by Penny Jordan
‘What did you think I was going to do? Give way to the violent passion of my feelings and make love to you?’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’ She was thankful that long habit gave her the ability to inject ice into her voice, her eyes staring rigidly ahead of her as Kieron snapped the seat belt into its holder. He hadn’t touched her, and yet for a moment she had been intensely aware of him in a way that brought unwanted memories crowding back. Inside she was trembling with reaction and fear, but she willed herself not to betray it, saying nothing as Kieron started the car. It moved off with a powerful, throaty roar, Briony sitting silent at his side.
He glanced at her once or twice, but when she refused to look back he switched on the cassette player, inserting a tape.
The voice of Rita Coolidge filled the car. She was singing something haunting and sad about parting lovers, and Briony felt the skin of her scalp prickle warningly.
‘Still sulking because I broke up your “romance"? Kieron drawled. ‘There’s no need for me to ask if you know that he’s married already, of course. Do you love him?’
The question caught her off guard, her eyes green and angry as she glared at him.
‘That’s no business of yours!’
‘Sure it is. You’re both on my staff. Love affairs in the office play havoc with performance.’
‘And you’re concerned that my “affair” with Matt might affect my work?’ she said sweetly. ‘Don’t worry—it won’t.’
‘I’ll bet,’ Kieron drawled succinctly. ‘He doesn’t look as though he’s got what it takes to keep one woman satisfied, never mind two.’
His sheer audacity all but took her breath away, and she turned on him angrily, her determination not to speak to him forgotten.
‘How I feel about Matt has nothing to do with you. And I don’t want to talk about it. Just drop me here, and I’ll make the rest of the way alone.’
She reached angrily for the door handle, and Kieron swore viciously, the car screeching to a halt. And then he was reaching for her, his face white with fury, his eyes murderous with rage.
He shook her like a rag doll.
‘Don’t you ever try anything like that again, you silly little bitch! What the hell were you going to do? Fling yourself out on to the road? We were doing forty miles an hour back there, in case it had escaped your notice. Do you know what a road surface could do to your skin at that speed? It would have been ripped to ribbons!’
‘Stop it!’ Briony was feeling faintly sick, her head throbbing painfully with shock and fright. She had never really intended to open the car door; he had just made her so angry that she had reached for it automatically.
He let her go with a smothered imprecation, his hands tightening on the steering wheel and a white line of rage round his mouth. Briony glanced covertly at him. For a moment in his arms she had been filled with a wild, fierce satisfaction as she felt his anger beat up to meet her own, but now it was gone, her imagination painting pictures of what would have happened to her if she had succeeded in opening the door.
Kieron seemed to be simply staring into space, and she wondered what thoughts were running through his mind. In one short day he had made his presence felt on the paper, and people were already beginning to speak of him with respect. He had intense pride and resilience, and it must go against the grain to have her constantly under his nose—a reminder of what he had done to her. Or perhaps it didn’t bother him. Perhaps he was ruthless enough to pretend it had never happened.
He started the car again without speaking. There was a faint clicking noise and when Briony looked puzzled, he explained coldly, ‘An automatic locking device for the doors. If you insist on behaving like a child then you deserve to be treated like one—or would it give you some sort of twisted satisfaction to kill yourself in my presence?’
Her hands, which were lying in her lap, itched to slap his face, but she contented herself with a cold stare, her eyes the colour of sea in winter.
Kieron only had to ask her the way once, when they turned off the main road into her avenue, and as the grey car slid to a halt in front of the house, she was glad that it was dark and that Gina and Paolo could not witness her arrival—or her companion.
She turned to open her door the moment the car stopped, forgetting that it was locked.
Kieron eyed her sardonically.
‘Oh no, you don’t,’ he said softly. ‘We’ve got things to talk about, you and I. Did you really think you could get away with the sort of treatment you’ve been dishing out? I’m not Matt, Briony.’
‘No, I know,’ she replied coldly. ‘I know exactly what type of man you are, Kieron. Ruthless, deceitful, completely without compassion or compunction.…Do I have to go on? Oh, don’t worry,’ she added icily when he didn’t speak, ‘you won’t lose your reputation. The big clever reporter who got a front page scoop, and turned his back on the poor little fool who give it to him, leaving her to face the wolves!’
He reached across the seat, his fingers biting into her arms. ‘It wasn’t like that,’ he ground out. ‘I.…Oh, what the hell!’ he pushed her away from him, his expression unfathomable. ‘Don’t put all the blame on me, Briony. You did your bit, although you might choose to forget it now. It wasn’t all one-sided.’
‘Let me out of this car,’ Briony demanded tensely. ‘I think you’re the most contemptible person I’ve ever met! Oh, God, don’t touch me!’ she moaned frantically, seeking to avoid the hard strength of his hands as he all but yanked her out of her seat, hauling her against him and keeping her a prisoner there while her eyes spat hatred and defiance.
‘Go on, hit me,’ he goaded softly, watching the hurried rise and fall of her breasts beneath the thin blouse. She twisted desperately to free herself, but her agitated movements merely brought her closer to the unwanted intimacy of his body, as Kieron grasped both her wrists in one hand and pulled her on to his knee.
‘I hate you!’ Tears threatened and she willed them not to fall. Her heart was hammering anxiously, every muscle tensed against him, fear rising up inside her like a tidal wave. Oh, God, she didn’t want him to touch her. She couldn’t bear it. No one had touched her since he left, and she sometimes thought that if they did she might actually be sick, so strong was her fear that the feelings she had deliberately dammed up inside herself might burst their banks and sweep her into the same sort of dangerous waters she had once experienced with Kieron. If one man skilled in physical pleasure could arouse her so easily, then might not others? She had refused to accept that it was her own overwhelming love for Kieron which had lowered her guard. Love did not exist, it was merely a euphemism for sex which men used to coax women into submitting to them.
‘Hate is akin to love, so they say,’ Kieron mocked.
‘Love!’ Her body stiffened, her voice high and strained. ‘The mere thought of having you near me makes me feel physically sick!’ she flung at him.
‘Does it now?’
The silky, dangerous tone set her nerve ends quivering with fear. She tensed automatically, turning away as his head descended, but his free hand forced it back again, his fingers tightening painfully in her hair to keep her head still as his mouth covered hers, with hard, angry pressure.
She fought desperately against the dominance of his kiss, her mouth tightly closed, her eyes spitting fury into the glittering darkness of his. When his hand released her head, she thought she had won and struggled triumphantly to sit up, but the pressure of his body kept her wedged against the door, and then his hand swept down her body, ruthlessly deepening the opening of her blouse, his fingers almost brutal as they closed over her breast.
Her lips parted on a gasp, his victory instantly reinforced by the hardness of his mouth as it punished her earlier defiance. If she had feared that the embrace might evoke unbearable memories, she need not have done. It was no coaxing, gentle caress, designed to soothe the fears of a young innocent girl, but a punishment, to humiliate and degrade, the tender inner flesh of her lip
s ground mercilessly against her teeth until it was torn and sore.
His touch was an insulting parody of what a lover’s should be, and after the first initial shock, her flesh cringed beneath his hand. She was entirely at his mercy, and anger gave way to overwhelming fear as she realised the depth of the rage which gripped him.
Panic made her struggle frantically, her rebellion ruthlessly subdued as Kieron reinforced his mastery. The buttons on her blouse had given way beneath his attack, the soft curve of her breast clearly visible, and she closed her eyes in horror as she felt Kieron move, anticipating his intention. She felt his breath against her skin, a cold, icy mist, slowly creeping over her as she tried feebly to push him away, her eyes dilating with fear. Her soft moan halted him, and the next moment she was sitting upright in her own seat, Kieron’s voice terse as he said acidly, ‘There’s no need to faint. You’re not some fragile Victorian heroine enduring the unwanted attentions of a wicked Sir Jasper. My God, though, it’s true what they say. You’re as cold as ice, aren’t you?’
‘I’m what you made me!’ Briony hurled at him through numb lips. ‘What did you expect? That I would fall into your arms with cries of rapture? Let me out of here!’ Her voice shook and a dreadful inertia seemed to spread through her. They had been outside the house for less than fifteen minutes, but it seemed like a lifetime. This time when she reached for the handle, the door swung open instantly, and then she was out on the pavement, breathing in the cool, clear air, her legs feeling as though they were stuffed with cotton wool.
She couldn’t face Gina and Paolo. Unlocking the door to her own flat, she went into her bedroom, staring blindly at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was ruffled, her mouth swollen and bruised. There were the beginnings of faint marks against the flesh of her breast, and shuddering with disgust she ripped off her blouse and bra, rolling them up into a ball and throwing them into the wastepaper bin. Never mind the fact that both were comparatively new, she could not bear to have either of them close to her skin again.
She showered in icy water, the blood beating up painfully under her skin. She felt sick and dizzy and wanted to lie down, but to do so would mean giving in to the fear Kieron had ignited, so she forced herself to dress again, brushing her hair and securing it with an elastic band, before going upstairs to collect Nicky.
Gina glanced at her rather speculatively when she opened the door, and Briony knew that despite her attempts to disguise it, the other girl had noticed her bruised mouth, although she was too tactful to comment.
‘I’m sorry I’m a bit late,’ she apologised. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Fine. Are you all right?’ Gina asked bluntly. ‘You don’t look well.’
‘I’ve got a headache.’ It was true. Her head was pounding and she was shivering even though it wasn’t really cold.
Paolo insisted on carrying Nicky downstairs for her, and he barely stirred. Lucky Nicky, Briony thought enviously. If only her life was as simple and uncomplicated as his!
* * *
Nicky was crying, the thin sound punctured her nightmare. She wanted to go to him, but she couldn’t move. Something was holding her back, preventing her from reaching her son. She clawed desperately to be free, calling to Nicky to wait for her, but then he turned round and his face was Kieron’s, cold and hatefully mocking.
‘No…!’ The sound was torn from her throat, and she opened her eyes groggily, the bedroom spun round, and waves of nausea rushed over her as she tried to lift her head from the pillow.
Migraine! She slumped back, trying to force her mind to concentrate on where she had put her pills. It was ages since she had last had an attack, and she had no need to ask what had caused this one.
Nicky had recently been promoted from his cot to his own small bed, and she could hear him padding about in his own room. She glanced at the alarm clock, knowing that it would be impossible for her to go to work. Her attacks, although rare, were unbelievably violent. Sickness and temporary paralysis were merely two of the symptoms she had suffered in the past, and she reached for the phone intending to call the paper. As she did so, she heard Gina’s key turn in her front door, and the Italian girl hurried into the bedroom, her expression concerned.
‘So you are ill—I thought you must be. What is it?’
‘Migraine,’ Briony croaked. ‘I was just trying to ring the office.’
‘Leave all that to me,’ Gina said firmly. ‘Now where are your pills? Would you like a drink?’
Before she went she insisted on straightening Briony’s bed and bringing her a mug of tea. Nicky toddled in to look at her with huge, grave eyes, his voice sympathetic as he murmured, ‘Mummy got bad headache?’
It was bliss to feel sleep steal over her as the pills began to take effect. As Briony knew from past experience, the only cure for such an attack was sleep. By tomorrow she could well be fully recovered, although a little weak, and her last conscious thought was that now Kieron would have an opportunity to try out her substitute.
It was evening before she woke up, and she knew the moment she opened her eyes that the pain had gone. As always after such an attack her body felt terribly weak, and it seemed to take twice as long as usual to go through the motions of washing and dressing.
When she knocked on Gina’s door, Nicky greeted her joyfully, his ‘Mummy better?’ making her flesh melt with love.
Gina insisted on her eating with them, announcing that Briony was far from well enough to prepare a meal.
‘You do too much,’ she scolded. ‘And this weather we’ve been having doesn’t help.’
It had been unusually warm, but Briony knew that the close atmosphere was not really responsible for her illness. Gina’s little girl was just starting to talk, with Nicky acting importantly as interpreter. She was a lovely child, with huge pansy brown eyes and thick lustrous curls, and watching her and Nicky together, Briony felt another pang of guilt that Nicky was an only child. He was already so protective and sweet with Caterina, and she, knowing female that she was, played up to him with coy smiles and flashing dimples.
Gina and Paolo were good company. They were really her only close friends. After her experiences with the Press Briony had been wary of confiding in anyone. She had returned once to the village where she had been brought up, but the story had spread like wildfire and she had been treated like an outcast. Sir Arthur had been very well thought of locally, although people didn’t have much time for his son, and Briony had left, vowing that she would never return.
‘Oh, by the way, I spoke to your boss,’ Gina announced carelessly, unaware of the effect of her words. ‘He was most concerned when I told him you were ill.’
‘You didn’t mention Nicky?’
Gina looked puzzled. ‘No.’
Briony sagged in relief, forcing a smile. ‘It’s just that the people at work don’t know about him.…’
Although Gina accepted the explanation, Briony sensed that she was curious and prayed that her friend would never have occasion to set eyes upon Kieron.
Nicky chattered unceasingly as she got him ready for bed. He paused in the middle of telling her how brave he had been when Paolo threw him up in the air, studying her reproachfully.
‘Why haven’t I got a daddy?’ he asked tremulously.
‘You’ve got me,’ Briony said casually. ‘Aren’t I enough?’ She knew she wasn’t being fair, but Nicky was still far too young to appreciate the complexities of adult relationships.
‘I want a daddy as well,’ he insisted stubbornly, refusing to let her hug him. ‘You can’t play with me properly like a daddy can.’
He didn’t mean to be hurtful, Briony reminded herself as tears blurred his small soapy body. It was easy to distract his attention from ‘daddies’ to bears as she reminded him that she was taking him to the Zoo, but as she read his bedtime story, she wondered wryly why the writers of children’s stories always assumed that their readers’ worlds encompassed two solid, dependable parents with neatly outlined ro
les in life.
Tonight she had managed to sidestep his questions, but she could not do so for ever, and for the first time it struck her that her son might eventually grow to resent her for what in his childish eyes might seem to be her deliberate denial of his father. The injustice of the thought brought fresh tears. If Nicky was adult she could explain to him properly, but by the time he was it would be too late.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE good weather held, and on Saturday morning Briony dressed Nicky in the beautiful Italian woollens Gina’s mother had sent him for Christmas. The jumper and little trousers had been a little on the large side at the time but now fitted him perfectly, and her heart swelled with maternal pride as they set off hand in hand.
Paolo worked for an uncle who ran a wine importing business in London, and as he had to be in the office on Saturdays, he offered to give them a lift.
Riding in a car was a treat for Nicky, and he chattered constantly, drawing Briony’s attention to wondrous new sights.
The Zoo was crowded, but with the morning stretching ahead of them there was no need to rush. Briony had brought Nicky’s pushchair for when he grew tired. It was only when she saw other children that she appreciated how well behaved her own son was. He stared at the animals in awed delight, his concentration drawing admiring smiles from other adults. Holding his hand and feeling his solid body pressed against her in trust and love, Briony felt almost overwhelmed with emotion.
Before they began the long trudge home she bought him an icecream, mopping up the drips and spills as he licked it enthusiastically.
As she had expected, he was tired when they got off the bus. He had gone off to sleep in her arms, and as she put him in his pushchair he opened his eyes drowsily to smile at her.
The day had turned unseasonally hot and sticky. Gina had gone to spend the afternoon with some friends who lived on the other side of London, and when she had put Nicky down for his nap Briony changed into an emerald green and white striped bikini and went to lie out on the lawn.