To Deceive Is To Love (Romantic suspense) (5 page)

Those emerald eyes had a way of reaching into a man’s soul. Her body had been crying out for him to take her, but crazy as it sounded, maybe he was glad she had stopped it. She wasn’t like the Catherine’s of this world. Catherine was beautiful and intelligent, and ran her promotions agency with the same ruthless determination and independence as her private life. Neither of them had made any kind of commitment and it was hard to say who was using who, but at least he remained free inside.

Ordering another pint, his thoughts drifted to his parents. He remembered what it had been like growing up in a loving atmosphere and how easily that illusion of security and love could be shattered. By the time he had joined the RAF, the happy family life had turned into a shambles, his once proud father reduced to a drunken wreck by the love he felt for his wife, who in turn felt nothing. She might not have crashed the plane for him, but she was at the controls in the crazed last moments before he took his own life. Feeling that deep-seated bitterness rise up again, David pushed his half-drunk pint away from him just as Chantelle entered and approached the bar.

“A double gin and tonic please,” Chantelle ordered.

The barmaid looked at her, furrows appearing on her forehead. “Are you all right,
love
?”

“Yes, fine, thank you,” she replied, trying to sound more confident than she felt. Positioning herself up on a barstool, she crossed her bare legs and tried to convince herself she was perfectly entitled to drink alone and to hell with him sitting in that corner acting as if she was invisible. He had brought her here, stranded in the middle of God knows where and she wasn’t going to hide up in that room as if she was ashamed. She was hoping at least he would come and join her, that they could talk and act in a mature manner, making the situation they both found themselves in a little easier to deal with. It wasn’t happening, though.

By the time half an hour had passed, Chantelle was on her second double and feeling lightheaded with no food inside her since breakfast. Ringing for a taxi to take her to the nearest railway station had crossed her mind, but the idea of having to change trains several times while traveling across London quelled that thought. And why should she? That bastard would simply have to find himself another room for the night. Downing the contents of her glass, Chantelle ordered another one.

A group of men who stood drinking around the bar area had been casting curious glances in her direction for some time now, but had kept their distance. Chantelle began to feel conspicuous when one leaned over and said something to the barmaid.
Whatever she replied caused the man to look over at David before turning back to his friends.
It didn’t seem to put him off though, because he sidled up to her at the bar and asked what she was drinking while his friends looked on in amusement.

“What does it look like?” Chantelle replied in a clipped tone.

“It looks like a gin and tonic.” He picked her glass up and held it up to the light as if examining its contents.

Chantelle took the glass from him.
“Very funny.”

“Not one of my best pickup lines, but I’m working on it.”

She couldn’t help a halfhearted smile.

“Was that a smile?
Do
it again, please; you’ve just sent me to seventh heaven.” He held his hand over his heart and sighed.

Giving an exasperated tut, she finished her drink and moved away from the bar. He had the same mentality as Danny and was probably the same age.

“Let me buy your next one, please. You look too sad to drink alone and too lovely to be left alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Chantelle remarked.

“Well, unless I’m standing on the invisible man, you couldn’t appear more alone. Unless you’re counting that guy over there and frankly, if you are, I would say he needs his head examined for leaving a beautiful girl seated at the bar buying her own drinks.”

She turned her head and for the first time, found her gaze meeting David’s. A steely glint of contempt pierced a pathway to her.

Turning away from him sharply, anger replaced the hurt. Knowing all the time of his presence, she had waited for him to come up to her, felt he owed her at least that small courtesy. After all, he had made it perfectly obvious there was no chance of a relationship between them. He had brought her here for sex, hadn’t gotten what he wanted and now she was discarded. Well, if he wanted to make her feel cheap, she might as well act like it. “I’ll tell you what, you’re right. It’s no fun drinking alone.” She handed him her empty glass and smiled.

Taking the glass, he called over the barmaid, allowing a quick glance and a sly wink at his friends. It caused a few titters as one said rather loudly, “Well, I think Paul has scored, the lucky bastard.”

In three strides, David was across the floor and gripping Chantelle’s elbow. “I think the lady has had enough and as I brought her here, I am now leaving with her.”

“Look, mate, it doesn’t appear that way to me - unless I’ve been watching the wrong girl.”

“I don’t care what it looks like.” Angrily, he yanked Chantelle off the stall, causing her to stumble forward. His grip on her elbow prevented her from ending up on the floor as he hoisted her into an upright position, his arm now firmly supporting her around the waist.

“Hey! Don’t be so rough on her.” Another man stepped forward.

“Keep out of this,” David snapped back. “If you don’t mind, I’m taking my wife back up to our room where we can sort out our differences in private.”

The bar was silent, everyone expecting a fight to break out any minute. The bar manager was already reaching for the phone. David released his arm from around Chantelle’s waist and was now facing both men.

This was getting out of hand. Feeling in need of some temporary support before she spoke, Chantelle went to step back up onto the stall. It wasn’t where she expected. Before she could stop herself, she landed on the floor in an unladylike heap. All heads turned at the commotion, their faces a mixture of repressed smiles and awkwardness. The men who seemed as if they were about to fight over her were now looking embarrassed for her, the aggression gone from their features.

The bar manager leaned over the counter. “I think perhaps you should take your wife back to her room,” he said in a low tone to David.

“That was my intention before the others interfered.” David gave her a tight-lipped smile as he leaned forward and gently lifted her off the floor and onto her feet.

“Are you all right,
love
?” The barmaid from earlier leaned over the bar and lightly touched Chantelle’s arm.

Keeping her eyes lowered, Chantelle nodded and tried to smile. There were not enough words to describe what she was feeling at that precise moment. The whole scene had had a sobering effect and if she didn’t make a fast exit, her final humiliation would be complete, since nausea was beginning to take hold. David was once again supporting her waist and given the circumstances, she hadn’t the strength to argue that this man wasn’t her husband for fear of delaying their departure.

Walking her smartly out the door, his fingers digging into her waist, they approached the narrow, winding stairs. This presented a problem. They were not wide enough for him to continue supporting her. After allowing her to go first and having her stumble back on him, she unexpectedly found herself slung over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“I’m going to throw up,” she cried.

“For someone who attracts trouble, you show a remarkable lack of gratitude,” he muttered as he wrestled with the lock on the door, remembering to duck as he deposited her in the room.

The moment Chantelle’s feet touched the floor, she went straight into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her and locking it. Several times she heard him knocking to ask if she was okay and each time she gave a muttered response so he knew she hadn’t passed out. The last thing she needed was for him to break down the door and find her leaning over the sink retching with nothing to give, since she hadn’t eaten.

Finally Chantelle staggered from the bathroom, her face a deathly shade of white.

David looked at her, concern showing in his face and in his words. “I’m sorry. This is my fault.”

Her eyes flashed her anger across the room at him. “I don’t need your blasted apology.” Grabbing a pillow and blanket from the bed, she threw them at him. “I hope you’re comfortable in that chair over there! At least you won’t have any more apologizing to do!”

Seeing him shake his head and look at her as if she was mad made her kick off her sandals and climb into bed fully clothed, switching the light off at the same time. A curse shattered the silence and Chantelle could only guess the thump she heard was his head hitting a beam. A dragging noise followed and then she felt a weight on the end of the bed and assumed it was his legs. Sleep was a long time coming.

Chapter 4

During the night, Chantelle had silently removed her clothing and slipped back under the bedcovers. Now having awoken to the morning sun penetrating through the curtains, her bleary eyes tried to adjust to the brightness and her surroundings. Her gaze lowered to the source of the heavy breathing she heard and her eyes opened wider at the sight of David. His blanket having fallen away revealed that at least he had kept his boxer shorts on. His long muscular legs stretched out across the bottom of the bed while his torso was all crumpled up in the chair, his head awkwardly angled. Having had a good night’s sleep in a king-size bed, she felt a twinge of guilt. In that position, it was surprising he could sleep at all.

She lay there watching him sleeping, watching the gentle heaving of his chest and longed to feel him beside her, to relive his touch, his kissing. The memory soured as she remembered his coldness, the indifference he was capable of at the end.

Tearing her gaze away, she threw the sheet aside and swung her legs off the bed. Feeling confident he was asleep, she stood up and stretched. The sensation of being watched made her turn around sharply. His lazy smile revealed he was enjoying the view.

“Damn, sleeping in my plane would have been more comfortable than this.” He tried to straighten up and grimaced.

Any earlier sympathy evaporated as she grabbed up her clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. The shower helped, but she still felt and looked awful. With a quick rummage through her make-up bag, she redid her mascara and tried to put some color in her cheeks. As for her normally sleek shoulder-length hair, it now flicked outward and upward and no amount of damping down and brushing was going to straighten it out. Giving up, she stepped out and found David dressed, the bed made and the armchair back in its original position.

He walked past her into the bathroom and emerged ten minutes later, unshaven but looking refreshed and too damn attractive. Chantelle quickly reminded herself of what else he was: an insensitive, callous bastard.

“We’ll have breakfast and then be on our way.”

“I’m not hungry,” Chantelle lied.

“Well, I am, so you can either sit and watch or join me. Besides, it’s all paid for. I mean…”

Chantelle turned on him before he could word it better, her eyes flashing indignation. “I wouldn’t want you not to get your money’s worth,” she spat.

“For pity sake, Chantelle.
Can’t I say anything right?”

“Don’t give me another one of your blasted apologies! This has been one long continuous mistake from the moment I set eyes on you.” Snatching her bag, she threw open the door, ready to rush out.

Before she could leave, he reached out and grabbed her forearm and in one movement, pulled her back, kicking the door shut with his foot. “Now listen here, I don’t want another scene like last night. We go down to breakfast like two mature adults, make polite conversation if that’s what you like and then leave.” His eyes held an unspoken threat as they bored into her. “You’re my wife remember? Or at least that’s what I signed you in the register as.” It was as if he was challenging her, the corners of his mouth lifting.

“What a perfect gentleman you are, safeguarding a lady’s honor. Only I couldn’t care less if you signed me in as the Queen Mother.” Bringing her foot back, she kicked him hard in the shin and tried at the same time to shake free of his hold.

“Why you little bitch! I forgot how easily you like to inflict pain with that foot of yours.” Instead of releasing her, his arm went around the small of her back and slammed her into his chest. His mouth came down on hers hard and crushing as if to punish.

Chantelle made herself go limp in his arms, refusing to resist or succumb. Her lips remained clamped; her eyes open wide and staring back at him with venom.

He pulled back, releasing her at the same time, injured pride mixed with shame revealed in his face.

Her words came out slow and deliberate. “Let’s not make the same mistake twice.”

“You’re right, darling.” His tone was bitter. “At least this time you didn’t leave it right to the last moment to change your mind. And now we know where we both stand. I’m going down to breakfast. You can do what you like, wait here or join me.” Opening the door, he walked out.

Chantelle felt the dryness in her mouth. She wasn’t going to last the journey back to London without something inside her, even a cup of tea would suffice. Managing to catch up to him as they entered the breakfast room, she was surprised to see half of it taken up already. The waitress directed them over to a table by large French doors, which were secured open, allowing the early morning sun to drift in over the terrace. Beautiful adorned tubs of geraniums sat basking in the sun. Several couples having finished breakfast were now seated outside sipping their coffee and indulging in idle chatter.

Such a beautiful romantic setting; the thought made Chantelle feel even more miserable. She wondered what kind of picture they presented, both dressed in the same clothes from the previous day, their faces gloomy, a strained atmosphere between them. From the curious glances they were receiving, she guessed some were witness to their behavior in the bar last night.

David ordered a full English breakfast: cereal, bacon, egg and sausage followed by several rounds of toast. Chantelle settled for toast and cups of tea. The sight and smell of his breakfast made her stomach queasy. She guessed the effects of her alcohol abuse were still with her, but at least the headache was fading. As for David, he was making sure to get his money’s worth, which made her wonder whether she should insist on paying half the hotel bill. She would often do it when taken out for a meal, so to go Dutch for one night’s sex, which never happened, seemed perfectly reasonable. After all, it could hardly be misconstrued as paying for his services.

He broke the silence with, “Do you often live on a sparrow’s diet?”

“It depends on who’s paying and the company, of course,” she retorted, feeling no better for getting her feelings out in the open.

The look he gave her had bitch written all over it, making her wish she had remained silent. This couldn’t get worse; they were like two adversaries, each trying to score a direct hit either by looks or the occasional flying insult. And less than fifteen hours ago, they had been stripping each other’s clothing off.

The outcome of this morning’s breakfast might have been completely different if she hadn’t had an attack of morals. Why, they could have been holding hands across the table, looking adoringly into each other’s eyes like lovers were supposed to do after a night of passion. At least the way things were, she still had her self-respect, not that it seemed to count for much with the way she was feeling. She couldn’t help a self-derisive smile from forming.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, you wouldn’t understand.” David actually seemed disturbed by her answer, but it didn’t stop the tease in her from surfacing as she added, “Do you come here often?”

He responded with a cynical smile. “Do you mean, do I often pick up fickle girls at air shows and bring them here to coerce into bed? It’s the first time for me and the last.” Finishing his coffee, he stared as if waiting for her barbed response.

No sarcastic comment came to mind; instead, she felt numb. She began sucking into her lower lip, repressing the tears, fighting the emotion threatening to take control. This was so unlike her; she never cried, at least not over hurt pride, which was all this really was.

He reached out and placed his hand over hers. “Look, I know you’re not the type of girl who can settle for casual relationships and I respect you for that. It was a moment of madness that brought us both here and thankfully, sanity took over. I’m not the kind of guy you need in your life. Believe me, you deserve far better with someone willing to commit.”

Feeling foolish, she bit painfully into her lower lip and withdrew her hand, her words softly spoken. “Don’t flatter yourself, David. I’m not that desperate to settle down yet, but you’re right about one thing. The madness has definitely passed.”

“Mr and Mrs Bishop, your taxi is here,” the waitress said hesitantly, having obviously noted the atmosphere between them.

“I’m getting the taxi to drop me off at the airfield and then it can take you on to London,” David told her.

“You’re flying back to Rochester, aren’t you?”

“Yes. It was one of Tony’s planes I flew down in and I need to return it.”

“I flew down here in the biplane with Danny and left my new car parked at Rochester, so it would make more sense to fly back with you.”

“Okay if you can stand the company.” He held the taxi door open for her and when he climbed in next to her, she found herself moving farther along the seat, her face turned toward the window, staring out blankly.

The ride back to the airfield had an oppressive air to it. She felt like this was the end to something that hadn’t even begun and somewhere in between, it had gone disastrously wrong. It would have been easier if they had simply parted company and she had boarded a train, but maybe she was a masochist at heart because deep down she didn’t want to say goodbye.

“Are you sure about this? I’ll pay for the taxi to take you home and you can send me a check later if it makes you feel better.”

He was being so nice to her now that she had left all feelings of anger and hurt pride back at that hotel. “No, I’m fine. As I said, the car Danny provided me with is parked at the airfield and I can check on my plane at the same time.”

“I’ve just got to log in at the control tower. You can wait inside the building if you like; it might be warmer.”
 

The day promised to be a glorious one, but it was late summer and it hadn’t warmed up yet. In fact, she had been feeling the cold since leaving the hotel in only her shorts and T-shirt, but she wasn’t about to let David know.

“No, I’m fine,” Chantelle replied, ignoring the goose bumps rising up her bare legs.

Shrugging his shoulders, he walked toward the building. Five minutes later, he reappeared and pointed at his plane, taking her by surprise when he handed her the keys and suggested she take the controls. “That’s if you’re comfortable with it.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Chantelle retorted and then realizing she was snapping his head off for what was a generous offer, she gave an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. You shocked me,
that’s
all. Men and their cars, airplanes, you
know,
that sort of macho thing. They don’t like women messing with their costly possessions; makes them kind of nervous.” She realized he was laughing as she continued talking nonsense about how she was a pretty good pilot and he had nothing to fear.

“No worries, it’s not my plane and Tony, the guy who owns it, thinks women make better pilots anyway.” Unlocking the passenger side door first, he reached into the back and retrieved a leather flying jacket. “Here, put this on; it might be a bit chilly up there.”

Without argument, she placed the heavy garment on and immediately felt the warmth seeping through her. Any tension between them seemed suddenly replaced by a relaxed openness. She was on home territory now. Settled behind the controls of a plane, it was like a lover welcoming her into his arms.

Having carried out all the essential checks -- plenty of fuel, the dials set correctly -- she started the engine up and radioed the control tower for permission to taxi to the holding point. It was given and the plane rolled smoothly onto the runway, the wind blowing directly into the aircraft’s nose. Remaining in touch with the tower, she opened the throttle smoothly, giving full power, her feet on the rudder keeping it level, her eyes looking straight ahead at the far end of the field. The plane gathered speed as her hands gently brought the column back, her eyes flitting over the instruments to make sure everything was in order.

The plane was a Cessna like her own so she was completely familiar with all the controls, but the sensation never dulled. Every sense came alive as the plane climbed, the noise pounding in her ears as the nose took on the impression of an arrowhead, almost suspending them in the sky. Gradually the plane leveled off, the noise became a gentle humming and then they were cruising above the countryside, a multitude of shapes filled with every shade of green and yellow, rivers a stunning azure. Built up cities became toy towns and she was an observer, no longer a participant in the hustle and bustle that went on below. It was the greatest freedom she had ever felt.