by Penny Jordan
‘Yes, she told me,’ India agreed, feeling a little surprised that Simon had not found some way of discouraging Alison from making the journey. ‘I don’t think I am free,’ she lied, glad that Simon couldn’t see the tell-tale colour running up under her skin.
‘Then cancel whatever you had on,’ came the sharp retort. ‘This whole mess was your doing, and you’ll damn well play along with it now until I’m good and ready to finish it.’
‘And if I don’t?’ India asked, amazed by her own apparent calm.
‘My previous warning still stands. If you value your business, you’ll do exactly what I say.’
‘There’s a word for men like you,’ India said forcefully.
‘And for women like you,’ came the urbane reply. ‘Don’t forget—Saturday night. And for God’s sake don’t wear that velvet thing. It makes you look about sixteen.’
‘What would you prefer me to wear?’ India asked sarcastically, ‘Something scarlet and skin-tight? You’re out of touch, Simon Herries!’
* * *
Nevertheless when Saturday evening came, India deliberately chose to wear the cloth of gold dress again. It clung seductively to her body, making her aware of it in a way she had not known before.
Simon as always was prompt. He had booked a table at a restaurant India knew by reputation alone; she also knew, because Mel had once told her, that it was extremely difficult to get a table at anything less than a month’s notice, unless one was a particular friend of the owner’s.
Alison was already in the Ferrari when Simon escorted India out to it.
‘Simon’s spoiling me,’ she said gaily to India. ‘Honestly, anyone would think no one had ever had a baby before! Wait until you start,’ she added, causing India to glance instinctively towards Simon. He was fastening his seat-belt, but he caught her look, his eyes grim as he drawled lightly,
‘Give us time, Alison… I want India to myself for a little while first.’
It wasn’t very far to the restaurant. They were ushered inside with flattering deference and shown to a table by the owner himself, whose name India was familiar with from the gossip columns.
‘No need to ask what you want,’ Simon said to Alison when they had all been handed menus.
She laughed and explained to India, ‘Whenever I’m pregnant I always crave seafood. Quite right,’ she told Simon. ‘Seafood platter to start with.’
Simon ordered the pâté, and India, who was not feeling particularly hungry, due mainly to the tense state of her stomach nerves, settled for Florida cocktail. They were all having the speciality of the house for their main course, a Russian chicken dish, which when it came smelled mouthwateringly delicious.
To settle her nerves India drank her wine faster than she would normally have done, and didn’t realise that the waiter had stepped forward to refill her glass until she raised it to her lips a second time.
The alcohol seemed to help, so she emptied the glass, a little startled to find the waiter at her elbow yet again.
From the very start of the evening she had been conscious of a certain brooding quality about Simon; a certain bitter expectancy that sawed on her own taut nerves. What did he expect? she asked herself angrily as Alison chattered brightly about her children and Mel. Had he honestly expected to get away with treating her as he had absolutely scot-free?
‘You look absolutely gorgeous,’ Alison confided to India over their sweet. ‘That’s a beautiful dress. One of your own?’
‘Yes,’ India admitted, ‘but not designed for me. It was intended for a client who changed her mind, and rather than waste it I decided to wear it myself.’
‘Well, you’ve got the figure for it, hasn’t she, Simon?’
Her cheeks burned as she felt Simon’s eyes assess the soft curves concealed by the gold silk. When he had finished she felt as though he knew every inch of her body intimately; as though nothing had been concealed from him.
‘So when is the big day?’ Alison demanded a little later. ‘Mel and I were talking about it only last week. What a pity the boys aren’t girls, then they could be bridesmaids. You are having a church ceremony, aren’t you? I do think they’re lovely. So much more of a sense of occasion about them than a register office ceremony. Hasn’t Simon got you a ring yet?’ She frowned as she noticed India’s bare left hand, and looked reproachfully at her cousin. ‘Oh, Simon!’
‘I can’t make up my mind what would suit her best,’ Simon replied.
‘Oh, but surely an emerald, to match her eyes. Your mother had one, I remember, it was…’ Her voice faltered away as she looked into Simon’s shuttered face. ‘Oh dear,’ she said helplessly. ‘I’m sorry, Simon. Look, I think you’d better take me back to the hotel. I promised Mel I’d ring him before I go to bed. I don’t know what happened when he was away for those few days, but ever since he returned he’s been so considerate and sweet that I can hardly believe he’s the same man who could only spare us the odd half hour from business not three months ago…’
She looked as though she were about to say more, but Simon stopped her, calling for the bill.
‘Take me back first,’ Alison instructed Simon as they left the restaurant. ‘I’m sure you want some time to yourselves. I haven’t forgotten what it feels like to be newly engaged and very much in love!’ she chuckled. ‘I knew it must be love the morning we arrived so inopportunely at the house; never before in my life have I caught my cool cousin out in such a compromising situation!’ When India flushed, she said remorsely, ‘Oh, that tongue of mine! I didn’t mean what you thought, India; I was simply trying to say that I’ve never known Simon to be so involved with anyone before as to behave so un-circumspectly. He’s normally very careful about keeping his private life extremely private.’
‘A mistake I’m going to have to pay dearly for,’ Simon said tersely, drawing a puzzled look from his cousin.
Alison was staying at the Savoy. Simon went inside with her while India waited in the car.
‘There’s no need to run me home,’ she told him when he returned. ‘I’ll get a taxi.’
Her comment was greeted with silence and then the powerful roar of the engine as her words were ignored and the car was set in motion.
With the streets illuminated only by sporadic street lights it was some time before India realised that they were travelling in the opposite direction from her flat.
‘I hope you aren’t planning on kidnapping me again,’ she announced in what she hoped was a relatively assured voice. For some reason the silence in the car had taken on a thick tension which stiffened her muscles in an automatic reflex action. Her head felt muzzy from the wine she had drunk—far more than she normally consumed—and waves of sleep kept washing over her.
‘Hardly after the results of my first attempt,’ came the bitter response. ‘I want to talk to you—to see if we can find a way to resolve this whole mess.’
He braked as he spoke driving into an underground garage, and parking the car.
India clambered reluctantly from its warmth when he opened the door, the cold air making her shiver violently, and also reacting badly with the wine she had drunk. Although mentally she felt quite calm and in control her legs for some reason seemed unable to obey the commands of her brain. Nevertheless she managed to follow Simon to the lift, which whisked them upwards before depositing them outside the penthouse suite of the block.
The interior of his apartment came as a surprise. Far from being the cold, clinical place she had visualised, the large drawing room was comfortably furnished, if somewhat masculine, with supple leather chesterfields and several excellent pieces of good antiques, including a delightful Regency table.
‘Sit down,’ he commanded, sliding her coat from her shoulders. When she shivered he touched a switch illuminating an electric fire which immediately began to heat the room. The effect of its dancing flames was almost hypnotic and India closed her eyes, aware of Simon moving about behind her.
‘Drink this.’
<
br /> It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she had already had more than enough to drink, but her fingers were already closing round the stem of the brandy balloon, and somehow she found herself obediently tilting the glass to her lips at his command, the fiery liquid burning its way down her throat.
‘So… let’s talk, shall we? How much is it going to cost me to get out of this engagement—quietly and quickly?’
India knew that her mouth must have fallen open. Perhaps it had been stupid of her, but when Simon had said he wanted to talk she had never dreamed that he actually imagined that he could buy her off, like… like someone he had simply bought for the night!
A combination of anger and alcohol overrode the caution warning her that he was in a dangerous mood, and she turned on him, indignation in every line of her tense body. ‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this! You can’t honestly believe…’
‘What I believe,’ he said tersely, cutting across her, ‘is that you deliberately provoked this situation. Like I said, without Mel to finance you, you need another backer. At first I thought the whole thing was simply a naïve attempt to force me into marriage, but then I realised that I wasn’t giving you full credit for subtlety; that what you really wanted was to force me to pay you off.’
‘Pay me off? Why, you… You couldn’t!’ she told him fiercely. ‘And do you know why? Because despite your wealth, Simon Herries, I won’t be bought!’
‘No? Then what do you call the money you had from Mel?’ he demanded thickly. ‘God, if I have to endure this farce, I might as well get what I can from it!’ He reached for her before she could move, his arms like iron bands as they imprisoned her, his mouth savagely punishing as it plundered the softness of her parted lips.
She tried to push him away, but his weight was forcing her farther down into the chesterfield, one arm clamping her to him while the other found the zipper of her dress and slid it expertly down.
Beneath it she was wearing only her stockings and the smallest of briefs, and she clutched at the gold silk desperately as she felt the cool air against her back, but she was no match for Simon Herries. His hard fingers found the softness of her breast, the intimate contact making her release her dress automatically as she tried to avoid the physical contact of his flesh against hers. The opportunity was turned to good use, his muttered, ‘Any more of that and I’ll rip the damned thing apart!’ making her freeze with fear as well as anger.
‘That’s better,’ he grunted softly when she lay motionless in his arms. ‘After all, it isn’t as though this was the first time you’ve had to pay for your supper, I’m quite sure… Alison told me that you worked in Paris for a time with one of the top couturiers. Jobs like that are as scarce as hen’s teeth. What did you do? Sleep with him?’
‘Would you believe that I had talent?’ India gritted back.
‘Most assuredly, but at what? Not designing, I’ll bet. Well, let’s just see how your “talent” measures up, shall we?’
Later India was unable to believe that what did happen had. She knew when Simon removed her dress, because she shivered suddenly, trying desperately to conceal from him the pale thrust of her breasts, but he simply laughed, forcing her arms down at her sides and levering himself upwards, examining her body as callously as he might have done a piece of furniture he was thinking of buying.
‘Nice,’ he commented, his fingertips tracing the curve of her breast. His thumb had found her nipple and was stroking it softly.
Against her will India felt her body react. To her horror the sensitive flesh peaked and hardened, swelling beneath his expert arousal. Alternate waves of heat and anguish washed over her. She had never been in such a situation before, never allowed herself to get close enough to anyone to indulge in such intimacies, and it was too late now to regret her lack of experience, to wonder at her body’s treacherous response; the hot, melting sensations flooding through her, and the unbelievable urge welling up inside her to reach for the dark head and bring those firm male lips to the flesh his thumb was tormenting.
She shuddered with self-revulsion. What was happening to her? Had the natural desires she had denied for so long suddenly turned traitor on her? She moaned pleadingly as Simon’s mouth grazed the tender skin of her throat, finding the sensitive hollows behind her ears, tormenting her cheeks and eyelids.
‘I’ll give you ten out of ten for desirability,’ he muttered thickly at one point, his lips against her ear. ‘But you don’t rate very highly on reciprocation. Surely a woman like you doesn’t need to be told what a man likes? You’ve got beautiful breasts,’ he added seconds later, his mouth no longer against her ear, but fulfilling her earlier wish as he explored first the shadowy cleft between them and then the taut fullness of her breasts themselves, the sensuous rasp of his tongue sending her almost mindless with a pleasure which far exceeded anything she had ever even imagined existed.
She didn’t even realise that she was clinging mindlessly to his shoulders until he lifted his head to mutter hoarsely. ‘For God’s sake don’t tease—take this damned shirt off for me and let me feel you against me…’
Scarcely aware of what she was doing, India moved like a sleepwalker, her fingers moving softly over the buttons of his shirt, her mouth dry with tension as she stared up at the tanned smoothness of his body etched with deeper shadows where his body hair covered the taut muscles. A faint sheen of sweat gleamed across his chest, the musky, indefinably exciting odour filling her nostrils, some inner compulsion forcing her to place lips which trembled nervously against the damp flesh.
She heard Simon groan, burying his head against her. His hands explored the trembling contours of her body, triggering off waves of sensuous pleasure, reactions she had never dreamed herself capable of, so that when Simon at last unfastened the belt of his trousers, removing the last of her own clothes at the same time, she was able to make no demure.
The abrasive touch of his body hair against the soft fullness of her breasts was erotically pleasurable, her fingers discovering and exploring the sleek muscles of his back, her lips travelling shyly over his skin.
She gasped in mingled shock and pleasure when his hand stroked urgently along her thighs, arousing a tide of emotions which completely obliterated the last remnants of her ability to reason.
‘If you react like this to all your lovers, no wonder they come back for more,’ he told her jerkily, making no secret of his own arousal, his lips teasing brief kisses over her stomach and lower until she was almost delirious with pleasure.
When Simon parted her thighs and she felt the full potently male weight of him, the urgent thrust of a desire that excited and aroused her she felt no fear—a fact for which she was later to blame the large glass of brandy on top of too much wine—in fact she was as eager for his possession as he was to possess her, her body trembling achingly, her mouth parting in tremulous desire.
The sharp, unexpected pain was the first intrusion of reality. She tensed automatically, but it was too late by far for going back.
In awful silence she felt Simon freeze before he moved away from her, reaching for his clothes. He was sitting on the chesterfield with his back to her. He passed her her dress which she surveyed with acute distaste, unable to believe that she had actually allowed—no, not allowed, her mind forced her to acknowledge, but actively encouraged him to… To make love to her, a cool little voice said acidly. She had allowed Simon Herries to possess her.
Simon still had his back to her. When he did speak his voice was taut with reined-in anger and something else India could not distinguish.
‘A virgin!’ he almost spat out the words as though he hated the taste of them. ‘How come?’ he demanded sharply. ‘No, don’t tell me—you were holding out for the highest bidder, was that it?’
For a moment she was too hurt to speak, but then she found her voice.
‘You are quite wrong,’ she told him, trying not to let her voice tremble. ‘I was waiting until I met the man I could love enough to
make it a worthwhile experience—the sort of experience it should be, not some cheap shoddy affair, quickly over and quickly forgotten. What I didn’t bargain for was meeting a man who prejudged me, walked all over me with hobnailed boots and then decided to “make love” to me simply because he thought I owed it to him. Because he thought I was a liar and a cheat, even though I’d told him that it simply wasn’t true.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?’
‘Why should I? What possible business could it have been of yours?’
‘I should have thought that was self-evident,’ he told India curtly. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me that you weren’t having an affair with Mel?’
‘I tried to—remember?’
‘But he wanted to have an affair with you?’ he persisted.
India nodded her head. ‘He… that is, he… he wanted…!
‘I think we may safely take his desires as read,’ Simon responded dryly. ‘What I’m interested in right at this moment are yours.’
There was nothing to be gained from concealing the truth now, India decided tiredly.
‘I like Mel,’ she said slowly, ‘and I valued his friendship—but he hasn’t given me any financial assistance, as you said, and it was true that I didn’t get in touch with the papers…’
‘But you don’t love Mel?’
India shook her head, her voice thick with bitter self-loathing as she said, ‘If I did do you think for one moment that I’d have… that tonight…’
‘We’re all human,’ came the surprisingly compassionate response. ‘It isn’t exactly unusual for a woman to turn from a man she can’t have to one she can. So, you don’t love Mel, and there’s no one else in your life?’
Not sure where his questions were leading, India shook her head numbly. Now that it was over she found it hard to understand how she had behaved as she had; how she had reacted so passionately to Simon Herries when other men…
‘I think I’d better go now,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I’ll—I’ll leave it to you to break the news of the termination of our engagement to your grandmother and Alison…’