'Don't look at me like that, Vince,' she protested, her voice unnaturally sharp with the effort to hide the fact that he had unnerved her.
'I can remember the first time I saw you.' His eyes lingered a moment longer on the agitated rise and fall of her breasts before his glance met hers, and a faint smile curved his often cruel mouth. 'It was at an exhibition of local art in the Town Hall, and you were wearing an ivory dress trimmed with lace. You had your hair done up in a Grecian style, and I remember thinking that you were as cold and aloof as the statue you were admiring.'
Cara could remember that evening only too well. She had felt his compelling glance drawing hers like a magnet from across the length of the room. She had wanted to look away again, but even at a distance he had wielded a powerful force, and he had held her glance captive for several interminable seconds before his eyes had trailed over her feminine curves with an insolence that had sent a fire surging into her pale cheeks.
She felt a little faint with the memory of it, but her voice was etched with sarcasm when she said: 'You obviously have a good memory.'
'I can also recall that I found you most intriguing, and I couldn't take my eyes off you.'
The latter was true. She could remember vividly that, no matter where she had turned, his eyes had followed her relentlessly, and because of this she had left before she had seen all the exhibits.
'I can recall thinking that you were deliberately trying to make me feel uncomfortable,' she retorted with a spurt of sudden anger.
'A spark was ignited when our eyes met,' he continued as if she had not spoken, and she wondered frantically if this was a part of that honest understanding he had spoken of earlier that day. 'Did you feel it too, liebchen?
'Yes,' she snapped defensively. 'It was a spark of antagonism.'
'It was more than that, and you know it,' he contradicted mockingly, placing his empty cup on the mantelshelf and lighting a cigarette. 'I knew then that I had to have you, but it was the knowledge that you were David Lloyd's daughter that made me decide to wait.' Smoke jetted from his nostrils, and his eyes were narrowed to unfathomable slits while he observed her. 'I had a feeling you would come in useful some day, and I was right.'
Cara did not have to be reminded that she was being used, but somehow it hurt her more now than ever before, and she lowered her long dark lashes to hide her pain. 'You accused my father and I of using people, but aren't you doing exactly the same?'
'I set a goal for myself when I was twenty,' he said with a harshness that made her wince inwardly, 'and I am not ashamed to say that I have used people in the past to get where I am today.'
'And do you consider that something to be proud of?' she asked scathingly, anger giving her the courage to raise her glance to his.
His eyes burned into hers for a moment, then he frowned down at the tip of his cigarette and shrugged carelessly. 'I am not always proud of the things I have done, but there has been a purpose behind everything I have done.'
'The purpose of it all being that your ultimate success finally put you in a position to repay my father in kind for something he did to you long ago?' She was not quite sure whether she ought to admire his patience and determination, or whether she ought to despise it. 'Is that what you're saying?'
'Yes, that is what I'm saying.'
He was being honest; that was something she ought to be grateful for, but it did not alleviate the pain which was growing inside her like a cancer. If he explained, then she might uncover something to afford her a spark of understanding, and it was with this thought in mind that she said: 'Don't you want to tell me what happened?'
'No!' The word was as decisive as his action when he flung his half-smoked cigarette into the grate, and her heart leapt into her throat when he stepped forward to remove her untouched cup of coffee from her hands. 'We have talked enough, I think.'
The glint in his eyes should have warned her what to expect, but she was totally unprepared when he lifted her bodily out of the chair and carried her from the living-room. His arms were hard about her waist and behind her knees, and there was no escape from their steely grip.
'Put me down, Vince,' she protested when he crossed the hall, but she knew from the set of his jaw that her plea was as futile as if she had asked him to cease his vendetta against her father.
He mounted the stairs as if he were carrying no weight at all, and he did not put her down until they had reached the bedroom, but he did not release her entirely. His warm mouth against hers was like a potent drug sapping her energy, and she was only barely conscious of what was happening. With no confining coil in her hair, he worked his fingers through it repeatedly as if he loved the feel of it, and her scalp tingled pleasantly. He undressed her slowly, but deftly, pausing often to arouse her with sensual little kisses against her smooth, responsive skin and, when he had cast aside the last flimsy garment, her legs seemed to give way beneath her. She despised herself for loving him and wanting him the way she did but her mouth moved eagerly beneath his when he lifted her in his arms and lowered her gently on to the bed.
Cara's trembling body was pale in the moonlight that filtered in through the window, and she was aching for his touch when he released her to shed his own clothes. She shivered without the warmth of his arms about her, but he was beside her in an instant, his arms cradling her against him until the heat of his rock-hard body flowed into hers. His lips teased hers, their sensual warmth exciting her when he trailed a tantalising path down to her breast, and she locked her fingers in his hair as a moan of pleasure burst from her lips. He was using her, but she did not care, and this was the last coherent thought that tripped through her mind before the intimacy of his caresses shut out everything except the ecstasy of those spiralling sensations he aroused.
'You are so beautiful, liebchen, you put fire in a man's blood,' he murmured close to her ear, his voice vibrant with the extent of his desire, and sanity returned to her for a brief moment.
'Sometimes I—I wish I had never—never met you,' she whispered unsteadily, but even as she spoke her body yielded to the demand of his.
'Our meeting was inevitable, Cara,' he laughed softly and exultantly. 'I am tempted to say it was written in the stars.'
At any other time she might have been capable of conjuring up several stinging replies to his statement, but the passionate fusion of their bodies shut out everything except that vortex of shattering sensations from which she did not want to escape.
Words of love hovered perilously on her lips, but later, when she went to sleep in Vince's arms, she thanked God that they had never been spoken. To confess her love to Vince would give him yet another savage weapon to use against her, and in the end her father would suffer equally as much.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The weeks slipped by, bringing them ever closer to the time when they would know who had acquired the contract for the second steel plant, and the tension of waiting and not knowing was almost unbearable. Cara's marriage to Vince continued on the new understanding that they could say what they wished without fearing their remarks would be interpreted as a commitment of any kind. It allowed for a more relaxed relationship, but for Cara not a very satisfying one. Vince could, at times, be attentive and almost gentle, but Cara was always aware of that ruthless quality in his nature, and that fiery anger which never lurked far from the surface of his often casual manner.
Cara was becoming increasingly concerned about her father. On the last few occasions she had seen him he had not looked well, and the pressure of waiting was beginning to take its toll. She tried to be optimistic about the future, telling herself that her father's chances of procuring that contract were as good as Vince's, but that discomfiting element of doubt was always there. Vince was clever and influential, and he was in the habit of getting what he wanted.
Despite Cara's attempts at adopting a positive attitude she could not deny the heightening of tension as the time of waiting drew to a close, but she was forced to shift her problem
s temporarily into the background when John Curtis walked into the library unexpectedly one morning. She had not seen him since that unfortunate encounter shortly after her marriage, and she was still rather annoyed with him for approaching her mother with his probing questions, but she chose to forget the latter as she linked her arm with his and took him through to her office.
'You're just in time for tea,' she said, and the usual pleasantries passed between them while she poured and passed a cup to him across her desk, but she sensed rather sadly that the easy relationship between them was crumbling. John was tense and awkward, and she was beginning to feel the same.
'I behaved rather badly the last time we met, and I've come to apologise,' he broke the uneasy silence which was beginning to develop between them, and his green eyes did not quite meet hers.
'There is no need to apologise, John,' she assured him hastily. 'We have been friends for many years, and I can understand how you must have felt when you discovered I was married to Vince without so much as a hint to you.'
'I was angry and disappointed,' he confessed, and a tiny little frown settled between Cara's winged brows.
'I can understand your anger at returning from your holiday to find that I had married a man I had once declared that I detested, but—' She paused and bit her lip in confusion. 'Why were you disappointed?'
'Disappointed is a mild word to what I actually felt,' he laughed ruefully, staring down into his cup. 'I had always imagined that we would get married one day, and I was so sure you felt the same that I foolishly waited too long to propose.'
'Oh, John…' She faltered helplessly and was forced to admit that Vince had been correct in his assumption, but that did not make it easier for her to face up to the situation. 'I… I don't know what to say.'
'Don't say anything, Cara,' John waved aside her remark with a gesture she knew so well, but the hurt lay undisguised in his eyes even though he smiled. 'I'd still like to be your friend, and I'll be around if you should ever need me.'
Their friendship had meant a great deal to Cara, and knowing that she had hurt him brought a lump to her throat which she had difficulty in swallowing down before she could find her voice sufficiently to say, 'I wouldn't want to lose your friendship. It has meant a lot to me in the past, and I know it will in the future.'
'I don't know if you're interested,' he changed the subject when they had had their tea, 'but I've heard a rumour that the directors of the steel company are in the process of deciding which tender to accept for the new steel plant, and their decision should be made known at the end of this week. I believe both your father and your husband have tendered for it, and that must put you in a bit of a fix when it comes to deciding where to give your support.'
That was putting it mildly, Cara thought, her tension spiralling once again. She had expected a decision to be made soon, but she had not exactly known when, and she had been too afraid to ask.
'My father needs this contract very badly, and I sincerely pray that he gets it,' she confided.
'I should have known,' John laughed, his eyes regaining some of their familiar warmth. 'You have always given your whole-hearted support to the losers of this world, and you will never change.'
His remark had not been made unkindly, but Cara felt herself stiffen with annoyance. 'My father is not a loser.'
'Perhaps not,' John shrugged, 'but he could do with a sizeable amount of cash in the bank, and that is common knowledge in Murrayville.'
Cara felt disturbed that John should know more than she had known until Vince and her father had enlightened her two months ago. She had been so busy living her own life that she had not seen what was going on under her very nose, and it angered her now to think that she had been so unobservant.
'I can't deny that my father needs the money, because it happens to be true,' she conceded at length. 'His company, or what is left of it, is practically on the rocks.'
'Is your mother aware of what is going on?' he unknowingly placed a finger on the very reason why she had married Vince.
'No, she doesn't know. It would merely upset her, and my father and I are hoping, of course, that it won't be necessary to enlighten her.' Her hands were clenched so tightly in her lap that they actually ached, and she tried consciously to relax the tension which was bunching up the muscles in her body. 'My father's problems will be solved if he gets this contract.'
'And if he doesn't get it?'
Cara went cold at the thought. 'He must get it.'
'It's as important as that, is it?'
John studied her intently, and there was no need for her to reply to his query. He could see the answer in the tightness about her soft mouth, and in the flicker of panic which momentarily darkened her eyes.
Cara sat like a frozen statue behind her desk for some minutes after John had left. She could not thrust aside that gnawing fear that her father might not get the contract he so desperately needed, and it was this fear that made her decide to go and talk to her father during her lunch hour.
Her mother was out at a luncheon party, Cara discovered when she arrived at the house, and she was relieved that she could talk privately with her father without the fear of her mother walking in on their conversation.
'Is it true that the directors of the steel company are busy deciding on which tender to accept?' she asked without preamble, seating herself on the corner of the desk close to her father's chair.
'It's true,' David Lloyd confirmed, pushing his fingers uncharacteristically through his greying hair. 'And Friday is the deadline.'
Cara studied her father closely, taking in the unhealthy pallor of his skin, and that strange restlessness which made him run his fingers through his hair at short intervals. He did not look very sure of himself, but she had to ask: 'Do you feel confident?'
'No construction engineer can feel confident when the competition is as powerful as the Steiner Company,' he smiled twistedly, and her eyes followed his hands as he reached for his cigarettes.
'When was the last time you went to the doctor for a check-up?'
'I'm not ill.'
'Whenever I see you your hands are shaking,' she told him bluntly, her glance shifting to the tiny beads of moisture forming on his forehead, 'and it's unnatural to perspire the way you are doing in this cold weather.'
'Stop fussing, Cara,' he protested agitatedly, lighting his cigarette and blowing the smoke forcibly towards the ceiling.
'You're also smoking too much,' she accused when she saw the nicotine stains on his fingers.
'Did you come here to lecture me?' he demanded angrily, and the harshness of his voice was something she was unaccustomed to.
'Despite everything, Dad, I happen to care about you, and because I care I am concerned for you,' she said quietly. 'Go and see the doctor… please?'
He frowned and moved his shoulders jerkily as if to shake off the suggestion. 'I'll make an appointment for next week.'
'Why wait until next week?' she demanded with a forced calmness. 'Why not see him tomorrow?'
'I'm too busy,' David Lloyd argued, gesturing a little wildly with his hands, and drawing deeply on his cigarette as if he gained strength from the nicotine and tar.
'Busy with what?' she persisted anxiously. 'Busy sitting here worrying about whether you're going to get that contract with the steel company?'
'For God's sake, Cara!' he exploded, slamming his fist on to the desk and getting to his feet at the same time. 'I'll see the doctor next week, and let's just leave it at that.'
She had never seen her father this agitated before, and it frightened her. The veins stood out like roadmaps against his temples, and the beads of perspiration on his forehead were becoming more noticeable. His hands shook violently when he raised his cigarette to his lips, and his shoulders were hunched when he walked jerkily towards the French windows.
'All right, Dad, I won't force the issue, but there is something I want you to know,' she told him as she slid off the desk and picked up her handbag
. 'You are more important to me than the necessity to keep this house, or large sums of money in the bank and, if Mother knew the truth, I am sure she would agree with me.'
She did not expect a reply from him, and neither did she wait for one. She walked out of his study and closed the door behind her, but she was blinded by tears when she reached her Mini. If anything happened to her father she would never forgive Vince, she decided fiercely, and a new kind of fear had her in its vice-like clutches.
Cara soaked herself in a hot bath before dinner that evening in an attempt to ease the tension from her body, but nothing seemed to help. She sat through dinner with Vince, barely conscious of what she was eating, and lost in the frightening thoughts racing through her mind. What if her father cracked and died under the pressure as Siegfried Steiner had done? Oh, God, no! It did not bear thinking about!
Jackson cleared away the dinner things and they took their coffee through to the lounge where the fire crackled in the grate. Vince buried himself behind the newspaper, and Cara tried to read the book she had brought home with her, but the words danced before her eyes without real meaning. She tried desperately to concentrate, but each time she did so her father's pale, anxious features leapt up at her from the printed pages.
'You've been very quiet this evening,' Vince finally remarked, folding up the newspaper and drinking the remainder of his coffee.
'I'm worried about my father,' she confessed, hoping, against her better judgment, to strike a chord of sympathy in Vince. 'The strain is too much for him.'
'Is that so?' Vince smiled, and that flicker of triumph in his steel-grey eyes made her realise once again the hopelessness of the situation. Vince was hard to the core of his being, and compassion was an emotion he would never know.
'You don't need this contract, Vince,' she pleaded desperately, putting her book aside and kneeling at his feet in an unconsciously pleading attitude. 'Won't you consider withdrawing your tender and giving my father a chance?'
The Devil's Pawn Page 12
