Darling Enemy

by Diana Palmer

  “Oh, kiss me,” she breathed achingly, pressing closer to his hard, taut body with a hunger that flared like a match thrown into dry wood. “Kiss me!”

  Steely fingers suddenly bit into her arms and tore loose her grip on him. He thrust her from him with a force that almost tripped her. She caught her balance, staring at him with wide, apprehensive eyes.

  “Don’t you ever,” he said in a voice like a razor’s edge, “try that with me again! My God, everything he said about you was the truth, wasn’t it?” His accusing eyes swept over her. “This is the real you, isn’t it, darling? Eager, willing, wanton...and there I was, treating you like porcelain because I didn’t want to frighten you. Frighten you! How much do you get for a night, Teddi?” he asked with a half smile that sickened her. “Maybe we can work something out.”

  Devastated, she wrapped her arms around her trembling body and turned to leave.

  “No comeback?” he taunted. “What’s the matter, are you holding out for a ring? No chance, honey. You’ll have to ply your wiles on some other rich rancher. I just went off the market!”

  She turned at the entrance to the barn and looked back at him. “First blood to you, Mr. Devereaux,” she said with cool pride. “You’re wrong about me. You always have been. You’ll believe anything you’re told, as long as it’s something bad, won’t you? Well, I’m no more a hooker than you are a gentleman, and someday you’ll find that out. Not that it will make any difference to me. Rich or not, I want no part of a man who’s morally blind.”

  And she turned and walked away.

  * * *

  King didn’t come in for dinner that night, and Teddi pleaded a splitting headache and stayed in her room that night. The headache was real enough, she told herself—six foot three with blond hair and gray eyes and the farsightedness of a mole.

  She’d just pulled on a long yellow cotton nightgown when there was a knock at her door.

  She stared at it blankly. “Who’s there?”

  There was no answer. Maybe...she brightened. Maybe it was King; maybe he’d had second thoughts and had finally decided to listen. She went to the door and pulled it open. Bruce, in his robe, stood outside grinning at her.

  She tried to shut the door, but he wouldn’t let her. He forced her back into the room, leaving the door carefully open, like a man with a master plan who wouldn’t brook interference.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she cried, struggling with him as he forced her back against the bed.

  “It’s called the coup de grace, darling,” he said in an undertone, abruptly pushing her back onto the bedcovers just before he threw himself down beside her and buried his face in her throat. “Guess who’s coming up the stairs?”

  She pushed futilely at him, barely avoiding his hot mouth as it went across her cheek and tried to catch her lips.

  She cringed when she heard the door suddenly open even farther. Turning her head, she saw King standing in the doorway, watching with condemning eyes.

  Bruce sat up and ran a hand through his disheveled hair, grinning at King.

  “Sorry about that,” he told his employer. “We got carried away and forgot to close the door.”

  King glanced from the younger man, clad only in a robe, to Teddi dressed in the semisheer cotton nightgown. The contempt in his face was unbearable.

  “I’ll expect you both to be packed and out of here by tomorrow morning,” King said in a quiet, very controlled tone.

  Bruce gaped at him, as if he hadn’t expected anything so drastic. “But, King...Mr. Devereaux...what will I tell my firm?”

  “That’s your affair,” King said coldly. “I’ll let you explain it after I’ve given them the bare facts and requested another accountant. I warned you about playing around under my roof. You might have listened.”

  “But—!” Bruce cut short his protest when the door slammed shut.

  He stared at it, bug-eyed. “He didn’t mean that, surely!”

  “Of course he meant it,” Teddi said numbly. She got off the bed and tugged on her thick toweling robe. She felt her world ending with a sense of quiet inevitability.

  “I didn’t think he’d react like that,” Bruce choked out. “I just wanted to make sure he didn’t snap you up before I had one more chance, that’s all.”

  “Snap me up.” Teddi laughed bitterly, shoving her hands in the deep pockets of her robe. “He’s hated me for five years. He’s always believed I was some sort of nymphomaniac. You only confirmed his darkest suspicions. But it backfired, didn’t it?”

  He sighed wearily. “I feel sick,” he mumbled. “I’ve got car payments, my rent’s due...and when the firm finds out I’ve been sent back, I may lose my job.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “but you did bring it on yourself. I told you how I felt. You just wouldn’t listen. Would you please go?”

  He looked up, noticing for the first time the tears running down her pale cheeks, the horrible expression in her eyes. “You love him,” he said with dawning realization.

  She hunched her drooped shoulders. “I had a tiny chance before you came. Now there’s no chance at all. I hope life is as empty for you as you’ve just made it for me,” she added with a flash of spirit.

  He seemed to shrink before her eyes. “If it’s any consolation, I feel like a prize idiot. I meant to upset the cart, any way I could, because I wanted you to notice me. I couldn’t compete with King—who could? And the way he looked at you...well, I thought if I could get the competition out of the way, I might still have a chance.” He met her eyes, and there was a sadness in his. “I’ve never felt this way about a woman. You were like an obsession.” He sighed. “At any rate, I am sorry, for what good it does.”

  “Not very much, I’m afraid,” she said honestly.

  “As I thought. Well...good night. I’ll see you in the morning. Perhaps if I explained to King...?”

  She smiled sadly. “He wouldn’t listen,” she replied. “When he makes up his mind, that’s it.”

  “I really am sorry,” he added just before he left the room.

  But she didn’t reply. What else was there to say?

  * * *

  It was late before she finally got to sleep, and she dragged out of bed the next morning with eyes that were red from the combination of tears and insomnia. She packed before she went downstairs, knowing that King had meant every word of that terse command the night before.

  She went into the dining room at the usual time for breakfast, expecting and hoping to see King already gone. But he was sitting at the table by himself, a cup of coffee in front of him, and nothing else.

  She moved into the room with a bravado she didn’t feel, elegant in her white pleated skirt, white gauze blouse and black bolero jacket.

  “Could I have a cup of coffee?” she asked, intimidated by the expression on his hard face, the glittering anger in his deep-set eyes. He was wearing brown denims with a pullover beige shirt, and despite his fair hair, he looked dark and foreboding.

  “Help yourself, darling,” he said coldly.

  She sat down as far away from him as she could get and poured herself a cup of black coffee from the pot on the warmer. The mahogany dining table was long, and she felt uncomfortable seated at one end in her brocade-upholstered chair. She glanced from the crystal prisms of the chandelier to King, silhouetted against the drawn pale jade curtains at the window behind him.

  “Is...is Jenna coming down?” she asked falteringly.

  “She and Mother have already been down,” he said curtly. “I asked them to stay upstairs until you left. I’ve told my sister that if she continues her friendship with you, I’ll send her young Blakely to the Australian property for an indefinite stay.”

  The pure chauvinism of the remark made her bristle. “In chains?” she asked with a cool smile. “Or perhaps you thought you’d make him swim the Pacific while you rowed alongside yelling suggestions?”

  His face went harder. “My family’s business is no longer a
ny of your concern,” he said remotely. “Your friend should be down any minute. I’ve lent him a vehicle to drive you into Calgary. I’ll have it picked up later.”

  She stared into her coffee, too drained of emotion to even cry. Not only was she losing King, but Jenna was to be forbidden any contact with her. Her only friend....

  “Do you have enough money to get to New York?” he asked with casual politeness.

  “Yes,” she bit off.

  He finished his coffee and set the cup down firmly. “How is he in bed?” he asked, lashing out unexpectedly.

  Her eyes jerked up and she glared at him with pain and anger in every line of her pale face. “Just great, thanks!” she threw at him. “He could give you lessons!”

  “You little tramp!” he breathed. He was on his feet before she could move, reaching down to drag her out of the chair and up into his hard arms.

  “Put me down!” she cried, fighting. But he was strong—much stronger than Bruce had been. He carried her, squirming, into his study and kicked the door shut behind them without even breaking stride.

  He threw her down onto the long, leather sofa and stood over her, breathing roughly, his face livid with barely leashed fury.

  He paused just long enough to rip off the knit shirt, baring a chest with bronzed muscles under a thick wedge of curling dark blond hair, before he came down beside her.

  “Go ahead, darling, fight me,” he ground out, controlling her struggles easily as his mouth crushed down on hers. “It’ll just make it that much more intense when I make you submit.”

  She felt his hands on her body, careless of hurting her, while she tried vainly to push him away, to free herself. She loved him, but what he was doing to her was monstrous. Her mind reeled back to that long-ago night, to the feel of that drunken beast’s cruel hands, the hot searching of his mouth. She cried out, but King didn’t seem to hear.

  He dragged her blouse away from her skirt, and his hands went roughly under it, easily disposing of the lacy obstacles, to find her bare, soft flesh with rough fingers.

  It was just like that long-ago night, and she was fighting suddenly for all she was worth, mindlessly fighting in a blind fury, sobbing, crying, her face contorted into a mask of panic-stricken terror.

  His hands were busy again, on the buttons of her blouse, and before she could stop him, the fabric was suddenly out of the way, and King drew back. He held her by the wrists, his eyes cloudy as he studied her writhing body, her white face, her wide, frightened eyes.

  He stood poised there, like a man barely able to think at all, staring down at her half-nude body, bare from the waist up where her blouse was pushed aside. For an instant, his gaze was riveted to the soft mounds of her breasts and he dragged in breaths like a man dying of oxygen deprivation. Did she imagine it, or was there a softening in his face, did his steely fingers relax just a little where they were biting into her wrists?

  “Please,” she whispered brokenly. “Please, King, don’t hurt me!”

  Something snapped in him at the husky sob of her voice. He looked back up at her face, and she watched the conflicting emotions war in his eyes.

  “Teddi?” he murmured, seeming to snap back to sanity as he realized how frightened she was.

  He let her go all at once and watched, frozen, as she dragged her blouse around herself and huddled into the corner of the sofa, crying like a terrified child in the dark, in little breathless, broken sobs that echoed through the room.

  “I wouldn’t have forced you,” he managed tautly, his eyes never leaving her. “Must you have hysterics every time I touch you?”

  “I was fourteen,” she said in a strangled voice. “Dilly was going with a decorator who...who took a fancy to me. One night they had a terrible argument and she...she stormed out of the apartment and didn’t come back. He’d been drinking, and I thought I’d be safer if I went to my room.” She laughed brokenly, avoiding his eyes. “I almost made it. He caught me at the door and dragged me back to the couch and tore half my clothes off.” Her eyes closed and she cringed. “He was like a wild animal. He hurt me terribly...hands all over me, horrible wet kisses...and just before he tried to force me, he heard Dilly at the door.” She shivered at the memory. She couldn’t even look at King. It would have been a revelation to her if she had, because his features had taken on the look of a man being dragged apart by a team of horses.

  She swallowed. “He thought he was irresistible, you see, and it made him angry that I fought. He slapped me around quite a lot, and then dared me to tell Dilly. She didn’t even question the marks on me,” she added with a bitter smile.

  She managed to fasten her blouse in the silence that followed. “I’ve never slept with Bruce,” she said finally. “I’ve never slept with any man. Just the thought of it...terrifies me. I...I thought for a little while that I might be able to accept more than kisses...with you, at least,” she whispered. “But not anymore.” She stood up, turning toward the door.

  “That was why you were so frightened of me in the car on the way back from Banff,” he said quietly.

  “Yes,” she told him. “I...I suppose the scars go pretty deep. He was...quite brutal.”

  “Teddi!”

  She paused with her hand on the doorknob, but she couldn’t look at him. “I’ll go with Bruce,” she said with gentle pride. “And if you still want me to keep away from Jenna, I will.”

  “Oh, God, don’t turn the knife!” he said in a barely audible tone. He started toward her, but she opened the door and moved quickly away from him.

  He flinched. “I won’t hurt you,” he said, hesitating.

  “So you promised me once before,” she reminded him, choking on the word. “I think I’d die if you touched me again. Please...all I want is to get away from you!”

  She turned, oblivious of the look on his face, and ran all the way upstairs to her room. She didn’t leave it until she heard Jenna’s concerned voice on the other side. She opened the door and ran straight into her friend’s outstretched arms.

  Chapter Eight

  The only good thing about Teddi’s abrupt arrival in New York was that Dilly was still away. There was a curt little note on the coffee table telling her that her aunt would most likely be away until late September.

  Teddi called her agency first thing, and was pleased to hear that they had work for her right away.

  “Velvet Moth is having a showing Saturday for buyers and the press,” Mandy burst out enthusiastically. “I told Mr. Sethwick that you were out of town, but he insisted that he only wanted you to do his new gown. He calls it the ‘firemist special,’” she added, teasing. “If you accept, you’ll need a fitting at Jomar’s in the morning at ten. And Lovewear wants a girl for a millinery ad, if you’re interested in a go-see. There’s an open call Thursday morning at nine, there. I’ve got a weather permitting for a soft drink commercial as well—you’d fit the client’s requirements very well.”

  A weather permitting assignment would mean a cancellation fee if it fell through, and Teddi jumped at it. It would mean more exposure, too. But she was cautious.

  “Who’s shooting it?” she asked quickly before she accepted.

  “Ronnie, remember him?” came the laughing reply from her agent.

  “As long as it’s not that crazy Irishman,” Teddi said with a relieved sigh. “Do you remember, he made me jump the wall in that hosiery commercial he was shooting no less than fifty times? I was a nervous wreck when we finished, and it cost me twelve pair of hose because of the snags!”

  “I hear he’s given up fashion photography and gone into films,” Mandy told her.

  “And next thing,” Teddi murmured, “we’ll hear about a film producer going bankrupt on retakes.”

  Mandy giggled. “No doubt. Well, I’ll get back to you on the commercial, and keep in touch tomorrow. Welcome back, by the way. How was Canada?”

  “Cold,” Teddi said without further ado, and hung up.

  The next few days went by in a flas
h. She made sure that she didn’t have time to think about King. Mandy outdid herself in bookings. Teddi did two commercials, the Velvet Moth fashion show, a photography session for the millinery ad and three photographic sessions for other ads. By the end of the week, she was exhausted. She spent Sunday with her feet in a hot tub of water and counted her blessings. She’d made enough to pay next semester’s fees and would have just enough left over when all the checks came to pay her airfare back to school.

  The slump season in the fashion industry was just down the road, but if she worked a little harder, she might save up a nest egg to carry her through the rest of the year. And the restaurant job near the college would keep her in clothes and incidentals.

  That night, her dreams were wild and disturbed and full of King. She woke up at four in the morning crying, and got up to make coffee. Would she ever forget his cruelty to her, the cheap way he’d treated her? Would she ever stop thinking about the way it had been that morning they went riding, when, for the first time, she wasn’t afraid, when she was able to give, to open her heart, to love him?

  She got dressed in slacks and a loose white blouse with high-heeled sandals and waited impatiently for the agency to open so that she could call Mandy and see if there were any jobs for her. She took a long time over her makeup, did her nails carefully, packed her carryall with the essentials of her trade—brush, comb, makeup, tissues, shoes, hairpieces and clothes, anything she might need during a shooting—and wandered around the living room of the apartment to watch the sun rise over the sleeping city.

  Why, oh, why did King always have to think the worst of her? She still cringed at the memory of his hands hurting her, his eyes contemptuous as they stared down at her bareness. It hadn’t all been contempt, she reminded herself. For an instant he had seemed to be awed by her, savagely hungry for the sight and feel of her. Of course, any man could feel desire in those circumstances, it meant nothing. The thing that puzzled her was his unreasonable anger about Bruce. Jealousy would explain such fury, but King wasn’t jealous of her, how could he be when he thought so little of her? But...why had he fired Bruce? Since his contempt was mainly for her, why punish a man he thought she’d tempted?