A Secret Rebellion

by Anne Mather

  So, she was wearing underwear, he acknowledged, in some distant corner of his mind, far removed from the immediacy of what he was doing. Not totally shameless, then, and perhaps a little inexperienced. But she didn’t try to stop him, when he inserted his finger and found the tender cleft that quivered beneath.

  However, these thoughts only registered at a subconscious level. The actual recklessness of what he was doing, and the realisation that he might be risking life and limb just to get laid, couldn’t seem to penetrate the swirling fog of his passion. Her mouth, her skin, the tantalising delights of her body still to be uncovered, seemed far more important than some possible threat of infection. Whether it was the whisky or not, he was at the mercy of his own needs, and when she took his hand, and got up from the couch, he followed her instinctively.

  She didn’t turn a lamp on in the bedroom, but the light from the living-room provided a shadowy illumination. And, when she peeled the black dress down her body, taking her panties with it, exposing herself in only black stockings and suspenders, the luminous quality of her skin was all the light he needed.

  He wanted to worship her body. She was so beautiful, so exquisite, that anything less seemed a crime. But when she came to him, and began unbuckling his belt, he knew he had to have her. With or without her participation, he desperately needed to bury himself in her body.

  He tore off his shirt and jeans with hands he knew were trembling. God, he chided himself, he was like a callow youth, frantic for his first initiation. What was wrong with him, for pity’s sake? It wasn’t as if he’d never wanted a woman before. But not as much as he wanted this one, a small voice warned him, as she backed up on to the bed, coiling one long leg under her and drawing up her other knee. Every move she made excited him, and his eyes were drawn to the glimpse of blonde curls, just visible behind her updrawn thigh. God, he thought unsteadily, she was good. She knew exactly how to tantalise his senses.

  But it was her breasts he caressed first, as he came down on the bed beside her. They were just as glorious as he had imagined, and she let him weigh them in his hands, before carrying the swollen nipples to his lips. He suckled greedily, feeling the ache of his arousal hard against her thigh. Soon, very soon, he promised himself with feeling, aware that he was fast approaching the point of no return.

  But he noticed, almost in passing, that she kept her eyes fixed on him, and what he was doing to her body. She never once looked down at his manhood, rearing beside her hip. And he wanted her to. He knew a sudden urgent need for her to do so. He wanted her to touch him, as he was touching her.

  It was almost his undoing. When he took her hand, and brought it down to his throbbing heated flesh, he shuddered helplessly. The headlong rush of excitement he felt when her slim cool fingers curled about him was beyond belief. He knew, if he weren’t careful, he’d spill himself into her hands.

  ‘It’s so big,’ he heard her whisper, and even though his mind was spinning out of his grasp he couldn’t prevent the hoarse laugh that escaped his throat. But not for long, he thought, with grim humour, aware of his own limitations. He couldn’t wait to feel the heat when her tight sheath closed about him.

  He tipped her back against the pillows, and buried his face between her breasts. Then, trailing kisses from her throat to her navel, he found the lace-trimmed edge of her suspenders. He propped himself on one elbow, and thought how deliciously sinful she looked wearing only her stockings. To hell with it, he thought, pressing his face to the hollow planes of her stomach. He’d dispose of them later, after he’d eased his aching flesh.

  He stroked his hand along the outside of her thigh, and then probed the parting of her legs. Only they weren’t apart, he discovered; they were clamped tightly together; and when he eased his hand between the muscles jerked uncontrollably.

  So, not so experienced at all, he realised, feeling the tangible flexing of the flesh. But more appealing than any blatant invitation. And it didn’t take long for him to persuade her to let him have his way.

  She was ready for him. However nervous she might outwardly appear, her body was prepared for his invasion. When he probed the moist curls and found the tender nub of her femininity, she jerked helplessly against his fingers, and when he removed his hand, and rubbed himself against her, her breath came quick and fast against his chest.

  Alex couldn’t wait any longer. He was not a man who normally satisfied himself at the expense of his partner, but right now he was too aroused to hold back. Nudging her legs apart with one hairy thigh, he positioned himself between them, bringing her hand down to guide him into her moist responsive core.

  Her breathing was practically non-existent when she reached for him, and her judgement was little better as she struggled to do what he wanted. In the end, Alex brushed her hand aside and found his own destiny, thrusting himself into her with a gentle, yet forceful motion.

  She was tight, so tight it hurt, but it was too late to recognise what he should have recognised sooner. Besides, as soon as he felt her taut muscles close about him, his body convulsed. She was so beautiful, so desirable, and he groaned as his long-awaited release burst from him.

  ‘You should have told me,’ he muttered, when he was able to talk again, but although he had expected to find tears on her cheeks she looked remarkably composed when he drew back to look down at her.

  ‘Does it matter?’ she asked, looking up at him, her eyes shadowy in the subdued light, and in the aftermath of such a soul-shattering experience Alex was inclined to be philosophical. Given his quite amazing desire for her, he doubted he could have drawn back anyway, and even lying here, supposedly relaxed, he was still heavily aware of her perfection.

  ‘That depends,’ he said now, as he had said earlier in the evening, smoothing her cheeks with his thumbs, ‘what you expect of me.’

  She smiled then. ‘Just your body,’ she assured him, with staggering confidence. ‘Now, may I get up? I ought to see to the pizza.’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Alex’s lips twisted, as he felt himself growing hard again. Even after the discovery that she had been a virgin—or, perhaps, because of it—he found he had a definite proprietorial interest in her body, and even though her eyes were vaguely anxious now he was loath to let her go.

  ‘You—can’t,’ she protested, but the awareness she suddenly exhibited, proved that she knew he could.

  ‘Let’s see, shall we?’ he breathed, his thumb invading her parted lips. ‘Just for the fun of it…’

  CHAPTER ONE

  SO, SHE was pregnant.

  Beth came out of the private clinic, and stood for several minutes on the pavement, letting the warm breeze of the May morning fan her hot temples. Then, after taking a deep breath, she tucked her bag beneath her arm, and started along the quiet street to where she had left her car.

  It was curious. She had thought she would feel different somehow. Not triumphant, exactly, but certainly content that her plan had proved fruitful. It was what she had wanted, what she had aimed for. So why did she suddenly feel so hollow?

  She needed something to eat, she decided. She’d noticed a distinct increase in her appetite lately, and, although she didn’t believe the old maxim that she was eating for two, she had found that smaller and more frequent intakes of food helped to keep the nausea at bay.

  The small Renault was airless, and she wound down all the windows before inserting her key in the ignition. The car had been standing in the sun for over an hour, and the seat was warm beneath the short skirt of her formal suit.

  Before starting the engine, she tipped the rear-view mirror towards her, and examined her face rather critically. She didn’t look any different, she thought, but that was hardly surprising. Nothing momentous had happened that morning. The event which had changed her life had occurred more than eight weeks ago, in another time and another place. That was when she might have expected to see some radical alteration in her appearance. That morning, when she had fled from the London apartment, leavi
ng Alex Thorpe still asleep, and totally unaware of the deception she had practised on him.

  There was a certain guilty awareness in her eyes now, eyes that in sunlight were more violet than indigo. But, for heaven’s sake, she had taken nothing from him. It was he who had done the taking, and if he had left something in return then that was only fair, wasn’t it?

  She expelled a breath, and turned the mirror away from her flushed features. The fact that the becoming blush of colour added a delicate definition to her high cheekbones meant nothing to her. She was used to the unique quality of her beauty, and in her opinion it was not an advantage. Her experiences had convinced her that a beautiful woman was just a pawn in a man’s world, rarely taken seriously, and often abused. Beauty had killed both her mother and her sister, and she had no intention of falling into the same trap.

  But that didn’t mean she didn’t want to fulfil herself as a woman. Just because she despised men, and all they stood for, she was not above using one to create her own destiny. She wanted a home, and a family, and after seven years of working to attain her ends she was now within sight of achieving them. So, why was she feeling so uncertain? She didn’t regret what she had done, did she?

  Turning the key, she fired the ignition, and after checking her mirror pulled out into the desultory traffic of Victoria Road. It was too late to go back to the university before lunch, and instead of driving into the city she headed west, towards Sullem Banks, and the river.

  It was one of her favourite places, in the little north country town. Here the River Swan was flanked by long sloping stretches of turf, and it was possible to drive down and park on the river bank. When Beth first came to live in Sullem Cross, she had used to come here to escape the confines of her lonely bedsitter, and even now that she had a comfortable home of her own she still came here when she wanted to think.

  But today her growling stomach drove her to seek some form of sustenance before she reached the Banks. A baker’s, which served take-away sandwiches and polystyrene cups filled with coffee or tea, provided the necessary nourishment, and after finding a suitable spot Beth opened the pack of cheese and tomato toasties.

  Munching on the sandwich, she watched a family of ducks making their way along the river bank. It was a popular haunt for families, and the ducks were no doubt hoping to attract a scattering of breadcrumbs, and, although Beth could have eaten both sandwiches and more besides, she yielded to the temptation to offer them a share. Besides, it was delightful to watch the ducklings scrambling over one another in their haste to reach a particular crumb, and her lips tilted at their obvious rivalry.

  It also reminded her, if any reminder was necessary, of the confirmation she had received that morning, and her hand probed her still flat stomach, as if doubting the veracity of what she knew to be true. She was going to have a baby; her baby; no one else’s.

  But once again she felt that hollow feeling inside her. It wasn’t just her baby, a small voice reminded her. It was just as much Alex Thorpe’s as hers, and, even though he didn’t know about it, it didn’t alter that one inescapable fact.

  But what of it? she defended herself. It wasn’t as if she was depriving him of anything he wanted. Good heavens, he didn’t even know of its existence, and even if he did she doubted he’d be overjoyed at the news. It would be a burden, an unwelcome burden, on a man who evidently didn’t welcome responsibility. He had to have been in his late thirties, and by his own admission unmarried. Though, with hindsight, she had to admit, he had told her precious little about himself.

  But then, she had been so busy avoiding telling him anything about herself, it hadn’t seemed a disadvantage. On the contrary, everything about him had fitted her image of the man who was to father her child, and, while he could be a pimp or a drug-pusher, she didn’t think he was.

  She had known the risk she was taking long before she gatecrashed the party. In this time of AIDS, and other sexually-transmitted diseases, it wasn’t wise to sleep with just anyone. That was why she had chosen Alex. Because he had looked strong and healthy; and reasonably safe.

  Of course, she had also wanted a man whom she could seduce. Which in itself was a daunting prospect, considering she had never seduced a man before. But he had looked older than the other men at the party, and he had behaved like a man who was attracted to women. And, when he’d offered to buy her supper, she couldn’t believe her luck.

  Of course, taking him to the apartment had been a gamble. And plying him with Chivas Regal might have engineered her own downfall, or so she had read. Too much, and he might not have been able to do her bidding, however much he might have wanted to. Too little, and he might have turned her down.

  But, in the event, Alex had proved himself more than equal to her expectations. Which was one of the reasons why she was suffering these pangs of—what? Conscience? Remorse? Guilt? She shivered. In all her calculations, she had never expected to enjoy it, and the fact that he had made her do so had left her with a distinct feeling of regret.

  It hadn’t been meant to be that way. Her intention had simply been to entice him into bed, and encourage him to violate her body. She hadn’t expected him to be so—so patient. Or that he would realise she had never been with a man before. She gave a mirthless laugh. She had proved to be some femme fatale, she thought ruefully. She hadn’t even known what to expect.

  She blamed her inexperience, of course. All her life, she had kept men at arm’s length, never letting any of them breach the protective shell she had built around herself. Friends she had made had all learned to respect her privacy, and if some of them thought she was weird it was not something that troubled her overmuch.

  It was only now she was having to come to terms with the fact that knowledge gleaned from books could only ever be superficial. Her lack of experience had left her hopelessly ignorant of the workings of a man’s body. Men weren’t like animals. They didn’t just mate, and walk away. More than that, they apparently had the capacity to prolong their enjoyment, and, totally without her volition, she had found herself sharing his need.

  God!

  She tossed the remainder of the sandwich out of the window, watching the antics of the ducklings with rather less enthusiasm now. How had it happened? How had a man she had met less than two hours before been able to cause such a fever in her body? Nothing remotely like it had ever happened to her before. Yet from the minute he’d entered the apartment, she’d had the uneasy feeling she was in over her head.

  She should have called it a day there and then. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t given her the opportunity. On the contrary, without the liberal dose of alcohol, she doubted he’d have succumbed to her less than erotic charms. But, having gone so far, she had been unwilling to back off. She’d known she might never get up the courage to do such a thing again.

  And, to all intents and purposes, she had been totally successful. Whatever the rights or wrongs of it might be, she had achieved her objective. She had had sex with a man she never intended to see again, a man who couldn’t trace her. She was free and clear and pregnant, just as she’d wanted. And the sooner she stopped thinking about Alex Thorpe the better.

  But it was easier said than done. Once again, as it had done numerous times over the last eight weeks, her mind shifted to wondering what had happened after she ran out on him. It was natural that she should be curious, she told herself. He was not the kind of man to take it lightly.

  At first, she had gone over her own efforts to erase all trace of her identity, constantly worrying over every small detail she remembered, afraid that she might not have thought of everything. But her plan then, and now, seemed foolproof. The apartment she had used in London had been rented in an assumed name. The same name had been used to rent the small Peugeot, and her appearance at the party had been brief and anonymous. She had only learned of the party by chance. She had heard Tony, one of the students, bewailing the fact that he wouldn’t be able to attend. Christina Lennox just happened to be his cousin’s gi
rlfriend, but there was no reason to connect Tony Thiarchos with the uninvited guest. To connect him with Elizabeth Ryan, she amended pedantically, wondering if she had been a little rash in using her own first name. But no. There must be several thousand Elizabeths in London alone, and ever since she left home she had always referred to herself as Beth—Beth Haley.

  But, even after she had assured herself no one could trace her, she still hadn’t been able to get Alex Thorpe out of her mind. She found he had left an indelible impression, and she hoped, now that she had achieved her ambitions, that what had happened would lose its importance.

  She ought to be relieved that she had covered her tracks so completely. There seemed no way anyone could link a university lecturer from a small northern town with the kind of woman who’d pick up a man at a party in London. She doubted even her students would have recognised her behaviour—even if her appearance had been impossible to disguise.

  So, all that remained was for her to complete the present term. She had already prepared the way for her absence. A year’s sabbatical, ostensibly to write the book about eighteenth-century literature she had been planning, and then back to work the following year, when the baby was old enough to be left with a minder. She expected his—or her—appearance would cause some speculation. At twenty-nine, Miss—she never fudged the issue by calling herself Ms—Haley was regarded as something of an eccentric. She had never had a regular boyfriend, even though certain of her fellow lecturers had endeavoured to share her confidence. But, although she was known to be efficient at work, and popular with the students, she was essentially a private person. There would be questions, but she could handle them. One of the advantages of being reserved was that it discouraged a lot of prying.

  Remembering she hadn’t yet had a drink, she peeled off the plastic lid and brought the cup of coffee to her lips. The smell almost overpowered her, and, wishing she had just bought a fruit juice instead, she poured the lukewarm liquid out of the window. The ducks came to see what she was doing, but retired in disgust when they found the coffee had already seeped into the ground. ‘Well, you did have most of the sandwich,’ she informed them drily, smiling at her own foolishness, and, turning the key, she started the car.