‘Keep it that way, then,’ he advised her. ‘If only until this is over. I don’t share.’
As he spoke, he reached out for the hand that was nearest to him, uncurling her fingers from the tense fist they had formed without any difficulty as the contact had its inevitable effect on her. Despair swamped her. What was the point of fighting him with words when she was utterly incapable of doing so physically?
Already, as Luke raised her hand to his mouth, response was quivering to life deep down in the heart of her femininity, flickering and then leaping as she felt the sensual brush of his lips.
Helplessly she gazed at him, seeing how his pupils dilated as awareness flared, her own eyes darkening as a shivering sigh escaped her.
‘Just don’t ever forget that I hate you, Luke,’ she reminded him in a fine, tense little voice, staving off complete sensual surrender for a few desperate seconds.
But the hatred was merely the other side of love, the element that darkened it, touching their passion with the hostility that made their lovemaking resemble fighting.
Self-hatred was the purer emotion.
Luke lifted his lips from her hand briefly, giving her a hard smile.
‘It doesn’t seem to matter, though, does it?’
It was so contemptuously dismissive that Maria recoiled, but only momentarily, the flame of desire already burning too hot and high to be denied.
Later that night, when they had spent their passion lavishly once already, only to find themselves caught in its thrall again an amazingly short while later, anguish tore at her.
Luke ought to love her. So much passion ought to stem from something much more than lust, especially when the man it held in its toils was one of Luke’s calibre. Civilised men, possessed of considerable intellect, as he was, could generally control their lust and even deny it when it was felt in response to a woman who was either despised or prevented from reciprocating for a variety of reasons, but they could not always control their emotions.
And yet, despising her, Luke couldn’t resist her any more than she could him—but she alone had love to justify the weakness.
Luke didn’t love her. It had hurt almost unbearably earlier, when he had withdrawn from her to lie turned away from her once more, the shoulder he presented to her as eloquent a rejection as his disinclination to touch her.
Now he was touching her again, but only because desire had renewed itself, and she was helpless in the grip of a wild excitement once more as she felt the erotic plunge of his tongue filling her mouth and a tormenting finger drew sensual circles round her navel.
How much could she endure? In the act of sliding a hand lovingly up over the satin-smooth skin stretched over the hard muscles of his upper arm, Maria halted as fear of the future caught at her and her fingers dug violently into his flesh.
Luke freed her mouth. ‘What’s wrong?’
She couldn’t see his face clearly in the darkness, only the gleam of his eyes.
‘I was just wondering how much I’m really going to enjoy being a sex slave,’ she told him bitterly, panting slightly as his hand moved lower, his palm flattening itself against her stomach.
‘It’s both of us, my darling,’ he retorted, the mockery harsh. ‘Can you doubt it? This has got us both imprisoned, me as much as you.’
‘Passion’s prisoners,’ she offered with acid amusement but none of the simple pleasure she usually took in alliteration.
Luke’s hand moved on, his light fingertip locating the tiny peak of sensitivity which he already knew to be utterly vulnerable to his skills, and Maria moaned softly as a pang of piercingly erotic sensation went thrilling through her.
‘As for enjoyment,’ he went on tauntingly, his breath mingling with hers as he bent his head again, ‘tell me you’re not enjoying this, Maria.’
‘And you’ll call me a liar,’ she muttered feverishly. ‘You know I am. Damn you, Luke!’
‘And you, my darling.’
Then she was giving him her mouth again so that he might swallow the choked cries of pleasure rising from her throat as the frenzy claimed her once more, and a little later she was thrashing against him, pleading hoarsely for his possession, until Luke held her down and sank into her with a harsh groan.
And when the frantic, plunging ride was over, ecstasy a fading quiver of memory and her swollen lips no longer muttering his name over and over in a delirium of rapture, he broke her heart all over again by moving right away from her, the distance between them, now that passion was spent once more, saying everything about their relationship.
So their affair was begun, their part-time affair, as Maria took to calling it, at first only to herself, but then aloud in Luke’s presence when she discovered that it could bring a quick frown to his face. She loathed herself for such pettiness, but she was so helplessly without any control over their relationship that pride or all that remained of it demanded that she administer these little pricks to his satisfaction, although she knew she had no hope of succeeding in puncturing it properly.
Theirs was not a loving affair; although she loved him, Maria refused to show it, knowing that Luke would probably reject any attempt to do so anyway. He had his victory already as it was, complete and undeniable. He didn’t deserve anything more from her, and certainly not the opportunity to draw derisive satisfaction from the fate that had befallen her.
He came to her on Friday evenings, departing again in the early hours of Monday morning, and the nights they spent together were frenzied.
‘Our orgies,’ Maria called them once. ‘Friday nights because we haven’t been together for four nights, Sundays because we know there are another four ahead of us, and…why Saturdays?’
‘Because that’s the way it is with us,’ he returned with the faintest of smiles. ‘Do you think it would be different if we had the opportunity to be together every night?’
‘I don’t know.’ She paused. ‘Do you?’
Luke took a moment or two before admitting, ‘I don’t know either.’
‘Where do you live in Hong Kong?’
It was late on a Sunday morning and they were still in bed, the radio on but turned down low. The glance Luke gave her was suspicious.
‘I have a house near Repulse Bay,’ he told her, sounding reluctant.
‘And your mother?’ Surprise silenced her for a moment. ‘I’ve just realised! I don’t know if you have any other family. Brothers and sisters?’
‘What is this?’ Seeing her blank look, Luke elaborated, This polite getting-to-know-you line of questioning?’
Maria sat up, eyes changing from warm honey to pure sparkling gold as anger surfaced.
‘Just that. Getting to know you, Luke,’ she snapped.
‘You know all you need to know,’ he countered dismissively.
‘Sorry, I’d forgotten! There’s only one area of your life you want to share with me,’ she recalled caustically, getting out of bed and reaching for her robe. ‘Except that we can’t spend every minute of the time we’re together making love, can we? You give a good impression of being Superman, but you’re not really, and I’m definitely not Superwoman. So what do you suggest we do when we’re not making love or asleep? Sit around in silence like strangers?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, aren’t you overreacting? But then so was I, probably,’ Luke added, surprising her. ‘Come back to bed.’
But Maria wasn’t ready to forgive him. ‘I’m going to shower. What sort of breakfast do you want? Or we could go out for it.’
The suggestion was casually made, but sheer masochism had prompted it. She knew exactly what Luke’s response would be.
‘No, we’ll have it here. I’ll get it, though.’
Maria paused at the bathroom door, her eyes shadowed as she looked back at him, her lover—who was ashamed of being her lover. Except for occasional—rare—meals at a nearby restaurant, they never went out, sending out for meals when they didn’t feel like cooking, while Luke no longer even accompanied her to th
e various work-connected functions she sometimes had to attend at weekends, dealing with business matters of his own or else remaining at the apartment while she was out.
‘Aren’t you afraid I’ll try to blackmail you when this is over?’ she enquired sweetly.
‘Perhaps it will never be over.’
Still apparently relaxed, hands clasped behind his head, Luke spoke lazily, but his eyes were intent as they probed her taut face.
‘Or sell my story to some Hong Kong newspaper?’ Maria swept on tauntingly. ‘You’re famous all over the Far East, so a story about how you kept a secret concubine in Taipei should be worth quite a bit.’
‘Except that you’d never expose yourself like that.’ Expression and voice had both hardened. ‘You’re too ashamed of your own contribution to our relationship.’
‘Fortunately for you,’ she agreed swiftly, having momentarily forgotten that she had deliberately given him the impression that she wanted their affair kept secret.
‘What’s this all about, Maria?’ Luke went on, his tone grown insolent. ‘You’re the one who views our affair in all these anachronistic terms. Concubine… My God! So what’s the problem? All this empty talk of blackmail, and selling your story when it’s over—are you talking around the real issue here, some present shortcoming? Perhaps I’m interpreting my role incorrectly. Am I supposed to be showering you with gifts right now, pretty things, baubles you can——?’
‘No, damn it, Luke!’ Maria cut him short, her face flaming. ‘Don’t add acquisitiveness to the long list of my sins. It’s not true and you——’
Afraid she was going to cry, she whirled round without finishing it, going into the bathroom and slamming the door. She did cry a little, almost soundlessly, and was furious with herself for doing so, her tears mingling with the spray of the shower.
It wasn’t his words that had hurt, but the intention behind them. Maria didn’t think Luke seriously believed she craved some material gain to show for their relationship. He had meant to hurt and humiliate, that was all.
She washed her face a second time after stepping out of the shower and left the bathroom confident that no trace of her weeping was visible. Luke had left the bedroom, and after putting on denim shorts and a little broderie anglaise top, she found him outside on her balcony, with the bamboo table she had recently purchased with four matching chairs set for breakfast, the muesli-type cereal he knew she always ate put out for her along with yoghurt, fruit juice and coffee.
From a domestic point of view, she found Luke easy to live with, tolerant of delays and minor disasters, and willing to undertake a fair share of the cooking and other tasks without comment or the expectation of praise and thanks.
He had pulled on jeans but nothing else, and his shirtless state, bare feet and the fact that he had yet to shave gave him a vaguely disreputable appearance. Maria paused, looking at him and loving him so much it hurt.
To counteract the feeling, she said waspishly, ‘So where’s my diamond necklace?’
He gave her a faint, wry smile of acknowledgement. ‘You know damned well I was only talking. Whatever the problem is, it’s not the frustration of any mercenary instincts, because you aren’t excessively materialistic.’
‘There’s no problem—no new problem,’ she amended moodily, seating herself. ‘Maybe it’s just natural rot setting in.’
‘Maybe,’ he agreed, helping himself to coffee, the look he sent her slightly wary. ‘What do you want to do today?’
‘I don’t know. Loaf around…I still haven’t found time to take a proper walk over there,’ she added, indicating the expanse of formal parkland stretching out below them.
‘Then we’ll make time,’ Luke offered expressionlessly.
‘No one we know is likely to see us,’ she added mockingly, conveniently forgetting that Florian and Nicky’s balcony a floor up commanded an almost identical view.
She let her eyes roam. It was late August now and Taipei remained intensely hot, a city set in a bowl ringed with mountains, hence its oppressive humidity. The parkland and the distant country were beautifully green, but, as was usually the case, the sky was obscured by a covering of cloud which hid the sun but did nothing to lessen its heat.
Later, as they strolled on neat walkways and over pretty Oriental stone bridges, Luke’s mood grew more relaxed, so Maria reintroduced the subject which had been the initial cause of their earlier conflict.
‘Are you an only child?’ she asked.
He was immediately wary again. ‘Yes.’
‘And you grew up in Hong Kong?’ she persisted, refusing to be deterred.
‘Yes. Maria——’
‘Why are you so defensive about that side of your life?’ she cut in, a perverse urge to torment him rising in response to the warning note in his voice and the rejection hardening his face. ‘Your family? Or are you just being protective? I can’t harm them—the way you once harmed my family when you only meant to harm me! I’ve noticed it before. Your expression goes…it closes, especially if I mention your father and his dying…oh, God, did something terrible happen to him, Luke?’
‘Nothing,’ he answered her belatedly contrite question curtly, but then something seemed to snap and his eyes blazed. ‘Other than dying, nothing more terrible than one of your kind getting her claws into him and then refusing to let go over all the years he spent struggling to free himself.’
‘Your…no,’ she realised. ‘He had an affair?’
‘Just the one, but it was renewed periodically over the years because the bitch was irresistible, and she knew it.’
It explained his reaction to her supposed affair with Florian. Maria’s heart clenched as she slanted a look at his grim countenance.
‘And you and your mother knew about it?’ she prompted.
‘No, for some reason I didn’t. When I was younger, probably simply because of that widespread reluctance to believe that one’s parents have sex lives of any sort, and as I grew older, because I didn’t see that much of them except socially.’ Luke paused and she sensed his reluctance to continue. ‘Oh, I knew theirs wasn’t an entirely happy marriage, that there were quarrels, but it didn’t occur to me that the cause lay outside the marriage. It was only after he went into hospital that I started spending much time with him, because we knew his illness would run a rapid course. He told me then, I don’t know why, but pain and drugs usually have a lot to do with that urge to confess that seems to overtake the dying. I’ve never mentioned it to my mother. I think she’s suffered enough humiliation without having to endure the knowledge that her son is aware of it. She went to live back in Britain soon after he died, anyway.’
Maria was aware of a fatal softening somewhere within her, and she knew she was in danger of forgiving him—everything. The facts made the contempt he had felt for her, six years ago at any rate, even more understandable. He had come straight from receiving a shock like that to find another woman apparently destroying another marriage, probably because he was half expecting her to do so at that stage, viewing all women with newly disillusioned and suspicious eyes. He couldn’t have reacted with anything other than disgust.
Then!
‘Aren’t you taking rather a one-sided view of it?’ she ventured sharply. ‘There could have been lacks in the marriage that you weren’t aware of, that made him——’
‘Who are you really trying to make excuses for, Maria?’ Luke cut her short, his tone savagely contemptuous. ‘Just my father, or unfaithful husbands in general—or Florian Jones? At least my father tried to get out of the trap, but I doubt if Jones has ever struggled, even with his conscience. Oh yes, there probably were lacks or flaws in the marriage, as in most marriages. The person for whom there’s no excuse is——’
‘Me, because in your eyes your father’s mistress and I are one and the same,’ Maria inserted acidly.
‘A type, anyway,’ he conceded drily.
‘Then let me make excuses for her!’ she flared. ‘Perhaps she loved y
our father.’
‘You should know,’ Luke allowed derisively.
‘I should have realised that you had a personal prejudice,’ she taunted.
‘And I should have realised that you’d be the one who could only see the thing from one angle,’ he retorted harshly. ‘So let’s drop it, Maria.’
‘So you can keep on cherishing your prejudice?’
‘I said drop it, Maria,’ Luke repeated tightly, his anger barely controlled. ‘In view of your attitude, I assume you were the child of a happy marriage?’
‘I was denied the chance to listen to any deathbed confessions! Otherwise—you’ll probably hate hearing this—we’ve got something in common, Luke!’ The mockery was blistering. ‘I’m also an only child and my mother, who’s very English, also went home to her own folk after my father died in South Africa.’
‘What happened?’
‘It was emphysema-related.’
Now Luke was looking at her speculatively. ‘And you weren’t there.’
‘I wasn’t there,’ Maria confirmed, but she found she was having to force the resentment now, needing to remind herself—and him—of all the other lesser things she had lost as well. ‘I also had to give up my part-time Communications course which the Jo’burg job was paying for, because the salary in Durban was much lower and my parents couldn’t help me when it was all they could do to meet Dad’s medical expenses, since he never made any sort of provision for the future. He was one of those people who only care about the present moment.’
‘And you hate me for all that, of course,’ Luke accepted neutrally.
‘I used to. I thought I did. I was wrong.’ Abruptly she let go of the last protective remnants of self-deception, but, fearing questions she couldn’t answer without exposing the full extent of her vulnerability, she rushed on, ‘I felt guilty to begin with, but I did come to terms with it eventually, and anyway, my parents had encouraged me to stay with radio even though it would take me away from them and they knew what was happening to Dad.’
Ransacked Heart Page 12