like and then leave.” His eyes held an unspoken threat as they bored into her. “You’re my wife remember? Or at least that’s what I signed you in the register as.” It was as if he was challenging her, the corners of his mouth lifting.
“What a perfect gentleman you are, safeguarding a lady’s honor. Only I couldn’t care less if you signed me in as the Queen Mother.” Bringing her foot back, she kicked him hard in the shin and tried at the same time to shake free of his hold.