Dangerous Sanctuary

by Anne Mather

  God, he was despicable, she thought bitterly. He knew, better than anyone, what Philip's death would mean to her, and he had continued to hold the spectre of that painful relationship over her. Were all the Russells tarred with the same brush? Did they all enjoy exacting punishment of one sort of another?

  But no. She refused to believe that. After all, Tom was a Russell, and he wasn't a monster. Until Ben had come on the scene, he had never gone against her wishes, and even now his conscience was giving him a hard time.

  And Ben…

  With a weary sigh, she propped her head in her hands. She didn't really believe Ben was like Philip. Oh, she would never forgive him for keeping Philip's death from her, but she couldn't forget that without Ben's help she might have suffered even more.

  Looking back, she realised that Ben was the only person who could have helped. Philip's parents—their parents—were indifferent to the kind of life Jaime was leading. They had not wanted her to marry their son, and as far as they were concerned she didn't exist. Philip still saw his parents, but she never did. That was why she was so astonished when Ben came to the apartment.

  It was Christmas Eve, and she and Philip had been married for almost six months. Because they were living in London, Jaime seldom saw her own family either. Which was just as well, in the circumstances. She knew her father could never have ignored his daughter's misery.

  She had been pathetically grateful to see Ben, she remembered. It was so long since she had seen a really friendly face. Philip was out. He had often been but, though she didn't often go with him. Not that Jaime minded that. She was so ashamed of how she looked most of the time that going out at all had become a trial.

  So, when Ben rang from the lobby downstairs and asked if he could come up, Jaime was delighted. Dismissing Philip's dour-faced housekeeper, she had answered the door herself, and it wasn't until she had let him in, and had seen him looking at her so strangely, that she realised she had forgotten to put on her makeup.

  She almost always wore make-up these days. It was the only way she could bear to look at her face. She had become adept at hiding bruises beneath a dusky eyeshadow or a bronze blusher, and although her eyes were hollow they just gave her a haunted look. Or so she had believed.

  But looking at Ben, she had seen the stunned realisation in his eyes. And even then her first reaction had been to dismiss it. She had fallen, she said, getting out of the shower. She was such a clumsy creature; Philip was losing patience with her.

  It hadn't worked, and although at the time she had been terrified of what Philip might do Ben had refused to take no for an answer. After coaxing at least part of the truth from her, he had insisted she go and pack some clothes, and before driving her to her parents' home in Kingsmere he had taken her to see a friend of his in Harley Street. She remembered that she had still been protesting when he'd ushered her into the elegant waiting-room, though her will to resist any kind of pressure had been crucified in the months she had lived as Philip's wife.

  His friend, a woman doctor, had made her take off all her clothes, and Jaime had stood in an agony of embarrassment as every mark on her body was questioned and noted. There had been no point in lying. She had too many bruises, many of them in places where the marks of other bruises were still visible. But it was humiliating nevertheless, and she was horrified when the woman produced an instamatic camera, and told her she was going to make a permanent record of what she had seen.

  'If I don't, and the bruises fade, what proof will you have?' she asked practically. 'Believe me, whether we use them or not, they are necessary.'

  And, because Ben had endorsed what the doctor had said, Jaime had gone through with it. She had put all her faith in him at the time, and it had not been misplaced. She never knew what he said to Philip, or whether her ex-husband was ever shown the photographs the doctor had taken. All she knew was that the threat Philip had represented had been removed, and she was eternally grateful to Ben for his support.

  In the months that followed she saw Ben several times. Oh, she had probably enjoyed those occasions more than he did, she reminded herself painfully, but then, she hadn't been thinking too sensibly in those days. In her eyes he could do no wrong, and even her mother's warnings—about his relationship to Philip, and the fact that he was a married man—had fallen on deaf ears.

  Looking back, she had to admit that Ben's reasons for visiting her had usually had a legitimate purpose. He had acted as Philip's intermediary, and it was through him that she had learned that Philip had agreed to stay away from her. She wanted a divorce, but that would have to wait until the required amount of time had passed, and for the present she was content to trust in Ben's protection.

  His protection!

  Jaime shivered. If only she had known then what she knew now, she thought ruefully. She had exchanged one kind of bondage for another. But that wasn't fair. Tom had never been a burden. And although she hated Ben, he had not been entirely to blame.

  She remembered it had been almost exactly a year after she and Philip had parted when her friendship with Ben had been destroyed, forever. It was odd, she thought, how Christmas had played such an unhappy role in her life. It was at Christmas that she had met Philip, and Christmas when they had parted. So it was probably only fitting that that particular time of year should have provided such a disastrous end to her association with his brother.

  But, at the time, she had had no inkling of the part he was to play in determining her future. In the year since he had 'rescued' her from Philip she had come to know him quite well—or so she had thought—and the anxiety she had first felt, when he appeared on her doorstep, had long since given way to a happy anticipation. Although she had other friends, he was the only person with whom she could be completely herself, and because he knew everything about her relationship with Philip she didn't have to pretend with him.

  In retrospect, she supposed she had been foolish. After one devastating experience she should have been aware of the dangers she was courting. Ben was married, and although he seldom spoke of his wife he had never given any inclination that he was unhappy with his lot.

  None the less, Jaime had begun to look forward to his visits with increasing excitement. He usually arrived at lunchtime, and because the pub was such a busy place he invariably took her out for a meal. It gave them an opportunity to speak privately, and if what he had to say only took up a small part of the time it never seemed to matter.

  He told her about his work, and the people he worked with, and Jaime confided her own hopes and aspirations in the secretarial course she was taking. But Ben had always had a gift for narration, and Jaime always sat, entranced, while he described the places he had visited, and the events he had reported upon.

  She never thought their relationship was moving beyond that of casual acquaintances. It didn't occur to her how strange it was that she and Ben should find such pleasure in each other's company. That the pretexts he used to promote each meeting were becoming ever more flimsy simply didn't register. Nor did the increasing frequency of those visits arouse any fears.

  Then, just a few days before Christmas, Ben arrived in the afternoon. He said he had no especial reason for visiting her—except that he had brought her a small present—but he had been in the neighbourhood, and he wondered if she would join him for dinner.

  Innocent enough, Jaime thought now, remembering her feelings then. She must have been crazy, she mused. It had never even occurred to her to refuse.

  Of course, her parents hadn't been keen. Even though Ben had proved himself such a good friend over the past year, they were still suspicious of anyone called Russell. But Jaime refused to listen to their advice. Ben had asked her out to dinner, and all she could think of was what she was going to wear.

  She supposed she must have been half in love with Ben even then. There seemed no other explanation for the way she had behaved. Or perhaps she had just been desperate for affection, she reflected bitterly. Certainly she had made i
t easy for him.

  She didn't think of it before Ben came to collect her, but when he told her he was staying at the Crown Hotel she realised that, for once, he wasn't driving home after visiting her. She remembered wondering if his wife knew where he was this evening, and then dismissing the thought as being unworthy of consideration. In all honesty, she hadn't cared what his wife thought, which probably made what happened after a fitting punishment. But, at the time, she had been blind to anything but the delight of being with Ben.

  Because it was Christmas week everywhere was busy, and after a noisy meal in town Ben suggested they go back to his hotel for a nightcap. In her more charitable moments, Jaime had to admit that the idea of having it in his suite had been as much her idea as his. But the bar at the Crown had been hectic, and the knowledge that Ben had a perfectly good sitting-room upstairs seemed too attractive to ignore.

  Jaime had never been upstairs in the Crown before, and she was impressed with Ben's suite, which had a sitting-room, dressing-room, bedroom, and bathroom. While they waited for a waiter to bring their drinks, she asked if she could use the bathroom, and Ben gave her a teasing grin before saying, 'Be my guest.'

  When she came out again, she could hear Ben talking to the waiter in the sitting-room, and, on impulse, she went through the doorway that led into his bedroom. She told herself she was curious to see how the room was decorated, but it wasn't really that. It was the first time she had been in a man's bedroom since her break-up with Philip, and she was anxious to know how she would react to it. The fact that it was also the room where Ben was going to sleep tonight intrigued her, and when she saw a maroon silk dressing-gown lying on the end of the huge four-poster bed she couldn't resist running her fingers over the fine fabric.

  'Did you find what you were looking for?'

  Ben's voice from behind her brought her round with a start. She hadn't heard the waiter leave, but evidently he had, because Ben was now standing in the bedroom doorway.

  Jaime's face suffused with colour. 'I—yes,' she said, her nail catching on the cloth as she withdrew her hand. 'Um—I'm sorry. I was just—looking around.'

  'That's all right.'

  Ben propped his shoulder against the door-frame. He was looking at her with his intense green eyes, and Jaime felt a frisson of fear slide along her spine. She should never have looked in here, she thought, never stepped inside. Now Ben was between her and freedom, and it wasn't easy not to panic.

  Her palms were damp, and she tried to dry them out on the seat of the slim velvet trousers she was wearing. She had thought the soft trousers, worn with a full-sleeved satin blouse, both in a subtle shade of violet, were an attractive combination. But now she felt as exposed as if they'd suddenly become transparent.

  'Do you realise this is the first time we've been alone together?' Ben remarked, when she said nothing, and she wondered how he could be unaware of her feelings. 'Apart from the car, of course,' he went on. 'But that's not quite the same.'

  Jaime swallowed. 'So?'

  The word came out high, and squeaky, and Ben's eyes darkened. 'So—nothing,' he said flatly. 'What's wrong?'

  Jaime shook her head. 'What could be wrong?' she parried. 'Did—er—did the waiter bring our drinks?'

  Ben stared at her. 'Yes. He brought them,' he answered. And then, roughly, 'For God's sake! Why are you looking at me like that? What do you think I'm planning to do? Rape you?'

  Jaime held up her head. 'It has been done,' she got out unsteadily, and Ben uttered an angry oath.

  'Not by me!' he exclaimed, and then, just when she thought he was going to leave her in disgust, he pushed himself away from the door and came towards her. 'I'm not Philip,' he said harshly, halting right in front of her. He cupped her quivering chin with one hand, and turned her face up to his. 'I'd never hurt you, Jaime. Surely you know that. For God's sake, I care about you too much for that.'

  'Oh, Ben…'

  Jaime could hardly bear to look at him. She felt sick and ashamed for doubting him. He wasn't Philip. He was nothing like Philip. And, although she had no real proof, she instinctively knew she could trust him.

  Acting purely on impulse, she turned her head, and pressed her lips against his palm. His skin tasted warm, and salty, and essentially male, and, although she tried to prevent it, an errant tear trembled on her lashes.

  'Hey…' Ben's voice was a little uneven now, and although he drew his hand away his thumb brushed abrasively across her lips. 'Don't cry!' he protested. 'Do you want people to think I'm a louse?'

  Jaime lifted her hand to touch his face. 'They wouldn't think that,' she assured him huskily. 'I'm sorry. I guess I'm not much of a woman, am I?'

  Ben captured her hand in his, and she knew his instincts were to thrust it back at her. But her words caused a spasm of frustration to cross his lean features, and almost against his will he pressed her open hand against his cheek.

  'Don't say that,' he told her gruffly. 'Don't let one bad experience ruin your life. You're a warm, loving, beautiful woman. And I wouldn't be human if I wasn't aware of it!'

  Jaime's tongue trembled against her upper lip. 'And are you?' she whispered. 'Aware of it—of me, I mean? You're not just saying it.'

  Ben groaned. 'No, I'm not just saying it,' he declared, on an uneven breath. 'For God's sake, Jaime, don't do this to me—to us! We're friends. Don't—spoil it.'

  Jaime's eyes showed her hurt. Drawing her hand away, she balled her fist, and pressed it into her palm. Of course, she thought unsteadily, Ben was married. He wasn't really interested in her. He was just being kind. And she wasn't making it easy for him.

  'I—I should be going,' she said, looking anywhere but into his dark, defeated face. 'Heavens—' she glanced at her watch—the plain gold watch her parents had given her on her eighteenth birthday, and not the jewelled Rolex Philip had insisted on her wearing, and which she had left behind in London '—it's half-past ten! I wonder if the doorman can get me a taxi?'

  'Jaime!'

  The way Ben said her name should have warned her. But it didn't. She was so intent on extricating herself from what had become an humiliating situation that the idea that Ben might actually mean what he said didn't occur to her. She thought he was just being nice. She thought he was trying to save her embarrassment. But, in fact, she couldn't have been more wrong.

  'Jaime,' he said again, as she would have gone past him, stepping into her path with sober intent. 'Jaime, don't go.'

  'What?' Her nervous gaze flickered over his face and away again. 'Don't be silly. I've got to. It's late and—and I—'

  But, as she spoke, his hand had taken hold of her arm, sliding from the narrow bones of her forearm to the quivering muscles of her biceps. And he had bent his head to press his lips against her shoulder, his tongue moistening the flesh through the folds of satin.

  'Ben…'

  Her use of his name was less certain, and as he continued to hold her against him all her limbs grew shaky. What did he want of her? she wondered raggedly, and memories of the way Philip had used her returned to flood her mind with terror. Philip had been gentle once, she remembered. In those early days it had pleased him to pretend that this time he wouldn't hurt her, but she had very soon learned that his words were just more lies. Later on, he hadn't even pretended. He had known he was just wasting his time, and she shuddered at the thought of what he had done to her.

  And, as if her trembling limbs had communicated her fear to Ben, he lifted his head. 'I'm not hurting you, am I?' he asked, and the anguish in his face made her swiftly shake her head.

  'No.'

  'But you're still afraid of me, aren't you?'

  Jaime caught her breath. 'Not—not really—'

  'Oh, Jaime!' His hand slid over her shoulder to mould the nape of her neck. 'Jaime, you have no idea how much I want you!'

  And then his mouth was on hers, and all her anxious fancies disappeared beneath the searching pressure of his lips. With infinite tenderness he brought his other hand to her
waist, drawing her fully against him. Then, with his thumb brushing the underside of her breast, he coaxed her lips to part.

  Jaime's head was swimming, and his touch made all her limbs tingle. It wasn't like when Philip kissed her, even though, in the beginning, he had pretended to be gentle. With Philip, she had always been aware of his impatience and, afterwards, she had been amazed he had been able to fool her for so long. No wonder he had never attempted to get her to go to bed with him before they were married. She had thought he had too much respect for her. How dreadfully wrong she had been.

  Ben's passion was different. She didn't know how she knew, but she did. The kisses he bestowed upon her lips were warmly possessive, but she welcomed them; his tongue, sliding between her teeth, was like hot velvet in her mouth. There was no pain, no subjugation; he wasn't trying to punish her—he was simply showing her how it should be.

  And his tenderness destroyed any lingering doubts she might have had. Instead of pushing him away, she found herself winding her arms around his neck, and pressing herself eagerly against him. She was a normal human being after all, she thought, revelling in the realisation that Philip had not destroyed her ability to respond to her emotions. For so long she had believed she would never be able to let a man touch her without feeling the intense revulsion Philip had inspired. But suddenly she was free, and the feeling was intoxicating.

  Of course, looking back, she supposed she had been at least half to blame for what happened. She had known Ben was married just as well as he did, and if she had had some crazy notion that he might leave his wife for her he had never said as much.

  But maybe they had both been too caught up in the events of the moment to consider the rights and wrongs of what was happening. Ben had made his protest earlier on, but she hadn't listened to him. And if she still maintained that he was the stronger, that he should have been in control, perhaps she was being a little naive. How could she have known how it would be between them? Who could have foretold the fire they would ignite?