by Helen Brooks
‘Are you trying to make me hate you?’ Her voice was a whisper in the shadowed confines of the car. ‘Is that the plan?’
‘Hell no,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘It’d perhaps be fun but—no. I’ve just decided to take a short vacation, sweetheart, soak up a little history, and a spot of hill walking while I’m here, and where better to relax than this place that you seem to love so much? Tell me, Amy.’ His voice had altered now, its coolness wry and hard. ‘Do you ever lie awake at night thinking of me with an ache in your body that won’t go away? Thinking of the things we used to do? How you used to groan my name over and over again—’
‘Stop it,’ she said tensely. ‘I won’t listen to this.’
‘Won’t?’ he challenged laconically. ‘A little strong, surely, when you are in my car being driven at fifty miles an hour with the door locked? I wouldn’t have thought “won’t” came into it.’
For a moment Amy felt pure rage drive every other emotion from her body. He was being cruel, hateful, and she didn’t know how to stop it. It was as though he had given himself over to some hard force that had sucked all his finer feelings into an empty void so that all that remained was his darker side.
‘Well?’ He raised black eyebrows in mocking invitation. ‘Not lost for words, surely? Tell me again that I mean nothing to you, that it was all a mistake, that your body isn’t crying out for mine this very moment. Tell me, Amy. I missed out on fairy-tales when I was younger; I’m about due for some now.’
‘I hate you.’ It was true, she did. Didn’t he know this was all for him, that she was suffering tenfold anything he was enduring? He could never have loved her, really loved her, to treat her like this now.
‘I’ll buy that,’ he said grimly. ‘I’d have preferred something a little less caustic but at least hate is real, more real than this rubbish you’ve been handing out to me for days. You can’t ignore hate, Amy, it won’t let you.’
‘I haven’t ignored you.’ She stared at him in amazement. ‘I’ve never ignored you.’
‘Then you’re one hell of an actress, sweetheart,’ he said harshly. ‘Once or twice back there I began to think I was the invisible man; out of sight, out of mind. But I won’t stay out of sight, will I? That’s what really rankles, isn’t it? Did you really think I wouldn’t want more than a few words scribbled on a piece of paper? That you could just glide out of my life like one of your English milkmen delivering a daily pinta? “Sorry, the cream’s off from now on, skimmed will have to do?” Well, I want the cream, Amy, and I’ll have it one way or the other.’
‘You’re talking about sex,’ she said flatly.
‘Am I?’ He was driving far too fast for the narrow winding road, but she didn’t care. Right at this moment in time she didn’t care about anything. ‘Well, if you say so it must be true. You’ve got everything sewn up, after all; who am I to argue? But I tell you one thing, if I see that slime-ball touch you again there’ll be murder done, crutches or no crutches.’
She thought it prudent to ignore the insult to John for the moment as she glanced at his stony profile, black with rage, and concentrated on the first part of his statement. ‘You are talking about sex,’ she said quietly. ‘Animal lust! And where are we going, anyway? This isn’t the way home.’
‘To take your first point, if you remember I did give you the option and you chose not to compromise. Lovers not friends, remember? As to the second, you are quite right, this is not the route to Mrs Cox’s safe little house.’ His voice was sardonic and cold. ‘This leads somewhere quite different.’
‘Where?’
He didn’t miss the note of alarm in her voice and smiled in mocking satisfaction. ‘Have patience, sweetheart, all will be revealed,’ he said smoothly, all emotion carefully banked now. ‘You can’t come to any harm, after all; we are married, remember—it’s quite legal.’
‘If you are planning rape, that isn’t legal in any situation, married or not,’ she said tightly as she forced back the tell-tale tremble of fear from her voice. ‘I’d never forgive you—’
‘Rape?’ He actually had the effrontery to smile, and but for the fact that, as he had pointed out before, they were travelling at breakneck speed on the curving country road she would have hit him hard. ‘Within a few seconds of my touching you it won’t be rape, Amy, and we both know that. But you are assuming rather a lot, aren’t you? As far as I’m aware, you haven’t even been asked.’
She drew her hand across her eyes distractedly as she fought for composure and the strength to control the trembling that was threatening to take over her mind as well as her body. Part of her couldn’t believe that they were talking like this.
‘I thought perhaps the noble John would be waiting in his chariot?’ Blade drawled after a long moment with cynical mockery. ‘Especially after the touching scene at lunchtime.’
‘He’s gone to London for his treatment,’ she said stonily as she kept her gaze straight ahead. ‘And I told you, we were just talking.’
‘You tell me a lot of things, sweetheart,’ Blade said with dangerous smoothness. ‘It’s picking the wheat from the chaff that proves troublesome.’
‘I’m not arguing with you, Blade—’
‘That will make a pleasant change,’ he said drily. ‘Well, just sit back and enjoy the ride.’
‘Enjoy the ride’. The phrase brought Sandra in front of her as vividly as if her sister were in the car.
She had been surprised, surprised and relieved when she had arrived at her sister’s house that morning and been granted access. On the long journey down she had anticipated a harsh rejection like before when she was just sixteen and desperately eager to renew her acquaintance with this, the last of her flesh and blood. But this time Sandra had allowed her to enter the house, and as her husband had shown Amy into the large downstairs room that Sandra occupied as a bed-sitting room, he had tried to prepare her for the change she would see.
‘She’s ill, Amy,’ he had whispered quietly before knocking on the old paint-chipped door, ‘but it’s a good sign that she’s agreed to see you. She needs to make her peace with you, come to terms with the past.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Amy had looked at his kindly face, her blue eyes wide and puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Sandra will explain.’ He had knocked then and pushed her into the room quickly. ‘I’ll be out in the garden if you need me. I’ll come back later with some coffee.’
Her sister had looked up as she had entered and Amy had flinched inwardly at the change in her. Six years had wrought havoc. ‘Amy. Dear, sweet, gentle little Amy.’ Sandra’s voice had been low and tight and Amy had paused in her headlong flight to her side. ‘So you’ve come back at last. I was hoping you would.’
‘Were you?’ Amy stood uncertainly in the middle of the shabby room looking down into the bitterly twisted face.
‘And your husband?’ Sandra’s eyes had narrowed. ‘He’s not with you?’
‘No.’ Amy had a strange feeling as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. There was something evil in this room, something cold and infinitely depraved, and she found herself wishing with all her heart she had stayed at home. ‘He’s away on business.’
‘Of course, the high-flyer.’ Sandra laughed softly. ‘He would be.’
‘Yes, well …’ Amy forced herself to look into the dark gleaming eyes. ‘How are you?’
‘How am I?’ Sandra’s body had been twisted slightly in the wheelchair, a large car rug covering her lower half and her hands resting on the arms of the chair. ‘I’m dying, Amy, didn’t you know?’
‘You’re …’ Amy’s voice had choked away and she took a deep breath before continuing. ‘Your husband said you were ill, but I didn’t understand—’
‘There are lots of things you didn’t understand when you came in here, but you will before you leave.’ There had been immense satisfaction in Sandra’s throbbing voice, satisfaction and malignant gratification. ‘But here’s me forgetting my ma
nners. How are you, little sister?’ And Amy had known, at that moment, that something horrendous was going to take place. ‘Are you enjoying the ride?’
‘The ride?’ Amy tried to smile but found it was beyond her.
‘The ride of life,’ Sandra had hissed malevolently. ‘There you are with your wealth and looks and rich, rich husband. You must be enjoying the ride—you are, aren’t you?’
‘I—yes, I am, yes.’ She was having a job to speak coherently; there was something in this room that was freezing the words in her throat.
‘Good.’ Sandra had smiled with diabolical ferocity. ‘Well, I have some news for you, little sister.’ And then it had started, the destruction of her world …
‘Here we are.’ As Blade’s voice brought her back to the present, she gazed in alarm at the small cottage in front of them set in its own neat garden without another dwelling in sight. ‘This is the cottage I’m renting, quiet, secluded—’
‘And lonely.’ She glanced round at the wooded countryside on all sides. ‘Where’s the nearest house?’
‘Half a mile away.’ He smiled slowly. ‘Peaceful, isn’t it? There’s a small stream that runs through the bottom of the garden and a den of badgers in that copse beyond, but it’s still only five minutes to the village.’
‘I’d have never put you down as a country bumpkin,’ she said coldly as he moved round the car to open her door. ‘And there is no way I’m getting out of this car, Blade. I want to go back, now.’
‘Country bumpkin?’ He leant for a moment on the open door, apparently considering her words. ‘Well, if by that you mean I like it here, then guilty as charged.’ He eyed her piercingly. ‘But I also like the bright lights, don’t get me wrong. I am a man of big appetites, Amy, and I am in the fortunate position to be able to indulge them.’ The innuendo was clear and she flushed angrily, dropping her eyes from his.
‘I meant it, I’m not getting out of this car.’
‘Don’t be tiresome,’ he drawled lazily. ‘I’m offering you a cup of coffee at the end of a long day and a look round this place, that’s all. At the very least you should come in and phone Mrs Cox to explain where you are and that you’ll be a little late.’ When she still didn’t move his tone became more caustic. ‘Amy, I’m a grown man of thirty-six and well past the stage of groping at every opportunity. I want to get our relationship on a more civilised plane, that’s all. Now be a sensible girl and get out of the car before I have to lift you out. You are the one who doesn’t want any physical contact, after all.’ He laughed softly and her nerves twanged at the derisive amusement in both his voice and face.
‘Have I a guarantee that you’ll remember that?’ she asked tightly, ‘if I come in for a while?’
‘Of course.’ A wicked grin that caught her heart like an iron fist lit up his dark face briefly. ‘As long as I can be sure that you will treat me accordingly. I’ve had the nasty notion more than once recently that you’ve got designs on my body …’ His rich chuckle at her furious face was just the spur she needed to get out of the car, refusing the hand he held out to her with cool disregard. He thought he was irresistible, did he? His ego really was jumbo-size.
‘Now then.’ As he opened the old wooden front door and ushered her through into the beautiful little room beyond, his voice was quietly satisfied. ‘Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly.’
She glanced at his hard handsome face for just one second as her blood ran cold. This was a trap, a carefully stage-managed trap, and suddenly she knew just how that fly from the old nursery rhyme had felt. But it was too late now, much much too late.
CHAPTER SIX
‘DO STOP looking so tragic.’ They were seated in front of the carefully restored old fireplace which dominated the small room, which was all old wooden beams and traditional cottage fare, the pretty chintz covers that covered the two large winged armchairs matching the curtains at the narrow leaded windows. ‘I’m not going to eat you alive.’
She raised her eyes from the fireplace slowly. The first thing that had registered on her after her initial panic had been the enormous bunch of fresh flowers in place of a fire, the beautiful display that scented the air with summer chilling her very soul. She couldn’t have had more apt confirmation that what she was doing was right, she thought bitterly. ‘Do you replace these daily?’
‘What?’ His eyes were puzzled.
‘The flowers.’ She took a sip of the scalding hot coffee he had just brought through from the quaint little kitchen, hoping it would calm her racing nerves. ‘Do you get fresh ones each day?’
He glanced from her pale face to the delicate blooms and then back again, his gaze narrowing at the expression in her eyes. ‘No.’ He leant forward slightly as he spoke, searching her face intently. ‘They’re from the garden outside. It’s a mass of colour in the daylight but it would be a shame to rob it of all its beauty. Those are a few days old, but I change the water daily.’ He was speaking mechanically as though his mind were elsewhere. ‘Why did you ask that, Amy? It seemed as though it was important to you in some way.’
‘Of course it’s not.’ She tried to smile but it was a dismal failure. ‘I just wondered, that’s all.’
‘I see.’ It was obvious he didn’t but she was relieved he had decided not to pursue the matter. ‘Well, what do you think of this place? Cute, eh?’
‘It’s very nice,’ she responded carefully.
‘You should have come upstairs.’ His voice was bland but his eyes were wicked as he noted the pink in her cheeks. ‘The two bedrooms are real old world England, sloping ceilings and tiny diamond-leaded windows—’
‘I’ve been in plenty of cottages in my time, Blade,’ she interrupted stiffly. ‘I do know what they look like upstairs.’ She took another desperate gulp of coffee and glanced at her watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. ‘I really ought to go now.’
‘Would you like a brandy with that?’ he asked lazily as he gestured towards her coffee, completely ignoring the content of her words. ‘You look as if you need one.’ He appeared overpoweringly masculine in the small pretty room, the black shirt and trousers emphasising the lean hard power of his big body and the tanned darkness of his skin. He stood up slowly as she shook her head, his eyes thoughtful. ‘That must be painful.’
‘What?’ She stared up at him in confusion as he stood over her, the deliciously clean smell of him causing her stomach muscles to clench in protest.
‘The way your hair is strained back. Your scalp must be screaming in protest.’ He reached out a large hand and released the knot in one deft movement, standing back in approval as her hair cascaded on to her shoulders in a riot of rich gold. ‘Now tell me that isn’t better.’
‘It was fine the way it was,’ she snapped quickly. ‘And I must go now, Blade, please.’ She fumbled with her hair helplessly, her cheeks flaming with colour. This could all easily get out of hand, which was probably exactly what he had planned. Why, oh, why had she been so foolish as to get in the car in the first place? And she must have been mad to follow him in here. What would the psychiatrists say about that? she thought bitterly; that she secretly wanted him to sweep away all her objections, overpower her with his superior strength?
‘In a while.’ He sauntered across to a small occasional table standing underneath one of the windows and poured her a small measure of brandy, blatantly ignoring her earlier refusal. Another delaying tactic?
‘I said no.’ She eyed the dark alcohol in the bottom of the balloon glass warily. ‘Aren’t you having one?’
‘I don’t drink and drive,’ he said shortly. Once seated again he stretched out his long legs comfortably, his body relaxed.
Unlike hers, Amy thought painfully. Every nerve-ending was throbbing with awareness, her whole nervous system as tight as a coiled spring. He, on the other hand, seemed almost unaware of her presence and as she peered surreptitiously under her eyelashes she saw to her chagrin that his eyes were closed and his head laid back.
/> ‘What are you so frightened of, Amy?’ He didn’t open his eyes as he spoke and the deep voice was almost expressionless.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said flatly as her heart pounded.
‘I think you do.’ He adjusted his position in the chair and smiled a cold hard smile, still without opening his eyes. ‘A cat on a hot tin roof would be easy to have around compared to you. What is it you’re hiding?’ Now the black eyes opened and their intensity was unnerving. ‘A one-night stand? Something like that?’ His very stillness was intimidating and she took a deep, long breath as she met the piercing eyes.
‘Is that what you think?’ she asked painfully.
‘The ball’s back in my court again?’ He eyed her laconically. ‘Very clever, sweet thing. No, as it happens, I don’t think that, not now, but where you are concerned I’ve discovered I can’t quite trust my feelings as I can in every other area of my life. I don’t like that, Amy.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She stared at him, nonplussed by the cool control.
‘I want you, physically, very much.’ His voice was almost conversational. ‘In spite of everything that’s happened that doesn’t seem to fade. Damn inconvenient really.’ He sat up in one fluid movement and now she saw the real Blade for one piercing moment as his eyes met hers before the shutter came down and masked his soul from her gaze. There had been a fire blazing away there, an angry, vitriolic fire that wanted to consume and destroy, and for the first time since entering the cottage she felt pure undiluted fear flood through every limb and tissue.
‘Yes …’ She stood up slowly, frightened to move too quickly, to do anything that might set loose the monster behind the man. ‘Well, if you’re ready …’
‘I’m not.’ He eyed her grimly. ‘And you haven’t touched your brandy.’ She watched him silently as he reached for his cup, swallowing the contents in one gulp. ‘More coffee?’
‘No, thank you.’ She sank back down on the seat as he strode out into the kitchen, perching on the very edge of it with her hands bunched in her lap and her knees tightly together as she heard him pour himself more coffee.
