by Anne Mather
Olivia moved her head uneasily. ‘Not now, Alex—’
‘Why not now? What are you afraid of?’ He squatted down beside the bed, his expression ironic. ‘Wouldn’t you be relieved to know that we’re not brother and sister?’ he probed, stroking one brown finger along the taut line of the sheet she had clamped beneath her chin.
Olivia trembled. ‘Please,’ she breathed, ‘go away, Alex. I don’t want to scream, but I will if you don’t get out of here.’
‘What? And bring half the police force of Gstango in here?’ he mocked, fingering the coil of dark hair that spilled carelessly over her shoulders. ‘Oh, Liv, you wouldn’t do that, would you?’
‘Go away!’ Olivia released one arm from the sheet to sweep the rope of her hair over the shoulder farthest from him. ‘I don’t know what you hope to gain, coming after me like this. Unless you’re afraid of what I’m about to find out.’
‘Afraid?’ His night-dark eyes flashed dangerously. ‘What would I have to be afraid of, Liv?’
‘I don’t know, do I?’ Olivia’s nerves were stretched almost to breaking point. ‘That’s what I’m here to find out. And—and if you Were any kind of a man, you’d respect my right to do so. Instead of abandoning your—your real responsibilities!’
‘And what are my real responsibilities?’ he demanded softly, shifting sideways on to the edge of the bed. And while Olivia hurriedly moved her legs out of his way, he added. ‘Aren’t they to myself? To the things I want and need? To the pursuit of my own fulfilment?’
Olivia gasped. ‘No! Not if they’re at the expense of other people.’
‘Other people?’
The mildness of his tone did not delude her into thinking he was prepared to listen to her, but she had to go on: ‘Yes,’ she said now. ‘Your—your responsibilities should be towards—towards Lilian; and your son.’ She hesitated only a moment before hastening on: ‘You can’t deny Sacha is Henry’s grandson. The resemblance is too distinctive. Why—why, even Mrs Winters remarked upon it.’
‘All right,’ Alex’s voice was hard now, ‘so Sacha is Henry’s grandson. Where does that leave us?’
‘Us?’ Olivia gazed at him helplessly, the confirmation he had given her tearing any tenuous hopes she had into shreds.
‘Yes, us!’ he repeated harshly, leaning towards her. ‘Don’t pretend this charade is solely for my benefit. You wanted to know what our relationship was before you committed yourself.’
‘Committed myself?’ Olivia’s lips parted. ‘To—to what?’
‘To this,’ he told her roughly, and grasping her trembling shoulders, he jerked her into his arms.
‘No, Alex—’ she choked against his lips, but the suffocating pressure of his mouth stifled her protest. He was grim and angry, and in consequence his kiss was not gentle at all, just a savage assault that she was incapable of preventing. With ruthless determination he forced her back against her pillows, and her muscles slackened beneath the muscled weight of his body.
Hot tears spilled helplessly from her eyes, running heedlessly down her cheeks. How could he? she asked herself bitterly. How could he take advantage of her like this, in full knowledge of his relationship with Lilian, and the son they shared? It was unforgivable!
‘Oh, Liv,’ he groaned suddenly, tasting the salty tang of her tears on his lips. ‘Liv, don’t cry! For God’s sake, don’t cry!’ He released her mouth to seek the soft curve of her throat, his tongue soft and sensual against her skin. ‘Lilian means nothing to me, I swear it. You’re the only woman I’ve ever truly wanted. That’s why I came after you. I couldn’t stand to think of you and Kennedy, alone together.’
‘And—and do you think that’s enough?’ she gasped, trying to push him away from her. ‘You think because you—you say you want me, I should be—be flattered—’
‘Don’t talk rubbish, Liv,’ he muttered, and overcoming her protesting fingers, he pulled the sheet away from her shoulders.
The swollen arousal of her breasts was unmistakable, and although she tried to press his head away, the kindling passion of his gaze was igniting a flame inside her. When he tore the buttons of his shirt apart and brought her resisting hands to his chest, her fingers curled convulsively against him. The rough whorls of sun-streaked body hair that clung to her skin were seductively warm and sensual, and when his lips captured the taut peak of one founded breast a sharp pain flowered deep inside her.
‘Liv—Liv!’ he breathed, dragging the rest of the covers aside to expose the slender nakedness of her body. ‘Oh, Liv—don’t fight me, please!’
‘Alex—’
‘I want you, Liv,’ he said, against her mouth, opening her lips to his. ‘Let me—let me love you—’
Olivia felt a wave of weakness sweeping over her. He was so disturbingly male, so persuasive; and if this aching void she felt inside her was to be assuaged only he could do it. With a little sob, she submitted to the searching heat of his mouth, drugged by the emotions his caressing hands were arousing, and responding instinctively to the demands her flesh was making.
She was hardly aware of him shedding the rest of his clothes, until she felt the hard warmth of him beside her. The strong muscles of his chest crushed her softness, pressing her down into the soft mattress, and one lithe powerful leg nudged her legs apart.
‘No, Alex—’ she whispered one last time, as the realisation of what she was doing caused a momentary withdrawal, but it was only a perfunctory denial. With her arms wound silkily around his neck, and her nails dug deep into the hair at his nape, she could not have let him go, and Alex was swiftly driven beyond any needs but his own.
He covered her lips and her cheeks and her eyes with urgent hungry kisses that left her breathless, and weak with longing, and innocence gave way to passion as she arched her body into his. Twisting beneath him, feeling the pulsating heat that throbbed against her, she still had no real idea of what she was inviting. She only knew she wanted him to go on and on, until whatever it was that was driving her was satisfied…
* * *
It was the light that disturbed her, the awareness of brightness bearing down on her lids that caused her to open her eyes in protest. For a fraction of a second, a sense of disorientation gripped her, but as the austere surroundings of the bungalow bedroom swung back into focus, she met Alex’s dark eyes and knew what she had done.
Even then, she did not immediately move to cover herself. She lay, staring into that narrowed slumbrous gaze with unknowing adoration, unable in those first few moments to disguise the rapturous abandon that still gripped her.
It was Alex who moved, Alex who tossed the crumpled sheet across the lissom invitation of her body; Alex, who was already dressed and looking now as if he despised her as well as himself.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he snapped, pacing violently about the room. ‘For God’s sake, Liv, why didn’t you tell me? Surely you knew I would never have touched you!’
Olivia shivered then, as the cool wind of disillusionment brushed her scorched flesh. He had taken her, believing her to be as experienced as he evidently was. By the time he had discovered the truth, it had been too late to draw back.
Wrapping the sheet about her, she looked at him with wounded eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’ she demanded, forcing back a humiliating sense of inadequacy. ‘Didn’t you enjoy it? Didn’t I do it right? I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was supposed to produce references—’
‘Stop it!’ Alex cut her off abruptly, his lean face taut with anger. ‘You know damn well what I’m talking about. And it has nothing to do with whether or not we—made it good!’
Olivia lifted her shoulders. ‘I thought it did.’
‘Liv!’ He stopped beside her, looking down at her with tormented eyes. Then, shaking his head, he said wearily: ‘You know how it was—for me, at least.’ He paused. ‘Did I hurt you a lot?’
Olivia trembled. ‘Does it matter?’ In truth, the pain she had experienced had been swiftly superseded by the mounting wave of fulfilment Alex ha
d created. The urgent power of his body in hers had been the most wonderful experience of her whole life, but how could she tell him that when he obviously regretted the whole affair?
‘Hell, Liv,’ he said now, pushing back the damp strands of sun-streaked hair that had strayed across his forehead, ‘I never dreamt the old man might not have touched you!’ He smote the palm of one hand against his temple. ‘He really must have cared about you, after all.’
‘No!’ Olivia could not take that, not from him! With a jack-knifing movement she left the bed, wrapping the sheet sarong-wise about her. ‘He didn’t care about me. But once, I think, he cared about my mother.’ She moved impatiently. ‘I’ve told you how it was. What I didn’t tell you was that your father ruined my father. He destroyed him, just as surely as if he’d taken a knife and killed him. That was why I agreed to marry Henry Gantry—because my mother wanted her revenge.’ She shook her head. ‘There was no question of my being his daughter. I think—I think you’ve just made that up.’
‘No.’ Alex shook his head now, sliding his hands into the hip pockets of his jeans, parting his unbuttoned shirt and making Olivia unwillingly aware even after what had happened, she was still not immune to his dangerous attraction. ‘It wasn’t that simple, Liv. Ask Cosgrove when we get back to England, if you don’t believe me. How did Henry come to contact your mother, only weeks before he died, if it wasn’t a carefully planned operation?’
Olivia gasped. ‘Henry—Henry knew he was dying. When he was told he had only a short time to live, he came to find my mother. He wanted her to marry him. He wanted to make amends for what had happened—or so he said.’
‘No.’ Alex shook his head again, and she stared at him white-faced. ‘No, it wasn’t like that, Liv. Could you honestly see a man like Henry Gantry regretting anything? When he could cut his only son off without a penny!’
Olivia swallowed. She had never thought of it in that light. But if Henry had not felt remorse, what had he felt?
‘I think you’d better sit down,’ said Alex now, but when he would have guided her to a chair, she flinched away from him, and his face darkened angrily. ‘I’m only telling you this to prepare you,’ he muttered, clenching his fists. ‘And to try and justify what I believed.’
Olivia held up her head. ‘Just tell me what you have to say. Don’t try to excuse yourself. I—I’ll never forgive you for what you’ve done, so you might as well get to the point.’
Alex looked grim, but common sense—or his conscience—forced him to proceed, and with harsh inflection, he said: ‘It was your mother who contacted Henry.’ And at Olivia’s cry of denial, he went on: ‘When she read about Henry Gantry’s illness in a newspaper, she devised a scheme to defraud him of at least a percentage of his fortune—’
‘No!’
‘Yes.’ Alex was adamant. ‘I can prove it, should that be necessary. For the moment, you’ll have to take my word for it.’ He paused, momentarily drawn by her shocked face, and then continued: ‘She contacted Henry, I know this for a fact, and she succeeded in persuading him that he had a daughter, as well as a son.’
‘I don’t believe this!’
‘No. Nor did Henry, I suspect, at first. But have you ever compared the date of your birth with your mother’s affair with Henry Gantry?’
Olivia made a gesture of negation.
‘So…’ Alex moved his shoulders. ‘They match. Indeed they do. You could conceivably have been Henry’s daughter.’
‘No!’ But Olivia’s cry was feeble now.
‘Henry had doubts, serious doubts, but can you imagine how it was with him at that time? He was dying. He knew he had only a short time to live. And in addition to which, after meeting you, he was flattered enough not to want to enquire too closely.’
‘I don’t believe you!’
Alex sighed. ‘Think about it. Paternity is always difficult to prove. And besides, he saw you as the means of disinheriting his son.’
‘So that’s why you came back!’
Alex inclined his head. ‘As it was, he knew he hadn’t the time to prove or disprove your identity. And in any case, he knew that a daughter’s claim was very small change to that of a wife. So he married you, and your mother consented—knowing full well you were not Henry Gantry’s daughter!’
Olivia wet her dry lips. ‘I—I’m not?’
‘Fortunately, in this day and age, even if paternity cannot always be proved, it can be disproved. According to the medical you had at the time of your marriage, your blood group matches neither Henry Gantry’s nor your mother’s.’
Olivia digested this. She remembered having the medical very well, and wondering why Henry had instigated it. She had assumed his own ill health had made him overly concerned for the health of others.
‘Then—then Henry must have known—’
‘Not necessarily. Your mother’s medical records were not freely available until after her death. And besides, as I said, Henry wanted to believe it.’
‘And—and you’re saying—Adam Cosgrove knew?’
‘He was Henry’s solicitor. He knew everything that happened.’
Olivia felt hopelessly confused, and hopelessly defeated. She had come here, to find out the truth about Alex’s identity, and instead she had lost her own. In retrospect, what Alex had told her was not so hard to believe. Her mother’s lack of surprise at Henry’s sudden appearance after more than twenty years; her insistence that Olivia should do as he said, when she had known he was not a man to be trusted. At the time, Olivia had put it down to her mother’s illness. And besides, she had had her own reasons for wanting to hurt Henry Gantry. But suddenly everything was changed, and the ambiguity of her position had never been more obvious.
As if taking pity on her, Alex came towards her, but now Olivia held him off with a hastily-raised arm. ‘Don’t—don’t come near me,’ she whispered shakily. ‘I—I have to think about this. I—I have to decide what I must do.’
‘I have to tell you, I’ve only found these things out in the last few days,’ Alex offered flatly. ‘That was why I was so bitter in the beginning. I really believed you’d taken the old man for everything he had.’
‘Is—is that supposed to be an apology?’ Olivia was contemptuous.
‘No.’ Alex’s hard face was grave. ‘I’m just saying—we were both victims of our own misapprehensions.’ He hesitated. ‘I didn’t know I was going to fall in love with you.’
Olivia swayed. ‘You can’t be serious!’
‘After what’s happened?’ He spread his hands. ‘I don’t blame you for not believing me. But I knew this might be the only chance I’d get, and I wanted you.’
Olivia turned away, appalled by his confession. He was Henry’s son! Had he no shame?
‘I think you’d better leave,’ she said huskily, bending her head, and Alex made a sound of assent. But the imprint of his lips lingered on her shoulder, after the door had closed behind him.
CHAPTER TEN
IN the pale light of morning, Gstango looked like any other mining community. It was primarily a functional base for mining personnel, its amenities catering for the needs of men temporarily cut off from their families.
From the balcony of her bungalow, Olivia could see the main road into the settlement, which she and Francis had travelled the night before, and the huddle of community and administration buildings, where Inspector Roche had his office.
The mine itself was visible in the distance, the clouds of dust rising from its bulldozers in direct contrast to the damp earth around the bungalow. It must have rained in the night, but she had not heard it. After Alex had left her, she had fallen into a deep dreamless sleep, which had left her this morning feeling decidedly hungover.
She had no idea where Alex had gone after he left the bungalow. At first, she had been half afraid he might have bedded down on the couch in the living room as Francis had suggested doing, but this morning’s tentative foray had quickly relieved her of that belief, although not knowin
g where he was was almost as disturbing.
She wondered if there was any point in speaking to Inspector Roche, after what Alex had told her. It seemed obvious that she had been the victim of both her mother’s and Henry’s ambitions, and it was hard to be objective, when the facts as she had known them no longer applied. All that was real was that she had lived a lie for the past six or seven months. She had been used by two unscrupulous people to gain their own ends, and she had been too stupid to see it for herself.
Francis appeared as she was brushing her hair, and she welcomed him eagerly, glad to see a friendly face. He looked bleary-eyed and pale-faced, but evidently less feverish than the day before, and Olivia urged him into a chair before he had chance to ask any questions. But apparently Francis knew nothing of Alex’s arrival, and his first words to her were not complimentary.
‘You don’t look as if you slept at all,’ he remarked, heaving a sigh. ‘Will I be glad to get back to civilisation! Living life in the rough is certainly not for us.’
Olivia forced a smile. ‘Actually—actually, I slept rather well,’ she averred, turning away, ostensibly to secure the leather cord at her nape. ‘How—how about you? You weren’t disturbed, were you?’
‘Disturbed?’ Francis arched his brows. ‘By what?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘You didn’t have an intruder!’
‘No. At least—’ Olivia moved her shoulders awkwardly, ‘Alex—Alex is here. In Gstango. He—he came to the bungalow, after—after you’d gone to bed.’
She omitted to say that it was after she had gone to bed, too, but Francis was not concerned with the technicalities. ‘Gantry!’ he exclaimed. ‘Alex Gantry is here? I don’t believe it. How could he be? We’ve only just arrived here ourselves.’
‘Well, he is,’ Olivia assured him firmly, keeping the tremor out of her voice by a supreme effort of will power. ‘Believe me, I was as shocked as you are. I—he says he was—concerned about—about us.’
Francis snorted. ‘Concerned about what we’d find out about him,’ he declared shortly. ‘Hell, he really is the limit. Particularly after what you told me about his wife and son!’
