Desperate Measures (5 page)

married, but he had discarded the jacket and silk tie, and unbuttoned his waistcoat.

'What are you doing here?' Her voice was husky with

embarrassment as she looked round vainly for a robe, or some other

covering to shield her from the totally arrested expression in his green eyes. 'What do you want? It's late.'

He said slowly, 'I came to wish you goodnight.'

'Well, now you've said it, perhaps you'll go.' Her tone was curt,

and his dark brows lifted in surprise and hauteur.

'I also brought some champagne to drink to our future.' He

indicated the ice bucket and glasses waiting on a convenient table.

'I don't think that's necessary.'

'But it's traditional—for a wedding night.'

'But it isn't—not really—I mean, we're not...' Philippa ground to a

halt, her flush deepening. 'Oh, you know what I mean.'

Alain poured wine into the glasses and held one out to her. 'I am

not sure that I do.'

She took the glass, holding it awkwardly. 'You said that you'd—

wait,' she reminded him, her voice trembling a little. 'That you'd give me time to—accustom myself.'

He drank some champagne, watching her meditatively over the

rim of the glass. 'But how much time, my reluctant bride? This year,

next year, some time—or never, perhaps?'

Philippa flicked her tongue round her dry lips. The small nervous

movement was not lost on him, she realised, her nerves grating. 'I'll keep my word—when it becomes necessary. But not yet.'

'And if I told you that it is necessary now— tonight?'

'Then I wouldn't believe you.' Still holding her untouched glass,

she took a step backwards. 'Please stop saying these things, and leave me in peace as you promised.' She paused, gathering her courage.

'Besides, you're obviously expected elsewhere.'

His dark brows snapped together. 'What is that supposed to

mean?'

'It means I'd be grateful if you'd ask your mistresses not to

telephone you here.' Philippa lifted her chin. 'Perhaps you should have warned the lady in question that you're now, nominally, a married

man. Get her to ring you at your offices from now on. I'm sure your

secretary is used to dealing with such calls.'

There was a long and ominous silence. When he spoke, his voice

was like ice. 'How dare you speak to me like that?'

'And how dare you expect me to act as go-between with your

women?' Philippa spoke defiantly, but she felt frightened suddenly,

wishing she hadn't mentioned it quite so precipitately. But she couldn't retract what she'd said now. 'Anyway, she's clearly waiting for you, so I wouldn't waste any more time.'

'When I want your advice on how to conduct my personal life,

ma femme, I will ask for it.' There was a tiny muscle jumping beside

his grim mouth. 'However, I have no intention of spending the night

anywhere but here.'

There was another profound silence. Philippa swallowed. 'When

you say "here",' she began. I hope you don't mean...'

He gave her a brief hard smile. 'I mean exactly what you think,

ma belle.'

'No—oh, no!' She took another dismayed step away from him.

'You promised me...'

'Listen to me,' he said harshly. 'My first task when I left you

earlier was to inform my uncle of our marriage. When he had

managed to overcome his chagrin a little, he insisted that we dine

with him tomorrow evening—so that he and his family may meet you,

Philippa.' He shrugged. 'I could hardly refuse.'

'But he can't do that!' She gave him an imploring look. 'Please—

you've got to put him off. It's too soon—I'm not ready to face anyone yet.'

'Exactly the point I am trying to make,' Alain drawled. 'They are

expecting, my uncle, my aunt and my cousin Sidonie, to meet my

loving and loved wife, not some frightened shrinking virgin. So we will need

to present them with a normal marriage, not a pretence a child

could see through. You begin now to see the necessity, perhaps?'

'No,' she said hoarsely. 'No, I don't. I can't meet them yet. You'll

have to think of some excuse.'

'Au contraire,' Alain said quite gently, and put down his glass.

The green eyes swept over her, making her feel, terrifyingly, as if the concealing satin no longer existed. 'I think I shall have to see what I can do to—persuade you.'

'Get out of my room.' Her voice cracked. 'Don't come near me—

or I'll scream the place down!'

'Vraiment?' His brows lifted mockingly. 'And who do you imagine

will hear you—or care? The Giscards are far too well trained to

interfere.'

'You—bastard!'

'Calling me names will change nothing. We have a bargain, you

and I. On my side at least it has been generously fulfilled, and will continue to be so, as long as I receive equal—generosity from you, ma chere.' He beckoned. 'Now, come here to me.'

'I'll see you in hell first! You gave your word—and you lied to

me.' Panic was pounding in her chest, almost closing her throat. 'You can't do this! You don't even want me...'

'What,' Alain said softly, 'do you know of desire,
petite

innocente
?

'I know I don't want you.'

The words hung in the air between them. He gave her a long,

considering look, then, without haste shrugged off his waistcoat and

let it drop to the floor before beginning to unfasten the buttons of his shirt.

His lithe, muscular body was deeply tanned, his chest darkly

shadowed with hair. Philippa watched

him, petrified, hardly able to breathe as he began to unbuckle

his belt. She'd seen men naked before in the life classes at art school, but Alain—this stranger she'd married—stripping in front of her like

this was shockingly different.

He looked deep into the confusion in her hazel eyes. He said

gently, almost mockingly, 'Shall I make you beg me to take you?'

She gave a cry like a small hunted animal, and threw the wine

she was holding straight in his face.

He was very still for a moment, then he picked up his discarded

shirt and dried the moisture from his face and chest, his eyes never

leaving hers.

He said quietly, 'You should have more respect for good wine,

ma belle. And more respect for me, also. I see I shall have to teach

you.'

The glass dropped from her shaking hand and rolled away on the

thick carpet as he came towards her. He took her by the shoulders and pulled her towards him, his fingers hard on her flesh, brooking no

resistance. Then his mouth closed ruthlessly on hers.

When he'd kissed her before, he had been gentle. There'd been

nothing to prepare her for this— onslaught. She tried to move her

head, to escape from the suffocating pressure, but he would not allow that. One lean hand lifted to tangle in her hair and hold her still, while his kiss deepened, inevitably, inexorably.

He parted her lips with his, allowing his tongue to invade her

mouth with devastating sensuality, plundering her warmth and

sweetness with insolent mastery.

There was no point in fighting him—in struggling, Philippa

realised from some whirling, fainting corner

of her mind. He was too experienced, and more significantly, too

determined. She was made aware once more of his physical power,

the sheer muscularity of his body.

And her shocked consciousness told her that in these first brief

moments, he was demonstrating to her with swift and frightening

emphasis what passion could mean, and what other demands might

be made of her before the night was over.

The heat of his hard body scorched through her thin nightgown,

and even as she stiffened in helpless outrage she felt his other hand stroke down her body from the point of one shoulder to the curve of

her hip, lingering on the way to shape her small, pointed breast in his palm.

She was not prepared for that, or for her body's shaken, helpless

reaction to the first intimate caress it had ever received. She might hate him for what he was doing to her, but she couldn't control the

hardening of her nipple under the subtle play of his fingers, or the swift onrush of moist heat through her whole body.

Then, his mouth still locked to hers, he lifted her and carried her

to the bed. He placed her on the cool linen sheet and lay beside her.

He stroked her cheek, turning her to face him so that he could kiss her again, slowly and explicitly, his hand travelling unhurriedly from her excited, tumescent breasts to explore with tantalising precision the

exposed length of her silken thigh through the deep side-slit of her

gown.

When he lifted himself away from her, she thought for one

moment of agonised hope that he had relented, only to realise in the

next second that he was simply

removing the rest of his clothing. She turned away with a gasp

to bury her heated face in the pillow.

She felt the slight dip of the mattress as he came to lie beside

her again, and her whole body tensed, fear quivering through her, as

his hand touched her shoulder.

'Relax,' he whispered. 'I'm not going to hurt you.'

'Another promise?' Philippa demanded bitterly, keeping her back

rigidly turned to him.

'One I intend to keep.' His mouth touched the nape of her neck,

blowing away the soft strands of hair to bare her skin for his caress. A shudder that had nothing to do with revulsion ran through her body.

She was not proof against this, she thought wretchedly, yet she

had to be if she was to retain the least element of her self-respect.

He'd lied to her, broken a solemn promise, and she could not

forgive him for that. If he wanted her, he would have to take her, she told herself bravely. Because she would not give, no matter what it

might cost her.

When his hand began to slide the hem of her nightgown up

towards her thigh, she stopped him with a little cry.

'Don't!'

'Then take it off for me.'

'No!'

'What is the problem?' Although she wasn't looking at him, she

could hear the smile in his voice. 'You have some deformity that

you've been keeping from me, mignonne?

'You know quite well I haven't,' she said bitterly.

'How can I know?' he said. 'When I have only uncovered your

body in my imagination—until now.'

Philippa, quivering with shame and indignation, found her

nightgown deftly drawn over her head, and discarded on the floor

beside the bed.

'Oh, God,' she said, half sobbing. 'At least put out

the light.'

'No.' Gently but implacably he turned her to face him again. 'I

want to see what my money has bought me.'

She closed her eyes, sinking her teeth into her lower lip as she

endured his lingering scrutiny.

'What are you so afraid of?' he asked at last.

'I'm not afraid. I—I'm disgusted. I thought I could trust you, but

you lied to me.'

He laughed softly. 'And now I'm going to lie with you, my little

one. Why don't you stop fighting me in that stubborn mind of yours,

and learn a little about yourself? Who knows? You might get a pleasant surprise.'

'Being betrayed and degraded hardly features on my list of

enjoyable experiences,' she said raggedly.

'So you find my presence here with you a degradation.' His voice

held a sudden chill. 'My profound regrets, madame. But it changes

nothing. You can behave as childishly as you wish, but tonight you are going to learn what it means to be a woman. You might find it easier if you made a conscious effort to stop hating me,' he added drily.

'Never!' she said fiercely. 'I won't forgive you for this!'

His teeth glinted in a brief, unamused smile.
'Tant pis
,' he said, and began to kiss her again, his lips warmly, deliberately arousing as they moved on hers, then down the long line of her slender throat to

her breasts.

The touch of his mouth, the stroke of his tongue against her

flesh was a revelation—a pleasure that was almost pain.

I can't stand this, Philippa thought, as his lips delicately

encircled each throbbing nipple in turn.

'Don't,' she said hoarsely. 'Just—do whatever it is you're going to

do, then leave me in peace.'

'In my own good time,
mignonne
.' Alain's fingers feathered

against her rounded thighs and lingered with persuasive purpose.

'Couldn't you defy your stern principles and meet me halfway?'

There was a new, almost disarming warmth in his voice. Philippa

found herself shivering suddenly, tempted beyond all bearing to yield, to let him lead her down whatever sensuous path he wanted.

Her lashes lifted slowly, and she looked into the dark face so

close to her own, registering just in time the flicker of amused triumph in the green eyes as he recognised her inner struggle.

It was the expression of a man, she thought dazedly, who was

used to succeeding with women. The arrogant seducer who did not

intend to fail with his— bargain basement bride.

She brought up her hand and slapped him across the face as

hard as she could.

His head jerked back almost incredulously, then he swore under

his breath, and his hands came down hard on her shoulders, pinning

her to the bed.

She began to fight him in earnest then, her body struggling to

be free of the weight of his, her hands flailing at him, nails clawing at his shoulders and chest.

He snatched at her wrists, pinioning them above her head, with