Love Play by Rosemary Rogers (25 page)

'Well, isn't that why you took me to the party? To have fun?'

'Of course!' But she thought he'd said it from between his teeth.

There had been no more conversation between them until just now; and
after making his rather curt announce¬ment, Marco too had relapsed into
brooding silence. What was he thinking? Probably of new ways in which to hurt
and humiliate her. But this time she intended to turn the tables on him. His
whore indeed! And what about his blonde? He was the type of man who probably
kept several mistresses -and belonged in the nineteenth century!

Her righteous anger carried Sara through their descent and into the
house; walking beside him straight-backed and stiff as she tried to pretend
that he wasn't there. But once the doors had been closed behind them and she
made a move towards the stairway, he halted her with a hand on her arm, forcing
her to turn her head to him.

'I would suggest that you try to fall asleep before the heat of the sun
makes sleeping difficult. But in case you need anything there will be a maid
awake and ready to tend you.' In spite of the lack of inflection in his voice
his black devil-eyes held a gleam of mockery as he had sensed the sudden
tension of her arm under his fingers that halted and held her.

'Thank you. But how very... medieval!' Sara didn't care if she sounded
rude. He had told her often enough that she needed to be taught manners, hadn't
he? 'I feel sorry for the poor girl who's forced to stay awake all night, just
in case someone should need waiting on!' She made an attempt to tug herself
free and felt his grip tighten.

'You certainly don't strike me as the soft-hearted type!' he drawled,
with his narrowed eyes enjoying her discomfiture.

' And I'm not interested in hearing what "type" you think I
am, if that was coming next!' Sara snapped, her eyes shooting sparks of emerald
fire at him. 'If you'll kindly let me go, I could follow your advice and take
myself off to sleep like a good little girl!'

Under the chandelier that lit the entrance hall her disordered hair had
rich glints of flame in its thickness. Almost dispassionately, for all that he
acted purely on instinct, Marco put out his free hand and felt the weight of it
as he lifted it off the back of her slender neck. Damn the promiscuous, greedy
little bitch, she had no right to be so seductive, even after she'd played
musical beds with as many men as she could find to satisfy her. And yet she
continued to play games with him. Why in hell didn't he do what he wanted to do
and take her - cutting short the game-playing? It was probably what she
expected, anyway. He knew her kind very well - a pity that Carlo hadn't learned
yet.

'Stop that! I can't stand for you to touch me!' Like a nervous filly,
Sara tried to jerk her head away from his intrusive hand, her voice rising. She
didn't like the way in which he had begun to look at her, almost
consider¬ingly,

'Can't you?' he answered her tauntingly, a smile that was not really a
smile twisting his lips for a moment. 'I think you are a liar - Delight of many
men! You've responded to me before — I think you respond very easily to anyone
who uses the right stimulation.'

'You . . . You're all wrong! Damn you, let me go!' Goaded, Sara put up a
hand to claw at his face, but he caught it easily; laughing shortly as he
twisted both hands behind her back to hold her an unwilling captive against his
hard-muscled body.

'Shall we find out which one of us is the liar?' he taunted, keeping her
there while he studied her flushed, furious face.

'You . . . make me sick!' Sara gasped, hating her own impotent weakness
as she struggled against him and felt the strength and the hardness of him.
'Don't you have any pride? Doesn't it make any difference to you that I don't
want you? Or can't you find any women who do? I hate you, despise you . . .'

'Shut up!' In his voice was the growl of the barely leashed animal that
he was; mounting to the surface like the evidence of his desire for her, lying
hard against her thigh.

'Shut up!' he repeated again, more roughly this time as he saw her lips
parting, ready to form an angry protest. 'What I want to prove to you will not
take long - little liar, with your jade-green eyes and your seductive body you
take such pleasure in flaunting so obviously! There was a certain look on your face
on the screen last night that revealed that the intrusive presence of camera
and crew had ceased to matter for you. You are the kind of woman who is ruled
by her senses alone, aren't you?'

'Stop it, stop it!' Sara tried to strain away from him, panting with
fury. 'You don't know anything about me, because you can't see further than
your -

'At this moment, as you mean me to, I can see no further than your
tempting lips!'

In spite of the mockery in his voice he wasn't about to let her off
lightly this time - Sara could sense that, with a feeling of desperation,
before his mouth came down to hers with deliberate, calculated slowness,
finally cutting off her last frenzied protest. He kissed her until she thought
her neck would snap from the force of his kisses, until her knees became weak
and her mouth opened blindly under his and her head whirled with myriad
sensations that seemed to make rational thinking impossible. With only one hand
holding her wrists pinioned together now, his other hand began to move with
tantalising slowness up her spine to the nape of her neck, long fingers
caressing her with false tenderness before brushing over her shoulders and down
to the curve of her breasts easily finding the silkiness of her warm skin under
the bare-shouldered Halston gown that revealed more than it covered. Finding,
cupping and finally teasing lightly while her nipples rose against his touch,
sending strange feelings that were like electric shocks jolting through every
nerve in her body.

How could a man she hated so do this to her? Filled with revulsion at
herself, Sara's body arched away from him, trying to avoid his touch. Her head
fell back and she heard herself moan as his bruising lips left her mouth to
move with agonising slowness to the breast his impatiently seeking fingers had
laid bare.

How could she actually enjoy the feel of his lips and tongue against the
tautly sensitive peak he'd already roused to awareness? How could she begin to
want what he was doing, even the slow exploration of his hand down across her
belly, trapped between their bodies now as he touched her intimately, his
fingers seeming to burn her through all the folds of red chiffon that lay
between them. Her face had begun to burn too, and her body burned - like heat
from a fire flooding through her, filling her with a dangerous feeling of
languour that accepted everything he was doing to her and waited for more.

And then, all too abruptly, she was free - almost falling until his
hands caught her to hold her upright.

'You see?' His voice came harshly to her over the distance that suddenly
separated them once more. 'You don't have the strength to fight against your
own sensual nature, in spite of all your resolves and all your hate. I think
you would probably lie with the devil himself, if he kissed you hard enough.'
She hated the sound of his laugh, driving splinters under the skin his
calculated caresses had rendered all too sensitive. His eyes were hard and
opaque, giving away nothing as they rested for an instant on her flushed face.
'You don't have to look at me like that - don't you think we've both had enough
activity for one evening? Go upstairs to bed, my little liar, and I will see
you later, perhaps.'

Even after she had escaped from him, whirling about to run from his
darkly satanic presence without a word, forgetting pride, burning with shame,
Sara thought she could hear his words repeating themselves in her head. 'Go
upstairs to bed, my little liar, and I will see you later, perhaps.'

Perhaps, he'd said. Last, mocking twist of the cruel knife he'd already
pierced her with.

Sara fled upstairs as if the devil himself had been after her, leaning,
gasping for breath against the thick wooden door that had no lock on the inside
- symbolic of her position here and a reminder of another age where women had
been owned like property, and used according to the dictates of the men who
possessed them.

Chapter 23

Once she had managed to compose herself enough for sleep, Sara slept as
if she never wanted to wake up. In her dreams she was pursued by a great beast
of a wolf with slavering jaws and eyes that glowed redly in the night. And in
spite of the fact that she knew he could overtake her with a single bound, he
preferred to stay just behind her, toying with her, letting her exert herself until
her heart was bursting; waiting until it was his whim to close his jaws about
her throat, taking her to oblivion - taking her at last . . .

'No!' She must have said the word out loud, startling herself into
wakefulness. Her room was hot and she lay on top of the rumpled sheets in a
bath of sweat.

Thank God she was awake! Gradually the pounding of her heart slowed and
her quickened breathing came back to normal. The room was dark with all the
curtains drawn. What time was it? And then with a hurtful breath that sounded
too much like a sob catching in her throat, she reminded herself that time, in
this prison, was of no consequence. What did it matter how long she slept or
how late? She was here, like a small moth trapped in amber, or like any untried
concubine in a Moorish sultan's harem who waited with mingled trepidation and
curiosity on her master's volatile whim.

Sara pressed cold fingers against her temples. There had been other
dreams as well - nightmares that she didn't want to think about or analyse just
yet; nor did she want to remember what had triggered them all — by all means
don't think of that and the way he'd shamed her and broken her pride along with
her defences.

Stop it! Today was another day and yesterday she had been tired and
sleepy; her mind filled with too many sights and sounds and images that must
have affected her thinking subliminally in spite of her conscious rejection.
Today, if he sought her out, he wouldn't find her easy. He wouldn't be
able
 
to —

Pushing her shameful, half-formed thought away Sara forced herself out
of bed, her eyes going with unwilling apprehension to the door. Would he come
looking for her, intent on making his conquest of her a physical actuality? 'Or
was he waiting, preening his masculine ego, for her to come to him?

Almost viciously, Sara stabbed her finger against the button that would
summon either Serafina or one of the maids. Today, while she recovered herself
enough to plan, she would play the part of a pampered odalisque, surrounded by
servants. If he sent for her, she would plead illness and refuse to go
downstairs. Let him think what he pleased!

Thankfully, it was the housekeeper herself who came in answer to the
electric buzzer. It was, she informed Sara with a carefully guarded face, at
least a quarter after seven at night - but she had been instructed not to wake
her.

'Oh? How kind of my host!'

The woman ignored her sarcastic comment, reminding her, belatedly, that
after all Serafina owed all her loyalty to the di Cavalieris and had served the
family for two generations. Why should she care about the fate of a foolish
moth who had chosen to fly too close to flame?

'Shall I prepare your bath, signorina? I have ordered you a tray with
coffee and orange juice and a sweet roll, in case you were hungry. And if you
will tell me what you wish to wear for dinner . . .'

'I . . . I really don't feel very well!' Sara said, speaking quickly to
hide her nervousness. I'd love a nice hot bath to soak in, but after that - do
you think it would be all right if I just stayed up here in my robe? I really
don't feel up to getting dressed and going downstairs to dinner - could I just
have a tray up here? Something very light - just soup and salad would be nice.'

'Nothing else? The signorina needs to. eat. . ,' Serafina's eyes
travelled disapprovingly over Sara's slim body and fine-boned face, resting for
just an instant on the dark smudges beneath her eyes.

"I'm not hungry at all, but there is something else.' She was
babbling like a fool now, Sara thought despairingly, but she couldn't help it!
'Do you think ... do you think I could have someone to stay with me for a
while? I know you have too much to do, but - one of the maids perhaps. I - that
strange experience I had the other night frightens me a little. I don't want to
feel tempted to go outside again to experience the strange headiness of a
Sardinian night!'

She had said just the right thing, for Serafina crossed herself and
nodded without questioning her. I'll send Teresa. She speaks better than the
others, and even has some English. I am sure she will be full of questions
about. America, but she is a good girl and very conscientious.'

So for tonight, at least, she would be protected . . .

Immersed in the deep marble tub with her hair floating in thick wet
strands about her neck and shoulders and even later when she gave in to the
sheer luxury of being pampered and let Teresa brush it, Sara tried to avoid the
thought that floated threateningly just below the surface of her mind:
Protected from what?

Teresa stayed with her, questioning her avidly, once the initial shyness
had worn off, about America - just as Serafina had warned her, Sara thought
wryly. She had eaten her light dinner and had paced about her room a few times
and now, catching the girl holding back a yawn, Sara took pity on her and
dismissed her. It was late, she knew, and the house was silent. And by now she
should be ready to sleep again, waking fresh and ready to withstand . ..
anything at all! She'd had time to arm herself, and she was ready. He would discover
no more shrinking weakness in her, no matter how hard he tried to break through
the freshly mortared barricades she'd erected against him. Strategy, Sara
admonished herself sternly, was the name of this game.