Conditional Surrender Page 12

  `Anne Boleyn on the way to meet the executioner's axe?' he taunted. 'I thought I'd probably have to carry you screaming and kicking to the bedroom.'

  With a purposeful tread, he moved swiftly around the table, giving her no chance to retreat.

  `There are two ways we can go about this, Kate,' he began warily, refusing her attempt to pull away from the hypnotic quality of his hard grey eyes. 'If you could try to relax, I'll do my best to make this as easy and pleasurable as possible for you. If you could give yourself to me . .

  `Give myself to you?' she repeated in a shaking voice. `When I give myself to a man it will be because I love him. Not because he's forced me . . .' She stopped, took a deep breath and met his iron features a shade more calmly. 'I don't know what you expect from me tonight, Greg. But whatever it is, you're going to have to take it. I have no doubts about your ability to force a response from me. And there's no point in getting angry with me . . .' she added with determination as his fingers bit cruelly into the soft flesh of her upper arms. 'You're the one who wanted an honest relationship between us. If you'd wanted someone to fall into your arms with delirious joy, you should have married one of your bloody alternatives!'

  `Back to Caroline again, are we?' he sneered, letting her go as if her touch disgusted him. Tor your information, my loving wife,' his lips twisted on the word, 'Caroline Sterling would have danced naked on top of Big Ben if she thought she could get a ring out of me!'

  `As I recall, a loving wife was the last thing you wanted,' Kate hit back, breathing hard.

  `How right you are!' he agreed after a few moments' tense silence. 'Very well, Kate, you've made your point. Run away to your virginal bed. You're safe for tonight at least. I'm not in the mood for rape!'

  Kate could hardly believe her ears. By the time she had assimilated the fact that he no longer intended to consummate their marriage there and then, he had disappeared. Overcome by an impulse she could not explain, she ran after him, finding him standing at the liquor cabinet in the lounge.

  `Greg! I . . .' He turned as if he had been shot.

  `Kate, I warn you now, it would take very little to change my mind!'

  `But . . .' Her eyes widened in horror at the amount of whisky he had poured for himself. He raised the glass in a mockingly taunting salute before taking a hefty swallow.

  `A man should be allowed a little pleasure on his wedding night, don't you think?' And he laughed. Kate simply did not know how to cope with this dark mood. He had withdrawn

  completely. So she stood helplessly staring in consternation as he drained the glass so quickly she winced for him.

  `Go to bed, Kate. Now!'

  She fled.

  Surprisingly, sleep claimed her almost immediately, and for several hours her fatigued brain embraced the welcome relief from tension.

  It was still dark when she awoke to the realisation that she had been a little too clever for her own good. The flannelette monstrosity of a nightgown she had filched from her mother's wardrobe might have been—in her father's words—a passion-killer, but it was hardly suitable attire for such a hot, muggy summer night. She was bathed in perspiration, the material of her virginal nightgown sticking uncomfortably to her skin. And she knew she would get no further sleep that night unless she cooled down.

  She waited a moment to accustom herself to the darkness, before swinging her feet to the floor, only gradually becoming aware that she was no longer alone in the huge bed. Greg was sprawled on the other side, his arm flung across his eyes, his chest gleaming nakedly in the moonlight. He obviously had more sense than she.

  Her heart missed a beat as she rose as silently as possible and padded along to the adjoining bathroom. She firmly closed her mind to all else but the relief of the cool spray on her overheated body as she stood revolving for several minutes under the shower.

  She slowly towelled herself dry, looking with distaste at her discarded nightgown and knowing she could not bring herself to put it on again. Instead, she wrapped a towel sarong-wise around her body and peeped cautiously into the bedroom. There was no movement from the bed.

  Heaving a silent sigh of relief, she made her way to the dressing-table, the moonlight helping her find a thinner covering. She hesitated beside the bed, debating whether or not she should go in search of somewhere else to spend the night, but practical common sense told her she was being silly. She could smell the whisky fumes from where she was standing. It did not take a genius to work out that Greg had

  probably drunk himself into a stupor. Besides, she did not have the energy to make up another bed.

  She felt oddly guilty as she slid into the bed, taking care to keep on her own side. It was positively uncharacteristic for Greg to behave in such a manner—but then hadn't the last few weeks proved she knew precious little about the real Gregory Courtney? It was a disturbing thought on which to drift to sleep, but one shattered a few moments later when a heavy hand fell across her waist and jerked her to the middle of the bed.

  `Greg . . .?'

  `Yes, indeed,' a slurred disembodied voice enveloped her through the darkness.

  Kate pushed vainly at him.

  `No! Greg . . . you're drunk!'

  `No, Kate.' Sure, sinfully practised hands quickly divested her of the nightgown she had only seconds before put on. 'I tried, I really did. But you're the only thing capable of intoxicating me.' His head dipped to the newly perspiring hollow between her breasts. 'You shouldn't have woken me, Kate.'

  And all her protests were swallowed by his urgently seeking mouth.

  Eighteen . . . nineteen . . . twenty.

  Kate completed her last lap of the pool and pulled herself out of the water. She felt far more human after the violent exercise she had just subjected her body to.

  This really was a beautiful place, she decided. The sun was hot on her back as she dangled her feet into the cooling water. Her earlier tour of inspection had revealed a total of three bedrooms and two bathrooms—one of which boasted the largest, most sybaritic sunken bath she had ever imagined. The kitchen was a dream. Sam and Marie certainly did themselves proud!

  And all because of Greg, a little voice murmured in her ear. From the little Marie had let slip, she and Sam appeared to have had a lot more to do with Greg's upbringing than his own parents. And this was their reward.

  Though Sam certainly earned every penny of his salary, Kate had to admit. Greg might provide the driving force behind the firm, but it was Sam's hard-slogging attitude to his job which put Greg's ideas into action. They complemented each other well.

  Eventually, hunger drove her back into the bungalow. She had skipped breakfast, eager to get out and explore the views which beckoned her—and also eager to escape Greg. She had not seen him that morning. He had still been sleeping heavily when Kate left their bed.

  `Good morning, Kate.' She jumped as Greg's quiet greeting reached her in the doorway to the dining area. To her amazement, he was putting a bowl of salad on the table, obviously prepared by himself. He looked quite unlike his usual former self. He was wearing an old, faded pair of jeans and a turquoise sweatshirt. Unfairly, there was no sign of his over-indulgence in the whisky bottle, except that his chin was darkened by stubble. Kate had never seen him unshaven. And he was looking at her.

  She was glad she had thought to put on a thin yellow wraparound skirt over her swimsuit. It afforded her a little more composure under his intent scrutiny.

  `I think it's more afternoon, really . . .' she offered inanely, and gestured towards the table. 'There was no need . .

  `Did I hurt you, Kate?' Kate closed her eyes briefly. Trust Greg to come straight to the point! No leading gently into the subject, no beating around the bush. When she opened her eyes it was to surprise an expression of self-disgust on his face.

  `I . . . No.' She licked dry lips, oddly anxious to dispel his stress. 'I mean—just a bit, but I suppose that was unavoidable.'

  `Yes,' he agreed tightly, still holding himself stiffly. But I
could have made it a little more—rewarding for you. It can't have been—pleasant, shall we say?' His brows rose in question.

  Kate's face burned. Was it really necessary to have a postmortem? She had spent all morning trying to avoid even thinking about what had happened, and now it seemed Greg

  wanted to recount events detail by disturbing detail.

  `Well, as a matter of fact, it was! Pleasant, I mean,' she burst out, her embarrassment making her bluster. And she was not lying—not really, despite his look of disbelief. It had been pleasant—much more so, if she were to be totally honest. At least until he had rolled off her and fallen immediately into a deep sleep—the amount of whisky he had drunk finally catching up with him.

  She had no intention of admitting to the ache of unsatisfied arousal which had left her wide awake for what remained of the night, or of the longing to participate fully in the magic of their first union. He had been so very gentle until that last stunning moment when his hoarse cry signalled a total loss of control.

  `You're very forgiving, Kate,' he said quietly. Kate looked away in confusion. Surely it should have been easier to hate him this morning, but . . .

  `Some things are easier to forgive than others. Besides, I've told you, it doesn't apply in this case. I—it was—nice, OK?' Her chin lifted defiantly, daring him to question her further.

  `OK, Kate.' His hands spread wide in a gesture of acceptance. 'I know better than to question my good fortune in getting off so lightly!' He slanted her a crooked grin. `Knowing your temper, I expected quite a lecture this morning!' There was still a question mark hanging in the air between them.

  Kate chose to ignore it. `I'm sure the thought had you shaking in your shoes.' She folded her arms across her chest, her generous mouth curving with a wry visitation of humour. Greg's brows rose, a bland expression replacing the tense wariness.

  `Well, I seem to remember promising you dynamite. I wasn't sure a damp squib would be an adequate substitute.'

  She tried to stop herself laughing, but it was no use. Greg looked so different when he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, a warm silvery light in their depths and that annoyingly incongruous dimple flashing in one lean cheek.

  `Ah well, perhaps it's as well I don't know the difference.'

  `Not yet, anyway.'

  Kate blushed anew at the sensual promise.

  They passed the afternoon quite amicably. They discovered a mutual passion for cards and chess. Greg challenged her to several games, winning the first three with humiliating ease before Kate found her stride, but even then the best she could manage was a symbolic stalemate.

  As evening approached, Greg announced that they would be eating out. Kate acquiesced immediately, hoping things would be easier with other people around. Greg was becoming dangerous in this affable mood. He had proved to her the night before that she had nothing to fear from him physically.

  Even though she had not yet touched the heights of passion he had taught her she was capable of attaining, he had shown great consideration for her inexperienced state. No, physically, she knew it was only a matter of time before they were in perfect accord. Emotionally, it was another matter. Greg could keep the two separated. Kate simply did not know if she would be able to follow his example.

  She took a quick bath and dressed in a simple white wraparound dress, leaving her hair free, for some unaccountable reason. Greg, to her relief, was dressed equally casually in brown shirt and trousers.

  `Ready?' His eyes travelled over her impassively as he jangled the car keys in his pocket.

  They ate at a small, intimate restaurant a few miles outside the town. The dance floor was so minute, Kate spared a moment to wonder why the proprietors had troubled to provide one. She was to discover the reason before the evening was over.

  Greg put himself out to be charmingly attentive. So much so, she was beginning to notice curious glances being sent their way. When he pulled her suddenly resisting body on to the dance floor, all eyes were riveted upon them.

  `Relax,' Greg ordered softly into her ear, holding her far too close for comfort.

  But everyone is staring at us!' she hissed back, knowing full well that a red stain of self consciousness was spreading over her face.

  `Everyone likes to look at newlyweds, Kate,' he murmured as he nuzzled her earlobe. Kate knew she could not pull away from him without causing a scene.

  `So that's why you brought me here,' she muttered angrily, ridiculously near to tears at the way she had been tricked. `Because they all know you!'

  `That's right,' he agreed, unabashed. She could sense his mocking smile, and seethed. Had she so wounded his pride the previous night by forcing him to take that he had determined that tonight she should give? As the evening drew on, she knew she had hit on the truth. Greg dragged her off to dance between each course of their meal. Whether or not he had bribed the small band, Kate would never know, but each time they rose from their table, the music slowed in tempo. By the end of the evening Kate was ready to scream in frustration.

  Greg, true to form, took full advantage, moulding her closer and closer to the hard line of his body until he was practically making love to her on the dance floor, oblivious of their benign onlookers. At last, Kate could stand no more, and shakily told him she wanted to leave.

  `So do I, Kate,' he murmured back, his voice lowly intimate, his lips curving in a sensuous echo of the message contained in his darkened eyes.

  Horribly conscious of every sly glance in their direction, Kate straightened her back, lifted her chin and preceded him from the restaurant.

  Back at the bungalow, she declared tersely that she was going to take a shower. Without sparing a glance for her husband, she practically ran to the bathroom, pausing only to pick up her dressing-gown. She wrapped a towel around her hair and stepped into the shower with a desperate hope that the stinging needles of tepid water would counteract the sensations Greg had aroused. It was criminal that he could affect her so—basically when she knew he was manipulating her time and time again. And every time she was only too willing to believe the best—as today, when she thought he was attempting to become a friend when he was simply paving the way to becoming her lover.

  A light hand descending on her shoulder caused her to scream with fright, even more so when she caught the kindling fire of Greg's hot glance as his eyes travelled the length of her wet, naked body. She stood in paralysed turbulence as he calmly picked up a tablet of soap and lathered his hands.

  Then she felt those soapy hands sliding over her breasts.

  `No!' Her hoarse cry sounded feeble in the confined space of the shower cubicle. Every way she turned brought her up against his long, lean, unashamedly aroused body. His hands reached around her neck and moved with a featherlike caress down each knuckle of her spine. She had never known anything so erotic as the brush of his wet nakedness against her own, and the desire to resist—even the reasons why she must resist—deserted her, leaving her defenceless, unprotected against the onslaught of an expert sensualist.

  She stood mesmerised as Greg towelled her dry, smoothing the soft towel over every inch of her trembling body. Then, shockingly, she realised he was no longer using the towel. The lightly rough friction against her skin was his tongue, stroking, tasting, drinking in her sweetness. Sensing that her legs would no longer support her, Greg lifted her high into his arms and carried her with effortless ease to the king-sized bed.

  He drew a rasping breath as he was at last able to survey her naked form. Kate was unable to do anything but lie breathtakingly supine as his eyes drank their fill of her. From her tumbling waves splayed over the pillow, over her mesmerised face—wide slumbrous eyes and softly quivering mouth. Down the long column of her throat, lingering on the fast-beating pulse at the base. Over gently rounded shoulders to her breasts, nipples hardening in instinctive betrayal as his gaze caressed them. Down over the slender, jutting curve of her hipbone, around the flatness of her stomach, to the dark plateau beneath
. Down the length of long, shapely limbs, even to the curling toes on small feet.

  And Kate could not move. Pinned to the bed by that penetrating surveillance, she felt as if he had already made love to her. The shock deepened as their glances collided.

  Greg's face was flushed, his jaw clenched rigid with white-hot desire. When could she ever have thought him cold-blooded? She watched in ever-increasing fascination as he slowly removed his towel to reveal his own impressive physique. Hard muscles, hair-roughened chest, lean hips, long, loose limbs. It had been too dark to see him the previous night, but now his sheer masculine beauty took her breath away.

  She should be fighting him, she knew that. In the back of her mind warning bells were ringing raucously, but not loudly enough to force her limbs to obey her halfhearted order to resist.

  Piercing pleasure shot through her as he bent low and took the hardened tip of her breast deep into his mouth, his hands effortlessly pinning her arms above her head to grant him easier access.

  `Dear heaven! Please, Greg . . . you must . . .' Her protest—if it was indeed a protest—was lost as his lips covered hers and his hand moved to discover the curve of her hipbone—every new caress causing her to arch into him.

  `It's good, Kate. Better than I could have imagined.' His silvery gaze captured her wide green eyes, reading clearly the mirrors of her arousal.

  He continued to kiss and caress every inch as her hands finally surrendered and made their own journeys of discovery across his chest and back, her own pleasure growing as she felt him tremble beneath her hands as they moved across the flatness of his stomach and lower—until Greg's shaking hand stayed hers.

  `Not yet, Kate,' he murmured raggedly against her lips.

  She drew back slightly at the last moment, mindful of a remembered brief shaft of pain, but Greg sensed her fear and patiently calmed her once more with his lips and hands—stroking her to a state of mindless frenzy.