From the Torrid Past

by Ann Cristy

  D'Arcy heard the low gasping murmurs around them and moved back from his hand, flags of red in her cheeks. Damn the man, she thought, grinding her teeth. Didn't he realize he was making a spectacle of both of them? Even being with Rudy would have been better than standing here with this man.

  "I think everyone is going in to have dinner now," she said, her voice stiff. "I'll have to find my husband." She ignored the flare of temper she could see in his face, his eyes darkening almost to chestnut, his face hardening as he glared. She shivered as she stepped around him, sensing the rage directed at her.

  She had no idea how she got to the table or through the meal. She listened to Rudy's silly remarks to the blonde on his right with indifference, intent only on making her escape at the end of the meal.

  Rudy insisted that she stay for one dance for appearance's sake, then he shrugged, saying he didn't care if she went home or not. He was staying and since it was a long drive, he might stay overnight with a friend. D'Arcy nodded absently, sure in her mind that he would be staying with the brunette whose eyes followed them continuously as they danced.

  "May I cut in?" The vibrant voice burst right through her bubble of distraction. She tried to shake her head at Rudy, but he was looking up at his superior with an ingratiating smile that told her it would be a wasted effort on her part to protest.

  D'Arcy swallowed past the constriction in her throat, feeling birdlike as she whirled around the floor in those strong arms. Like many large men, Keele Petrakis was a good dancer, his movements light and rhythmic. Her head fit under his chin and though she couldn't see over his shoulder, she sensed many eyes on them. A good dancer herself who had had to submit to Rudy's contrived, jerky stepping, she found a rare freedom in letting herself be swept around the room, her body relaxed in response to the beat and the man's firm lead.

  "You're not only a beautiful woman, D'Arcy, you dance like an angel," he murmured, his head lowered toward her.

  "Thank you. You dance well, too, Mr. Petrakis," she answered, her eyes fixing on the pleats of his shirt that she was sure were handsewn. She tried to figure out just how many hours that hand tucking would take.

  "Do I bore you, D'Arcy?" he whispered, a hard thread of amusement in his voice.

  She looked up, surprised, then irritated. "If I thought about it at all, I suppose the answer would be no." Her voice was tart.

  The music stopped. D'Arcy felt his fingers dig into her before she was released. "You have a cutting tongue, D'Arcy."

  She looked away from those lion's eyes, sure they could lance her veins.

  Rudy was there with the brunette, staring at her, then at Keele Petrakis. D'Arcy could sense his anger even at a distance. Taking deep breaths, she angled away from both men and headed for the table. Once there, she picked up the camera, turning it in her hands.

  "What's this? Are you going to take pictures?" Keele asked at her back, making her jump. She hadn't realized he had followed her.

  "Yes, I thought I would, unless you have an objection. I work for the Vox Urbis and thought I would take some shots for our society section."

  Keele took the camera from her and looked at it. "I have no objections. Would you mind if I took one of you first?"

  "What? But I... all right take one." She felt annoyed but managed to smile into the lens. Before she could take it from him, he had turned to someone passing and asked him to take a picture of them. Before she could do more than gasp, Keele was beside her, his arm around her waist. The man took the picture with D'Arcy looking up at Keele. He was smiling into the lens. She still had the picture five years later.

  D'Arcy only took a few more pictures. She was too nervous, feeling Rudy's stare following her. She knew he wouldn't be coming home that night, but she also knew the longer she stayed—and held Keele Petrakis's interest—the more his anger with her would grow. Rudy wouldn't forget. He would find a way to get at her and nothing—including all her promises to herself that she wouldn't be intimidated by him again—would stop him from trying something nasty.

  With a sigh of relief, she left to find her coat, not even bothering to say good night to Rudy.

  "Isn't your husband going to see you home?" The silken voice behind her startled her again.

  "Do you know you have the most annoying habit of creeping up on people?" Her chin jutted forward, her hand came up in a fist.

  "And you're a little spitfire, do you know that?" He laughed when she sputtered at him. "This is your coat?" He lifted the serviceable, lined raincoat with the frayed cuffs from her hands. "You should have saved a little money on that gown and bought yourself a warm coat."

  "Not that it's any of your business, but I was wearing this dress as an advertisement. It doesn't belong to me. So keep your observations to yourself," D'Arcy was stung into replying, well aware of the shortcomings of her wardrobe.

  "Your husband seems to dress well enough. Tell him you want more money for clothes," he drawled as she pulled away from him, tying the belt which had long ago lost its buckle.

  She wanted to scream at him that she had had the coat all through college, that she was too proud to ask her uncle for money, that her husband gave her just enough for food, that someday she would make enough on her photography to outfit herself. She said nothing, her lips tightening.

  "I'll take you home, D'Arcy."

  She stopped dead in the corridor leading to the lobby. "No thank you."

  "I'm taking you home." His voice was flat.

  All at once she felt a big knot loosen inside her. She felt a dike give way on her emotions. "Don't.,. be.. kind... to... me," D'Arcy gasped, her throat working in spasmodic rejection of the collapse. A torrent ran from her eyes, a massing flood that began to crumble all her bastions and she didn't even know why. "Oh God, now look what... what you've done," she hiccupped, dabbing a tissue at her eyes.

  He led her from the building, not saying another word.

  She was hardly aware of entering the car, its sleek silver interior enclosing her in cushioned comfort.

  The car growled and snarled its way through the rain, the headlights and horns of passing vehicles a Daliesque backdrop. The underground garage was quiet after the noise of the street. D'Arcy didn't question anything until they were about to enter an elevator.

  "Where are we?" she asked in dull curiosity.

  "My apartment. You are in no condition to be alone and that swine you married doesn't give a damn about you."

  "I know that," she replied testily, sniffing into the fine linen handkerchief he had pressed into her hand while they were driving. "I want to go home. I can't stay here."

  "I'll take you home after you've had a little cognac and coffee."

  "I don't drink." She glared at him as he held the elevator so that she could step from it right into the foyer of his apartment.

  "So I remember," he answered, amusement in his voice as he lifted the coat from her shoulders. "This is medicinal."

  "Baloney," she said, rubbing her arms with cold hands as she moved toward the fireplace that Petrakis had just set a match to. "I like a real fire, not those electric things," she said trying to keep her teeth from chattering.

  "So do I. That's why I have one. Here." He spoke just behind her so that when she turned she was standing with her head next to his chin.

  When she would have stepped back, he caught her arm, chuckling. "Why are you laughing at me?" She glared from the snifter to him and back again.

  "Perhaps at your preference for stepping into the fire rather than being close to me."

  "Not much of a choice, is it?" Her voice sounded surly to her ears.

  Those leonine eyes had a yellow sky look, storm ahead. "As I've said before, you have a nasty tongue."

  "Sorry. You should have taken me straight home. I don't feel like partying." Her voice took on a grating tone. "I think I've had enough."

  "Why did you marry that swine?" He tipped some cognac into his mouth, watching her.

  "I didn't think he was a swi
ne then." She swallowed a gulp of cognac and her eyes started to water. Her voice was hoarse. "I didn't think I was a homely, frigid bitch then either." She gasped in horror at what she'd said and turned away from him to set the snifter on a carved oaken table that had an authentic medieval look. "I must go home. I'll take a cab."

  "No." Petrakis pulled her back against him. "So you're willing to accept his assessment of you, are you?" His voice was rough, but the fingers at her waist were gentle, massaging.

  "Yes." The words burst from her. "Because he's right. I hate sex." She pushed at his fingers, pulling them from her waist, then turned to face him. "I hate a man's touch," she snarled. "So he's right." She gulped. "And keep your pawing hands to yourself."

  "Pawing hands?" His tones were silken. "Lady, you don't know what you're talking about." He bit the words in half as though they were steel shards. He reached for her again.

  D'Arcy had no conscious wish. Her hand flew up and she struck him full on the face. She turned to run, but his hands vised at her hips, lifting her around to him.

  His mouth battered hers. She felt as though her lips were split grapes. Panic made her struggle harder, inciting him to tighten his hold. His one hand gripped her neck, forcing her head immobile. His other hand clutched her hips, grinding them into his body.

  She was smothering. Her mouth opened and he was there, possessing hers, his tongue like a brand. She felt a weird curling sensation in her stomach, a tingling on the back of her calves, a trembling in her forearms. For one hysterical moment she wondered if she could be having a stroke. Then a heat built in her and her raking fingers clenched on him.

  Rudy's face, swollen and malevolent, projected itself on the front of her mind.

  "No. Stop. I won't let you hit me. Stop!" Then she choked, hearing her own breathing like the sound of a waterfall in her ears. She only knew that she had to protect herself, that she wouldn't allow herself to be hit again.

  "D'Arcy, stop it. Open your eyes. Now." The voice was soft but insistent. "Alessio doesn't have you, darling. I do. I'm not going to hurt you. I never would."

  D'Arcy's lids felt as though they had been glued. When she unstuck them and looked at Keele Petrakis, she felt a mixture of fear and relief. "I should go."

  "No. I'm not going to let you go." He kept his arms around her as he guided her to the settee. He lifted her cognac from the table and teased her lips with the glass. "Drink this, D'Arcy. You won't get drunk, but you will begin to feel warm and relaxed."

  "Why are you taking care of me?" D'Arcy's lip trembled and she bit down hard on it.

  "I don't know." Petrakis's face didn't soften. "But I know someone should have been taking care of you for a long time. Leave him, D'Arcy."

  She nodded. "As soon as I have enough money for the passage home, I will."

  "Where's home?" His voice was gentle as he urged another sip of cognac on her.

  "America." She sat back against the welcoming fullness of the couch, the muscles in her neck unknotting a bit.

  "America is a big place," Keele said, amusement threading his voice, settling himself beside her.

  "Yes, isn't it." D'Arcy's mouth lifted at the comers. She sighed. "It's nice here." She let her eyes rest on the green and cream of the Kerman carpet. "These are expensive." She gestured with the snifter, sloshing some of the liquid up the sides of the glass, and then giggled, leaning her head back.

  "Are you drunk on two sips of cognac?" Keele brushed the comer of her mouth with his lips.

  "Four sips of cognac and certainly not." She tried to focus on those leonine eyes so close to her own. "I drank beer in college all the time. I was hardly ever tipsy." She looked at him unsmiling for a moment. "I'm sober. It's just that I feel so silly, so carefree, so relaxed." She smiled again, lifting her free hand and rubbing it along his jawbone. "You should be a psychologist, not a business executive, Mr. Petrakis."

  "Call me Keele. I want to hear you say my name."

  "Keele." She gasped when his head lowered and his mouth caught hold of hers. The kiss was gentle, persuasive. His body leaned against hers with sensual heaviness. She struggled to keep her equilibrium. "I'll... I'll bet you have to shave twice a day."

  He ran a hand over his chin. "Am I scratching you, D'Arcy?"

  She knew she should say yes, that getting him to shave would be the perfect ploy. Then she could leave when he went to take care of the shadow on his face. "I've felt worse." She stroked his chin, then down his neck. "Do you shave twice a day?"

  "Yes." His voice was hoarse as he turned his face into her palm, his tongue tracing the lines in her hand.

  She felt her calves turn to water, the fine hairs on her body lifting and being drawn in his direction. She opened her mouth to tell him that she was leaving. Instead she watched him lift her cognac snifter to his lips, drinking at the spot where she had drunk.

  "I want you to be my food and drink, D'Arcy." His eyes melted over her. "Will you let me drink from you?"

  She looked at him mutely as he pushed her back against the cushions and lay beside her. His mouth was everywhere on her face. D'Arcy had the feeling that he had kissed every pore. His tongue trailed down her ear, his uneven breathing acting on her like a stimulant. Her hands pulled and tugged at the hair that edged his nape.

  Never did she realize that touching someone's hair could be so erotic. Her hands seemed to have a life of their own as they feathered his neck and face, then loosened his tie.

  "Lady, you are pulling me apart," Keele growled into her neck. "You had better know what you are doing because 1 know what I'm going to do."

  The giddy feeling she had was Keele lifting her into his arms, not releasing her mouth as he mounted the stairs two at a time.

  "No," she whispered, even as she helped him take off her clothes. She watched dumbfounded as he rolled her panty hose from her legs and then kissed each knee.

  "Yes, my little darling, yes. Tonight you're going to have a man make love to you. Tonight you'll be a woman."

  Any answer D'Arcy might have made was lost in his mouth. Then as the heat built in her body, she began to caress him. She was sure that pain would be the culmination of this, but for the moment she reveled in skin touching skin, legs and arms entwined. When she was sure he would enter her she stiffened, at first with the anticipation of pain, then with the surprise that he was just beginning to minister to her with his tongue and hands. It amazed her that the gasps and moans she heard were her own.

  When his body joined hers, her delight increased until the bud of feeling burst forth and she felt herself explode in a riot of color.

  Keele let her sleep for a while, then woke her again, and the same spiraling climb to sensual pleasure enfolded her. He never seemed to tire of the love play. As she watched those warm, golden eyes, D'Arcy thought she saw a question there, but she couldn't be sure. She was too bemused to try and wriggle herself free of the love cocoon to make sure.

  The third time he woke her she went to him eagerly, caressing him in a frenzied way, as though she knew she had to lose him. Her aggression drove him wild and he cried out her name again and again, his pleasure making hers tenfold.

  When he fell into a deep sleep, wrapping his body around her, D'Arcy stayed awake, wanting to savor the moments with the man she knew she loved. Whatever she had felt for Rudy had been a pale imitation of what she felt for this man, this man she couldn't have.

  D'Arcy eased away from him when he was breathing in the heavy rhythm of deep sleep. She dressed and left the flat as the gray sky was lightening to a whitish blue.

  Rudy was not in when she got home. She took a bath, straightened up the apartment, then set about the task of developing the film she had shot at the party. She went to the office and when Harold said that Keele was on the phone, she told him to say she wasn't there.

  That night he called again, but D'Arcy wouldn't speak to him. Late that night the police came and said that Rudy's car had overturned on the M 1, that he and the brunette woman with him ha
d died at once.

  Rudy had been an orphan, so D'Arcy had arranged to have him buried in England. She saw Keele at the graveside. She left the next day for New York, unaware that she was pregnant with Keele's child.

  Chapter 2

  "Kyria? we will be landing at Keros soon. I have brought you some coffee." The smiling thin-faced young man bowed and left. If he had noticed the shaking of the foreign woman's hand he had been too polite to mention it.

  D'Arcy sighed, remembering how Henry and Adelaide had not questioned when D'Arcy had insisted on naming her baby Sean Henry Kincaid after her father and her uncle. She remembered how they had taken the child to their hearts, how they encouraged D'Arcy to seek a career in photography, how often Adelaide had cared for Sean until he was old enough for nursery school. Most of all, she thought of her son with the deep brown hair and the tawny eyes and the chin that jutted out whenever he was scared or hurt. Not that he would cry much. Oh no, even at four he had a crusty courage that would make him tough it out, much to his mother's amused pride. For the first time in a long while she feared that Keele might discover his son. His son was so like him, there would be no denying it, and Greece was closer to London than Long Island. She sipped the black-as-death Greek coffee and pushed the morbid idea from her mind.

  Landing at Keros was an event, D'Arcy thought, chuckling as she watched some goats debark in the care of a grizzled man, fully aware that she was not considered as important as the goats to the men on the boat.

  A squarely built man with a blocklike bald head approached her. "You are Kyria Plantz?" he asked in heavy accented English, his lips barely moving, his eyes ranging over her with ill-concealed insolence.

  "No, I am Kyria Kincaid. Kyria Plantz was taken ill. Perhaps my editor was able to..."

  "I am to escort Kyria Plantz, no one else." His body seemed to take on menace.

  "Now look, I have my credentials. Just take me to Madame Davos and I will explain to her." D'Arcy spoke in forceful accents but it surprised her when he capitulated. She heaved a sigh of relief, having pictured herself stranded on the teeming dock with nowhere to go but back to Athens.