by Anne Hampson
She did as she was bid, thinking it did not matter anyway. She could phone him from the privacy of her bedroom.
Both she and Luke were silent on the short drive up the steep, winding road leading to the Villa Cladeos. But Martine was thoughtful and decided that the best thing was to tell Luke of her decision right away, taking him off guard and making all his complaints unnecessary.
This she did, the moment he had unceremoniously ushered her into the cool and flower-scented living-room and closed the door, interrupting his forceful and harshly-spoken, 'And now, wife, you can begin your explanation—' with, 'I might as well tell you at once, Luke, that I have decided to end our marriage.' She was very pale, and the perspiration was already visible in little beads of dampness on her forehead.
'You… have what?' The words came slowly, after a small pause during which Luke's face became almost evil and for the very first time the scar looked ugly—almost revolting. Martine shuddered and automatically stepped back, putting more distance between her husband and herself.
'I want more from marriage than sex,' she managed through dry and stiffened lips. 'Therefore, I want a divorce. I—I'm in love with Kelvin still—and he's in love with me. It's not sensible for us to—to be apart… In spite of her resolve to face up to him bravely, Martine faltered, her nerves rioting, her heart thudding painfully against her ribs. For Luke wore an expression which reminded her of the fury of the very elements themselves—dark, and ominous as thunder.
'You've obviously been discussing this with Kelvin,' accused Luke through his teeth. 'And do you suppose the results of those discussions are anything to do with me?' His eyes were narrowed now, his mouth tight with the anger that consumed him.
'They are, Luke,' she answered with some difficulty. 'My sentiments are important—'
'You married me of your own choosing,' he broke in harshly. 'And that marriage stays—get that!'
She passed her tongue over her dry lips and stared at him, thinking that if she had seen him in a mood like this she would never have married him—never even have considered marriage. In fact, she would have run from him and hoped she would never set eyes on him again.
'You can't force me to stay with you,' she told him presently. 'I—er—I have my things ready to pack. I'd have had them packed if you'd not returned earlier than I expected. I promised Kelvin that I'd leave here with him immediately after I had told you that I wanted a divorce.'
The black eyes blazed for interminable moments then narrowed, while his face twisted and his fingers closed. Again Martine shivered, fascinated, held as prey is held, helpless, by a predator. Helpless? Her mouth went tight. She was not helpless! She was not going to allow herself to be terrorised like this!
'There'll be no divorce—'
'My mind's made up!' She snapped out the interruption, staring straight at him, defiance and challenge in her eyes. 'You can't do a thing about it—I am leaving you today!'
'By heaven you are not!' All the mastery and domination of the Greek god Zeus himself seemed to be ignited within him as, with a leap, he was across the room and she cried out a protest as he seized her wrist in a cruel and possessive grip.
'Luke, I—!' His fierce, attacking mouth stemmed the rest as it closed over hers, but with anger as the spur she set up a struggle which increased in strength when his possessive hand sought beneath the loose bodice she wore to close firmly and arrogantly on the curve of her breast.
'Leave me alone!' she cried wrathfully, gripping his wrist and digging her fingernails deliberately into it, actually hoping to draw blood. With a muttered oath he took her by the arms and shook her with ruthless abandon until she cried out for him to stop.
'Little wildcat!' He looked at his wrist and then at her. 'I'll beat you the next time!'
'There won't be a next time,' she quivered gaspingly while she endeavoured to get her breath back. 'I'm going!'
He took hold of her again and jerked her to him, finding her mouth in spite of her swift movements as she swung her head about, trying to beat him even while knowing that she would never succeed. He had her chin in a ruthless grip, forcing her head to be still, and then she felt his probing tongue, his roaming hands, his hard and masterful body compelling her to obey the demand of its pressure.
Tears pricked her eyes at her helplessness; she murmured a protest when at last he drew his mouth from hers. 'My—my mind's m-made up,' she said weakly, her whole body drained by his rough handling of her. 'I made a mistake in marrying you, but now I w-want to rectify it—!'
'What has happened during my absence?' he demanded, his anger evaporating as he stood there, towering above her, his dark scrutiny so probing that she felt he would read her very thoughts. 'You were all right before I went away,' he reminded her, his grip on her arms tight and masterful as she made an attempt to free herself. 'In fact, I had the impression that you would have liked to go with me.'
She could not deny it, and for a moment she considered telling him that she knew of what he had done to Litsa. But even if she did, that would not be an honest explanation of why she wanted to leave him. But to confess the truth was unthinkable; she could never confess to loving him, knowing he would never love her in return. She merely said, her voice still jerky with her breathlessness, 'The only thing that's happened is that I've decided to be with Kelvin—the—the man I l-love.'
His eyes seemed to probe even more deeply. 'Why the hesitation?' he wanted to know. 'Aren't you sure about loving Kelvin—?'
'Of course I'm sure!' she interposed swiftly. 'You know I love Kelvin!'
'After what he did to you?'
'A slip, but he's sorry. I know nothing of the kind will ever happen again.'
'You know no such thing.'
'I believe him—trust him.'
'Then you're a fool!' He paused, offering her the chance to say something. But she remained silent, looking at him, at the face which, freed entirely from the anger that marred it a few minutes previously, was the most handsome she had ever seen. The scar was no longer prominent and she thought it might one day be scarcely noticeable at all. Then she found herself dwelling on how he had come by it… in a fight with the brothers of the girl he had injured in a way which prevented her ever finding a husband, for in Greece no man is willing to marry a girl who has had another man. 'However,' Luke was saying, 'whether you believe him or not makes little difference. You and I are married and we remain married— understand?'
She bit her lip, feeling helpless again, caught in his mastery, conscious of his tremendous strength of character and its continued ascendancy over hers. She was no match for him… Vexed at the admission but forced to accept it, she knew that she was weak like this because of the magnetism which he exerted over her… as a lover…
'You can't persecute me like this—' she began.
'Persecute?' The dark eyes glowered at her. 'Don't you dare use a word like that to me,' he gritted. 'You're my wife; I have treated you with affection and respect so there can be no excuse for your using that word.' His deep voice was quiet now, its accent scarcely noticeable, as was the scar, and once again Martine felt it would eventually disappear altogether. She stood looking up into his face, and suddenly she knew she could not leave him… not yet. His power, his compelling magnetism, were too strong for her to resist. It was all very well to make decisions when he was away from her, but what good were those decisions when, like now, he was close… and exerting his power over her senses? She swallowed hard, thinking of Kelvin, waiting there, having read her note, waiting for her to join him, complete with suitcases. It was laughable, really, the way both he and she had lightly decided to go away together without considering her husband's reaction, or in her case, her own weakness when under the influence of her husband's domination.
'Luke,' she began, 'I can't—'
'—stay with me?' The anger had dispersed again and there was only mockery and amusement in his gaze. 'But you can stay, my wife, and you will. Whatever reason you have for this wish
to go to Kelvin, it certainly isn't anything to do with love.' He stared directly at her and she was compelled to lower her eyes under the arrogant conviction of his. 'I've said more than once that you and I need one another and you know it's true, don't you?' No answer from Martine and after a small pause he went on, 'Answer me, Martine.'
She bit her lip, angry at feeling so helpless, and at her own lack of resolve to do battle with him. For there was no doubt at all that she could leave him if she genuinely wanted to, if the determination was strong enough. But it had to be stronger than Luke's will and his mastery, and she felt that, for the present at least, it could not be that. She was still too strongly influenced by the physical pleasure he could give her, by his expertise and finesse, his experience which made him the perfect lover. Kelvin would never be the perfect lover; of this Martine had no illusions.
Luke was speaking again, and this time there was an imperative inflection in his voice which could not be ignored. 'I have asked you to answer me, Martine.'
She stared up into his dark implacable eyes and almost against her will the words came, low and meek and yet edged with anger and self-disgust. 'Yes, Luke, we—we n-need each other.'
The dark eyes had narrowed as he waited; they opened again and she hated the triumph in their depths. 'Just you remember that—always.'
'I shall have to see Kelvin and explain.' Her body felt drained; her mind had lost its clarity. 'I don't know what he's going to think.'
'His thinking should have come before his affair with Sophia,' came Luke's harsh rejoinder. 'We are all subject to actions which bring regrets, but we have to abide by the decisions we have made. At the time he was certain it was Sophia he wanted, so certain that he asked you to give him back his ring. That was final; you're now married to me and it stays that way, understand?'
She frowned and set her teeth. 'You have no need to repeat yourself,' she flashed. 'It stays that way…' For the present, she added, but silently. One day she would be forced to leave, simply because her love would drive her from a man who could never give her love in return. But for now she was his and she would continue to be his. And as she stared into his face she suddenly knew that this was what she wanted—to stay with him for the present, to enjoy his love-making, to be taken to the very heights of heaven, to experience rapture indescribable. She despised herself but, as on a previous occasion, she found a certain consolation in telling herself that she was merely following the primitive instinct of mating.
'Come here,' her husband commanded, and she wondered if, with his keen perception, he had guessed at her thoughts. She moved, slowly and reluctantly, drawn to him not only by the command but by some inexplicable power which she felt he must have inherited directly from the ancient gods—the pagan gods—of Greece. His arms came out and she was drawn into them, a suppliant without the wish or the courage to fight. His face moved close; she felt his cool, clean breath before her lips were taken, moistly, possessively, and she closed her eyes as she reciprocated, a drowning cataract of warmth flowing over her whole being, reaching her heart to infuse it with added heat. His arms were rough encircling her body, a brace of steel that ground her to his thighs, his hands roved deliberately as if he would bring it home to her that he was her master, with total rights over her. She relaxed against him, quivering involuntarily when his mouth found the pulse-beat in the delicate white hollow of her throat. His lips parted against it, a sensuously tantalising attack on her emotions and on any small resistance she might decide to make.
'It seems an age since we made love—' He paused and she heard the thick uneven sound of his breathing. 'I want you—now…'
She did begin to struggle then, half-embarrassed, half horrified at the idea of his taking her to bed at this time of day.
'No—I—you'll have to wait!'
A low laugh escaped him and he bent his head again to possess her lips. 'Unless you want me to pick you up and carry you to the bedroom, wife, you had best move willingly… and obediently. I have had enough this day to make me both impatient and angry.' He gestured towards the door. 'Off you go; I'll join you in five minutes' time.'
It was over an hour later when he said, his warm body naked and strong beside her, 'Well, my dear, are you fully convinced that you need me?'
With the aftermath of ecstasy quivering through every nerve and cell in her body, she heard herself say in pliant, husky tones, 'Yes, my husband, I am fully convinced.' And she turned to wind her arms about his hard and sinewed frame, her face close to his, her receptive nostrils keenly sensitive to the exciting male aroma of his skin. She saw his fine lips curve in triumph and mockery before they touched hers, touched them gently, while his hand covered hers as it lay on his stomach. A strange sigh rose from the depths of him and the silence was unfathomable.
'I shall go along and see this fellow, Kelvin,' he began when she interrupted him to plead, 'Let me do it, Luke. It will be hard for him to accept my change of mind; he's there now, thinking I'll be coming, expecting me at any moment to appear.'
Her husband laughed as he leant up on a supporting elbow. 'And here you are, in bed with me, having forgotten he ever existed.'
Instinct lifted her chin but she knew she lied when she said, 'I could not forget him, not when I'd made the promise!'
'Little liar.' Luke's mouth was on her throat, his warm hand cupping her breast. She sensed his desire to make love again and wondered at his strength. For herself, she was exhausted by the primitive violence of the storm through, which they had both just passed.
She looked at the rays of the sun shafting through the drapes and murmured, shaking her head, 'It seems wrong to be in bed at this time of the day—unless one is ill, of course,' she added, feeling foolish because of the amusement on his face.
'How can such pleasure be wrong?' She made no answer and he added after a thoughtful pause, 'We ought to make love in the water—'
'Water!' she broke in with a gasp and a growing frown.
'Oh, not in the bath,' he laughed. 'I would find that a little cramped. No, in the sea, Martine, the warm soft sea when you feel you are wrapped in silk, when your partner's body slides and floats against yours, when everything comes without effort…!
His voice trailed off and she was impelled to ask, 'Have you ever made love in the sea before?'
He looked at her from above; he touched her shining hair and answered softly, 'Yes… but I very much doubt if the pleasure I derived was half as satisfying as it would be if you were my partner. We shall try it one day when we've been out swimming—' He broke off and kissed her hot cheeks. 'You're so beautiful when you're embarrassed, my Martine. You know, I'm an exceedingly fortunate man to have found someone like you.'
She thrilled to his words, half pretending he was in love with her. She touched the scar, a compulsive action born of tenderness, but then all the magic was blanked out by the knowledge of its origin. A brawl… A fight during which he no doubt made his strength felt, but he had also gained a scar, and even as she looked it seemed to become livid, and a nerve within it began to pulsate. She withdrew her hand swiftly and saw his dark eyes narrow.
'You do not care for my disfigurement?'
It was the first time it had been referred to and for one impulsive moment Martine had the urge to ask him how he had received it. But within seconds she shrank from the idea and merely said, quite truthfully, 'It isn't normally noticeable to any degree. I think that one day it will disappear altogether.'
He nodded and automatically put a lean brown finger to it, tracing the line while a slight frown accompanied the gesture. 'The doctor assured me it would, but these things take time.' He paused in thought while Martine held her breath, half expecting him to give some explanation. But he merely withdrew his hand as she had done and, after kissing her lips and her throat and the pearly white swell of her breasts, he slid from the bed and took up a dressing-gown which he had previously laid across the end of the bed. Martine watched him put it on, colouring at the compulsion which
made her look at him, naked and muscled, his skin brown as an Arab's, the small gold cross he wore gleaming among the raven black hairs on his chest. He turned his head after tying the cord and his strong profile gave way to his full face, noble and handsome, the features finely chiselled. Again she likened him to the statues of the Greek gods she had seen in the museums. A sigh escaped her. If ever he did come to love her it would be too good to be true—She cut her thoughts and shook her head. He would never love her; he had told her so on more than one occasion, had told her quite categorically that he did not believe in love between a man and a woman.
'What are you thinking?' His eyes moved from her face to the swell of her breasts, revealed even though she had drawn up the sheet and was holding it with one hand against her chest.
'It wasn't anything important,' she replied without looking at him. 'Er—if you will go I'll get dressed.'
'Go?' His brows lifted a fraction. 'Not shy all at once, surely?' he commented in tones of mocking amusement. 'Get up, wife, and let me enjoy what is mine.'
Anger surged and she drew the sheet right up to her chin. 'I want a little privacy—'
'Nonsense!' He had crossed the room in three long strides and before she realised what his intention was she found herself pulled from the bed and forced to stand, naked and beautiful, while her husband took his fill of the picture she made. A pulse rioted at one side of his throat; his other hand came forward to caress her hot cheek. Slowly he bent his head, and his kiss was gentle and reverent, the expression in his eyes distant and unfathomable. Martine had the strange sensation that he was doing battle within himself… fighting something… but what? She twisted and he allowed her to go, but stood there watching her every move and gesture as she put her clothes on, one by one, until at the end he took the dress from her and put it oven her head, then turned her around so he could zip her up. They stood together, intimate and warm; she felt his hands come round to cover the softness of her breasts and every quivering nerve in her body craved for more. What was this pull, this complex magnetism that he could exert over her apparently without the slightest effort? He had only to touch her to set her emotions on fire with longing. Surely this was not a normal relationship… not healthy, perhaps. She turned in his arms and was kissed soundly, then slapped gently and told not be such a temptress.
