Act Of Betrayal. Sara Craven
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‘That’s kind of them, but I prefer to take it as read.’ Laura took another shaky breath. ‘You say our paths have to cross. Jason. Well I don’t believe that’s necessary at all. If today could be cancelled, then I’d wipe it out without a second thought.’
‘Not very civilised of you, darling.’
‘I don’t feel particularly civilised,’ Laura snapped. ‘And don’t call me that.’
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. ‘What would you prefer to be called then? Mrs Wingard?’
‘No.’ The small sound was expelled from her in a kind of agony. ‘Not that—ever again. The first thing I did when the decree was made final was revert to my maiden name.’
‘How said for you that it can only be in name,’ he said softly. He looked at her bare left hand. ‘All traces of me removed except one. Did you sell your ring for scrap?’
‘I gave it to Oxfam.’ It was a lie. She’d considered that, but in the end, she’d hidden it at the bottom of her trinket drawer. It was a decision she hadn’t been able to rationalise even at the time, and the last thing she wanted was to have to think about it again now.
‘Very public spirited of you,’ he approved sardonically, and she felt a dull flush rise in her cheeks. ‘What a pity you can’t dispose of me quite so easily.’
‘I thought I had,’ Laura said shortly. She lifted her chin. ‘I’d like to leave now please. And I imagine those colleagues of yours will be starting to wonder where you are.’
He grinned suddenly, and she felt tension break out all over her like porcupine quills. ‘I’m sure kind Uncle Martin will enlighten them. He was even less pleased to see me than you are if that’s possible.’
‘And that surprises you?’
‘No,’ Jason said. ‘But then there’s very little about the Caswell family that could surprise me any more.’ He moved, straightening his shoulders, and Laura felt herself recoil. He saw it, and stopped, the grey eyes narrowing glacially as they surveyed her. ‘But I still seem to have the ability to surprise you,’ he said half to himself. ‘How interesting. Perhaps some further research is called for.’
She said hoarsely, reading his purpose in his face, ‘You dare lay one finger on me, and …’
‘You’ll do what? Scream for your uncle?’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Not this time, darling. He’s too busy chasing a contract to hear you.’ As he spoke, he walked forward, until he was only inches away from her. There was a row of units right behind her, and nowhere to retreat to. Besides, it suddenly seemed a matter of honour to stand her ground, as if this unwanted proximity didn’t concern her one bit, although her breathing had become painful and even difficult.
Jason’s hand touched the nape of her neck, his fingers stroking the smooth skin. Her mouth went dry, and her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
‘This thing,’ Jason said softly, ‘is an obscenity.’ The elastic band was tugged from her hair, not gently, and the soft tawny strands fell round her face. It was all she could do not to cry out. She found herself wondering absurdly where the waitresses had got to. Surely they would be back at any moment. Surely …
She’d cried a lot of tears and spent many sleepless nights, trying to forget how it had once been between Jason and herself, and she thought she had succeeded.
Now, the first seeking warmth of his mouth on hers told her that she was wrong, and every fibre of her being whimpered in shock.
She stood rigidly, resisting the practised sensual teasing of his mouth, the warm coaxing of his tongue against the unrelenting contours of her lips. Pain armoured her against response, and she was grateful for it, because it could have been so tempting to let the past slide away, and with it the icy restraint she’d imposed on herself.
Sex was the great betrayer. It made your body impose on your mind. It robbed you of reason and commonsense. It made you believe there could be ‘happy ever after’, and Laura wanted no more of it.
But she wasn’t prepared for this gentleness in him, and it bewildered her. She almost wished he’d shown her some of the brutality of their last time together. It would have provided a focus for her hatred, for her disgust.
This insidious probing at her senses was less easy to fight, and it made her afraid, because the memories it evoked were not of anger or bitterness and accusation, but of their early days together, and all the promise of them.
A promise which Jason had cynically and blatantly broken. That was what she had to remember—all she had to remember. Nothing else mattered—no laughter-filled days, or passion-warmed nights. No moments when she’d wondered crazily why she’d been chosen to be so lucky.
Because ultimately and heartbreakingly, there’d been no luck about it. She was simply Laura Caswell, a girl who had been married for her money. Not the first one to find herself in that situation, and certainly not the last.
The thoughts ran wildly in her brain, bolstering her against the first slow, sweet stirring of the senses which Jason’s kiss was inevitably arousing. He’d taught her to want him, to want the pleasure which his mouth and hands and body could give her, and her starved sexuality was slowly, almost incredulously reviving under the insistent pressure of his lips against hers. She wanted to open her mouth, to sink against his body, and feel the hard possession of his arms round her again. She wanted it so much that she ached inside—an ache which pleaded for assuagement …
With a little cry, she jerked her head back, bringing up a clenched fist to scrub furiously at her lips. ‘You’re disgusting.’
‘You think so?’ he asked mockingly. ‘Where have you spent the last three odd years, Laura? In a nunnery?’
‘That’s none of your business.’ How dare he stand there so utterly unmoved, when her heart was threatening to choke her with its hammering. ‘And may I remind you that you’ve lost the legal right to—maul me.’
He shrugged. ‘Merely an experiment, darling. Nothing to get hysterical about.’ He laughed briefly. ‘And there wasn’t, was there? It’s all quite dead. Not a single pang of unrequited passion on either side. So—no reason why we can’t behave civilly to each other when we meet from now on—as we inevitably will. Shake hands forever. Cancel all our vows. Isn’t that how it goes?’
He paused. ‘We may never be friends, Laura, but we have to be acquaintances. You can surely see that?’
There was another, longer pause, as if he was waiting for some kind of reaction, perhaps even an answer to what he had said.
Then he added, ‘Anyway—think about it.’
He turned, the door gave its familiar monitory squeak, and Laura was alone.
THERE was a lay-by about half a mile from the factory complex. Laura drove the car into it, and stopped, slumping limply forward over the driving wheel.
She’d left Caswells at the run, uncaring about who might see her, or what conclusions might be drawn. She’d fumbled with the ignition, crashed the gears, and missed the concrete gatepost at the exit by a whisker.
It was a miracle she’d got this far without an accident, only she’d stopped believing in miracles. They were on a par with the tooth fairy, who’d stopped calling a very long time ago.
She sat very still, her hands still gripping the wheel as she sought to control the deep inner trembling which threatened to convulse her.
She kept hoping she would wake up and find it had all been just another nightmare—trying, but purely transitory—but she knew that however many times she might pinch herself, Jason was not going to vanish like a bad dream this time.