A Savage Adoration. PENNY JORDAN
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Her fingertips trembled against his skin and then, shockingly, almost frighteningly, her wrist was seized in an iron grip and she was forcefully pushed away from him.
Angry grey eyes glared down into the bemused jade of hers. ‘Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?’
The shock of his sudden withdrawal was too much for her to cope with. She was still lost in the rapturous dream of her own intense desire and love, and without comprehending his anger she burst out eagerly, ‘Dominic, make love to me. Please … I know you want to.’
For a moment it was as though they were frozen in time: she gazing pleadingly up at him, her mouth soft and trembling, her body, supple and eager for his touch; he, tense and angry, the grey eyes darkened almost to black, his mouth drawn in a tight hard line, his body tense as though he was too furious even to draw breath.
And then the spell was broken, and the reality of his anger crashed through her physical arousal as he breathed harshly, ‘My God, I don’t believe I’m hearing this. Is this why you came here dressed like … like … like a modern-day Lolita? To ask me to make love to you? And you’re so damned blatant about it, as well!’
He saw the shock and pain on her face, and although she wasn’t aware of it, his voice softened slightly. ‘Christy, I can’t make love to you … you know that.’
‘Because you don’t want me?’ She made herself face him, and saw his face grow cold and shuttered.
‘Among other things,’ he agreed evenly, adding, ‘it is customary for the woman to wait to be asked, you know. Who put you up to this? Come on, Christy, no lies. I know you; you’d never have thought of doing this for yourself.’
She had been too distraught and humiliated to keep back the truth, and he had kept on and on at her until she had told him everything. She had had to sit there answering his questions and seeing the look of contemptuous disgust darken his eyes, until he had moved away from her as though even to look at her had contaminated him.
‘Well, now it’s my turn to tell you something,’ he had said at last, when she was finished. ‘Contrary to what your friend informed you, it isn’t that easy to make a man desire you.’
She had flushed with shame and pain then, but he hadn’t let her look away, holding her chin with hard, hurting fingers as he said cruelly, ‘Look at me, Christy. Go on … take a good look … your friend has told you what to look for. Do I look as though I want you physically?’
She had wanted to get up and run away then, but shock and pain had held her rigidly where she stood, shivering like a rabbit before a hawk, totally unable to do anything other than stare blindly back into his savagely dark eyes.
When she couldn’t turn her eyes in the direction of his body, he taunted with soft menace, ‘If you won’t look at me, perhaps you’d like to touch me instead. Just so that you know I’m not lying to you …’
She had shuddered deeply then, knowing that he had just destroyed her childish illusions, exposing her as what she was, and how she had hated the image of herself that he had held up to her gaze! She had turned away from him then, struggling to subdue the sob of terror and anguish that rose up in her throat.
He hadn’t let her go, though; there had been more for her to endure. A lecture about the physical dangers she was courting: about the health risk of promiscuity, about the danger of rape and worse, and a reminder of how much her parents loved and trusted her and how shocked they would be if they knew what she had done. Worse still, he hadn’t let her ride home on her bike, but had sent her upstairs to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her hair, and once she had done that he had waited until she had buttoned herself into her concealing cardigan and then had driven her home.
There was only eight years between them, but he had been as stern and forbidding as any Victorian parent, and when he had let her out of the car at the end of her parents’ drive she had known that she would hate and loathe him for the rest of her life.
But not as much as she would hate herself, she reflected bitterly as she emerged from the past and came back to the present.
She had avoided Helen after that and had asked her parents if, instead of going back to school, she could attend college instead. They had agreed and found her comfortable digs in Newcastle, where in addition to her secretarial skills she had learned how to begin living with herself again.
It was as though those hectic weeks when Helen had been her friend had been some sort of sickness from which she had emerged with a revulsion for all that she had been and done. The very thought of meeting Dominic in those early days had been enough to make her feel physically ill, and if her parents thought it was curious that she never mentioned him, they kept it to themselves.
She sighed faintly. The snow was coming down more heavily now. It was time for her to return home. She glanced at her watch. Ten past three. Good, by the time she got back Dominic should have left. She knew she couldn’t spend her entire life avoiding him, but discovering that he was back had been such a shock. She hadn’t been ready for it. Now, having endured the catharsis of making herself relive the past, she should be stronger, more able to judge her teenage actions with tolerance and compassion. But she couldn’t. That was the problem: she couldn’t get over the feelings of shame and self-disgust that Dominic had given her; they still haunted and tainted her life like a disease that, although dormant, still possessed the power to return.
She hated Dominic because of the picture he had drawn of her and made her face. She hated the fact that he had witnessed her shame and humiliation. She hated him because he made her hate herself.
Sighing, she pulled the hood of her anorak up against the snow and started for home.
CHAPTER TWO
SHE almost made it. She was just treading down the lane, head bowed against the snow, when she heard the car, and instinctively began to move out of the middle of the lane, but the snow had made it treacherous and she slipped and lost her balance, going down with a bump that robbed her of breath and jarred her body.
Christy was distantly aware of the car stopping and a door slamming, but it wasn’t until he came and lifted her out of the snow that she realised who her rescuer was.
‘Dominic!’
Her body froze in instant recognition and panic. Eight years hadn’t changed him at all, except to make him seem more formidable. That aura of leashed power that had once so excited and intrigued her was still there; the black hair was still as thick and dark as ever, the grey eyes as alert. He even had the same deep tan, while she …
As he hauled her to her feet, she grimaced inwardly, bitterly aware of her soaked jeans and ancient anorak. Why on earth hadn’t she taken the trouble to put on some make-up and do her hair? She could feel it tangling untidily round her head, and surely she might have had the sense to put on one of the stunning skisuits she had bought for last winter’s skiing holiday with David and his family.
Oh God, if she had to face Dominic, why on earth couldn’t it have been with all the armour she had learned to adopt in the last eight years instead of this, looking much as she had done as a teenager, instead of the sophisticated woman she had learned to become?
‘Christy, are you OK?’
Incredibly, he sounded concerned as he brushed the snow off her face and, even more astounding, he was smiling at her, a smile she recognised from before those traumatic days when she had tried to turn the casual affection of an adult male towards the young daughter of his parents’ friends into something more personal. As she looked into his concerned eyes it was almost as though that dreadful summer had never been. She caught her breath at the shock of it. Surely he couldn’t have forgotten …
No, of course he hadn’t, but perhaps he judged it more politic to pretend he had. She stiffened and pushed him away, her brusque, ‘I’m fine, no thanks to you,’ causing his smile to change to a frown. ‘Do you always drive about without any thought for the safety of others?’ she demanded tartly.