by Penny Jordan
* * *
ON THE FOLLOWING Tuesday Jon got a phone call whilst they were working together in the office. Never a particularly vociferous talker, the brief, monosyllabic curtness of his responses made her lift her head from the correspondence she was studying. It was unlike Jon to sound curt or to look as frowningly involved as he did now.
When he had hung up, she asked automatically, ‘Problems?’
For a moment he seemed to hesitate and then he said bleakly, ‘Yes…’ He paused, and stared out of the window, and Sophy had the distinct impression that his mind was a long, long way away. They had never had that talk he had promised and in fact since the weekend she had been intensely conscious of a barrier between them.
‘I’m afraid I’ve got to go to London again. I’ll have to leave this afternoon.’
‘Will you be gone long?’
He frowned again, and said curtly, ‘I have no idea, Sophy.’
His tone chilled her, it was almost as though she had angered him in some way by asking. Could he sense how she felt about him. Was he already resenting the thought of the demands her love might lead her to make on him?
After that she was careful to keep all her comments to him strictly related to business matters. As soon as they had gone through the post she excused herself, explaining that she wanted to go upstairs and pack for him.
It was strange how being in love with someone could invest even the most mundane of inanimate objects with a special poignancy because they were part of the beloved, Sophy thought, carefully packing Jon’s shirts. He was normally very neat in his habits but the shirt he had discarded the previous night lay across a chair and she picked it up, instantly tensing. The scent of Jon’s skin clung to the cotton fabric, and she had to fight against a crazy impulse to bury her face in it and absorb that tiny bit of him into herself.
She made them both a light lunch but scarcely touched her own. Jon was not particularly hungry either, she noticed, watching him push his salad round the plate. It struck her then that he had lost weight and even looked faintly gaunt. His expression withdrawn…brooding almost, as though something—or someone—weighed heavily on his mind.
Had he guessed how she felt? Was he, because of that, regretting that he had married her? He wanted her he had said…but that wanting had been a physical need not an emotional one. Perhaps that was what he wanted to talk to her about…to warn her that he could not reciprocate her feelings.
She drove him to the station and waited there until he was on the train. He did not kiss her goodbye, nor did she let him see how much she had wanted him to.
For the children’s sake she tried to behave normally, but she missed him intensely and some sixth sense told her that something was wrong…that there was something he was concealing from her.
It was Thursday morning before she heard from him. A brief telephone call merely to tell her what train he would be returning on.
‘I’ll drive into Cambridge and pick you up,’ she offered, but he vetoed her offer, saying, ‘No, don’t bother. I’ll have no trouble getting a taxi.’
Hurt and rebuffed, Sophy said nothing, letting him say ‘goodbye’ and hoping he wouldn’t catch the misery in her own voice as she responded to him. At least he would soon be back…and they could talk. Or at least she hoped they could.
Neither David nor Alex would be home until early evening, as both of them had been invited to a schoolfriend’s birthday party and another mother had offered to give them a lift home since she had to pass their house on the way to her own, so if Jon did want to talk to her, today would be an ideal opportunity.
Motivated by an impulse which she told herself she would have been wiser to resist, Sophy spent almost an hour getting ready for Jon’s arrival. She put on her yellow sundress and did her face, telling herself as she did so, that all she was likely to achieve was to make Jon feel even more uncomfortable but it was impossible to resist the age-old feminine instinct to make herself as attractive as she could for the man she loved.
When she heard a car coming up the drive, she dropped her mascara wand and brushed her hair feverishly. It was only one o’clock…and Jon had specifically said that the train didn’t reach Cambridge until one. It was a half an hour drive from Cambridge to the house…but then of course, it wouldn’t be the first time he had got a timetable wrong.
Unable to hide the eagerness in her eyes she rushed downstairs and into the hall, flinging open the front door.
‘Well, well, surprise, surprise…so you are pleased to see me after all.’
In dumb dismay Sophy watched as Chris climbed out of the car on the drive and staggered towards her. He had been drinking, she realised nervously, and there was a look in his eyes that made her feel slightly apprehensive.
‘I thought you were Jon.’ The admission was made before she could check herself, and she cursed herself under her breath as she saw the triumph in his eyes.
‘So, all alone, are you?’
She made to shut the front door, but it was too late. Chris was inside, breathing heavily as he glowered at her. ‘It’s all your fault,’ he told her thickly, lurching towards her, and grabbing hold of her arm. ‘All of it.’
‘Chris…you’ve had too much to drink,’ Sophy protested. If only she could get him into the kitchen she might be able to sober him up and send him on his way. ‘Look, let me make you some coffee.’
‘Don’t want coffee.’ His voice was becoming slurred. ‘Revenge…that’s what I want. Ruined my life, that’s what you did. Bloody—!’ He called her a name that made her wince. ‘Frigid bitches like you ought to be destroyed…because that’s what you’ve done to me. It’s your fault Felicity left me. Christ, remembering what it’s like touching you is enough to make any man impotent…’
Sophy tried not to listen while he hurled further insults at her. Surreptitiously she tried to free herself from his grasp but he suddenly realised what she was trying to do and grabbed hold of her with both hands, shaking her until she thought her neck would break.
‘Are you cold in bed with him?’ he demanded thickly, suddenly, his eyes narrowing onto her own, glittering with a hatred that suddenly turned her blood to ice water. ‘Are you, Sophy?’
She cried out as he shook her again and her head hit the wall with a sickening thud. For a few seconds she thought she was going to faint but then the pain cleared. ‘Let me go, Chris,’ she pleaded, regretting the words, the instant she saw the satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. How on earth had she ever imagined herself in love with him…this apology for a man? He was so weak and immature, so ready to blame others for his own failings. Suddenly she was furiously angry with him, her anger overcoming her earlier fear.
‘No woman could be cold in bed with Jon,’ she told him truthfully, watching the fury twist his face.
‘You’re lying to me.’ He said it thickly, pushing his face against her own so that she was forced to inhale the sour whisky fumes that clung to his breath. ‘Don’t make me angry, Sophy,’ he warned her. ‘You won’t like it when I get angry. Felicity didn’t,’ he added, watching her.
Suddenly Sophy knew that he was threatening her with physical violence and she felt acutely sick. This was the man her mother had wanted her to marry; had held up to her as perfect husband material…this…this creature who had just openly boasted to her that he had used violence on his wife.
Suddenly she was so angry that there was no room or fear. ‘Is that what you like, Chris,’ she sneered, ‘hitting women?’ She watched his face contort and was horrified by the violence in him but knew that to let him see her shock would be to add to his sense of power over her.
‘I think it’s time you left, Chris,’ she told him coolly. She saw the indecision flicker in his eyes, and knew that her controlled manner had disconcerted him. She could even feel the grip of his hands relaxing slightly. Pressing home h
er advantage, she added, ‘Jon will be home soon.’
She knew instantly that she had made a mistake, the very mention of Jon’s name brought forth a torrent of invective and abuse so foul that she had to close her ears to it.
‘You made a fool of me by marrying him,’ he told her pushing her back against the wall, ‘but he won’t want you anymore when he sees what I’ve done to you…’
He must be mentally deranged, Sophy thought as she tried to fight down her own panic, sensing that to show it would only be to inflame Chris even further. Even making allowances for the fact that he was drunk, his behaviour still hinted at an instability of temperament that shocked and frightened her, all the more so for being concealed so carefully in the past. And yet now she remembered that he had always had a streak of cruelty…always enjoyed hurting people.
She was about to make one last plea to him to set her free when she heard a car outside. Chris, still mouthing threats and insults at her, apparently had heard nothing, and Sophy prayed that Jon would find them before Chris did anything to hurt her. She didn’t even dare move in case Chris realised…but then she heard a car door slam and saw Chris lift his head.
‘Is that him?’ he demanded, shaking her. ‘Is it…?’ He was starting to drag her towards the kitchen. She had a mental image of the dangerously sharp cooking knives hanging on the wall just by the door and her stomach clenched in mute protest. She mustn’t let Chris get in there.
Panic shuddered through her and she reacted instinctively, screaming Jon’s name…hoping her scream would penetrate through the thick front door.
For agonising seconds nothing happened…and she was terrified he hadn’t heard her. Chris was still dragging her towards the kitchen and then blessedly she heard the kitchen door open, and Jon was calling her name. At the same time the front door opened and a burly taxi driver stood there. Jon had obviously heard her cry for help and had instructed the driver to take the front door whilst he took the back.
‘In here, guv!’
She heard the driver call out and then the kitchen door burst open and Jon was standing there. She gave a tiny sob of relief and closed her eyes, only to open them again as Chris was thrust away from her.
‘It was her fault,’ she heard him telling Jon in a faintly whining tone. ‘She asked me to come over here. She told me she wanted to see me…that she wanted me to take her to bed—’
‘No! No…that isn’t true!’ She was sobbing the denial, unable to believe what Chris was saying. She saw Jon raise his fist and Chris cringe away and then the taxi driver was in between them. ‘Best not do that, guv,’ he told Jon warningly. ‘Let the law handle it…it’s always the best way.’
‘From a legal point of view maybe, but not from an emotional one,’ Jon responded rawly but nevertheless his fist unclenched and though he was not particularly gentle as he hauled Chris well away from her, Sophy saw that he had himself well under control.
It was the taxi driver who rang for the police.
After that Sophy lost touch with what was happening. All of them had to go down to the police station, where she had to give a statement. Jon wasn’t allowed to stay with her but she knew she had nothing to hide and managed to keep control of herself long enough to answer the questions.
When at last she was reunited with Jon, she was glad of the protective arm he put round her. It was sheer bliss to simply relax against his chest…so solid and safe, after the terror Chris had inflicted upon her.
‘Will you be wishing to press charges, sir?’
Jon replied immediately. ‘Yes, we will.’ He felt Sophy tense and looked down at her. ‘I know it won’t be very pleasant,’ he told her quietly, ‘but for the sake of his wife, and any other unfortunate woman who might come in contact with him, I think you should.’
Sophy knew that he was right but more important than that was the recognition that in speaking as he had, he was saying that he completely believed her version of what had happened. She had told him about it in the car on the way to the police station, and he had been so silent that there had been a moment when she had actually wondered if he thought that she was the one who was lying and Chris was telling the truth.
Neither of them spoke about what had happened on the drive back. When they got inside Jon detained her, by placing his hand on her arm.
‘I think you ought to go upstairs and try to rest. You’re probably still suffering from shock.’
‘I can’t rest,’ she told him honestly, ‘I’m far too wrought up. I was so frightened…’ she said it under her breath.
She shivered as he said roughly, ‘If he had hurt you…’
She stopped him, shaking her head, putting her hand over his in an effort to soothe him. ‘But thanks to you he didn’t.’ She shivered slightly. ‘To think I never really realised what he was like.’ She paused and then said huskily, dropping her head so that she wouldn’t have to look at him. ‘Thanks for…for believing me.’
She heard him swear under his breath, something he rarely did and her head jerked up. His mouth was white with strain, his eyes dark with anger. His hand cupped her jaw, his thumb stroking her mouth, the unexpected physical contact making her gulp in air, the raw ache inside her, suddenly mingling with a heady, delirious sense of release. If Chris had managed to deceive her so well about himself, perhaps he had deceived her in other ways as well. Perhaps she was not as sexually inadequate as she had always believed. After all, Chris had never ever made her feel the way Jon did. She had never ached for Chris the way she did for Jon, never melted at his lightest touch the way she did with Jon.
‘Sophy…’ The husky sound of his voice seemed to come to her from a great distance, almost as great as the distance that lay between them. With a small moan she moved, pressing herself against his body, feeling him tense in surprise and then unbelievably reach for her, taking her in his arms, his mouth hot and urgent on hers. He was kissing her as though he had never touched her before, as though he had starved for the taste and feel of her. She could feel his physical arousal and felt her own body stir in response.
‘Sophy…Sophy.’ Even when he had stopped kissing her, Jon didn’t seem to be able to let her go or stop saying her name. It must be the release of tension which was causing such an intense reaction in him, she thought hazily, shuddering as his hand touched her body, longing suddenly to be free of the constrictions of her clothes.
Almost as though her desire had communicated itself to him he stepped back from her and then picked her up. She was no tiny little doll but he took the stairs almost effortlessly, shouldering open the door to his bedroom and then turning so that he could use his foot to kick it closed.
‘No!’ Her protest was an instinctive female denial of the desire she saw glittering in his eyes, but he misinterpreted it, thinking it was him she was denying, and contradicted thickly, ‘Yes…’ reiterating, ‘yes, Sophy. Yes…’ as he slowly slid her body back down to the floor, keeping her pressed hard against him, so that she was hopelessly aware of every male inch of him.
Never in a thousand lifetimes had she imaged Jon capable of such intensely sensual behaviour and every pulse in her body quickened in response to it. There was no room for fear that she might somehow disappoint him, that was forgotten in the thick clamouring of her blood.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SECONDS, OR WAS it aeons, passed, Sophy wasn’t aware of which…only of the heavy beat of Jon’s body into her own, the timeless message of need and desire that passed from flesh to flesh and was returned.
She was dimly conscious of Jon reaching behind her to slide down the zip of her dress, just as she half heard the slithering sound the cotton made as it fell to the floor. All these were peripheral things, barely impinging on what really mattered, on the sensation of Jon’s hot flesh pressed against her own as she tugged open his shirt and sighed her pleasure at being able to touch h
im as he was touching her.
Neither of them spoke. They were too busy touching…kissing. An urgent, aching impatience swept through her commanding her to actions at once both totally familiar and totally necessary so that nothing short of death could have stopped her from reaching down and fumbling impatiently with Jon’s zip.
She felt his chest expand as he drew in his breath and for a moment teetered on the brink of her old insecurities but then his hand was on hers, helping her complete her task, his voice raw and thick with pleasure as she touched the maleness of him.
Then he was pushing her back against the door, muttering hoarse words of pleasure and arousal against her mouth, one hand sliding into her hair, the other curling round her waist as she melted into him…greedy for him.
His mouth left hers, long enough for him to groan. ‘The bed…Sophy, we can’t…’ but he was moving away from her and that blotted out the meaning of his words, leaving behind only the sound and her fear that she was going to lose him, so she arched her body into his, winding her arms round him, grinding her hips into his in instinctive incitement.
‘Sophy…’ She could hear the grating protest in his voice, but could take no need of it. To lose him now would be to die. Her senses clamoured desperately for fulfilment, her body out of her control and obeying a far more primitive command than that of the mind. She wanted him…needed him. Not just against her but within her, deep inside her, at that place where her body pulsed and ached.
Moaning feverishly, she ran her hands over his torso, arching her back until her breasts were flattened against his chest, her hips writhing against him in a sensual rhythm they seemed to know by instinct.
‘Dear God, Sophy…’
She felt the shudder run through him and saw the sweat cling to his skin. She could feel his heart racing and knew with a deep thrill of triumph that he had as little control over his response to her as she had of hers to him…less perhaps, she realised as he kissed her fiercely, his tongue eagerly invading her mouth. She could feel the frantic throbbing of his body against her, his weight pressing her back against the door and then suddenly he wrenched his mouth from hers, a harsh, inarticulate sound emerging from his throat. She knew, even without feeling him tug off her briefs that his need could not wait any longer.