"Is that not agreeing with you?" Her father was watching her as she pushed the food around her plate.
She came back to an awareness of her surroundings with a start. "Agreeing with me?" she asked vaguely.
"Well, yes. I—I didn't know if perhaps—I remember your mother used to find certain things…not to her liking."
Understanding dawned. "Will you be very disappointed not to be a grandfather?'' she asked gently.
"I'm not going to be?"
She shook her head. "Not yet."
He put down his knife and fork, taking her hand in his. "You have plenty of time, Sophie. Is this the reason for your depression, the reason you sounded so desperate when you called me yesterday? "
Had she really sounded desperate? Perhaps she had, but that's the way she was feeling at the moment. But her father had enough problems of his own. He didn't need to be burdened with hers.
"I didn't mean to sound like that." Her smile was strained. "I hope I didn't force you into coming up to town today."
"No one could force me into coming to see my little girl," he told her sternly. "You know I've always been willing to listen to your troubles, helped you when I could."
No one could help her in her mindless love for Luke, not even her father, she realized that now, "I don't have any troubles," she lied. "Goodness, I haven't even been married two weeks yet."
"Time is irrelevant. Something is bothering you. Luke is disappointed, is that it? I know these Latin types often put an emphasis on the wife producing a family as soon as possible. Is that what's wrong? "
"Nothing is wrong, daddy, believe me. I was just missing you." She squeezed his hand. "And Luke isn't typical of the Latin type."
"I suppose not. But I'm not happy about the way you look, Sophie. You aren't keeping anything from me?"
"Of course I'm not. Now let's choose dessert." She ate peach meringue with a look of pleasure to please her although the sickly confection made her feel nauseous.
"Why didn't Luke join us today?" her father asked as they lingered over their coffee.
Because she hadn't even thought to ask him to! He never asked what she was doing, where she was going, and she had seen no reason to inform him of her movements today. "He, er, he had to see someone on business," she prevaricated.
"The honeymoon's over already, hmm?" he teased.
He didn't know how right he was! She shrugged. "Luke has to work.”
"He's rich enough not to."
"He enjoys his work."
"Mmm, well I hope he isn't neglecting you."
"Of course not, daddy. This is the first time he's been
.anywhere without me since we married." Which was true, he just spent all of his time in his studio, only emerging for meals. "He could hardly take me to a business meeting now, could he?"
"I suppose not," he admitted grudgingly. "But I'd like to have a word with him about the way you look."
"You're giving me a complex, daddy."
"Damn it, he isn't taking care of you!"
"I'm big enough to take care of myself," she soothed. "Look, why don't you come back with me now and you can stay to dinner?"
"I have to look in on the office this afternoon, make sure they aren't robbing me blind," he teased. "And then I…1 promised Rosemary that I wouldn't be late home, certainly in time for dinner."
She bit her lip. "I… I see. Oh, well, another time."
"Now don't look like that, Sophie."
"Like what?"
"Like I just hit you."
She blinked back her tears. "Don't take any notice of me, daddy. I'm a little emotional at the moment."
"Only natural in your disappointment." Anger entered his blue eyes. "That husband of yours should be taking you out, not going to business appointments."
"I really don't want a child yet, daddy."
"That isn't the point. I've a good mind to call Rosemary and tell her I'll be late back and come home with you. It seems to me that Luke needs a little plain speaking."
"No." Her voice was sharper than she intended. "You. promised mommy, remember." And any interference from her father would only alienate Luke even more.
"She would understand in the circumstances."
"No, really, daddy—" she gave him a watery smile "—Luke wouldn't like it."
"I don't give a damn—"
"Please, daddy," she pleaded. "Luke and I will work it out.'"
"So you do admit there's something wrong?" he pounced.
She smiled. "You should have been a lawyer instead of a businessman. I don't think you need look in on the office, no one would dare to rob you," she teased. "You're too astute. But as you said, marriage isn't easy."
"So you don't want me to speak to that stubborn husband of yours?"
"He wouldn't like it," she repeated.
"Then come down for the weekend," he encouraged. "That way I could talk to him without making an issue of it."
She was tempted but the coolness between herself and Luke would be all the more noticeable in the company of other people. She wasn't ready to admit defeat to Rosemary just yet.
"Perhaps later on, daddy," she smiled. "I'm not ready to share Luke yet."
He drove her back to the apartment. "You will call me if you need me?"
She hugged him, dreading going up to the apartment, to the coolness she would meet there. "Don't worry, I always know who to turn to when Fin in trouble."
He patted her cheek. "Don't forget it."
The apartment was in silence when she let herself jn, although the used crockery in the kitchen pointed to Luke having returned at some time even if he wasn't, here now. She discarded her jacket and brushed her hair before going in search of him. After her mistake of last time she looked in the studio first.
"Luke—" She stopped in her tracks as she saw him bending over the female lying on the studio couch. His hand slowly left the woman's shoulder, the material of the Gypsy-style blouse she wore pulled seductively off the smooth creamy flesh of that shoulder. Sophie hurriedly left the room as Luke turned to look at her, feeling sick with reaction. It had been another woman.
She hadn't gone far before she felt herself spun around, Luke's face livid with anger. There was something wrong here. She should be the One who was angry.
“What do you think you are doing?" he demanded, his eyes hard and cruel, a mocking twist to his sensuous lips.
Her eyes widened at his attack on her. "What do I think fm doing?'' She was astounded.
His fingers bit cruelly into her flesh. "That is -what I said," he nodded grimly.
"I'm not doing anything—except leaving.”
"Leaving?" he repeated sharply. His gaze ran slowly up and down her body in insolent appraisal. "And where would you go?" he taunted.
The look in .his eyes made her feel degraded and ashamed, as if he knew the affect his hands on her shoulders was causing. "Anywhere away from here," she flashed angrily. "Anywhere away from you and that, that woman."
“Madelaine?” he raised dark eyebrows.
"If that's her name, yes! I saw you touching her, caressing her—and right here in my own home, too." Her voice broke at the humiliation he put her through.
His eyes narrowed, his hands dropping away from her shoulders. "I see," he said slowly. "And why should my touching Madelaine affect you?"
She gasped at his insensitivity. "Because I'm your wife."
"Are you?"
"Yes, I am. Just because you've chosen not to—not to exercise your rights—"
"My rights!" he exploded, angrier than she had ever seen him. He made a grab for her, pulling her up against him, her feet barely touching the ground, his face only .inches away from her own as he lowered down at her. "You consider that when I take you I take you as my right! And you get no pleasure from it, I suppose? You do not lie in my arms and beg for my body on yours?" His mouth turned back in a sneer. "Would you like me to show you how you react to my possession? Would you?" He shook her hard.
"No! No…"
He thrust her away from him. "Perhaps that is as well. I have no intention of exercising my rights. I do not want you!"
That, more than anything, cut into her, wounding her more than she would ever let him know. "Luke, I—" She broke off, her eyes riveted on the woman standing in the open doorway of the studio.
The woman she knew only as Madelaine walked slowly into the lounge, a deliberate provocation to the swing of her hips. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Her voice was husky and soft, her pouting lips an open invitation. She looked at Sophie with malicious enjoyment. "Shall I leave?" she asked Luke softly.
"No," he said tersely. "At least, not alone. I will drive you home."
Again those spiteful green eyes rested on Sophie. "I wouldn't want to take you away from your wife."
"You are not taking me away from anything." Nothing of. importance, his words seemed to say. He collected a burgundy-colored leather jacket from the bedroom, shrugging it on over the black fitted shirt he wore with matching trousers.' 'Nothing at all,'' he added grimly.
He was almost at the door before Sophie found the courage to stop him.
"I, er, will you be back for dinner?" she asked breathlessly.
His hand rested at the redhead's elbow, his look impatient as he turned to look at Sophie. "You said you were… going out," he reminded her. - And he had ridiculed her, as he was ridiculing her now. "I—I could have changed my mind."
"Do not do so on my account." He opened the door for Madelaine to pass through. "I have no idea when I-will be back, so if you do decide to stay in, don't wait up for me," he taunted.
The silence was deafening once she was alone. Luke had been deliberately cruel to her, had in fact humiliated her— and yet she still loved him! That was the worst humiliation of all, her love for him. He had taunted her desire for him, flaunted another woman in her face, and yet .still she remained here.
He didn't return for dinner, and she had no appetite, so Sophie switched on the rarely used television set so that at least she wasn't sitting in silence. She delayed going to bed for as long as possible, knowing she would never sleep if Luke wasn't back, if indeed he came back.
By one o'clock she was convinced he intended staying the night with the beautiful Madelaine. She crept unhappily into the double bed they still shared, even though Luke never intentionally touched her recently. She curled up into a tight miserable ball, wishing the hours away until morning.
It must have been an hour or so later that she heard muffled sounds coming from the lounge. Luke. It had to be Luke. She was up and out of the bed before she had any time for thought, her transparent turquoise nightgown clinging to her body.
Luke was standing by the liquor cabinet, a glass of whiskey in his hand as he slowly turned to look at her. "Well, well," he drawled, his eyes narrowed. "My little wife come to greet me. And dressed so temptingly, too."
He was still angry, and by the smell of the alcohol emanating from him, the glass of whiskey was far from being his first. He smelled of stale cigarette smoke, too, yet he didn't smoke. No, but perhaps the lovely Madelaine did!
"You're drunk," she accused.
"Far from it, my dear," he mocked, his smile unpleasant. "And far from incapable, too." He took a threatening step toward her.
Sophie backed away, frightened by the determination she could see in his face. "Where…where have you been?"
His smile deepened. "Where do you think?"
Her mouth turned back. "With Madelaine."
He gave an inclination of his dark head. "How right you are."
"You… you've been with her?"
"Have I not just said as much?" He took a large gulp of his whiskey, no emotion on his face as the fiery liquid burned a path to his stomach. "Why all these questions? I warned you what to expect before we were married if I did not find fulfillment in my own bed—with my own wife.''
"You mean you—" she gulped, unable to finish.
"What else did you expect, Sophie?" he demanded harshly.
"I didn't think you would, really—1 didn't think—"
"Well, now you know," he snapped. Yes, now she knew.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AFTER THE THINGS HE HAD JUST SAID to her she thought it only natural to assume he would sleep "in one of the other bedrooms. She was wrong. After he had undressed and showered he came into their bedroom as usual, shedding the robe to reveal his nakedness without embarrassment.
Sophie turned away from the beauty of his body, her cheeks burning as the image stayed in her mind. No man had the right to be so damned attractive, so physically magnificent, his body firm and taut, not an ounce of superfluous flesh anywhere on his muscular frame.
She moved to the very edge of her side of the bed as he got in beside her, the warmth of his body reaching out to her against her will, his male scent inflaming her senses.
The room was dark, her breathing necessarily smooth and even as she sought to convince him she was asleep. In reality her tears were drenching the pillow beneath her— she was unable to stop them as she fought for control.
"You are not asleep," Luke's voice came to her out of the darkness as a statement, not a question.
She took a deep breath. "No."
"You are not tired?"
"I—no, no, I don't think so." She hurriedly wiped away the tears staining her cheeks.
She was turned gently into his arms, her head cradled on his shoulder. His long fingers caressed her face, tilting her chin up so that she looked at him. "Your face is damp," he said softly, gently.
"I— Is it?" Her lashes fluttered down onto her pale cheeks, the room in semidarkness, Luke's eyes all too seeing.
"I have made you cry," he said with a sigh.
There was no point in denying what was obvious, so she remained silent, curved against the hardness of his body, the first time he had held her like this in days.
"You made me angry," he explained. "For days you have made me angry. And today you offered the final insult," he added harshly.
Sophie looked astounded. "I did? But I've hardly seen you all day."
"That is true, and there has been-little politeness between us of late. Tell me—" his eyes probed "—what did you think this afternoon when you saw me with Madelaine?"
He thwarted all her efforts to break out of his arms and so she remained in his embrace like a trapped bird. She licked her dry lips. “What did I think?" she delayed.
"Yes."
"I thought—well, I thought—"
"You thought I had been making love to her." His -words cut through the gloom. "Why did you think that?"
She trembled against him, remembering the way he had been touching the other woman. She felt his arms tighten about her. ."You were caressing her, touching her," she said with remembered horror.
"I was touching her," he admitted. "Touching does not prove anything."
"But you…you must have been kissing her," she said desperately.
"I was not," he refuted grimly. "Did you see any evidence of my having kissed her? Was there any lipstick on my face, on my lips?"
"Well…"
"I will tell you, there was not. Lipstick the vivid shade that Madelaine always wears cannot be hidden. I had not been kissing or caressing her," he denied harshly. "But I had been touching her. I was getting her to pose for me."
"P-pose for you?" her eyes were wide. "You were painting her?"
"But of course. A studio couch is not my idea of the ideal place for lovemaking."
"It was with me—" She broke off, her cheeks flaming with color.
His teeth gleamed whitely in the darkness. "I seem to remember I carried you to my bed before it got that far."
"But why didn't you explain you were only painting her?"
"You said you were leaving me," he accused.
"I didn't mean it." There was a terrible lethargy invading her body, every part of her aware of him as he lay beside her.
"Did you not?"
"Well…maybe at the time."
"I was surprised to find you were still here when I arrived home just now."
"Were you?" It was surprising how low and husky their voices had become, almost a whisper.
"I thought you had run home to your father."
She was startled. "To daddy?"
"Exactly," he said dryly. "I thought you had run home to daddy. I was surprised to find you had not."
"I—" She didn't know what to say. She had run to her father in her trouble, but just to see him had been enough. "You make me sound rather juvenile."
"Not juvenile, just overprotected by your father," he corrected. "He cannot always be there when you are angry or upset, and I am pleased to see our marriage is not to be subjected to your constantly running to him for comfort."
But she had, she had! "I'm grown up now, Luke. I'm a married lady."
"Yes, you are." He pushed her back against the pillows, pinioning her to the bed with his body. "You are married to me," he said throatily.
She shivered with delight as he nibbled her earlobe, his tongue probing every sensitive contour. "You said—you said just now that you had been making love to Madelaine," she reminded him.
"Correction, I said I had been with her," he murmured against her throat.
Her hands strayed across his muscled back of their own volition. "It's the same thing," she said weakly.
"Not at all. I have been to a party with Madelaine and several of my other friends. I have been in their company, nothing more."
"But you did say you would seek fulfillment elsewhere." She restrained a last hold on her sanity, his mouth exciting her until she wanted only him.
"Ah, now that I do admit to saying just now, but only as a means of self-defense. I came back to find you still here when I expected you to have flown, only to have you throwing accusations at me."
"But you were out all evening. How was I to know what to think?"
"I was out all evening because I did not relish coming back to an empty apartment…as I did this morning. Where were you through lunch, anyway?"
"I, er, I went shopping and had lunch out," she lied.
He wrenched her chin up. "Is that the truth?"
"Why should I lie?" she asked with feigned indignation.
Carole Mortimer - The Flame of Desire Page 12
