That Tender Feeling

by Dorothy Vernon

  ‘No, Ros, that isn’t true. When you feel revulsion toward a person, it’s just about impossible not to show it. If you stand too close to them, your inclination is to cringe away. You don’t cringe away from me, not deep down inside. It’s all a pretense, Ros, an ill-concealed covering for what you really want, which is for me to take you into my arms. Your lips are hungry for mine, your body yearns to experience fully the sweet delights it has been awakened to.’

  ‘Why, you monster!’

  ‘Is that an improvement on a frog, I wonder. Perhaps frogs are your preference, Ros. To hear you talk, Jarvis has suddenly turned into your prince, but I bet you can’t even stand him near you. It might even have crossed your mind to wonder how you ever could. Not that he ever got that close to you. An engaged couple sharing a platonic relationship!’ His dry laugh was insulting. ‘That tells its own story.’

  ‘It wasn’t that platonic,’ she said, retaliating to that smug, taunting look.

  He couldn’t know for sure. Or could he? He didn’t just look at her but into her mind. It was as if he could read beyond her own thoughts and see into compartments of her brain that baffled her. He couldn’t know her better than she knew herself! And in this instance, it was just blind guesswork.

  ‘You’re bluffing, Cliff. You want to believe so hard that it didn’t happen between me and Jarvis that you’d fall over backward to convince yourself. But you don’t know. And there’s no way you ever can know for sure.’

  ‘Isn’t there?’

  Before she could possibly realize what he had in mind to do, she was swept into his arms, and his mouth came down on hers, stemming any protest she might have made and highlighting the truth of all he had said. Feelings are beyond the power of human control. Hers swamped her as the driving passion of his kiss carried her into a vortex of pure pleasure. Much to her own displeasure. She had revealed herself to him before her brain had had a chance to signal to her emotions that it was against her wishes. She willed her body to stiffen in rejection as it had when she danced in Jarvis’s arms. She clamped her mouth so tightly shut to him that her jaw and cheek bone ached with the tension it inflicted upon them. This belated reaction brought a smile to the mouth that had briefly drawn away from hers, and with it came a change of tactics. The steel grip of his arms became a more gentle trap as his hands played along the rigidity of her spine, his fingertips burning through the thickness of her sweater. His mouth covered hers with light butterfly kisses that tantalized and excited and left her feeling dissatisfied.

  Not only did it melt her sham resistance, it was all she could do not to cling to him and let her traitorous mouth beg for the passion it had previously known. But that would offer only partial appeasement, and it wouldn’t be long before her body was crying out for parity. It remembered the joy of being molded to his desire by hands that coaxed and demanded by turn, a subtle variance that goaded her into active response as it made her long to yield to his male dominance. He was clever and devious and persuasive, and her inflexible will was putty in his hands.

  ‘See what I mean,’ he said, and she could cheerfully have hit him. ‘You are a straightforward idealist, Ros. Nothing happened between you and Jarvis that a third party couldn’t have observed. It isn’t in your makeup to amuse yourself with a man you don’t feel deeply about, and you couldn’t feel for Jarvis and be warm and responsive in my arms. I’ve made some supper. A hot-pot, because I thought you’d need something to thaw you out after your long journey. Let’s eat, and then we’ll go to bed.’ He didn’t say together, but the implication was there.

  He knew all the answers. She had only one answer, and he had no intention of asking the question that fitted it. She hated him for what he did to her. She was also very hungry. Perhaps inner sustenance would give her the strength to resist him. At all costs, she must stay out of his bed and keep him out of hers.

  ‘You had your chance. You passed it up.’

  ‘Yes.’ He frowned. ‘To my dying day, I’ll wonder why.’

  To work, the kind of no-strings relationship he had in mind had to be acceptable to both parties. He had spoken one truth too many, to his own detriment. Her feelings did run deep. When she went swimming, she never paddled in the shallow end, she swam where the water was over her head, and this corresponded with her emotions. She was already in deeper than she cared for. It would be a long time, if ever, before she got over Cliff. The longer she let it linger on, the harder it would be when the parting eventually came.

  It was a very good hot-pot. As they ate her thoughts ran on. Despite what he’d said, she had gotten to him about Jarvis. He had no idea how accurately he had hit the nail on the head about her waning interest in her ex-fiancé, and so against all the odds, he was jealous. Was there anyone in his life whom she ought to be jealous of?

  ‘Cliff?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Have you never been in love?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge.’

  Breaking off a chunk of bread ready to pop into her mouth, she said, ‘You haven’t, then. If you’d been in love, you’d know for definite.’

  A cross appeared between his heavy black brows, drawing them more closely together. ‘You still don’t think that milk-and-water affection you had for Jarvis was love, do you?’

  It might have been in her best interest to keep that pot boiling, but she was a stickler for the truth, and so she was forced to admit, ‘No.’

  ‘I’m assuming there was no one before Jarvis?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So how can you know whether or not I’d know if I’d ever been in love, never having been in that state yourself? The only way you would be in a position to know would be if you’d been in love.’

  Had it never crossed his mind to wonder if she was in love with him, or was that what he was angling to find out? That was one secret better kept to herself.

  ‘Because I’m a woman,’ she replied, ‘and women know about these things. I don’t suppose you believe in feminine intuition any more than you believe in marriage.’

  ‘No, I don’t. Neither can I understand your constant preoccupation with marriage.’

  ‘Know something? When I look at you, neither can I. I think it’s as well you hold the views you do. You’ve saved some poor girl a very unhappy life. And now I’m going to wash the supper things and take my weary self to bed.’

  ‘Want company?’

  ‘I thought I’d already made it outstandingly clear that I’m sleeping on my own.’

  ‘You’ve got a one-track mind. I meant with the washing up.’

  ‘You didn’t, you know.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ he said darkly, watching her stack the cutlery on to the plates, and then he picked up the tureen the hot-pot had been in and followed her into the kitchen.

  ‘Something’s got me really puzzled, Ros.’

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked in slight trepidation, not caring for the sharply discerning look that had come to his face. It made her nervous.

  ‘I’ve been recalling how you were as a child. You were so honest, on occasion it hurt—and frequently you were the one it hurt. You wouldn’t shirk the truth, even to avoid a scolding or worse. There was no deception about you, no wheedling little tricks or resorting to guile to get your own way. And in this respect you haven’t altered one bit. You’re still truthful and straight dealing to the point of self-destruction. Oh, you might fall back upon the odd permitted evasion that marks your sex, because women are notoriously equivocal creatures, but you are totally without subterfuge in the issues that are important.’

  ‘Where is this leading, Cliff?’ she asked, her nervousness increasing. She tried not to draw her tongue over her lips or make any gesture that might give some hint of her feelings.

  ‘I admit that at first I did wonder if you were giving me a sample taste of the goods to sell the whole product. But I soon realized that wasn’t so. I know you too well. It’s not your style to resort to tactics. You didn’t set out to make yourself indi
spensable to me to force my hand. You didn’t come into my bed and offer yourself to me to trap me into marriage, did you? Did you?’ he insisted when she made no reply.

  ‘You’re the one with the answers, so why ask me?’ she said, falling back on prevarication, which he seemed to interpret as provocation.

  ‘Because I want to hear it from you.’ His eyes concentrated wickedly on her mouth, as if he knew that it had suddenly gone as dry as though she were trying to swallow razor blades. The compulsion to lick her lips was almost unbearable. But then he lost ground by revealing the temper smoldering under his seemingly benign manner, showing that he was not so unruffled and in control, after all. ‘Confound it, you’ll tell me even if I have to beat it out of you.’

  ‘How do you know what my style is?’ she said, shooting home the advantage he had unexpectedly given her. ‘I would have said that using violence against a woman wasn’t your style.’

  ‘You’re not acting like a woman,’ he ground out savagely. ‘I understand women. You’re behaving like a pixilated child, and that’s what’s thrown me. Now answer me, so help me or—’ He grabbed hold of her wrists, holding them so tightly she wondered they didn’t snap, and yanked her forward, his eyes, above hers, dark shafts of menace. ‘You didn’t come into my bed to force a marriage proposal out of me, did you?’

  ‘No!’ she shrieked at him, fearing to ignite his anger further but shrinking in apprehension of the question she knew would inexorably follow.

  ‘So why did you come into my bed and offer your delicious self to me as a gift?’ he said, turning the joking way she had put it when she went to him into an insult.

  Even so, her desire to lash back at him was tempered with kindness. She couldn’t tell him the reason why. And so, lifting a defiant chin at him, she countered, ‘Could it be because I felt it was time I got myself some—’she was going to say experience but chopped it off and said instead—‘form of comparison.’

  ‘That was one of the permitted feminine evasions I just spoke of. Not very good, was it?’ he sneered. ‘You need to practice harder to get it right, but on some other guy. Don’t try it on with me.’

  ‘And don’t you threaten me. Oh, I’m perfectly well aware that you could bully the truth out of me, but let me tell you this, if you do you won’t like it.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘All right. It’s good enough for you. I don’t know why I tried to spare your feelings. I came to you out of compassion. Or if you like—pity!’

  ‘Pity! I thought I’d heard everything. But that’s a new one on me. What kind of stupid answer is that?’

  ‘I wanted to give you some comfort.’

  ‘Now you’re really getting under my skin. Cut the smart talk.’

  ‘It’s the truth. You’re hurting me. What are you trying to do—brand me? If you’ll stop using brute force on me,’ she said, impotently trying to shake his hands off her wrists, ‘and sit down and listen to me in a reasonable manner, I’ll explain how the misunderstanding came about.’

  ‘Very well,’ he said, his hands dropping from her, the surprise on his face showing that he had barely been aware that he had subjected her to such a cruel hold.

  Tomorrow she would have finger bruises on her wrists, now she rubbed each one in turn to get the circulation going, which brought a fresh wave of displeasure to his face. Apparently, it was in order for him to ill use her but not acceptable for her to draw attention to it.

  ‘I thought you were going to die,’ she said, rubbing her wrists harder in bravado.

  ‘I am. So are you. Everyone dies eventually.’

  ‘Don’t mock. Listen!’ she called out hotly. ‘I thought your death was coming quite soon.’

  She went on to explain fully, and this time he listened without interrupting her. She had been wrong about a lot of things, but she had been right in thinking he would not be pleased at her reason for going to him. She might have been selflessly drawn to do what she did in the first place, but Hannah had got it right and her compassion for him had quickly turned into unimaginable delight for her, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. She enjoyed watching him squirm, seeing the dark color flood into his cheeks as fury held his features rigid.

  When she’d finished, he didn’t speak for a moment. Then his savage eyes slid down her body, stripping her insolently before coming back to rest in taunting derision on her face. ‘This Edward Banks. Presumably you offered him the same comfort. Minus gift wrapping. A gift that had been prehandled, but I don’t suppose he would demur too much about that.’

  Taking a clamp on her rising temper, her mouth shaped to sweetness. ‘What’s that to you? In any case, isn’t that a rather cowardly way of hitting back? I didn’t want to tell you. You insisted on knowing the truth. I’m sorry it wasn’t to your liking.’

  ‘Like hell you are.’ His voice had now gone ominously quiet.

  His eyes narrowed in concentrated thought. He hadn’t finished with her yet. It would be safer for her to do the washing up in record time and get out of the kitchen before he decided on what line to take. It went against her fastidious streak to leave the dishes until morning, although when she saw him reach for the drying cloth, she realized that’s what she ought to have done. Unlike her, he never ran true to form. She had expected him to say, ‘Damn you to hell,’ or even some more robust expletive and storm out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him with enough force to shake it off its hinges. This quiet, controlled violence as he worked by her side was unnerving.

  ‘You don’t have to help,’ she said. ‘I can manage the dishes on my own.’

  ‘I’m sure you can. I like to do my share.’

  ‘You prepared the meal. That was doing more than your share.’

  ‘If you say so,’ he said, putting the cloth down but not moving away.

  She bent her head, feigning absorption in her task, sinking her hands deep into the sudsy water. She heard the shuffle of his footsteps and took a deep breath, thinking he was going, and held it as it was brought forcibly home to her that he had merely shifted position to stand behind her. His hands came round her waist, drawing her back against him.

  ‘Go away, Cliff.’

  His mouth nuzzled under her hair and made teasing bites along her neck. ‘Send me away. You can now that you know I’m not going to die, not before my allotted time, anyway.’

  ‘If someone doesn’t kill you first.’

  ‘All you have to say is, “Go away, Cliff.”’

  ‘Are you deaf? I’ve just said it.’

  ‘But you’ve got to mean it. Say, “Go away, Cliff,” and mean it. Surely that’s not very difficult? You don’t have to endure my odious attentions now that you no longer feel pity for me. Or perhaps,’ he said, his fingers sliding under her sweater and layering themselves against her rib cage, ‘you don’t find this odious?’

  ‘I never said I did.’

  ‘No, you didn’t. Perhaps you find it exciting. The story you’ve just spun out is too incredible not to be true. In any case, it’s already been agreed between us that you wouldn’t lie about anything of that magnitude.’

  ‘I did come to you out of compassion,’ she said doggedly.

  ‘And for how long was compassion uppermost in your mind? I didn’t hold a passive female in my arms. You found me as physically desirable as I found you.’

  It hadn’t taken him long to reason that out, she thought bitterly, biting heavily on her lower lip to stop herself letting out a yelp of pleasure as his trespassing fingers, having made a slight detour to unfasten her bra, scaled upward to cup both her breasts. The resultant electric thrill that radiated through her was like an adhesive that pressed and held her enraptured body closer to his. It was as if she were trying to melt into the solid torso and the strong muscular legs that were slightly straddled to form an inverted, protective vee round hers and stopped them both from falling over. It took a lot of will power to pull herself away from him and transfer her weight to the edge of the kitchen sink
.

  ‘It’s your privilege to move away.’ His whispery laugh assaulted her ear, the breath from it scalded her neck. ‘I don’t force myself on any woman. No woman takes me out of pity. You’re safe. I’ll amend that, as safe as you want to be. How safe do you want to be, Ros?’

  A good question.

  He turned her round to face him. His hands stroked down over her disarranged sweater in a feeble pretense of straightening it, which made her yearn to be crushed close to his chest. They both knew that she was having to fight off not only him but also her own inflamed senses. His aim would be to keep them inflamed. It had slashed him when she had told him that she’d gone to him out of compassion. It had insulted his masculinity. She would never forget the way his face had changed color, the suppressed fury of him. She had known he would seek vengeance. And this was it, of course. Her punishment for daring to suggest that she had been motivated by pity. He wasn’t going to have that. He would work on her without respite until she owned to her own feelings. He knew what those feelings were. Every quivering nerve in her awakened body was a brazen announcement of her craving for him. But that wasn’t enough for him. He had made her admit to her reason for going to him, and he wouldn’t let up until she admitted to this. He wanted to hear that she wanted him from her own lips. Well, she’d be damned if she would. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

  She was in no danger for the moment, she knew that. He wouldn’t enter her bedroom without invitation, and tomorrow she would be gone. She could surely hold out for the short length of time she would be here.

  She lifted her hands and placed them flat against his chest, pushing him away. She hadn’t been given time to dry her hands, and the soapy bubbles on them from the washing-up water adhered to his front like the falling snow outside. As she stalked out of the kitchen, her horrified vision was caught and held by the ominous beauty. Big ragged flakes fell to cluster upon the window sill and obliterate the sky.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere tomorrow,’ Cliff said, plucking the thought out of her mind and sending it after her as a parting shot.