She turned off the shower at last, with a sigh of relief and pleasure. Twisting her hair into a thick mahogany rope in order to squeeze out the excess water, she stepped back into the bathroom.
She’d heard no sound above the rush of the shower. Had felt no prickle of awareness. Yet he was there, standing in the doorway, watching her. Waiting for her.
She halted, hands still raised, totally, sublimely exposed, as a slow, quivering heat suffused her body under his silver gaze. As she acknowledged that it was much too late for even a token attempt to cover herself.
Nor was there any point in asking what the hell he thought he was doing there, because she already knew. But she had to say something—if only to break this taut and terrible silence stretching between them.
Her voice a husky whisper, she pleaded, ‘Diaz—no…’
‘You are so beautiful.’ The words seemed torn from him. He moved, lithe as a panther, walking over to the pile of towels to take one and envelop her in it before, without haste, blotting the moisture from her skin.
‘How can you do this?’ she protested again, her voice shaking. The slow movement of his hands on her body through the layer of towelling was already an unbearable, shameful incitement. He was shirtless again, and the clean, sun-warmed scent of his skin filled her nose and mouth, turning her dizzy. ‘Feeling as you do—despising me?’
‘Because this is unfinished business between us, Rhianna, and you know it.’ He spoke calmly. ‘And whatever you’ve been to Simon Rawlins, it hasn’t stopped me wanting you, although God knows I’ve tried.’
A fist seemed to clench inside her, and she knew she needed to stop him urgently, tell him everything before it was too late.
‘Please,’ she said, rapidly. ‘Please, Diaz—you must listen. You don’t understand…’
‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re the one who doesn’t understand.’
He lifted her into his arms, stifling any further protest with the hard pressure of his mouth, and carried her into the other room. The coverlet on the bed had been turned back in readiness, and he put her down on the snowy sheet, followed her down.
Kneeling over her, he unwrapped the towel from her body and tossed it on to the floor. Stripped off his shorts and sent them to follow the towel, before stretching himself, naked, beside her.
‘I need to erase him,’ he told her quietly, almost conversationally, looking down into her widening scared eyes. ‘To wipe him from your mind and memory for ever. To prove to you that you can’t live in the past, Rhianna, and set you free. To show you that there’s a present, and there can be a future.’
‘No,’ she said hoarsely. ‘You’re so wrong. There never will be—not without the man I love.’
He smiled with faint bitterness. ‘You may be right,’ he said. ‘But at least I can try.’
He put his hand on her stomach, smoothing the damp skin with almost exquisite care, and she felt the pleasure of it shiver through every nerve-ending in her body.
‘And you don’t have to worry,’ he added softly. ‘I swear I’ll be gentle.’
‘Oh, God.’ Her voice sounded stifled, caught as she was between terror and desire, as she realised what he meant. Remembered what he believed. ‘Diaz—no. There’s something I must say. Please let me go.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I will. As I promised. But not yet. We’ll talk later. Afterwards.’
He leaned down and kissed her again, his lips moving on hers this time in a slow and seductive quest, coaxing them apart, preparing her for the heated, silken invasion of his tongue, carrying her, as some reeling corner of her mind acknowledged, beyond denial. But not beyond shame.
When at last he raised his head she was breathless, wordless, her pulses playing all kinds of tricks as she stared up at him through the veil of her lashes.
‘I should have made love to you weeks ago,’ he told her huskily. ‘That night at your flat when I found him there. But I was too angry then. You were right to send me away. Before that you wanted me, and I knew it. Later, when I realised you were still sleeping with him, I told myself that it was too late—that I could never come near you—never bear to touch you again—not after—him.’
His mouth twisted. ‘Yet here I am. Needing you so badly that I’m prepared to forget decency and reason, along with everything else that should be keeping us apart. I no longer have a choice.’
His stroking hand moved slowly upwards, over her midriff and ribcage, to cup the soft swell of her breast, his thumb grazing her nipple and awakening it to hot, aching life.
‘We could even treat it as a pact,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll release you from Simon and you, my lovely Rhianna, you can release me—from you. And maybe we’ll both have some peace at last. Show me what you like.’
He bent, taking her tumescent rosy peak in his mouth, caressing it with the sweet agony of his tongue, making her gasp, her body arching involuntarily towards him.
She had only instinct to guide her. No prior knowledge of what the responses of her flesh might be to his hands and lips, or what he, in turn, might expect from her.
All those love scenes, taunted the only rational part of her brain still functioning. All that simulated ecstasy. And now that you’re faced with reality instead of play-acting you haven’t got a bloody clue…
And yet this is what you’ve longed for in all those long, empty years since you were eighteen—for Diaz Penvarnon to take you in his arms again and make love to you. To bring you to fulfilment as a woman.
No guilt. No shadows from the past. Just two people on a bed, together, just for a while.
And even if it is happening for all the wrong reasons, it’s probably all you’ll ever have of him—your one chance of happiness—so give him the only gift you have to offer and be thankful.
As if he’d picked up some unspoken cue, she heard him say, on a soft breath of amusement, ‘This is usually a duet, sweetheart, not a solo. Aren’t you going to touch me too? Let yourself remember how you once enjoyed being in my arms?’
She reached up to his shoulders, stroking the taut skin, feeling the strength of bone and the play of muscle under her shyly exploring fingers.
With a murmur of satisfaction Diaz drew her closer into his arms, kissing her mouth again, while his own hands slowly traced the length of her long, supple spine, moulding the rounded curves of her buttocks.
She moved against him deliberately, the breath catching in her throat as she felt the answering pressure of his aroused hardness against her belly. She reached down, her fingers shyly seeking a more intimate acquaintance with all that iron male strength, but Diaz forestalled her, his hand on her wrist.
‘Easy, my love,’ he whispered, dropping light kisses on her eyelids, his lips tugging softly at her long lashes. ‘I’ve waited far too long for this to be in any hurry, but God knows I’m only human, and I’m not sure how much of that particular delight I can bear right now. So let’s—take our time.’
He began to caress her body, his fingertips brushing the creamy satin of her skin, and Rhianna lay, sighing through parted lips, her entire being subsumed in this glory of sensual pleasure he was creating for her.
And where his hands lingered his mouth followed, tasting the hollows at the base of her throat, the inside curve of her arms, the indentation of her navel, the faint swell of her hips and the slender length of her thighs.
She was moving restlessly beneath his touch, her flesh burning, eager for more. When his mouth took hers again she clung to him, her passionate response lacking all inhibition.
His lips returned to her breasts, suckling on their hard, aroused peaks, making her moan aloud, while his hand slid down to the shadowed cleft between her thighs and paused there.
He lifted his head and looked down at her, at the fever-bright eyes, the storm of excited colour along the high cheekbones, and the swollen, reddened mouth.
He said harshly, ‘Do you still want me to stop? To let you go?’
‘No.’ Her voice was a shadow of its
elf. ‘Oh, God—please—no…’
He began to touch her there, in the hot, secret centre of her, and she offered herself unequivocally to the intimacy of this new exploration, the mastery of his subtle fingers irresistibly enticing.
She’d never believed it could be possible to feel with such intensity, she thought as her breathing splintered, her mind and body focussed almost painfully on the sensuous stroke of his hand as he sought her tiny sheltered nub of sensitive flesh and brought it to aching delicious life.
Don’t stop. The words were a silent scream in her head. Never stop…
Her body awash with fluid, scalding excitement, she heard him say hoarsely, ‘Darling now.’
As he moved over her, above her, Rhianna obeyed instantly, clasping the rigid silken shaft of his virility with shaking fingers and guiding him into her with a little sob of anticipation.
Then, between one heartbeat and the next, everything changed. Because the last thing she’d expected was that it would hurt. That his physical possession of her would cause actual pain. The kind that made her flinch and tense into resistance, crying out before she could stop yourself.
Because that notion of virginity as a barrier to be breached was surely a myth belonging to past generations?
Yet here she was, with beads of perspiration on her forehead, sinking her teeth into her lower lip.
Diaz was suddenly very still. He said urgently, his breathing harsh and ragged, ‘What is it? What’s wrong? Darling, tell me…’
Then as he looked down at her, looked into her shocked, scared eyes, she saw realisation dawn—and a kind of horror.
He whispered, ‘Oh, my God,’ and lifted himself out of her—away from her—in one swift movement of utter finality, flinging himself on his side, his back to her, his breathing hoarse and ragged.
She lay staring at the ceiling, trying to say something—his name, perhaps, out of a throat tight with tears.
But eventually it was Diaz who broke the silence. ‘You’ve never done this before.’ It was a statement, not a question. He turned back slowly to face her, pulling up the sheet to cover the lower part of his body and propping himself on an elbow. ‘Simon Rawlins was never your lover, and you’re not having his child. Because until a few moments ago you were virgo intacta.’
‘I’m sorry,’ was all she could manage. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Yet, knowing that,’ Diaz went on, as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘you encouraged me to—violate you. Why?’
She said, ‘Because I wanted you.’ Because I love you. I always have and always will.
Those unsayable words he would not want to hear. Therefore they went unsaid.
She took a deep breath. ‘I decided long ago that my first time was going to be with someone I’d always really fancied, who knew what he was doing. You fitted the template perfectly—and created the opportunity too. You can hardly deny that. So it was never a—a violation. I truly wanted it, and you must believe that.’
She added unevenly, ‘I thought being a virgin was simply a state of mind. I never dreamed there’d be—consequences.’
‘Apart, you mean,’ he said with chilling irony, ‘from the dangers of unprotected sex? You didn’t take those into consideration? The fact that there might be a real baby to be disposed of this time?’
She winced. ‘Don’t!’
Do you really imagine I’m capable of that? Especially if it’s your child involved? I’d rather die…
‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’ he demanded. ‘Taking part in some episode from that damned series? Making life up as you went along? Why in God’s name didn’t you tell me the truth about Simon Rawlins? Why did you let me think you were having an affair with him?’
For the first time she turned away from him, sheltering her naked body with the protection of her arms.
She said tonelessly, ‘Because it was what you wanted to think. My mother took your father away from your mother. I had to be the one to take Simon away from Carrie. History repeating itself. Another ideal template.’
‘No,’ he said. Then, more forcefully, ‘No, Rhianna, that makes no sense. You stood there and let me accuse you of being Simon’s secret mistress without one word in your own defence. How do you explain that?’
He paused. ‘You say you’ve always wanted me, but you went to great lengths to ensure we wouldn’t be together.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Our joint family history did that. Because if it had ever become known we were lovers, all the old stories about my mother would have been dragged out for another airing. Her memory doesn’t deserve that, whatever you believe.’ She paused. ‘Nor does your own mother, who is still around to be hurt. How would she feel if she knew you were sleeping with Grace Trewint’s daughter?’
She stared sightlessly ahead of her. ‘Maybe, unconsciously, when you started accusing me of being Simon’s mistress I saw it as a convenient get-out clause—a means of escape from an impossible situation. And, perhaps what happened just now is fate’s way of telling us that wanting each other still doesn’t make it right.’
She bit down on her already torn lip. ‘Would you go now, please? I—I’d rather be alone.’
‘Tough,’ Diaz said succinctly. ‘Because I’m going nowhere.’ He drew her back into his arms, swearing softly when he saw the expression of mute apprehension on her face. ‘No, darling, I’m not planning to try and have sex with you again. I just need to hold you.’ His mouth twisted. ‘You look as if you need that too.’
It was suddenly all too much—the misery and disappointment, the knowledge that inevitably there’d be more questions to come, more blame assigned. The certainty that any remaining flicker of hope was gone for ever. Yet now, almost from nowhere, this unexpected kindness.
Rhianna turned her face into his shoulder and could taste the salt of his sweat on her trembling lips as she wept softly and bitterly in the arms of the man who could never be her lover.
CHAPTER NINE
AS SHE cried, she was aware of his hand smoothing her damp, tumbled hair, and his voice murmuring to her in a language she dimly recognised as Spanish.
And in some strange way both seemed equally comforting.
At last he lifted her and put her back against the pillows.
He said, ‘I’m going to get you some water.’
‘I’m not thirsty.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘But you’ve bled a little.’
Her face burned. ‘Oh, God, I’m so sorry,’ she muttered, totally humiliated.
‘Why?’ Diaz dropped a kiss on the top of her head. The kind of caress you’d offer a child. ‘I’m the one who feels like the biggest bastard in the known world.’
He reached for his shorts and zipped himself into them with a kind of finality.
When he returned from the bathroom she’d retrieved the towel from the floor and shrouded herself in it. She held out her hand for the cloth he’d brought, blushing again. ‘Please—I’ll do it.’
His hesitation was momentary, then he shrugged. ‘If that’s what you wish.’ He added levelly, ‘I assume it’s also another way of asking me to give you some privacy?’
She looked away, nodding jerkily, and thought she heard him sigh.
‘Then I’ll go,’ he said, and paused. ‘But it’s not over yet, Rhianna. We still have matters to discuss, you and I. You said so yourself.’
‘But that was—before. I—I don’t see what else you need to know,’ she protested.
‘Something quite simple really,’ he drawled. ‘It’s known as the truth.’
He walked to the door and halted, looking back at her, his mouth twisting in a faint smile. ‘Until later,’ he promised, and went, leaving her staring after him, her eyes stricken.
Once alone, she sponged the tell-tale spots of blood from the sheet, then took another quick shower. Half an hour later, her hair dry, her face made-up, buttoned into the coffee linen dress, she was curled into the corner of the sofa, considering her options.
Wh
ich were few, she admitted wryly, and singularly unappealing.
Diaz wanted the truth. But what good could it possibly do—especially now that the marriage had taken place exactly as planned?
And particularly since he knew beyond all doubt that she’d never been Simon’s mistress, or pregnant with his child. Why couldn’t that be enough for him? Why did he need more?
Because nothing had changed. There was still a bitter, devastated girl out there who needed her support, no matter how tired she herself might be of the entire situation. How angry and sick at heart.
‘Donna,’ she whispered under her breath. ‘Donna Winston. Oh, God, I wish I’d never met her. Never known of her existence.’
At the time, of course, it had all made perfect sense. The young actress had just won the role of governess Martha Webb in Castle Pride, and had wanted to move out of the noisy, overcrowded flat she shared with three other girls. Rhianna had had a spare room, which she’d offered as a temporary solution, while Donna looked around for a place of her own.
And at first it had gone reasonably well. Donna was also an only child, and they’d been careful to respect each other’s space, although Rhianna had worked out fairly soon that the other girl, a year younger than herself, would probably never be a close friend. She was altogether too dependent, complaining constantly of being homesick, and spending a lot of time on the telephone to her parents in Ipswich.
One evening, after a hard day’s rehearsal, they’d dropped into a local pizza place, too tired to face cooking at the flat. They’d finished their meal and were about to order coffee when a man’s voice had said, ‘Good God, Rhianna, fancy seeing you here.’ She’d looked up to see Simon smiling at her.
It was far from the encounter of choice. She’d seen him several times when she’d been to Oxford, visiting Carrie, and had learned reluctantly to accept that they were very much an item again.
‘Isn’t this terrific?’ Carrie had said happily one weekend when the three of them had been picnicking by the river. ‘Just like old times.’
And Rhianna had seen Simon’s eyes rest on her with a faint sneer, as if he was remembering that night in the stable yard and daring her to do the same. After which she’d made a conscious effort to time her visits when he was elsewhere.
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