Читать книгу Love In Torment - Natalie Fox, Natalie Fox - Страница 7

GEMMA couldn’t move with shock, though her mind suddenly put a spurt on as if it had a sudden tail-wind behind it. She had never seen this side of Felipe before and she didn’t like it. He terrified her. He had loved her once but Bianca had come between them, so why was he suddenly making such wicked threats to hurt her?

Slowly the life came back to her numbed body and she moved, hesitantly, though. He had shaken her and the shock waves thrummed through her nerves, stretching them crazily till her whole body seemed to ache with fear. She crossed to her suitcase and stared at it blankly, her eyes wide. For once in her life she was terribly unsure of herself, even unsure what to do. Should she unpack? There was no commission, no portrait to be painted. She was here on a fool’s errand, manipulated by her former lover who seemed hell-bent on some sort of revenge.

Clenching her fists tightly, she braced herself. She had to find out what was going on and there was no time like the present. She didn’t bother to change but flew out of the room in the clothes she had travelled from Caracas in, thin white cotton jeans, crumpled in the heat of the day, and a loose, wispy black top that flapped around her midriff as she ran.

She didn’t know where to find him but find him she must. Damn this place, it was like a maze. She ran down the stone stairs and out into bright sunlight, blinking her eyes against the fierce sun.

Not a human soul to be seen. Gemma bit her lip and walked to the end of the villa, calmer now but still uncertain. Maria had said something about a terrace which must be at the back of the house.

She rounded the villa and saw wrought-iron tables and chairs, shady umbrellas—and Felipe.

Determinedly she walked towards him, mouthing questions in her mind, trying to find answers before she spoke them.

He was standing looking over a low stone wall that enclosed the terrace, hands plunged deep into the pockets of white linen trousers. There was a slight breeze which ruffled his short-sleeved shirt, otherwise he might have been as stiff as one of the stone statues that decorated the patio.

‘Felipe, we must talk,’ she murmured behind him.

‘Must we?’ he drawled, not turning to face her. ‘From what I remember we didn’t do much of that before. We spent our time in bed, locked in each other’s arms.’

There was a step behind them and Gemma whirled, startled by the sudden intrusion into the bitter-sweet memories Felipe had evoked. Locked in each other’s arms. She had wanted to die there, wrapped around his body, his around hers. Drifting in and out of sleep and passion. Days and days of love and laughter and more love. Had she dreamed it all? Now, standing here on this tropical terrace, a million miles away from home, her lover’s implacable shoulders turned away from her, she imagined she had. She shivered with trepidation and watched Maria place a silver tray of food and drink down on one of the tables.

‘Felipe, you eat with Se?orita Soames?’

‘No, thank you, Maria. I’ll eat later. Bring me a brandy, though.’

Gemma’s mouth dropped open at the familiar exchange between the two. She waited till Maria laid out cutlery, salad and cold meats for her and when she stepped back into the villa Gemma spoke.

‘She called you Felipe…’

‘Why shouldn’t she? She’s known me most of my life.’ He turned to her then, coolly motioning her to sit and eat. ‘Starvation isn’t one of the punishments I have in mind for you——’

‘Will you stop this absurdity,’ Gemma burst out, ‘and will you tell me what all this is about? I came here to paint a portrait but so far I’ve received nothing but abuse.’ Her outburst did nothing to ease the scowl on his face. ‘You live here, don’t you?’ she breathed when he said nothing.

‘Some of the time, yes.’

Shocked, Gemma slumped into the nearest chair. The familiarity between him and Maria had spurred the question but actually hearing it verified didn’t make it any easier to accept, in fact it made it worse. She recalled he had an apartment in New York and another home in South America but because of his Colombian ancestry she had presumed his home was there, not here in Venezuela.

‘This…this isn’t the home of Agustªn Delgado de Navas?’ she husked. What cruelty! She’d had such expectations and now this rapier-like thrust to add more sorrow to what she had already suffered.

The smile he gave her did nothing to warm his harsh features and chilled Gemma to the marrow.

‘He lives here, of course. And you do have his portrait to paint, which no doubt answers your next question. It was my idea, in fact. I convinced Agustªn his portrait was necessary. It took some doing, I assure you. He has little time for such eccentricities, as he put it. The idea of a female portrait painter didn’t appeal to him much either.’

‘Great, that’s all I need,’ Gemma huffed, bitterness pushing aside her confusion. ‘You threatening revenge and torture and a chauvinist who doesn’t want his portrait painted. It’s nice to know you’re wanted!’

Felipe smiled cynically. ‘Oh, you are wanted, my love. The revenge and torture will have its moments of hedonism, I promise you. And don’t worry about Agustªn. I convinced him of your great artistic talent, but kept your others to myself. You have a number of talents, Gemma, bed being one of them, and rest assured I’ll put all of them to the test while you are here.’

‘You expect me to go to bed with you?’ she whispered in disbelief. Once his sexual honesty had excited her; now his presumptuousness struck hard and cold inside her.

‘I don’t expect it, I demand it, when and where I please.’ He took a step towards her and Gemma tensed as his hand smoothed down her cheek while she gazed up at him. Months ago that caress would have inflamed her senses instantly, but now it merely inflamed her anger. She jerked her head away from his touch.

‘Am I so abhorrent to you?’ He smiled, coldly. ‘Not for long, querida; lust like ours doesn’t dim with time. I’ll have you begging for it before I’ve finished with you.’

Maria stepped back on to the patio with Felipe’s brandy and Gemma stilled her fury till she had gone. Felipe sat down at the table across from her and swirled his brandy before swallowing it in a single draught.

Gemma forced a wan smile to her lips. ‘Needed that, did you? You’ll be a raging alcoholic before I’d consider begging you for the sex you think I so desperately need.’

A genuine smile slicked his face then. ‘This is the Gemma Soames I know nothing about—such biting hypocrisy. I like it. It makes a change from the simpering compliance I generally run up against in women.’ He shrugged his shoulders dismissively. ‘It makes no difference, just adds spice to an otherwise racing certainty.’

‘Well, I’d hedge your bets if I were you. I’m not the woman you seduced so easily six months ago——’

‘And it was easy, wasn’t it?’ he cut in cruelly.

Gemma steeled herself, and somehow found the strength to fight him his way—dirty. ‘Very,’ she parried. ‘It didn’t take much to get you into bed either, did it?’

His fists bunched on the wrought-iron arm of his chair and his eyes blazed angrily. ‘Don’t talk that way, like a whore!’

Gemma held his eyes, fighting the whiplash of the insult. Suddenly she wasn’t afraid of him any more, not afraid to hurt him either because this wasn’t the man she had loved so passionately and wouldn’t have dreamed of hurting for all the world six months ago. This man was a cruel, heartless stranger.

‘It’s all right for you to insult me, though, isn’t it?’ She sighed theatrically. ‘But of course this is South America, not St John’s Wood, and here women do as they’re told, so you tell me.’

‘Because they want to. They love their men enough to bow to their every wish.’

‘How very quaintly old-fashioned. The women’s movement would have a field day down here.’

‘They’d get nowhere.’

‘You’re probably right,’ sighed Gemma. ‘I’m not interested enough to argue with you.’

‘And your complacency was the reason you didn’t call me in New York?’ he accused bitingly.

There was a long pause before Gemma could answer. Surely that wasn’t what all this was about, a wretched phone call that was never made?

‘Did you really expect that I would?’ she answered bleakly. Had he honestly expected her to go running after him after what he had done to her?

‘I should have known. Your sort of women want it all one way—their own. You took what you wanted from me and cast me aside for the next acquisition. Many no doubt in the circles you mix in.’

There was no room for hurt when indignation rose in her throat. ‘Is that why you came to my exhibition, to pick up the sort of woman you expected would frequent such a place? I thought exhibitions were for the purpose of viewing art, not trawling for loose women. My mistake again, as everything seems to be my mistake where you are concerned.’

‘You haven’t eaten,’ he said, nodding to the food in front of her.

Very revealing, thought Gemma. Point out a few home truths and a change of subject is always worth a try.

She pushed the plate away. ‘After your brutality I have no appetite,’ she told him. ‘How’s Bianca, by the way?’ she asked sarcastically, adding her own slice of brutality, though it was hurting her more than him, she realised as soon as she said it.

His eyes pierced hers and a muscle at his jawline tightened threateningly. ‘She’s well and will be here next week, so you will see for yourself,’ he told her cruelly.

Can’t wait, Gemma murmured inwardly, and reached for the jug of orange juice Maria had left. She couldn’t eat—his cruelty drove hunger from herbut fluids were essential. The heat was making her feel very light-headed—or was it the thought that Bianca’s arriving next week was engineered by Felipe to add insult to the injury he was already inflicting on her?

‘Why did you bring me here?’ she asked after slaking her thirst.

‘Because I was bored with making love to you in my mind. I wanted you in the flesh. I couldn’t live another day without possessing you for real.’

Gemma gazed at him painfully. He made making love sound as if it only meant sex. Was that how he had seen their affair? He’d said a thousand times that he had loved her, and, gullible as she had been, she had believed him. Not now, though. He wanted to punish her, drive her to the edge of desire and then spurn her as he thought she had done to him and that was spiteful and cruel and was aeons away from the caring he had shown before.

‘To punish me, or for your own pleasure?’ she asked levelly.

‘Both. I hate myself as much as you for what happened in London.’ He smiled cynically at her. ‘Trouble is, I still desire you, and you know the best cure for an obsession, don’t you? Face it. Over and over again till you exorcise it from your life.’

‘You hate me that much,’ Gemma breathed sadly, ‘and all because I didn’t phone you?’ She drew in a ragged breath, still not able to fully understand. ‘Felipe, I didn’t call you because you walked out of my life as easily as you walked into it——’

‘I had reason to, but you didn’t give me a chance——’

‘Should I have done? The call came a week later! Why not sooner?’ She shook her head miserably. ‘I don’t know why I’m bothering arguing with you. It makes no difference now.’ She stood up and looked across at him. ‘I did love you, Felipe, and I thank you for bringing me here. You’ve exorcised any ghosts I had spooking around after you left me. If you want help to get me out of your system, go summon a psychiatrist; no way are you going to do it by taking me to bed, how and when you please.’

He stood up and faced her, anger darkening his face. ‘I might not need to stoop so low,’ he grated, ‘because I’m seeing you in a new light. What happened to the soft, sweet Gemma I fell in love with?’

‘She got hurt, Felipe. So now we both know how it feels.’ She tilted her chin defiantly. ‘You can’t hurt me any more than you already have. I dare say with your expertise you could tempt me into your bed, but for what? Sex, no more, no less. It could never be anything else for me, Felipe, never!’

How easily the lies slid from her tongue. Sex: it had never been just that, and it wouldn’t be if ever he did manipulate her into his bed again. She had truly loved him and yet now she wanted to hurt him as he was hurting her, and suddenly she didn’t care that she was cheapening herself in his eyes.

‘You talk like a bitch!’ he breathed.

‘If you say so, so be it,’ she conceded frostily, and turned away from him.

He didn’t follow her, and Gemma went straight back into the house the way she had come out, round the side of the villa to the front. There were tears of fury and pain in her eyes but she willed them away, at least till she got to her room. The house was blessedly cool, and, sweeping her hair from the heat of her face, she started to climb the stairs.

‘Señorita, you don’t like the food I prepare for you?’

Gemma swung round and looked down at the hurt expression in Maria’s eyes as she stood in the hallway. For a few seconds she was dazed by the statement and then she understood.

‘No, Maria, it wasn’t that. I’m just too hot and tired to eat at the moment. I’m sorry you went to the trouble.’

She wished she’d eaten, not for her own sake but Maria’s. It was mid-afternoon and probably the custom here, as in most hot countries, to take siesta. Maria had gone out of her way to prepare food for her when she should have been resting.

‘It’s no trouble. You eat with Felipe later, si?’

‘No!’ Her retort came too quickly and Maria frowned. Gemma smiled and softened her voice. ‘I want to rest and…and…’ And what? She needed space and time to think, that was what. Somehow she had to get out of this hateful predicament.

‘Si, I understand,’ grinned Maria. ‘Later I bring you food.’ She ambled away into the shadowy depths of a corridor. Relieved, Gemma ran up the rest of the stairs to her room.

She stripped off her clothes, showered, wrapped herself in a towel and slumped on the bed. Her head ached miserably from the heated exchange between her and Felipe. He’d said it all in that brief but painful altercation. This was a Gemma Soames he knew nothing about. But was it any wonder? Once she had been happy and carefree, but lately she had been morose and bitter, and it was all his fault.

How very little they did know of each other. They were familiar with each other’s bodies but that was all. She would never have believed him capable of such cruelty. The very idea of him bringing her here to make her suffer was quite astonishing. He believed she had rejected him, his Hispanic descent had taken that as a personal humiliation and now he was determined to humiliate her in return.

Gemma buried her face in the cool lace bedspread. She felt sick and weary and wished with all her heart she had listened to her mother and not taken this assignment.

When she finally raised herself out of a deep sleep it was dark. Amber candle lights glowed softly in wrought-iron fixtures on the wall. The fan above the bed whirred softly. For a second Gemma wasn’t sure where she was and then it all folded over her, a black cloud of depression.

She got up, splashed her face with water, and found her white satin robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, freshly ironed.

She slid into it and found that Maria had unpacked for her, ironed all her clothes and put them away.

‘You are awake,’ Maria said as she stepped softly into the room. ‘Felipe would like you to go down for dinner but he said not to worry if you have the lag jet.’

Such thoughtfulness from Felipe would have gone unnoticed before, but now it throbbed with suspicion. But maybe he’d had time to think how unreasonable he had been.

‘I feel a little better, Maria, but not enough to dress and go down for dinner. Is Se?or de Navas back yet?’

‘No, not for a few days yet,’ Maria told her, straightening the bedspread.

Pity, thought Gemma, she would have made the effort for him, her father. The thought didn’t excite her any more, just speared regret through her. She shouldn’t have come.

So she had a few days to kill before he came back. Under any other circumstances she would have welcomed the wait. It would give her the chance to fully recover from her ‘lag jet’ and emotionally prepare her for coming face to face with her real father. Now, with Felipe around to torment her, the waiting could be doubly insufferable. Depression washed over her in a fresh wave of despair.

‘Señorita…’ Maria started, but suddenly she became tongue-tied and a slight flush rose to her cheeks.

‘Please call me Gemma,’ Gemma said, trying to put her at her ease.

Maria smiled, ‘Gemma,’ she repeated, having difficulty with the soft G, and it came out as if she had something stuck in the back of her throat. ‘Felipe, he tell me why you are here…’

Gemma froze, her hand suspended over her head as she was brushing her hair. Surely he hadn’t confided in the housekeeper, told her they had been lovers and the reason he had engineered this commission?

‘Is my daughter, Christina. She love the Americano and he one day go back home and maybe he take my daughter with him…she is all I have. Maybe…you have time to do a…to do a small picture…’ Suddenly she shook her head. ‘No, I should not ask…’

Gemma grinned, half with relief, half with pleasure. ‘Oh, Maria, you want me to paint your daughter?’

Maria shook her head again, twisted her hands in front of her. ‘I should not ask…’

‘I’d love to do it,’ Gemma laughed with relief. It was a marvellous idea. It would keep her occupied and soothe her ravaged thoughts and how could she refuse such a heart-rending request?

‘I pay,’ Maria smiled, relief flooding her motherly features.

‘You won’t!’ Gemma protested. ‘It will be a gift from me to you. It will be a pleasure to do it,’ she told the woman, lightly squeezing her arm to prove she meant it.

Flushed with pleasure Maria turned away and stopped at the door. ‘I bring you food. You must eat and I tell Christina. She will be much excited.’

Gemma finished brushing her hair and wished she could brush away the depression with it. Well, at least, that was one problem solved—what to do with herself while she waited for Agustªn de Navas. Would Felipe mind? She presumed that Maria’s daughter also worked here but there was no reason why the girl couldn’t sit for her in her spare time. But what had it to do with Felipe anyway—this was Agustªn’s home, wasn’t it? But Felipe lived here and Maria addressed him as if he was the head of the household in Agustªn’s absence.

She frowned in bewilderment as she lay her brush down on the dressing table. Why did Felipe live here anyway? True, only some of the time, but he was here now, none the less. She knew he had something to do with finance in the oil-field sector. Was he an adviser to her father…to Agustªn? The remoteness of the sprawling hacienda would warrant a long stay if Agustªn operated his empire from home. But that was only a presumption. The truth she longed to know but would it make any difference to the terrible predicament she found herself in?

The blackness outside her bedroom window gave no answers as she stared bleakly out, holding back the drapes with one hand. Strange how life twisted and turned, forever catching you unawares. She had come out here with trepidation in her heart at the thought of coming face to face with the man who was her father. Now that trepidation was for another man, her one-time lover, Felipe Santos. The fear of what he had in mind for her now outweighed the apprehension she felt at meeting Agustªn de Navas.

‘I’m sorry you don’t feel well enough to join me downstairs for dinner. The mountain comes to Mahomet, as you probably intended.’

His voice was raw with sarcasm and Gemma swung to face him.

‘That wasn’t the intention.’ She scowled as he put a tray of food down on one of the sideboards. ‘I’m not playing games as you suppose. I could hardly anticipate your doing such a menial task as bringing my dinner up, could I?’

‘Nothing surprises me about you. You’re sharp enough to realise that I would be annoyed by your stubbornness and not let it pass.’

‘I was under the impression I had a choice—to join you downstairs or to eat in my room,’ Gemma retorted. ‘In fact, I thought how considerate you were to think I might be suffering from jet lag. How wrong I was.’

‘Are you suffering from the after-effects of your long journey?’ He smiled coldly, his deep-set eyes sweeping over the provocative white satin of her robe.

Gemma stood her ground, not rising to the giveaway action of tightening it around her in an attempt at propriety. He knew what lay beneath it well enough.

‘Aren’t I allowed even that small weakness?’ she asked bitterly.

‘Only if I’m allowed one too.’

Because she wasn’t expecting it, her body wasn’t geared for defence. His hand shot out and slid round her waist and in one swift thrust she was hauled hard against him. His mouth was hot on hers, hot, demanding and deadly in the instant desire it sprang in her. His tongue eased past her lips, grazed heatedly over the soft inner skin of her lips, numbing her senses to why he was doing this.

A noise came from his throat, animal-like, predatory, uncontrollable. It was one she recognised and had always thrilled to in the past. An admission from him that the power of his love demanded her complete surrender, here and now and with an urgency that left her breathless. She had always matched his eagerness with a depth of desire that never ceased to arouse him to the limits of his endurance.

It was happening now, that turbulent flush of emotions coursing through her that had her aching so intensely for his penetration. His hand now sliding over the soft satin, now kneading her flesh beneath it till the white heat of desire scorched every negative pulse under her skin as if a virulent flame had flashfired over her body.

Her mind spun with the depth of the need, and so intense was it that she couldn’t register that this was just a punishment, his revenge, his torment. His hands, burning now, hard with intention, thrust beyond the thin fabric, scored across her breasts, drawing a deep gasp from Gemma’s throat.

He held her breast fiercely to guide her aroused nipple to his mouth, drew deeply on it as if he was sampling some rare, sweet wine and wanted to savour the very last drop.

Gemma’s hands flew to his hair, twisting the familiar springy silken coils in her fevered fingers, holding him against her for fear of losing him again.

But he was lost, her tormented senses reasoned. He hated her. Believed she had wronged him and not the other way around. This was the torment he had promised her. But surely he must be in pain too? Surely this wasn’t an act put on for the purpose of revenge? He needed her, desperately. The hardness of his body thrusting against the heat of her own, the breath quickening in his throat, his moist mouth so possessive and demanding on her breasts, couldn’t be faked.

And then it was all over, the desire swept away on a swirling current of painful memories of betrayal. Their thoughts and reasoning coupled as their bodies weren’t going to be allowed to.

They both drew back from each other at the same instant and their glazed eyes locked painfully.

‘Hardly the way I had anticipated it ending,’ he grated harshly, pulling her robe around her and tightening the belt viciously.

Gemma clasped her shoulders and hugged herself for some sort of comfort. Her body trembled under the satin, not with desire but with the shock of the cold cessation of his embrace.

‘I…I thought that was the whole point of the exercise,’ Gemma whispered in a voice roughened by the intensity of her confused feelings. She knew in that moment that she wanted him as much as she ever had, not a need fuelled by just wanting his body but a need fuelled by love. She hadn’t been wrong about her feelings for him and a week had been long enough to prove that it was real. Her love was all still there, badly tarnished by his cruelty, but nevertheless there, deep in her heart. The confusion came for him. Didn’t he realise that too, that they had had something special and that whatever had passed could be resolved?

‘You’d better eat before your food gets cold,’ he said brittly, turning away from her and stopping at the door.

It wasn’t what she wanted to hear, this abrupt change of subject once again. She wanted him to tackle her, she wanted a blazing row because sometimes good came out of such furious confrontations. But he had stopped and he was facing her and he had something more to say. She held her breath, absurdly anticipating and wishing something harsh and cruel to come from his beautiful mouth, an insult she could match and thrust back at him to start the ball rolling.

‘Tomorrow, after you are fully rested, I’ll show you over the rest of the hacienda. You’ll find enough to occupy yourself with till Agustªn returns.’

‘I already have something to do,’ she blurted, ridiculously hoping that he would object to her intermediary commission and so start the row she so longed for. ‘Maria asked me if I would do a painting of Christina for her.’

Her heart raced as his brow darkened. ‘She shouldn’t have done that,’ he said tightly. ‘I’ll have a word with her.’

‘No!’ Gemma cried, clenching her fists at her side. That hadn’t been her intention, to get Maria into trouble. She’d handled it all wrong and now Maria was going to be on the receiving end of his wrath, not her.

His eyes narrowed at her protest and his fingers whitened on the edge of the door.

‘No,’ Gemma repeated. ‘She was hesitant about asking me, said she shouldn’t have, but Christina is all she has and…and she wanted something to remember her by if…if one day she decided to go away.’

She didn’t mention Mike. He might not know that Agustªn’s pilot was in love with Maria’s daughter. She was walking a tightrope for Maria as it was.

‘She kindly offered to pay, but I said I would do it for nothing. It will keep me busy while I’m waiting. I don’t know what Christina’s position is in the household, but I promise I won’t let it interfere with her duties.’

Suddenly she didn’t want the row she had been needling for. It had all gone wrong and he wasn’t angry with her any more but with Maria, and that wasn’t fair.

‘She has enough spare time, so I don’t think it will be a problem,’ he said quietly, and relief flooded Gemma. ‘At least it will keep you out of my hair,’ he added brutally. ‘Give you time to reflect on what nearly happened in this room tonight. Don’t think for a minute that I’ve eased up on you, Gemma. Making love to you tonight doesn’t fit into my plans. But when I’m good and ready for you, you’ll know. I’ll have you hammering on my bedroom door before very long.’

All hope faded and Gemma tensed the body that only minutes before had melted in his arms like butter in the sun.

‘Sure you will,’ she conceded, braving a cynical smile. ‘I’ll be hammering on your door with a feather and I won’t have to do it twice, will I? Because you’ll be waiting eagerly enough, and you won’t have torment on your mind, will you?’

She thought that his rage would burst out and he’d murder her there and then and put them both out of their misery. His face darkened thunderously, his grip tightened so fiercely on the door that she feared he’d rip it from its iron brackets. But this was a new Felipe, one she was so terribly unsure of, one who didn’t do what she expected of him.

‘Sleep well, querida,’ he said, controlled and immobile now. ‘Think on what I have said and prepare yourself for the onslaught. It’s not a threat but a promise.’

He closed the door infuriatingly softly behind him and Gemma stemmed a cry of frustration in her throat.