by Rebecca King
In the luxurious bathroom her face stared back at her from the mirror, deathly pale beneath the bedraggled hair, and with a new, shadowed expression hovering round the eyes. She looked back at herself a moment longer, then tore off her underclothes and, stepping into the shower cubicle, scrubbed herself all over and shampooed her hair.
There was an apricot towelling wrap on the door. Back in the bedroom, she slipped it on, dried her hair, then curled up on the window-seat, her chin on her hands, gazing out. In the hotel garden the trees were swaying to and fro, outlined against dark clouds driven along by the wind that was shrieking in the eaves above her. Desperately she fought to subdue her thoughts and feelings, but, mirroring the wildness outside, they tumbled chaotically round and round in her mind . . .
A brisk knock roused her. She went slowly across and, unlocking the door, saw Jared, dressed in a black robe, bare-legged, his hair still damp from his shower. Instinctively she went to close the door in his face, but he put up a hand, forcing it back, and walked in past her.
'What do you want?' Her voice was brittle.
'I thought you might be scared.'
'Scared?' The word crackled with barely suppressed hysteria. 'Jared, I've had twenty-six years of winter storms.'
'Yes, but this is as wild as any I can remember.'
They were standing side by side, reflected in the pale lamplight on the window-pane, and he turned to her, his eyes glinting. 'I wonder if it was a night like this when Tristan's kingdom disappeared beneath the waves just out there.'
In spite of herself, she shivered. 'Stop it, Jared. You're only trying to frighten me.'
'Now, would I do that?'
That lazy note was in his voice, and she felt the anger stir in her. He was so damned relaxed tonight—in fact, all day, while her nerves had been jumping a dozen which ways at once, he'd been completely laid-back. And suddenly she wanted to leap at him to release the twanging tension, claw at him—and punch him—and take him in her arms and —
Abruptly she swung away, fighting to control the erotic images which went-bubbling up like slow poison from ha subconscious. I don't want to, she told herself fiercely, then looked up at him, her eyes blank. 'Sorry—what did you say?'
'Do you want dinner?'
'Oh, yes, please.'
The sooner they'd eaten, the sooner she could lock her door on him again, anaesthetise her brain with a couple of hours of TV, then sleep until it was time for that helicopter to take off.
'I'll tell them we're ready, then.'
Dropping down beside the bedside phone, he dialled. 'Thank you, yes, we'll have it now. What? Oh, in my suite, I think.'
As he replaced the receiver she said mutinously, 'I want to eat in the dining-room.'
'Sorry, my sweet,' he sounded intensely regretful, 'but they're redecorating it. Didn't you notice the smell of paint downstairs?'
'No.' She hadn't been in any state to notice anything at all beyond her own whirling emotions.
'Well, come on, then.'
She clutched the neck of her robe to her. 'They mustn't see me like this in your room. I'll get dressed.'
Jared ran his fingers over her dress, still steaming by the radiator. 'It's soaked. If you must, hide yourself in here till they've brought the meal. I'll rap on the wall.'
And, with a last, easy little smile, he strolled out.
C HA PT E R TE N
'You're sure I can't tempt you?' Jared held the bottle of sparkling wine out to Petra invitingly.
'I've already told you—no, thank you,' she replied stiffly.
Gathering the plates together, she put them on the trolley, then carefully re-belted her robe, drawing it even more tightly around her. Even though she had replaced her bra, panties and slip by the time Jared's imperious summons came, she felt very ill at ease under the apricot robe. And it didn't help that it was so obvious that, beneath his own black robe, Jared was wearing absolutely nothing.
'You do disappoint me, Petra.' He topped up his crystal flute, then returned the bottle to the silver ice bucket.
'Yes, I'm quite sure I do,' she responded through tight lips.
'I thought you were stronger-willed than that.' He gave her a glinting look. 'But I suppose if it's the only way for you to keep your hands off me, well
'No—you're wrong. It's not—' But, in her present state, she couldn't even be angry at his taunt, and broke off abruptly, gnawing her lip against another of those waves of anguish that, every few minutes, had engulfed her since that terrible moment of truth. She loved Jared—and, ruthless as he was, he must never suspect it, or the last pitiful rags of her defence against him would be torn from her.
And he mustn't suspect, either, how she was aching for him to take her in his arms. If he really did believe that the only thing saving her was her stubborn refusal to drink at least a little of the wine . . .
Snatching up her glass, she held it out to him. 'I will have some, please.'
He made no response, beyond a quirked eyebrow, filling the glass in silence.
'Thanks.' She took a cautious sip of the pale golden liquid, gasping as the icy bubbles hit her throat. 'It's very good. Is it champagne?'
'No.'
He lapsed into silence again, studying his glass, and the only sounds were tin shrieks and howls of the storm outside, roaring around the building like some primeval beast roused from its lair. Inch by inch, it was dragging itself up from the sea bed to destroy them all, and she was completely helpless —
'What's the matter?' As she gave an involuntary shudder Jared glanced up at her. 'I thought you said you weren't frightened.'
Not of the storm, no. But of you—and, most of all, of myself. 'Of course I'm not.' She gave a tinny laugh and took another sip of wine.
He set down his glass and, uncoiling himself from his chair, lowered himself on to the sofa beside her. Not giving her a chance to move, he took her hand and, turning it over between his, pressed one finger to her wrist.
'Hmm. Very rapid pulse-rate,' he remarked, pursing his lips. 'You know, I think you are scared.'
She snatched her hand away. 'I'm not, I tell you.'
He was sprawling back into the padded cushions beside her, his long bare legs almost touching hers, that V of naked chest inviting her to touch, to explore, while the sensuous scent that was Jared Tremayne and no other man was penetrating her nostrils and weaving patterns in her disordered brain—With a little jerk she came upright. 'Do you . . . ' something was sticking in her throat ' ... do you think it was worth coming? Have you got what you came for? I mean—'
Suddenly aware of the opening her innocent question had given him, she faltered, then went on carefully, 'Have you found out anything about the legend that will help you?'
'I think so, yes. I'm trying to blend the past with the present in the script, so I'll probably work in one or two of the stories Mrs Jenkins told us.' His lips tugged into a smile. 'I imagine it'll end up as an eighteen-certificate film, anyway, so I should be able to use them
— even if they aren't very nice.' He turned his gaze on her. 'Did you enjoy that one about—?'
'She was lovely—' she broke in abruptly '—Mrs Jenkins, wasn't she?'
'Yes.'
The tension of having him near her
— so close that she could hear the rise and fall of his breathing—was winding itself around her until she felt as though she would suffocate.
'I thought I'd send her some flowers before we leave.'
'That's a wonderful idea.' She gave him an almost natural smile.
'I'll order them in the morning. Do you think, fifty pounds' worth?'
In her imagination Petra saw the old lady, overwhelmed with such a superb bouquet of spring blooms. 'Oh, yes, she'll be delighted, I'm sure,' she said warmly. Their eyes met, and for a split-second the storm outside seemed to ebb away as the whole world fell silent. And then she was coming to her feet as blind panic clawed at her.
'I—I must go. I'm very tired, and—'
<
br /> A tremendous gust of wind shook the windows, roaring down the blocked-up chimney, and her overstrung nerves finally snapped. With a strangled sob she took a step backwards and stumbled into the trolley. Next instant she felt Jared's arms go round her, dragging her to him to steady her, and for a moment, all sensation gone except mindless terror, she clung to him, her head resting against his chest.
Slowly and gently he stroked her hair, until at last the soft, hypnotic rhythm soothed her, relaxing her jagged mind, even while other tensions uncoiled themselves and began wreathing through her like fine mist.
She stood quiescent in the circle of his arms, until he tilted her face up. As he lowered his mouth to hers she wanted to cry out in protest, bin instead heard herself whisper, 'Oh, Jared.'
Then he was covering her mouth with his, taking her moist sweetness, and, as his kiss became more demanding, deep inside her the old magic woke and grew into life. It was primitive, ancient as time itself, and she felt it all round her, as if that slumbering sea monster had somehow penetrated this room and was enmeshing her in its coils.
When finally his lips left hers, to slide instead to the soft angle of her jaw just beneath the earlobe3 she felt the pulse there flutter crazily against his hot mouth. Taking the tender lobe between his teeth, he nipped it, running the very tip of his taut tongue around it, before spiralling gently round the intricate lines of her ear.
The storm had faded, somewhere beyond the tumult of her own blood and the thunder of Jared's breath in her ear. A wholly new, erotic sensation was surging through her; her entire body was slowly turning to water so that, utterly bereft of strength, she sagged against him. Jared lifted his head and looked down into her face, his eyes a pale smoky grey with desire, and with an expression so intent that a wild exhilaration sang in her veins. Just for a second, though, through the haze of sensation, she felt fear rising again. 'No—no,' she murmured and raised her hands to push him away, but Jared took them and held them tightly against his chest.
'Yes. Yes, my darling. Trust me—don't be afraid. Just go with your body.'
He released her hands, then untied the knot of her robe and slipped it from her shoulders, leaving her standing in her cream slip. She heard his breath catch in his throat.
'You're so beautiful, s o . . . ' h e seemed to search for the word, then said huskily ' . . . perfect.'
Lifting one hand, he traced along the scalloped lace edge of the slip, his fingers brushing butterfly-softly the curves of her breasts, until her entire frame was shaken with an intense shudder. Then, as the erotic sensations beat through her, her body stiffened, passion taking it over completely.
When he picked her up she lay in his arms, staring up at him from under her lashes. He halted at the bedside, but, instead of laying her down, stood holding her and gazing into her face His head blotted out the soft light from the small shell lamp, so that she could not see his expression clearly, but she felt the power blazing in him.
Then, very slowly, he laid her on the bed and came down beside her. His fingers eased away the straps of her slip and bra to lay bare her breasts, down to the aureoles, and at his touch the rosy brown centres puckered and tautened. Lowering his head to the silky fabric, he suckled each breast in turn, until she gasped and clenched her hands on his shoulders, as her head went violently to and fro on the pillow.
When his lips finally left her aching breasts, leaving little circles of wetness on the slip, it was to ravish her mouth, extracting kisses from her until she felt her own lips swell. Inexorably, with his sensual touch, he was sucking her identity from her, so that at last she melted in his arms, ceasing to be Petra and becoming only the essence of woman through the ages, to be desired and taken by an overwhelmingly sexual male.
When his fingers brushed against her thigh, easing her out of her panties, she gasped again, deep in her throat, curled her arms around him tightly and arched against him. Muttering something inarticulate, he slid his hands under her buttocks, raised her slightly, then, with a slowness that made her almost cry outwith wanting, he nudged her legs apart with his knee and moved over her.
He paused then, and she heard him breathing deeply, the sweat slicking on his body, which trembled slightly beneath her spread fingers. But, as she-opened herself to him, he eased forward. There was one sharp shaft of pain, transforming her from unfulfilled girl to woman, then it was gone, and with the intensity of sensation she cried aloud. At the sound he seemed to explode into passion and, eyes closed, she could only cling to him, following where he took her. All feeling was focused on that tight, burning core at her centre, and yet it was spilling out into the rest of her, the tempest within her matching the potency of the storm outside.
And then Jared gasped, a long, ragged sound which shook his whole frame. Deep inside her, like a desert flower which had lain withered through years of drought, she felt something flex its parched petals, expand and bloom.
She tensed once more, then, with a last broken sigh, lay motionless in his arms . . .
* * *
The wind rattling at the pane roused them. Jared turned his head slightly on the pillow and looked at her, his eyes languorous. She smiled shyly at him, unable to find words to tell him what had happened to her—that something had changed within her, shifting very slightly so that she would never be quite the same again.
But she couldn't tell him any of that, of course, so instead she lifted her hand and very softly brushed it across his lips. He took it and lazily kissed the soft palm, over and over, long slow kisses, which drugged her already slumbrous mind.
'Sit up,' he murmured. 'I want to see you naked.'
Raising himself against the pillow, he lifted her up and took off her slip, sliding it voluptuously over her slender body. Her bra followed, eased away gently, then as they fell free his hands cupped her breasts, the warm thumbs rubbing softly against her nipples until the delicate friction made her gasp and catch her under-lip in her teeth. When he laid her down again she pulled at the belt of his robe, loosing it then sliding it away from him. As he propped himself on one arm she looked at his body from beneath heavy lashes, luxuriating in the hard muscles, the flat planes of his stomach, the sheer male strength of him, under that satin-smooth sheath of skin.
'You are so beautiful,' she whispered.
'Strange,' he said huskily, 'I was just going to say the same thing.'
He gave her that crooked little smile, then reached for her again. His hands, roaming over every soft, rounded contour, were reducing her once more to trembling compliance, while the aroma of his body, so potent beneath the scent of aftershave and soap, was more powerful than any artificial aphrodisiac.
Elemental feelings surged through her. She wanted to bury her face against those taut muscles, kissing and nipping the olive flesh until he writhed beneath her mouth as she was doing under his.
She murmured something incoherent, and he said softly, 'What is it you want, my sweetheart?'
'I—don't—know,' she muttered.
'Yes, you do.' He turned her face to his. 'You want to touch me, taste me, take me into yourself.' His voice was hypnotic. 'Touch me, Petra. That's what you long to do, isn't it?'
Of course it was. For years and years and years, that was what she'd wanted. That want had always been there, but hidden away so deep inside her that she hadn't even known it existed. Until Jared had come back. Until tonight.
'Isn't it?'
'Yes,' she whispered. 'Yes—yes— yes.'
And she ran her hands over his chest and shoulders, hesitantly at first, her eyes lowered, but then, as she felt the muscles tense under her, the nipples stiffen beneath her palm, she looked straight up into Jared's face, and saw the flush which darkened his cheekbones. Her fingers moved lower, over his belly, then they were sliding through the brush of dark hair and down the moist skin of his thigh.
With a groan he rolled over on to his back and pulled her gently on top of him. This time there was no pain, just a marvellous slow yielding as sh
e took him into herself. And then came sensations beyond her most impassioned imaginings, then, past them again, an ecstasy which shook her with the mindless paroxysm of its rapture.
She felt as though she were mounted on a fairground carousel—a prancing gilded horse beneath her—being whirled faster and faster. And then the flimsy rope which tethered her snapped and she was hurtling out beyond the universe, through endless time and space. She glimpsed a place so wonderful that tears flooded into her eyes, and then she was tumbling back, and the earth took her into its orbit again.
They had fallen asleep, wrapped in each other's arms. Some time in the night the wind had abated, and now, with daylight, she could look out on a still, newly washed world. She had been sitting, huddled in the armchair beside the window, for over two hours now, and still Jared had not stirred.
She listened again to his steady, rhythmic breathing, but then, as all at once he muttered something and flung himself over on to his side, she leapt up, her heart thumping, and tiptoed towards the door.
'And where are you off to?' Like a cat, he had sprung into instant wakefulness. She stood, her hand on the door.
'T—to get dressed.'
'What's the hurry? Come here.' He held out a lazy hand.
'No. The storm's dropped—we can get to the airport now.'
'There's no hurry. The chopper isn't picking us up till ten.'
Her fingers tightened on the handle, then she swung round. 'You mean you've already arranged that?'
'Of course.' He was lounging back against the pillow, his hands behind his head, but his eyes were watchful.
'So you knew about the storm?'
'Yes—and so would you if you'd bothered to get yourself up and listen to the shipping forecast yesterday morning.'
At his careless tone two angry spots of colour flared in her cheeks.
'I was already busy making cakes by then,' she said tightly. 'And as at that time I wasn't proposing a joy-ride to the Scillies, there was no need, was there?' She came across to the bed and stood, staring down at him, as the anger-anguish warred inside her. 'You've set this whole thing up, haven't you? Those phone calls before we left
