Passion's Prey

by Rebecca King

  From beneath her heavy lids she looked up at Jared, his dark head bent, his tongue moving in an erotic spiral across her skin, where tiny bead of sweat had broken out. And suddenly she wanted to reach out to him and she must have moved very slightly, as some sixth sense warned him that she was watching him, for across her hand he glanced up. For the first time that evening their eyes really met, and a spark seemed to leap between t h e m hanging in the air like a rocket at the peak of its arc, then fizzled, almost audibly, and died. For a moment there was utter stillness in the room, apart from the faint hiss of the flames, and then Petra's heart began hammering against her ribs. The sound was so loud that she was terrified that Jared would surely hear it, and her chest tightened u n t i l she could hardly draw a quick, panting breath.

  He had heard it, for he released her and put his outspread hand very gently on her left breast so that her heart shudder now against his palm, just her shirt between them. His touch was delicate in the extreme, and, even though there was no flesh-to-flesh contact, she felt her breast swell and tauten, straining to meet his fingertips, which had begun a slow, circling dance, m o v i n g closer and closer to that quivering centre, until barely consciously her whole body arched up to me e t his hand.

  When it slipped under her shirt, his hot skin sliding against hers, her senses spun with the dizzy whirling of her brain, and as his fingers, damp with perspiration, unhooked her lacy bra, easing it aside, she made a low sound, part sob, part whimper, deep in her throat. His head dipped towards her, the slow weight of his body taking her under him until she was half lying against the sofa arm as his lips took hers. She felt the pressure of his tongue thrusting hard between her teeth then retreating with agonising slowness, onlyto thrust again, taking all the sweetness that her mouth could offer, w h i l e his hand roamed over her soft flesh, l e a v i n g a prickling fire wherever he touched.

  She must make him feel this way too! Her hands were dragging at the folds of his cashmere sweater, t h e n impatiently tugging his shirt from his waistband. And then she was free to run her fingers over that warm, satin skin, feeling the ridge of muscles JUST above his belt tighten like steel as she touched them, and, as she went h i g h e r , the fuzz of coarse little hairs across his chest. Exultantly she felt the two tiny nipples harden into life, then f i n a l l y , as her caress moved round his shoulders, she saw in her mind's eye the smooth olive skin of his back. Jared—no more than a dark o u t l i n e above her in the subdued light - lowered his head further still and, p o l l i n g her shirt aside, buried his face in the hollow between her breasts, lifting her with one hand under her waist so that her body met his mouth. His free hand slid inside her ski-pants, reaching down to bring that prickling trail of fire nearer and nearer to her very core. She writhed in the grip of strange emotions, wild and infinitely primitive, which were racking her slender body with shudders so intense as to be way past pleasure, almost agony. She murmured something incoherent as she felt his hand still then move again, and her fingers tightened on his shoulders, the nails digging in, pulling him down to her —

  W i t h a loud crash a log fell in the grate, sending out a shower of ash and sparks of golden rain, and Petra, all but lost in the storm of pulsating sensations which swirled inside her, leapt back path a cry of fear.

  Barely stifling a curse, Jared got to his feet and, as Sam shot into wakefulness, leaping up into an arm-chair out of harm's way, he stamped out a patch of glowing embers which were smouldering in the s h e e p s k i n Seizing the copper tongs, he picked up the log and threw it to the back of the fire.

  Just for one instant longer Petra l ay motionless, totally dazed by her b o d y ' s reactions. Then, as she went to sit up, she caught sight of the diamond on her left hand, and as the full, shaming horror of what she had so nearly done hit her like a douche of ice-cold water she had to bite her lip on a low moan of misery.

  'Sorry about that.' Jared straightened up from the fire and came to drop down beside her on the sofa again. 'Now, where were we?'

  'I—I must go.'

  Her voice was all but inaudible, totally unrecognisable as hers, but as she struggled to force her shaking legs upright he caught hold of her by the arm, his fingers—so delicate, so heartachingly tender moments before—cruelly digging into her tender flesh. He swung her round to him. 'Go? Go where?'

  'H—home.' Her teeth were chattering, although the room had become unbearably hot. His grip tightened even more, until a l i t t l e cry was wrenched from her. What's the matter, Petra? Turning chicken all of a sudden?'

  The naked savagery in his voice made her flinch. 'Please, Jared,' she murmured hesitantly, 'try to understand. I'm sorry—truly I am. It was all my—'

  'Sorry?'

  When a muffled whimper of pain came from her he looked down at his fingers biting into her arm, then, his face totally devoid of expression, he released her, flinging her hand into her lap.

  'Please—Jared,' she began again, 'don't. You—you frighten me.'

  She could feel the terror in her at the barely leashed sexual threat emanating from the lean, taut body beside her.

  'You—you look at me sometimes,' she went on in a low tone, her eyes fixed on her fingers, interlacing in her lap, 'as though you're about to pounce on me and tear me apart, limb from limb.'

  'What if I do, darling?' But there was no tenderness in the word. 'Surely you know how it is—

  man the hunter, woman his prey.'

  He lifted his hand and, before she could spring away, lightly circled her ear as she sat, staring rigidly ahead now into the heart of the fire.

  'You know, Petra, we could make life very—pleasant for each other these next three months, you and I. Very pleasant.'

  His voice dropped again to that sensuous, insidious purr, but with an effort that almost broke her she made herself turn and look straight at him, at eyes that were slivers of grey steel.

  'You're totally amoral, aren't you, Jared? You always were, and you always will be. What about Simon? I suppose you'd think it a huge joke if you managed to s—seduce me—or had you conveniently forgotten about him?'

  'If I had I'd say that makes two of us,' he replied brutally. 'But in any case, my sweet, you aren't scared of me—although I could make you so if I chose.' For an instant she glimpsed a stranger, even more frightening than the Jared she knew, in those cold eyes. 'What you're terrified of is what you know I can set free in you.'

  'No! I tell you, no. That's not true,' she burst out wildly, clapping her hands to her ears. 'I won't listen to you.'

  'Oh, but you will.' He wrenched her arms down, then grabbed her by the shoulders, swinging her round. 'It's very deep inside you, locked safely away most of the time, but it's there, ready to respond to a man who'll excite you, challenge you to face him as an equal in a marvellous, fulfilling relationship.'

  'But I already have a fulfilling relationship,' she hurled back at him. 'With Simon.'

  'For God's sake! Who are you trying to fool? Out there on the beach, here a moment ago—

  your body's r e a c t i n g to me all the time. The chemical formula between us is in non-stop overdrive

  'No—no, it isn't. You're quite wrong.'

  'You were meant to be a passionate sensual woman.'

  'I'm not, I tell you. I'm happy as I am.'

  'And I tell you you're not, Petra, You've hidden behind that snow maiden exterior of yours for so long that it's gotten to seem like second nature, but we both know that b e h i n d the ice is a raging inferno, just li ke Iseult—'

  'Oh, damn Iseult!' she yelled in him face. 'Shut up about her. I know perfectly well why you told me that story, but it won't work. All I have in common with her is auburn hair and green eyes. She was a—a randy l i t t l e alley cat, if you want my honest opinion, and—'

  'No. You shut up.' In one fierce m o v e m e n t he dragged her to her feet and pushed her in front of the gilt m i n o r which hung over the fireplace. 'Look at yourself, Petra.'

  H o l d i n g her in front
of him with one hand, he tilted her averted face until she was forced to confront her reflection—her hair tumbling in wild aband o n on her shoulders, her normal l y pale face flushed, her eyes still dark , half-drugged by his lovemaking, her lips pouting and moist from that fierce kiss.

  ' T a k e a good look. 'When she tried to twi st her head away he held it there remorselessly.

  'Now—wake up, my sweet. No more delusions, please. You're a little hypocrite, do you know that? You're crushing your sensuality —something that's a marvellous, vital part of you—and, what's more, you're denying it even exists.'

  'No.'

  He was stripping away her skin layer by layer. She had to defend herself, or he would leave nothing intact in her to be defended. Tearing her head away and wincing as his fingers tangled through her hair, she swung round to him.

  'Are you quite sure it's me who's the hypocrite, Jared? Oh, you can d r e s s it up in fancy talk about setting me free, saving me from myself, but all you really want is a three-month a f f a i r to pass the time while you're here w r i t i n g your screenplay. No strings, and as soon as you've finished you walk away without a backward glance. That's so, isn't it?'

  One shoulder lifted carelessly. 'Of course—what else?'

  'And, I suppose, when you go y o u ' l l graciously hand me over to Simon—just the way your precious Tristan passed on that two-timing—'

  'Yes—if you still want to marry him by then.'

  His arrogance almost took the breath from her body. 'You mean, after you no man could ever possibly appeal to a woman?'

  'If that woman's you—yes.'

  'Oh, I'm sure you're a superb lover,' she said tightly. 'But then, you've had as m u c h more practice than Simon and me, haven't you?'

  Her voice was unsteady, though, as her false bravado faltered and died, leaving her overflowing with cold, sick misery and guilt. What had possessed her, against every instinct in her, to clutch at him like that, to sigh and moan like—like that cheap little Iseult?

  But of course. Her eyes went past Jared's shoulder to the coffee-table, where the empty cups and glasses still stood, and all at once a surge of pure thankfulness filled her to the brim. Both times she'd reacted like this—when she'd found him in her bed, and now —she'd been drinking. All right, it wasn't any kind of magic potion, but each time the alcohol had been enough t0 turn her, just like that unhappy princess, into a different person, so alien from her real self.

  'Oh, no, Petra.' Jared shook his grimly, his quicksilver mind as fast as her thought. 'Don't accuse me of plying you with drink—it won't work. You had exactly as much as you w a n t e d . Besides, when I take y o u . . . ' a t the casual words she uttered a soundless gasp of protest ' .

  . . I intend you to be stone-cold sober, so that you know precisely what it is you're doing—and what you're begging me to do.'

  'And that will be precisely nothing.'

  Dragging down her shirt from where it was still riding up round her w a i s t , she turned on her heel.

  'Going so soon?'

  'Yes, I am. Thank you so much for a pleasant evening. Don't bother to show me out—and, believe me, if I can get through the next three months without setting eyes on you then I'll be the happiest woman in Cornwall.'

  'Haven't you forgotten something?' As she reached the door his lazy drawl arrested her.

  'My coat? It's in the kitchen. And if you mean that nightdress, well, you can—'

  'No. Your feline chastity belt, of course.' He jerked a thumb at Sam, blissfully asleep on the velvet chair. N o t that he seemed to be over-exerting h i m s e l f this evening.'

  She stalked across and scooped the cat up into her arms, ignoring his sleepy miaow. His warm, soft body was somehow consoling and strengthening at the same time, and it allowed her to face Jared more calmly across the sofa.

  'Goodnight. And don't bother reminding me about my central heating being off. A cold house doesn't bother me.'

  'Oh, I'm sure it doesn't,' he agreed unpleasantly, then glanced at his watch. 'But in any case, it should be warm enough by now.' When her jaw dropped he added casually, 'I set the time clock to come on at six this evening.'

  'You—you mean you've mended it?'

  He nodded. 'When you were getting in all that beauty sleep this morning.'

  'But you said you couldn't MEND boilers.' She tossed back her dishevel led hair. 'A liar as well as a hypocrite.'

  'Not exactly.' His lips had t h i n n e d but he kept his voice level. 'I can't fix boilers, but all that was wrong was a loose wire in the time switch.'

  'Oh, I see. Well—thank you. I'm very grateful.' The words were being dragged out of her with little pincers, but then her eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'But you wouldn't have told me—not till tomorrow, would you? A f t e r I'd spent another night in your bed.'

  'Could be,' he replied laconically.

  'You know what, Jared Tremayne? You're a—a twisting, devious swine.'

  'Devious?' He appeared to give the insult serious thought. 'I don't r e c a l l ever being called that before. And, anyway, I don't reckon I am. In f a c t , more the exact opposite, I'd say.'

  'You think so?'

  'I know so. I'm an uncomplicated sort of guy . . . ' he ignored her hollow laugh ' . . . and when I see something I w a n t I go all out for it. No deals under the-table—no hidden agenda.' His arcti c grey-blue eyes speared her so that she could not move a muscle. 'And right now, Petra, there's just one thing I want—and that's you.'

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Petra placed the last pink sugar paste rosebud in place, then carefully tied the white and silver satin bow round the heart-shaped cake. After t e a s i n g the bow out with her fingers she turned the cake very slowly on her turntable icing stand, surveying it critically. W i t h her fingernail she rubbed out an all but invisible nick in the rim of piped icing then set the cake on the pine tab l e alongside the other nine.

  Straightening up stiffly, she stood AT the kitchen window for a few m i n u t e gazing out at a cheerful patch of snowdrops by the gate as she flexed her back muscles, tight after several h o u r s of concentrated work. Then, with a l i t t l e pitter-patter of excitement, she f e t c h e d from the cold pantry The Cake and placed it on the table.

  Every Petronella cake was s o m e t h i n g special, made with love, but this was a very special one indeed. Her Valentine cake for Simon—pink fondant-iced, glued with white shell piping and covered with sugar-paste rosebuds and crystiallised violets. 'Roses are pink, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, I love you. . .'

  She had thrown herself body and soul into creating it with an intensity w h i c h had almost shocked her, and even now that it was complete, waiting, just like the others, to be popped into its pink box, she kept taking it out and fidgeting with it.

  Feeling vaguely annoyed with herself, me pushed it aside and began weighing up the butter and sugar for her next order, tipped them into her big mixer and switched it on. Next instant, though, the door opened and she spun round, to see Jared, framed in the doorway. Her finger jerked the mixer motor up to high before she hastily turned it off.

  'Hi.' He gave her a lazy smile, then sauntered across and dropped a buff coloured envelope on the table. 'Late delivery, I'm afraid. I've only just got round to looking at my mail, and this one's yours. It must be that relief postman confusing the two cottages.' Can't blame him, though—

  t h a t ' s easily done, isn't it, Petra?'

  'Thank you,' she muttered, r e f u s i n g to rise to his last remark, and giving all her attention instead to the letter 'Looks like a bill—from my wholesaler.'

  She even managed a faint smile, but did not quite succeed in meeting his eyes. Since that dreadful night, when she'd snatched up Sam and gone stumbling back to her cottage, she'd done her level best to avoid Jared. She'd been aware of his presence, of course—a tingling awareness in every atom of her body and mind. Almost every day she saw him from her window, going off by car or walking, with that long, loping stride, and whenever sh
e'd sneaked out herself she'd been all too conscious of a pair of sardonic grey-blue eyes trained on her shoulder-blades. And indoors—every day she could hear him, even through the granite walls running lightly up and down the stairs, the printer of his computer chattering—when, presumably, his writing was going to schedule—doors banging loudly enough to rattle her kitchen china—when, she guessed, things weren't going so well.

  Sometimes her ears caught the faint sound of music. Once she was almost certain it had been that love-theme which he'd put on for her—quite deliberately, she was sure now—and she'd begun noisily clattering the dishes she was washing, to try to blot it out. But even more disturbing were the nights when, unable to sleep, she heard through the wall the soft creaks as he moved around his bedroom. And the early mornings too when, in her little bathroom, she found herself straining to hear his electric razor or the sound of the shower, and before she could control it her mind would be forming pictures of that sleek olive-skinned body glistening under a cascade of water.

  And now that sleek olive-skinned body was here in her kitchen—six f e e t of powerful, aggressively m a s c u l i n e Jared, the black tracksuit he was wearing somehow making him seem even more lethal—more feral. 'Man the hunter, woman his prey.' For five weeks now those words, and the threat behind them, had haunted her f i t f u l sleep. He'd made no move, not the slightest attempt to convert the threat into reality, but it was only in the last few days that she'd begun to relax her guard. And now—she felt her stomach begin to churn, every muscle grow tense and wary . . .

  She picked up the bag of flour. 'If there's nothing else, Jared, I'm very busy this morning.'