Duel of Passion

by Madeleine Ker

  She gasped out loud as his mouth tasted the tender pink tips of her breasts, the caress of his tongue a passionate adoration. Sophie could feel them tighten with desire in his mouth, hardly aware that she was digging her nails into the hard muscles of his back, as though urging him to unleash the cruelty she had always suspected was in him.

  His teeth closed gently around the taut buds, the sensation at first shockingly intense, then changing to a languorous heat that invaded her thighs, her womb, the centre of her need.

  At last, he drew away from her, and rolled on to his back, pulling her on top of him. The face that looked up at her was magnificent, passion making it more beautiful than she had ever seen it before. The curving male mouth was imperious.

  `Take my shirt off.'

  Why could she not disobey the whispered command? Her shaking fingers were fumbling with the buttons, her hair tumbling about her face as she pressed tiny, shy kisses on each inch of velvety bronze skin that was revealed. He smelled so good, warm and male and clean, and she thrilled to the way his breathing grew harsh and fast at her clumsy, timid caresses.

  The night was like silk, cool and silent, wrapping them in dark arms. The world outside was ceasing to exist, their bodies becoming the only universe that mattered.

  Tender with passionate hunger, Sophie tasted the dark skin of his belly, feeling the curling black hair brush her lips as her tongue drew moistly towards the dark core of his navel. He groaned, his arms reaching for her.

  Ì want you, Sophie,' he said, almost fiercely. 'I've never wanted anyone the way I want you.'

  She sank her cheek against his bare skin, closing her eyes. Her arm touched his loins unwittingly, brushing the hard, swollen arousal there; Kyle's half-stifled gasp of reaction made a wave of dizziness wash through her mind. He lifted himself on one arm, staring into Sophie's dark bewildered eyes with ruthless intensity.

  `The moment I set eyes on you, this was already happening in my mind. I've made love to you a dozen, a hundred times already.' He smiled briefly, tawny eyes seeming to speak to her very soul. 'Sometimes it was slow and unbearably drawn-out.

  Sometimes it was swift and savage. But I never dreamed, not once, that it could be as beautiful as this.'

  Òh, Kyle,' Sophie whispered, helpless in the force of her feelings for him.

  `Let's not hurry,' he murmured, his mouth seeking hers. 'We've got all night ...'

  He cupped her breasts as he kissed her, his thumbs moving with slow appreciation across her sensitised aureoles. She was lost, her mind flooded with patterns of colour, like the bright depths of a kaleidoscope, ever changing, never escaping the brilliant circle of desire.

  Her own hand had come to rest at the base of his belly, sensing the heat of his manhood through the thin material. The way he moved begged her to move her hand lower, and her fingertips moved like shy butterflies to obey, tracing the shrouded mystery of his desire so gently that it was almost impossible he could feel it; and yet he

  moaned, deep in his throat, as though her timorous touch had been the most expert of caresses.

  Her heart was pounding, her mind spinning on waves of dizzy heat as she stroked him there, feeling his possessive touch at her breasts.

  Had she meant this to happen? Was this part of her so-called plan, that she should wind up making love to Kyle Hart on the eve of her departure?

  He was kissing her mouth as he caressed her naked back, her flanks, her hips, the slit in her sarong now proving a fatal breach in her defences as he slid his hand along the inside of her thigh, her position offering no resistance to the questing fingers that moved expertly towards the wisp of lace that was all that protected her virginity.

  Sophie had never gone this far with any man before. These were regions where she had never trodden, feelings she had never dreamed of. But then, she had never been with a man like Kyle before. The compelling sexuality of this man had overwhelmed her from the start. But she had never stopped wanting him.

  She, too, had done this a hundred times in her imagination already. But she had not possessed the honesty, or the self-knowledge, to admit it.

  Her thoughts broke up in a silent explosion of colour as she felt Kyle's fingers reach the moist, silken skin of her loins, touching the melting substance of her womanhood, finding the soaring apex of her desire with a caress that brought both gasping release and a completely new surge of hunger.

  The time for reserve was over. Suddenly', their bodies were pressed together, their mouths kissing with a feverish intensity as their hands caressed, tormented, excited one another beyond endurance.

  There was no more doubt, no more thought of the consequences of the morrow, or the morality of what she was doing, in Sophie's mind. Her mind was his, both of them focused on the ever more urgent necessity of union, of knowing each other well enough for the act of love.

  An eternity later, they both paused, staring at one another in tense wonder as they lay on the white bedcover. He was naked to the waist, his body dark and formidably male in the soft light. She, with her chestnut hair tumbled round her flushed cheeks, and her black dress rumpled about her slender waist, made a picture of wanton eroticism.

  `Kyle,' she said tightly, her voice feeling as though she hadn't used it for months, 'there's something you don't know.'

  For a moment, amusement took the place of desire in his eyes. White teeth glinted between tanned lips as he laughed softly. 'Is there, little cool Sophie? And what might that be?'

  Her mouth opened, but no words were formed. She could not go on without telling him.

  And yet, if she told him now—if she told him, and he was angry, or laughed ...

  Unlike last year in Brighton, Kyle's attraction towards her in Jamaica had been swift and warm. As she'd seen the interest in her awaken in his eyes, so she'd started to dread discovery. It had stopped being a game, long ago. If he once remembered her as Maisie Wilkin, that ugly,. drab creature he'd once found so repulsive, would all his interest in her not swiftly evaporate, and vanish forever?

  She flinched suddenly, as though a rough blow had landed across her mouth.

  At first, all she'd wanted was to have a bit of mischievous fun with him. At least, that was what she'd told herself. She'd had something in mind when her little game with Kyle had started, but the logic of it had somehow got distorted, broken up like a reflection in troubled waters.

  And now she was deathly afraid. She had been afraid from the very start. Afraid that, once again, her feelings were going to be trampled on.

  She'd faced this moment from the very beginning, when she had first set eyes on him down at the beach. And she had already weighed up the prospects, and had come down on the side of three weeks of certain heaven, rather than risk the chance of nothing at all.

  But had she made the right choice?

  She'd never known such perfection as these three weeks. And tonight, as he'd held her in his arms, she had felt that Kyle's feelings were real, and that they had been on the brink of an experience that had depth and beauty in full measure.

  But it had all been false, it was all tottering on the edge of a horrible disaster, because of what she knew and he didn't.

  `W hat is it?' he asked in concern, seeing the colour drain from her glowing face.

  'Sophie?' Kyle drew her close, his mouth seeking hers for the gentlest of caresses.

  'What is it, my darling? You look as though you've seen a ghost.'

  Ì have,' she whispered.

  `W hat is it that I'm supposed to know? Tell me.' Òh, Kyle,' she whimpered. 'If you only knew how

  I've prayed that you wouldn't do this to me ...'

  `Don't you want me to make love to you?'

  Òh, yes ... but you don't understand. And when you do understand, I'm so afraid of what you'll feel ...'

  He stared at her, eyes dark and puzzled as he tried to fathom what she was saying.

  And in the taut silence came the faint, muffled crying of a child from the next room, desolate and afrai
d.

  Èmma,' he said quietly. 'She has nightmares. The baby-sitter will put her back to sleep.'

  But the crying only increased in volume and intensity. `You must go to her,' Sophie said, releasing him with a deathly ache in her heart. 'She needs someone she knows.'

  His fingers bit into her wrists like manacles.

  `God, I'm suddenly so afraid you won't be here when I get back,' he said tautly.

  Ì will be,' she promised, feeling a thick lump in her throat.

  Kyle stared into her eyes for a tense moment longer. Then he rose fluidly to his feet, and pulled his silk dressing-gown off the chair.

  He left without a word, closing the door behind him.

  Sophie, too, got unsteadily to her feet. Her breasts and loins were aching with unfulfilled desire. She caught sight of herself in the mirror, the intense eroticism of her own appearance shocking her raw sensibilities.

  Clumsily, she hooked the dress back over her naked breasts, trying to restore some order to her dishevelled clothing. It was not going to happen tonight. In a moment she was going to go back to her room, and tomorrow she was going back to England. Her eyes were blurred with unshed tears as she groped for Kyle's hairbrush, and started blindly brushing her hair.

  She listened to the distant sound of Emma's crying, hearing it fade away into silence.

  She had reached a point in her relationship with Kyle beyond which she could not go.

  She couldn't let him make love to her, not without telling him who she really was.

  And she couldn't face what his reaction might be to that disclosure. Not now, not tonight.

  The door opened, and Kyle came back into the room, his eyes darkening as they saw her dressed.

  `Sophie ... damn! I knew that would be the end of it.'

  `Tomorrow is another day,' she said, taking a deep breath of the cool night air in an effort to steady the surging in her veins.

  `Do I have to take that as a dismissal?' Kyle asked, coming to take her in his arms.

  Sophie's mouth drew into an unsteady smile. `Tomorrow is another day,' she repeated.

  `Then what are you crying about?' he replied, kissing her temples gently. 'What did you want to tell me that was so important?'

  She looked at him from under thick lashes that were wet with tears. Tomorrow was going to be a very different awakening from the one he expected. 'Nothing. I'm just not ... not very experienced at all this.'

  Kyle looked down at her with an expression in his green eyes that made her heart turn over inside her.

  Àre you telling me that you're a virgin?' he asked quietly.

  She hesitated, then nodded with a laugh that was midway to a sob. 'Yes. Partly that, yes.'

  Ànd you want more time to think about it?' he said, even more gently.

  She nodded, her throat too choked for speech.

  Kyle smiled slightly, but not mockingly. 'Don't think about it for too long. I might just get ill with wanting you in the meantime.'

  Again, that half-laugh, half-sob rose in her throat. `Thank you for a lovely evening. All of it. It's been like nothing I've ever known before.'

  Ìf I said the same thing, you probably wouldn't believe me. But it's true.' He kissed her vulnerable, slightly swollen lips softly, cupping her oval face in his hands. `Do you really want to go?' he whispered huskily.

  She nodded, and he walked her to her own room. Outside her door he reached for her again, but Sophie gave him a warning glance.

  Ì think you've kissed me quite enough for one night,' she pleaded. 'I don't think I could take much more.'

  Ìf I get any sleep,' he promised, 'I'm going to dream of number one hundred and one.'

  She smiled up at him, her eyes lingering on one of the most magnificent male faces she would ever see. Then she held out the gardenia he had given her. 'I've loved tonight. All of it. Until tomorrow.'

  He took the flower. 'Until tomorrow.'

  She let herself into her room, and locked the door.

  Her eyes were blurred with tears again, tears that now spilled hotly down her cheeks, unchecked. She fought her emotions down fiercely. There wasn't time for absurd sentimental indulgences. She brushed her wet cheeks, and checked her watch. Almost five. Already, the sky was lightening outside, and she caught the smoky morning smell of a distant fire. In two hours' time, she would have to be ready to leave.

  It wasn't worth taking off her make-up, but she stripped off the sarong dress. The tips of her breasts were still painful with eager desire, her loins liquid and throbbing, but she fought that feeling down, too. She packed the dress, and the last of her belongings, and started getting ready for her departure.

  The only things she didn't pack were her pyjamas, which she put on, her sponge-bag, and a light dress to wear on the flight.

  There was only one way for her to know how seriously Kyle Hart felt about her, and that was to do what she had originally planned to do: go back to England, leaving him a letter telling him who she really was.

  She sat at the desk, and pulled a sheet of hotel writing-paper towards her. There were no more tears in her eyes as she started to write.

  Dear Kyle,

  Once upon a time there was a girl who went for a walk on Brighton sands, and overhead a man talking about her to her friend. What she heard him say about her was painful. It wounded her vanity, and made her wish, for a while, that she were someone else.

  By the time you read this, I'll be on my way home. I'm sorry to have perpetrated a deception on you. You were right all along, of course. You and I have met before, but it was not an occasion which I remember with any pleasure, and so I took care not to remind you of it. Now I wish I had done

  so, at the start. But it's too late for wishes.

  If your memory needs further prompting, you can see me as I was on BBC at eight p.m. on Thursday the th August. I've changed since then, but I was the absurd one, with those awful clothes and glasses.

  I can only hope that you'll understand why I deceived you, and how much it has cost me.

  Sophie hesitated for a long while, staring at the paper with absent eyes. Should she add something like, 'Please get in touch with me again?' She could just add her London phone number, or even her address. But her pen hesitated over the paper.

  If he wanted to find her again, he could locate her easily enough. Helene, for one, could tell him where she lived. And if he didn't want to find her ...

  Well, there was nothing she could do about that. She would have to leave it up to him.

  She had no other choice.

  If he really cared about her, he would come to her again, and they could start their relationship on a fresh footing. If he felt only disgust at the revelation, or if his feelings had never been serious to start with, then she would never see him again. It was as simple as that.

  There seemed nothing more she could say. After a moment, she signed the note, 'Maisie'. As an afterthought, she took the Giorgio Armani bottle out of her bag and let one small drop fall on the paper.

  She read the note. It would sting, and at first it would seem to have hit too hard, and too far below the belt. But what else could she do?

  She folded the note, sealed it, and wrote Kyle's name and room number on the envelope. She propped it up on her desk, ready to give to reception later, as she left.

  Then she climbed into bed, and curled up under the sheet. She pushed sorrow firmly away from her mind.

  There would be time enough later to think about what she had done, and grieve for what might have been.

  Now she closed her eyes, and let memories of the brightest night of her life take her down the tunnel of sleep.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WHAT had been the point of it all?

  As the Jumbo descended through layers of misty cloud towards Heathrow, at twenty minutes to midnight, Sophie was thinking about what had happened over the past three weeks.

  She'd once adored Kyle Hart. Meeting him again hadn't exactly quenched the glowing embers of th
at feeling. In fact, being in his company for three blissful weeks had been more like a gale, fanning the glow into a full-scale forest fire.

  Why hadn't she told him who she really was right at the start? Why hadn't she just given their relationship a chance to recover from what had happened in Brighton last year, and let the Caribbean sunshine ease away all pain, all anger, so that they could make a new start?

  It was too late for such reproaches. His awakening this morning would have put a cold end to any such dreams.

  She thought of him reading her note, thought of his expression, the way his face would have changed. She'd once thought of that moment with relish. Not any more. If that was a triumph, then it was a mean one, and one she hadn't even stayed to witness.

  What kind of brainstorm had she been through? Looking back, she must have been insane to have played that kind of trick on a m an like Kyle.

  Now, approaching a rainy London, she was wondering who had really been punished, and who had really been hurt.

  `Ladies and gentlemen, this is your stewardess speaking. Please fasten your seat-belts and extinguish your cigarettes. Passengers are requested to make sure

  their seats are in the upright position for landing, and to refrain from smoking until they are in the terminal building.'

  Sophie reached absently for her seat-belt.

  A song was running through her head, the bittersweet refrain of 'Jamaica Farewell': 'My heart is down, my head is turnin' around, I had to leave a little girl in Kingston town ...'

  But she knew that Kyle wasn't the forever kind. Had she let herself be drawn into the maelstrom of an affair with him, blown on the wings of a Caribbean hurricane from Ocho Rios to the Cayman Islands, she would almost certainly have ended up with a broken heart and broken dreams.

  So maybe getting away from Kyle, and leaving him with that slap in the face, had been the best thing she could have done.

  But no amount of rationalising could take the ache away from her heart, or the depression from her mind. All she knew was that she was a day away, a lifetime away, from the only man who had ever really touched her heart.