Don't Hurt Me (18 page)

  
He was watching her intently, his
eyes fixed on her averted profile. ‘What goes on inside that corkscrew mind of
yours, Julia? Why don’t you talk to me? We’ve been married four months and I
still don’t know what you want.’

  
‘What I want?’ she echoed blankly,
turning to stare at him.

  
Marshall looked down into his
whisky, the jagged scar on his face almost invisible at that angle. There was
an unsteady note in his voice. ‘I realised early on that you didn’t want me in
your bed. But I thought in time ... ’ He stopped abruptly and took a sip of
whisky, shrugging. ‘You can hardly blame me for keeping my distance.’

  
Drawing a sharp inward breath,
Julia had to bite her lips to prevent herself from exploding with anger. So she
was the one to blame for this terrible chasm between them? Marshall was right;
he had absolutely no idea what was going on inside her head. She would have
slept with him in an instant if she had thought he loved her!

  
Her desire for him was
all-consuming, she thought, every turn of that dark head igniting her pulses.
But to sleep with him as a poor substitute for Sasha would destroy her
self-respect. When she had stood next to him on their wedding day, she had
secretly hoped his feelings would turn into love once they were living together
as man and wife. It had been a false hope though. All she could expect from
this marriage was pain, and the bitter knowledge that she was throwing away her
passion on a man who barely noticed her from one day to the next.

  
Now Marshall was trying to blame
her
for this breakdown in
communications. To pretend he wanted her, when it was obvious that Sasha was
the only woman he cared about. Her hands clenched into fierce little fists at
her side.

  
‘If that’s how you feel,’ she said
tightly, ‘why aren’t you with Sasha tonight? She wouldn’t turn you away from
her bed.’

  
‘Damn Sasha!’ he shouted, slamming
his whisky glass down on the table so forcibly that it cracked. Standing up and
crossing the room towards her in one smooth movement, that hard body lithe as a
panther’s, Marshall caught her by the shoulders and spun her to face him.
Ignoring her struggle to escape, he leant towards her, his face dark with
frustration. ‘Why are you so blindly stubborn? I didn’t marry you simply so
that Victoria could have a mother. If that was the case, any woman would have
done as well.’

  
‘Why did you marry me then?’

  
His eyes devoured her in a taut
silence, raking over every detail of her pale upturned face, the copper
highlights in her hair, the slim tense body poised for flight beneath his
hands. There was an aggressive light in his eyes. ‘Why do you think?’ he
muttered.

  
Before Julia could respond, the
firm mouth descended and she found herself lost in that familiar sensual
darkness. Fighting for control, she tried to push him away. But as soon as her
hands met the solid wall of his chest, she realised her mistake.

  
An urgent long-suppressed hunger
flashed through her and she groaned against his mouth, her hands moving
greedily over his body, aware that she was betraying herself but unable to
regain any semblance of composure. She was weak where he was concerned,
something about this man tapping directly into her one area of vulnerability.
That weakness infuriated her. She tried to block her growing arousal with
images of him and Sasha together, their naked bodies entwined, laughing at her
while she waited at home, burning to know where he was.

  
It was no use though. His hands
were far too clever, finding her breasts under the sweater and making the heat
rise in her cheeks until she was twisting against him, breathless and eager for
more.

  
‘You like that, don’t you?’ he
muttered against her throat, playing with one of her stiffening nipples.

  
It did not even occur to her until
afterwards to deny it.

  
‘Yes,’ she admitted bitterly, then
held her breath as waves of pain and tormented anguish washed over her.

  
He bent his head and took her
mouth. His kiss was like an assault, his tongue forcing its way between her
lips and exploring her, probing for weakness in her armour. And she did not
hide them, passionately kissing him back, her arms about his neck, willing him
to push her to the floor and take her.

  
He had her exactly where he wanted
her, she thought feverishly. She was like a bird imprisoned in a cage,
fluttering against the bars of Moor’s Peak in a frantic effort to escape. He
had caught her now and he would never let her go. With the naivety of a child,
Julia had imagined that love was something gentle and benign, that she had
nothing to fear from living beneath the same roof as this man, seeing him
across the meal table every day, knowing he was lying next door to her in bed
every night. But this love she felt for Marshall was harsh and cruel, a stark
searing pain that struck deep into her heart.

  
He raised his head, restlessly
searching her face. ‘What’s this new game, Julia? Not fighting anymore? I
thought you couldn’t stand me touching you?’

  
She shivered without answering,
unable to meet that piercing gaze. Her heart was wide open. He must be able to
see straight into her, read all her most carefully guarded secrets. Why had he
stopped kissing her? He should just take her while she was in this love-drugged
trance, aching for his mouth on hers. It must be obvious even to him that she
would not push him away this time.

  
Some emotion flickered in those
tawny eyes, a sudden harshness in his face as his arms dropped away from her.

  
‘Oh, just forget it and go to bed,’
Marshall said curtly, running a hand through his hair. He turned his back on
her, his voice becoming distant. ‘This is never going to work. I was crazy to
think it would. If you want a divorce, Julia, I won’t stand in your way.’

CHAPTER
NINE

He might
as well have struck her. Her whole body tensed in pain, blood draining from her
face as she took in the full implications of what he had just said. The silence
stretched between them for several minutes, neither of them even moving in the
bitter aftermath of his bombshell, statues in some living tableau.

  
She watched his back with a numb
sense of shock, waiting for him to turn round and tell her it was a mistake,
that a divorce was not what he wanted. But Marshall remained where he was,
silent and immobile, hands sunk in the pockets of his jeans, that dark head
bent in contemplation of the floor rug.

  
Stiffly, as though she had been hit
by a car, Julia left the study and groped her way upstairs. It was dark in her
little single bedroom. She switched on the bedside lamp, preferring its softer
illumination to the harsher overhead light, and began to undress.

  
She discarded the sweater in her
clothes basket, unhooking her lacy bra and dropping that beside it to be washed
in the morning. Her mouth tasted horribly of ashes and her eyes ached from not
crying. But she refused to think about it, to accept that the end of her
marriage might be in sight.

  
Pulling off her jeans, she folded
them neatly over the back of a chair and reached for her pale lilac pyjamas.
Her hands moved slowly and mechanically, on automatic pilot.

  
When she finally padded out towards
the bathroom, the landing was in darkness and there was no sound from below. He
must still be in his study, she thought, relieved not to have to face him.
Hurrying into the bathroom, she removed her make-up with some mild cleansing
soap and brushed her teeth. She did not want to remember those bleak words, how
he had turned his back on her so coldly. But it kept flashing through her mind
like a billboard message in red neon: Marshall wanted a divorce, he wanted her
out of his life forever.

  
She had been half expecting this
for weeks, sensing her husband’s gradual withdrawal long before he declared his
intentions. Now that it was out in the open, she trembled as she dried her
hands in front of the mirror, noticing her pallor and strangely dilated pupils,
her nervous system unable to cope with the reality of her situation.

  
Where would she go? Her mind
whirled in panic. If she went to live with her parents, she would have to admit
what a terrible mistake she had made. Perhaps her sister could put her up for a
few weeks while she did some flat-hunting in London. It would be awkward, but
at least she would not have to face her parents’ inevitable questions.

  
Treading as silently as a cat, she
slipped back to her bedroom in her bare feet. Marshall was moving about
downstairs now, locking up for the night. The last thing she wanted was for him
to realise she was still awake and knock on her door.

  
She went to the dressing table and
raised the lid on her carved wooden jewellery case, carefully lifting out the
antique string of pearls Marshall had given her for Christmas. Each pearl felt
cool to the touch and perfectly round as she weighed them in her palm. The
necklace had belonged to his grandmother and was traditionally passed on to the
female head of the household in every generation. He would not want her to keep
it once they were divorced.

  
She put the necklace on and stared
broodingly at her reflection in the dressing table mirror. His pearls lay
heavily against her throat like a slave chain, pale and gleaming in the
semi-darkness.

  
Suddenly, she was filled with a
burning anger. In a short while, she would no longer be his wife. These pearls
did not really belong to her, she should not be wearing them. She lifted
trembling hands to her throat and fumbled to remove it but the antique silver
clasp was too stiff. Her fingers jerked clumsily and the old string snapped,
spilling its necklace across the floor in a shimmering cascade of pearls.

  
Horrified, Julia dropped to her
hands and knees to retrieve them. The pearls had rolled all over her dark
carpet like round white mistletoe berries. She snatched them up in twos and
threes, appalled by what she had done. There was salt on her tongue, tears
rolling down her cheeks and into the corners of her mouth. The pearl necklace
was the only gift Marshall had ever given her and she had destroyed it.

  
A great shudder of grief and
anguish ran through her, racking her shoulders until her head bent almost to
the carpet. Months of tension had finally caught up with her, every nerve in
her body strained to breaking point. She felt like a marionette whose strings
had been cut, her long hair covering her face as she lay on the floor, weeping
hysterically without any real idea why or how to stop herself.

Time
passed slowly. Julia had not realised how long or how loudly she had been
sobbing until she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see
Marshall crouching beside her, his lean face blurred by tears.

  
She allowed him to pull her into
his broad chest and shoulders, her body weak from crying.

  
‘What on earth’s the matter now?’
he demanded.

  
‘I broke your grandmother’s
necklace,’ she croaked. ‘It was an accident. I’m so sorry.’

  
‘Is that all?’ He frowned, staring
at her. ‘The necklace was a gift, Julia. It belongs to you now. Besides, it
should be easy enough to get it restrung.’

  
Julia pulled away from him,
bitterly aware that she must look awful. Her skin felt red and blotchy, her
eyelids swollen from crying, and she badly needed to blow her nose. She hated
Marshall seeing her like this, tearful and unattractive, certain that Sasha
would never allow herself to get into such a state in front of him.

  
Lurching to her feet, she walked
unsteadily to the dressing table and poured a handful of loose pearls back into
the jewellery box.
 

  
He made an impatient noise beneath
his breath, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans for a clean
handkerchief. ‘Here,’ he muttered, holding it out. ‘Take this, and for God’s sake,
stop crying.’

  
‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated.

  
‘You can stop apologising too. If
anyone needs here to apologise, it should be me.’ He turned away, burying his
hands in his jeans pockets, his shoulders hunched as he stared out of the
window into the darkness. ‘I should never have put you in such an impossible
situation in the first place. It was the height of insanity for us to get
married. The best thing now is to get a quick divorce and go our separate
ways.’

  
There was a single pearl lying
forgotten on the carpet near his feet. In a voice that shook, she pointed it
out to him and he stooped to pick it up, handing it back without speaking.
Their hands met for an instant and she felt a jolt of electricity through her
body, forcing her heart into overdrive.

  
She clasped the pearl tightly in
her palm, suddenly dizzy, off balance. Her physical desire was almost
unbearable. Did he have any idea how much she hungered after him? Those
dangerous eyes seemed to be staring into hers like a hypnotist’s. That’s what he
is, Julia told herself feverishly. A hypnotist with the power to disturb and
arouse her every time that dark head turned in her direction.

  
‘It’s late,’ she stammered. ‘I
should go to bed.’

  
‘Is that all you have to say?’ he
asked sharply, still watching her. His gaze moved over her face with its
flushed cheeks and over-bright eyes, lingering for a moment on the trembling
line of her mouth. ‘I tell you we should get a divorce, and there’s no
comeback, no discussion, not even the slightest attempt to persuade me
otherwise? Don’t you care what happens to our marriage, Julia?’

  
A slow anger surfaced in her at
last, flooding her body with its bitter heat. What on earth did he expect her
to say? Marshall was the one who had asked her to marry him in the first place.
Now he had grown tired of married life and she had been given her marching
orders like some third-rate employee who had not lived up to expectations.
Under the circumstances, he should be grateful she had not screamed and slapped
his face.

  
‘How can you be surprised by my
silence? You’ve pushed me this way and that for months, never let me see what
you’re thinking ... then expect me to discuss a divorce as calmly as if we were
discussing the weather!’

  
The dark brows rose steeply.
‘Pushed you around? I’ve barely come anywhere near you since our wedding day.’

  
‘Do you think I hadn’t noticed?’

  
Following that bitterly thrown
remark, there was an odd silence in the bedroom. Marshall looked at her
carefully for a moment, his eyes narrowing on her face. When he finally spoke,
she could sense fury as well as irony beneath the controlled surface of his
voice. ‘Well, that’s a curious reaction. I thought you’d made it clear you
didn’t want me touching you again. What changed your mind?’

  
She could not hold his gaze,
flushed to the hairline as she realised how much she had betrayed herself. His
eyes moved over her in the pale lilac pyjamas, suddenly intent, no doubt able
to see her every curve of her body through the thin satiny material. There was
a pulse beating in her throat as she backed away, shaking her head.

  
‘Oh no, not so fast,’ he said
thickly, grabbing her wrist.

  
‘Let me go, Marshall.’

  
‘Why?’ he demanded, dragging her
towards him, an answering anger in his own voice. ‘So you can sleep alone in
that little nun’s bed of yours, pretending you don’t want me?’

  
‘Who’s pretending?’

  
‘For god’s sake, shut up.’ He
gripped her by the shoulders, staring fixedly down at her mouth. The scar on
his face showed livid against his skin. ‘I’m sick of being treated like a
leper, Julia. This is one night you won’t push me away, and if the prospect of
me touching your body disgusts you ... that’s just tough.’

  
Julia knew there was nothing she
could do nothing to prevent him from kissing her. But at least she could steel
herself to remain cold and aloof, show him how much she hated the way he was
treating her.

  
To his surprise he hesitated, a
searching intensity in the tawny eyes. His hand moved up to stroke the nape of
her neck. ‘You’re like the moor,’ he muttered, tracing the shape of her face
with one long finger until he reached her lips. ‘So changeable ... one minute
sunny, the next shrouded in mist. I never know what to expect from you.’

  
‘Perhaps you shouldn’t expect
anything at all. That way you’ll never be disappointed.’

  
‘Disappointed?’ he repeated with a
hollow laugh, bending his head towards her. The firm mouth mesmerised her, she
could not seem to tear her eyes away from it. ‘You have no idea, Julia.’

  
As their mouths met, a flame
flickered back to life from the cold ashes of her heart and she felt her body
respond, quickening beneath his kiss. Reluctantly she admitted to herself that
she had no defence against his love-making. It had always been like this, she
thought, a bitter anger burning inside as she kissed him back. However badly he
treated her, the spark between them was easily reignited.

  
They clung together like two
swimmers, almost drowning in the strong current of their mutual attraction. She
should have been slapping his face, she told herself. Instead her arms lifted
of their own volition to link about his neck, restlessly stroking the short
dark hairs as she kissed him back with a hunger equal to his own.

  
Her eyes closed and her head fell
back, welcoming the hard press of his body against her own softness. She felt
like warm plastic in his arms, moulding to his contours, aware that his heart
beat had grown more rapid under her answering kiss, his breathing erratic. The
silence between them was smothering. It was as though the whole world had shrunk
to this space where they stood, locked together in a fusion of heat and desire.

  
He released the buttons on her
pyjama top and slid a hand inside to stroke the fevered skin. Her nipple
stiffened at his touch, and she hissed, temporarily losing her sanity. His
finger pinched her erect nipple, not cruelly but firmly enough to make her ache
with longing for him to possess her again, to make her his sexual object. She
recalled how he had bound her wrists together on their wedding night, and her
knees felt weak. It was wrong, it was stupid, but she could not help wishing he
would make love to her so fiercely again. To force himself on her, even. To
take away her responsibility for saying yes or no. Then she could hate him for
being cruel, but still get the pleasure she craved.