Love In Torment

by Natalie Fox

  Tears scoured her eyes. She was close, though, verging dangerously near to giving in. Pulses throbbed urgently within her as his kisses deepened to the intensity where soon there would be no going back.

  ‘No!’ she cried, tearing her mouth from his.

  His hold on her tightened. ‘Painful, is it?’ he growled in her ear, his hand coming up to grip the weight of her hair at the nape of her neck. ‘You’re not alone, querida.’ He pulled her hard into him, urging himself against her so she could feel the effect she had on him. ‘You can feel my pain too, can’t you? It’s tangible. I can’t come out of this unscathed, I assure you.’

  ‘Why, then?’ she murmured helplessly. ‘Why put yourself through this as well?’

  ‘So you admit it, that I’m hurting you?’ He grazed the words across her throat.

  ‘You know you are,’ she finally admitted, closing her eyes against the onslaught of his lips on her heated flesh. ‘But why pain yourself? Just let me go, Felipe. Don’t do this.’

  ‘Don’t do this,’ he echoed derisively, snaking his tongue over the soft hollow of her throat. ‘Don’t you understand what fires me? I want to exorcise you out of my life.’ He cupped her face in his hands and looked at her then. ‘I hate loving you, do you know that? I hate the nights when I can’t sleep for the need to possess you. I hate myself for allowing you that power over me——’

  It was then she tore herself away from him, somehow finding the strength to put air and space between them. She stood there, trembling from head to toe. ‘And you’re going to punish me for something within yourself you can’t control. I feel sorry for you…’ she breathed.

  He smiled coldly. ‘Don’t waste sympathy on me, Gemma. Save it for yourself, because whatever I suffer you’ll pay doubly for. Now go to bed and see how far into the night you can get without thinking of my mouth on yours, my caresses…’

  She turned and ran then with a sob trapped dangerously in her throat, threatening to choke the life from her. She wanted to die rather than stay another night in this place, she realised as she reached her room, her breath coming in deep rasps, her lungs burning with exertion.

  She lurched to the window, furiously swept aside the lace and breathed the night-scented air. It was cloying and humid and she clutched at her throat, horrified to realise that she was crying. Oh, Felipe, she mouthed into the still air.

  She awoke in the small hours of the morning and didn’t know why. It was seconds before it hit her. She was feverishly hot and she’d been having a bad dream. Felipe had been loving her, as he had in London. Not cruelly and punishingly but with tenderness and care, his lips and his sensuous touch powering her to the brink of that sweet ecstasy that hovered on the edge of reality. But in real life Felipe had fulfilled every secret promise during their lovemaking. The dream was murderously different, Felipe scorning her just as she was about to lose control, a wicked smile on his mouth as he brought her nearer and nearer to the edge of her orgasm, and then drawing back from her with a leonine roar of triumph…

  Gemma sat up in the heated darkness, covered her face with her hands. It had started, the torment he had promised. Not a night had passed since Felipe had left her without her thinking of him, imagining him back in her life and loving her as if Bianca had never existed. And now he was back in her life and it was all so cruelly different. Her love and need were still there but Felipe’s had distorted to bitter revenge. And he was winning, she knew that. The ache inside her confirmed it. She wanted him and would always want him and it was a wicked sentence to have to live with.

  Gemma heard the row as soon as she hit the bottom of the stairs the next morning.

  She stood still, trying to gauge where it was coming from. Agustªn’s study, but there was only one voiceFelipe’s.

  ‘I’ve had enough, Agustªn! Get rid of her…I’m not going to do it…Like hell I will!’

  Gemma was in time to see Felipe slam down the telephone receiver and lean heavily on the desk, his fists bunched tightly. He had his back to her as she stood in the open doorway and his head was lowered.

  Cold fear ran through her at what she had heard, the content and the bitterness of the deliverance. Suddenly he wanted rid of her and was expecting Agustªn to do it for him. She hurried away to the kitchen before he turned and caught her eavesdropping.

  ‘I have no work today,’ Christina told Gemma as she served up her breakfast. ‘I sit all day for you.’

  She was very eager to see herself immortalised on canvas and Gemma forced a smile. She was still in shock after hearing that snippet of conversation on the phone. ‘That’s fine with me, but——’

  ‘But not fine with me,’ Felipe interrupted, coming into the kitchen like a thunderbolt.

  Christina flushed hotly and Gemma steeled herself. Whatever Agustªn’s reply, it hadn’t been balm to his ears. Felipe was in a raging temper.

  ‘You can have an hour of Gemma’s time and that’s all!’ he directed firmly at Christina.

  Christina nodded, quickly placed Felipe’s breakfast on the table and hurried out of the room.

  Desolately Gemma sat across from Felipe at the breakfast table and tried to eat.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he asked flintily.

  ‘You,’ she told him flatly. ‘Bad temper puts me off my food.’

  ‘What have you got to be bad-tempered about? Have a rough night, did you?’ He poured her coffee for her and sugared it, just as he had in London. The gesture stung her.

  ‘I’m not the one in a foul temper, you are! I had a splendid night’s sleep if you must know,’ she lied. ‘You obviously didn’t!’

  ‘I’m not in a bad temper——’

  ‘Well, I’d hate to be around you when you are!’ she cut in.

  ‘Give it time and you might see the full-blown strength of my wrath; in fact go on picking at your food and you might witness it sooner than you think. You know I can’t stand messing with food.’

  Gemma purposely twirled a slice of bacon round her plate, eventually abandoning it to toy with a piece of tomato.

  ‘Don’t be so bloody childish!’ he ordered darkly.

  ‘That’s good coming from the past master of adult infancy——’

  His hand clamped over hers to silence her, nearly crushing the fine bones of her fingers in his.

  ‘That hurts,’ she murmured.

  ‘Good, it was meant to.’ He let her go and she rubbed her fingers, exaggeratedly because she didn’t want him to know that he hadn’t hurt her that much.

  ‘Why do you suddenly want rid of me?’ she asked boldly.

  He frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Nothing for it but to be honest. ‘I overheard your phone call with Agustªn.’

  ‘Checking up on me again——’

  ‘No!’ Gemma snapped. ‘I don’t creep around trying to keep tabs on you, I’m not interested enough. But you were bellowing at the top of your voice and no doubt the whole household heard.’

  ‘So what did you hear?’

  ‘That you wanted rid of me and for Agustªn to do it.’

  ‘Heard your name mentioned, did you?’ he came back, sarcastically.

  Gemma bit her lip. ‘No…no, I just presumed…’ ‘You presumed wrong, then. In future don’t listen to calls that have nothing to do with you.’

  She wondered who he had been talking about, in that case. Maybe one of the staff? She didn’t ask.

  ‘I want to use the studio before Agustªn gets back,’ she told him, picking up her knife and fork and continuing with her breakfast.

  ‘No problem.’

  Surprised, she glanced up at him. She had expected an objection. He glanced at his watch and she realised he wasn’t being suddenly soft with her; he simply didn’t have the time to argue.

  ‘I thought I would use Christina as a dry run for Agustªn…’

  ‘Do as you please,’ he murmured, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. He stood up.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I
t was out before she could stop it, the stupid question that had him raising his brow mockingly.

  ‘You sound just like an English wife,’ he said, surprisingly softly, and bent and cupped her chin, held her head steady to kiss her full on the mouth. ‘Be here when I get back,’ he ordered after taking his fill.

  ‘And you sound like a bastard Latin husband,’ she murmured under her breath as he strode out of the back door, slapping his crop against his riding boots as he went out.

  After she had finished her coffee she went in search of Christina. An hour, Felipe had said, but he hadn’t stated which hour. Perhaps it would be better to get it over and done with while he was out riding.

  She checked the studio before finding Christina. It was spotless. Someone had been ordered to clean it up. Obviously not Christina, who stood hesitantly at the studio door, as nervous as a cat urged to jump in a whirling river.

  ‘Is all right?’ she asked Gemma, her dark eyes wide. ‘Only I never see before. Se?or de Navas he no like anyone here.’

  The thought made Gemma nervous as she pushed open the door for Christina as if they were opening up the tomb of Tutankhamun. Christina made Agustªn sound like an ogre, Felipe was at war with him, and the man concerned was her father! She wondered how Felipe would feel if he knew. She locked away the conjectures as her mother had locked away her secret so many years ago. For the first time she could see her mother’s point in trying to stop her coming.

  The hour passed quickly, with Christina relaxing and telling Gemma all about her romance with Mike; how Mike intended to join a major airline company in North America and take Christina with him. They would travel the world together and Gemma realised with a jolt that the girl had only ever been as far as Caracas in her life. She envied her simplicity and contentment and she envied her her love.

  ‘I worry about Se?or de Navas, he no like, but Felipe he say OK, so OK it must be,’ Maria muttered when she brought them a cold drink as they were finishing the session.

  ‘You mean opening up the studio?’

  ‘Si. He never open this studio after the day he marry.’

  ‘It was here before he married?’ Gemma quizzed, knowing she shouldn’t probe but finding it irresistible.

  ‘Si. Se?or de Navas he go to Europe for a long time, business for his father. He meet an artist lady, like you,’ Maria laughed. ‘The studio he made for her but she no come. Then he marry——’ She stopped suddenly, looking over Gemma’s shoulder to the door and the walkway and the double doors of Agustªn’s study.

  They were wide open and Gemma suspected that by the look of astonishment on Maria’s and Christina’s faces that this was the first time. Felipe was coming towards them.

  ‘We go,’ Maria murmured, giving her daughter a look.

  Gemma was cleaning her brushes at the sink when he strode into the studio.

  ‘Do you always have that effect on Agustªn’s staff, send them scuttling…?’

  ‘I scuttle no one,’ he told her.

  ‘They left in a hurry.’

  ‘They have duties. Maria is an excellent housekeeper and her schedule is rigid. It’s good,’ he said, and Gemma whirled from the sink to see what had changed his conversation. He was studying the picture of Christina.

  Gemma tried to stem the flood of colour that rushed to her face at the sight of him standing before the canvas. Her heart tightened painfully. He was still wearing his riding gear, calf-hugging white jodhpurs that were now dusty and scuffed. His black polo shirt was taut with moisture across his chest and his hair and brow were wet as if he’d just put his head under the water pump after a vigorous ride. She could smell the maleness of him, the mixture of his cologne and his own personal muskiness. The brushes slid from her grasp into the sink.

  She concentrated on gathering them up and washing them briskly, fighting with horror her treacherous arousal at the sight and smell of such raw maleness.

  ‘You forget, I know you, Gemma,’ he murmured in her ear, sliding his arms around her waist and pressing himself hard into her back.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ she cried, twisting to get out of his grasp. He tightened his grip on her and his arms locked painfully round her till she could hardly draw breath.

  ‘I always aroused you after working out, didn’t I? But I haven’t been working out this morning, sweet one. I’ve been urging my stud horse on——’

  ‘Stop it!’ she husked, struggling hard within the restriction of his arms. Suddenly she was spun around to face him and his grip tightened painfully on her upper arms and he was pressing against her so hard the edge of the sink bit into her back.

  ‘You should have come and watched, querida; it only takes a few thrusts and it’s all over——’.

  ‘That sort of thing turns you on, does it? You’re an animal yourself!’ she gasped.

  ‘No, you are. A very sexy animal, and you turn me on, not my horses.’ His mouth was tantalising on hers, tempting her yet holding back his passion till he was sure she was going with him.

  Desperately Gemma fought him, with her physical strength, which was feeble against his, her fists making no contact with his chest as he caught her wrists and forced them to her side. But he could do little with her inner fight. That was all down to her and treacherously she could feel it sliding recklessly away from her. And he knew just when the slide was out of her control, storming downhill, gathering momentum as it went. Then his kisses heightened to that level of passion when to join him was inevitable.

  Together, locked together, her reserve was gone. He knew exactly the moment to release her wrists to let them come up and graze helplessly through his damp hair. A groan as deep as an ocean came to his lips and she felt it reverberate against her breast as he tore her shirt open.

  Suckling her nipples like a hungry child, he forced her down on to the divan. The contact of the warm silk on her back had her crying a feverish ‘No!’ but it was useless; any protestation was lost on a gushing wave of desire as he lowered himself down beside her.

  His mouth on hers was relentless as his hands powered over her body, skilfully manipulating her out of her old painting shirt. Apart from tiny silk bikini briefs she was naked beneath it.

  His dark, hooded eyes raked her near naked form before he lowered his mouth to her stomach, running his tongue across her pulsing flesh till she was gasping with frustration.

  This was the torment she had dreamed about last night, when he had held back from her, leaving her suspended and aching for the release he was tempting her with now. But dreams were misleading and she realised that Felipe wasn’t stopping, not yet anyway.

  Her briefs were eased aside and his thumb grazed sensuously across her triangle of dark silken hair, his rhythmic pressure, searching and finding. And then gently, oh, so gently his caress deepened and the pulsing rhythm spun her nearer and nearer to the edge of ecstasy. She knew, in that exquisite, reckless moment of near abandon, she knew that he wasn’t going to stop at all. How clever he was, how well he knew her. His revenge would be more subtle than the tease of her nightmare.

  Her mouth opened in a sob of anguish. ‘Please, Felipe…’

  Her voice echoed and so did his soft moan of triumph as his strokes quickened, unrestricted and confident because he knew she was beyond the realms of reality. Gemma came in a rush of fury and white heat that had her struggling helplessly against the inevitable. His mouth over hers stemmed the core of her anguished cry for the pain and the torment of his bitter revenge.

  His breath was deep against her throat and in the midst of her own torture she knew he was hurting too. She couldn’t stop the tears then. They flowed for herself and for him and for their love that had gone terribly wrong.

  Felipe mouthed the wet from her cheeks and then he eased away to look down on her and to run a hand through her thick luxuriant mane. He opened his mouth to speak and Gemma tensed fiercely in preparation for the cruel gibe she sensed was coming.

  His fingers caressed her hair, twisting the tendrils p
ossessively round his fingers. ‘It suits you longer,’ he murmured softly. ‘If you hadn’t been so untrusting, Gemma, I would have been around to see this grow.’ And then his eyes glazed with anger as if he’d been cheated and he thrust the tendrils across her face, stood up from the couch and walked away from her without looking back.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IT WAS worse than Gemma could ever have anticipated. Felipe’s cruelty and total humiliation had rocked her. She had avoided him for two days now. Or maybe it had been the other way round, he had avoided her. She was too stunned to fathom it out. All she knew was she had seen nothing of him and somehow that was worse than a head-on confrontation.

  He had known precisely what he had done to her. The humiliation had been the lesser of the two evils to suffer. He knew that that sort of one-sided lovemaking only made her crave him more.

  Gemma despised herself and hated Felipe for making her feel that way. She still loved and wanted a man who was hard and cruel and had no regard to the pain he was inflicting on her. But those wonderful days in London couldn’t be erased from her mind and that was the trouble, the problem she was fighting to understand. They had been in love then, and Felipe had been the ultimate lover. How could he have changed so? If he really did still love her, how could he hurt her and keep on hurting her? How could he himself hold back from taking her when once their lovemaking had been so vital and complete?

  ‘Agustªn will be back tomorrow night.’

  Gemma whirled from the final touches she had been making to Christina’s picture. It would be dark soon and she was nearly finished. It had filled her time and she was grateful to have been absorbed.

  ‘Good,’ she murmured, turning back to the canvas, not wanting to look at him. He appeared no different and she knew she did. She had noticed the blueness under her eyes this very morning and her eyes had lost the last vestige of brightness they had been hanging on to these past months. She looked and felt dull and heavy.