Savage Obsession

by Diana Hamilton

  'Come, we'll walk.' His deep voice was thick with what had to be regret for what he was about to do to her. But she didn't want his pity. She wanted his love but had never had it. And never would now.

  'Come,' he repeated, and held out one hand. But she pointedly ignored it, stepping aside, giving him a wide berth as she began to walk up the lonely forest track. And he followed, overtaking her easily, anger back in every rapid stride as he thrust on­wards, taking a narrower, rarely used track, and she tagged after him because there was nothing else to do and he would only drag her along, the mood he was in, if she gave in to her instincts and sat down on the loamy floor of the forest and put back her head and howled.

  And just when she thought she was fated to follow him through this lonely place for all time he flung over his shoulder, 'When you walked out on me you should have said you couldn't bear to touch me. I just might not have bothered finding you!'

  'I don't know why you did!' she hurled right back, her breath coming rapidly, due more to the knowledge that they were at last beginning the final confrontation than the pace he had set.

  As long as he never discovered just how much she longed for his touch and how often, during the past three months, she had cried herself to sleep, aching for the physical intimacy they had once shared and which he, for obvious reasons, shunned, she would be able to hang on to the new beginnings of her self-respect.

  'I would have thought you'd be far too busy back at South Park with Zanna—and young Harry!'

  They had reached a clearing, the tall trees like a cathedral vault overhead, golden sunlight filtering through, making the silent shadows dimmer. And he stopped, and turned, facing her, and, for a moment, an image of pain flickered over his face. And then nothing. His features could have been carved from marble as he told her, 'I understand your jealousy. But don't let it warp your very existence. I promise you, Beth, there will be others for you.'

  She didn't know how she stopped herself from slapping him, stopped herself from yelling out all her disgust and rage. But she managed it, remem­bering in time that, believing as he did that their marriage had been without love on both sides, he would naturally assume that she would find someone else.

  And now was the time to get everything straight, and she steeled herself for that, wondering if he could hear the heavy, panicky beat of her heart in this dim green silence.

  Taking a hold on herself, she told him calmly, 'I know why Zanna came back with Harry. I over­heard you talking together the day they arrived.'

  There, it was out. He had no need now to break the 'news'. And she heard him drag in his breath and then expel it slowly, the tight span of his shoulders relaxing beneath the soft dark fabric of his sweatshirt.

  'So at least you understand about that.' His fine eyes darkened with something she couldn't put a name to and, almost too late, she saw the trap she had walked into.

  She had told him she'd overheard that conver­sation, and she knew he would be remembering, too, the things that had been said. How he'd already told the woman he loved that the ill-begotten mar­riage he'd entered into with the unsuitable Beth Garner was over. And how, because of that, Zanna had returned, bringing their son. She'd done her best as a single parent, but Harry needed his father, too.

  Fleetingly, Beth wondered why Zanna had walked out on Charles in the first place. Their deep, ob­sessive love for each other had been the talk of the neighbourhood gossips for months.

  Then, quickly, she pushed those thoughts out of her head, painfully aware of Charles's intent gaze. One way or another she had to extricate herself, step back from the trap she had almost walked straight into.

  Somehow, Charles had to be made to believe a lie, believe that she had walked out on him, not because Zanna had returned and Charles wanted a divorce, but because she, Beth, had decided she'd had enough.

  Walking out on him before he could ask her to go was the only way to salvage her pride. She had nothing else left.

  'Of course I understand,' she told him crisply, resisting the impulse to hug her arms around her slender body because, despite the warmth of the day, she was cold inside, aching with it. 'But it isn't really important. It was nothing to do with my reasons for wanting a separation.'

  'Which were?' He had moved closer to her and the very forest trees seemed to hold their breath. Beth couldn't speak, her heart beating crazily, making her head spin.

  She couldn't lie to him, not about a thing like that, she agonised, looking up at him, the bones of his face tight with tension. She simply couldn't do it. How could she deny her love for him? The love that had been growing, maturing and strengthening since she was fifteen years old?

  'Your reasons, Beth?' he pressed darkly, his eyes narrowing as they swept her anguished features.

  She flung out breathlessly, retreating, 'The same as yours, I imagine. We both know what these last few months have been like. The marriage simply didn't work out.'

  And he could translate that any way he wished, she thought distractedly, trying to stifle a betraying sob. And the most likely interpretation he would put on her evasive answer would be to believe that she, like himself, had grown tired of the sterile re­lationship, had long since reached the stage when even physical interest was totally dead. The way she had refused to take his hand back there, avoiding his touch, would reinforce that opinion.

  'I don't believe this.' He looked as if she had slapped him, and she didn't understand—her brain was too confused and tired to work anything out. And why didn't he simply take what she had handed him on a plate, cut and run—right back home to the eagerly waiting Zanna? Why drag this awful confrontation out?

  She couldn't stand much more of this. Her emo­tions had been dragging her down ever since she had eavesdropped on that conversation, trying to avoid the inevitable, running away when he'd told her that he and Zanna had something to say to her.

  Weakly, she closed her eyes, doing nothing to prevent the hot salty tears that trickled down her cheeks. All she wanted was for him to leave her alone, allow her some dignity. He had got exactly what he wanted, hadn't he? Did he have to have his pound of flesh, too?

  'Beth. Don't.' His voice was raw and before she knew what was happening his arms were around her, dragging her close into his body, and for one insane moment she allowed herself to melt, to cling to him, blocking her mind to the way things were.

  'Tell me what's wrong,' he whispered darkly, one strong hand cradling her head into the solid angle of his shoulder, and the blood began to beat thickly through her veins, drugging her, and only when his other hand began a slow caressing movement along the length of her spine did she realise what she was doing.

  She was allowing him to take the initiative, all over again, as he always had in their relationship. Not content with tossing her aside as soon as the woman he really loved appeared back on the scene, he wanted a run-down on her battered feelings.

  Well, she wasn't going to pander to his male ego. Wrenching her head away from its dangerous resting place, she bunched her hands into small fists and pushed against his shoulders, at the end of her tether, grinding out, 'Leave me alone, can't you?'

  Her efforts to push him away were worse than futile; they seemed to be heightening his desire to subdue her, she thought frantically, noting the rapid rise and fall of his deep chest, the savage glitter of his narrowed eyes as he tightened his hold on her squirming body and bit out, 'Why the hell should I? You're still my wife, damn it!'

  And then the world went very still, very silent, only the chaotic drumbeats of her heart sounding wildly in her ears, only her own sobbing, burning breath, the quick, rasping hiss that escaped his clamped lips before his mouth possessed hers in a brutal kiss that was like nothing that had ever gone before, his big body subduing her panicky attempts to escape, carrying them both down to the soft forest floor, down and down to a hot dark warmth from which there was no way out. A burning, fe­verish heat, all sense and reason gone because, although he no longer wanted her in his l
ife, she was still, legally, his possession, and he was stamping his brand, this one last time, just to prove his domination.

  And this was going to be rape.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  But it wasn't rape. Of course it wasn't.

  As far as Charles was concerned, Beth's re­sponsive body was all fire and fury, matching his own. It had been so long since he had touched her, wanted her, that when she felt his hard body covering hers all logical thought flew out of her head, her arms reaching up to twine around him, gathering him closer.

  And, as if her eager response triggered a more caring approach, the tenderness that had always been an intrinsic part of his passion in the early days of their marriage, his kiss gentled, his mouth tasting hers now, exploring a world within a world, searching, finding the gateway to her soul.

  Because her soul, her heart, her mind and body would always belong to him, no matter what hap­pened, Beth thought, and closed her mind off as his sure fingers undid the buttons of her top and slid the soft fabric from her gleaming satiny shoulders, and surrendered herself to him and the moment—the future, the past no longer important.

  Groaning softly, he buried his face in her breasts and her throat arched back, her hands avidly stroking the magnificent breadth of his back be­neath his sweatshirt, the strong arch of his ribcage.

  It wasn't a journey of discovery; she was simply coming home. She knew and worshipped every inch of his hard male body, and when he lifted his head and looked at her from narrowed, glittering eyes, she could only whisper his name.

  'Kiss me,' he commanded roughly, his skin pulled tight across his angular cheekbones, and she lifted eager hands to his head, her fingers twisting in the dark softness of his hair as she pulled him down, her lush lips parted, receptive.

  And when she thought she would die from the sweet, melting torment of his mouth he rolled away from her, his eyes holding hers with scorching in­tensity as his hands went to the buckle of the leather belt that spanned his narrow waist. And her whole body was shaken with fine tremors of need.

  For far, far too long she had ached for the love he had denied her and their mating on the soft forest floor was explosive, a wild, tumultuous release that left her satiated, her delicate body bruised by passion, curling immediately into the sheltering warmth of his as she fell asleep with the utter sud­denness of a child.

  Waking slowly, Beth felt flutters of cool air beating against her naked skin and she made a tiny mewing sound of distress then opened her eyes, fo­cusing on the tall, dusk-shadowed man. He was fully dressed now, zipping up his jeans, and, at her small sound of protest, he was on his knees in front of her, his hands rubbing her arms and shoulders, his voice rough at the edges as he told her,

  'You're cold. I'll help you dress.'

  And he did, his fingers deft and sure, making up for her clumsiness. Her brain was in shock at what had happened, the lovemaking he had forced upon her to begin with but which she, craven idiot that she was, had then actively encouraged.

  She felt so ashamed of herself that she wanted to die.

  She had slept in his arms for hours, his body half covering her, keeping her warm, and now she was stiff and cold, back to reality, the fantasy and magic all gone.

  Because there had been no magic at all, she re­minded herself as she forced her feet into her sandals, merely stupidity on her part and the natural masculine desire to brand a possession—even if he no longer actually wanted it.

  Ineffectively trying to smooth the crumpled folds of her skirt, she whimpered her self-disgust, and Charles said thickly, his face remote, 'Have my sweatshirt.' He was already beginning to strip it off and although the extra warmth would have been welcome it would be his warmth. She shook her head impatiently.

  'No, thanks,' she said, and set off quickly down the track. 'I have to get back.' Back to the security of the old farmhouse, her own little room. She would think about how to explain her long absence to William some other time. Just now the de­grading way she had behaved left no room for any­thing else in her head.

  One minute she'd been telling her husband that she understood why he'd taken his former mistress back into his life, saying that, in any case, she had been thinking about a separation for some time, implying that he could have the divorce he so ob­viously wanted if he were to legitimise his son. And the next… Well, the next minute she had been locked in his arms, writhing around on the forest floor, practically begging him to make love to her!

  'Beth.' He caught her arm, just above her elbow, swinging her round to face him. It was already late afternoon and the heavy canopy of leaves cut out the light and his face was shadowed, remote. 'We have to talk.'

  'Not now!' She dragged her arm away and watched his hands fall to his sides, his mouth clamping in a grim line. She swung away again, her slender shoulders rigid with temper.

  How could he expect her to discuss the divorce he wanted, sordid things like settlements or whatever, when he had so recently filled her body with the explosion of his passion? How could he bring that hateful subject up? Couldn't he see how she was almost disintegrating with self-disgust, her anger the only thing keeping her together?

  And she snapped through her teeth, 'Just drive me home. I never want to see you again!'

  'If that's what you want,' he ground out tightly, overtaking her with long, furious strides, stalking ahead and flinging over his shoulder, 'But Templeton's house is not your home. Never forget it!'

  Dog in the manger, Beth thought angrily, her burning eyes boring into his back as he swung through the trees on the track ahead. He no longer wanted her as his wife, yet he couldn't bear the thought of her being with another man.

  Not that her relationship with William was in any way sexual. She was here to do a job, and after taking off for the best part of the day, when what she and Charles had had to say to each other would have only needed ten minutes at most, she might not have a job to go back to, she thought sniffily.

  Charles reached the car well ahead of her and was waiting, holding the door open, and she got in, not able to look at him because he had reduced her to the status of a plaything, had decided to in­dulge in one last sexual romp before he tossed her out of his life forever.

  And she, poor fool, had urged him on! She dis­gusted herself, she really did!

  He drove back to the farmhouse in silence—the air in the cabin of the car was thick with it—and as she fumbled to release her seatbelt he glanced at his watch, his brows drawn together in a heavy bar of impatience.

  'Nothing's been resolved. Not a damn thing.' His fingers beat an irritated tattoo on the wheel and she slid out of the car quickly as he threatened, 'But I'll be back. Make no mistake about that.'

  Her fingers quivering on the door, Beth retorted sharply, 'Don't bother. Make all the arrangements for the divorce through my solicitor,' and banged it shut, wincing as a moment later she heard the powerful engine roar to life, scattering the handful of foraging hens when the car shot out of the courtyard on an angry, full-throated snarl.

  She was shivering with reaction as she crept round the side of the house, making for the kitchen. She couldn't face her employer until she'd pulled herself together. Trying to come up with a reason to excuse her hours-long absence wasn't going to be easy. She certainly couldn't tell him the truth, tell him that she'd spent the afternoon making love with her es­tranged husband, sleeping naked in his arms!

  Mariette was in the kitchen, podding broad beans ready for the evening meal, her small black eyes gleaming with curiosity, and Beth could almost see the wheels in her brain turning as she tried to find the English words for the endless questions that were obviously right there on the end of her tongue.

  Giving the housekeeper a wan smile, Beth scurried through to the annexe to the privacy and safety of her own room. It would be a long time before she got over the trauma of what had hap­pened this afternoon, the disgust she felt for her own behaviour. She simply wasn't up to facing anyone until she could face herself.


  But she would have to face William, she re­minded herself sharply as she emerged from the shower and dressed in a fresh skirt and cotton-knit sweater. When his secretary disappeared for hours on end he was entitled to an explanation.

  She found him in the airy sitting-room of the main house, the room they took their meals in, and he had his back to her, standing by the window with the pages of manuscript she'd typed pre­viously in his hands. And he turned sharply as she entered and, amazingly, there was nothing on his bluntly good-looking face but relief.

  'Are you all right? When you didn't come back I thought that brute had done something to you. I was beginning to panic'

  'I'm sorry.' Thick hot colour slid over Beth's face as vivid pictures of exactly what 'that brute' had done to her flooded her mind. But she couldn't put that into words, could she? And she began to gabble, 'Our—our discussion took longer than I'd bargained for. I'll make up the time, of course.'

  'Don't even think of it,' William dismissed gruffly. 'Just as long as you're all right.' He moved over to the table Mariette had already set, poured wine and handed her a glass. 'Sit down and drink this. You look as if you need it.' And as she grate­fully sank down on to the sofa he sat beside her, his big-knuckled hands hanging between his knees, questioning, 'Was it to do with a divorce? When you came here you told me you were separated. My advice is, give him what he wants. He'll take it, anyway—he looks that type.'

  Beth nodded, too choked to speak, twisting the stem of the wine glass around in her fingers, and William patted her shoulder awkwardly, his voice gruff as he added, 'There aren't any children, are there?' and she shook her head.

  No, there were no children. Just Harry. Just Charles's son. But not hers, of course. Never hers. She had lost her child, along with all her foolish dreams of happiness, three long months ago.

  Her eyes filled with sudden unstoppable tears and William said quickly, 'I'm sorry. None of my business. But if the brute's made you unhappy my advice is cut and run. Forget him and don't look back. It never pays. And don't forget, if you ever want to talk it out, need a shoulder to lean on, I'm here.' He had gone very pink, changing the subject rapidly. 'I'm going to be up to my eyeballs in re­search tomorrow, so why don't you take the morning off, go into Boulogne, have lunch and bring back some fish for supper?'