'Everything will be fine tomorrow,' he said soothingly. 'I promise you. Someone will come past and by tomorrow night you'll be safely back in Nice to catch the plane home.'
'Yes,' she sighed, snuggling down under her bedclothes.
Alex looked down at her, hesitated, then bent and kissed her again, still without passion, yet with a tenderness which made her tremble. Deborah returned the kiss softly, but her response brought a deepening pressure which made her heart turn over. Without volition her hands moved up to encircle his head and she lifted her face, her lips parting hungrily. Alex made a soft sound, gripping her, his hands sliding under her back. They moved together, holding each other, kissing in a totally new way. Alex suddenly broke away, his breath audible in the quiet room.
'I can't take much more of this,' he said hoarsely, and got up, striding back to his own makeshift bed to vanish between the bedclothes. With a faint smile on her mouth Deborah drifted gently into sleep. Alex had offered her hunger, desire, violence, many times before, but for the first time there had been a totally new feeling in his kiss.
8
Next day after a breakfast of baked beans and boiled water they ventured downstairs and found that most of the water had seeped away, leaving a thin covering of mud everywhere and an appalling smell of the river, a rotten odour which pervaded every room. They had rolled up their jeans, but there was nothing they could do about their footwear since they had only the shoes they wore when they arrived, which were not the most suitable objects for wading in muddy water.
Alex found two stiff yard brooms and they began to work, sweeping the water systematically out of the house. Every now and then they halted, perspiring, their legs plastered with mud, saturated with water. It was tiring physical work. After half an hour Alex pulled off his shirt and worked with his lean chest bare, the muscles rippling across his arms and back as he swept vigorously. Deborah envied him. It was impossible for her to imitate him.
'I should have brought my bikini,' she groaned wiping her face with one hand, the sweat running down her back, making her top stick to her. :
'It would certainly have made the work more enjoyable for me,' he agreed, teasingly, then turned to grin at her, and roared with laughter.
'What's funny?' she asked, taken aback.
'If you could see yourself! I never expected to see the perfectly groomed, cool as a cucumber Miss Portman working ankle deep in mud, her clothes crumpled, her face smeared with mud…'
She began to laugh in response, eyeing him. 'You don't look any more elegant yourself,' she pointed out.
He grimaced. 'I know. I feel as though I've been wearing these clothes for a week.' He wrinkled his nose. 'I wouldn't mind the work. The smell is the worst — the house will reek for weeks. Mother will have to have the whole place redecorated. Look at that wallpaper… the water level has left a black tide mark all round the house…'
'I'm afraid your mother is in for a shock,' she said in concern.
Alex shrugged. 'I doubt it. I remember her telling me these floods occur at regular intervals. She probably expects it, which is why she removed all her furniture from the downstairs rooms. She must have had a van from the village to take them. There wouldn't have been room for them in the bedroom.'
'And I doubt if she could have got so much as a jamjar into that studio,' said Deborah, remembering the mess she had found. 'I think your mother is a squirrel. She seems to keep the oddest things… old newspapers, jigsaw puzzles…'
'Newspapers,' said Alex abruptly.
She stared at him. 'What about them?'
'We could use them to dry the floor when we've swept out the water.'
'That's a good idea,' she agreed enthusiastically. The floorboards will take ages to dry out.'
Alex recommenced sweeping, his hard lean body bent as he pushed the filthy water towards the open door. Deborah worked beside him, her blonde hair tied up into a loose knot at the back of her head. Her top was sticking to her and her muscles were aching.
They worked until all the water was clear of the house. Alex ran up to get the pile of newspapers and they carefully distributed them around the rooms. The mud soaked through immediately, turning the yellowing pages grey. Although they had left all doors and windows open there was a sweet-rotten graveyard smell to the house which filled the nostrils unpleasantly.
'I'll go and see if I can find any eggs,' Alex said.
'I'll come with you,' Deborah replied quickly.
He looked at her in surprise, searching her face. 'Afraid I'll vanish, Deb?' The question was gently teasing.
'I want to breathe clean air,' she told him frankly.
He made a face. 'I know what you mean.'
The long garden was vividly green, as if the flood waters had given it new life. The ground sloped upward behind the house so the deluge had been far less as it swept through the garden and it had soaked away much more quickly. Vegetables grew in neat rows along one side. Fruit trees clustered at the far end in the shelter of a crumbling old stone wall. As they walked slowly, breathing the sweet morning air, Deborah's eyes dwelt on the expanse of snowy white blossom which stretched on either hand as far as the eye could see. The orchards fluttered softly in a faint breeze, their branches trembling gently. Every now and then a few petals blew away, filling the blue sky with delicate fragility, as if it spawned snowflakes.
'It seems a hundred years since I walked outside the house,' she said, smiling. 'Yet we've only been shut up there for a short time. Have you ever noticed how time has a habit of telescoping? Sometimes it goes too slowly, sometimes too fast.'
'And since we've been here it's been going too slowly, has it, Deb?' Alex asked in a sharpening tone.
She looked at him sideways. 'That wasn't intended as a nasty remark. Just that… so much has happened in the past two days, I seem to have forgotten what the world outside looks like.'
'Even Robin?' he asked sardonically.
She sighed wearily. 'Don't, Alex!'
He grimaced. 'Sorry.' The word was muttered aside, his head averted. He lifted his eyes along the stone wall. It was obviously very old, the stone mellowed to a warm patina of grey and yellow, hollowed in places, forming mini-caves which at the moment held a few contentedly roosting hens, their beady eyes observing the two humans suspiciously. One stretched out her neck, uttering a quavering cry of hostility, her red comb trembling. The others joined in the chorus, shivering their feathers as though hoping it would drive the intruders away. Others strutted to and fro among the long muddy grass along the wall, bending to search for insects, their gawky forms stiffly proceeding, like alder-men at a city banquet.
'We'll look under the nesting ones first,' said Alex, firmly shifting a protesting hen and groping beneath her warm body. She pecked at him ferociously, squawking. He made a furious noise, sucking his wrist, but he had found an egg, and exhibited it triumphantly.
Deborah felt an odd reluctance to follow suit. She eyed the nearest hen, swallowing, then tentatively tried to push her hand beneath the soft feathered body.
'Three so far,' said Alex, pleased with himself, then turned to look at her as she fumbled around, her hand jerking away whenever the hen viciously pecked at her.
His laughter made her flush crossly. 'Their beaks hurt,' she said, scowling at him.
'You have to be bold,' he explained, coming over to her. 'Hens are females. They respond to a firm, commanding hand.' His silvery eye glinted sardonically at her. 'They have to be shown who's master.'
She made a face at him. 'Show-off… you're used to the damned things, you find her egg. I don't even want it any more.' She licked the blood from her nipped hand and wrist irritably. 'That creature is spiteful.' She gave the hen a ferocious look. 'One day you'll end up as coq au vin and serve you right, you horrible bird!'
Alex grinned, eyes twinkling. Smoothly he slid a hand beneath the hen, his other hand holding her head so that she could not peck him. His palm uncurled under Deborah's nose, exhibiting a speckled brow
n egg. 'You just have to know how to treat females,' he said tauntingly.
Sulkily, she said, 'Well there's another one nesting in the apple tree over there and she has a broody look in her eyes. You'd better climb up and rescue whatever she's sitting on, hadn't you, master-mind?'
He laid the fourth egg alongside the others he had found, on a nest of damp grass on a bird table. She watched as he deftly swarmed up the knobbly bole of the tree and hooked himself on to a safe foothold before reaching under the small, brown bridling hen. She watched him, beady eyes intent, then suddenly flew up, wings feathering the air.
Alex was startled by her attack into leaning backwards. His feet slipped and he fell heavily out of the tree, giving a cry of irritated alarm. Deborah ran to him, her face white with anxiety.
Kneeling, she bent over him, asking hurriedly, 'Alex, are you hurt? Are you all right?'
He was lying spreadeagled, his head cushioned on long wet grass, groaning. The sunlight filtering through the branches of the apple tree fell in a speckled pattern over his face. A few white petals fluttered from the blossom-heavy branches and lay against his brown chest.
'Alex, say something!' she begged, agonised, his silence making her afraid he had injured himself badly.
'Bloody hen,' he muttered suddenly, opening his eyes, his face furious.
'Where does it hurt?' she asked, carefully beginning to feel his shoulders and arms. 'You haven't broken anything?'
He jackknifed into a sitting position. 'No,' he said. 'No, I'm in one piece, no thanks to that feathered assassin.'
Deborah began to laugh, half in amusement, half in deep relief, and he eyed her smoulderingly.
'I don't see what's funny.'
She mocked him, her blue eyes bright, the sunlight falling through the branches turning her hair to fine gold. 'Who said hens need to be shown who's master? What happened to the bold, commanding hand, Alex?' Her laughter brimmed over, her mouth curving.
He gave her a dangerous look, his eyes menacing. 'I don't like being made fun of, Deb… I didn't expect the stupid bird to do anything like that.'
'No sense of humour, that's your trouble,' she said, as he had said to her earlier. She rose to her feet. I'll find some more eggs while you rest here, you poor little injured soldier.'
His hand caught her ankle and jerked her off balance. She fell, crying in surprise and alarm, and was received against the wall of his bare brown chest. Dazedly her eyes looked into his at close quarters.
'Don't tease me unless you're prepared to take the consequences,' he warned softly, holding her with one arm around her back.
Tensely, she struggled to get up. Alex suddenly let her go and she fell backward, sliding on to the ground beside him, her chest heaving with the exertion of the struggle.
Alex turned, supporting himself on one elbow, watching her. She was breathing unsteadily. As her body moved in order that she might get up again, the material of her top stretched and her taut nipples were clearly visible. Alex's breath caught in his throat. One hand clamped down on the curve of her jean-clad thigh, anchoring her. Deborah looked at him in swift apprehension. Seeing the way his eyes were fixed on her she froze.
'No, Alex,' she stammered. 'Don't…' Her voice held pleading, alarm, a thread of shivering excitement.
Remorselessly his hand slid upward, pushing beneath the top, until it closed on the yielding softness of her breast. Staring at her with fever-bright eyes, he whispered, 'Deb…'
She was weakened by her own need to have him touch her. One moment there had been laughter and light companionship, the next she had felt passion flare, as storm broke in a blue sky, and she had been taken off balance, not expecting it.
His thumb moved, stroking her nipple, sending a shiver of fierce pleasure down her whole body. She felt suddenly unable to fight him any longer. Her eyes closed. Her lips trembled.
Alex made a hoarse sound and rolled over on top of her, pushing her down against the wet grass, the sweet fresh smell of the countryside all around them. As the weight of his body came down on her she could not hold back a groan of satisfaction which seemed to come from the pit of her stomach. Whether he loved her or not at that moment that forceful contact seemed utterly natural, completing her, as if until that instant she had never been whole.
Hungrily his mouth explored her parted lips, making them quiver in eager response. His tongue groaned her name pleadingly, his hands silkily wandering beneath her top, leaving fiery heat wherever they touched. She touched his bare chest, her hands possessive, shaping the tense muscles beneath her fingers, hearing a ringing in her ears, as though blood beat there, deafening her.
Alex was breathing harshly, kissing her harder. Suddenly he pushed back her top and jerked her upward until their naked bodies strained against each other as if they tried to become one form.
Her physical responses had become so overwhelming that she was terrified of the fire burning deep inside her body. She moaned, burying her face on his shoulder. 'No, Alex…'
He pushed her away so that he could look into her face. They stared at each other. He did not say a word, but against her lower limbs his body hardened in intolerable desire, forcing her to feel the urgency of his need to possess her. The silvery eyes bored into hers, asking the question his body was demanding more potently. Deborah looked back helplessly, trembling, breathing raggedly, no longer able to find either the power or desire to fight him any more.
His hand slowly trailed down her and began to unzip her jeans, his eyes still holding her gaze. She knew he was silently making it clear that she could stop him if she wanted to, but she could neither move nor speak, waiting in vanquished passivity for him. When she felt his hand against the warm flesh beneath her jeans she sighed, closing her eyes in wordless consent, making it clear to him that she would not deny him now.
'Oh, God,' he whispered, his voice shaking. 'Deb, Deb…' His face buried itself in her throat, his lips trembling against her skin.
'Take me,' she moaned through lips swollen with desire, her voice barely audible. 'Alex, take me…'
His heart pounded like a tilt-hammer above her as he sought her mouth, lowering her to the grass again, one hand tenderly soothing back the tumbled blonde hair from around her face. 'I've got to,' he said shakily. 'Hate me afterwards, but I've got to…'
As he broke off the kiss, taking a shuddering breath, she said tenderly, 'I won't hate you, Alex.'
His eyes widened, piercing the shining blue depths of hers. She saw the astonishment, the disbelief, the question in his stare. They were silent, enclosed in a warm golden world which held them at its heart as if they were trapped in amber, aware only of each other.
Then into the silence of that intense concentration the sound of raised voices broke in upon them like the roll of thunder on a humid day.
Alex lifted his head dazedly. His intent expression broke up. His mouth parted, grimacing. He swore savagely. Deborah felt anguish, as though she had been far away in halcyon isolation, and was being dragged back to grim reality.
'Oh, God,' she muttered, awaking to the garden, the sunlight, the knowledge of what had happened.
Alex gave her a searching, hard look. Then he rose, his head averted from her as she pulled down her top with trembling hands, her face scarlet with shame and humiliation. He moved back towards the house, and she scrambled to her feet, adjusting her clothes with fingers that trembled. Her legs seemed boneless. She could hardly walk. She had offered herself to Alex shamelessly, even failing to disguise the fact that she loved him. He must have seen it, recognised it. Had they not been interrupted she would have… she broke off the thought with a shudder. She had so nearly become his mistress the realisation worked in her flesh like a poisoned thorn. Even though he had offered her a new, gentle tenderness at times, she knew he still did not love her, and to let him possess her without love would have been a bitter experience. Only her own aching need of him had forced her surrender. Now she hated herself for it and wished hopelessly that it
had never happened.
She collected the eggs automatically and followed him into the house.
He was standing in the kitchen facing a very small, thin erect woman in a black dress. 'Mother!' she heard him say. 'Where on earth have you been?'
Over his shoulder Deborah met a pair of searching, curious, cooling grey eyes which reminded her strongly of Alex. 'I told you on the telephone that I was moving into the village because of flood warnings,' said a clear firm voice.
'The line was so bad I only heard enough to know something was wrong' he said, shrugging, 'so I came to find out what was going on and walked into a flood.'
Judging by her ironic expression, his mother did not believe a word. She gave a tight little smile. 'I could hear you perfectly well. Odd.'
Deborah watched dark red flood up the back of Alex's neck. He made an irritable, impatient gesture. 'I wouldn't have come if I'd known,' he snapped. 'The flood marooned us upstairs all day yesterday. We were even afraid to drink the water in case it was contaminated.'
'Poor Alex,' said his mother softly. She glanced at Deborah, who was hovering uncertainly behind him, her hands full of eggs. 'Aren't you going to introduce us?'
Deborah put down the eggs quickly.
Alex swivelled, his glance not quite meeting Deborah's eyes, as though he were deeply embarrassed. 'Mother, this is Deborah Portman.'
Mrs St James looked at her with opening eyes, her face full of sudden interest. 'Your secretary?' She held out a hand, smiling. 'I'm glad to meet you at last, my dear. I've heard about you.' As Deborah took her hand, smiling back nervously, the older woman's grey eyes ran down over her in curious, amused surmise. 'Although I must say I would never have known you from the descriptions I've had of you.'
Deborah glanced at Alex, wondering what he had said about her. Mrs St James laughed, seeing the look.
'My son described a soignée, aloof swan. You're very beautiful, my dear, but I'm afraid your feathers are a little bedraggled. It must have been a terrible experience for you. A flood can be frightening. I've no doubt you'll be very relieved to get back to civilisation.'
Duel of Desire Page 13