That Devil Love

by Lee Wilkinson

  ‘Dad became so quiet and withdrawn I thought he was blaming me for leaving her, and the lord knows I felt guilty enough. But in the note he left he said he couldn’t forgive himself for not being there when she’d needed him.’

  ‘The note he left?’ Zan echoed, a razor-sharp edge to his voice.

  ‘Her funeral was on the Thursday. That same night Dad drove his car into the concrete pier of a road bridge. I don’t think he thought of it as suicide, just the end. He had nothing left to live for.’

  ‘Dear God,’ Zan muttered hoarsely. Adding almost to himself, ‘Love’s the very devil.’

  Then suddenly Annis was weeping helplessly. Weeping for Maya—for a blind fool who, in her search for love, had thrown away the real thing for a handful of worthless dreams. Weeping for her father—for a love so strong and unselfish and enduring it had lasted a lifetime. Weeping for herself—for a love that might have been…

  Not wanting this cold, remorseless man to witness her grief, she covered her face with her hands. But she was unable to stem the flow of tears, and they trickled between her fingers and ran down her wrists.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said, but the concern in his voice only made her tears flow faster.

  With an incoherent murmur, her drew her close. At first she was stiff in his arms, then she began to shake. His cheek pressed against her hair, he held her tightly, one hand stroking slowly up and down her spine, soothing the shudders that shook her.

  Since the double tragedy she hadn’t shed a single tear but, frozen in despair, had entombed herself behind walls of ice. Being forced to talk about it had made the first cracks appear, and now the warmth of his unexpected comfort was crumbling and melting that ice.

  Her arms went around his neck and, her face buried against his throat, she began to sob, great gasping sobs that hurt her chest and took more breath than she’d got.

  Still he held her, rocking her like a baby until the sobs died away and she fell to weeping quietly once more. When she was all cried out, he pulled a folded handkerchief from his pocket and mopped her up.

  Sniffing, she took the hankie from his hand and blew her nose. ‘I must look an absolute mess,’ she said with pathetic dignity.

  He studied the ravaged face, the pink nose and swollen eyes, the pale silky hair that tumbled over her bare shoulders and breasts, and contradicted softly, ‘You’ve never looked more beautiful.’

  She made a little hiccuping sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob, and all at once began to shiver.

  Stripping off his robe, he put it around her.

  It still held the warmth from his body, and she could smell the clean, masculine scent of his skin.

  ‘I’m sorry, Annis,’ he apologised abruptly. ‘I should never have put you through that. But I needed to know.’

  Briefly she pressed her hands over her eyes. ‘Perhaps it was like lancing a festering wound—painful but necessary to get rid of all the grief and bitterness and guilt.’

  ‘Have you got rid of it all?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted honestly. ‘I still feel some guilt, and perhaps I’ll always grieve for her. But I suddenly realised that I can’t blame you for not loving her. No one can love—or stop loving for that matter—to order. I just wish you hadn’t been…’

  ‘Her lover?’

  She nodded.

  Speaking clearly, decisively, he said, ‘Whether you believe me or not, I wasn’t her lover.’

  There was a ring of veracity in his voice that almost convinced her. Or was it simply that she wanted to be convinced?

  ‘But it was you with her that night,’ it was a statement not a question, ‘you she was involved with.’

  He hesitated momentarily, as if considering a denial, then answered with a sigh, ‘Yes, it was. And I’m partly to blame for what happened. I knew she was highly strung, living on her nerves. I should have stayed while she needed me rather than going to the States when I did.

  ‘When I got back weeks later and heard of her death I felt guilty as hell. To some extent I still do, and believe me if I could alter what happened I would. But it was on the cards, and I don’t believe I, or anyone else for that matter, could have averted the tragedy. At least not for any length of time.’

  ‘If only she’d come home when Dad wanted her to,’ Annis mourned.

  ‘Suppose she had? How long do you think she’d have stood it there? Use your common sense, Annis. Would she have settled happily in Rowley Beck after the kind of life she’d been leading? You know damned well she wouldn’t. She’d soon have got tired of being stuck in the house on her own day after day…’

  ‘But if I’d stayed at home with her and—’

  Taking her upper arms in a grip that hurt, he shook her hard. ‘You’ll never be free of her, never able to live your own life without guilt and regrets, until you see her as she really was. Even if she couldn’t help being as she was, that kind of woman destroys not only herself but everyone who cares about her.’

  ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘How can you keep blinding yourself to the truth? The only way to master the future is to understand, and come to terms with, the past.’ Bitterly he went on, ‘When we first met, you tried to tell me some man was responsible for turning you into a Snow Queen. But it wasn’t a man…’

  ‘It was,’ she cried a little wildly. ‘It was you. I couldn’t forget the way you’d treated Maya.’

  ‘No, Annis, it wasn’t me,’ he contradicted quietly. ‘She was the one who caused you to put all your natural feelings into deep freeze. Perhaps subconsciously you were frightened of turning out like her, frightened of becoming a victim of your own emotions…’

  She shook her head, refusing to listen.

  ‘Then that night in San Francisco you forgot those repression and inhibitions. Next day when you realised that you’d behaved like a warm, passionate woman, it scared the living daylights out of you. That was why you were so afraid of repeating your “mistake”. Why you’re still afraid.’

  ‘No, it isn’t that.’

  His hands loosened their grip and slid beneath the robe to stroke the warmth of her back and draw her closer. ‘In that case, what is it?’

  When she failed to answer, he tilted her face up to his. ‘Don’t try to pretend you don’t want me. Even though you’ve done your best to resist it, there’s been an overwhelming attraction between us from the start… Hasn’t there, Annis?’ he pressed.

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted huskily, and fancied she heard his sigh of relief.

  Those extraordinary cat-green eyes searched her face. ‘Then tell me why you’re fighting so hard against it. Is it solely because I was involved with Maya?’

  She nodded mutely.

  He pounced. ‘But you knew about that in San Francisco and it didn’t prevent you sleeping with me.’

  Then she hadn’t been thinking, only feeling.

  Colour came into her pale face. ‘That’s one of the reasons I regretted it. I felt as though I’d betrayed her.’

  ‘Do you still feel that way? Still believe I was her lover?’

  ‘I don’t want to believe it.’

  The gleam of triumph in his eyes stiffened her resolution. When he bent to touch his mouth to hers she somehow found the strength to turn her face away. ‘No, I don’t want you to kiss me. I don’t want to…’

  But she couldn’t tell him she was afraid of getting any more involved, afraid of loving him. Scared of being used and then thrown aside when his infatuation had burnt itself out.

  ‘…I—I don’t want a sexual relationship with you or anyone,’ she finished desperately.

  ‘Do you intend to cut yourself off from the warmth of all human relationships? Spend the rest of your life alone, afraid to feel, afraid to love, afraid to be a woman?’

  Did she? The only man she’d ever wanted was right here with her. Was she going to let the traumas of the past, or fear of the future, spoil what she could have? Leave her with the kind of cold, barren ex
istence Zan had just pictured?

  So what if he did end the affair when he became tired of her? She would know what it was like to be wanted, to share passion and a kind of caring. At least she would have memories to warm herself with.

  She had nothing to lose; she’d already lost it. She couldn’t be indifferent to him, and she could no longer hate him. There was no way of stepping back over that line.

  Yet was she brave enough to step forward? To chance falling even deeper in love with him? Passion, though flaming hot and fiery, was relatively easy to control. It was love, as Zan had said, that was the very devil. To love was to give oneself as a hostage to fortune. She could end up alone and desolate, utterly destroyed.

  Like Maya.

  But if she could be strong enough to control her feelings for him, to live with him without losing her head, her heart, or her soul, she might come out of it relatively unscathed…

  As she sat, blonde head bent, staring blindly at the indigo bedspread, he jumped to his feet with a growl of anger and frustration and headed for the door. His hand was on the latch when she whispered, ‘Zan…’

  He paused. His smooth, bronzed back gleamed in the light and she could see the tension in those broad shoulders. Stiffly he turned his dark head to look at her.

  The aquamarine eyes were bright with tears. ‘Please don’t go.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  HIS voice soft and dangerous, Zan said, ‘Don’t play games with me, Annis. I refuse to tolerate any more of this blow hot, blow cold treatment. If I stay I won’t allow you to change your mind again tomorrow. I intend to be the one who dictates when it ends. So if you want me on those terms…’

  ‘I do.’ She held out her arms.

  When he went into them she cradled his dark head against her breast and, already anticipating the day when he would send her away, she died a little.

  He seemed to know. When he made love to her there was no fine, careless rapture, but rather a passionate intensity, an added poignancy, as though he too was acknowledging that their relationship was to be brief. A temporary thing.

  Afterwards she cried—not knowing quite why—and he held her against his heart with a tenderness that could have been mistaken for love.

  Next morning when she opened her eyes she found him leaning over her, propped on one elbow. He was studying her face with an intensity that suggested he wanted to memorise every minute detail.

  She smiled at him a little uncertainly.

  He smiled back and kissed her, but the happiness that had been so apparent in his face that morning in San Francisco was unaccountably missing.

  With their added closeness had come a deeper perception, a kind of sixth sense, and she felt sure that he too was regretting the past and fearing the future.

  Though what had he to fear when the power to order the future lay in his own hands?

  As though he didn’t want her to decipher his expression he smiled again, banishing that troubled look, and asked lightly, ‘How about a champagne breakfast in bed?’

  She made an effort to respond to his deliberate change of mood. ‘It sounds marvellously decadent. Unless of course I’m the one who has to get it,’ she finished mischievously.

  He pretended to consider the matter, then offered, ‘I’ll get it if you agree to make it worth my while.’

  ‘I might have known there’d be strings attached.’

  ‘Just a kiss or two.’

  ‘Oh, is that all?’ She looked disappointed.

  His mouth quirked. ‘Were you expecting more?’

  ‘Much more.’

  ‘Such as what?’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to put ideas into your head,’ she said demurely.

  He gave her a smouldering look. ‘Believe me, I’m not short of ideas. For instance you could…’ Putting his lips to her ear he whispered a few words, and laughed when she blushed rosily.

  Some time later, lying quietly in the crook of his arm, she admitted that as far as loving him was concerned she was fighting a losing battle. Already she belonged more to him than to herself.

  He was, and perhaps had always been, her master. First he’d controlled her with threats, now it was with the strength of his passion—and the answering passion he roused in her.

  She ought to despise herself for letting it happen so swiftly and completely, but all she could feel was a kind of awe at the intensity of her feelings.

  Staring up at the white, sun-dappled ceiling, she wondered if Maya had felt that kind of spiritual as well as bodily ecstasy.

  Damn! Damn! She hadn’t meant to doubt him, to let the thought of Maya and the past intrude.

  Seeing the fleeting frown that pleated her smooth forehead, he asked, ‘Why the frown?’

  ‘I was just wondering what that could be,’ she said mendaciously.

  ‘What?’

  She pointed. ‘There’s a little black spot on the ceiling.’

  ‘So there is.’ He sounded fascinated.

  ‘What do you think it is?’

  ‘A fly?’ he hazarded.

  ‘It isn’t moving.’

  ‘So it’s a lazy fly.’

  ‘Speaking of laziness—’ she elbowed him in the ribs and heard his little grunt of surprise ‘—you said we’d have breakfast in bed.’

  ‘Sassy, eh?’ Rolling over, he caught her wrists and pinned her hands above her head. ‘Now who’s feeling impudent?’

  ‘Not me,’ she denied hurriedly. ‘I just thought you might be getting hungry.’

  ‘I am.’ But his eyes were lingering on her—on her long, slender throat and her creamy, pink-tipped breasts.

  ‘And you promised me champagne,’ she reminded him breathlessly, as his mouth hovered with intent.

  ‘Well, as I make a point of always keeping my promises…’ He sighed and released her wrists, but not before he’d used his lips and teeth and tongue to make her gasp and squirm deliciously.

  By the time he brought back a try loaded with warm flaky croissants and iced champagne, her heartbeat had returned to normal and she was able to meet his mocking glance with comparative composure.

  Any hint of sadness or insecurity put aside, the next couple of weeks were full of the kind of jewel-bright happiness that came only rarely.

  As though catching their mood, the weather had turned glorious. After spending a short time each morning in the office, Zan insisted on making the most of it. Their daylight hours were used for country walks and picnics, trips down the Thames and excursions to the seaside, while their nights were filled with lovemaking.

  On the surface it was complete and satisfying, but beneath the euphoria lay a driving hunger that was never really appeased.

  Zan made love to her with a strange urgency, an exquisite passion, which she met and matched with a bittersweet passion of her own.

  On both their parts was a kind of desperation to enjoy to the full what they had, while it was within their grasp.

  One Friday evening, as they were returning from a day spent at Kew Gardens, Mrs Matheson met them in the hall to say, ‘Mrs Warrener rang. I told her you were gallivanting again.’

  Zan grinned unrepentantly. ‘You sound disapproving.’

  Mary sniffed. ‘She asked me to remind you that they’re expecting you to dine at Rydal Lodge tonight. Seven-thirty for eight…’

  Zan glanced at his watch, then dropping an arm around Annis’s shoulders, said, ‘We’ve just nice time to shower and change.’

  In their bedroom, with the gleam in his green-gold eyes that always took her breath away, he asked enticingly, ‘Shower with me?’

  ‘Only if you promise to behave yourself,’ she said primly, rummaging for clean undies.

  He shuddered. ‘You sound just like Mary…’

  ‘How long has she been with you?’

  ‘About twelve years. I engaged her as soon as I could afford a housekeeper. My younger brothers and sisters were still at home and they needed someone to look after them.’

  ‘Where did you
live then?’

  ‘In an old, damp house in Battersea that would have frightened off most women. But thank God Mary was made of sterner stuff.’

  ‘Has she been widowed long?’

  ‘Her husband had just died and she was thinking of going to live with her sister when I offered her a job… Now, are you ready for that shower, or do you want to carry on discussing our housekeeper?’

  Warming to the our, she nevertheless protested, ‘I just find her interesting.’

  He leered at her. ‘I could make a shower a great deal more interesting. But as you look tired, I promise that all I’ll do is dry you.’

  She glanced at him from beneath long lashes, and relenting, said, ‘I’m not that tired.’

  ‘Hallelujah,’ he murmured piously.

  Later, warm and dry and scented, she thanked heaven that though he might not love her it was abundantly clear he still wanted her.

  Often, at the back of her mind, was the thought that his obsession might soon be over, his passion for her burning itself out in one of those fiery nights of lovemaking.

  It was five weeks now since he’d first made love to her. Five weeks since that night in San Francisco…

  Five weeks…

  The realisation was suddenly branded into her consciousness, along with the fact that for the past few days she’d felt a little queasy…

  She’d put the slight upset down to some prawns that hadn’t seemed quite fresh, but now the suspicion that it could have had a different cause grew in her mind…

  The warmth that filled her at the thought that she might be carrying Zan’s baby was almost instantly replaced by fear and apprehension. What would his reaction be? Their bargain tied her to him for at least a year, so he was bound to find out. Perhaps he would be angry? Try to make her get rid of it?

  Well, she wouldn’t. Nothing would induce her to do such a thing. But almost immediately, remembering the way he’d struggled to keep his own family intact, she realised she was doing him a grave injustice. Even so, a great anxiety remained.