Love Play by Rosemary Rogers (37 page)

'Perhaps you're wise not to answer me, Tesoro! Because I think you
already know all the answers to all those questions, do you not?' He tilted up
her chin with the handle of his riding crop, forcing her to look at him, and
then moved it down over the tense arch of her throat to part the silk of her
carelessly tied robe; going from there, before she could prevent him, to rest
threateningly between her thighs.

'You're the liar and the hypocrite, not I!' She had to force the words
out between lips that felt suddenly stiff. 'Don't!'

'No? But since you've made it obvious I haven't yet learned to please
you enough so that you wouldn't find yourself bored, I could not help wondering
..."

'Stop it! You sadistic . . .'

Pressure increased, making her gasp, and then with a harsh, ugly word he
flung away the riding crop with such force that it sent a vase smashing against
the wall with it. He put a hand in the thickness of her hair pulling her head
back, and the other behind her, burning and probing intimately through thin
silk as he pulled her body against his, his voice grating at her like the blade
of a serrated knife.

'Your kind of woman demands the kind of man you call a
"sadist", Diletta mia! No hold still and be quiet for a change, or I
might be tempted to use that little horse whip on you! Bitch! Donnaccia!' His
fingers tightened on her and she cried out protestingly. 'You haven't incited
me to beat you yet, but I could do so easily, and you know that, don't you? And
in case there is something you don't know, or pretend not to, let me make it very
clear, eh? For as long as it suits me, you'll stay here and you'll be
exclusively mine -whether you're bored or not. Do you understand what I said?
You're mine, bitch, for as long as I want you — sei mia, capisce? No sleek
motor cycle, or it's reckless owner, between these thighs of yours that have
parted so often for so many men. For a change, you're going to be a one-man
woman, like it or not.'

'I won't! And you're a —

He stopped up her mouth before she could swear at him, continuing to
hold her rigid body against his until gradually, as he continued to kiss her,
and his hand continued to caress her even against her will, he could feel the
stiffness of her begin to relax until there was no longer any need to hold her
by force.

With what treacherous honey-sweetness, she gave in! So easily responding
to the almost coldly clinical pressure and exploration of his fingers between
her thighs. There was a rug on the floor and he lowered her on to it, enjoying
in his present mood her belated struggles to escape.

'If you keep your back turned to me I will take it as an invitation, mio
desir! Is that how you want to be taken this afternoon?'

'No!' She shot the word at him hotly, and her face was all flushed as
she jerked her body around with the silk robe falling apart, caught beneath her
hips. 'I don't... you know I don't like . . . kinkiness. You're despicable!'

'And how your moods change!' he said derisively, putting a hand on her
taut belly and moving it upwards to her breasts. 'Sometimes you're ready for
anything . . . and sometimes you are full of stupid inhibitions. Does it take a
camera and a watching crew to turn you on, as you would put it? Well? I could
provide that too, perhaps!'

'You've forgotten the most important ingredient for a real turn-on!'
Sara felt goaded to retort, even with her breath coming shortly. 'You've
forgotten the right leading man - would you promise to provide me with just the
right guy to make all my fantasies come true?'

'Like Garon Hunt, to whom you made yourself so . . . accommodating? Or
is it Angelo who is your latest fantasy lover? And don't tell me Carlo, for I
would never believe it, and any more lies from you might tempt me to crush that
delicate-looking throat of yours!'

He had straddled her body now, and Sara could feel the taut strength of
both of his hands at her shoulders, fingers tightening their pressure as he
forced an angry, unwilling answer from her.

'Lies? In other words, you are warning me to tell you what you consider
to be the truth! So very well... I think I would pick Garon, of course. He's
sexy - and how! But he's sure enough of himself to be gentle too. I find him
very exciting!'

And now . . . the practical part of Sara's mind cried out despairingly,
he's going to strangle you for certain! She could feel herself tense, although
she refused to drop her falsely defiant eyes from the black scrutiny of his.

'After just one night? And considering the fact that he left you after
just a few hours? As I had thought, you are almost too easily pleased, Diletta.
And perhaps not as pleasing in your turn to keep a man's interest for long!'

There was something in the timbre of his voice and the look that he gave
her that strangled the words that had started to bubble up in her throat. Words
that would have repudiated, would have told him how little he pleased her —
that she would prefer any other man over him. But she said nothing, and lay
there sprawled out under him, closing her eyes shut tightly while she waited.
For anything – for something.

'Per Dio! I've had enough of this! Look at you — lying here like a
martyr with your stone-green eyes closing to shut out the sight of the savage
beast who might devour your tender flesh at any moment! Isn't that right?'

Carelessly and with a deliberately taunting slowness he ran one hand
over her body as if to prove that he owned it before, with a flick of his
fingers that stung her cheek, she felt him leave her. And now, as she continued
to lie there like a statue with her eyes still stubbornly closed, she heard his
voice come again from somewhere above her.

'You can wrap your silk robe about your body again and have your bath in
peace, bimba! I won't bother you again, and you can please yourself if you will
. . .'

'Does that mean that I can . . . that you're finally letting me go?' She
asked the question keeping her eyes shut against the glowering ugliness she
could picture in his face as he looked down at her,

'I'm sorry to disappoint you, cara mia, but I intend that you will
remain here for a while longer - until I have decided what I will do with you.
In the meantime you will have your dream lovers and your own ingenuity to
console you, for a while at least. And if you tire of fantasy and want reality
for a change, why then .. . you might send me word; and if you ask me very
sweetly and I can spare the time . . . then perhaps I might visit you again —
that is, if I'm still in the mood for your type.'

Her type! And what in
 
hell had he
meant by that? He was an arrogant, calculating, filthy-minded - oh! Sara sat up
with a jerk, staring with hatefully narrowed eyes at the door he'd just closed
firmly behind him. Beg him to visit her again indeed! The hell this particular
wolf-devil presided over would turn cold before that ever happened! And she
didn't intend to stay here at his command either — he would soon find that out!

Chapter 34

' I find that by some unfortunate chance I continue to want you, you
jade-eyed sorceress with your wanton gold body and your calculating little
mind! And for as long as I want you I shall keep you here in my seraglio just
as some infidel ancestor of mine might have done with a trembling Christian
captive - for my eyes and my use only! Does that thought terrify you with its
implications, bambina mia? Until I tire of you, you'll be mine alone; to do
anything I want with.'

'How exciting! Like what? As long as it's not too kinky .-. .'

Sara found that she remembered too well how her words had been cut off
in mid-sentence. With the harsh attack of his mouth over hers at first, until
he had forced her into quietness — and from there, as he seemed to map and
chart her body with deliberate slowness; first into acquiescence, and then she
was overcome by a fierce, almost unthinkable response that she had been unable
to withhold.

She didn't want to think now of the ways in which he'd made love to her
and the ways she had discovered, partly by instinct, to make love to him. And
her mind shied away violently from the thought that she might actually miss and
even crave what he had forced upon her in the beginning. Ridiculous! She should
feel relieved instead of disappointed that he had chosen to leave her alone for
at least a few hours without the harshly demanding oppression of his presence.

She had heard, not too long after he'd left her, the stridently
chattering sound of the helicopter as it took off and had known that he had
gone ... to see which one of his mistresses? Why should she care? He probably
needed his bruised ego mended, and that wasn't her problem, or her concern. Now
she was free to leave, with him not around.

But why hadn't she? Why didn't she?

Perhaps her procrastination had something to do with a newly acquired
ability to rationalise, Sara pondered bitterly; despising herself all the
while. Of course he'd be back, she had told herself soon after he'd left her
with those cutting words. He couldn't very well deny that he wanted her, after
all the times he'd admitted it! He planned on keeping her a prisoner, like some
medieval Sardinian Duca who had the power of life and death over his subjects.
'Le droit du seigneur' . . . hadn't he turned her own sarcastically uttered
words against her? But this was the twentieth century, thank God, and he
couldn't really keep her unless she wanted to stay. What did she really want?

He'll come back, of course! Arrogant egomaniac that he is, he won't be
able to help it! And maybe for just one more time I'll let him think that he
has me .. . just before I leave. In any case, this masquerade is almost over!

There was always Angelo, the unfortunate, misplaced, half sibling that
Marco seemed to be so resentful of. Jealous of! Angelo, eager to help her
escape for his own reasons. Knight on a shiny black Honda! Waiting for the
signal that she needed rescuing ... signal that she had inexplicably not yet
given; and of course only because she knew and expected that in spite of all
his contemptuously light and misleading words he would come seeking her again
like a wolf scenting and circling his prey... giving time for panic before
moving in for the kill. Oh, he'd be back all right! Giving her the last laugh
before she moved out. And that was why she hadn't moved out yet. Just knowing
she could, any time she wanted to, made all the difference, of course. She'd
just wait for him to succumb one more time, that was all. One more time — proving
to him that he still wanted her before she disappeared out of his life for
good.

It was Serafina, in the end, who reminded Sara of reality. Serafina with
her dour comments; and before that the 'mysterious' appearance of several of
the latest international gossip magazines on her balcony.

The magazines, of course, had to be courtesy of Angelo, who else? Her
mother smiled at her enigmatically from the cover of one of them, reminding
Sara that by now Mama-Mona was probably only kilometres away in Cagliari. Leafing
through them impatiently, Sara was caught (as Angelo had intended her to be, no
doubt) by certain suggestive articles about Marco, of all persons. II Duca di
Cavalieri, exposed as an international playboy, for all of his business
successes and profits. One article dealt with his so-called 'current' mistress,
a French fashion designer of some repute. Another dealt with his past
mistresses; and the fact that he was notoriously fickle and unfeeling - never
keeping a woman for more than six months or so; and leaving them without
warning for the next.

Well, of course she had known, had sensed without having to be told what
kind of man he really was! Who was the real
 
hypocrite? Why didn't he come back, damn his black soul, so that she
could face him with the truth about himself?

Sara had heard the helicopter go - and in forty-eight hours it had not
come back. Bastard! What was he doing? What did he think to accomplish? She
just wouldn't be here, that was all, when he finally deigned to return. Keep
her here for his use — never! He'd find out, in the end, how he'd been fooled,
and that would be only a part of her revenge. He'd be a laughing-stock, if he
wasn't sent to jail for abducting her. She would wear a virginal white dress at
the trial and cry a lot... and he'd never live it down. Daddy would see to
that, if no one else would!

As usual, she lay sunbathing on her private terrace with only her
thoughts to keep her company until — or unless - he came.

Let's be practical, Sara!... Oh, yes, it was easy to talk to herself, to
shake a warning finger at herself in spite of her basic helplessness in the
face of a danger she hadn't known existed and wasn't quite ready to face yet.
He might never come back. For all you know, he's forgotten you already. Just
another statistic! And yet there had been days and there had been nights when
he had talked to her; seeming to forget who he was and what he thought she was,
and letting the bitterness show. They had had meals together and had argued . .
. and jousted. Had made love, in spite of all the other cynical, somehow
negating phrases he had used sometimes as if he needed to reduce what started
to happen and did happen between them to clinical, coarse words that explained
nothing and meant nothing.

It was just as well he had taken off when he had — giving her time to
breathe, time to think and evaluate.

She was lying in the sun, letting its heat and its light take her
through her pores while her mind stayed shaded and detached, when Serafina came
— breaking in on her privacy for the first time that Sara could remember since
the first time.

'Signorina . . . please to wake up. It is not safe to sleep under our
burning sun.'

Oh, God — she must have forgotten all modesty since she had come here!
Even as she thought that, Sara turned lazily over on to her back, with one arm
shading her eyes from the glare.