A Stranger's Love. Laura Martin
his own as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
When had she ever been held like this? When had she ever experienced such exhilaration... such overwhelming need to be held and loved? Not until now, not until she found herself in the arms of this man, in the arms of a stranger...
She flinched. Through the heat of desire the realisation of what she was doing bit into her with all its dreadful force. What was happening to her? What was she thinking of?
‘I can’t!’ Bethany felt Chad’s body stiffen beside her, his hands cease their knowledgeable journey over her skin. She flicked open her dark lashes and found him breathing heavily, his brown eyes narrowed, scrutinising her face with an intense expression. ‘No!’ Bethany shook her head and closed her eyes in anguish. ‘This...this is crazy!’
‘You think I don’t know that?’ He raised himself up on one elbow and studied Bethany’s trembling features with an unflinching gaze. ‘But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong,’ he murmured, ‘does it?’
‘Yes, it does!’ Bethany replied wildly. ‘Of course it does! It has to be!’
He reached out to touch her again, but Bethany, shamed by her own lack of self-control, afraid of the power of his touch, hit out wildly, catching the carved profile with the edge of her loosely clenched fist.
‘No more!’ Chad’s large hand snaked out and gripped her wrist as her hand proceeded to strike out with erratic force. His dark eyes smouldered ominously. ‘I think I’ve got the message.’
He rose fluidly, gazing at Bethany with an expression that was beyond her comprehension. She had expected fury, anger, a slap in return maybe, all the old familiar reactions, but not this control, not this smouldering tension.
She gazed into the rugged planes of Chad’s face, her eyes drawn to the reddened place high up on his cheekbone where her fist had landed. ‘You think I deserved this?’ he enquired, gesturing to his face, a grim curve twisting his mouth as Bethany scrambled hastily to her feet.
‘Y-yes!’ He didn’t; she knew that. But admitting as much to this man would be too humiliating for words.
‘Really?’ His gaze was impassive: straight and direct. She saw what he thought of her answer, what he thought of her. ‘OK, if lying about it makes you feel better...’ He lifted his broad shoulders in a shrug. ‘I’ll even apologise—then you’ll really be able to salve your conscience. We can pretend that I took unfair advantage. A lie, of course, because you wanted me as much as I wanted you.’
‘Don’t say that!’ Bethany’s voice vibrated with smouldering tension. ‘Get out! Get out of my house now!’
She turned then, with glistening eyes, and ran towards the doorway that led to her tiny, functional bedroom and flicked the catch firmly behind her.
I wanted him. I wanted him. The words repeated themselves endlessly in her mind. Over and over.
With trembling fingers she peeled the damp bikini from her body and rummaged like an automaton in the small chest of drawers beside her bed for something—anything—to wear. She dragged on a pair of loose jeans and buttoned up a crisp, cotton shirt.
‘I still want him,’ Bethany whispered frantically, disbelievingly. He had touched her and the ache of longing wouldn’t go away.
It was a long while before she finally dragged up enough courage to open the door of her room. When she emerged, she saw that Chad Alington had gone.
CHAPTER TWO
SHE walked, trance-like, to the wooden rocking-chair by the stove and slumped down into it, closing her eyes against the memory of his touch, the feelings of desire he had so easily aroused. She couldn’t bear to think about it. The taste of his mouth against her own, firm and demanding, yet with a fierce, sweet intensity...
Over and over. So many thoughts confusing her. She should be feeling ashamed, relieved that she had had the good sense to stop things before they had gone too far. Why then did she feel so...so empty, so unfulfilled ...so incredibly lonely all of a sudden?
With a despairing gesture Bethany rose from the rocking-chair and, grabbing her old coat from a peg by the door, snatched up her canvas trainers and went outside.
A beautiful full moon glimmered in the night sky. Bethany, keeping her mind on the mundane, wrapped the long coat close around her slender frame and picked her way through the vegetable garden towards the small adjacent field. The goats and chickens were fine. She flicked the catch on the coop and stood up, taking in a deep breath of the fresh sea air, rubbing the back of her aching neck. It had been a long day. Maybe all she needed was a good night’s sleep. Maybe everything would seem better in the morning...maybe, just maybe, she would find enough good sense to forget all about Chad Alington...
The yellow beam of light, like a beacon on the cliff-top, stopped her in her tracks. Bethany leaned her arms on the top rail of the fence and gazed towards the dark, imposing outline of the old Victorian edifice. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? she wondered. Who could it be? Surely not squatters? The place was so far off the beaten track... Vandals, then?
She began to feel just a trifle uneasy. Living out here alone had been one of the hardest things to get used to, after so many months of being stifled in busy bustling cities, surrounded by people she didn’t know who professed to be bosom friends, suffocated by servants, intimidated by Philip...It had taken her a good long while to get used to the emptiness, the often wild, windswept loneliness of the place, especially in winter. There had been no automatic adjustment. It had taken months before she had lain peacefully in her bed at nights, without listening out for any small sign and imagining the worst...
She opened the cabin door and picked up her air-rifle from its usual place. She wouldn’t get any sleep tonight, not until she knew what was going on up there. She’d just have a quick look. The old place was a bit of an eyesore, but she had become attached to it over the months and she wouldn’t want anyone doing anything really destructive to it.
Bethany stumbled and dropped her rifle on to the ground. She crouched down on all fours, her breath catching in her throat after the steep climb, and listened. Silence, just the waves crashing on the shore far below, the occasional screech of an owl. Bethany fumbled frantically on the ground for her rifle and thanked heaven, as she gripped it tightly in her hands, that the moonlight was strong enough to see by. She craned her neck up at the light which was coming from one of the rounded turrets and gulped a breath. She knew her way around inside well enough. She would be cautious, just find out what was going on...
The stairs in this part of the building wound around at a tight angle, and with every step Bethany took she became more and more nervous.
Clutching her rifle, Bethany moved onwards and upwards. There was a door ahead. It wasn’t properly shut. Light, not as bright as she had first supposed, was streaming out on to the landing, helping to guide her way. She heard a noise, a muffled sound that sent prickles of alarm shivering up and down her spine. This was where he...they...whoever had chosen to hole up—the most habitable part of the prison. I must stop calling it that! Bethany thought desperately, inching forward so that she could peer around the partly opened door, it sounds so dreadful...
Her imagination had forced her into expecting any number of desperate sights: several Mafia-types torturing their prisoner, perhaps; a solitary tramp with a bottle of methylated spirits in one hand and a knife in the other, leaning menacingly over some poor defenceless woman; a million other equally horrendous scenes had been conjured up by Bethany’s vivid imagination—but not this, certainly never this.
She stared, paralysed by a shock that didn’t have its roots in horror or fear, but in a burning, indignant mortification.
It didn’t take more than a swift glance to assess what was going on, what was about to go on: rugs and cushions were strewn about the floor, a picnic hamper nestled in the corner of the room along with a couple of kerosene lamps and several bottles of liquid refreshment.