by Jessica Hart
Still, he might have asked her, Mallory couldn’t help thinking. She was his wife, after all. Every now and then they would meet in the dance, and their hands would clasp as they passed down the line, or swung each other round, and each time his touch send a jolt of awareness through her. There was a steady thumping building up inside her, and her mouth dried whenever she looked at him.
That was what came of sharing a bed with someone, of starting to notice him. Now she was reduced to lusting after her own husband, and was unable to do anything about it, thought Mallory, mortified. Ridiculous.
And yet, was it so impossible? They were alone, and neither of them was involved with anyone else, however much they might want to be. God, they were even married! How much more justification did they need? And surely anything would be better than the charged atmosphere in the bedroom every night, lying there and not touching when all they could think about was how it would feel if they did?
Correction: all she could think about. Be honest, now, Mallory told herself. The fact was that she had no idea what Torr was thinking about in bed. He certainly didn’t seem to have any trouble dropping off to sleep. Maybe he was quite happy with the way things were. Maybe he didn’t want her at all.
But how would she know if she didn’t ask?
Mallory twirled and stepped and swung up and down the line, and wondered if she had the courage to face rejection and find out.
She danced all evening, and was hot and tired by the time the tempo changed to slow, to mark the last dance. The music was soft and haunting, and she stepped aside. You couldn’t dance to music like this with a stranger.
Suddenly Torr was there, holding out his hand. ‘My dance, I think,’ he said.
Mallory looked at his hand for a long moment, and then, with a sense of taking an irrevocable step, she put her own in it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
H IS fingers closed around hers and he swung her without haste onto the floor before drawing her towards him, his palm warm against the small of her back. Quivering with tension, hazy with his closeness, Mallory stared fixedly at his shoulder and concentrated on not swaying any closer, but it was hard when the haunting music wove itself around them like twine and tangled up her senses until every nerve in her body screamed at her to give in and lean against him, to rest her face into his throat and press her lips to the pulse beating below his ear.
Torr’s fingers were tight around her hand, his mouth against her hair. The music swirled round them, cutting them off from the rest of the room so that there were just the two of them, moving so slowly together they were barely dancing at all.
Mallory’s heart was thudding, her mouth dry. The other dancers might have whirled away into a blur, silently circling the still centre where she danced with Torr, but she was preternaturally aware of everything else-the shape of the buttons on his shirt, the roughness of his jaw, the scent of his skin, the feel of his hand-and she could feel herself dissolving with desire so strong that it terrified her.
There was a last, long note and the music stopped. Around them, Mallory was vaguely conscious of a spatter of applause, but she was still swaying with Torr and she had begun to hope that he wouldn’t let her go after all when he stopped moving, dropped her hand and stepped back, his face utterly expressionless.
‘It’s time to go,’ he said.
They drove home in a silence that jangled and jarred in the close confines of the dark car. Mallory’s pulse was booming. Her hand felt as if it were burning, and the small of her back tingled where he had held her.
It’s up to you, he had said.
She could ask him if she wanted to…and, oh, she did want to! She just didn’t know how she was going to find the words or have the courage to say them. Make love to me. Heat flooded through her at the mere thought. Could it be that easy? Would she have to explain, or persuade him? And what if he said no?
It wasn’t fair, thought Mallory feverishly, shifting restlessly in her seat. She shouldn’t have to ask her own husband to make love to her.
They were almost there, she realised in a panic as the car bumped down the rutted and potholed track. She was going to have to decide. Perhaps it would be better not to say anything? She could wait until they were in bed and then make a move. Torr would get the idea without the need for a long discussion.
But what if he said no, or pushed her away? Mallory cringed at the thought. It would be mortifying. Much better to be straight. At least that way she could keep her pride intact, if nothing else.
Kincaillie was illuminated in the headlights as they bumped to a halt at last. Torr cut the engine and switched off the lights. It was a still night and the silence was absolute, and for a moment neither of them moved or spoke.
Mallory inhaled slowly. It was now or never. ‘You know our agreement?’ she began, but her throat was so thick that her voice came out humiliatingly high and squeaky.
‘The one we’ve already revised twice?’ said Torr, unclipping his seat belt.
‘Yes.’ His tone was daunting, and she eyed him uncertainly through the darkness.
‘You’re not proposing to renegotiate now, are you?’
‘Well…’ Mallory hesitated. ‘Just one bit.’
Torr had his hand on the door, but he stopped at that and turned back to her, suddenly intent. ‘Which bit?’
‘The bit about not touching,’ she said awkwardly. ‘We agreed our marriage wasn’t about sex or passion-’
‘Or love,’ he reminded her, and she swallowed.
‘Or love,’ she agreed.
‘And which of those did you want to renegotiate?’ Torr’s voice was characteristically acerbic, and Mallory was very glad that he couldn’t see her blushing in the darkness. This was awful, but she had gone too far to stop now.
If she could.
‘The first one.’
‘Sex?’
‘Yes.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I…er…I was wondering…if…if you’d think about…’
Torr let out a short breath that might have been a suppressed laugh or a snort of derision, and she bridled. Did he think this was easy for her?
‘I think you know quite well what I’m trying to ask you,’ she finished tartly.
His expression was unreadable in the darkness. ‘You want to make love?’
‘Yes,’ said Mallory again on a breath. There, it was said.
There was a sizzling pause that went on for so long that she lost her nerve after all and rushed into speech. ‘I mean, when I say make love, it’s not about love,’ she tried to explain.
‘No, indeed,’ said Torr dryly.
‘We both know our marriage isn’t about that,’ she reminded him. ‘That hasn’t changed. We’ve both been hurt. I know you’re still in love with someone else, just like I am, but since it’s just the two of us, and we’re here on our own, maybe we could give each other some comfort? It would just be a physical thing. Neither of us wants anything more than that, but-’
‘OK,’ Torr interrupted her.
Thrown, Mallory could just stare at him. ‘OK, what?’
‘OK, let’s go to bed,’ he said, already opening his door.
Not quite the response she had imagined, it had to be admitted.
‘Er…fine.’
Well, what had she expected? Mallory asked herself, deflated by Torr’s prosaic tone. To be swept into his arms with a passionate declaration of love? She was the one who had said that it would just be a physical thing, so it was stupid to feel so disappointed when he was prepared to treat it exactly the same way.
No, she had what she wanted. A little more enthusiasm than ‘OK’ might have been nice, but she was hardly in a position to quibble.
Squaring her shoulders, Mallory reached for the handle, but Torr was already there, opening the door, and her heart gave a great leap when she saw that he was standing very close. Now that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she could make out the planes of his face and the gleam of his eyes, but his expression was as unreada
ble as ever.
Very slowly, she swung her legs round and made to jump down, and he put out a hand to help her. Mallory was never sure quite what happened then. One moment she was starting to step down from the car, the next she was in Torr’s arms, and his mouth came down on hers, and she shattered in a dazzle of relief.
Torr pressed her against the car until the metal dug into her back, but she didn’t care. Why would she care when his kiss was hard and hungry and she could kiss him back at last? Who would have thought that stern mouth would feel so exciting, those lips so warm and sure? Mallory melted into him, gasping with pleasure and the sheer relief of being able to touch him and taste him and feel his hands moving possessively over her.
‘I’ve been wanting to do this all evening,’ Torr whispered unevenly against her throat as she arched her head back, her fingers tangled in his hair, and smiled.
‘Why didn’t you say?’
‘I told you I wouldn’t touch you,’ he reminded her, sliding his hand beneath her shirt and making her quiver as he spread his fingers over her bare skin. ‘I’m a man of my word.’
‘So you didn’t mind renegotiating our deal?’ Mallory managed to tease him even though her voice was ragged with desire.
Torr kissed his way back along her jaw to her mouth. ‘No,’ he said, and smiled against her lips. ‘I didn’t mind. Let’s go inside and discuss the details.’
Mallory’s legs were so unsteady that she wasn’t at all sure that she would be able to walk at all, but somehow she made it to the kitchen, where the atmosphere was immediately defused by an ecstatic Charlie. He bounced over both of them, delirious with delight at their return, even more exuberant than usual, as if sensing that for once his mistress’s attention wasn’t entirely on him.
‘I’ll take him out,’ said Torr, resigned.
So Torr took Charlie into the kitchen garden and Mallory went to clean her face and brush her teeth, just as they did every night.
But this night was different. Tonight when Torr came in they would make love. Mallory could feel her body pulsing with anticipation as excitement buzzed beneath her skin. She could still feel the heat of his hands on her, the wicked pleasure of his lips, and she shivered at the memory.
It was amazing to look in the mirror and see that she looked just as normal. Her skin a little pinker, perhaps, her eyes darker and more dilated, but nothing else to indicate that inside she was simmering, shimmering, burning with desire.
If only she had something flimsy and sexy to slip into now, but it had never occurred to her to bring anything like that with her.
It had never occurred to her that she would want to wear anything like that for Torr.
How had it happened? Mallory wondered. When had she started to desire her own husband? Since when had the mere thought of him touching her been enough to stop the breath in her throat?
There was no way she was putting on her long johns tonight, but it was too cold to undress completely, so when Torr came in Mallory was sitting on the side of the bed in a pool of soft yellow light from the bedside lamp, still dressed in her skirt and the silky blouse. Her eyes were huge and dark, and her hair spilled in a cloud to her shoulders.
He stopped at the sight of her, then went to sit next to her, not touching. He didn’t even look at her. ‘Have you changed your mind?’ he asked, and his voice sounded tight.
‘No.’
The tension in Torr’s shoulders relaxed and he turned to look at her. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ said Mallory. ‘Do you want me to beg?’
Laughter filled his eyes at last. ‘Would you?’
‘If you don’t kiss me right now, then, yes,’ she said.
‘I’d better get on with it, then,’ said Torr, reaching for her, and she sighed with release as they sank back onto the bed together, and there was no more talking for a very long while.
‘I’ve brought you some tea.’
Mallory stirred and surfaced to see Torr setting a mug down on the bedside table. Drowsily aware of a sense of well-being, she watched him straighten the mug and sit down on the side of the bed, but it wasn’t until he looked at her that she remembered just why her body was in the grip of such lazy satisfaction. Instantly, memories from the night before tumbled through her mind in a giddy rush that sent the colour surging into her cheeks, and suddenly, stupidly shy, she made her eyes skitter away from his and flicker frantically around the room, unable to settle on anything. She wanted to look at Torr, but didn’t dare.
‘I don’t usually get tea in bed,’ she said, unable to think of anything else to say.
‘I don’t usually wake up feeling as good as I did this morning,’ Torr countered, and Mallory’s throat dried.
Unable to resist any longer, she glanced at him, and this time she was trapped by his steady blue gaze, imprisoned by the awareness that tightened around her in the humming silence, until she managed to wrench her eyes away at last and reach for her tea with an unsteady hand.
There was a pause.
‘So,’ said Torr conversationally, ‘how’s our new agreement working out for you? Are the new terms satisfactory?’
Startled, she looked at him again, and saw that he was smiling, and all at once the tension drained out of her. Relaxing back against the pillows, she smiled back at him.
‘Very much so,’ she said.
‘That’s good.’ His smile deepened, and Mallory felt her heart squeeze at the warmth in his eyes. ‘I quite like these new terms myself.’
‘Only quite?’
Torr leant forward until he was very close, then took the mug from her hand with slow deliberation and put it back on bedside table. ‘All right,’ he conceded. ‘I like them a lot.’
‘How much?’ she asked him, teasing, as she wound her arms around his neck and pulled him down onto pillows with her, and Torr’s soft laugh sent a shudder of anticipation down her spine.
‘Let me show you,’ he said.
It was a very long time before Mallory remembered her tea. ‘It’s cold.’ She pretended to grumble, wrinkling her nose as she took an experimental sip.
‘And whose fault is that?’ Torr lay back on the pillows, dark blue eyes alight with warmth, almost unrecognisable from the grim-faced man who had married her. Had she changed in the same way? Mallory wondered. She must have done. The Mallory who’d first come to Kincaillie could never have imagined wanting Torr the way she had wanted him last night, the way she had wanted him this morning, the way she wanted him now. The idea of snuggling close to him like this, of talking and teasing, and being able to touch him and make him smile, would have been unthinkable.
And knowing that she could do it now sent a dangerous thrill through her.
‘Just checking that the new terms are still satisfactory,’ she said demurely as she slid back under the duvet, and a smile twitched at his mouth.
‘No more quibbling?’
‘Well…quibbling’s always fun,’ said Mallory, letting her fingers drift down over his stomach.
Torr laughed, but removed her hand firmly. ‘We haven’t got time to quibble today!’
‘I suppose not.’ Mallory squinted across him at the bedside clock and heaved a reluctant sigh. ‘We should get up,’ she said without enthusiasm. ‘I wanted to finish clearing the hothouse this morning so I can try growing some tomatoes.’
‘It’ll wait till tomorrow, won’t it?’ said Torr. ‘The sun’s shining,’ he went on. ‘I think we’ve earned a day off.’
Mallory was delighted. ‘What a lovely idea!’ She snuggled closer. The sun might be shining outside, but it took a long time for any heat to penetrate the massive castle walls. ‘What shall we do? Or shall we quibble about it?’
‘You’re a naughty girl.’ Torr rolled her beneath him and ran his hand possessively over her hip, dipping to her waist and then curving around her breast, making her arch and shiver. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, at the junction of her throat, and she sucked in a sharp breath as every nerve in her b
ody jumped at the touch of his lips.
‘I was thinking of something rather more active than quibbling,’ he whispered into her ear, and Mallory stretched luxuriously beneath him and smiled. She liked this game.
‘Like what?’ she asked huskily, hoping he meant what she thought he meant.
He didn’t.
‘Like climbing a mountain,’ he said.
Mallory’s face fell ludicrously, but once Torr had bullied her out of bed and up onto the hill she had to admit that she was enjoying herself.
It was a bright, blowy day, and the wind chased billowing clouds across the sun so that the hillside was chequered with sunlight and swiftly moving shadows. Mallory had always found the mountains grim and intimidating before, and she had avoided even the lower slopes on her walks with Charlie, but today there was something exhilarating about being so high up, with Torr leading the way and Charlie beside her.
The air was sweet with the smell of heather, and birds called with thin, peeping cries across the hillside. Mallory was almost dizzy with the space and the bright light. There was a kind of energy up there, raw and primitive, and she felt bigger, taller, as if she were expanding with every step upwards.
It was steep walking, and by the time they reached the shoulder of the hill she was hot and puffed, in spite of the wind that had whipped colour into her cheeks, and glad to sit down on a rock for a while. Charlie drank thirstily from the small burn that gurgled busily down the mountainside and flopped, panting, at her feet.
Torr had brought a flask of coffee and some sandwiches, and Mallory ate ravenously. It was only a cheese and chutney sandwich, but right then it was the best thing she had ever tasted.
From her rock she could see Kincaillie, far below, and the sea glittering silver in the sunlight. Beside her, Torr drank his coffee, the wind lifting his hair and his eyes narrowed against the bright light. Mallory looked at his strong, brown hand, curled around the lid of the flask, and the memory of how it had felt against her skin that morning made her feel hollow inside.
He looked somehow right up here in the hills, she decided. There was something insensibly reassuring about his capacity for stillness, about his solidity and his strength and his self-containment. Steve had never been still, she remembered. He’d always been gesticulating or fiddling with a pen or fidgeting. It wasn’t that Torr had less energy than Steve. He was focused rather than flamboyant, his power more contained.
