Ruthless Passion

by Penny Jordan

  With all the means of transport at his disposal it was extremely unlikely that there was anywhere in the world he could not be within twenty-four hours, Leo reflected, but he knew he could not say so. He had touched a nerve, quite obviously … Because her relationship with her child’s father was not a good one? Why did that thought cause him such a sharp thrill of relief?

  They had to break off their discussion to order their meal, and, once they had, Leo changed the subject by asking her about her work.

  Her work was something about which Christie felt so passionate that her problem was not in talking about it but in trying to make sure she didn’t totally monopolise conversations by doing so, but on this occasion she was also conscious of a tiny frisson of not exactly chagrin … not even really disappointment, but something that was most definitely not the relief she should have felt in having successfully indicated to Leo that Cathy and her private life were subjects she did not want to discuss.

  What had she expected—that he would press her to answer his questions, ignoring her unspoken veto, as if she were a woman saying no when she meant yes?

  Her muscles tensed reactively, her self-disgust that she might have been guilty of that kind of passive inability to make her own decisions as sharp as though she did indulge in the kind of fake shy sexual manipulation that meant she paid lip-service to the outdated notion that a woman could not be valued by a man in the sexual sense unless he had to coax or persuade her into acquiescing to his desire; as though a woman were some kind of passive vessel for sex, without the self-respect or pride to claim her rights to her own sexual needs; the right to say yes when she meant yes and to say no when she meant no without being judged on those responses.

  Her voice, her manner had warned Leo to keep his conversation away from personal issues, so why now did she feel slighted almost because he had, as though in obeying her unspoken commands he was somehow indicating that he had no real interest in her?

  She was still irritated by her own contrariness when their waiter came to escort them to their table.

  As Leo walked behind her he observed the economical elegance of the way she moved; she had a natural physical grace, not the languid, calculated, sensual grace of Elle and her like. Christie’s was more buoyant, more vital, her movements quick without being jerky or brittle. She would be an energetic lover, he suspected, one who might even deride him a little for his own slower-paced enjoyment of lingering over each caress and touch.

  Leo liked foreplay, a fact that had openly amused Elle, who had told him once that the fates had given him a gift which potentially could make him irresistible to the whole of womankind.

  ‘I thought it was stamina that women wanted in sex,’ he had offered ruefully, conscious that Elle was already discreetly indicating that her recent orgasm, while enjoyable, had for her simply been a starter to the main meal.

  ‘Almost any man can be made erect by a woman who has patience and skill,’ Elle had shrugged. ‘Teaching him that she desires more than the mechanical textbook manipulation of her body plus a brief period of penetration if she is to achieve the pleasure she has every right to expect is something else.

  ‘The best that most women can hope for is that a man will have enough knowledge and self-control to suppress his own orgasm until she has had time to reach hers. To find a man who actually takes as much pleasure in helping her to reach that orgasm as he does in the relief of his own … a man who sometimes enjoys that journey so much that he is actually slower to reach that climax than she …’ Elle had run a delicate fingertip down his body as she spoke, laughing softly under her breath as his quiescent body started to respond to her, conversation forgotten as she drew him down against her.

  Christie could be an almost pragmatic, even aggressive lover, he suspected, demanding her right to be treated as an equal, the one who kissed, who controlled, who set the pace. While he had never had any desire to make a woman feel subservient or passive, Leo had also never been attracted to a woman who was sexual rather than sensual, and, on the face of it, Christie was that kind of woman, perhaps treating sex as an appetite to be appeased, as something separate from emotion, above all refusing to let go of her own self-control.

  But he had seen the way she touched those flowers, the wondering, almost awed look of pleasure in her eyes, and he had known that, no matter how much she herself might seek to conceal it, she was as vulnerable to sensuality as he was himself.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  MUCH as Christie enjoyed her meal, and she did enjoy it, it was her conversation with Leo she enjoyed most.

  She was over halfway through her main course, expounding fiercely on her concern about the power of the huge modern drug companies, before she realised how much she was monopolising the conversation.

  Wasn’t it supposed to be the woman who stroked the man’s ego by encouraging him to dominate the conversation, not the other way round? she wondered wryly as she apologised.

  ‘You don’t feel there is any place in modern medicine for the large drug companies, then; from a moral point of view, that is?’ Leo questioned her.

  His heart had sunk as he listened to her. While he shared many of her views, her passionate dislike of the large corporations and those who ran them had dismayed him.

  ‘Not unless they are a lot more carefully monitored and controlled than they are now, and by an independent body,’ Christie told him firmly. ‘I’m not disputing the worth of some of the new drugs on the market, but, make no mistake about it, the drug companies are in the market for profit. Altruism does not generate profit and, given the fact that they have so much wealth, so much power, some of them are in a position to put pressure on not just the medical profession but in some cases on governments themselves to sanction drugs that might not have been thoroughly tested.’

  ‘There are very strict laws,’ Leo began mildly, but Christie shook her head.

  ‘There are laws, but sometimes the effects of these drugs don’t show up in clinical trials. Modern drugs are extremely powerful, capable of destroying whole nervous systems, of suppressing immune systems. In some cases doctors are encouraged to prescribe drugs that are potentially far too powerful … when something more gentle, more natural—’

  ‘Nature creates drugs that are just as powerful as, if not more powerful than those created by man,’ Leo pointed out.

  Christie frowned at him.

  ‘I’m not saying that you aren’t right … that you don’t have a valid point,’ Leo added gently. ‘But it would be foolish to deny that modern drugs have a very important role to play in health care and in the prevention and cure of certain diseases.

  ‘The way I see it, since the aim is to help and protect the patient, there should be room for every kind of medicine to work in harmony.’

  Christie gave him a cynical look. ‘Just in the same way as it should be possible for people of every colour and creed to live in harmony?’ she demanded pithily. ‘Somehow it never works out like that, does it? The strong inevitably seem to end up oppressing the weak. I take it that your support of the drug companies isn’t entirely detached?’ she asked shrewdly. ‘Do you work for one of them?’

  ‘In a way, yes,’ Leo agreed, relieved. Here was his opportunity to tell her the truth. And increasingly throughout the evening it had become more and more important to him that she did know the truth. Leo was well aware of the small subtle sexual signals he had been receiving from her; subtle enough to be ignored if he so chose and yet direct enough to indicate her own willingness for more intimacy with him.

  ‘Well, I suppose a man ought to show some loyalty towards his employers,’ Christie was commenting. ‘Saul certainly believes so.’

  ‘Saul?’ Leo queried.

  Christie felt a small spark of triumph as she recognised the male challenge in his voice. Did he think that Saul was her lover? ‘My brother,’ she told him calmly, watching his reaction with an unfamiliar female pleasure. ‘We don’t always see eye to eye on things, although he
’s always given me support when I needed it most.’ She frowned a little, remembering her feeling that something in Saul’s life, in his whole outlook, had changed; that something had disturbed and distressed him. His gulf between him and his children?

  ‘So, although your opinions differ emotionally, you are close,’ Leo suggested. ‘I wish I could say the same about my relationship with my brother,’ he told her. Now it was his turn to frown. What on earth had made him say that? His relationship with Wilhelm had no place here; and in fact it was something he never discussed with anyone. Because there had never been anyone close enough to him for him to be able to do so. But how could he think he was close to this woman? She didn’t even know who he really was.

  ‘Have you just the one brother?’ Christie was asking him.

  ‘Yes, and you …?’

  He still hadn’t told her who he was, and, as they progressed from the discovery that they both had elder brothers to the discovery that neither of them had parents living, Leo acknowledged that he had lost an important opportunity to be open and truthful with her. Lost it, or deliberately let it slip by, because he was still afraid of her reaction?

  ‘You didn’t get along too well with your father?’ he asked Christie now, frowning as he picked up the note of hesitation in her voice when she mentioned him.

  ‘Saul was always closer to him. I think in all fairness things might have been different had I been different. He was the kind of man who liked things, life, to be orderly and to conform. Had I been the kind of pretty, docile person he wanted me to be …’ She gave a tiny shrug.

  ‘He was afraid of your intelligence. Some men are like that often because it underlines their own inadequacies. I’m sorry,’ he apologised quickly. ‘I didn’t mean to imply that your father …’

  ‘I’m not offended,’ Christie told him. ‘In fact, in many ways he did feel inadequate. And because of that he pushed Saul … set him targets, goals that were what he wished he could have achieved himself.’ She paused and looked at him, her eyes clear and calm. ‘You may think it unfeminine, disloyal, even, of me to criticise him to you, but I believe in being honest. I hate people who pay lip-service to convention, saying one thing when they mean the complete opposite. I loved my father, but I didn’t particularly like him and he certainly didn’t like me.’

  ‘Well, you are one up on me,’ Leo told her. ‘I neither liked nor loved mine.’ He stopped abruptly. This was the first time he had ever said that to anyone. His dislike of his father had been something he had always kept to himself. Because he had never had anyone in his life with whom he could share those kind of feelings; because he had always been slightly afraid of them, guilty for having them even, while logic told him that he had every reason for feeling them and none whatsoever for loving the man who had always rejected and hurt him.

  ‘It isn’t easy, is it,’ he said now, ‘coming to terms with that feeling, that awareness that, no matter how much you try, you cannot be the person a parent wants you to be? At first you feel misery, guilt, pain … and that comes after the realisation that you have somehow disappointed.

  ‘Then later comes that dull resignation and misery that you have somehow failed; that awareness that, whatever you do, there will never be for you the praise and acceptance there is for another, preferred sibling. And then, later still, if you are lucky, there comes the protection of anger because you are not accepted for what you are; and if you are even luckier an awareness that you have talents, gifts, skills that are uniquely yours and of value, even if they are not those admired by the rejecting parent.’

  Christie was silent for so long that he thought for a moment that he had somehow alienated and offended her, and then as she ducked her head he saw the brief shimmer of tears in her eyes.

  ‘It’s such a dangerous thing, isn’t it,’ she told him huskily when she lifted her head, her emotions under control, ‘meeting someone so very much on your own wavelength?’

  ‘Dangerous?’ Leo queried sombrely. ‘Why do you say that? Isn’t it what every human being craves—to be with another human being with whom they are emotionally in tune?’

  ‘Not necessarily. Sometimes that kind of intimacy can be too powerful, too strong. It makes people feel too vulnerable. Like being with someone who can read every thought in your mind.’

  ‘Too intrusive and possessive, you mean? I believe that it’s a disease of our times, this fear people have of real intimacy, this desire to distance themselves, often using sex to do so, offering it as a false gift of intimacy.’

  ‘It’s normally women who express that view, not men,’ Christie commented.

  ‘Are you trying to suggest that because I’m a man I’m not allowed to put emotional intimacy higher on my list of priorities than sexual intimacy?’ Leo asked her quietly. He had caught her off guard and her expression showed it.

  ‘No, no, of course I’m not,’ she denied, adding firmly, ‘Any more than a woman should feel guilty about expressing her sexuality.’

  * * *

  They were virtually the last to leave the restaurant, but the staff made no attempt to rush them.

  When they had walked back to the hotel Leo noticed that this time Christie walked much closer to him, the movements of her body harmonising with his. Or was he the one harmonising with her? he mused. He suspected she would have said so. Did it matter as long as they were in harmony? Again he suspected that Christie would think so.

  He went with her up to the door of her room, and as she turned round, obviously about to invite him in, he leaned down and briefly kissed her.

  Her mouth felt soft and warm beneath his, her body curving into his so that he could feel the soft firmness of her breasts against his chest.

  He kissed her again, savouring the taste of her, his hand caressing her shoulder and then her throat, his fingers enjoying the sensual vitality of her hair as he slid them into it. So many different sensations, so many promised pleasures, and she was not, as he had half suspected, sexually aggressive after all. She was not passive either.

  His brain managed to remain detached enough to note these facts while his senses absorbed the scent and taste of her, aware of the pliancy of her body, of its invitation and desire, of the fact that she was offering herself to him, inviting him to share her pleasure with a frank openness that caught at his heart because it was an invitation he could not accept, not without telling her who he was, and he knew she would not understand; that she would believe him guilty of deliberate deception; that that deception would sting her pride, would in her eyes reflect on her judgement. She had trusted him, told him things about herself he knew she had confided to few, if any, others, and she would consider that in keeping such information to himself he had trapped her into betraying herself to him under a false guise.

  She would probably still have sex with him, but he didn’t want to have sex; he wanted to make love.

  Very slowly, very gently he released her, carefully distancing himself from her.

  ‘I must go,’ he told her quietly. ‘I have some work I must do. I have enjoyed this evening more than I can say. I have some free time tomorrow morning. If you are free too perhaps we could see something of the city together.’

  And somehow he would find an opportunity, make an opportunity if necessary, to tell her the truth. Then if she still wanted him they would be lovers. For one night? If that was all he wanted, why not go with her now? Why not spend this night with her?

  As he saw the chagrin and the confusion chase one another through her eyes he forced himself to resist the temptation to kiss her again. Her mouth was still soft and moist from their last kiss, her nipples hard peaks against the silk of her dress. She had a small mole on the side of her neck and he badly wanted to bend his head and touch his mouth to it, but he fought back the impulse, waiting for her response.

  What had gone wrong? Christie wondered. Why was he rejecting her? All through dinner she had been conscious of the intimacy, the rapport between them, conscious too of he
r own desire, her own arousal, sensually anticipating the moment when they would be alone together, but now he was distancing himself from her, telling her that the evening was over. Had she really made such an immense error of judgement? Had he not really wanted her at all? Had it been her own desire that had coloured and warmed the evening? But no … when he kissed her … when she kissed him back she had felt his response to her; had known that he wanted her.

  She could hardly drag him into her room and rape him, she told herself, trying to regain something of her normal self-protecting cynicism.

  Did he really want to see her tomorrow or was that simply a face-saving exercise—for both of them. It was hot in the corridor, too hot, but her body felt chilled—because it missed the warmth of his? It certainly ached with the disappointment of knowing that the evening was not after all going to end as she had imagined.

  ‘I’m not sure whether I shall be free in the morning,’ she responded cautiously. ‘But certainly I should enjoy seeing something of the city if I am.’ If he could play face-saving games then so could she. She allowed no hint to show of what she was feeling, of the sheer raw ache of sexual need that was tormenting her body, sharpened suddenly by the knowledge that it was a need that was not going to be satisfied, at least not in the way she had believed.

  ‘If you are free, perhaps we could meet in the lobby, say, eleven?’ Leo suggested.

  ‘If I am free I shall be there,’ Christie told him. She turned to open her bedroom door, the exhilaration of the evening draining from her, leaving her feeling all too conscious of the bitter after-taste of her disappointment.