by Anne Mather
The water creamed over her limbs like liquid satin, and as she had never swum in the nude before it was a tantalizing experience. It was wonderful to glide smoothly through the water, the moon gilding the skins of the multi-coloured fish that swam hastily past her, as though afraid of her. She did not swim out very far. She had no desire to get into difficulties in her situation, and she smiled to herself at her thoughts. She felt relaxed, and contented, and could even partially convince herself that without Damon's presence she could dispel the nagging loneliness she felt when he was around.
At last she waded up out of the water, and lifting the towel wrapped it right round her and began to dry herself. She felt much cooler now and quite refreshed.
When the undergrowth crunched ominously near her, she almost jumped out of her skin. With trembling fingers she wrapped the towel tight around her, sarong-wise, and stared expectantly into the darkness.
‘Who's there?’ she challenged in a shaky voice.
The bushes parted, and a tall, broad, dark man stepped into the clearing, looking broodingly attractive in the pale light of the moon.
‘You!’ she exclaimed in astonishment. ‘When did you arrive?'
Damon shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘About fifteen minutes ago. Louisa told me where you were. She was concerned because you were so long. I said I would find you.'
Emma clenched her fingers tightly on the top of the towel, and he looked annoyed.
‘What are you wearing under that thing?’ he asked angrily. ‘Good God! You surely haven't been swimming like that, alone!'
Emma's face turned a deep red. ‘Why not?'
‘Good heavens, you don't need me to tell you that!’ He strode across to her furiously. ‘Anyone might have come upon you, do you realize that? And what possible chance would you have had if some drunken clod had taken it into his head to rape you?’ His voice was stingingly violent.
Emma looked up at him, albeit a little nervously. ‘No one came. Except you, of course!'
‘And you trust me,’ he muttered savagely.
‘Shouldn't I?’ she asked quietly.
‘No, damn you, you shouldn't!'
‘Why? What are you going to do? Strip the towel oft me? Would that amuse you?’ She was deliberately taunting him, his anger triggering off some crazy provocation inside herself.
‘No, it would not amuse me,’ he said tautly.
Emma felt her senses reeling at the tone of his voice. She had to force herself to remember that he hated her and despised her, and that anything he might say to her would be said to hurt and humiliate her even more than he had done so already.
She turned away to pick up her clothes, and stumbled over the ends of the towel. It tugged at the insecure fastening she had made under her arm and by hastily trying to secure it again, she lost her balance and fell ignominiously on the sand at his feet. Feeling ridiculously like a schoolgirl, caught out in some childish prank, she rolled over and looked up at him. He looked so big standing over her like that, and she quickly scrambled to her feet, tucking the towel back into place.
‘If you'll excuse me, I'll get dressed,’ she murmured self-consciously, aware that her wet hair must be clinging in strands to her neck, and she must look an absolute mess. He looked so cool and distant, his suit dark blue and expensively tailored, his shirt contrasting brilliantly with the darkness of his neck.
His hard fingers suddenly encircled her wrist, preventing her from moving away. His eyes looked hard and cynical, as he said:
‘No. I like you as you are.'
Emma's heart began to thump, and she tried unsuccessfully to prise his fingers from her wrist with her other hand. He seemed amused at her paltry efforts, and it infuriated her.
With deliberately slow movements he pulled her close against him, the fluffiness of the towel clinging to his dark suit. Emma thought inconsequently that he could afford to ruin his clothes, no matter now expensive they might be.
‘I'm wet,’ she protested breathlessly, turning her head to one side, refusing to look at him.
‘Interesting,’ he murmured lazily, his mouth seeking the curve of her neck.
‘Damon, please,’ she begged, trying to hold on to her emotions.
‘Please what?’ he asked mockingly, caressing her bare shoulder.
‘Let me go!'
‘Why should I? If it amuses me to make love to you, why shouldn't I do so? Since I've been away I've realized that physically you still attract me; you're a very attractive creature, you always were.'
‘Damon,’ she pleaded, ‘don't be like this!'
He smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile. ‘Why? What can you do to stop me? If I let you go now, there's nothing to stop me from taking you at some other time, is there?'
Emma turned to look at him, unable to prevent the surge of love and compassion he aroused in her. If she hadn't known about Elizabeth she would have said she had hurt him more than she had thought possible. The expression on her face must have been easy for him to read, for he said:
‘Dear God! Don't look at me like that!’ His hands dropped from her, and he turned away, disgusted with himself.
Emma linked her hands together nervously. Now that she was free she found she didn't want to go. It didn't seem to matter any more what his reasons were for touching her, she only knew she needed him now more than at any other time of her life. The love she had felt for him when she was seventeen had increased instead of dying as she had hoped it would, and today she loved him as the woman she was.
He brushed his suit down carelessly and said: ‘Come back to the house, as soon as you're dressed.'
‘Damon,’ she murmured tentatively.
‘Don't speak to me,’ he muttered roughly.
‘Damon, don't be like that!'
He swung on her savagely, his face pale beneath his tan.
‘Like what?’ he muttered violently. ‘Don't be deceived, Emma! I didn't let you go because I felt sorry for you. I let you go because I have no intention of losing my own self-respect over a little cheat like you!'
Emma stepped back a pace, a hand to her mouth in horror.
‘Does that hurt you?’ he taunted mockingly. ‘Good. I'd hate to think we misunderstood each other.'
‘There's no danger of that now,’ said Emma, picking up her clothes, and running swiftly away towards the house without waiting to dress.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EMMA discovered that Damon was alone this time. He had left Paul in London to handle his affairs, and had flown to Nassau and come on from there by launch instead of by helicopter, and that accounted for the fact that she had not heard him arrive.
Despite their quarrel on the night of his arrival, she found he had no intention of neglecting Annabel this visit, and Emma's presence, insisted upon by his daughter, was something he and Emma had to put up with.
If Emma had felt any heartache when she came to the island it was nothing compared to the way she felt now, and she thought that Damon had succeeded in his mission to make her suffer for her actions in the past. She thought he must be feeling very pleased with himself, that he should have hurt her this way, and she despised herself for allowing it to happen.
She wondered if she would have the opportunity while he was here to talk to him about Annabel's mother. It was not a prospect she looked forward to, but she felt it was a necessary adjunct to Annabel's recovery.
Her chance came one afternoon while Annabel was resting, Louisa had gone into Nassau for the day, and apart from Tansy they were alone. Not that Tansy ever intruded. She was usually to be found in the kitchen knitting or sewing, making interminable little garments for the children in the village.
Damon was in his study, working, and when the house was quiet Emma made her way there and knocked softly on the door.
At Damon's command she entered, and closed the door behind her. Damon looked up, his eyes showing surprise when he saw who it was.
‘Well?’ he said uncompromisingly.
E
mma sighed and said: ‘I want to talk to you about Annabel.'
‘Again?'
‘Yes, again. Not about you, though. I want to talk to you about the accident.'
Damon's eyes grew guarded. ‘Yes? What about the accident? Surely that needn't concern you. Your duties here are to look after Annabel during the times when she needs a companion. That you're a nurse yourself doesn't necessarily imply that you should interest yourself in the closer details of her case history.'
‘Yes, I'm a nurse,’ exclaimed Emma hotly, ‘and I think I have a right to talk to you about the accident, whatever my duties are here. Oh, I know I'm just a glorified nanny, and I know my qualifications had nothing to do with your reasons for bringing me here, but now that I am here I have no intention of allowing you to treat me like an imbecile. I know a little bit about this and I don't think an operation is what Annabel needs. I think her blindness is a mental, rather than a physical, blockage.'
Damon lay back in his seat cynically regarding her. ‘Oh, really? So you know that, do you?'
‘I don't know it, I feel it. Damon, for goodness’ sake, doctors can only work on the knowledge that's revealed to them. Surely, if they didn't know the facts of the relationship between you and Annabel's mother they would have no idea of the worries and anxieties that child might be nursing…'
Damon sprang angrily to his feet. ‘Just what the hell do you mean by that?'
Emma flushed. ‘You know perfectly well what I mean,’ she asserted firmly.
‘Indeed! And who's been regaling you with information about my relations with my wife? Tansy, I suppose, the old gossip!'
‘Tansy won't have a word said against you,’ retorted Emma swiftly. ‘Anything she's told me doesn't in any way impinge upon your good character!'
‘And that's supposed to placate me, I suppose!’ His eye flashed brilliantly. ‘Why don't you mind your own business?'
Emma would not be intimidated. ‘Annabel is my business. If your marital relations reflect on her illness, I think I have a right to try and lift that blockage whatever it is.'
‘My marital relations, as you call them, couldn't have been worse,’ he said sardonically. ‘There; does that answer you?'
Emma's face deepened with colour. This was embarrassing her far more than it was embarrassing him.
‘Then why… ?’ Emma had to bite back the question, but he looked at her intently, as though aware of what that question would have been.
‘Why did I marry her?’ he asked. ‘That was what you were going to say, wasn't it?'
Emma bent her head. ‘Am I so transparent?'
‘To me, in some ways, yes.'
She looked up at him. ‘Then… ?’ She sighed. ‘You didn't find it so difficult to forget me, Damon. You're making me stay here to atone for not marrying you, and yet as far as I can see I broke no hearts!'
Damon's face darkened. ‘I loved you, Emma!’ he muttered savagely.
‘Did you? Or was it your pride I damaged? You couldn't believe that anyone would turn you, Damon Thorne, down!’ Her voice was bitter.
Damon caught her roughly by the shoulders, his hard fingers bruising the soft flesh of her shoulders.
‘Don't dare speak to me like that!’ he exclaimed furiously. ‘I said I loved you, and I did. You were the only woman I ever loved, or ever wanted to marry.'
She stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘But you married Elizabeth!’ she said incredulously. ‘Only ten weeks after… ’ Her voice trailed away.
‘Yes, I married Elizabeth. I'm not denying that, am I?'
‘No. But… but… Annabel…'
Damon's eyes narrowed with derison. ‘Don't be naïve,’ he said cruelly. ‘She was my wife, we shared the same bed!'
‘Oh, Damon!’ she whispered achingly, at last understanding why he had married Elizabeth. He had been hurt, so hurt, that he had done a crazy thing like that without caring of the consequences.
‘Don't pity me,’ he exclaimed coldly. ‘I knew what I was doing.'
Emma shook her head, and pressed the palms of her hands against her hot cheeks. ‘I'm sorry, Damon.'
‘Are you?’ His voice was harsh. ‘How touching! Or perhaps you see me now as a meal ticket for life, something which didn't seem so important seven years ago!'
Emma's eyes widened in horror at the callousness of his words, and goaded beyond endurance she slapped his face, and turned quickly away towards the door. But Damon forestalled her, moving swiftly for such a big man, and he lay back against the door preventing her from making her escape.
She saw the tell-tale line of her fingermarks appearing along his cheek, and saw the dangerous expression in his dark eyes.
‘No one slaps my face and gets away with it,’ he muttered angrily, and straightening up he pulled her across to him, close against the warm hardness of his body. She felt his hands sliding the scoop neckline of her dress from her shoulders, and then the burning passion of his mouth against her flesh.
‘Oh, God,’ he murmured thickly, ‘I want you, Emma!'
Emma tried not to respond, but when his mouth found hers, her lips parted helplessly, and surrendering to sensual enjoyment, she wound her bare arms about his neck, and kissed him back.
It wasn't like the other time he had kissed her, when his sole desire had been to hurt her. This time it was a mutual mounting of passion, and Emma didn't want him to stop. At one point Damon would have drawn back as his innate decency asserted itself, but Emma would not let him go, and his heightened senses would not let him resist.
And then, without warning, the study door opened, and Christopher Thorne stood in the doorway, staring at them in amazement. Emma came immediately to her senses, but Damon was slower to release her, his eyes still a little glazed from his emotions.
‘Well, well,’ said Chris dryly. ‘I'm afraid I've made a complete ass of myself, haven't I? You should hang a “Do not disturb” notice on the door, Damon.'
Damon pushed Emma reluctantly away from him, and shook his head.
‘I need a drink,’ he muttered, turning towards the tray of drinks on a side table.
‘Make that two,’ remarked Chris amiably., turning to look at Emma, who was smoothing her hair and her dress, and feeling terribly embarrassed.
‘Calm down, kid,’ he said kindly. ‘I know how you must feel.’ He grinned, and glanced at Damon. ‘No wonder he was so mad when I detained you in Nassau!'
Damon came back, and handed Chris a whisky and Emma a glass of lime and lemon. Then he helped himself to a liberal amount of Scotch, and flung himself into a low armchair near his desk. Emma marvelled at his composure. She could hardly believe that less than five minutes before he had been at the mercy of his emotions. He looked very attractive in close-fitting charcoal grey pants and a navy blue knitted nylon shirt, open at the neck, and she ran a hand up her forehead, feeling how damp it had become. Damon's eyes met hers for a moment, then he said, to Chris:
‘What brings you here?'
Chris shrugged. ‘This and that. We haven't seen much of you since you got back, and Helen thought you might like to come over this evening for a meal.'
Damon shrugged lazily. ‘Thanks, but I don't think I will,’ he said, ‘I'm still behind with some of this correspondence. I thought I might get some of it done after dinner.'
Chris glanced pointedly at Emma. ‘Is that so?'
Damon's eyes were cynical. ‘Please, Chris, skip the humour!'
Chris smiled. ‘Why? It's all a guy can do in circumstances like these. Well, anyway, if you're too busy how about letting Emma come with me? I'd see she got back safely.'
‘I think not,’ said Damon, reaching for a cigarette, before Emma had the chance to reply for herself.
Emma sipped her drink, hardly aware of their conversation. She was glad Damon was there to make her decisions for her. At the moment she felt as though she had no will of her own.
Chris grimaced and finished his drink. ‘Okay, okay. So I've had a wasted journey.'
Da
mon roused himself apologetically. ‘I'm sorry, Chris. Just don't ever do that to me again, will you?'
‘That's a promise,’ remarked Chris sardonically. ‘Coming to see me off, Emma?'
Emma shook her head, and shrugging, Chris went out giving them a regretful smile.
After he had gone, Emma finished her drink hastily and said:
‘Annabel will be waking up soon. I'd better go and see her.'
Damon rose to his feet but did not touch her, ‘All right,’ he said moodily. He ran a hand round the back of his neck. ‘I guess I should apologize to you too, shouldn't I?'
Emma shook her head, looking down at the toes of her sandals.
‘What do you mean, no?’ he asked, softly but violently. ‘You know perfectly well that if Chris hadn't arrived as he did… ’ He shook his head. ‘I couldn't have stopped myself, and I somehow don't think you could have, either.'
Emma flushed.
‘I don't usually lose control of myself; in fact when we were… together… before, I never allowed us to reach that point. But just now I didn't particularly care about your feelings; I guess the animal in me took over.’ He gripped the back of his neck with one hand flexing his muscles tiredly. ‘I disgust myself!’ he muttered angrily. ‘I thought I could hurt you that way, but I was wrong.'
Emma linked her hands together tightly. ‘Don't blame yourself,’ she said, ‘I asked for it. I behaved like a bitch, but I didn't want you to stop!'
Damon's eyes were enigmatical. ‘I can hardly believe that. Once you had the chance, and turned me down, flat.'
‘Because of you!’ she said wearily. ‘Only because of you.'
His eyes narrowed. ‘Because of me?’ he echoed. ‘What story is this you've dreamed up?'
‘It's no story. It's the truth.’ Emma turned away. ‘Oh, what's the use? You'll never believe me.'
‘Try me.'
‘It's too hard to explain. It sounds trifling now, but at the time it seemed the most important thing in the world.'
