'Tell me you want me!'
His deep-throated instruction seemed to take command of her drugged mind, and her control snapped. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to surrender herself to him, and her hands moved up around his neck until her fingers locked in the hair at the back of his head.
'Yes, yes, I want you!' Her voice was almost unrecognisably husky in submission. 'God help me, but I want you!'
He raised himself away from her, and for one terrifying moment she thought he might find a sadistic pleasure in rejecting her, but instead his hand went to the buckle of his belt to undo it. 'I shall not spare you this time,' he warned darkly as he cast aside his slacks.
Cara would never have believed that making love could be so savage and yet so sweet. In the glowing warmth of the log fire, with the weight of Vince's body grinding her into the carpeted floor, they made love with a ferocious urgency. There was no room for thought in this searingly passionate fusion of their bodies; Cara was conscious only of the exquisite tension his thrusting body was arousing in her, and she could taste his skin against her wildly seeking mouth. Her actions had become controlled by some hidden instinct she had been unaware of until that moment, and her hands roamed his muscled body with a subconscious eagerness to please. She felt the quivering tension in his large frame, and it gave her a strange feeling to know that she could actually arouse him this way. His murmured words of encouragement educated her as to a man's needs, and she followed where he led, allowing him to take complete control of her.
There had been joy in giving, but afterwards there was also the pain of knowing that Vince had given only with his body. She knew she meant no more to him than any one of those women who had drifted in and out of his life in the past, and she knew also that, in the end, her name would simply be added to that list of women he had known. Cara was, as Harriet had said, no more than a pawn in this devilish game he was playing with her father. It hurt to think about it; it hurt more than she cared to acknowledge, and she did not even want to dwell for a fraction of a second on the reason why she felt this way.
Cara closed her eyes tightly to hold back the sudden rush of tears, and she did not open them when Vince roused himself in silence to put on his clothes. She wrapped the blanket about her naked body, and curled herself up into a tight ball of misery from which she did not stir until she heard Vince walk out of the cottage. His heavy footsteps crunched on the gravel beneath the window, and only when she could no longer hear him did she get up with the blanket still draped about her to go in search of her clothes.
An hour passed, and Vince did not return. Cara considered making something to eat when she found that there was ham and eggs in the gas refrigerator, but she decided against it. Fifteen minutes later she could not tolerate the silence in the cottage a moment longer. The silence seemed threatening somehow and, when she thought of what had occurred between Vince and herself, she wanted to die with shame. Last night she could have accused him of rape, or something equally discrediting, but this time she could find no accusation to fling at him. He had been savage in his demands, but gentle in his conquering, and she had been so desperately eager to please him. Why? The question stabbed mercilessly at her mind. Why had she been so terribly eager to please a man who was merely using her as a weapon with which to hurt her father? There had to be an explanation somewhere, but Cara was inexplicably afraid to search for it. She brushed her hair instead, and pushed her feet into her ruined sandals before leaving the cottage.
Cara found Vince some distance beyond the place where she had fallen into the river that morning. He was standing inside a square of wrought-iron fencing, and his fair head was bowed as he leaned with one hand against a square concrete pillar which tapered into a point at the pinnacle. He was obviously lost in thought, and she was convinced that he was unaware of her presence. He turned his head sharply when she called his name, and for one flash of a second she glimpsed a look of such deep suffering in his eyes that she instinctively wanted to comfort him.
'Stay where you are!' he barked out a command when her hand went out towards the catch on the gate, and the unexpected ring of hatred in his voice was enough to freeze her on the spot.
'Is this your father's grave?' she asked intuitively, determined not to let him see how much it had hurt her to know that this was forbidden territory for the daughter of David Lloyd.
'Yes, it is,' he confirmed abruptly.
'Wasn't it rather risky of you to select this spot?' she questioned him, her glance shifting calculatively towards the river not six metres away. 'Have you never considered the possibility that, the river might rise if there should be a flood?'
'It's unlikely that the river will rise higher than the base of this column, and there's nothing beneath this coil which could be damaged,' he explained coldly, pointing to the brass plate fastened to the column. 'My father's ashes are behind this plaque.'
Cara stared at it and read the brief inscription in silence. In memory of our father—Siegfried Steiner. This was followed by the date of his birth, and the date on which he had died almost eighteen years ago.
'Why did you bring his ashes here?' Cara asked curiously.
'My father loved this place, and the owner at that time gave us permission to come here. We used to do a lot of fishing here in the river when I was a boy.' Vince stepped out of the enclosure. He shut the gate firmly behind him, and gestured towards an ancient willow on the river's edge. 'We used to sit under that tree, and we used to talk and dream of the future. We still had a future then, and we still had our dreams, but your father took that privilege away from us.'
Cara felt a coldness shifting into her veins as she stared up at Vince and croaked, 'What are you saying?'
'He also took our pride and self-respect,' Vince turned on her with a savage fury burning in his eyes, 'and I shall never forgive David Lloyd for that.'
Her eyes widened in distress. 'For God's sake, Vince, what are you talking about?'
'I'm talking about your father!' he snarled. 'And I'm talking about how he changed us overnight from a respectable family to one that was condemned and ridiculed publicly.'
'There must be some mistake,' she cried desperately, and his mouth twisted in a cruel semblance of a smile.
'There is no mistake, believe me.'
Cara was stunned, and it seemed quite impossible to her that they could be talking about the same man. 'My father would never deliberately do anything to hurt anyone.'
'He succeeded very well in destroying my father, and he's going to pay very dearly for that,' Vince brushed aside her defence harshly, and he turned from her to stride back to the cottage as if he could not bear the sight of her.
Cara was momentarily too shattered to react, and several seconds passed before she followed him at a running pace. Indignation and anger gave her speed, and they arrived at the cottage simultaneously.
'Vince!' She leapt in front of him, gripping his arms urgently, and barring his way when he would have stepped inside. 'I want to know exactly what my father is being accused of.'
'I don't wish to discuss it with you,' he barked, brushing off her hands and attempting to pass her, but she barred his way once again, and raised blazing eyes to his.
'How can you make accusations, and then not want to verify them?'
A nerve jumped in his cheek, but other than that his face remained expressionless. 'I have all the proof I need, and I don't need to verify my accusations to you, or anyone else.'
'And is it your intention that I should also pay for whatever it is my father did?' the burning query burst unbidden from her lips.
His cold eyes raked her from head to foot, and there was not the slightest sign of softening when he said coldly, 'You are the daughter, are you not?'
Cara's face paled as if he had struck her, and his hands felt like branding irons on her shoulders when he set her aside and entered the cottage.
Blinded by a rush of stinging, incomprehensible tears, she leaned against the o
uter wall beside the door, and fought desperately against the pain of knowing that, to Vince, she would never be anything but the daughter of the man he despised. It had been a glaring truth all along, but after the intimacies they had shared she had thought… what? That he might think a little differently of her? She straightened and dashed away her tears. It was silly to stand there crying, and she had to pull herself together. She had to think rationally, and she had to try and make some sense out of this awful thing which Vince had accused her father of.
The atmosphere in the cottage was strained and tense. They made lunch together, and Vince surprised her with his adeptness in the kitchen, but their conversation was stilted. Cara wished that she could hate Vince, but unfortunately that was not so easy. It was not in her nature to carry the burden of hatred around with her, and most especially not when she was beginning to acknowledge the good points in the character of the man she had initially disliked. Vince was an enigma; an unknown quantity, and the more time she spent with him, the more he intrigued her.
She sighed inwardly. It was a beautiful day, as Vince had said, but they had both contributed something towards spoiling it, and she felt curiously empty inside when they drove back to Murrayville after lunch. She glanced at his capable hands resting lightly on the steering wheel, and she felt again their sensuous warmth against her flesh. His expertise as a lover was undeniable, but he obviously had a heart as cold as a concrete slab. Was there perhaps too much hatred inside him to leave any room for caring?
That night they once again had dinner alone. The servants came and went in much the same silence that reigned between Vince and Cara, and their efficiency made Cara realise that Vince's home was run on a basis which did not need a stay-at-home wife. To intrude on the proceedings would merely disrupt the smoothness with which everything was accomplished, and Cara resolved not to interfere. She would, after all, be Vince's wife for no more than a year, and that did not exactly put her in a position where she had the right to make changes in his home. The situation suited her perfectly. She could continue with her job at the library and her life would go on almost in the same way as before, but she could not ignore the fact that she was now bound to Vince Steiner. Being his wife, and all it entailed, no longer terrified her, but it did arouse a certain bitterness.
Vince excused himself after dinner and closeted himself in his study while Cara went upstairs. She needed an early night, but when she finally slid between the sheets she could not sleep. She tried to read, but the words danced meaningless before her eyes until she shut the book agitatedly.
Where was Vince? Was he going to remain in his study all night? Did she care? She slammed the book down on the bedside cupboard and snapped off the light.
A difficult day lay ahead of her; she would have to face the Murrayville public as Mrs Steiner, and she went hot and cold at the thought. John Curtis would have returned after a brief holiday at the coast, and he would be taking the position as manager to one of his father's new hotels. What was she going to tell him?. Would he believe her if she told him that, during his two week absence, she had fallen madly in love with Vince Steiner? Cara did not think so. On several occasions, when they had attended the same function as Vince, she had made it abundantly clear that she could not tolerate the man who seemed to follow every movement she made with his piercing grey eyes. John would know that she was lying, and that was going to make things awkward.
The sound of footsteps in the passage made her stiffen in bed, but the door which was opened was the one across the passage. Incredulity shot through her, and it was followed by something quite indefinable. Vince was going to spend the night in the room across the passage. She ought to rejoice, but instead it felt as if she had been slapped in the face. Extraordinary! She must be going crazy… or was it perhaps something much worse?
It was a long time before Cara went to sleep, and not before there was a dampness on her pillow for which she despised herself. Vince Steiner did not deserve her tears!
CHAPTER FIVE
'Good morning, Miss Lloyd,' Nancy de Witt greeted Cara in her customary manner, her head appearing round the door to Cara's office, but on this occasion she blushed profusely at her error and hastily corrected herself. 'I mean… Mrs Steiner.'
Mrs Steiner. It was the first time someone had called her that, and it sent an odd little shiver up her spine.
'Good morning, Nancy.' Cara forced a smile to her lips as she waved the young girl into the chair on the opposite side of her desk. 'Anything to report?'
'There have been several enquiries from children needing information for school projects.' Nancy passed Cara the sheet of paper on which she had made the necessary notes, and Cara glanced at the information jotted down in Nancy's neat handwriting. Architecture of the Renaissance period; The Elizabethan Theatre; Van Gogh, the Artist and the Man. 'We can also expect a large consignment of new books to arrive later this morning.' Nancy added with a cheerfulness which was galling on that particular Monday morning.
'Did those books have to arrive today of all days,' Cara groaned, leaning back in her chair and scowling up at the white-washed ceiling.
'I'm sorry, Mrs Steiner.'
'It's not your fault, Nancy, and don't pay any attention to me,' Cara brushed aside her apology, and she sat up again with a tight smile on her lips. 'I'm simply not in the mood for all that cataloguing.'
'And especially not when you ought to be on your honeymoon,' Nancy added innocently.
Her sympathy was misplaced, and Cara knew a strange desire to laugh hysterically, but somehow she managed to maintain a sober expression. 'Yes, well… let's get on with what we have to do.'
Nancy's red curls bobbed about her elfin face when she nodded enthusiastically, and her step was bouncy when she walked out of Cara's office. Cara wished suddenly that she could match Nancy's enthusiasm, but instead she felt drained and exhausted at the mere thought of what lay ahead of them. The classification of three hundred books was a mountainous task which would encompass several extra hours of work for the next week or more. The library and its facilities had expanded enormously over the past year, and they desperately needed at least one extra woman to help out during the hours when the library was open to the public, but thus far the authorities would not hear of it. Cara had argued; she had even threatened, but all to no avail. They could not afford the wages for extra help on their low budget. That was the only reply Cara received, and nothing short of an explosion would dislodge the authorities from that decision.
The consignment of books arrived at a most inconvenient time that morning. The library had barely opened its doors to the public when the truck from the Provincial Library squealed to a halt at the entrance, and for the next two hours everything was chaotic. There was no time to pause for tea and, when the library doors closed at twelve, the real work began in earnest. Cara sent Nancy off to lunch at one, but she herself remained in the library to continue with the task of stacking books in the shelves kept exclusively for new arrivals which needed attention.
Cara stood perched high on a ladder with a pile of books balanced on the step in front of her, and she was totally absorbed in what she was doing when a familiar, deep-throated voice remarked, 'You have lovely legs, Mrs Steiner.'
Her breath jerked in her throat as she turned her head sharply to find herself looking down into Vince's rugged face and, her balance awry, she felt the ladder swaying beneath her.
'Careful!' he warned, raising his hands to steady her as well as the ladder, and his steadying grip on her hip was enough to set her pulse racing madly.
The last time she had seen him was when they had parted company after dinner the previous evening, and his presence now had such a disturbing impact on her that her knees felt as if they wanted to buckle beneath her weight.
'What are you doing here?' she demanded coolly, her glance sliding over his wide shoulders beneath the grey-striped jacket of his immaculate suit.
'Don't you have a lunch hour?' he counter-quest
ioned mockingly, releasing her when she was steady on the ladder.
'This is my lunch hour,' she said coldly, aware suddenly that she was displaying far too much of her stockinged legs for his inspection, but she was too afraid to move while this weakness in her knees persisted.
'Why don't you come down off that ladder and have lunch with me?'
'I can't.'
'Can't come off that ladder, or can't have lunch with me?' he mocked her, his glance deliberately sliding upwards from her slim ankles to beneath the skirt of her blue woollen dress.
'I can't have lunch with you,' she answered stiffly and, motivated into action, she climbed down the ladder, but when her feet touched the carpeted floor she wondered if it would not have been wiser to remain up there on the ladder. Vince was menacingly tall, and he was standing so close to her that her nostrils quivered with the scent of his particular brand of masculine cologne. It stirred her senses and threatened to shatter what was left of her composure. 'I have stacks of books to catalogue and, if I don't do so now, it will mean working late in the evenings,' she explained, despising herself for that little tremor in her voice.
'Are you going to take a break for a cup of tea before two o'clock?'
'Yes, I might,' she conceded reluctantly, raising her questioning glance to his.
'Make two cups of tea, and I'll go and get us a snack to have with it,' he ordered brusquely, and was gone before she could protest.
He was a strange man, she decided when she climbed up the ladder to resume her task. She could not forget what had occurred the day before. He had desired her one minute, and the next he had shown quite clearly that he despised her. Last night he had avoided her as if he could not stand the sight of her, and yet today he was going out of his way to share his lunch hour with her. A complex man, that's what Vince was, and she wondered if anyone would ever truly understand him.
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