by Penny Jordan
Hard on the heels of wrenching pain came fierce rage…rage against herself because he could still arouse her, and rage against him, because he was so much less than she had once thought him to be.
“Is that what all this is about Slater?” She marvelled at her own ability to appear cool and mocking. He was angry, dangerously so, and somehow she must get him out of her room before his control broke completely. To wound him where he was most vulnerable—in his outsize ego—seemed her best chance she decided quickly, knowing that she could not trust herself to react logically while he still held her in his arms. That was the bitterest pill of all—despite everything she knew; all the pain she had endured; she was still physically very much aware of him; her body still yearned for him, and she knew that she would have to fight not just him, but her physical craving for him as well.
“My virginity?” She forced a mocking smile. “It’s long gone I’m afraid.”
“And I’ll bet you can’t even remember the man you gave it to.” There was a bitter violence in his voice; that shook her, alerting her to her increasing danger. “What can you remember Chris? This?”
His mouth was on hers before she could escape, searing her skin, moulding her lips to the hard contours of his, his tongue expertly prising its way past their soft barrier. A thousand sensations coursed through her veins, chief of which was the knowledge that no man had ever made her feel like this. She knew she should fight to escape, but her body was too weak to obey her mind. She made a soft sound of need in her throat, instantly translated by Slater, his teeth nipping erotically at her skin until her mouth opened, and her hands of their own volition locked behind his head, her fingers clutching at the thick darkness of his hair, as she gave herself up completely to the overpowering rage of need pouring through her. It was as though her starved sense had suddenly come to life, drinking greedily from Slater’s mouth, responding to his kiss with a feverish intensity that blotted out all ability to think. His thumb stroked her throat, finding the spot where the soft sounds of pleasure reverberated against her skin, making her tremble with desire.
Her hands slid from his neck to the open lapels of his robe, investigating the powerful structure of his shoulders, his skin warmly sensual like raw silk, to her touch.
She wanted to touch him all over, to absorb him into her and be absorbed by him. It seemed impossible that she could get close enough to him, and his probing thumb registered the impatience of her softly moaned need, as it stroked her throat.
Which one of them loosened the belt of his robe Chris did not know, but she did know that it was Slater who slid the straps of her nightdress down her arms, until the bodice came free, his body taut with desire as he studied the moon-silvered outlines of her breasts. No man had seen her like this before, not even Slater himself, but there was pride in the way Chris held her body, her breathing quickening as she felt Slater register the burgeoning evidence of her desire as her nipples stiffened into hard peaks and she swayed close to him.
Still leaning on the door he pulled her into the cradle of his hips, the hard evidence of his desire for her something that would have shocked her normally but which now made her ache with excitement and need. Rational thought was impossible. Past and present merged and mingled until they were inseparable. The six long years they had been apart might never have been; Chris’s body rejoiced in his familiar touch, her mouth pressing wildly pleading kisses against his skin as his hands cupped her breasts and his dark head descended, his lips making a leisurely exploration of her satin skin.
Neither of them spoke a word, the sound of their mingled breathing the only thing to break the thick silence. Obeying some unspoken command Chris arched back against the support of Slater’s hands low on her back. In the moonlight her breasts gleamed milky white, their full curves taut and provocative. Her heart thudded with sledge-hammer blows, an aching need coiling in the pit of her stomach. Against her lower body Slater’s thighs felt hard and tense, the heat coming off his skin invading her bloodstream and quickening the course of her blood.
One hand left her back to cup her breast, his thumb stroking slowly over the hard peak of her nipple. Slater’s gaze fastened on the flesh he was caressing with a tense absorption that tightened the spiral of need inside Chris, until she wanted to cry out with the agony of it.
With almost unbearable slowness Slater lowered his mouth to her breast, stroking agonising deliberate circles of pleasure round the pale skin just beyond the aureole of her nipple. It was a torment Chris couldn’t endure. She lifted her hands to his neck burying her fingers in his hair as she urged his mouth against her body, arching it wantonly against him. Still he continued his sensual play with her nipple, teasing it with light moist strokes that drove her into a mindless frenzy of need, husky sounds of frustration joining the growing tension of their breathing.
“Chris…” The hoarse sound of Slater’s voice intruded on her private world of fantasy, shocking her into reality. Slater raised his head to study her, his eyes missing nothing as they slid slowly over her body in sardonic appraisal of its arousal. The heat inside her turned to ice, and Chris shivered, bitterly regretting her lack of self control.
“What was that you said about me doing nothing for you?”
It was a taunt she might have expected, and one that was well deserved in the circumstances, and where she had ached with desire Chris now ached with pain. As Slater released her, she made an instinctive move to cross her arms over her naked breasts. His expression grimly contemptuous he followed the movement.
“All these years I’ve wondered what it would have been like with you but a woman who’s so easily aroused by every man who touches her is like flat champagne—tasteless and unappetising.”
“You wanted me.” Chris murmured the words in bewildered agony unable to comprehend fully what had happened.
“That was merely a male manifestation of physical desire…there was nothing personal in it Chris, just as there was nothing personal in your desire for me. Your New York studs might not mind being merely one of a crowd, but I’m afraid that’s not for me.” He opened the door and walked through it leaving her staring numbly after him.
How had it happened? How had he trapped her into betraying herself to him in such a way? Her mind circled endlessly trying to find an explanation, but there was none. Her lips were dry, and she touched them with the tip of her tongue, disturbed by their faintly swollen contours. Like an automaton she pulled on her nightdress, shuddering as deep spasms of self disgust wracked her. She deserved every ounce of the contempt Slater had shown her—not because she was the shallow, self indulgent creature he believed, but because she had allowed her body to betray her mind, to overrule six years of hard work. Originally when she left Little Martin she had told herself that at least she had her self respect; that that was still intact; now she didn’t even have that. She had melted in Slater’s arms like a lighted candle, like over-dry kindling, and it still shocked her that he had the power to ignite her senses in that way. Viewed from a distance of six years, her adolescent hunger for him had been something she had set aside as unable to happen to her a second time. The intensity of need he could arouse inside her was something she found hard to come to terms with. She knew herself well enough to know that she had never felt like that with anyone else. Slater was the only one who could make her burn with physical hunger. Why? Because of what had happened between them in the past; that must be the answer. Unbidden, another and more serious explanation raised its head, but Chris refused to even admit it. Still in love with Slater? How could she be.
* * *
SHE COULDN’T hide herself away in her room for ever, Chris told herself sardonically, studying her reflection in the mirror, her make-up was flawless and only an expert could tell how much she had done to conceal the results of her sleepless night. Her hair she had drawn back in a sophisticated knot; her silk separates were specially chosen to enhance her cool, touch me not appearance. It was a little too late to hide behind
that fade now, she told herself cynically, but she needed the armour of appearing to be in control when she faced Slater. Her face coloured faintly beneath her make-up as she remembered her abandoned response to him. No, Slater wasn’t going to allow her to forget last night in a hurry. Teeth clenched she walked towards the door. She would have to face him, for Sophie’s sake if nothing else.
He lifted his head briefly in acknowledgement of her presence as she walked into the breakfast room. Dressed for the office, he looked remote and formidable. Trying to stem her inward quivering Chris pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Very impressive.” The paper was laid aside as he studied her immaculate face and silk blouse. “But it doesn’t fool me Chris. I ought to thank you for last night. It might have taken six years to bring me to my senses, but last night certainly did the trick. There’s nothing like a cold dose of reality for banishing impossible dreams is there?”
He was talking in riddles that Chris could not understand. She started to pour herself a cup of coffee and then stopped as her hand started to shake.
“Withdrawal symptoms?” His smile was tauntingly cruel. “You don’t have to stay here Chris, you know that. You can leave any time you like.”
“That’s just what you’d like me to do isn’t it.” The truth hit her in a blinding flash. Slater was too clever to openly defy Natalie’s will, but there were more subtle ways of making sure she never fulfilled her responsibilities towards Sophie. “I’m not leaving here yet Slater,” she told him curtly, “Not until I find out what’s haunting Sophie…”
“Noble sentiments.” His face looked austere, his expression shuttered. “You realise of course, that we might never find out. Sophie’s trauma could be permanent.”
It was a shocking thought. Chris’s mind switched from her own problems to the little girl’s. “How is she this morning?” she queried worriedly.
“Still sleeping. She often does after a bad night like last night. I’ve given Mrs Lancaster instructions to let her sleep on. What do you propose to do with yourself this morning?”
Who did he think he was, her gaoler? Chris frowned deeply. “I thought I’d go into the village and see about getting the Mini fixed. I can’t keep on using someone else’s car.”
“Umm…”
He didn’t speak again until he got up to leave, by which time Chris’s nerves were in shreds. Unlike her he seemed to have suffered no after affects from last night, but then unlike her he had not suffered the most acute mental and physical anguish because of it. The most unpalatable thing of all was that her body still ached for him; still hungered for his possession.
After he had gone Chris went upstairs to look in on Sophie. The little girl was so peacefully asleep that it seemed impossible to connect her peace now with the torment she had suffered during the night. Slater had told her that Sophie rarely woke up during her nightmares, and that on her doctor’s advice he did not mention them to her when she was awake.
Explaining to Mrs Lancaster where she was going, Chris got in her borrowed car and drove down to the village. The small garage looked much sprucer than she remembered it and the young man who came forward to help her seemed eager to please. Quickly Chris outlined her problem.
“I’ll certainly go up and a have a look at it for you,” he agreed when she had finished. “Where did you say you were staying?”
When Chris told him, she was surprised to see that dark colour seeping up under his skin. “You’ll be Nat…that is Mrs James’s cousin then?” he blurted out.
“Yes.” She watched him carefully. Obviously he knew Natalie, but then he would. Little Martin was a very small village. He was quite attractive in a fair-headed, boyish way, probably a couple of years her junior Chris deduced, and possibly something of an idealist.
“You knew my cousin?”
He nodded his head, his colour increasing, his head lowering defensively as he answered. “She brought her car to me for servicing. We got quite friendly.” His face twisted into a bitter smile. “If she’d taken my advice she might still be alive now. I knew she wasn’t happy, but…” he turned away, and Chris questioned sharply,
“Natalie told you she wasn’t happy?”
“We used to go out for a drink occasionally. Her car hadn’t been running very well. I couldn’t find anything wrong with it, so she suggested we went out for a drive—she thought the fault might show up better. She told me she was very lonely and we got into the habit of going out once or twice a month.” He saw Chris’s expression and not knowing what had caused it and that her sardonic grimace was more for her cousin’s duplicity that because of his response to it, said defensively, “It was all quite innocent…she just needed someone to talk to… I liked her…she said that no one here understood her. She was bored, lonely… Her husband ignored her; he had other women. The coroner said that she took her own life because she was severely depressed, but it was her husband who was really responsible. If he hadn’t neglected her. If he’d loved her as she deserved to be loved.” He turned to Chris, his face drawn in betraying lines of anguish, and Chris recognised in his expression all his hopeless adoration of her cousin and felt pity for him. “He refused to sleep with her you know, to be a proper husband to her. It started when she was carrying his child. He said she looked repulsive. He broke her heart.”
His revelations were astounding Chris. She didn’t know what to believe. Natalie had always had a penchant for embroidering the truth, but she already knew that her cousin and Slater had separate rooms. Had he perhaps regretted his impulsive marriage to her? Had he ever wished that she had been the one he had married? But no, she was letting her imagination run away with her now. Slater had never really wanted her. She knew that Natalie had died from an overdose of sleeping pills and she wondered suddenly if the doctor who had prescribed them had realised how dangerously depressed her cousin was.
Having thanked Natalie’s young admirer for his offer to check over the Mini, Chris made arrangements to telephone him in a few days’ time to see what progress if any had been made. He had, she learned before she took her leave of him, bought the small village business with a small legacy. Had he and Natalie been lovers? Somehow Chris didn’t think so. Richard Courtland did not strike her as the type to involve himself with another man’s wife on a physical level. No whatever comfort Natalie had had from him, it had been of a purely emotional nature Chris felt sure.
Before returning to the house she called in at the village chemist in Little Martin, they shared a doctor with three other villages, and old Doctor Goodfellow had never made any secret of his contempt for sleeping tablets and tranquilisers. Chris was nearly sure he would never have prescribed them to Natalie who had always had a tendency towards morbid hypochondria.
On enquiry the chemist told her cheerfully that Doctor Goodfellow had retired, and that they now came under a local Group Practise based in the nearest town. “It’s Doctor Howard who nearly always does the house calls,” he further amplified. “He lives just outside the village. He used to practice in London, but when his wife became ill they decided to move down here. Shame about her. Only thirty-two and likely to be an invalid for the rest of her life.” He explained to Chris that the doctor’s wife suffered from a progressive muscular wasting disease, adding that their three children were now at boarding school. “Devoted to his kids Doctor Howard is.”
Smiling mechanically Chris left the shop. It wasn’t hard to imagine that an overworked doctor, with as many personal problems as Dr Howard apparently had, would prescribe sleeping tablets for someone like Natalie…possibly hoping to keep her out of his busy surgery.
Chris wondered if it was worth going to see him. She knew that nothing would bring back her cousin, but she couldn’t help thinking if she could discover more about why she had taken her own life she might find some clue that would help with Sophie.
It was lunchtime when she got back to the house. Sophie picked lacklustrely at her food, looking heavy-eyed and tired. It transpir
ed that it was Mrs Lancaster’s afternoon off, and Chris readily agreed to look after the little girl, suggesting that they went out for a walk.
Sophie nodded her head when the question was put to her, and half an hour later the two of them set along a path Chris remembered from her own childhood. It led across several fields and on to some open ground where gypsies used to camp when Chris was little. At first Sophie seemed quite eager to walk briskly through the fields. The crops were growing well and as they walked Chris talked, not asking for any reply, but trying to monitor Sophie’s response to her chatter. It wasn’t until they reached the last field that Chris realised the open ground no longer existed. Several houses had been built on it, including a large bungalow whose back garden overlooked the fields. Frowning slightly she was disturbed to discover that Sophie had suddenly gone rigid, her small body very tense.
“Sophie, darling, what is it?” Chris knelt beside her, looking worriedly at her set face. Sophie was staring in the direction of the new development. Puzzled, Chris followed her concentrated attention. There was nothing especially remarkable about the houses; nothing that to her eyes could have given rise to the little girl’s intense reaction.
Deciding to take a risk Chris said casually, “Come on then, let’s go and look at those houses, I haven’t seen them before.”
She stood up but before she could take a single step forward Sophie tugged on her hand and refused to move. It wasn’t until Chris turned round to face the direction they had come in that Sophie consented to walk.
What had been the cause of her sudden tension? Chris wondered if it was worth mentioning the incident to anyone, reluctant to approach Slater in case he thought she was simply using Sophie as an excuse to draw his attention to her. Her face flamed as she thought about the previous night. She tried to dismiss the memories from her mind, but they kept surging back. The intensity of her own physical response still shocked her; even now she could hardly believe that she had actually experienced such an overwhelming need. It was completely out of character. Completely out of the character she had built for herself since leaving home, she amended slightly. The old Chrissie had reacted in much the same way, only then she had not had the experience to recognise the intensity of her desire.