Fallen Angel

by Anne Mather

  But that was just the point, she fretted anxiously. They were so far from civilisation that laws virtually had no meaning. What kind of rough justice could anyone enforce, unless with the barrel of a gun?

  The footsteps seemed to be approaching the house, and in an agony of uncertainty she wondered if Jason had remembered to lock and bar the door. Was that normally Estelita’s duty? Might he have forgotten it in her absence?

  Almost petrified with fright, she fastened her eyes on the shadowy handle, just visible in the light from the fire. She was holding her empty glass as if it was some kind of projectile she might hurl at a possible intruder, and when the handle was depressed and the door opened inward, she nearly let it go. But even in the half-light, Jason’s lean frame was unmistakable, and with a strangled cry of relief she dropped the glass to splinter noisily on to the stone floor.

  ‘God! Alexandra!’

  Jason closed the door and leaned back against it weakly as she moved into the light, and it was arguable which of them had got the worse shock.

  ‘What the hell are you doing down here?’ he demanded, recovering more quickly than she had done. ‘Creeping about in the dark! Couldn’t you put a light on?’

  Alexandra licked her dry lips. ‘The lights don’t work,’ she exclaimed defensively, and then gulped as Jason stretched out his hand and flicked the switch. Immediately the kitchen was flooded with light, and she was uncomfortably aware of the tumbled state she was in.

  ‘They didn’t,’ he agreed, turning to lock the door before removing his soaking cape. ‘But I’ve just been to fix them.’

  ‘At—at this time of night?’ she asked, striving for composure, and he nodded.

  ‘We have freezers, as I believe you’ve discovered,’ he observed. ‘We can’t afford to allow them to defrost.’

  ‘No,’ Alexandra nodded. ‘I should have realised.’

  ‘Why should you?’ Jason had hung the cape aside now and was reaching for a towel to dry his hair. ‘You’re not used to our ways yet. Did the storm wake you?’

  ‘I—I think so.’ Alexandra looked doubtfully at the broken glass. ‘I—I’m sorry about this. But you—you startled me.’

  ‘You did a pretty good job of that yourself,’ he remarked dryly, after towelling his head thoroughly. ‘Why did you come down? Were you hungry—or frightened?’

  Alexandra hesitated. ‘A little of both, I suppose,’ she murmured evasively, aware that her anxiety was giving way to a tingling kind of excitement. She and Jason were the only people awake in the whole house, and if he thought she was frightened…

  ‘We do have pretty terrifying storms here,’ Jason was saying now as he removed the thick sweater he had worn over his shirt to go outside. ‘And this is a—’

  The epithet he used was Spanish, but Alexandra guessed it was not a complimentary one. He grinned, and she realised it was one of the few occasions when he was not on the defensive with her. Why? she wondered. Because he felt he could handle the situation? Or because he thought she was unlikely to behave recklessly if she was frightened? The latter seemed the most likely explanation, and she speculated what he might do if he could read her thoughts at that moment.

  ‘Had—had you gone to bed?’ she asked now, bending to pick up the larger pieces of glass, and he nodded.

  ‘I was reading,’ he explained. ‘It’s happened before, and I was half expecting it.’

  Alexandra placed the broken glass into the waste bin. Then she ventured quietly: ‘I—er—I was sorry I missed supper. Did Miss Holland look after you?’

  There was silence for a few moments before Jason finally said: ‘Yes, I guess you could say that.’

  Alexandra quelled the urge to reveal her indignation, and murmured instead: ‘I feel such a fool, after—after I prepared everything.’

  A curious look crossed Jason’s face for a moment, then he turned away to throw a couple of logs onto the glowing embers. ‘Yes, well—you were tired,’ he said at last. ‘We decided not to disturb you.’

  ‘Who decided?’

  Alexandra couldn’t prevent her resentment from showing, and Jason glanced round at her. ‘I did, actually,’ he admitted. ‘You were flaked out. You shouldn’t have tried to do so much.’

  ‘But this place was filthy!’ she protested. ‘I was only doing what should have been done months ago!’

  ‘Maybe so.’ His tone was annoyingly brusque. ‘But it could have been done in easier stages.’

  Alexandra pursed her lips. ‘Of course, I should have known. You would say that.’ Her determination to remain calm was fast disintegrating. ‘You don’t care that the cupboards were crawling with cobwebs or that the pans you ate out of had never seen a scrubber!’

  A trace of amusement touched Jason’s mouth at this point which infuriated her even more. ‘I eat from plates and dishes,’ he corrected her wryly, ‘not pans. But do I take it you’re the scrubber they’ve now seen?’

  ‘Why, you—you—’

  She glared at him furiously, and he relented, laughing at her outraged face. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised. ‘And naturally I do appreciate what you’ve done. But you shouldn’t have exhausted yourself to the extent that you couldn’t keep awake.’

  Alexandra sniffed. ‘Miss Holland should have wakened me. I wanted to serve your supper. I wanted you to enjoy a proper English meal.’

  Jason shrugged, avoiding her eyes, sweeping the remains of broken glass into the hearth with his boot. ‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘It’s time we were both in bed. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.’

  Alexandra was obliged to precede him up the stairs, but she dragged her feet. It was always the same. He could always better her when it came to an argument. It was only when she was physically close to him that she could weaken his resistance.

  At her bedroom door, he went ahead and switched on the bedside lamp for her, standing aside as she came into the room.

  ‘All right now?’ he asked, and only then did she sense his sudden reserve.

  Then, as if to deny the truth of his query, a particularly loud crack of thunder chose that moment to break over their heads, and in spite of her indifference to the storm, Alexandra started violently.

  Afterwards, she wondered if her involuntary reaction had been wholly unintentional, or whether some sixth sense had known that Jason would not be immune to her fears. Whatever, the shocked pallor of her cheeks was enough to halt him in the doorway, and with a muttered curse he came back to her, throwing a reassuring arm across her shoulders.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he exclaimed half impatiently, as she turned her face into the hollow below his arm. ‘You’re quite safe here. It sounds far worse than what it is, believe me!’

  Alexandra’s brain raced wildly. ‘I—I hate storms,’ she lied, aware of the thudding beat of his heart beneath her cheek. ‘I always have done. Ever—ever since I was a little girl.’

  ‘You’re not so big now,’ muttered Jason, his breath fanning her temple. ‘Shall I wake Miss Holland?’

  ‘No!’ Her response was immediate, and she lifted her head to gaze appealingly at him. ‘No, don’t do that. I mean—well, I’d feel such a fool…’

  ‘Will you be all right on your own, then?’ he asked, and she sought desperately for some means to detain him.

  ‘Couldn’t—couldn’t you stay—just for a while? Until—until the storm’s over?’

  ‘Me?’ Jason would have drawn away, but she caught the hand that rested on her shoulder and clung to it. ‘Alexandra, the storm could go on all night!’

  ‘Oh, please…’

  She put such entreaty into her voice that unwillingly, he was moved, and half closing his eyes, he said: ‘I can’t stay here, but if you’re really afraid to be alone, you’d better come along to my room.’

  ‘To your room!’

  Her voice rose an octave as she repeated his words, and she cleared her throat to disguise her sudden apprehension.

  ‘Why not?’ he countered now. ‘One bedroom is m
uch like another, and I do not intend outraging Miss Holland’s sensibilities by spending the night in yours.’

  Alexandra hesitated. She wasn’t afraid, exactly, she told herself. It was just that she had never been in a man’s company at this time of night before, and while her bedroom seemed safe and secure, his was alien territory. Then she chided herself. This was what she had wanted, wasn’t it? By staying here, she would be admitting to a childish impulse to keep Miss Holland within calling distance.

  ‘All right,’ she agreed at last, and with a curt inclination of his head, Jason gestured her towards the door.

  He switched out the lamp and closed her door before following her along the passage to his room. Then, as she hung back, he opened his door and urged her inside.

  The thunder rumbled ominously around the house as she seated herself awkwardly in the armchair beside his bed. Jason closed the door, and avoiding his gaze, she turned her attention to the tumbled sheets. The book he had been reading was turned face-downwards on the coverlet, and from its jacket she could see it was a contemporary novel by a well-known author. But she could not summon the courage to pick it up and found her eyes focussing on a pair of cream silk pyjama trousers that were thrown carelessly across his pillow. Almost instinctively, her hands moved to touch the fine material, smoothing it between her fingertips and gaining a certain sensuous satisfaction from the texture.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Jason’s voice from just above her alerted her to the fact that he had come to stand in front of her. He stood looking down at her, feet slightly parted, big and powerful, and devastatingly sexual—and she wanted him to touch her so badly she had a physical ache inside her.

  Lifting the yielding fabric of the garment, she cradled it against her cheek and only Jason’s jerking it out of her grasp prevented her from turning her lips against the soft threads. Balling the pyjamas with impatient fingers, Jason hurled them across the room, then said angrily: ‘So that’s why you came, is it? My God, what did they teach you in that convent of yours?’

  Alexandra’s face burned, but she remained where she was, even while every nerve in her body cried out for her to get to her feet. ‘I—I don’t know what you mean,’ she protested huskily, but she could see that he didn’t believe her.

  ‘Your father would be proud to see you now, wouldn’t he?’ Jason continued relentlessly. ‘Insinuating yourself into a man’s bedroom, pretending you were afraid of the storm—’

  ‘I said I didn’t like thunder; I don’t!’

  ‘Is that your excuse for promiscuity?’

  That brought her to her feet, quivering with indignation, the force of the sense of injustice she was feeling overcoming her fear of his anger: ‘I’m not promiscuous!’ she declared fiercely. ‘Just—just because I turn to you, because—as you pointed out—I have no father, you behave as if I was some kind of—of groupie!’

  ‘Oh, come on…’ He turned away, raking agitated fingers through his hair. ‘You didn’t come in here looking for a father figure. We both know the little games you like to play. Only it’s late and I’m tired, and not altogether in control of my actions, do I make myself clear? You may find the lateness of the hour romantic, but I find it only irritating, and if you’re not scared of the storm, I suggest you go back to your own room before you run into something you can’t handle.’

  Alexandra’s throat was dry. ‘You mean—you mean you’d like me to stay here?’

  ‘God Almighty!’ His ejaculation was harsh and angry. ‘How you do like to talk about these things!’ He turned to glare at her. ‘All right, I’ll lay it on the line. Right now, I’d like to sleep with you, yes. But if—Estelita was here, she would do just as well!’

  ‘Oh!’

  Alexandra’s hand went to her mouth, in horror at the obscenity of his words. He had been cruel before, but never so brutal, and she felt as if she had received a violent slap in the face.

  ‘So,’ he continued ruthlessly, ‘do we understand one another now?’ and as she nodded she felt the prickling heat of tears running down her cheeks and invading the parted contours of her mouth.

  ‘Oh, God!’ As if realising he had gone too far, Jason stepped into her path as she would have rushed to the door, gripping her shoulders with biting fingers and shaking her ever so gently. ‘Alexandra!’ he exclaimed frustratedly. ‘I’m sorry…’

  Alexandra tried to pull away from him. ‘Let me go,’ she cried, in a muffled voice. ‘You don’t have to feel sorry for me!’

  ‘Sorry for you!’ Jason continued to hold her despite her struggles. ‘Hell, I think it’s me I feel sorry for most!’ and with a defeated sound he hauled her towards him.

  With his face buried in the scented hollow of her neck, it was incredibly difficult for Alexandra to remain unmoved. She felt his lips probing the sensitive nerves at her nape, and her hands crushed between them were all too conscious of the contracting muscles of his flat stomach. But what seduced her most was the warm scent of his body, the clean male smell of him that made her want to feel him so much closer than the barrier of his clothes would permit. His mouth trailed fire along her jawline, and then found hers. one finger parting her lips and invading the moistness within.

  That was when she lost all control of her actions. Winding her arms around his neck, she strained closer to him and felt the unmistakable response of his body. Her breasts surged against his chest, and without releasing her mouth, Jason unbuttoned his shirt and pushed her wrapper off her shoulders. It parted easily, and with a groan of satisfaction, he swung her off her feet and carried her to the bed.

  Somehow, he had shed his clothes and the length of his body was firm and smooth along the length of hers. His lips were probing her nipples now, stroking and nuzzling their pointed fullness, driving her to dizzying heights of desire as he continued to caress her. His mouth frequently returned to the urgency of hers, and her hands were gripping the hair at his nape, holding him closer, when there was a sudden knocking at the door.

  It was only then that Alexandra realised Jason had left the lamp on, painting their bodies in its golden glow of warmth and intimate isolation. But they were isolated no longer. Someone was knocking at the door, demanding admittance, and even as Alexandra shook her head appealingly, Miss Holland’s voice called:

  ‘Mr Tarrant! Mr Tarrant! Are you there? Can I speak to you for a moment?’

  Jason went rigid, and his lids closed over the torment in his eyes. ‘No,’ he muttered, ‘not now…’ and Alexandra twisted her arms around his neck.

  ‘Don’t answer,’ she whispered achingly. ‘She’ll go away.’

  ‘And if she doesn’t?’ he demanded thickly. ‘No, damn her, I’ve got to answer!’

  Rolling away from her, he groped impatiently for the pyjama trousers he had thrown aside earlier, sliding his legs into their silken casing. Then, as he pulled on a towelling bathrobe, he looked down at Alexandra, still lying as he had left her.

  ‘Get under the covers,’ he directed huskily. ‘I won’t be long.’

  Obediently, Alexandra scrambled into the bed, and with a tense expression Jason went to the door. Miss Holland was waiting outside, an anxious figure in her blue woollen dressing gown and hairnet, her face creamed for the night.

  ‘Oh, Mr Tarrant,’ she exclaimed, as he stepped outside, half closing the door behind him. ‘I’m so worried. Alexandra’s not in her room.’

  Alexandra, lying listening, could well imagine Jason’s reactions to this statement, but his voice was composed as he said: ‘She’s not?’ in quiet tones.

  ‘No.’ Miss Holland continued: ‘I was awakened—I don’t know why. I thought it might have been the storm, or perhaps a sound from Alexandra’s room. I was concerned about her. After all, she’s had nothing to eat since lunchtime. So I got out of bed and went to investigate. But she’s not there. Her bed’s empty.’

  There was silence for a moment, and then Jason said: ‘Perhaps she’s gone downstairs to get something to eat,’ but Miss H
olland didn’t think this was likely.

  ‘There are no lights on,’ she offered doubtfully, but Jason seemed determined to make her believe that this was the most likely explanation.

  ‘She probably turned them out after her,’ he said shortly. ‘After all, she wouldn’t want to disturb anybody, would she?’

  ‘You may be right…’ Miss Holland was wavering now. ‘Do you think I should go and see?’

  Jason hesitated. Then he said: ‘Maybe that would be the best thing. I wouldn’t want to—well, alarm her. I’ll put on some clothes while you’re gone, and if she’s not there, I’ll go look for her.’

  ‘But where else could she be?’ fussed Miss Holland, still obviously most distressed, and Jason soothed her with reassurances that her charge must be somewhere in the house.

  ‘She’d hardly go out on a night like this, would she?’ he reasoned, and the woman was forced to concede that her anxieties were probably groundless.

  But after Miss Holland had gone on her way, Jason came back into the bedroom with less composure. ‘Come on,’ he said, as Alexandra stared wordlessly at him. ‘Out! I want you safely back in your own room before Miss Holland returns.’

  ‘Jason!’

  He turned away from the appeal in her wide violet eyes. ‘I mean it, Alexandra. I was a fool to let you stay here. Now, hurry!’

  ‘But, Jason—’

  ‘Oh, God!’

  He turned back then, tossing the covers aside and lifting her bodily out of the bed. But the feel of her yielding body against his was almost his undoing, and for a moment his mouth sought for hers, hard and passionate, and unutterably desperate.

  ‘You have to go,’ he groaned, even while his hands lingered on the creamy roundness of her shoulders, and she leant towards him to touch his throat with her lips.

  ‘I love you,’ she whispered, her breath mingling with the tortured expellation of his, and he had to tear himself away from the invitation in her eyes.

  ‘Go to bed, Alexandra,’ he muttered raggedly, and with a little choking sob, she left him.