‘And,’ she stuttered in confusion, ‘and I would have thought, I would have imagined… I mean when two people sleep together, they usually share things…’ As soon as the words were uttered, she realised how ridiculous they sounded. There was nothing cosy about their relationship, it wasn’t an ordinary, run-of-the mill situation where two people shared their bed and their hearts. It was wild, and obsessive, and ultimately, she knew now, fatal, at least for her.
‘I always knew that you were far too young for me,’ he said coolly. ‘Because, my dear Claire, we made love, that does not entitle you to scour my private life.’
‘But I am your private life!’
‘You flatter yourself.’ He turned away and she blinked rapidly, fighting down the sting of tears.
He moved across to stand at the window, half turned away from her, an impressive animal without an ounce of scruple, and she wanted to rush across to him and tear his eyes out.
‘Didn’t I mean anything to you?’ she asked, trying with great difficulty to maintain some semblance of self-control.
His shoulders stiffened and he remained silent for so long that she began to wonder whether he had heard her question. Not that she was inclined to repeat it. After all, it didn’t take a genius to deduce the answer from that telling, prolonged silence.
‘What do you want me to say to that?’ he asked, facing her, half sitting on the window ledge.
Yes! she wanted to scream at him, I want you to say yes! I want you to say that you’re as crazy about me as I am about you! I want you to declare undying love and fidelity!
‘You don’t have to say anything,’ she managed to inform him. ‘I’m not stupid, whatever you might think. I can read between the lines.’
‘I never encouraged you to think…’
‘I know. And I don’t think…I don’t expect anything from you. I would, however, still like to know what that picture was all about, not that you owe me anything, as you’ve told me in no uncertain terms.’
‘That,’ he said without a change of tone, ‘is a picture of my wife.’
Claire blanched, then turned bright red. Her body felt as though it was on fire. What had she expected? she asked herself. It was obviously a wedding photo, wasn’t it? If she had been a bit more realistic instead of hiding behind some stupid pretence that he could explain it away, she would have acknowledged that.
‘So I’ve been sleeping with a married man for the past nine months,’ she said through still lips. ‘Have you any more surprises in store for me, James? Perhaps you’re an escaped convict and this house doesn’t really belong to you at all!’ Her voice had risen sharply. ‘You’ve managed to keep your wife a secret for the past nine months. Where is she, anyway? Locked away in one of the bedrooms somewhere? Or does she hide away and let you get on with your little affairs on the side? Tell me, James, I’m dying to know!’
He moved swiftly towards her and grasped her hands, pinning them to her sides so that she couldn’t escape.
‘You’re hysterical,’ he said harshly, dragging her towards the bed and throwing her on it. She made to get up but he forestalled that by trapping her with his arms, so she lay there passively, lowering her eyes so that he couldn’t see the mutiny in them.
‘Can you blame me?’ she asked viciously.
‘I’m not married,’ he said. ‘The thought of adultery leaves me with a very sour taste in my mouth. My wife died ten years ago.’
‘I had no idea,’ Claire whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’ There was a pause while she fought down the accusations she had hurled at him. ‘How is it that you never mentioned her?’
There was no softening in his expression as he looked down at her.
‘I didn’t see the need,’ he said in a smooth, hard voice. ‘Claire, let me make one thing absolutely clear between us. What we have is physical. I want you. But if you’re looking for commitment, then you’re looking in the wrong place, at the wrong man. My capacity for love was well and truly expended on Olivia.’
Olivia. Lovely name. It suited that blonde, imperious beauty. Not forgetting tragic. Tragic beauty, she thought—the worst kind. How on earth could you fight the past?
‘You can’t mean that,’ she said without thinking.
‘Don’t play the crusader with me, Claire. I’m quite happy to enjoy what we have, but don’t waste your time with me if marriage is what you’re after. Is it?’
‘Did I ever imply that?’ she asked weakly, averting her eyes. She was breathing quickly, her breasts rising and falling.
‘Good,’ he said, ‘because it would be so unfortunate if what we have was forced to end prematurely, wouldn’t it?’ He pushed aside her blouse, exposing her breasts and slowly, tenderly he began to caress them.
He had been her first and only lover. He had taught her to make love, giving her enjoyment until she was confident enough to return it to him. Her body responded to him now with an almost reflex rush of desire. The peaks of her nipples hardened, ready to receive the warm wetness of his mouth. Her mind seemed to shut down completely, so that when his lips finally did encircle her swollen nipples it took a while for coherent thought to resurface. But resurface it did, and she wriggled against him, pushing him back, desperate to get away.
This time, though, he was less willing to release her. He pinned her arms down and she immediately stopped squirming. There was no point. He was strong, she knew that from experience, and in a physical contest he would always be the winner, so why waste energy in trying to fight him? He couldn’t restrain her forever, and the minute his hands were off her she’d be out of here.
Her passivity annoyed him yet further.
‘It’s no good,’ she said flatly. ‘You can strip me until I’m completely naked, but you can’t make me want you.’
‘Can’t I?’ There was disbelief in his voice and she watched him angrily from under her lashes. ‘Shall we put that to the test?’
His eyes raked over her, and it was like being branded by a hot iron. Who, she thought, was she trying to kid? She wanted him now just like she had always wanted him. It was an illness, a craving that was bigger than her. The thought of him looking at her nudity, caressing her bare breasts with his eyes, was enough to bring hectic colour to her cheeks, even though he was no longer touching her.
‘If that makes you happy,’ she said with a careless shrug, and she could tell from the stiffening of his body that she was really beginning to get under his skin. She didn’t know whether to feel afraid or elated. ‘You can subdue me easily, but what does that prove except that you’re stronger than I am? And sure, if you make love to me, I’ll probably be aroused by you, but just because my body might respond it doesn’t mean that my mind is as well.’ Anger, bitterness, hurt had loosened her tongue and, now that she had started talking, it was as if she could no longer stop herself. She had stored up nine months of passionate, unbridled, frustrated love, and all that was pouring out of her in an unstoppable torrent.
‘You’re so sure of yourself, aren’t you, James?’ she asked
