Flame of Desire

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘Of course you are. I noticed our little friend didn’t call on you this month.’

  ‘I—’ Sophie’s words of denial remained unspoken. What was the use? Rosemary would never believe that the tension and nervousness of the last few weeks were the cause of her body not functioning as it should. There could certainly be no other reason for it! ’Only time will tell,’ she amended.

  ‘It certainly will. Your father will be delighted—now that he’s got over his initial surprise. Not that I blame you, I know how persuasive Luke can be.’

  ‘I know,’ Sophie said through stiff lips.

  Rosemary gave a husky laugh. ‘No need to be jealous, Sophie. After all, he’ll be your husband.’

  ‘And what does that prove?’

  Her stepmother looked thoughtful. ‘You’re right,’ she said finally. ‘It doesn’t prove a thing.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’ Sophie turned on her heel. ‘Excuse me, I have to wash.’

  ‘I’ll wait for you and help you change.’

  Sophie didn’t protest, escaping to the privacy of the bathroom. She hadn’t needed her stepmother to tell her that her marriage wasn’t worth the paper it was written on, that the marriage vows meant nothing to Luke, even if he had spoken them beautifully. It had been difficult not to believe he meant every word, the seriousness and sincerity of his voice was totally convincing. But she knew it was all an act, a lie.

  The smile was fixed back on her lips by the time she walked down the long staircase, bathed in the admiration of the guests. There was a deep approving look in the eyes of her bridegroom, but she couldn’t be sure if that was for her or for her stepmother walking two steps behind her. She had a feeling it was the latter.

  Their goodbyes were full of laughter and teasing advice, the single hug from her father making a huge lump rise in her throat. They had said their goodbyes before the ceremony, but it was still a wrench, her final step from being a girl to a woman, no longer just her father’s daughter but another man’s wife.

  Luke looked at her in the confines of the car. ‘Ready?’

  Would she ever be ready for the life she had allowed herself to be trapped into? She doubted it. ‘Ready,’ she nodded.

  Rosemary appeared at the open car window. ‘Be gentle with her, Luke,’ she advised.

  ‘I intend to be,’ he replied softly.

  ‘But especially gentle,’ she said with relish. ‘It’s a dangerous time, you know.’

  Luke frowned at her innuendo. ‘What is?’

  ‘Oh dear, Sophie hasn’t told you yet?’

  ‘Told me what?’

  She gave a satisfied smile. ‘I’ll leave it to your little bride to tell you. Have fun!’ She stepped back from the car, waving with the other guests.

  The car shot away so fast that Sophie was flung back against the headrest. ‘What did she mean?’ Luke asked grimly.

  She turned slowly from waving to look apprehensively at his cold hard face. ‘I don’t know,’ she lied miserably.

  His foot pressed firmly down on the accelerator. ‘Yes, you do. What was she talking about, Sophie?’

  ‘It’s all your fault,’ she accused shakily. ‘You gave them the idea in the first place.’

  ‘Explain yourself,’ he snapped.

  She took a deep breath, her hands entwined nervously on her lap. ‘My stepmother has the mistaken idea that I’m expecting your baby,’ she told him.

  Luke gave her a hard probing look, noting the vulnerability of her trembling mouth, the shadows in her eyes. ‘And why should she think that?’

  ‘Because you told them—’

  ‘But why does she think it is a fact?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘Because I—I was sick just now and I—I haven’t—I—’

  ‘I see,’ cold angry eyes raked over her slender curves. ‘And is it true?’

  ‘You know it isn’t!’ she gasped. ‘We haven’t—’

  ‘The child does not have to be mine,’ he interrupted abruptly.

  Sophie gave him a horrified stare. ‘You can’t be serious!’

  ‘I am very serious. If I find you have… The marriage will end immediately if I find it to be true,’ he said harshly.

  ‘But you know it isn’t,’ she said desperately, tears swimming in her eyes.

  ‘The evidence would seem to show otherwise.’

  ‘Evidence!’ Anger entered her voice. ‘I’m not on trial, Luke. Just because I happen not to have—well, that doesn’t mean anything other than that I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. It sometimes has that effect.’

  ‘I hope for your sake that that is the case. I would not like to think that your afternoon meeting with Sedgwick-Jones came to any more than a tumble in the hay.’

  ‘A tumble in the… You’re disgusting!’

  ‘I am your husband,’ he stated, one of his hands moving out to clasp her chin in a cruel grasp. The expression in his eyes could only be called possessive. ‘You will do well to remember that it is I and I alone who have the right to claim your body.’

  Sophie wrenched out of his grasp, uncaring of the pain it caused. ‘And when that happens you’ll know once and for all that I’m not pregnant.’

  ‘How will I know that?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ she snapped.

  He gave her another cold look. ‘We shall see.’

  Sophie was treated to his icy politeness all the way to the airport, accepting the magazines he bought her as an indication that they were not to talk on the short flight either. She was right; Luke sat back in his seat, his eyes closed.

  Instead of reading the magazines as he had obviously intended her to do she looked at him, wishing she were indeed off on the ecstatic honeymoon everyone believed them to be. She had seen the air hostess giving Luke covetous looks, her disappointment obvious as she saw the confetti in Sophie’s hair.

  Sophie could understand the girl’s interest in Luke, he did look rather magnificent today. He was dressed in an iron-grey suit, his linen immaculate. Of course he was very attractive anyway, but today he looked even more so, very sexy, his dark good looks magnetic.

  It was dinner time when they arrived at their hotel, their rooms adjoining the large bathroom they were to share. Sophie heaved a sigh of relief when she saw they had separate rooms; at least she would be able to change her clothing in privacy. It was strange just how shy she felt, a sense of the occasion always with her.

  ‘Your room is satisfactory?’ Luke asked her once they were alone.

  Magnificent was more the word she would have used to describe it, the decor was deliberately old-fashioned and gracious. ‘It’s lovely, thank you.’

  He nodded distantly as if he had never been in any doubt of her answer. ‘You wish dinner to be sent up or shall we go down to the dining-room?’

  ‘The dining-room, I think,’ came her swift reply, choosing the lesser of two evils. She didn’t want to be up here alone with him any sooner than she needed to be.

  Luke smiled as if reading her thoughts. ‘You can use the bathroom first,’ and he went through to his own room.

  Sophie hurriedly did as he said, not wishing to be still under the shower when he himself decided to use the bathroom. She was just putting the final touches to her lipstick when Luke came through to her room, devastatingly attractive in a fitted brown suit and tan shirt. She herself was wearing one of the evening dresses bought specifically for her honeymoon, its golden colour matching her hair perfectly. It fitted like a second skin over her curves before flowing down to her ankles, her height added to by slender gold sandals.

  Luke make no comment about her appearance, but took out a long jewellery case from his pocket. ‘Turn around,’ he ordered her.

  She felt the coolness of the gold against her skin, watching their reflections in the mirror as Luke fastened a chunky gold choker about her throat. ‘It’s—it’s very beautiful.’ She touched it wonderingly, surprised by his gift.

  Luke’s hands remained possessively on her shoulder
s; he looked at her in the mirror as his lips followed the path of the choker. ‘It could not hope to match your own beauty,’ he said throatily.

  Sophie’s breath caught in her throat and she felt herself tremble as he pulled her back against him, his thighs hard against her. ‘You—you’re very flattering.’

  He moved away from her, straightening his cuff as if their closeness had never happened. He certainly showed none of the breathless excitement that she felt. ‘One does not flatter one’s wife,’ he told her. ‘One merely comments on her appearance—and you look beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you.’ His explanation took away any intimacy that might have been between them. ‘Shall we go down now?’

  ‘Of course,’ he nodded.

  The dining-room adjoined the ballroom, making it possible for Sophie to listen to the romantic music drifting in from there and watch the dancers rather than sit selfconsciously aware of the friction between herself and Luke.

  The meal was excellent, as was the service, but then that was to be expected with a celebrity like Luke Vittorio staying at the hotel. Sophie felt out of her depth and consequently felt too shy to answer Luke’s occasional remarks with anything more than monosyllables.

  Having come down late for their meal they were among the last to leave the dining-room. Sophie felt her panic returning with the end of their meal, tired but knowing that sleep would not be something Luke had in mind for their return to their suite.

  She clutched at his sleeve as they left the dining-room. ‘Could we—er—could we go in and dance?’ She looked at him hopefully, dreading the night ahead of her because it would make her completely Luke’s. Anything to delay that moment.

  Luke’s expression wasn’t forthcoming. ‘It is late, and you have had a long day.’

  She gave him a bright smile meant to show him she was wide awake. ‘I’d like to dance, Luke,’ she asked pleadingly.

  ‘I really think—’

  ‘Oh, please, Luke,’ she pouted prettily. ‘It’s early yet. Why, it isn’t even eleven o’clock yet.’

  ‘I did have other plans for this evening.’ His eyes were deeply brown as he looked down at her.

  She blushed. ‘But we could dance a little first.’

  ‘First…?’

  ‘Before we go up to our rooms.’ Her colour stayed high at his mockery.

  ‘Very well,’ he at last agreed.

  Sophie could have sighed her relief as they were shown to a table, accepting the champagne Luke ordered for them.

  ‘To us,’ he toasted softly.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed breathlessly, finding the look in his eyes more and more seductive. He shouldn’t be looking at her like that, not in front of all these people. She gulped down the champagne, gasping as the bubbles went up her nose. She put her glass out to Luke to be refilled.

  He did so, his mouth quirking into a smile. ‘I hope you do not intend getting yourself drunk,’ he said teasingly.

  ‘And incapable?’ she joked, her eyes twinkling from the effect of the alcohol.

  ‘Especially incapable.’

  ‘I’ll try not to,’ she couldn’t look at him.

  ‘Would you like to dance now?’

  Did she want to be that close to him? ’I—well, I—’

  ‘That is what we came in here for after all,’ he reminded her.

  She stood up jerkily. ‘Yes, yes, I suppose it is.’

  ‘You do not sound too sure.’

  She gave him that bright smile again. ‘Of course I’m sure.’ She just wasn’t sure about being in his arms.

  He danced well, as she had known he would, and by the looks they were receiving from the guests at the hotel he was also being recognised. The people were too polite to actually come over and speak to him but it made Sophie feel very conspicuous.

  ‘Forget them,’ Luke whispered against her earlobe, his lips caressing her creamy skin.

  Sophie jerked in his arms, just the touch of his mouth unnerving her. Oh God, what was she going to be like when they went upstairs together! ’Them?’ she asked huskily.

  ‘Forget other people.’ He pulled her gently against him, closing the gap between them.

  All Sophie’s breath seemed to leave her body at his closeness. ‘I—It’s rather difficult when they keep staring at us.’

  ‘Changed your mind about going to our suite?’

  His lips on her throat made her burn all over, her breathing constricted. ‘No!’ she said sharply. ‘No, I still want to dance.’ She tried to get normality back in her voice and failed.

  Luke shrugged. ‘I am in no hurry.’

  She was sure he wasn’t. After all, he had all week to make her his wife in the fullest sense, he had no need to rush it. He knew there was no escape for her.

  They danced together for over an hour, by which time the champagne had begun to give her a much less frightening impression of her husband. The tension left her body and the two of them danced slowly together, often not bothering to move to the music as it changed tempo. Sophie’s head rested on Luke’s shoulder, her arms up about his neck.

  ‘Enough is enough, Sophie.’ he said suddenly. ‘It is time to go to our suite.’

  That brought her back down to reality, and she looked up at him. ‘Do we have to?’

  There was a certain tautness about the sensuality of his mouth. ‘Unless you wish for me to make love to you right here,’ he said grimly.

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘So, we leave?’

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded hurriedly. She had pushed him too far already, she couldn’t hope to push her luck any further.

  They went up alone in the lift, the tension between them a tangible thing. Luke was watching her with brooding eyes and she could be in no doubt of his desire for her. But then what else could she expect?—that was the reason he had married her.

  The nightgown bought for her wedding night seemed hardly worth the bother of putting it on once she looked at herself in the mirror. She had turned the lights down to a golden glow, but still her body was visible through its transparency. She hadn’t realised it was quite so revealing, her every curve revealed, her breasts uptilted and inviting.

  The door to her balcony stood open, enticing her to gaze out at the sight of Paris by moonlight. It seemed that it was all spread out before her, curiously quiet up here, and very, very beautiful. It was a view for lovers, and Sophie shivered as she felt Luke’s arms go about her waist, his hands coming to rest on the flatness of her stomach as he pulled her back against the hardness of his body.

  ‘You are not cold?’ he murmured against her throat.

  She was burning! ’No.’

  ‘Beautiful, is it not?’ But she had the idea he wasn’t talking about Paris.

  ‘Very,’ she felt tongue-tied by the movement of his hands on her body as they moved up to cup her breasts, his fingers caressing.

  ‘Shall we go inside?’ he invited. ‘You must be a little chilled.’

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘I am not going to hurt you,’ he said gently, taking her hand and leading her back inside.

  He was dressed as he had been the night she and her stepmother had invaded the privacy of his bedroom, the white towelling robe that reached down to his knees the only article of clothing he wore. His hair was still damp from the shower he had just taken, the smell of his aftershave tangy and stirring to the senses.

  He retained his hold on her hand as she would have moved away, his gaze resting intimately on her almost naked body. ‘I have waited a long time for this,’ he murmured. ’Only the painting has kept me sane the last few weeks.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘You still have it?’

  Luke smiled. ‘But of course. I have said you do not have to see it, but that does not mean I cannot look at it from time to time. It shows you as I would like to see you all the time, wanton from lovemaking—my lovemaking,’ he added hardly.

  She knew his anger had returned by the assessing look in his eyes, knew he was thinking of her step
mother’s broad hints as to her non-existent condition, knew he would not be appeased until he had possessed her for himself and learnt the truth.

  ‘I have said I will be a generous lover,’ he continued harshly. ‘But at this moment I do not know if I can keep that promise. I have to know, you see, Sophie. I have to know!’

  ‘Please be gentle with me, Luke.’

  ‘For the reason Rosemary implied?’ he demanded bitterly.

  ‘No! I—’

  ‘Do not make any more denials,’ he ordered. ‘I do not want to hear them. You are my wife, this is our wedding night, and I do not intend to let you be haunted by the lovemaking of another man.’

  ‘Another man…?’

  ‘Sedgwick-Jones,’ he said harshly. ‘But by the time I have finished with you you will think of no man but me.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘No more protests,’ he swung her up into his arms. ‘Think of no one but me.’

  How could she possibly think of anyone but him, with him pinning her to the bed with his body, his hands touching and caressing her, his mouth in total possession of her? His onslaught to her senses was slow and deliberate, allowing her no chance to be anything but totally aroused by him, her arms encircling his waist as she felt herself sinking into the total oblivion of his seduction.

  ‘Untie my robe,’ he ordered her roughly. ‘I want to be naked against you.’

  Sophie wanted it too, wanted it desperately. He was playing with her body like an expert, arousing her and enjoying her arousal. She did as he asked, slipping his robe off his shoulders. She felt shy about looking at him, the perfection of a man’s body was a revelation to her, the ripple of muscle over shoulders and stomach, the dark hair completely covering his body, just the male beauty of him.

  She no longer felt embarrassed, but touched him in wonderment, his sharply indrawn breath all she needed to show her how her touch affected him. He was no longer the aggressor, lying back to let her take the initiative, his eyes half-closed in pleasure, his breathing ragged and laboured.

  Her hands passed with wonder over the strength of his chest, the flatness of his stomach, her butterfly movements hesitating about further intimacies.

  ‘Please continue,’ Luke invited huskily.