Substitute Bride (17 page)

She seemed to hit the peak of bitter humiliation when Rick's caressing hands soon had her turning back to him, her senses swimming, every inclination to struggle forgotten.

'Have you finished fighting me?' he muttered thickly, pushing her back against the pilows so he could see her face.

pushing her back against the pilows so he could see her face.

Emma found she couldn't answer. He was leaning on one elbow, staring at her, making her heart race so madly she didn't think she could have spoken coherently if she'd tried.

Rick hadn't put on the light, but the moon shining in through the window was more than sufficient. Through dazed eyes she saw the broad strength of his shoulders, the powerful lines of his waist and thighs. Her cheeks went hot, but her eyes lingered in wonder as she realised he had nothing on.

She had never been as close to a man before, but all men, she knew, wouldn't be like this. She tried to be angry with herself that an awakening delight in his undoubted masculinity was rapidly replacing a sense of shame. How could she even begin to feel this way when as soon as he could Rick would be getting rid of her? She loved him, but she mustn't use this as an excuse for surrendering herself so easily. Yet what else could she do? What else did she realy want to do? Might not this be all she would ever have to remember? That once she had actualy appealed to him so much he had wanted her?

With a sigh, she nodded weakly to his query, letting her arms creep eagerly around his neck. When he muttered hoarsely, 'I hope I don't disappoint you,' she tried not to think of how different it might have been if instead he had whispered words of love. Then such a coming together could only have held sheer joy.

Yet when his mouth began moving insistently over hers, the renewed, frantic beat of her heart and racing pulse stifled any more regrets. As her lips parted and she clung to him, she shivered as she felt his passion growing. He wasn't treating her as a novice. Dimly she understood that he expected to find her almost as experienced as himself, and having had no experience at al, Emma could only let her senses guide her. These, however, seemed swiftly to let her down. Soon she was twisting and gasping in his arms, apprehension mixing with excitement to such a degree it appeared to be removing any pleasure. Nevertheless, although she scarcely knew what she was doing, she couldn't seem to get close enough to the man who was so frightening her.

His broad chest hurt, but when she tried to protest he punished her by letting her feel the full weight of his thighs over hers, before he moved in to take total possession. She was crushed and crying out, rent with pain—yet transported, was it seconds or minutes later? to unknown heights.

Enmeshed by her own emotions, she was battered by the strength of Rick's hard, male body, his harsh rasping breath.

She was fleeing from yet racing towards incredulous delight, then clinging to him while trying to push him away. She was terrified to grasp what was within her reach, but unable to prevent herself—in the final outcome, from being utterly consumed by the ultimate rapture.

Afterwards, Emma was aware only of a curious exhaustion. The fires which had consumed her were still smouldering but slowly dying down, leaving her with a sensation which was far from unpleasant—which normaly, she suspected, would have left her on the brink of sleep, in the arms of her lover. She was therefore confused to find herself sobbing.

It must, she thought, her hot cheeks growing cold with unhappiness, be Rick's heavy silence which was affecting her so. It seemed to condemn her in a way she failed to understand. Obviously she had failed to please him and he wasn't prepared to make any alowance for her lack of experience. Of course, she reminded herself, he thought she had been around, so no doubt he believed she had been deliberately reticent with him. Unable to even guess the depth of her own response, she imagined he had a legitimate cause for complaint, and her sense of misery increased when he didn't speak. She was desolate that he should be considering the delight she imagined they had shared in such stony silence.

Feeling suddenly il, she slipped blindly from the bed.

Stumbling franticaly towards the bathroom, she was startled but strangely unheeding to find herself immediately lifted in Rick's arms and carried there.

'Be quiet,' he commanded tersely as she tried to protest.

Through eyes bright with tears, she noticed irrationaly his face was white.

Later he carried her back to bed again and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. Surprised at how gentle his hands could be, she wanted to thank him, but the gratitude in her eyes was hidden by eyelids suddenly too heavy to raise and her voice was somehow non-existent. Reaction, now fast setting in, caused her to lie still and pale, completely unresistant as Rick covered her with a light sheet. Again he was gentle. Briefly she fancied his hand trembled as he brushed a loose strand of hair from off her hot forehead. His touch was so tender that she turned her mouth blindly into his palm as he caressed her cheek. But just as she tried to whisper how much she loved him, she fell asleep.

He was gone next morning when she woke. Lying in a kind of daze, she thought of him, trying to put together, like pieces of a jigsaw, a dear picture of everything that had happened. Needless to say she failed. Much of the puzzle, no matter how hard she tried, just wouldn't fall into place.

The last half hour, before sleep had overtaken her, Emma found easiest to recall—perhaps because her mind shied nervously away from everything else. Surely Rick couldn't hate her too much, for hadn't he taken care of her as compassionately as any woman? His face had been grim, his eyes bleak, but he hadn't been obviously disgusted at the way she had trembled and shivered, and been unable to help way she had trembled and shivered, and been unable to help herself in the bathroom. He had done everything for her that she hadn't been able to do for herself, and she didn't think she had thanked him. If only he had been here now, she might have thought of a way.

Her cheeks hot, she turned to bury her face briefly in her pilow. This was Rick's bed and she suddenly knew she wanted to stay in it. When he had invited her to, she had refused, but when she saw him she would tell him she had changed her mind. This morning it might be possible to tell him a lot of things she had felt reluctant to even mention last night.

Trembling, she recaled how he had made love to her, yet still found it impossible to recapture one perfectly lucid moment. The electricity that existed between them had leapt without restraint, as if along bare wires. Emma doubted if either of them could have prevented what had happened. It had been so fierce it had seemed to take the last of Rick's control.

She thought she remembered exactly when he lost it, the moment when his arms had tightened savagely and she had gasped against the increasing pressure of his mouth.

Feverishly now she wished she could recall the whole of it, but certain parts of the night were still shrouded in a peculiar darkness.

By the time she had showered and dressed Rick still hadn't come, as she had half expected he would to see what she was doing. Thinking he must be busy in his office and forgotten how late it was, she went downstairs in search of him. Finding him neither in the office or the dining-room, she ran along to the kitchen where Josephine told her he had gone out.

'Boss always busy on Lusanda,' she triled, glancing curiously at Emma's stricken face as she prepared the young mistress some fresh coffee.

Belasco walked in, almost ready, from the look of him to leave for Barbados. 'Just in time to say goodbye, little missus,' he grinned.

Little—missus? Emma stared at him sharply. He hadn't caled her that since the day he had met her, when she had stepped off the plane. 'Have you seen Rick?' she asked, disregarding Josephine's eloquent eyes.

'Boss on the other side of the island,' Belasco replied, the expression on his face making her heart suddenly sink.

Stubbornly, Emma kept a bright smile fixed on her face.

'I'll have my breakfast and then see if I can find him.'

'He isn't in a good mood this morning,' Belasco said carefuly. Emma felt he was trying to warn her of something.

'Better wait here until he gets back, this evening.'

Emma was aware of the coldness of shock moving slowly through her. So it was to be exactly as it had been on Barbados?, There, the only time she had seen Rick was at dinner. Unless Belasco was mistaken. Perhaps it didn't do to be too hasty. Rick couldn't have forgotten what had taken place between them so quickly. A man, she knew, had his work to do, but on this one morning, surely, Rick wouldn't put work before everything else?

Yet for all her brief optimism there was no real hope in her heart as she said goodbye to Belasco and tried to eat some of the appetising breakfast which Josephine cooked for her. And for the remainder of the day, as she waited in vain for Rick, her heart grew heavier. What a fool she had been to imagine he cared! Hadn't he warned her he was only interested in one thing and, in her case, it was merely because he believed she had been having affairs with other men.

Maybe it was a good thing he had gone. At least it had given her time to think—otherwise she might have foolishly confessed that she loved him.

She lay on the beach, but felt too listless to swim. After lunch she went upstairs and sat on the bed, but that led her to wonder what Rick would think if he was to return unexpectedly and find her there. Did she realy want to look like a slave girl waiting for her master? Flushing at her own stupidity, she went down to the beach again and because of her aching head lay down under one of the numerous palm trees, where she eventualy fell asleep.

Later she stirred herself and went back to the house to change for dinner. She wore a pale silky dress in which she looked beautiful, although she hurried more than usual so as to be downstairs before Rick arrived. If he did come.

Perhaps he had gone with Belasco and she would be none the wiser until he sent a message from Barbados?

When he walked in, half an hour later, she was leafing through the same magazine for the umpteenth time and beginning to feel sick with worry. She tried to smile, but her face felt stiff. Her must have entered the house the back way, as she often did herself, and had obviously showered and changed. Emma didn't alow her glance to linger more than seconds on the wel-fitting black pants, tightly belted to lean, powerful hips. Her breath catching, she remembered how they had felt moving against her and hastily raised her eyes higher, to his cool, open-necked shirt.

'Have you had a good day?' she managed, rather acidly, as he nodded in brief acknowledgement to her travesty of a smile and went to pour himself a drink.

'Not realy,' he replied, tautly she thought, as if Belasco's dry observation had been correct and he was definitely in a bad mood. As she frowned over this, she heard him say,

'And you?'

'Belasco left,' she replied duly, 'and I went down to the beach.' Flushing painfuly, because even now she could scarcely bring herself to look at him calmly, she added,

'There seemed nothing else to do.'

Glancing at her quickly, Rick threw back his whisky in one go, pouring himself another. 'You sound bored?'

When she didn't reply, he glanced at her sharply again and appeared to remember he hadn't offered her anything.

When she declined a dry sherry he didn't persist, but his mouth tightened as she shook her head.

Emma knew it must seem as if she was acting childishly, but she feared a drink might give her the kind of courage she could well do without. Whatever happened, she mustn't risk a repetition of last night, not when Rick obviously despised her. Why should he think she was bored? Was he offering her an excuse to leave the island? Wel, he could go and jump in the lagoon! she thought rebeliously. She liked St Lusanda and she was staying!

Her small face mutinously set, she assured him she was never bored. 'I told you I like it here,' she said, doing her best to meet his dark, watchful eyes, so he would know she meant it.

To her surprise he drew a deep breath and offered, almost lightly, 'Tomorrow, if you like, I'll take you sailing. We can take our lunch and relax, I believe it might do us both good.'

What was he playing at, or who with? Emma had no wish to be mouse to his cat. She distrusted the almost eager glint in his eyes. It confused her as much as the hint of anxiety when she hesitated. 'Won't you be too busy to spare the time?' she asked stiffly.

He frowned, his face paling, a muscle twitching at the side of his mouth. 'Maybe I deserved that,' he muttered grimly,

'but I had a lot to think about today. It—it hasn't been easy.'

As she had never heard his decisive voice falter before, Emma's eyes widened. For no reason she could think of, hot colour flooded her cheeks, and because it embarrassed her, she found herself persisting irrationaly, 'Should you be wasting time going sailing?'

'Do you know,' he teased, some of the brief tension leaving his face, 'you're beginning to sound like a nagging wife already!'

Her eyes puzzled, she gazed back at him. He was suddenly smiling and talking quite naturaly, if with a hint of forced determination which she couldn't quite fathom. He was like a man who had set himself a course and was doing his best to stick to it, regardless of his deeper inclinations.

Yet when intuitively she sensed he was begging her to meet him halfway, she dismissed it as nonsense. Hadn't that been her trouble all along? Wasn't she forever imagining he was changing towards her? Men like Rick Conway were too arrogant to beg. In her case, probably all he was after was a kind of unarmed truce until they parted. Knowing this, Emma felt a great reluctance to spend the next day with him. He was a man who never missed a thing, and she might so easily betray her love.

It seemed less than sensible, after working this all out, to find herself agreeing to go with him, without further argument.

Her only consolation lay in the fact that she managed to speak cooly.

She also managed to listen cooly, when he spent the next hour discussing where they might go and what they might do.

For the rest of the evening he bewildered her greatly, for while he made no attempt to touch her he rarely removed his eyes from her strained young face. After making every decision possible about the proposed trip, he took her in to dinner, during which he told her twice she looked beautiful—

and in such a way that she found it difficult to believe he wasn't sincere. Afterwards he surprised her even more by playing her favourite records and talking to her at length about Canada.

It might have been a perfect evening if he had come up to bed with her. This Emma admitted to herself with burning cheeks. But at eleven he merely noted that if they were to make an early start it was time girls of her age retired. He said he had work to do and would be up later, but although she lay for a long time in the bed they shared, waiting and wondering, he never came. When she woke in the morning there was no imprint of his head on the other pilows, and she wondered if he had slept downstairs or if he had continued working throughout the night.

If Rick had worked all night he looked remarkably fit when she met him downstairs for breakfast. For a moment she panicked at the sight of him. He was clad only in a faded blue denim shirt and matching shorts, and she felt herself responding almost helplessly to a sense of shared sensuality.

For a bewildering moment she knew a practicaly irresistible longing to be in his arms and had to turn away before he guessed at the emotions which threatened to tear her apart. It didn't help, somehow, that when she regained control and turned back to him, his eyes, when they met hers, appeared to be smouldering.

As they set off across the bay, Emma wondered why she had worried so much about the trip. They were not alone.

The young man who had been Belasco's assistant was with them and although he kept at a discreet distance she was always conscious of his presence.

'Why did you bring him?' she asked Rick impulsively.

'For the ride,' he replied tightly, but as she shrank from him he controled his anger. 'I'm sorry, Emma.'

Not at all enlightened, she glanced at him, frowning, noting suddenly the lines of strain around his mouth and eyes.

'Didn't you get any sleep at all last night? I listened, but I never heard you come upstairs.'

Flushing hotly, she regretted her impulsive tongue when she saw his eyes darken with a renewed flicker of the flame which had unnerved her earlier. But he merely said, 'There was too much to do.'

'Doesn't your overseer do most of it?' Thoughtfuly Emma studied the blue horizon. 'He caled at the house a few days ago and had coffee with me. He seems a very nice and efficient young man.'

'You didn't mention that,' Rick said curtly.

'I must have forgotten,' she replied uncertainly.

His voice hardened. 'Wel… next time he cals you aren't at home. Not that he will be caling again!' he added, with cold emphasis.

Unhappily Emma bit her full bottom lip to stop it trembling, but was unable to do anything about the sudden tears in her eyes. 'You'll never learn to trust me, will you, Rick?'