The emotions raging inside her were unbelievably at odds. She was both angry and aroused at the same time. She was hating herself as well as him, was determined he wouldn't get the better of her…even though he was doing precisely that. When the quality of his kiss changed, when his lips suddenly gentled on hers, an involuntary moan was dragged from her, a small sound against his mouth.
Demetrius reacted to that with triumph, letting go of her abruptly so he could look down at her. 'I think I've proved my point,' he said quietly. The fingers of his left hand curled around the chain at her neck, and he gave a short tug, obliging her to move closer until her face was only inches from his. 'You're mine, Grace, mine for the taking. So don't ever again behave the way you did tonight. Do you understand me?'
Furiously, she slapped his hand away. It was too much. The triumphant look in his eyes, the dictatorial tones he used—it was far too much! 'Get away from me, Demetrius—get well away! When you put this chain around my neck, it did not make me your slave. No, I don't understand you. You're too possessive altogether, you like to think of me as yours—and you'd like everyone else to think in those terms—but the rules are different when it comes to your own behaviour.'
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'It means I am just as free as you are, that when you stay in London overnight, when you go partying—'
'Partying? Ah, I begin to understand! Melissa's behind this.' He smiled, but there was no humour in it. 'I don't know what she thought I was up to the last time I did that, but let me assure you I spent one of the most boring evenings of my life— at a dinner party at the home of my bank manager. Now, let's get something straight: there has been no one, no woman in my life since the day I met you. Don't look at me like that, I've never lied to you and I'm not about to start now. But you've lied to me, Grace, you've lied by omission.' His anger was back in full force now, fuelled by what he would say next. 'While I was sitting at home thinking about you last Monday, you were out with another man!'
'Demetrius, I don't see why you're making so much of this when I've explained to you several times—'
'Explained? Explained! Until tonight I'd never heard of Rodney Featherstone—then suddenly he's gate-crashing my party and slobbering all over my woman.'
'I am not your woman!'
His voice was soft then, dangerously so. 'Aren't you? You would still deny it?'
There was no contest, no escape. His hands were imprisoning her again—and this time there was a different kind of passion; it was not anger, but passion in the accepted sense of the word. He pulled her tightly against him, his hands on her ribs, his mouth shifting to her throat, to that place at the side of her neck…
Grace reached for him involuntarily, her body arching against his. She could see herself doing it, almost as if she were an observer. Still her mind was raging against what was happening—while her traitorous body revelled in it. When his hands moved to her breasts, she gasped loudly, shocked anew at the electrifying sensations he created in her. She had been wrong in thinking her attraction to Demetrius was strong; it was more than that, it was overwhelming. Never before had she experienced anything like it. Even through the covering of her dress he made her feel as if she was on fire, made her aware of every tingling nerve-end.
'Demetrius, please…' It had to stop, it had to stop now. She couldn't handle this, couldn't handle him. Couldn't handle herself. She was panicking. 'Stop this, please, please!'
He ignored her cries. Again, the mood of his kiss changed. He ran his tongue along the shell of her ear before claiming her mouth once more. Then his tongue was sliding over the inside of her lower lip, probing her mouth, pushing and withdrawing until she shuddered with the ecstasy, the sheer eroticism of it. Her arms were locked around him, under his jacket, and her fingers curled involuntarily, her nails digging into his back through the fine wool of his sweater.
It was just another source of encouragement to Demetrius. He shifted his stance, moving her the few inches which placed her against the wall again, his body forcing her legs apart as he got even closer to her, the strength of his arousal shocking her now. Quite suddenly she was afraid, more than she had ever been before. 'Demetrius, for God's sake… Let go of me! Please!'
She heard the catch in her voice and, to her relief, he did as she implored. He released her, but he stayed very, very close, looking down into her face. She could well imagine what she looked like, her hair tousled, her eyes unnaturally bright. Nervously, she ran her tongue over her lips, lips that were swollen and tingling.
He looked away from her when she did that, his voice unbelievably quiet as he spoke. 'Sit down, Grace.'
'I don't want to,' she whispered. 'I think—'
'I said sit down.'
She sat down. Against one wall of his office there was a leather settee and she lowered herself on to it, her entire body trembling, her heart leaping about wildly inside her breast. Her mind was tumbling in confusion, at odds with the dictates of her body and battling with the ambivalence of its own thoughts.
Not only had he tamed her into acquiescence, he had made it very clear that she was his for the taking. He had chosen to let her go, she had not fought him off. If he had carried on, he would have seduced her right here and now. She knew it. He knew it.
He knew it very well. He moved slowly across the room, leaned against his desk and looked at her steadily. He was no longer angry, but he was far from smiling. He spoke in a tone which was almost matter of fact. 'That's the score, Grace. I told you once before, you and I have unfinished business.'
The colour rose in her cheeks, but he ignored it. 'You asked me to give you time,' he went on, 'and I have to say I understand your reasons for that better now—once bitten, twice shy, and all that.'
'Demetrius—'
'Hear me out.' The edge was back in his voice. He looked at her evenly, going on slowly, as if warning her to listen and listen well. 'Quite apart from matters physical, I happen to like you, I like you very much. I think you feel the same way. I want to go on seeing you often and regularly, I want your company, and if you really don't wish to take things further than that, I'll respect your wish. How does it sound so far?'
'It sounds…' She was transfixed, her eyes were locked with his and, if her life had depended on it, she couldn't have looked away. She was almost mesmerised by him. She knew what he was going to say next, and she knew that what he had felt earlier was jealousy. Oh, it wasn't that his feelings for her went any deeper than liking, he was by nature a jealous man. Either she was or she was not going out with him, that was what he meant when he referred to her as his woman. She had a choice to make—Demetrius, and no one else, old friends included, or no Demetrius.
Melissa had once described him as passionate. He was, in every sense of the word. If he liked, he liked. And, no doubt, if he hated, he hated. There were no half-measures with Demetrius Knight, there was nothing half-hearted about him in any way at all. And in a way, although she admired this, it scared her.
But it didn't scare her enough. The thought of not seeing him again was abhorrent to her. 'It sounds good,' she said softly, still unable to break the hold of his eyes.
'Then you won't see Rodney Featherstone again.' It wasn't a question, it was a statement.
Grace shook her head. 'No. I mean, alone no. I can't really avoid—'
'Obviously I don't expect you to avoid him altogether, given the circumstances. I believe what you told me, that to you he's a friend and nothing more, but it's different for him—he fancies you, and please don't pretend you're not aware of it. Your insistence earlier that you can "handle" the likes of him was all I needed to hear. If he'd never made a pass at you there wouldn't be anything to handle, would there?'
'He's never done more than kiss me, Demetrius.' Even as she said this, she marvelled at herself. Why was she accounting to him like this? Because she had behaved badly, that was why. There was no denying it, and she had done it in front of his friends, in his own house. In
retrospect, she could hardly blame him for his anger.
'And he's done that for the last time, Grace.'
'Yes,' she whispered. 'Yes.'
'That's all I wanted to hear. Now come here.'
And she did. His arms were open and she walked into them. He smiled, at last, and held her loosely. 'Do we understand each other now?'
She nodded, but it wasn't strictly true. If he knew how inexperienced she was in matters physical, he'd be staggered. In fact, he would never believe it, not after the way she'd responded to him. He had set out to prove a point tonight and he had done it superlatively well. She was capable of being seduced. Well, admittedly she was. By him—but never in a million years by Rodney. But how could she tell Demetrius this? Explaining it would also tell him of his specialness to her. No doubt such a strong attraction was something he had experienced before, probably dozens of times, but it was new to her.
She rested her head against his chest, deep in thought. Dear lord, he was special, more so than she had realised. He might not understand her fully, but she understood him very well indeed. She knew that he had told the truth, that when he spent the night in London he would not be out with another woman. He wouldn't demand of her something he would be guilty of himself. He had too much integrity. He was a one-at-a-time man.
'Come on,' he said, his mouth against her temple, 'we'll get back to the party and we'll let everyone see how it is with us.'
'Yes,' she said softly, aware that she was committing herself. But to what, exactly? How long was she going to be able to keep her relationship with him platonic? It was a worrying thought. And did she want to? In a way, that was even more worrying… What kind of road had she just committed herself to travelling with Demetrius? Where was it going? He was obviously not the marrying kind. Had he been, he wouldn't have got to thirty-six without settling down.
CHAPTER EIGHT
From that night onward, Grace and Demetrius were seen to be a couple. As the days slipped into weeks, the entire county must have seen them together at one place or another, one event or another.
'It's getting pretty heavy with you two, isn't it?' Melissa remarked over lunch one day. She came regularly to The Beauty Parlour, enjoying having a facial, a manicure and, most importantly, a chat. Grace took her to lunch if she had the time, if she wasn't lunching with Demetrius. 'I don't know how you can fancy him, Grace. I couldn't fancy him if he were the last man on earth.'
'Of course you couldn't, he's your brother.'
'Speaking of brothers, how's yours?'
'He's fine, he phoned me last night. He sends you his regards.'
Melissa looked pleased, Thomas always sent his regards. 'He's sweet. In a way, he reminds me of—'
She didn't finish the sentence, but Grace knew what she'd been about to say; she was thinking of the boy in Athens, surely. She waited, giving Melissa the opportunity to talk about it if she wanted to. She didn't.
'Not quite a word I'd choose.' Grace laughed, but she in turn was thinking… about Melissa's opening remark.
Heavy, pretty heavy. Was it, in fact? She was still calling a halt with Demetrius, when she was in his arms and there was a danger of things going too far. She still wasn't ready or willing to take the plunge in that respect. If she did, surely it would be the beginning of the end? It would be an affair, an unforgettable, wildly passionate affair, for sure, but in time it would burn itself out and it would end…would end. When it ended. It was not a pleasant prospect. It was, however, an inevitable one.
Demetrius had led a very different life from hers, he had told her about some of his affairs. By his own admission, there had been plenty of them. Admission? He had simply told her the facts. She had asked him, very casually, whether he had ever thought of marrying. His reply had been quick and wry. 'No danger.'
Clearly, that was still his attitude towards marriage. And why should a man in his position seek a permanent relationship? As she had thought about him before, he had everything going for him. Not that she was thinking of herself as a candidate; far from it, she, too, had a full and satisfactory life as it was.
She was happy with the status quo, she liked to think she was calling the shots in keeping things platonic with Demetrius—well, keeping out of his bed, at least. Platonic was hardly the word. Yet she knew very well that he was merely allowing her to do this; he had proved to her once that if he made up his mind to have her, she would be helpless to resist.
But he hadn't done that, which begged another question. Why hadn't he? Sometimes, perversely, Grace came close to feeling indignant when he accepted her calling a halt to their lovemaking. She could only assume she wasn't as irresistible to him as she liked to think. On the other hand she was grateful to him for letting her have control. It was all a bit confusing really, the way he was being so patient with her when he was not a patient man.
All in all, she was happy, but at the same time she felt insecure. She knew she was in danger of falling in love with him. If she did… what then?
She looked at him carefully that evening, when they were settled in the drawing-room after one of Matty's delicious dinners. Demetrius was sprawled on a settee and Grace was in her father's armchair near the fireplace, gauging his mood. 'Demetrius…'
'Yes, my darling?'
She returned his smile. He had taken to calling her that of late, always with the possessive pronoun, of course. 'I had lunch with Melissa today and—I want to talk to you about her.'
'Yes?'
'Does she ever mention—no, of course she wouldn't. Not to you.'
'Not to me—what?'
'The boy in Greece.'
He seemed surprised but not annoyed. 'She's told you about that? What has she told you?'
'Very little. I don't know any details, but—well, I have the feeling she's still pining for him.'
'I shouldn't be surprised.'
Grace looked at him quickly. It had not been a sympathetic retort. 'Is that all you have to say?'
'I'm sorry, I can't comment any further. Unless and until Melissa tells you about this herself, it would be out of order for me to discuss it with you.'
She couldn't help but admire him for that; she respected it. As close as they were, he felt he shouldn't tell her something which was obviously very personal about his sister. He was, she thought, quite a character, a strong character who wrote his own code of conduct and stuck to it.
That's fair enough.' She yawned, stretching her legs out in front of her. 'It's getting late, Demetrius, it's time to throw you out if we're going riding in the morning.'
He made no move. 'And if I say we won't, that you can have an extra hour in bed, what then?'
She raised an eyebrow. 'If you suppose for one minute that I don't notice the way you manipulate me, you'd better think again. You just love getting your own way all the time, don't you?'
'Who doesn't?' He patted the settee, his smile was back and it was bordering on the lecherous. 'Come over here and smother me with kisses.'
She laughed her head off at that. 'Mm, maybe I will—but only because I'd do anything for an extra hour in bed!' She was already moving towards him, her laughter fading as he reached for her. It was she who kissed him, little kisses, dozens of them. A bargain was a bargain, after all.
Then he caught her to him more tightly, stilling the movement of her mouth by covering it with his own. It was a long time before he lifted his head, his fingers reaching to smooth the silky hair from her forehead. He was intensely serious when he spoke. 'There's a lot that I would do for an hour in bed. With you. A great deal, my darling. I wonder if you know how much?'
The hammering of her heart accelerated. It was always like that when she was in his arms, and the look in his eyes now was almost stopping her breathing. She didn't know what to say. Even if she had been inspired, she doubted she could speak. To make matters worse, her face was colouring. Why was it he could make that happen to her so easily?
'So nothing changes,' he said quietly, letting go
of her. 'How long do you expect to keep this up, Grace? When are you going to come to me, willingly? When will your mind catch up with the dictates of your body?' He reached for her again, just with one hand, letting it move ever so lightly across her breasts, making her blush more deeply, because he was so damned accurate in what he'd said.
Grace didn't move, she couldn't, she still couldn't find her voice, either. And it got worse. In the same quiet tone, one which almost bordered on sadness, he said, 'Why the blush? If you have inhibitions of some sort I can only say I'm surprised, and I don't understand them. I certainly don't share them.' He took hold of her hand and guided it towards his body, making her aware how very much he wanted her, as if she didn't already know. She was swamped with guilt. How much more of this would he tolerate?
'You're keeping me awake at night, you must realise that. It can't go on for ever. I think it's time you made a decision, don't you?'
He got to his feet and Grace looked up at him rapidly. She was panic-stricken. 'Are you—is that an ultimatum?'
'An ultimatum?' He didn't seem to know what she meant.
She didn't move. She could think more clearly when she wasn't touching him or being touched by him. She was still panicking, but she also experienced a ripple of annoyance. 'Don't give me an ultimatum, Demetrius, because that would be the quickest way of hearing me say goodbye.'
'What? Would you mind telling me what you're rambling about, woman?'
She didn't know whether he was angry or amused. 'I thought—I mean…'
'You thought I was demanding more than you want to give, that's what you mean.' His tone was patient, fortunately. 'And if you weren't forthcoming, that it would be I who would say goodbye.' He shook his head, as if disappointed in her. 'I thought you knew me better than that. Don't you know by now how stubborn I am? I want you and I shall have you, sooner or later. It's as simple as that.'
She was half smiling, half indignant. 'Is it, by God?'
He reached down and grabbed her wrist, wrenching her to her feet—but he was laughing now. 'Yes, by God. So if you want to make a bet on it, you'll lose.'
Playing Safe Page 11
