Читать книгу Yesterday And Forever - Сандра Мартон, Sandra Marton - Страница 8

A VOICE was calling to Miranda, a deep voice that seemed to be coming from across some great gulf.

‘Open your eyes,’ it kept saying, and she wanted, more than anything, to oblige. Her lids felt heavy as stones, her muscles as insubstantial as water. ‘Come on, now. Open your eyes and look at me.’

She did, finally, fighting her way through the grey fog that surrounded her, and she found herself staring into a pair of cool, darkly lashed grey eyes.

She swallowed, then ran the tip of her tongue along her lips. ‘Wh-what happened?’ she asked in a shaky whisper.

The grey eyes narrowed. ‘You passed out.’ The man’s mouth turned up in a cool little smile. ‘My compliments, darling. It was a very credible Victorian swoon.’

Miranda stiffened. ‘Are you suggesting—?’

‘The only thing that might have made it more effective would have been a long gown and a parasol.’ He smiled again, but there was a hint of something new and dangerous in it this time. ‘But that would have been a pity.’ He looked down, and she felt his slow, assessing gaze travel the full length of her lightly clad body. ‘Just think of the sight I’d have missed.’

She felt her cheeks grow hot. ‘I don’t have to sit here and be insulted.’

The man laughed softly. ‘You’re not sitting at all,’ he said, and she realised with growing horror that she was lying on the bed, Mueller’s bed, half naked in that tangle of sheets and pillows and blankets. He must have carried her there after she’d passed out, Miranda thought, and she closed her eyes against the sudden image of how she must have looked in his arms, her legs bare, her head thrown back so that her dark hair streamed behind her…

‘Only one swoon to a customer,’ he said lightly.

Her eyes flew open. He was leaning over her, one arm on either side of her body, his hands planted firmly palms-down against the mattress. She could see the fabric of his suit straining against his shoulders. His hair was dark, impeccably cut, although just a little too long so that the feathery ends curled lightly where they brushed his nape.

He had a good face, Miranda thought suddenly. His features were regular, almost classically perfect, except for a tiny scar that laced his temple, but somehow that only made his looks more arresting. And then there were those eyes, with their strange, shimmering greyness—it would be a challenge to paint him, she thought suddenly, to capture that blend of male arrogance and power he emanated.

He shifted his weight so that his thigh brushed hers. ‘So?’ he asked with barely concealed amusement. ‘Do I pass muster?’

‘Let me up,’ she said quietly.

‘Now, darling, that’s not very friendly. What would old Ernst think of such poor hospitality?’

His voice had a steely edge to it, despite the lightness of his words. Miranda felt a faint stir of unease. Don’t panic, she told herself, and she took a fortifying breath.

‘Did you hear what I said?’ Yes, she thought, that was good. She sounded calm and in control. ‘Thank you for your help, but—’ She gasped as he reached out slowly, almost languorously, and laid his hand against her cheek. ‘Don’t,’ she said sharply, twisting her head away.

His smile was changing, going from wry amusement to something darker as his fingers stroked lightly against her flushed skin.

‘Which is it?’ he said softly. ‘Are you Mueller’s toy for the evening—or his mistress?’

His hand drifted to her jaw, slid along her throat and beneath the open collar of her smock, then cupped her naked shoulder.

‘Stop it.’ Her voice shook with indignation. ‘Stop it, damn you! If you don’t, I’ll—I’ll scream.’

He laughed softly. ‘Oh, yes, I’m sure a good old-fashioned scream would impress the hell out of the tenants in this Godforsaken place.’ He moved his hand back to her throat, his fingers cupping her face. ‘Hell, I’m only admiring the merchandise. Old Ernst has better taste than I’d have imagined.’

Miranda inhaled sharply. Indignation was rapidly giving way to fear. Was he right about the tenants? No, no, he couldn’t be. This was a bawdy district, yes, but Amsterdam was a safe city. Everyone said so.

‘I’ve never paid for a woman’s favours.’ She blinked and stared up into his face as he bent over her. His eyes were changing colour, going from charcoal to smoke as his gaze drifted over her. ‘And I can’t imagine taking pleasure from another man’s leavings.’ His hand slipped beneath her head, cupping it, raising her from the pillows as his voice fell to a husky whisper. ‘But it does seem a damned shame not to at least take a little taste.’

Miranda’s heart thudded with fear as he leaned towards her. ‘No,’ she cried, but it was too late. His mouth was on hers, the feel of it harsh, his kiss as insolent as it was contemptuous. Panting, she tried twisting free as she pounded her fists against his shoulders, but his body was all hard muscle and her blows were useless. He caught her wrists easily in one hand and drew back a little, just far enough so she could see the cool smile curving across his mouth and the hint of laughter in the smoky depths of his eyes.

‘Don’t fight me, darling,’ he said, ‘just lie back and enjoy.’

‘You—you son of a bitch.’ The hissed words trembled with fear and outrage. ‘You have no right—’

His mouth slanted down across hers again, silencing her. Don’t fight him, she told herself, he’s just playing some awful game. Don’t fight him, and he’ll stop.

She forced herself to lie still as he gathered her closer, forced herself not to try and twist free of his seeking mouth. But she could do nothing to control the shudder of fear that raced through her.

He drew back slightly and looked down at her as she lay stiffly in his arms. His dark brows drew together.

‘What is it?’ he said, and to Miranda’s chagrin tears rose in her eyes and trembled on her lashes. The look of sly amusement faded from his face and something new and unreadable flashed in his eyes, filling them with silver light. ‘Don’t,’ he whispered, and for some foolish reason that only made the tears flow faster. He bent and pressed a soft kiss on each damp eyelid. ‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said, and suddenly she knew it was true.

Her eyes opened and met his. Time seemed to stand still, and then, with a swiftness that was somehow fierce yet gentle, he gathered her to him and kissed her.

It was a kiss unlike any Miranda had ever known. A flame seemed to leap between them, igniting the very air. His hand tightened in the black cascade of her hair and urged her head back until she was lying across his arm, her half-naked body offered up to him like a pagan sacrifice. Her senses seemed to awaken with an almost incredible alacrity and focus on him and the taste of his mouth.

She heard the sound he made in the back of his throat, felt the sudden heavy race of his heart, and all at once she knew what he was feeling because she was feeling it too, the desire and the need, the sharp, almost desperate urgency rising between them.

Miranda whimpered softly and he caught the sound in his mouth, returning it to her with the first silken thrust of his tongue. She made a little sobbing sound; her hands unknotted, flattened against his chest and slid under his jacket. His heart pounded against her palm.

‘Yes,’ he said thickly, ‘that’s right. Touch me.’

His hand slipped up her midriff and cupped her breast, his touch searing her flesh through the thin cotton smock. She felt herself quicken, felt the stirring of something unknown deep within her body…

God! What was she doing? Sanity came flooding back, as cold as the North Sea. Miranda twisted frantically in his arms. She tore her mouth from his and beat at his shoulders, and he raised his head and stared at her.

Her heartbeat stumbled. His face was taut with passion, his eyes blind to reason, and she thought, for one terrifying second, that her return to sanity had come too late. Then she heard the rasp of his breath in the silence. His throat worked convulsively as he swallowed, and suddenly he let go of her.

She fell back against the pillows, watching as he got to his feet, thrust his hands into his dark hair, and raked it back from his forehead.

‘God.’ He spoke the word hoarsely, an imprecation against the disgust she saw welling in the eyes that swept over her, eyes that were once again flat and cold. ‘You’re good at what you do, lady, I’ll give you that.’

Miranda’s mouth trembled. ‘You’re an animal.’

She had to get out of that shoddy room, get away from that condemning stare. Her hair swung across her face as she rolled to her side and sat up. But she had moved too quickly: the dizziness was back. The room tilted, and she flung out a hand to steady herself.

‘Nice little bit of theatre. Am I supposed to be impressed?’

His voice was as cold and flat as his eyes. Miranda didn’t even bother answering. She had to get across the room to her clothing, then to the door. A million miles, she thought, that’s how far she had to walk to get to it, but there wasn’t any choice. She took a deep breath and got to her feet. One step. Two…

She cried out as the floor swung out from under her feet. Dots danced in front of her, dots that changed into whirling black spirals.

He caught her just before she fell, holding her in the curve of his arm as if she were an unwelcome bundle that had been foisted upon him.

‘What the hell is this?’ he demanded, looking down into her pale face. ‘If it’s some kind of game…’

Miranda closed her eyes in despair. There was no point in pretending. She would never get out of here, not without help. Mina would probably be in their room by now; she’d ask him to phone her and—

‘Answer me, damn you. What are you playing at?’

‘I’m not playing at anything.’ Her voice was thin and brittle. ‘I just—I don’t feel very well, that’s all.’

There was a silence, and then he grunted and hoisted her into his arms.

‘Yes,’ he said grimly as he carried her across the room, ‘I can see that.’

‘If you’d—if you’d just make a phone call for me—’

‘Does Mueller know you’re ill?’

‘Mueller has nothing to do with this, Mr—Mr—’

‘Thorpe. Daniel Thorpe.’ He stopped beside the stool on which she’d deposited her clothing. ‘Have you seen a doctor?’

‘No. I’m not sick, Mr Thorpe. If you’d just—’

‘You need a doctor. Do you have one, or shall I call for an ambulance?’

‘An ambulance?’ Miranda stared at him. ‘I don’t need an ambulance.’

‘A doctor, then.’

‘I don’t need a doctor, either. For God’s sake, do you know what that would cost?’

His lips drew back from his teeth. ‘Yes, that’s right. I suppose that’s one of the problems with your line of work. The fringe benefits are none too good.’

Colour rushed into her face. ‘Put me down, please.’

‘So you can fall on that pretty face of yours? No, darling, I don’t think so.’

‘My name,’ Miranda said quietly, ‘is Miranda Stuart. And if you’re really interested in whether or not I fall on my face you’ll be decent enough to find a telephone and call my friend for me.’

‘Another friend?’ He smiled unpleasantly. ‘It must be wonderful to be so popular, Miss Stuart.’

‘Her name is Mina,’ Miranda said coldly. ‘Just give her this address, and she’ll come and get me.’

Daniel Thorpe went on staring at her, his face empty of any expression, and then he nodded.

‘Right. Can you stand?’

Could she? Not that it mattered. She would stand, somehow; anything was better than lying in his arms this way while he looked at her as if she were something unsavoury he’d found in the street.

‘Yes.’

‘And can you get dressed without help?’

Miranda’s mouth thinned. ‘Absolutely.’

He nodded again, then lowered her carefully to her feet. ‘Go on, then. Get into your clothing.’

Her brows rose. ‘Not while you’re watching,’ she said coolly.

A little smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. ‘No, of course not.’ He bent and lifted the fallen screen from the littered floor. ‘We wouldn’t want to offend your sensibilities, now, would we?’ He slapped the screen into place. ‘You’ve two minutes to dress and then I’ll assume you can’t manage without my help.’

Safe within the screen’s privacy, Miranda sank back against the wall. She’d hoped Thorpe would leave, but then, he’d come to see Ernst Mueller. He had every right to stay.

‘One minute, Miss Stuart, and counting.’

Her head sprang up. Would he really try to dress her if she didn’t move quickly enough to suit him? A wave of heat raced from the top of her head down to her toes. Yes, he probably would. Quickly, before she had to put that judgement to the test, Miranda stripped off the smock, flung it aside, and began pulling on her clothes.

She was composed when she stepped out from behind the screen. Daniel Thorpe was leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest, watching her. She thought she glimpsed distaste in his face as he took in her somewhat faded denim skirt, her black sweater, her silver necklace and earrings.

‘Street chic,’ he said, his mouth curling with distaste.

Miranda’s spine stiffened. She knew her outfit left a lot to be desired, despite what Mina had said this morning, but she had no intention of being insulted by this stranger.

‘It suits me just fine.’

His mouth twisted. ‘Yes. I’m sure it’s a hit at Fancy Free.’

Heat flooded her face. Fancy Free was one of the bars where you could purchase and smoke marijuana legally.

‘I hate to disappoint you,’ she said coldly, ‘but I’ve never been there.’

‘Forgive me, Miss Stuart.’ Sarcasm edged his tone. ‘I’m sure there are other places that suit your tastes far better.’

Miranda’s chin lifted. ‘Yes,’ she said, lying through her teeth, ‘there certainly are. Not that it’s any of your business—’

He shrugged his shoulders dismissively as he walked towards her. ‘You’re right. How you look—and how you live—is strictly your affair.’

‘I’m glad we agree on something,’ she said as she dug into her bag. She looked up, face still flushed with indignation, and held out her hand.

Thorpe looked at the coins shining against her palm. ‘What’s that for?’

‘It’s for the telephone. You agreed to call my friend and—’

‘You need a physician, not a girlfriend.’ His hand closed firmly on her elbow. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I told you, I’m not sick.’

‘Suppose you let someone qualified make that decision. Is this your jacket?’

‘Yes. But—but—’

‘No arguments,’ he said as he hustled her out of the door and to the steps. Suddenly he paused and turned her towards him. ‘Or are you so eager to see Mueller that you’d risk passing out again?’

Mueller. Lord, in all the confusion she’d forgotten about him! Her luck had held so far, but surely he’d show up eventually, expecting her to pose? A shudder went through her. She couldn’t afford to wait here for Mina, not if she wanted to avoid a confrontation.

‘You’re right,’ she lied. ‘I’d better stop at a clinic.’

Her gaze flew to the steep stairs, knifing down into the late-afternoon shadows. Just staring down into the darkness sent a wave of dizziness shuddering through her, but she forced herself to take a step forward. Instantly Thorpe’s arm curved around her.

‘I’ll see you out.’

She ached to tell him she didn’t need his help. But the truth was that it would have been a lie. She could never have made her way down the stairs on her own. Her legs felt as if someone had taken out the muscles and put overcooked pasta in their place. Still, he didn’t have to hold her quite so closely, nor splay his hand so possessively across her hip.

The second they came out into bright sunlight Miranda stepped away from him and forced a polite smile to her face.

‘Thank you for your help, Mr Thorpe. It’s been—interesting.’

His hand fell on her shoulder as she began to turn away.

‘I’ve a car just around the corner. I’ll drive you to your doctor’s office.’

‘No. Thanks for the offer, but—’

His fingers clamped down on her flesh. Miranda dug in her heels, but it was useless. He propelled her easily, despite her best efforts.

‘Hey,’ she said as he yanked open the door of a black Mercedes, ‘hey! Dammit, will you listen to me?’

‘Get in and tell me where he’s located.’

‘You have absolutely no right to—’

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. ‘You don’t have the money for a doctor, do you?’

‘What I have or don’t have is none of your damned—’

‘Answer the question, Miss Stuart. Have you money or haven’t you?’ Miranda glared at him, and a muscle knotted in his jaw. ‘That’s what I thought. All right. I’ll pay.’

Her eyes widened. ‘What?’

He smiled unpleasantly. ‘I don’t mean for your usual services. I’ll take care of the cost of the doctor.’

Her cheeks flushed wildly. ‘Are you crazy? In the first place, I’m not ill. And in the second place—’

‘I give God only knows how much money to charity each year, Miss Stuart.’ His nostrils flared as if the scent of something unpleasant were in the air. ‘Let’s just say that this time you’ll be a direct recipient.’

She stared at him in disbelief, and then, with one quick effort, wrenched free of his hands.

‘I do not need your charity,’ she said coldly.

‘You sure as hell need someone’s.’

Daniel Thorpe would never know how right he was, Miranda thought, and she laughed.

‘Yes. Yes, I do. But not yours. Goodbye, Mr Thorpe.’

His hands shot out and caught hold of her again. ‘Listen here, young woman—’

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Miranda’s patience snapped. ‘I fainted because I was hungry. I hate to disappoint you, but I haven’t got beriberi, or malaria, or a social disease.’ She put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin in defiance. ‘Now do you understand?’

She knew, in the ensuing silence, that her temper had got the best of her. She had said more than she’d ever planned on saying, and now she waited, head lifted proudly, for him to make some cutting remark that would be a put-down of her, of Ernst Mueller, of art and everything else Daniel Thorpe seemed to think she represented.

He didn’t disappoint her.

‘I do, indeed,’ he said, his voice icy with distaste. ‘You don’t give a damn about tomorrow. You live from day to day, never planning ahead, never holding on to a guilder.’

Miranda thought of the preparation that had gone into the portfolio of oils and water-colours she’d submitted to the scholarship committee, of the hours she’d spent filling out application forms for the grant, of the months spent waiting to see if she’d been selected and how carefully she’d husbanded the grant payment when she’d finally got it. She thought of how she’d nursed her last few guilders so that they’d lasted all week instead of only a day, and she smiled sweetly.

‘How clever of you to have figured me out so quickly,’ she purred. ‘You’re only wrong about one thing, Mr Thorpe: I don’t live from day to day, I live from minute to minute.’ Her smile grew even more cloying. ‘But then, why should I worry? There’s always someone like Ernst Mueller to help me out when I’m really desperate.’

Thorpe’s face darkened and his hands tightened on her until she could feel each finger biting into her flesh. Suddenly she wished she could take the sarcastic words back.

‘All right,’ he said, ‘I’ve had enough.’

‘Hey! What do you think you’re doing?’

But what he was doing was obvious. He was hustling her into the Mercedes, shoving her into the passenger-seat, securing the seatbelt, coming around the car and getting in behind the wheel before she could make sense of it all.

His door slammed shut, the key turned, and the engine roared to life.

Miranda’s heart rose into her throat.

‘You can’t get away with something like this,’ she said breathlessly. ‘People saw you—’

Daniel Thorpe looked at her as if she bored him silly. ‘Steak and potatoes,’ he said, ‘or is it only breakfast-time in your world?’

She blinked. ‘What?’

Sighing, he shifted gears and headed towards the Damrak. ‘Which would you prefer, Miss Stuart? Breakfast or dinner? I’ll choose the restaurant, but you can choose the meal.’

He’d abducted her so he could feed her! Miranda gaped at the man beside her in disbelief. His attention was on the road ahead; seen in profile, he was all rock-solid determination.

‘Well? Which is it? Breakfast or dinner?’

I don’t want anything from a man like you, she thought. I don’t want so much as a glass of water…

Breakfast or dinner. The very words made her stomach growl.

‘Dammit, Miss Stuart, I’m waiting. Make a decision.’

Miranda glanced at that implacable profile again. The odds were she’d never win the argument anyway, she thought, and a little smile flickered across her mouth.

‘Both,’ she said primly, and she settled back into the seat, crossed her arms over her breasts, and let visions of ham, eggs, and steak fill her weary brain.