by Penny Jordan
When Simon came back he was carrying an armful of bedclothes which he deposited on the floor in front of the fire, while India watched him, unable to comprehend the reason for the grim purposefulness she could read in his eyes.
Not even when he came across to her, removing the quilt and lifting her bodily in his arms, did she realise what he had in mind. It was only when he placed her on her side on the makeshift bed, with her back to the warming flames, that he spoke, his words causing a chill far greater than that she was already experiencing to tremble through her body.
‘Sleep together?’ Her eyes mirrored her shock. ‘But…’ But I can’t—you don’t love me, she had been about to say, but Simon cut short her protests, anger igniting in the depths of his eyes as he said curtly,
‘No buts, India.’ His mouth turned down at the corners, a cynical expression twisting his lips as he added coolly, ‘My motives are purely altruistic, believe me, and motivated by a desire to keep you alive rather than a desire for your body.’
India could well believe it. She opened her mouth to tell him that she knew he didn’t desire her and that it was to preserve her own self-respect that she had tried to turn down his suggestion, but Simon had his back to her, and was already removing the thick sweater he had been wearing.
This was madness, India told herself, touching her tongue to lips suddenly dry with a tension which began somewhere deep down inside her, curling crampingly through her stomach and tensing all her nerve endings, as she watched Simon remove the checked woollen shirt he had been wearing beneath his sweater. In the firelight his skin gleamed bronze, shadowed by the dark hair across his chest, as he turned suddenly, and she veiled her eyes, not wanting him to see the desire she knew must be mirrored there.
All the instincts which had been subdued by her hypothermia suddenly came leaping to life, her brain sending warning signals flashing the length of her body, telling her just what humiliation and self-betrayal she courted if she allowed Simon to carry out his intentions. She hadn’t been aware that he was watching her until he said suddenly, in a voice gritty with anger,
‘For God’s sake, India, don’t make this any harder for us both. If it helps think of me as a stranger; think of this was the only means of preserving both our lives.’
She tried to, closing her eyes against the images flickering between her and the fire, the knowledge that this was Simon’s body touching her own, Simon’s hands that removed her clothes and brought her icy flesh into almost painful contact with the warmth of his. It was necessary, he told her, feeling her tense; their shared body heat would give her the strength to make the dangerous journey back with him in the Land Rover, and she had nothing to fear from him, nothing at all.
It wasn’t him she feared, India longed to tell him, but herself; her body’s traitorous response to the proximity of his; her own suffocating longing to reach out and touch him, to trace the shape and feel of him with fingers suddenly restored to painful life.
The hopelessness of her love overwhelmed her. While she was having to command every ounce of self-control she possessed to stop herself pleading with Simon to make love to her, he was as composed as though they were the strangers he had referred to earlier. Lying on her side, trying desperately to preserve the small distance between them, India was convinced that she would never, as Simon instructed, sleep. She was shaken with alternate waves of desire and self-contempt, so fierce that they left her trembling with reaction. Unlike her Simon seemed to have no trouble in sleeping. She could hear his deep, even breathing. He moved, his arm coming out to curve her against him, her breasts pressed against the warmth of his chest, and panic seized her. She was torn between twin desires, equally powerful, one telling her to move away while she still had the willpower, the other urging her to take advantage of the opportunity fate had given her, telling her that the memory of these moments in Simon’s arms would be something to gloat over in the long, lonely years ahead. Simon muttered something in his sleep, his hand cupping her breast, and the decision was made for her. Closing her eyes, India allowed herself to dream that Simon held her out of love and not merely necessity, that the touch of his fingers against her breast was born of desire for her rather than an automatic response to the femaleness of her body.
* * *
India felt deliciously warm, protected; still hazy with sleep, she stretched, then stiffened suddenly, her eyes flying open. Simon was still asleep, his features relaxed and curiously vulnerable. Impelled by a desire stronger than her will to resist it, India ran her fingers lightly over his face, tracing the shape of his bones, an aching love for him welling up inside her. He opened his eyes and for a moment both of them were completely still.
‘India…’ His lips formed her name, his breath grazing her skin as he bent his head towards her.
Her lips parted instinctively as his touched them, her breath released on a sigh as Simon’s hands stroked over her body, holding her against him, his lips exploring the shape of her mouth and then its hidden inner sweetness.
India wanted the kiss never to end. It transported her beyond the boundaries of reality into the realms of fantasy where everything was possible, even that Simon could love her. She closed her eyes, her fingers digging into the hard muscles of Simon’s back, losing herself in passionate response to him, arching her body against him in a tangible invitation that needed no words.
For a moment she thought he was going to respond, and then suddenly like a douche of cold water he thrust her away, his eyes brilliant with anger as he stared down at her.
Humiliation washed over her. How could she have been so lacking in self-respect, so caught up in her own desire as to forget how Simon felt about her? Shaken with self-revulsion, she turned away, closing her eyes in an attempt to blot out the memory of his anger-darkened eyes and pressure-whitened fingers as he clamped them round her wrists to force her away.
‘Stay where you are. I’ll get dressed and see what the weather’s like. With any luck we should be able to leave now you’re feeling stronger.’
No mention of what had just happened, of how she had betrayed herself. She ought to be glad that he had prevented her from humiliating herself still further, India told herself as she heard him move about the room, throwing fresh logs on the fire and walking over to the window, pulling back the curtains, but all she could feel was a vast, welling sense of deprivation, a longing to be held in his arms, to be touched and caressed with a desire that matched her own.
Instead she forced herself to ask if the weather had improved enough for them to be able to leave. For a moment Simon was silent and then he turned towards her, his face a grim mask, an unfathomable expression in his eyes as he said curtly, ‘Improved or not, we’re leaving. Somehow I don’t think it would be in either of our interests not to, do you?’
Her face burning, India sought desperately for the reply that would convince him that her desire had sprung from no more than a momentary reaction to his maleness, but she couldn’t find the words.
Sick at heart, she watched him prepare their breakfast, forcing herself to drink the soup she didn’t want, her throat aching with suppressed tears and tension.
When Simon went outside to the Land Rover India dressed. Her body no longer felt cold, but on fire, burning with shame and self-contempt. What kind of woman was she? How Simon must despise her! Hadn’t his earlier words proved that he did? Hadn’t he said that he would rather risk the snow and ice than remain alone with her?
Simon insisted on carrying her out to the Land Rover. India lay unmoving in his arms, shuddering as an icy wind burned into her exposed face.
The Land Rover was not built for comfort. It was cold and draughty, and sitting inside it, India could well understand why Simon had not wanted to risk travelling in it before. That he had saved her from death she did not doubt; nor did she doubt that he had been right to insist on sharing with her the life-restoring heat of his own body, but how she wished he had not.
It took them three
hours to drive the brief distance to a main road which had been partially cleared by a snow-plough. Twice Simon had to stop to dig them out of packed snow, and although India had offered to help he had refused to let her do so.
When they reached London Simon insisted on taking her to hospital, to check that she was suffering from no after-effects of her exposure to the cold, and although she wanted to refuse, India lacked the willpower to be able to do so.
A kind but firm nurse took charge of her in the casualty department. She was not the only person to be brought in suffering from the cold, she told India as she deftly helped her to undress and passed her a hospital gown. The wards were crowded with victims of the blizzard.
‘Don’t worry about your husband. You’ll be able to see him once the doctor has checked you out,’ she told India, not knowing the reason for the shudder which racked through her patient’s frame at the mention of Simon.
Perhaps it was better this way, India thought tiredly as she was led to a ward and tucked up in bed. This way Simon could walk out of her life without the indignity of her losing her self-control and begging him to stay. Where was her pride? Her determination never to let her heart rule her head?
She felt the tiny prick of a needle and then sleep began to steal over her, blotting out the past and the future, and she submitted to its welcome oblivion, glad of the opportunity to escape from her bitter thoughts.
The doctor who examined India told her that she had been lucky. Another twenty-four hours in the conditions she had endured prior to Simon’s arrival and she would not have survived.
And he called that ‘lucky’, India thought wryly. How little he knew!
‘In fact by tomorrow you’ll be able to go home,’ the doctor continued briskly. ‘I’ve already told your husband he can come and collect you in the morning.’
Like an unwanted parcel, India thought drearily, trying to imagine how Simon had reacted to the doctor’s information. If she had any self-respect she would simply discharge herself and go home to her own flat, thus relieving Simon of the burden of wondering what to do about her. Their marriage was over. If Ursula’s words had not confirmed it, Simon’s actions when he thrust her away from him had done so—more effectively than any amount of words.
Perhaps because the nursing staff were so busy, India found it relatively easy to discharge herself. After all, she was a relatively healthy young woman, whereas many of the victims of the blizzard were old people who had suffered far more seriously than she had.
Her flat seemed empty and lonely after the bustling busyness of the hospital. To dispel her depression India tried to make herself busy, forcing herself to make plans for a future in which she no longer had any real interest.
After making herself a light supper she tried to concentrate on some work, but the images which took shape under her pencil were not of clothes, but of Simon—Simon smiling, Simon frowning; Simon… India pushed away her sketches tiredly. What was the use of dwelling on the past? Her ordeal had taken more out of her than she had thought. By nine o’clock she was ready for bed. What would be Simon’s reaction in the morning when he went to collect her from the hospital? Relief?
She was just stepping out of the bath when she heard her doorbell ring. Grabbing a robe, she went to answer it, falling back in dismay as she opened the door and saw Simon standing there. He took advantage of her surprise to walk into the hall, slamming the door behind him, the brief action revealing to India the fury betrayed by the anger gleaming in his eyes, tension in every line of his lean body.
‘Just what the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ he snarled before India could speak, his fingers fastening on her upper arm with complete disregard for her still damp flesh. ‘What are you trying to do to me, India?’
‘Do?’ She stared at him in bewilderment, sickness churning in her stomach as she realised that he had completely misinterpreted her actions, and must have thought that she had deliberately tried to force him into coming to see her by her premature flight. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself, willing herself not to give way to her emotions.
‘There’s no need for our marriage to continue, Simon,’ she told him bravely, her head dropping so that she wasn’t forced to witness the relief in his eyes. ‘I’m not… I’m not having your child.’
For a moment she thought he couldn’t have understood her, so complete was the silence, and then with an oath that brought her eyes to his face in startled disbelief, India felt his fingers tighten into her arms, his teeth gritted in fury as he said softly, ‘Oh, you’re not, are you? Well then, perhaps this time I’ll damn well have to make sure that you are!’
This totally incomprehensible statement was followed by another brief curse, a muscle jerking spasmodically in his jaw, as Simon used his superior strength to force her backwards into the hall, before he swung her off her feet, carrying her into her bedroom. There was no time for her to protest. The brief protection of her robe was torn ruthlessly from her as Simon released her to study her body in a thick silence.
‘Come here.’
It wasn’t possible for her to ignore the hoarse command. India moved towards him like a sleepwalker, unconscious of her nudity, drawn by the glittering darkness of the eyes which swept her like iron to a magnet.
‘You’re my wife,’ Simon told her thickly when she reached him, ‘and I’m getting tired of playing games.’
His hands stroked over her body as he spoke, arousing all the feelings she had been trying so hard to suppress.
‘Simon…’
As though her voice broke a spell, Simon groaned suddenly, reaching for her.
‘Don’t speak,’ he told her tautly, ‘don’t say anything. Let me look at you.’
He held her away from him, while his eyes moved hungrily over her body, and India trembled, caught between amazement and disbelief. Why had he come to her like this? Simply because she was his wife? She dared not ask him; dared not risk breaking the spell which seemed to hold them both in thrall.
Simon’s eyes glittered strangely as they moved over her, a subtle tension filling the space between them, growing with every passing second.
‘India…’
He breathed her name against her mouth, filling her senses with the scent and taste of him as he lifted her and carried her to the bed. An aching urgency took possession of her, a desire to obliterate everything but the reality of his presence, for whatever the reason.
In the darkness he ran his hands over her body, stroking and caressing, his tongue painting erotic circles against her breast as India tugged impatiently at his shirt buttons.
His mouth against her breast triggered off a wave of emotion she was powerless to deny, her soft, panting cries inciting him to demonstrate to her that the feeling she was experiencing was but the tip of a sensual iceberg.
His skin felt hot and dry against her own, and India was overcome by a desire to cradle him against her. He wanted her, and surely she had every right to encourage him to allow her body to melt into total yielding enticement against the growing demand of his thighs. Her mouth was dry, her heart beating suffocatingly fast. She wanted desperately to be part of him, to be possessed by him, and yet some inner voice cried out to her to stop while she still had some measure of self-respect. She tried to ignore it, but it refused to be silenced. Her body tensed in Simon’s arms, his lips ceasing their assault against her skin.
‘What’s the matter?’ he demanded.
‘I can’t,’ India told him. ‘I can’t, Simon—not without love.’
His curse made her wince, as did his grip of her arms as he pulled her against him, letting her feel his own arousal, his eyes burning with a need he made no attempt to disguise. For a moment India thought he was going to ignore her, and then with a groan he released her, levering himself off the bed and starting to dress.
‘You’ll have to forgive me,’ he said wryly as he pulled on his jeans. ‘I promise you I don’t make a habit of forcing women to submit to me—but
then I’ve never been in love before.’ He turned to look at her. ‘When I got to the hospital and found that you’d discharged yourself I nearly lost my mind. I couldn’t understand why, when you’d endured my suspicions and jealousy, you should choose to leave me now. That’s why I came round here, to demand the truth.’ His lips twisted in a bitter smile. ‘It never occurred to me that it was because you’d discovered you weren’t to have my child.’
‘But that was the only reason you married me,’ India interjected. ‘Because…’
Simon laughed harshly with self-mockery, coming to stand beside her. ‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ he told her. ‘I married you for one reason and one only—because I’d fallen deeply in love with you. God, you must have known,’ he demanded when India stared up at him. ‘That night, after we’d been out to dinner with Alison, surely you knew…’
‘Knew what?’ India asked him in a voice that trembled slightly. ‘All I knew was that you seemed to hate me because you thought I was trying to take Mel away from Alison, and then when you… when we…’ she stumbled over the words and fell silent, leaving Simon to say curtly,
‘When I all but raped you, isn’t that what you’re trying to say?’
‘You didn’t know… you thought…’
‘I didn’t know that you were a virgin?’ Simon demanded huskily. ‘That didn’t make any difference to the way I felt about you, India, except to fill me with gut-wrenching shame because I’d turned what could have been a beautiful experience for both of us into a travesty of what it should have been, simply because I’d been too blinded by jealousy of Mel to see past what I’d thought of as the “facts” to the truth behind them. And even that I turned to my own advantage, forcing you into marriage, telling myself that I’d make you love me. Only it didn’t work out that way… and still I haven’t learned my lesson. I came here tonight, telling myself that I couldn’t let you go.’ He got up as he spoke, tiredness, and something else—an emotion which sent the blood thudding through India’s veins—clearly visible in his features before he turned towards the door.
