That Devil Love

by Lee Wilkinson

  Turning her into his arms, he made a small sound at the back of his throat, almost like a groan, and kissed her with a sweet hunger, and overwhelming desire.

  The voice of sanity was urging her to break free, when she recalled her vow to be revenged. Instead of pulling away she would pretend to surrender, make him think she was his for the taking. Then, when he was fully aroused, almost out of his mind with passion and need, she would reject him.

  It would be easy so long as she retained her self-control.

  Deliberately she pressed herself against him, and a shock-wave ran through her at the feel of his hard, muscular body. They fitted together as though made for each other, two separate parts making one complete whole.

  His lips began to move over her face, planting soft baby kisses, before returning to hers to coax them apart and, like some alchemist, turn the steel of her self-control into molten gold.

  Within a heartbeat she was a captive, caught and held by an invisible web of allure. In spite of her hatred he beguiled her so, fascinated and enchanted her.

  By the time the rest of her delicate lingerie had followed the dress floorwards, she was utterly lost, her body burning with the longing his roving hands were igniting. And when he lifted her high in his arms and carried her to the bed, her arms wound round his neck and her lips clung to his.

  He stretched out beside her and put his mouth to her breast. Hardly able to bear the exquisite torture, she gasped and jerked.

  ‘Easy, darling,’ he whispered. ‘It’s all right. It’s all right… We’ll take it slowly… But I want you to discover the explosive potential you’ve so resolutely locked away. I want to capture your imagination, fill your heart and mind, entice you into my arms and bewitch you so you never want to leave them…’

  The dark sorcery of his words held her spellbound while he continued to seduce and ravish her senses.

  She was nothing but a seething mass of sensations, her whole body waiting, yearning for his, when he whispered, ‘Look at me, Annis.’

  Opening her eyes, she looked dazedly up into his dark face.

  His voice husky, uneven, he said, ‘I have to know. Was Stephen your lover?’

  The urgent query shattered the spell of enchantment like a stone from a catapult shattering a fragile glass sphere.

  Shocked and shivering, knowing how close she’d come to disaster, she played for time while she tried to collect herself. ‘What do you think?’

  Pinning her there with his look, he said, ‘Damn you, don’t tease me. Was he?’

  She should be glad she’d regained her senses, not feel this wrenching sadness, this aching sense of loss. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Yes, it matters,’ he told her passionately. ‘I want to be the one to awaken you to the delights of love. I want to be the first to teach you about pleasure, so pure and delicate and satisfying, so exquisite that it’s almost pain…’

  Wriggling free of him, she sat up, her arms crossed protectively over her breasts, and forced herself to remark mockingly, ‘I had no idea virgins were your cup of tea. I would have thought experienced women were more to your taste.’

  A shade roughly, he said, ‘In the past any relationship has been light, unimportant, involving nothing but an easy exchange of pleasure. Experienced women who know the score don’t get hurt…’

  Experienced women who know the score don’t get hurt…

  ‘You’re the only woman who’s ever mattered. The only woman I’ve ever felt this way about. I want to be your first lover. Your only lover…’

  But Maya had got hurt, and she wanted him to suffer for it, to be almost out of his mind, trapped in a permanent state of frustration, his libido playing havoc with his self-control.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said with deliberate contempt, ‘but I’ve gone off the idea. Some other time, maybe.’

  Tawny eyes blazing, he seized hold of her upper arms, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh. ‘Why, you little…’ Seeing every vestige of colour drain from her face, he bit off the angry words.

  Her heart in her mouth, she watched him fight for control, and win. Slowly his fingers loosened their grip. His hands dropped to his sides. ‘If you’ve “gone off the idea”,’ savagely he mimicked her words, ‘you’d better go while I can still keep my promise.’

  Striding over to the door, he unlocked it and held it open.

  Without waiting to pick up her clothes, she fled.

  Revenge was supposed to be sweet, but this time there was no triumph, no sense of elation, just desolation and a gnawing ache.

  Huddled naked beneath the bedclothes, knees drawn up, eyes closed tightly, she lay awake for a long time shivering with a combination of nerves and misery before sleep claimed her.

  Subconsciously dreading the morning, knowing she’d have to face Zan’s anger, she slept badly, and woke feeling tired and headachy.

  But to her surprise he seemed his normal self when, at seven o’clock, he brought her a cup of tea.

  He studied her wan face, the dark shadows beneath her beautiful eyes, but, making no reference to the previous night, said merely, ‘We shall need to be at the airport by mid-morning at the latest.’

  New anxieties crowding in on her, she demanded, ‘Where are we going? And for how long?’

  ‘San Francisco, for a few days, then on to Hawaii for two or three weeks. We should get plenty of sunshine, but San Francisco can be breezy, so when you do your packing you’d better put in something warm and windproof.’

  Given the circumstances the long flight to California could well have proved intolerable, but in the event it was made relatively easy by Zan’s determinedly friendly and pleasant manner.

  She found he was a stimulating and entertaining companion with a good—and hitherto unexpected—sense of humour.

  Even more surprising was the discovery that they had a lot in common, enjoying the same kind of books and music, and sharing a love for the live theatre.

  With the eight-hour time difference they came in to land at San Francisco International Airport in the early afternoon.

  It was a bright sunny day with a stiff breeze making white horses on the blue waters of the Bay, and beyond the San Andreas Rift a beautiful view of the distant Montara mountain.

  All the formalities completed, they took a cab and headed north into the city. The journey, following the US101 with its enticing glimpses of the Bay, was completed in silence, except for Zan pointing out landmarks and places of special note.

  ‘If you’re at all interested in baseball or American football,’ he lifted a questioning brow, ‘that’s Candlestick Park, where the SF Giants and the SF Forty-niners battle it out.’

  When they reached Union Square, with its smart boutiques, large department stores, and bright flower stands—the heart, so he told her, of the affluent downtown district—the taxi drew up in front of the luxurious Cliff Lobos Hotel.

  Zan paid off the laconic, gum-chewing driver and, while a couple of bell-hops hurried to deal with the luggage, ushered her into the ultra-modern lobby, striking and spectacular with an indoor waterfall and hanging gardens.

  The manager, slim and dapper, hurried out to greet them.

  They took the lift up to the fourteenth floor and with due ceremony were shown around their elegantly furnished apartment, which comprised two bedrooms with en-suite bathrooms and a large central sitting-room with one wall made almost entirely of tinted glass.

  Annis, standing looking out across the handsome square, had to resist the temptation to pinch herself. She felt oddly disorientated, as if she had been whisked up and deposited there by magic. So much had happened so quickly that events had almost outstripped her capacity to take in and register them.

  In just two weeks he had taken over her life. From being strangers they were now man and wife.

  On honeymoon.

  Suddenly, unnervingly, she recalled how close she’d been to complete surrender the previous night.

  In her mind she both hated and feared him,
yet the female in her couldn’t help but respond to his powerful sex appeal, his potent maleness.

  She shivered.

  Though getting through the coming days, not to mention the nights, would prove as hazardous as picking her way through a minefield, all she needed to do, she told herself firmly, was stay cool.

  But how long could she stay cool if Zan chose to turn on what amounted to a sexual blowlamp?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AFTER the manager and his entourage had departed, Zan strolled across to join her at the wide expanse of glass.

  ‘Shattered?’ he asked, studying the delicate purity of her profile.

  ‘A bit,’ she admitted coolly.

  ‘That’s not surprising. But I’ve found the best way to adjust to the time difference is to keep awake, if you can, until it’s bedtime here.’

  When she said nothing, he added, ‘So, when you’ve had a chance to freshen up, I thought we might go out and take a closer look at the Bay.’

  ‘It’s up to you.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, it’s up to you.’

  Resisting the temptation to retort that if it was up to her she wouldn’t be here with him at all, she said flatly, ‘A look at the Bay sounds nice.’

  ‘Say half an hour?’

  When she nodded agreement, he disappeared into his own bedroom, closing the door behind him.

  After unpacking and having a refreshing shower, she put on a fine wool grey and cream pleated skirt and a plain cream top. She had just selected a light, windproof, three-quarter-length coat when there was a tap on the door.

  Making it plain that his knock was a mere courtesy, Zan walked in without waiting for permission.

  He had changed from the well-cut suit he’d travelled in, and was casually dressed in pale trousers and a dark polo-necked sweater. A corduroy jacket was slung over his shoulder and held by one crooked finger.

  His shorn black curls still damp from the shower, his green-gold eyes brilliant, showing no sign of tiredness, he looked fit as a fiddle and dangerously attractive.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her answer sounded oddly husky.

  His slight but knowing smile made it clear he’d correctly interpreted the cause of her disturbance.

  Soft mouth firming, head held high, she led the way out to the lift.

  Deliberately, it seemed, he stood so close she could smell the freshness of his aftershave, feel the warmth of his body.

  Somehow she resisted an intense urge to move further away, knowing only too well what he would make of such a reaction. But her heartbeat and breathing quickened, and her skin prickled with a sensual awareness.

  It was only too easy to see how Maya had become infatuated with him, she thought bitterly. But how could she feel so strongly about a man she hated?

  If only there were some way of cutting off that magnetism, exorcising the unwanted attraction. It put her in such danger…

  Feeling trapped, desperately vulnerable, she fought down the apprehension and squared her shoulders resolutely. If she refused to let herself be rattled, somehow she would cope.

  In spite of all her anxiety, entranced by its picturesque hills and blue water setting, its beautiful buildings and vibrant atmosphere, Annis fell in love with windy San Francisco that very first afternoon.

  Over the next few days, rather to her surprise, Zan made no further attempt to turn on the heat and though always keenly aware of his presence, his every move, she started to feel less tense.

  Only if he slid a casual arm around her, placed a friendly hand on her shoulder, or bent—his lips brushing her ear—to whisper to her, did she freeze and find it difficult to breathe, his lightest touch an intimacy that shook her.

  As soon as he sensed that mental withdrawal, he invariably moved away, allowing her to breathe easily once more.

  Bestowing only the one brief kiss—which she’d come to accept, almost expect—before heading for his own room each night, he seemed quite content to keep things on a light, comfortable footing.

  At least for the present.

  Greatly relieved by his determinedly platonic attitude, she found the following days were some of the most interesting and enjoyable of her life.

  The weather was more than kind to them, conjuring up only blue skies, sunshine and good visibility, and none of the notorious coastal fogs that rolled in with such dramatic suddenness.

  Sightseeing from morning until night, they rode on the old-fashioned clanging cable-cars, enjoyed a stroll along Fisherman’s Wharf—with its fascinating street entertainers and wonderful views of the Bay—ate bowls of steaming seafood with their fingers, watched the sea lions at Pier Thirty-nine, and caught a ferry across to the island fortress of Alcatraz.

  They walked over the elegant single-span of the Golden Gate Bridge—with its distinctive coat of international orange paint—visited Coit Tower and the Cannery, followed the Forty-nine-Mile Scenic Drive, and shopped at the exciting Ghirardelli Square complex.

  Each day they talked, finding plenty to say to one another. And, without realising it, Annis had started to smile spontaneously again.

  After several evenings spent dancing and dining, Zan suggested a visit to the Opera House to hear Tristan and Isolde.

  Having booked the tickets, they returned to the hotel early to bathe and change before dinner.

  In a lazy mood, Annis dawdled, and was still in her peach robe, her silvery-blonde hair loose, when with a perfunctory tap Zan walked in.

  He looked sexily elegant, his long legs and lean hips encased in dark trousers, his white silk shirt still open at the neck to show his strong throat and the beginning of crisp body hair.

  Unconsciously she licked her dry lips.

  As he watched the betraying flick of her tongue, a flame ignited in his green-gold eyes. Intent on her mouth, he slowly bent his dark head.

  Knowing she had to deflect him from his purpose, she jerked away and in a cracked voice demanded, ‘What do you want?’

  He smiled like a tiger.

  Backing involuntarily, she said agitatedly, ‘Why did you come in? If you hold me up, I won’t be ready in time.’

  ‘I came to ask if you would like an aperitif…’ He advanced on her relentlessly. ‘But now I’m going to have to kiss you, or I’ll go mad.’

  Trapped between him and the dressing-table, she was looking desperately for an escape route when his hand curled round her throat, lifting her face, and his mouth closed over hers. Panicked by the suddenness of the assault, she started to struggle.

  As her body moved against his she heard him groan, and stilled, knowing her movements were only firing the conflagration she feared.

  If he should lose control, he was so much stronger than she was, and the thin, silky robe offered little or no protection…

  Feeling her absolute stillness, Zan lifted his head. ‘Annis…’ His voice sounded anguished. ‘What do you do to me?’ He rested his forehead against hers. ‘I don’t know if I can take much more of this. I’ve never wanted a woman in my life the way I want you.’

  ‘Then let me go,’ she said swiftly. ‘I don’t want you, so let me go.’

  ‘You do want me,’ he contradicted. ‘You want me very much. But there are two people inside you, the self who responds to me and an alter ego I can’t control.’

  Sitting on a gilt-backed chair, he pulled her on to his knee.

  ‘Don’t…’ There was fright in her cry.

  ‘Sit still.’ He brought up his hand, and with a curious tenderness brushed the pale silky hair back from her cheek. ‘I want to talk to you…’

  She sat stiff and silent in the circle of his arms, her heart banging against her ribs so hard she thought he must surely feel it.

  After a moment he said gently, ‘Somehow we didn’t get off to a very good start, you and I. Your alter ego appeared to dislike and distrust me on sight, and I’ve had to force you every step of the way.

  ‘Though you may find it hard to believe, as far as pers
onal relationships go that’s not my style. The women in my life have always been more than willing…’

  She could believe that, Annis thought wildly, recalling Maya’s besotted face, her husky voice crying, ‘I’d do anything to be with him…’

  ‘…but I was so terribly afraid of losing you.’

  Amazed by the admission, her eyes flew to his face. Just for an instant his expression was unguarded. She read confusion there, a derisive self-contempt at his own vulnerability.

  He hadn’t mentioned the word ‘love’. But his desire for her clearly went deeper than just wanting. Somehow she was necessary to him.

  That being so, each rejection would wound him more seriously than merely scratching the surface of his male ego… Except that she was no longer sure of her own ability to lead him on and then walk away unscathed.

  Holding her hand, his thumb stroking over the soft palm, he went on, ‘A little while ago you asked me what I wanted…’ He smiled a shade wryly, unused to begging. ‘I want to wipe the slate clean and make a new start…’

  The hard, ruthless, egotistical despot was gone. In his place was a man whose feelings ran deep, and who was capable of the most exquisite tenderness as well as passion. A softer, more human man, who was ready to allow he wasn’t infallible; admit he was open to being hurt.

  ‘I want you to want me, to come to me…’

  Annis felt a deep and overwhelming attraction, on the brink of losing not only the struggle, but her heart as well.

  Then, like a warning, she recalled the legend of the powerful Zeus who, finding that strength wouldn’t gain him admittance to his quarry’s house, turned himself into a baby and lay crying on the doorstep until he was carried inside.

  Still she sat as though held in thrall, gazing into those fascinating green-gold eyes, his charm and magnetism making him totally irresistible.

  She’d thought herself protected by her hatred of him, but as though that was suddenly irrelevant, she found herself caught and held in a magical spell of enchantment.