Castles Of Sand. Anne Mather
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against his chest, in the hollow of the vee where the fastening of his waistcoat began, and deliberately spread her fingers against the fine silk of his shirt.
‘Ashley!’ His free hand caught her tormenting fingers, crushing them within the strength of his as he impaled her with an impassioned glare. ‘Do not try your feminine wiles on me! That was over long ago, and you would do well to remember that you are my brother’s widow!’
‘I haven’t forgotten it,’ she protested huskily, aware of the convulsive shudder that had passed through him before he captured her fingers in his. ‘Perhaps—perhaps it is yourself you have to convince!’
‘No!’ His jaws were clamped together, and he spoke through his teeth, but Ashley had aroused him, and she was not prepared to lose her advantage.
‘He’s my son, Alain,’ she breathed, moving closer to him, so that the pointed tips of her breasts actually brushed against the hand imprisoning hers. ‘Don’t take him away again—please! I promise I won’t tell him who I am. I only want to see him again, to look at him, maybe speak with him—–’
‘It is not possible!’
The words were torn from him, and looking up into his dark face, Ashley knew a moment’s fear for what she was provoking. She had loved this man, she remembered painfully, she had cared for him with every fibre of her being. Even after all that had happened, could she be sure she could control her feelings, and use them to defeat him?
Her breath fanned his chin, warm and sweet, mingling with the scent of her body. Her agitation had brought a film of perspiration over her skin, and its odour was musky and sensual. The smock was loose and revealing, something casual, to be worn around the flat, and the baggy pants hinted at the swell of her hips and the long slender length of her legs. She knew Alain was looking at her, absorbing her body’s freedom, and after the enveloping garments worn by the women in his own country she must seem the epitome of liberated womanhood.
‘This has got to stop!’ he ordered vehemently, but his intention to push her away from him was foiled by Ashley slipping her arms around his neck. It brought her close against him, her forehead on a level with his lips, and she looked up at him through her lashes, her green eyes soft and appealing.
‘Alain,’ she breathed, and his control snapped. His hands at her waist were hard and ungentle, jerking her against him with urgent compulsion. His mouth too was hot and aggressive, searing her lips with a brutal tempestuous possession that had nothing of love in it.
‘Is this what you want, Ashley?’ he demanded, against her mouth, almost suffocating her with the burning heat of his breath. ‘Do you want to be treated the way my father’s ancestors treated their women? Without honour or respect?’ Yet, in spite of his anger, she sensed the desperation in his voice and the hungry passion beneath his cruel strength.
‘Is that what you want, Alain?’ she asked, turning his words back on him, as his teeth fastened on the tender lobe of her ear, and he bit it viciously. She winced, but she did not draw away, as she added unevenly: ‘Do you enjoy inflicting pain?’
‘Yes,’ he told her, in a raw anguished tone, and then again: ‘No! Damn you, no!’ as her hands turned his face to hers, and she put her mouth next to his. His lips parted almost involuntarily, and her mouth opened to accommodate his. She welcomed his intimate invasion, the sensuous brush of passion, that was so much more devastating than brute force. With a little moan of pleasure, that was by no means contrived, she moulded herself against him, and his hands probed beneath the smock to find the smooth skin of her back.
It was strange how time rolled back under the hungry pressure of his lips. Without her being aware of it, her response changed from the controlled reaction to a planned set of circumstances, to an eager and willing consummation of his possession. She pressed herself against him, uncaring when her fingernails raked the hair at the nape of his neck.
‘Ashley!’ Alain’s strangled voice came to her as if from a distance, and at first she didn’t want to pay any attention to it. But when he dragged his mouth from hers and lifted his head, she was forced to acknowledge that the situation was rapidly slipping from her grasp. With a little shiver she lowered her toes to the floor, and forced herself to look up at him questioningly as he strove for his own sanity. ‘Ashley—for God’s sake—–’
‘You wanted to touch me,’ she said simply, and his hands dropped abruptly to his sides.
‘You are a madness—and a temptation,’ he retorted, in a shaken tone. ‘Are you wearing anything under—under that outfit?’
‘Not much,’ she conceded huskily, realising she had little time left to make any headway. ‘Do you want to see?’
‘No!’ Alain turned aside from her, combing somewhat unsteady fingers through his thick dark hair. ‘I have to go. There—are things I have to do.’
‘Will I see you again?’ she enquired softly, and he gave her a brooding stare.
‘It is unlikely. I intend to return to Khadesh at the end of the week.’ He paused. ‘I shall be taking Hussein with me.’
It was a bitter blow, but not unexpected. Nevertheless, she still had one more card to play, a card which had only just occurred to her.
‘And—his education?’ she asked. ‘What about that?’
‘I will make other arrangements,’ declared Alain curtly, rapidly recovering his composure. ‘That need not concern you—–’
‘Oh, but it does,’ she contradicted him softly. ‘You see, I think he might benefit from private tuition.’
‘Private tuition?’ Alain frowned. ‘Well—perhaps.’
‘And I can supply it,’ inserted Ashley quietly.
‘What!’ Alain was incredulous at first, and then he gave a harsh laugh. ‘You are not serious!’
‘Oh, but I am.’ Ashley held up her head. ‘And unless you want me to create a great deal of unpleasantness, you should agree with me.’
Alain stared at her. ‘Are you threatening me, Ashley?’
Ashley’s skin prickled at the sudden malevolence of his gaze. Only rarely did Alain assume the arrogant hawklike countenance of his father’s forebears, those wild and lawless Arab tribesmen who for centuries had lived like lords in their desert kingdom. But right now he possessed all their savage ruthlessness and hauteur, and she faltered for a moment on the brink of submission.
But then the realisation of what she was fighting for strengthened her will, and facing him bravely she said: ‘And if I am?’
Alain speared her with his scorching glare. ‘And how do you propose to create this unpleasantness?’
Ashley’s lips parted. ‘I—I—–’ she faltered again, and then, as his lips curled contemptuously, she burst out: ‘The—the authorities. I could go to the authorities. I could tell them how you intimidated me, how you made me hand my baby over to you—–’
‘You would not do such a thing!’ Alain menaced her, but she held her ground.
‘I would. Yes, I would.’ She fought free of his mesmerising stare. ‘And they’d listen to me, too—you know they would. You could face court proceedings, particularly if I said you threatened me—–’
‘Be silent!’ Alain was furious. ‘You must be crazy if you imagine I’ll let you blackmail me!’
Ashley backed away from him. ‘Not crazy, just desperate,’ she spat at him resentfully. ‘And don’t think that’s all. There are other ways.’
‘I am sure there are.’ Alain’s eyes were dark and brooding now, their blueness overlaid by a film of frustration. ‘Nevertheless, you are insane if you think I will permit you to teach the boy. If that were so, what point would there be in my taking him away from the school?’
‘Private