Bridal Trap

by Rena McKay

  Robyn protested that she was perfectly relaxed, but he moved around behind her and massaged her back and shoulders. He was right, she thought dreamily as the champagne and the warmth of his moving fingers flowed through her. She was tense and stiff. She could feel the tenseness draining away under his skillful hands.

  "Will Mrs. Barrone's private nurse arrive soon?" she asked. She sipped another glass of champagne, savoring each sparkling drop.

  His fingers worked the taut, sore muscles along her neck and shoulders. "I thought she'd be here by now."

  "Who is she? Where is she from?"

  "She's coming up from San Francisco." His hands massaged the long muscles on either side of her spine. It felt heavenly and his voice was softly soothing, almost hypnotic. "She's very experienced and competent and capable, just like Mrs. Bundy."

  We should talk some more, Robyn thought vaguely. There were so many things to discuss—what she was going to do about the shop until this was all over and how they were going to carry out this crazy charade. But somehow all that seemed very far away and unimportant. Dreamily Robyn realized Trev was no longer just massaging her back and shoulders. His lips trailed a whisper of kisses along the back of her neck. His hands deftly loosened her blouse and exposed a shoulder, creamy in the firelight, to another rain of warm kisses.

  A warning rang somewhere far back in her mind. She must stop him, this was going dangerously too far. She could feel a warm weakness seeping through her, a languid feeling that made her soft and yielding to his touch. She tried to protest, but all that came out was a husky, helpless, "Trev—"

  He didn't speak. His fingers caressed the hollow of her throat, the line of her jaw, then roamed in wild exploration over her body as she twisted and turned, hardly knowing whether she was trying to escape the exquisite pain of that touch or bring it closer.

  "Please—don't—"

  His hands caressed the smooth skin beneath the blouse that was now open to her waist. His lips found the gentle swell of her breasts and lingered in the hollow between them. Robyn had the wild feeling that she was being played like some finely-tuned instrument, and yet the music was too sweet to stop and she throbbed to it.

  His seeking hand turned her mouth to his and her lips parted of their own accord to meet his. The kiss was deep, probing, passionate. She was only dimly aware when he pushed her back against the lush carpeting, his body half beside, half over hers.

  This wasn't real, one part of her said reassuringly.

  This was just another of her wild fantasies. Another fantasy in which she was free to say and do whatever she pleased. She reached up and touched his face with seeking fingertips, traced the chiseled curve of his lips, ran her hand through his thick hair, pulled his head down to meet her lips again in a wild, abandoned kiss. Her fingers tangled in the dark hair of his chest, and her arched body moved wantonly against his.

  "Let's go upstairs," he whispered hoarsely.

  For a moment her body went rigid and her eyes wide with shock. This was no fantasy, no dream. This Trev beside her was real, his body lean and hard against hers. When had he removed his shirt so the firelight gleamed on naked, bronzed skin, so his bare skin pressed against hers with only the lacy wisp of her underthings between them? Even now his hands, oddly clumsy with haste, fumbled to remove the barrier.

  She must stop him, she thought wildly. Now, before it was too late. But some primitive force within her told her it was already too late, an animal desire seemed to have taken control of her body. Her will, her mind said stop, but this other tumultuous, compelling force made her hands roam over the smooth, bare skin of his back, exulting in the feel of his demanding body straining against hers.

  His groping fingers found the obstinate hook. She caught her breath as she felt the release.

  The noise shrilled only inches from Robyn's head. For a moment the interruption failed to register as anything more than an annoying noise, and then she realized it was a telephone ringing.

  Trev cursed under his breath. "Don't answer it," he muttered. His face was only inches from hers, dark hair tumbled across heavy-lidded eyes. She tried to move and he held her down with his body. "It'll stop in a minute," he said roughly.

  But the phone didn't stop. It jangled on and on.

  "We'd better answer it," she said uneasily.

  "Luther will get it."

  That thought made Robyn suddenly struggle to a sitting position. What if Luther answered the phone and then came to tell Trev politely that it was for him—and found Robyn here half undressed, hair disheveled? She grabbed for the ringing phone.

  "Yes?" she said breathlessly.

  There was a moment of silence, as if the person on the other end of the line was surprised to hear a female voice.

  Then, "May I speak to Trev, please?" The voice was young, feminine, somehow suggestive in saying even that simple line.

  "May I ask who is calling?" Robyn said crisply. She didn't know why she asked that. It just popped out.

  "Tell him it's Shauna."

  "Shauna?" Robyn repeated dumbly. The name went with the seductive voice.

  Trev reached for the phone. Robyn handed it to him and then moved away, clutching the drooping blouse around her. She turned her back to him to frantically refasten the hook he had released. Good Lord, what had gotten into her? she wondered, shocked, as she spied her disheveled reflection in the dark windows. She felt as if she had just returned from some dangerous leaping-off point, jerked back just as she was about to fall. Which was a rather accurate description of what had almost happened, she thought breathlessly. She had acted cheap and wanton.

  But was making love with someone you loved cheap and wanton? a part of her asked. Another part of her answered: Yes, when he doesn't love you!

  She stood up and headed for the stairs.

  "Wait!" Trev called to Robyn, then laughingly into the phone, "No, not you. We'll see you sometime tomorrow then, okay?" He put the phone down and strode toward Robyn. "Where are you going?"

  "Upstairs," she said. "But not to your bedroom, if that's what you're thinking." She hesitated, not wanting to admit curiosity but too curious not to ask. "Who was that?"

  "Shauna McNary, the nurse I hired to take care of Grandma. She had car trouble and she's staying overnight down the coast. She'll be here tomorrow." He put a possessive arm around her. "Let's have another glass of champagne," he coaxed.

  Earlier Trev had referred to the new nurse as "experienced and capable and competent," somehow giving Robyn the impression she was as middle-aged and dowdy as Mrs. Bundy. That voice on the phone had sounded neither middle-aged nor dowdy, and Robyn suddenly had a different thought about just what sort of "experience" this Shauna might have. She remembered that the woman had asked for "Trev," not "Mr. Barrone" as might be expected of a new employee.

  "You know her personally, I take it?" Robyn questioned.

  "Yes, more or less," Trev acknowledged impatiently. "I was hospitalized in San Francisco after I came back from Africa. Afterward I had Shauna—Miss McNary, as a private nurse for a while. As a matter of fact she was the one who suggested it might do me good to put everything down on paper. And then, when I showed it to her, she said it was too good just to throw out. She helped me find an agent through another writer patient she'd nursed earlier. I owe her a great deal." His arm tightened around Robyn, pulling her close again. Huskily he added, "Look, I'm really not all that interested in talking about my grandmother's nurse right now."

  He slid his other arm around her, molding their bodies together. Robyn had carefully buttoned and tucked her blouse in, but she could feel the warmth of his naked chest through the thin material. She steeled herself to ignore the wild response that threatened to rise and engulf her again.

  "Does she know you—we are married?"

  "I don't know." He hesitated, frowned. "No, I suppose not." His seeking lips nuzzled her throat, nibbled her ear, teased tantalizingly at the corner of her mouth. "Let's go over to the sofa."

/>   Stars danced dizzily inside Robyn's head. She wanted to go with him, ached to abandon everything in a wild ecstasy of lovemaking. She loved him—he wanted her. This was no act for some onlooker's benefit. He wanted her. She could feel it in every muscle of his body.

  But that was just it, she thought despairingly. She loved him but he only wanted her.

  "I'm going upstairs," she said stiffly. "To a room of my own."

  He lifted his head. "What is this? A few minutes ago you were as eager as I am." Half angrily he added, "We are legally married."

  "Not a real marriage."

  His lips twisted. "Don't you have what nice, sensible girls always want? The license, the ceremony, the ring on your finger? And a damned expensive one at that."

  Robyn gasped at the implication that she was somehow bought and paid for. She struggled to free herself from his grip that had changed from caressing to cruel.

  "I don't understand this," he said harshly. "I know damn well you're not exactly indifferent to me." As if to prove it, he trailed tantalizing fingertips across her lips and she trembled beneath his touch. "Some women have to struggle to respond. Right now I can feel you struggling not to respond to me."

  It was true. She didn't want to respond to him. And yet it took every ounce of her strength to hold her body rigid and unyielding, to resist that overpowering temptation to melt against him.

  He grabbed her shoulders and looked darkly into her eyes. "So loosen up," he said roughly. "You want me as much as I want you. We might as well get something for ourselves out of this marriage trap!"

  Robyn stared incredulously at him. So he was going to get something out of this "marriage trap" was he! And what would that something be? Herself! Was she a slave to be bound and delivered over to her master's whim?

  Furious, she raised her hand and slapped the open palm hard across his cheek.

  Chapter Eight

  Robyn lay in the unfamiliar bed, uncomfortably wrapped in a bath towel as a makeshift nightgown. She had stormed up the stairs and locked herself in the first bedroom she came to, thinking only belatedly that her belongings were still in Trev's room. She was too proud and angry to go and ask him for them. And he, of course, was too stubborn and arrogant to offer to bring her things to her, she thought furiously. She had heard him pass by her door only minutes after she locked it, his heavy, angry footsteps never pausing.

  How dare he try to turn this farce into a real wedding night? How dare he ply her with champagne and seductive caresses, no doubt laughing to himself all the time at what an easy conquest she was? And she would have been an easy conquest, she thought, humiliation flaming her face even in the darkness, if that ringing phone and feminine voice hadn't shocked her into coming to her senses. He was cold and calculating, cynically deciding that as long as he was caught in this trap he might as well grab whatever fringe benefits were available.

  That was the way he thought of her, Robyn thought, cringing with humiliation, a fringe benefit to be taken for his own physical gratification because she happened to be handy. How could she ever have thought herself in love with such a calculating, arrogant man?

  And yet, even as she thought that, she knew despairingly that she was still in love with him. Even now, hurt and angry as she was, her traitorous body ached for his caresses. Even as she despised the way he had deliberately set the scene to seduce her, a part of her wished she had recklessly ignored that ringing phone.

  No—no! That was unthinkable madness, she thought shakily. She should never have let the situation go that far, dangerously close to being completely out of control. From now on she would see to it that Trev made the best of this situation on her terms, and that meant that whatever affection was displayed was strictly for Mrs. Barrone's benefit. She would have Luther move her clothes first thing in the morning. She was beyond caring what the servants thought now.

  There was perhaps one benefit in all this, Robyn thought grimly. Trev had done his worst with his cruel, humiliating words about getting something for himself out of this "marriage trap." He couldn't possibly hurt her any more than he already had.

  But, with Shauna McNary's arrival the following day, Robyn began to suspect she was wrong.

  Robyn was having lunch in Mrs. Barrone's room when the new nurse arrived. By that time Robyn's things were safely moved to the new room. At the last minute she had weakened and moved everything herself, unwilling to face Luther's carefully guarded curiosity. The new room was smaller but no less luxurious than the master bedroom. Now, Mrs. Barrone had just mischievously admitted that it was she who had had Mrs. Bundy bring the leftover wedding cake to the house and give it to the cook for safe storage in the freezer.

  Robyn's first introduction to Shauna McNary was the sound of lilting laughter from down the hallway, a murmur of voices, then more laughter. Robyn's eyes widened when the new nurse stepped into the room, followed by Trev.

  She certainly did not fit Robyn's preconceived notion of what a capable, efficient nurse should look like. She had long blond hair, artfully tousled, a honey tan in spite of the winter season, wide-set green eyes, and a lush figure. She was wearing fashionably slim pants and high-heeled boots, dangling earrings and a silky blouse that revealed every inch of well-shaped breasts and slim waist. She was at least nine or ten years older than Robyn, but she managed to make Robyn feel old and dowdy. And this was the nurse Trev had hired because she was so "capable and competent."

  Trev made introductions. Shauna had evidently already been informed of the marriage. From the casual, almost indifferent way she appraised Robyn, Robyn wondered angrily if Trev had revealed to her the full circumstances of the marriage.

  Later, while Mrs. Barrone was napping, Robyn spied Trev showing Shauna around outside. They were laughing again, an easy companionability that sent a pang through Robyn. Once she saw Shauna touch Trev's arm in a familiar, almost intimate gesture. The three of them had dinner together, Shauna and Trev talking animatedly about mutual acquaintances from San Francisco, Los Angeles and New York. Shauna, it appeared, specialized in wealthy, famous clients. Afterward Trev and Shauna sat on the sofa, with, what seemed to Robyn, unnecessary closeness, looking at snapshots Shauna had brought.

  When Robyn went up to bed, they were still sitting in front of the fireplace. Then the reality of the sickening situation hit her. Trev intended to carry on with Shauna under this very roof while Robyn was forced to stand silently by and watch it happen. He knew Robyn was trapped; he knew she wouldn't dare walk out and risk sending Mrs. Barrone to her death. What he intended to have, Robyn thought bitterly, was his own little harem right here in Caverna Bay.

  It was a long time before Robyn heard footsteps pass by her door that night. And, strain as she might, she could not tell if there were one pair of feet or two.

  After that the days settled into a routine. Trev had business with his agent and publishers, plus setting up his mineral exploration company. Robyn felt quite unnecessary around the house with Shauna to care for Mrs. Barrone and servants to run the house efficiently. She took to spending most of each day at the shop, working on her usual projects or going to the beach. Larry came by occasionally and she yearned to pour out everything to him, but she forced herself to smile brightly and say everything was fine.

  Her days, in fact, were really not much different from those before she met Trev. But now she had to go back to the big house at night, back to the torment of being near the man she loved who only scornfully tolerated her. Back to Shauna's knowing eyes and possessive attitude toward Trev.

  The weather was miserable. Caverna Bay was always wet in winter, but this year one soaking storm followed another. The ground was water-logged and soggy.

  Trev never attempted to touch Robyn again after their wedding night fiasco. Not that Robyn gave him the opportunity, of course. The best that could be said for the situation, Robyn thought grimly, was that Trev and Shauna were at least discreet in their relationship. She was reasonably certain Mrs. Barrone suspected nothin
g. But it was agony for Robyn to see the intimate, possessive way Shauna monopolized conversations with Trev at mealtimes, touching him on his hand or arm to emphasize a point, making frequent, pointed references to a past that had not included Robyn. Shauna wore a white uniform during daytime hours, but before dinner she invariably changed to something seductively clinging.

  Grudgingly Robyn had to admit Shauna was an excellent nurse. She took meticulous care of Mrs. Barrone, scrutinized her diet, diligently exercised the injured leg and hip, efficiently bathed and dressed her, and encouraged her to care for her hair and makeup.

  But in spite of it all, Mrs. Barrone was slipping steadily. Her memory grew more vague, events of forty years ago were often more clear to her than what had happened only yesterday. Arthritic pain clouded her once lively blue eyes. She spent more time watching television, less using the energy it took to read.

  Finally Robyn knew she had to talk to Trev about his grandmother. The time might be coming when she must be moved back to the hospital. Usually, after visiting with Mrs. Barrone for a few minutes each morning, Robyn drove directly to her shop, but this morning she waited until Trev was alone in the little room he used as an office and tapped on the door.

  "I think we should have a talk about your grandmother," Robyn said, keeping her voice very impersonal and businesslike.

  Trev leaned back in his chair. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing powerfully muscled forearms. Robyn had to force herself not to dwell on how those arms had once held her. He waved Robyn to a seat.

  "She's getting worse, isn't she?" he said reflectively. "I've talked with Shauna about taking her down to the Daydecker Clinic in San Francisco."

  Robyn felt a momentary stab of anger that he had discussed this with Shauna but not with her.

  "She won't go, of course, unless we literally force her to," he added, sounding exasperated with her stubbornness.

  "You've talked with her about it?"

  "Yes."