Second Best Wife Page 12

  'You belong to me,' he grated. 'Is my message clear, or do I have to show you what I mean?'

  'You don't have to show me anything. Just say what you want to say and get out of my room.'

  'Not yet. I'll go when I'm ready and not a minute before.'

  Angered by his reply, Julia kicked at his shins. He gave a muttered imprecation and then gripped her so hard that she was powerless to move.

  'You're mine,' he grated. 'Do you understand that? Mine, and I won't let you go!'

  Wildly he began to kiss her—hard, angry kisses, as if trying to brand her. Julia's skin was rasped by his abrasive touch and she struggled to free herself.

  'Let me go!' she cried. 'You're hurting me!'

  But her words inflamed him the more and he pushed her on to the bed and fell upon her, the weight of his body pinning her down.

  'I've been waiting for you for almost two hours,' he muttered, his breath warm upon her mouth. 'Wondering where you were, who you were with… My God, you don't know what you've done to me!'

  All too clearly Julia was beginning to realise, and as she did, her anxiety grew. She had to get Adam away from her before he became completely uncontrollable. But this was easier said than done, for as she tried to inch her body out from under his, he felt the movement and instantly tightened his hold.

  'No, you don't,' he said thickly. 'You're not escaping from me this time. I'm tired of being played for a fool— first Erica and now you. But not any more. From now on, I'll call the tune.'

  Julia gazed up at him. It was like looking at a stranger. Adam's eyes were narrow slits and his hair was dishevelled. A vein stood out on his temple, giving him a vulnerable air that made her feel unexpectedly sorry for him. Poor Adam! How he must have tormented himself in these last few hours.

  'I want you, Julia,' he whispered against her throat. 'Don't turn me away, darling. Not tonight.'

  His hands moved over her body and his chest pressed into hers, crushing her breasts. His breathing was fast, as if he had been running or fighting. Yes, fighting was the better word, for he had been fighting for self-control and had lost the battle, as Julia was losing hers. Yet she no longer cared. All she wanted to do was obliterate the hurt in Adam's eyes; the anguish he was experiencing because of his belief that she was going to let him down the way Erica had. How blind he was not to see she wanted to protect him; that she loved him too much to let him be hurt all over again.

  The enormity of what she had just admitted drove everything else from her mind. Surely it couldn't be true? Yet she knew it was. Love had overtaken her while she was not looking; growing out of propinquity perhaps, but nonetheless there. Yet pride forbade her from letting Adam know. He wanted succour, not love; intelligent interest rather than blatant desire. To know she loved him would place a burden of guilt upon him that only his reciprocation of her love could remove, and since he wasn't able to reciprocate, she dared not let him guess her feelings. Tears flooded her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, and noticing the moisture on his skin, Adam lessened the fierceness of his hold and raised himself slightly to look into her face.

  'Don't be scared of me, Julia,' he said softly. 'But we can't go on as we are. You're a beautiful, desirable woman and it isn't possible for me to live with you and not want you. That's why I was so furious with you tonight. You were right when you said I was jealous, and I can't deny it any longer.'

  He started kissing her again, and though it would have been all too easy to respond to his touch, the knowledge that she was still an object to him—albeit an object of desire—made her unwilling to surrender. Yet her body played traitor to her mind, and his gently roaming hands were wreaking havoc with her firm intentions.

  'I won't hurt you,' he murmured huskily, clasping her face in his hands and looking down at her with passionate intensity. 'You're my wife, Julia, and once we're physically close, we won't be so on edge with each other.'

  'No!' she cried. 'I don't want you to—'

  But the rest of what she was going to say was obliterated by the pressure of his mouth on hers, while the subtle exploration of his hands, so sensitive to every part of her body, was her total undoing. Desire scorched through her like a flame and she could no longer resist him. She ached with the need to be taken and by him—only him—and like an empty vessel she longed for him to fill her with the seed of his love. For it was a kind of love, she told herself. Not the all-consuming madness he felt for Erica, but a steadier, more realistic emotion that might one day blossom into something more.

  'I love you,' she whispered, but his kisses muffled her words and he did not hear them. They came together without a sound, either from him or from her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Adam opened his eyes and stared at the cream silk curtains through which the early morning light was filtering.

  Cream silk? But his were blue. With a startled movement he sat up. Where the hell was he? Then he remembered Turning his head, he looked at the sleeping figure beside him. Julia, his wife. The woman he had taken against her will.

  With a stifled groan he buried his head in his hands, wishing he could turn back the clock twenty-four hours. But it was impossible, and he knew that for the rest of his life he would have to live with the memory of what he had done. How could he have acted in such a way? How could insane jealousy have goaded him into using force to take a woman?

  Of course he had wanted Julia for a long time. At first he had thought it was the natural desire of a man to possess a beautiful girl. But of late he had begun to realise the attraction was more than physical. He enjoyed talking to her, he respected her opinions, he appreciated her sense of humour. In short—and he might as well admit it— he loved her. Loved her with a depth he had never experienced for anyone else, a depth that made his feelings for Erica shallow and paltry.

  Carefully he shifted his position so that he could study Julia more carefully. Her dark red tresses were splayed across the pillow, her skin was creamy as a magnolia bud and had the sheen of a pearl, and the movement of her breasts as she stirred and shifted on the pillow made him long to rest his face against their warm softness. He bent closer to her. Her incredibly long lashes rested upon her cheeks in two dark crescents, and her lips were slightly parted to show the faint gleam of her teeth. In sleep she was totally relaxed and her face, devoid of its usual guarded expression, looked infinitely young and vulnerable, making him realise how carefully she had disguised her feelings and her real self.

  He ached to hold her close, to feel once more the softness of her body against his own, and the silky smoothness of her skin beneath his hands. But for the moment passion was spent, though he knew it would not remain so if he went on looking at her.

  But guilt overrode his growing desire, and he got swiftly out of bed and went to his room. Slipping a dressing gown over his naked body, he sat in a chair and stared morosely through the window, too preoccupied with his thoughts to heed the view or hear the chorus of the birds. Again he cursed himself for having been so aggressive and insensitive, and sought comfort from the fact that all he had wanted was to prove to himself and Julia that having a genuine marriage—physical as well as mental closeness— was the only way to make their future life together a happy one.

  Although he had only married to save face, he had soon seen Julia for what she was worth, and not simply as a sop to his vanity. Their trip to India had been one of the most enjoyable holidays of his life, for she had not only proved an attractive, charming companion, but an intelligent one. What a crass idiot he had been not to let her know his feelings towards her were changing!

  And then last night things had come to a head. Arriving home with Frank Carter, he had been furious not to find her waiting for him. Reason had told him that if he went out in the evening, she had every right to do the same; and to be fair she had warned him she might be going to a concert. But unexpectedly for him, emotion had overridden reason and, like a jealous lover, he had waited for her return. After what seemed an eternity she ha
d finally arrived, accompanied by a man who had had the nerve to kiss her goodnight at the front door. His front door. The rage that had welled up in Adam had been uncontrollable. Once more a woman was making a fool of him.

  As soon as Julia reached her room he had barged into it, and the sight of her in a black dress that showed every curve of her body had inflamed him to such passion that he had determined no man other than himself would ever have her.

  'You're mine!' he had ground out, and had used his strength to overcome her and prove it.

  But what—in the cold light of the following dawn— had he actually proved? He had taken Julia, yet he did not feel any closer to her. On the contrary, he felt more of a stranger. Was it because he had sensed her fear of him? For a fleeting moment he had had the impression that she wanted to respond, but it had been so momentary, and had so quickly changed to mute acquiescence, that he had felt he was making love to a doll. Yet Julia was a flesh and blood woman and one day she would admit it to him. But she wouldn't do it yet. First he had to gain her trust, which wasn't going to be easy; he had to make her believe he bitterly regretted forcing her into submission. The act of love should be a mutual giving and taking, rising together to the heights of ecstasy and a gradual, mutual descent, with tenderness taking over from passion. But there had been nothing like this between himself and Julia. Only his own passion and release. She had given nothing of herself and, because of it, his victory had been bitter.

  Dressing hurriedly, Adam went downstairs. As he passed Julia's door, he paused, then turned the handle and went in. She was still asleep, her arms outstretched on the pillow. She wore no nightdress and a silken fold of the sheet rested against the curve of her breasts. He longed to kiss them but knew he dared not. He had vowed there would be no repeat of last night. Not until she believed he genuinely loved her would he show her his desire. Yet how would she react if he told her he no longer loved Erica, but herself? What proof could he give that his feelings were lasting?

  He wondered when his doubts about Erica had begun. He had realised from the start that marriage to her would never be easy—she was too quick-tempered and self-centred. But then so was he. Indeed his very egocentricity had kept him from admitting earlier on what his true feelings for Erica were. To admit to an error of judgment was a recognition of failure, and failure had always been anathema to him—a fact which Julia knew and despised. In the same way that she knew why he had married her. Except that now his reasons were totally different. Julia was the one woman he wanted to protect and cherish; the one person with whom he knew he could find oneness of spirit and peace.

  Peace. It was a long while since he had dreamed of finding this with anyone. In his previous estimation, peace had been the conclusion of a successful court case; more security in the bank; another directorship. He had never even thought to achieve it with Erica, which showed what a damn fool he was. Yet not such a fool as not to see what Julia had come to mean to him.

  Julia, who had quietly infiltrated his very being. Who had moved into his house and made it a home.

  She stirred on the pillows and opened her eyes, and he stepped back quickly. But it was too late: she had seen him. Blushing, she sat up, pulling the sheets over her naked body.

  'Good morning,' he said weakly. 'I—I've been watching you. I want to… I'd like to talk to you.'

  'Don't you think your actions last night said enough?'

  'Too much, perhaps—which is why I beg you to forgive me.'

  'So you can go on living with an easy conscience?' she retorted. 'Well, you'll have to do it without my forgiveness.'

  'I thought you'd say that,' he said huskily. 'But couldn't you at least show some understanding as to why it happened?'

  'What understanding have you ever shown me?' Julia questioned.

  Her eyes—in their anger—were blue as delphiniums, her tousled hair an aureole of wine flame around her head. Never had she looked more desirable, nor regarded Adam with greater dislike. Short of kneeling at her feet and telling her exactly how he felt, he didn't know what to do. Yet even if he confessed the truth, she would doubt him. Only time would make her accept that he meant every word. Time, and the way he behaved towards her during the next few months.

  Hiding his anguish, he said calmly: 'More than anything, I want us to have a normal marriage. I know I promised I wouldn't force you into a physical relationship, and that last night I broke my word, but there were extenuating circumstances, which I realise you're still too upset to see. However, I beg you not to let it spoil our future.'

  'A future of what?' Julia asked. 'Of forcing me to submit to you?'

  'I'll never use force again,' Adam said flatly. 'But I'd be less than honest if I said I'll never try to make love to you. I want us to have a normal marriage, Julia. I've already told you that.'

  'For how long?' Julia demanded. 'In four-year stages?'

  He knew she was referring to Erica, and once again he longed to say Erica meant nothing to him. But remembering his vow to let his actions speak for him, he did not answer the question.

  'You only married me because you were a spoilt little boy who'd lost his favourite toy,' Julia went on. 'That's what women mean to you, Adam—dolls, playthings.'

  'You're wrong, Julia. Wrong about a lot of things. You should stop analysing my reasons for marrying and start examining your own. Tell me, what made you accept me? Since it wasn't because you loved me, I assume you wanted to revenge yourself on Roy?'

  'I didn't exactly throw myself into your arms,' Julia hedged. 'But I'll admit that hurt pride—my own, I mean—had something to do with it. But I think we both made a mistake, Adam, and I wish you'd realise it.'

  'And do what?'

  'Agree to a divorce. I'm sure Erica wouldn't object to being cited.'

  The very last thing Adam wanted was a divorce, or for Erica to be involved any more in his life. Yet he could not say so without telling Julia he loved her, and once again he was forced to keep silent.

  'I'm going down to breakfast,' he said brusquely, knowing she would interpret his comment as running away from the situation. 'I'll see you this evening.'

  For the first time in months, Adam was glad of his full schedule that day, since it gave him little time to think of Julia. But as he left the office in the evening he could not wait to return home, and he bounded into the house feeling like a lovesick youth instead of a cynical adult.

  Julia was sitting in the drawing room glancing at a magazine, and he gave her a casual smile, as if there was nothing untoward about seeing her. She looked as though she had been in the garden, for she wore a sundress and had a faintly dishevelled air which made her infinitely desirable. With an enormous effort he controlled the urge to take her upstairs and make violent love to her. One day perhaps, but right now he had to tread carefully.

  'Have you remembered we're having dinner with Jack Burglass and his wife?' he asked instead.

  'Of course,' Julia replied, and rose to go out. Adam put up his hand to stop her. 'Can't we be friends, my dear?'

  'Do you need a friend?' 'One always does.'

  With a hard stare she walked out, and with a sigh Adam slowly went to his room to change. He was extremely depressed and wished he could cancel the dinner. Yet he knew it was better for both of them if they went out. Although he appreciated why Julia was still angry with him, he had hoped she would be more understanding by now. He had tried his best not to hurt her last night; even at the height of his passion he had been sufficiently aware to realise she was a virgin, and though it had given him a tremendous shock, it had not, unfortunately, been enough to bring him back to sanity. Nevertheless it had made him considerably more gentle with her. But if he told her this, it would only make her despise him for not being able to exercise sufficient control to leave her alone.

  Still filled with self-reproach, he went down to the drawing room at seven o'clock and poured himself a stiff drink. Then he put on a record and tried to relax in an armchair. The joyful sound of Beeth
oven's Ninth Symphony filled the room, and gradually he was able to lose himself in the music, only returning to the present when Julia came in.

  He watched her as she walked over to the cabinet, waving aside his offer to pour her a drink—and doing it for herself. In a blue silk dress the colour of her eyes, she looked sexy and provocative. It was a damn good thing they were going out. Otherwise he'd be hard put to it not to make love to her again, whether she wanted it or not. The thought scared him. What was happening to his control—his much vaunted ability to be in command of himself? Julia had made him emotionally vulnerable and he must guard against it. Standing up abruptly, he switched off the hi-fi.

  'Let's go, Julia, or we'll be late.'

  Setting down her half finished drink, she obeyed him without protest, almost as if she guessed his tension, though she did not speak until they had left the house and were walking to the car.

  'Will Erica be there tonight?' she asked.

  'I haven't a clue. It isn't the kind of thing I'd ask, anyway.' Adam started up the engine.

  'Doesn't Jack know you love her?'

  'He might have wondered if we were having an affair,' Adam replied as they pulled away, 'but I don't think he ever thought we were in love.'

  'Typical. Men tend not to identify love with mistresses.'

  'Some do,' said Adam. 'Love can hit you at any time, and often most unexpectedly.'

  'You can't be talking from experience,' Julia retorted flippantly. 'You'd never let any emotion catch you unawares.'

  Adam's hands tightened on the wheel. If only he could tell her how wrong she was! Yet as he lifted his foot from the accelerator to turn to her, he was hooted from behind and had to increase speed again. But he was glad the opportunity had passed, for he must first convince her by his actions: only then could he put his feelings into words.

  How could I have stopped loving Erica just like that? he asked himself for the umpteenth time. Perhaps the answer was that he had never loved her at all. So what had made her desirable? It couldn't have been her looks, for he had known far lovelier women. Nor her wit, which was cruel. If only he really stopped to think, and was honest with himself, he must shamefacedly admit it was her social position.