Читать книгу Ryan's Revenge - Lee Wilkinson, Lee Wilkinson - Страница 7

WHITE to the lips, she whispered, ‘A score to settle?’

‘Why should that surprise you? You must have known that leaving me as you did would make me look a complete and utter fool?’

She couldn’t even deny it. Part of her had wanted to pay him back. Wanted to wound him as much as he’d wounded her. Wanted to destroy his world, as he’d destroyed hers.

Afraid that he might read it in her eyes, she looked away, watching a small boy in a blue T-shirt and red shorts run towards the lake. He was clutching a shining new toy yacht, obviously a birthday present, and a stick.

As he knelt on the low parapet to launch the vessel into the water, his mother, who was wheeling a baby in a pushchair, called, ‘Be careful, Thomas. Don’t fall in. The water’s deep.’

When—his will was proving stronger than hers—Virginia’s eyes were drawn irresistibly back to Ryan’s, he pursued. ‘Apart from that, when you just disappeared and I had no idea where you were or what had happened to you, I nearly went out of my mind with worry. Since then I’ve spent two-and-a-half years and a small fortune looking for you.

‘Now I’ve found you, I want you in my bed. I want to make love to you until you’re begging for mercy and I’m sated. Then I want to start all over again. Does the thought of being made love to until you’re begging for mercy turn you on?’

Heat running through her, she said thickly, ‘No! I can’t bear the thought of you touching me.’

His handsome eyes gleamed. ‘Knowing that will give me great satisfaction, and add immeasurably to my pleasure—’

A simultaneous yelp of fright, a splash, and a high-pitched scream cut through his words.

Ryan was on his feet in an instant and running towards the lake as the woman with the pushchair continued to scream hysterically.

He said something short and sharp to her that stopped the screaming, and a second later he had cleared the parapet and had plunged into the water.

Rooted to the spot, Virginia watched him haul the small dripping figure from the lake and set him on his shoulders. Judging by the roars of fright the child was letting forth, he was mercifully uninjured.

The water was somewhere in the region of three-and-a-half feet deep, and came past Ryan’s waist, as he waded a few steps to rescue the capsized yacht.

Letting go of the pushchair, the woman, now sobbing loudly with relief, hovered, arms outstretched ready to embrace her son.

Belatedly, Virginia’s brain kicked into action, and realising that no real harm had been done, she grabbed her bag and leaving Ryan to cope, bolted.

Hurrying as fast as she could to the nearest of the park’s side entrances, she made her way between the ornate metal bollards and out onto busy Kenelm Road.

A black cab was cruising past and, hailing it, she pulled open the door and jumped in, breathing hard, her heart racing.

‘Where to, lady?’

‘Sixteen Usher Street.’

Sinking back, drenched in perspiration, she glanced in the direction of the park. There was no sign of pursuit and, starting to tremble in every limb, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks. She’d escaped.

But for how long?

Ryan knew all about her. Where she worked, where she lived, her movements… He had said he wanted her back, and he wasn’t a man to give up.

Just seeing him again had shaken her to the core, but the knowledge that he wanted her back had been even more traumatic.

It had been so entirely unexpected. Never once had she considered the possibility that he might want her back again.

It was unthinkable. The very idea made her blood turn to ice in her veins. All he wanted was revenge. He didn’t even love her.

If he’d loved her, it might have been different…

But if he’d loved her she would never have left him in the first place…

Her hectic thoughts were interrupted by the taxi turning into Usher Street and coming to a halt in front of number sixteen.

It was a quiet street of cream-stuccoed town houses with basements guarded by black wrought-iron railings, and steps leading up to elegant front doors with fluted fanlights.

Charles had inherited the house from his parents, some five years previously. A confirmed bachelor, at least until Virginia had come along, he’d talked about moving somewhere smaller, easier to manage. But in truth he was comfortable there, and it was reasonably close to the gallery.

Recalling agitatedly what Ryan had said about his detective following her, Virginia suddenly felt uncomfortable.

She scrambled out of the taxi and, having reached through the window to pay the driver, ran up the steps to let herself in.

Feeling invisible eyes boring into her back, her palms grew clammy, and pointing the truth of the saying, more haste less speed, it took several attempts to turn the key in the lock.

Her heart throwing itself against her ribs, she dropped the key into her purse, slammed the door behind her, and hurried through the hall and into a large attractively furnished living-room with long windows.

Dropping her bag on the couch she crossed the room and peered cautiously from behind the curtains, half expecting to see a strange man opposite, lurking behind a newspaper.

Apart from a woman walking past whom she recognised as a neighbour, the sunny, tree-lined street was deserted.

With a feeling of anticlimax, Virginia told herself satirically that she was either getting paranoid, or had been watching too many detective series on the television.

But her attempt to josh herself out of it failed dismally. The threat to her new-found security was chillingly real and couldn’t be laughed away.

Becoming aware that her head was now throbbing fiercely, she went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea and swallow a couple of painkillers.

Then, uncomfortably hot and sticky, she decided to have a shower and wash her hair. Physically, at least, that should make her feel better.

She stripped off her clothes and, removing the pins from her hair, shook it loose before stepping beneath the jet of warm water.

As she reached for the shampoo, she found herself wondering about Ryan. He must have been saturated…

Had he walked back to his hotel? Or braved it out and hailed a taxi? Was he at this precise minute also taking a shower?

In the old days, alone in his Fifth Avenue penthouse, they had enjoyed showering together…

While the scented steam rose and billowed, her own hands stilled as she recalled how his hands had roamed over her slick body, caressing her slender curves, cupping her buttocks, stroking her thighs, finding the nest of wet brown curls, while his tongue licked drops of water from her nipples…

Shuddering at the erotic memory she turned off the water and, winding a towel turban-fashion around her head, began to dry herself with unnecessary vigour, rubbing the pale gold skin until it glowed pink.

Having decided not to bother and get dressed again, she found the Christmas present Charles had given her, a chenille robe-cum-housecoat in moss green and, pulling it on, belted it.

Her feet bare, her naturally curly hair still damp and loose around her shoulders, she was descending the stairs when the phone in the hall began to chirrup.

Reaching out a hand she was about to pick up the receiver when it occurred to her that it might be Ryan, and she hesitated.

Who else was likely to be calling? Who else would know she was home before her usual time?

It kept chirruping, and its sheer persistence tearing at her nerves, she snatched it up.

‘Virginia?’ It was Charles. His well-modulated voice sounded a shade anxious.

‘Yes,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Yes, I’m here.’

‘Is anything wrong?’

She took a deep breath. ‘No, of course not.’

‘You didn’t seem to be answering.’

‘I’ve just got out of the shower.’ It wasn’t exactly a lie.

‘Oh, I see.’

‘Is there a problem?’ she asked.

‘No. Not at all… I was just ringing to make sure you were all right.’

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

‘Certain?’ With his usual sensitivity he had picked up her jumpiness.

Resisting the impulse to tell him about Ryan and beg him to come home, she said with what cheerfulness she could muster, ‘Absolutely. Any idea what time you’ll be back?’

‘I should be home somewhere around eight-thirty. Don’t forget to save me some prawn crackers.’

‘I won’t,’ she promised. ‘Bye for now.’

As she replaced the handset, the grandmother clock whirred and began to chime six-thirty.

Might as well ring for her takeaway now, she decided. It usually took between thirty and forty minutes for an order to be delivered, and she’d only had part of a roll for lunch, the remainder having been fed to a family of sparrows who, nesting in the eaves above her office window, had learnt to line up along the sill, bright-eyed and expectant.

Not that she was hungry.

But something to eat might help to get rid of the hollow, stomach-churning feeling that had persisted since Ryan had said, ‘Guess who?’ in the park.

The number of the restaurant was written in Charles’s neat numerals in the book by the phone, but it was Ryan’s face that swam before her eyes as she tapped in the digits.

‘The Jade Garden. Good evening…’ a singsong voice responded.

Her mind still obsessed by Ryan, Virginia, who was usually clear and precise, made a mess of her order and was forced to stumble through it a second time.

Returning to the living-room, she prowled about plumping cushions and tidying magazines, far too restless to sit still.

What would Ryan do next? she wondered anxiously. There was no doubt in her mind that he wouldn’t let matters rest. He wanted her, and his sense of purpose was terrifying…

Though she had lied through her teeth about her relationship with Charles, it hadn’t had the desired effect. Ryan either hadn’t believed her, or hadn’t wanted to.

Either way, her assertions had failed to provide the anchor, the safeguard, she had been so desperate to put in place.

But even if he had believed her, would that have stopped him? Remembering the look on his face when he’d said, ‘I’ve no intention of letting anyone else have you’, she felt her skin goose-flesh.

Just seeing him again, feeling the force of his will, had made her doubt her ability to hold out against him if he kept up the seige.

No! she mustn’t think like that. If necessary she would tell Charles the whole truth, and beg for his forgiveness and support.

He was far from being the wimp that Ryan had so contemptuously called him. In fact, in a different and less obvious way he was as strong as Ryan, with a quiet determination and a tensile strength.

But how could she ask Charles for help, ask him to pretend to be her lover, when she had denied him that privilege by refusing his proposal of marriage?

All at once she was filled with a burning shame that she’d even considered involving him any further. Somehow she must manage without his help.

There was one thing in her favour. Usually a brilliant strategist, this time Ryan had made a bad mistake. He had admitted that he was out to make her pay for leaving him, and forewarned was forearmed.

Though his attraction was as powerful as ever, knowing his intentions would enable her to hold out against him, to freeze him off…

The peal of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts.

Her takeaway had come a lot quicker than usual. But of course it was still quite early. They wouldn’t yet have had a build-up of customers…

She fumbled in her bag and purse in hand, went to open the door.

Taken completely by surprise, her reactions were a trifle slow and, before she could slam the door in his face, Ryan had slipped inside.

Over six feet tall and broad-shouldered, he seemed to fill the small hall.

Closing the door behind him he stood leaning with his back to the panels. Wearing stone-coloured trousers and a two-tone, smart-casual jacket, he looked tanned and fit and dangerous.

‘Get out!’ she cried in a panic. ‘You have no right to force your way in here.’

‘I didn’t exactly force my way in,’ he objected, adding coolly, ‘Though I might well have done had it proved necessary.’

Surveying the robe, her shiny face and the wealth of ash-brown hair curling loosely around her shoulders, he remarked, ‘You look about ready for bed. But of course Raynor doesn’t take you to bed, does he? He has more…shall we say…inventive ideas.’

When, her soft lips tightening, she said nothing, he goaded, ‘Tell me, Virginia, where does he usually make love to you? In the kitchen? Lying in front of the fire? On the stairs?’

‘Stop it!’ she cried.

‘After what you told me earlier, you can’t blame me for being curious.’

Wishing fervently that she’d kept her mouth shut, she said, ‘I want you to go. Now! Before Charles gets home. He won’t be long.’

Ryan shook his head. ‘It’s no use, Virginia, my sweet, I know perfectly well that he won’t be in until much later…’

How did he know?

‘And, even if that wasn’t the case, do you seriously think the prospect of Raynor coming home would scare me into leaving?’

No, she didn’t. Lifting her chin, she threatened, ‘I could always call the police.’

‘You could,’ he agreed, ‘but somehow I don’t think you will. After all, the police have a lot more to concern themselves about than what they would undoubtedly class as a trivial domestic problem.’

In past skirmishes he had proved to be quicker witted than she was, and in any battle of words he almost invariably won. But she couldn’t allow him to win this time.

‘It isn’t “a trivial domestic problem,”’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘It’s an illegal entry into someone else’s home.’

‘How can it be an “illegal entry” when you opened the door to me yourself?’

‘I thought it was my takeaway.’

Eyeing the purse she was still holding, he said, ‘I see. Well, if you have a meal ordered, perhaps you’ll invite me to stay and share it?’

Her agitation increasing, she cried, ‘No, I don’t want you to stay. I don’t know why you came in the first place.’

‘For one thing, we hadn’t finished our conversation—’

‘There’s nothing further to say. I’ll never come back to you, so you’re just wasting your time.’

As though she hadn’t interrupted, he went on, his voice quietly lethal, ‘And for another, I’m not prepared to let you keep running out on me.’

For the first time she realised he was furiously angry, and she quailed inwardly.

He stepped towards her, dwarfing her five feet seven inches, and with a hand beneath her chin, he forced it up. His eyes were focussed on her mouth, his dark face sharp and intent.

Guessing his intention, she begged, ‘No! Oh, please, Ryan, don’t…’

But his hand slid round to her nape, tangling in her silky hair, and his mouth swooped down on hers, taking possession, stifling any further protests.

The purse she had been clutching like a lifeline thudded to the floor and, despite all her efforts to hold aloof, the blood began to pound in her ears and the world tilted on its axis.

Head spinning, she was engulfed, gathered up and swept away on a tide of conflicting emotions, while every nerve ending in her body zinged into life.

At first his kiss was hard, punitive, a way of venting his anger, the arm clamping her to him like an iron band.

But when, scarcely able to stand, she made no attempt to break free, his arm loosened its hold slightly and, instead of being a punishment, his kiss became passionate, his skilful tongue sending shivers of excitement and pleasure running through her.

Leaving her nape, his hand slid inside the lapels of her robe, following her collarbone, moving down to find and fondle the soft curve of her breast.

He seemed to be deliberately avoiding the tip and, desperate for his touch, her whole being was poised in an agony of waiting.

When, finally, his experienced fingers began to lightly tease the sensitive nipple, causing sensations so exquisite they were almost pain, her stomach clenched and a core of liquid heat began to form in her abdomen.

Now he was making her feel all that he wanted her to feel, and he took her little gasps and whimpers into his mouth like the conqueror he was.

Lost and mindless, she was hardly aware when his free hand undid the belt and eased the robe from her shoulders, allowing it to fall at her feet.

His mouth had moved away from hers to rove over the smooth flesh he had exposed, when, shockingly, the doorbell rang.

Ryan’s recovery was light years ahead of Virginia’s. Stooping, he gathered up the robe and, wrapping it around her, gently hustled her across the hall and into the kitchen.

Pulling on the robe with shaking hands, she belted it tightly and, sinking down in the nearest chair, groaned aloud.

So much for holding out against him.

Oh, dear Lord, what had she been thinking of? If it hadn’t been for the interruption, Ryan could have taken her right there on the hall carpet and she would have allowed it.

No, more than allowed it, welcomed it.

Oh, you fool! she berated herself. She had planned to freeze him off, to make it clear that she was no longer under his spell.

Instead her abject surrender must have boosted his confidence, made him even more certain that he could win…

Only he mustn’t. Much as she wanted him—and she did still want him, maybe she always would—she mustn’t let him win.

Through her tumult of mind she was aware of the front door opening and Ryan’s voice saying, ‘Thanks. How much do I owe you?’

By the time he came through to the kitchen carrying a brightly coloured cardboard box with a handle, she had gathered the remnants of her dignity around her like a tattered cloak.

Standing up, she faced him squarely. ‘I want you to leave, now, this minute.’

Unpacking the various foil containers onto the pine table, he said mildly, ‘I like Chinese food and, as you appear to have ordered enough for two, it would be a shame to waste it.’

Looking dazedly at the number of containers, she realised that her repeat of the order had caused confusion and had resulted in them delivering far too much food.

Watching her face, he asked ironically, ‘Was it a Freudian slip? Did you subconsciously want or expect me to be here?’

‘No, I certainly didn’t. If I wanted anyone here, it would be Charles.’

She could tell by the way Ryan’s mouth tightened that her answer had annoyed him, but all he said was, ‘Do you have any bowls and chopsticks?’

‘In the cupboard,’ she answered shortly. He might insist on staying, but that didn’t mean she was prepared to make him welcome.

Slipping out of his jacket, he hung it over the back of a chair before opening the cupboard door.

Along with the bowls was a small electric hotplate. Infuriatingly at home, he took it out and, having plugged it in, arranged the foil containers on it.

Loosening the lids, he suggested, ‘Why don’t you sit down and tell me what you’d like to start with?’

Still standing, she said curtly, ‘I don’t want anything to eat. I’ve lost my appetite.’

He raised dark level brows. ‘That’s a pity. Still if you’re quite sure you don’t want to eat, we could always start a precedent.’

Alarmed by the silky menace in his tone, the glint in his eye, she demanded, ‘What do you mean, start a precedent?’

‘Don’t you think it would be a nice change to be carried upstairs and made love to in bed?’

All the fight going out of her, she sat down abruptly.

White teeth gleamed as he laughed. ‘No? Oh, well…’ Taking a seat opposite, he queried, ‘So what’s it to be? The sesame prawn toast looks good.’ Leaning towards her, he offered her a piece.

His dark silk shirt was open at the neck, exposing the strong column of his throat. Remembering how she had sometimes buried her face against it when he’d made love to her, her mouth went dry.

Lifting her eyes, she met his ironic gaze, and felt the colour flood into her cheeks.

‘You look warm,’ he observed innocently. ‘Do you have any nice cool wine?’

Somehow she managed to say, ‘There’s a bottle open in the fridge.’

He found a couple of glasses and filled them with Chablis. Then, having helped them both to chicken and cashew nuts, he picked up his bamboo chopsticks and, sorting out one of the fat, gleaming cashews, reached across the table.

Without conscious volition, her mouth opened and he popped it in.

His action was like a blow to the solar plexus, winding her and making her heart thump erratically.

Eating their first meal together in New York’s Chinatown, she had mentioned that she only ordered that particular dish because she adored cashew nuts.

Loverlike, he had fed her the nuts from his own bowl. After that it had become a kind of tender ritual.

Except, of course, that it had only been play-acting. He might have wanted her, he undoubtedly had, but he had never loved her, had never felt any real tenderness for her. He had just wanted to use her.

But she had refused to be used, though it had broken her heart to leave him…

As though following her train of thought, Ryan said abruptly, ‘You still haven’t told me why you ran the way you did.’

‘You ought to know.’

‘If it was what I can only presume it was—’

‘Did you think I wouldn’t mind?’ she burst out. ‘Think I’d play along, let you use me and say nothing?’

He frowned. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. You’d better explain.’

Infuriated by his denial, she jumped to her feet. ‘I’ve no intention of explaining anything. I want you to go, and if you won’t go, then I will!’

As she turned away, he said quietly, ‘Sit down and finish your meal.’

Their glances met and clashed.

She wanted to disobey his order, to walk away, but she couldn’t leave, and she found herself subsiding into her chair.

After a moment, he asked softly, ‘Why didn’t you at least let me know you were safe?’

‘Why do you suppose?’

‘You didn’t think I might worry about you?’

‘I tried not to think of you at all.’

‘What about the rest of the family?’

When she said nothing, he went on, ‘They were all very upset and concerned that you’d gone without a word. Beth in particular…’

‘I’m sorry about that. I liked your stepmother.’ It was the truth. In fact, with one exception, she’d liked the whole family.

‘She had another heart attack,’ he added flatly.

Virginia caught her breath.

Seeing the apprehension on her face, Ryan said quickly, ‘A fairly mild one, thank the Lord.’

‘Then, she’s all right?’

‘She made a good recovery. Which is just as well.’

‘You mean if she hadn’t, you would have held me responsible?’

‘I do hold you responsible.’

Virginia flinched at the bitter irony. It had been mainly to safeguard his stepmother’s fragile state of health that she had chosen to run as she did.

‘Do Janice and Steven?’

‘What do you think?’

Her heart sank. Still, it was better that they should blame her, a comparative stranger, rather than know something that would almost certainly tear their close-knit family apart.

One half of her still wondered incredulously how Ryan had been able to do what he did. But perhaps he’d found it impossible to help himself? Love could be a powerful, overriding force…

As could the need for revenge.

Though more sinned against than sinning, she had wrecked all his carefully laid plans and, in his own eyes at least, had made him look a fool.

Not something a man like him would easily forgive.

She shivered.

‘You’re surely not cold?’ Ryan asked.

‘No.’

‘Ashamed?’

‘Why should I be ashamed?’

‘I can think of several good reasons. First and foremost that you treated a woman, who had taken you to her heart, in such a callous fashion…’

Perhaps, in retrospect, she should have left a note, made up some excuse for going… But, shocked and stunned, feeling mortally wounded, she hadn’t known what to say.

‘I’m sorry if it seemed that way. I never meant to hurt her…’

A shrill bleating cut through her words.

‘Excuse me.’ Reaching into his jacket pocket he produced a mobile phone. ‘Falconer… It has? Good… Yes… Yes… Be with you shortly.’

Dropping the phone back in his pocket, he rose to his feet and pulled on his jacket. ‘I’m sorry I have to leave quite so soon.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t say the same,’ she informed him trenchantly.

Paying her back for her show of spirit, he came round the table and with studied insolence slipped his hand inside the lapels of her robe and cupped her breast.

Knowing that he was waiting for her to jump up and protest, summoning every last ounce of will-power, she sat still and silent.

Smiling a little, he bent his dark head and his mouth brushed hers. ‘When you’re in bed on your own tonight, dream that I’m making love to you.’

‘Not if I can help it,’ she spat at him.

‘If you’re frustrated enough, you might find it impossible not to.’

‘I’m not frustrated.’

Smiling, he rubbed his thumb over the nipple until it firmed. ‘You were always very responsive.’

Unable to stand any more, she jerked away and, dragging the lapels together, jumped to her feet. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something? Or should I say, someone?’

His blue-violet eyes narrowed.

‘Charles might not be a young man by your standards, but he’s fit and in his prime. If I am frustrated I won’t need to stay that way.’

She saw a white line appear round Ryan’s mouth and, fiercely glad that he was furious, laughed in his face.

With a sound almost like a growl, he took her upper arms, his fingers biting into the soft flesh, and warned softly, ‘Don’t even think about it. From now on I intend to be the only man in your life, so if Raynor does get any bright ideas about making love to you, it will pay you to say no, and mean it.’

Dragging her right up against him, he kissed her once more. This time his kiss was hard and unsparing, rocking her to her very foundations. Then suddenly she was free.

‘Be seeing you,’ he said mockingly.

A moment later she heard the front door open and close.

Badly shaken, she went through to the hall on unsteady legs. Ryan was gone, but she noted abstractedly that her purse had been picked up and placed neatly on the telephone table.

Trembling now as reaction set in, she sank down on the bottom step of the stairs and stared blindly into space while her thoughts whirled.

Oh, dear Lord, what was she to do? Ryan’s unwelcome visit had proved at least two terrifying things: that he was in deadly earnest; and that her chances of resisting him were practically nil.

It had been that way from the start. She had looked at him and had loved him, heart and soul.

Recognising at some deep, subconscious level that he was the one she had been waiting all her life for, she had given herself to him with a joyous certainty, and the hope of a happy ever after.

But that happy ever after had been short-lived. A bare two months from its rapturous start to its bitter ending…

And now, unless she could find some way of keeping Ryan at bay, the torture would start all over again.

She would still be there, and even if his feelings for the other woman—love or obsession, call it what one will—had died, the situation would still be quite intolerable.

No matter what he said about wanting only her, Virginia knew that she would never again be able to believe nor trust him. And he must know that… It might even be part of his revenge to have her on the rack of jealousy and torment…

No, no, she couldn’t, wouldn’t go back to him.

But, even as she tried to make herself believe it, she knew she was like a moth that, unable to help itself, was drawn irresistibly and fatally towards a candle flame.