Dark Betrayal

by Patricia Lake

  In the shower she let the warm water sluice over her. She soaped her body and shampooed her hair, letting her mind drift back over the events of the past two days.

  She was glad that Jake finally knew the truth about Robert. Telling him had lifted a great weight from her shoulders. Why had he been so furious, though? She would have expected his reaction to be very different. Amusement or triumph but not anger. Her admission hadn't changed anything between them, though. Last night she had tossed and turned in Jake's wide bed, not wanting to be alone, aching for him. He had slept elsewhere because she had woken alone as well. Even now she felt that deep ache in the centre of her body. She recognised her desire with reluctant dismay. Why had he lied about Leila? Her eyes had not deceived her. How could he deny it so coolly, so implacably?

  She sighed heavily. So many questions and not one satisfactory answer. It seemed they had reached a tense stalemate, and she could see no way out of it. Even loving him so desperately, she couldn't forgive him, she couldn't trust him. She had been hurt too much, by a man who obviously didn't love her.

  Her mouth straightened. There was no point in going over it again and again. It got her nowhere. As she reluctantly reached to turn off the tap, the lights flickered and failed, plunging her into complete darkness.

  She cried out, alarmed, not realising that she was calling Jake's name. He was there in a second, and as he pulled back the shower curtain, the lights came on again with sudden startling brightness.

  'The lights . ..' she stammered, feeling very foolish.

  'The electricity supply here can be pretty erratic,' he explained, as his eyes met hers.

  'Oh, I . ..' She couldn't think of anything to say, freezing into immobility as she read the expression burning in his face.

  'You're all right? You didn't fall?' He sounded concerned, and she felt her heart glowing, until she remembered that it was probably the baby he was worried about, not her.

  'No, I'm fine, thank you.' Her voice was sharp with disappointment.

  Jake smiled, reading her mind, his glittering eyes moving down over her wet naked body in slow intimate appraisal.

  Those eyes were hypnotic, possessive, and to her shame, she could feel herself responding as though he was physically touching her.

  Her breasts ached, the nipples hardening, the muscles in her stomach becoming taut. The water from the shower still washed over her, making her skin gleam like pearl. Jake's unhurried gaze finally returned to her flushed face.

  'You're beautiful,' he said huskily, the curve of his mouth fiercely sensual. Deborah stared at him, unable to say a word. He picked up one of the thick towels that lay over the side of the bath, and held it out for her. With shaking fingers, she turned off the water and stepped out, allowing him to wrap the towel around her, sarong-like. He turned her to face him, his arms still holding her. She smiled into his smoky grey eyes, aware of her bare shoulders still gleaming with water, her hair curling damply around her white throat, and heard the harsh intake of his breath. A sweet sexual awareness buzzed between them, almost a tangible force. They stared into each other's eyes, and she felt his slight hesitation.

  'Don't treat me like a child,' she said in a low voice, not thinking with her head, but obeying the pure emotion that was spiralling inside her.

  Jake didn't answer, but lifted her in his strong arms until her face was on a level with his, her feet not touching the floor.

  She gazed at the firm, beautifully moulded line of his mouth, waiting for its touch with impatient longing. He did not move, and obeying her instincts, she leaned forward and kissed him tentatively, touching his mouth with her lips. She felt his body tensing, the muscles tightening, and realised when she looked into his eyes, that this was the first time she had kissed him since their parting. It had always been him who had made the first move.

  She kissed him again, brushing his mouth with gentle delicacy. He didn't respond for a second. Then, with a groan that seemed to come from his very soul, his mouth possessed hers, forcing her to kiss him deeply, parting her lips, showing her the need he could no longer conceal.

  The towel fell unnoticed to the marble floor. Jake's hands slid gently over her wet skin. He caressed her slowly, stroking, exploring her body with the sure possessive touch of a lover, his strong fingers familiar with every curve, every hollow, knowing how to give her pleasure.

  And still he kissed her, deeper and deeper, with more demand, drugging her with his passion and with a mindless burning sweetness that made her tremble against him.

  Then he lifted her into his arms, as though she was no lighter than a feather, carrying her easily to the velvet-covered bed, and gently laying her down. He arched over her, and their mouths fused again.

  Deborah fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, until the hard warmth of his chest lay beneath her shaking fingers. She caressed the hair-roughened skin, the smooth power of his shoulders, delighting in his responsive shudder.

  He was beautiful, she thought achingly, his body hard and pure and powerfully masculine. Beneath her gentle hands she could feel the heavy pounding of his heart, proof, if she needed any, that he wanted her as desperately as she wanted him. It was a sweet power to hold. She could arouse him with a touch, a kiss, a caress. She let her mouth drift tenderly over his chest, breathing in the clean erotic scent of his skin. He groaned, his body unbearably tense, filmed with perspiration. He reached for her, framing her face between his hands, searching her eyes. 'Deborah.' Her name came unevenly from his lips. 'Oh, God, Deborah.'

  The words seemed to break the spell, bringing her to her senses, finally penetrating the desire that had blinded coherent thought.

  What was she doing, allowing him to make love to her like this? She had encouraged him, almost begged for his touch. What would he think? That any time he wanted her, she would be more than willing?

  She stiffened in his arms. She wouldn't let him use her. He didn't believe in fidelity, and she had no intention of letting him hurt her again. If they became lovers, she would only be one of many, and she couldn't bear the thought.

  She had to hold part of herself back from him for her own protection.

  'No.' She turned her head away in sudden anguish, struggling against his hands.

  He let her go easily, his dark brows drawing together in a frown. Deborah felt herself shivering, tears filling her eyes, her emotions at fever pitch. She had made a fool of herself, and had probably given herself away. Did he know that she loved him? The thought was unendurable.

  All desire was gone, doused with humiliation. She felt cold and stiff and vulnerable. How could she offer everything she had so freely to a man who didn't love her? Was she so eager to become just another woman in the long line of women willing to satisfy his needs? She lay sobbing, curled up with her back to him.

  'Deborah, what is it?' His voice was gentle and concerned, still husky with passion. He reached out and touched her bare shoulder when she didn't answer, and she flinched away.

  'Let me go,' she muttered tearfully. 'Don't touch me.'

  'That's quite a change,' he said coolly. He didn't release her, but used his strength to turn her, so that she faced him.

  'Leave me alone!' She refused to lift her head, wrapping her arms around her naked body, shivering.

  He stared down at her with unfathomable eyes. 'Why are you crying?' he asked quietly, then, seeing she was shivering, handed her a thick towelling robe from the end of the bed. 'Here, put this on, for God's sake.'

  Deborah got off the bed and gratefully slipped into it. She tried to pull herself together, swallowing back her tears, wiping her face.

  Jake watched her in silence. He could guess why she had frozen in his arms. She still couldn't trust him. She looked frail and vulnerable in the white robe, and so beautiful, she tore at his heart. His body ached for the satisfaction only she could give him, but he knew that he would have to be patient. He could arouse her, he was fully aware of that, he could take her now, if he reached for her. But i
f he did that, he would lose her, perhaps for ever, and he couldn't take the chance.

  Three years had been long enough—too damned long! This time there would be no compromise, no mistakes. She wasn't a child any more and he wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman in his life. He couldn't let her go again. He pushed a hand through his hair, and realised how tense he was. He forced his body to relax. Sexual satisfaction wasn't enough. He wanted everything, and that meant he would have to go slowly.

  Deborah, glancing at him from beneath her lashes, could read no expression at all in his face. He seemed calm and controlled, as always. As though desire had not touched him, as though the events of the last half hour had not happened.

  She pushed back her tousled hair. I must look an utter mess, she thought miserably. The white robe was far too big, her eyes were red and swollen, her mouth bruised. She couldn't imagine Leila ever looking a mess . . . Disturbed by her own thoughts, she started moving, intending to wash her face in the bathroom.

  Jake's voice halted her. 'Where are you going?'

  She didn't look at him. 'I'm going to get dressed for dinner,' she said dully.

  'Not until we've talked.' He moved silently, suddenly in front of her, blocking her way. His shirt still hung open, revealing the hard lines of his chest, evidence of the desire that had flared between them, still unsatisfied.

  She looked up into his cool grey eyes, and saw that the desire still lingered. She knew that her own eyes told him the same. He was not as controlled as he seemed, which somehow made her feel a little better.

  'Why were you crying?' he asked again.

  She swallowed painfully. 'I was ashamed.'

  'Ashamed?' He frowned. 'Of what? Of wanting me?'

  'I didn't want you,' she retorted, stung. 'I'll never want you.'

  He smiled. 'You're such a beautiful little liar,' he said softly, amused by her childish denial.

  'Why should I be?' she demanded, knowing that she wasn't fooling him for a moment. 'You judge everybody by your own low standards.'

  'I've never lied to you,' he said, his shoulders strangely tense. 'Never.'

  She tried to move away, but he still blocked her path to the sanctuary of the bathroom. It would be so easy to believe him, she thought with wonder. She wanted to believe him. The only thing that stood in her way was the evidence of her own eyes, and she couldn't deny that.

  'You agreed that this ridiculous marriage would be in name only,' she reminded him, her green eyes flashing defiance.

  'And so it is,' Jake mocked, his mouth amused.

  'No—yes—you tried to'

  'It was a mutual thing,' Jake cut in. 'I can't deny that I want you.' His grey eyes held hers and she felt as though she was drowning. With a great effort of will, she dragged her eyes away from his.

  'Please let me past,' she said woodenly. 'We'll be late for dinner.'

  Swearing tinder his breath, Jake took her chin between his fingers, searching her pale face, seeing her defeat, her intense weariness.

  'You'll have to face it sometime,' he said harshly. She shrugged, not answering, and his hands dropped, allowing her to walk away.

  She wore red silk for dinner, matching the dress with red shoes and the necklace Jake had given her. The food was delicious, served by the staff with silent efficiency, brought to the table from the silver chafing dishes that stood on a carved sideboard. The starter was Esparragos trios dos salsas, then stuffed crab or veal with vegetables and salad. For the sake of her hosts, Deborah tried to do justice to the meal, but she hardly tasted a mouthful. She was able to refuse the dessert—flan al caramelo—with the excuse that she was already replete, and settled for coffee, thick and black and bitter.

  The conversation buzzed around her. Jake and Fernando had a lot of news to catch up on, and against her will, she found herself watching Jake. He was cool and witty and charming. She watched him smiling, at something Concepcion said, and her heart lurched. In the candlelight, he looked dark and powerful and devastatingly attractive. She couldn't stop looking at him, her love shining in her face.

  He moved his head, and their eyes met. His were suddenly very dark and very serious. He raised his glass to her in mock salute, and she felt herself flushing hotly. Silent communication flashed between them, and she looked away, denying it, asking Concepcion something irrelevant about the ingredients of the dessert.

  The party broke up early. Concepcion and Fernando were leaving before dawn the following morning and, as Concepcion explained, she still had to supervise the packing of their bags.

  Deborah was tired. Pregnancy exhausted her, she realised, as she allowed Jake to lead her down the long dim corridors to their room. He walked beside her in silence, not touching her, but she was aware of him with every nerve in her body and by the time they reached the bedroom, her heart was pounding like a drum.

  She stood aside, trembling, as he opened the door, then preceded him into the room.

  The lamps were lit, throwing pools of light into the darkness. The bed had been re-made in their absence, the velvet cover turned down. Deborah turned to Jake, and found him watching her with dark blank eyes.

  'I'm tired,' she said, her voice sharp.

  'Go to bed,' he suggested with a faint smile.

  'I can't' Her eyes flashed anger at him,

  frustration.

  'Don't be ridiculous! He moved across the room, looking out of the window.

  Deborah stared at the broad tense sweep of his back, tears filling her eyes. Why was he so cruel, so cold? Her mouth trembled with self-pity.

  'You'll have to sleep on the floor,' she told him fiercely, as long seconds ticked by in strained silence.

  'No.' He turned, his face hard. 'That bed is big enough for both of us.'

  'But.. .' she faltered, her eyes wide.

  'Dammit, I'm not going to rape you,' he muttered angrily. He moved towards her and she backed away, shaking. How could she possibly explain to him that she couldn't share his bed because she was more frightened of herself than of him?

  'I didn't mean ...'

  'No? You're as transparent as glass.' His anger frightened her.

  'Jake, look, I...' She didn't know what to say to him. Even now as he came towards her, tall and powerful in the dim light, she felt weak with longing for him. If they shared the same bed, would she have the self-control to stop herself begging him to make love to her?

  He took her shoulders between his hands, hurting her. He watched her flinching with blank eyes.

  'Very well. As you make your abhorrence to my touch so eloquently clear,' he drawled coldly, 'you have my promise that I won't lay a finger on you.' He let her go abruptly. 'Satisfied?'

  Piqued and ridiculously frustrated, Deborah didn't answer. She walked into the bathroom and locked the door. She washed, then cleaned her teeth, staring at her reflection in the long mosaic-edged mirrors. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling.

  Jake was right, of course. The bed was enormous. Fear had made her unreasonable.

  She brushed her hair slowly, putting off the moment when she would have to go back into the bedroom.

  As she walked in, Jake was staring out of the window again. She said nothing, but climbed into the huge bed, head bowed. Sensing her presence he looked round. 'Decided to make the best of it?' he queried mockingly.

  'I have no choice,' she flashed back.

  'Of course you have,' he smiled, his eyes gleaming.

  Confused, Deborah turned on her side, pulling up the covers around her throat. She heard him laughing and gritted her teeth. She felt cold and very tense. Her tiredness had evaporated, leaving her wide awake and nervous. And it was ten nerve-racking minutes before she felt the mattress give and Jake slide in beside her. She lay perfectly still, her body rigid. Crazy that she should be this nervous, she thought, drawing a long shuddering breath.

  Jake shifted beside her. 'Relax,' he murmured quietly. 'You're quite safe with me. I told you that I won't touch you, and I meant it.' />
  She listened to his voice, the low gentle timbre of it, and felt lonely.

  'I'm cold,' she whispered into the darkness, not caring what she was inviting.

  Jake sighed, moving, pulling the covers up over her bare shoulders. She rolled on to her back. 'Won't you hold me?' she begged softly.

  She heard him swearing under his breath. 'You don't know what you're asking.'

  She did know. She was being unfair, immediately regretting the impulse. 'I'm sorry.' She turned back on to her side, her mouth trembling, and he reached for her, as though he could not help himself, drawing her into his strong arms. She felt the smooth warmth of his body against hers, the heavy muscles of the arms that held her, and felt safe. She rested her head against his shoulder.

  'For God's sake, keep still and go to sleep,' he said roughly.

  She smiled, her loneliness gone, her eyelids drooping as she fell asleep. Against her breasts, Jake's heart beat its heavy rhythm. He held her tightly, his hands possessive, but when she woke next morning, she was alone.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Deborah woke early again, as she had done every morning lately. She lay back against the soft mound of pillows, desolation washing over her as she thought of Jake. Another day to face.

  She climbed out of bed and strolled over to the window, flinging open the wooden shutters to let the sunshine in. The sky was pure blue, the air warm and scented with flowers, but the thought of facing her husband made her dawdle as she showered.

  They had been in Seville for seven days now. The week had passed quickly and although she had liked Concepcion and Fernando immediately, she was glad that she and Jake had the house to themselves. It meant that there was no need for exhausting pretence.

  The situation hadn't improved. Jake slept in another bedroom, and Deborah lay alone every night, restless with longing for him, unable to pluck up the courage to go to him and admit her love. Her pride was long abandoned but some tiny part of her still held back. She still didn't trust him, certain he was lying about Leila. And because she didn't trust him, she couldn't give herself freely.