Love Play by Rosemary Rogers (31 page)

He spoke through gritted teeth with each harsh word almost flung at her.
'Carlol I'm afraid you had better give up the idea of marrying Carlo, or having
anything more to do with him - or anyone else, for that matter! I know what a
promiscuous bitch you've been and still are in your conniving little mind, but
let me warn you that I intend to keep you here as my new little toy — my whore
and my plaything until the day comes when I've tired of you. But until that
day, be sure that you'll lie with no other man but me, and that you will be
here for my use as and when I please! Do you understand that?'

Sara felt as if her head was about to be jolted off her neck and she
clawed at his face in sheer self-defence, drawing blood.

'No . . . stop ...no, damn you!'

The next instant she felt a startling, blinding instant of pain and
blackness and dancing lights - realising only some moments after that he had
slapped her open-handed across her face, snapping her head sideways.

'I have heard you say too often that I am a throw back to my Moorish
ancestors,' his voice grated at her through the sudden welling of tears she
couldn't hold back. 'And you are probably right. You should never have whistled
for the devil, mi amante, if you weren't prepared for the consequences.'

Snatches of what he'd just said to her kept resurfacing in her mind,
even while she made him an angry, sobbing denial.

'I won't! You can't make me - I'm not going to be your... your captive
slave girl!'

'You will, assuredly, be anything I choose!' his voice warned her
grimly. 'And if you force me to it I will not hesitate, like my forebears, to
tie you spread-eagled on this bed while I do whatever I will with your pale,
writhing body. But perhaps that is what you want?' His voice had dropped to a
low, huskily insidious whisper that made her shiver. Oh, God — he really would!

She tried to reject the terrifying thought with her sobbed-out protests.

'No! They'd know — the servants ... everyone! That you have to ... have
to keep a mistress by force. Carlo will know - I'll tell him and he'll always
hate you. I'll tell everyone - all the newspapers. . . Interpol. . .! And I'll.
. . I'll. . .'

'You'll do nothing of the sort and you know it too, don't you?
Passionate little hypocrite that you are!' Still sobbing she twisted against
his grasp uselessly. 'You're going to enjoy every minute and every hour of your
. . . enforced captivity here, and you'll probably end up begging me to let you
stay - after I've had my fill of you.'

His toy.. .plaything... kept her for his use...! And if she didn't
submit he'd have her tied and helpless, in any fashion he chose . . .

'I hate you, I hate you! Even if you... you force me to ... I could
never stop hating you!'

'Yes? Then prove it, my little liar! Prove it both to yourself and to
me.'

She gave one last despairing, inarticulate cry of rage and frustration
before, inexplicably, he went from cruelty to pretended gentleness, coaxing her
with the variety of his kisses that stopped up her mouth and the teasingly
intimate touch of his hands that had now begun to roam possessively over her
shrinking flesh.

'Ah, cara! Why do you taunt me to such rage? I'm sorry that I struck you
hard enough to make you cry ... Shall I do something to make up for it? Shall
I?'

His mouth hovered over hers so closely that Sara could almost feel the
brush of his lips. How had he changed so fast, from wild animal to tender
lover? She didn't want his caresses, his kisses, his touch, and yet he had
already shown her contemptuously how little her objections meant to him. Even
if she fought him now, he would soon render her helpless.

'Cara . . . carissima . . . that's right... let me show you how much I
want you . . . don't be so stiff!'

No ... no! But her despairing protests were in her mind only as he began
to explore her body everywhere with his Ups and his tongue - an agonisingly
slow voyage of discovery during which his wandering mouth would pause to suck
and nibble at her most sensitive, secret places until she was driven mindless
and rudderless and twisting and turning under him with conscience and
inhibition and rationality deserting her so that she responded to him fiercely,
letting him put his mouth wherever he wanted, do whatever he wanted, until —
with her fingers caught in his hair — she felt the stabbing of his tongue
inside her and the slight roughness of beard stubble rasping against the most
sensitive point of all, holding her there while her body arched and convulsed
in spasms that didn't seem to stop and she screamed without knowing she did
with agony and ecstasy and primitive fulfilment.

She lay afterwards as still and as limp as if she had been in a swoon,
coming spinning back, spinning back . . . slowly and reluctantly to where she
was and what he had made of her. And even when realisation came, she was too
tired and too drained for it to matter.

Not even when he moved his body upwards over hers and he guided himself
into her, and she tasted herself against his mouth for a moment before he moved
it to whisper harsh, mumbled words against her ear, some she understood and
some she didn't - and not even when he plunged into her and moved faster and
harder against her until he suddenly buried his face in her tangled hair and she
heard the short, harshly uttered 'Dio!' and felt the shudder of his body as she
felt him enlarge and throb almost painfully inside her.

She didn't know, in her floating state of lethargy, when he left her,
drawing a sheet up over her body to replace the heat and the hard length of
his.

'I'll see you soon, my little slave girl!' he whispered with an almost
caressing note in his rough voice; and his fingers smoothed the sweat-damp hair
away from her face. 'Be good, until then!'

He had gone from her again as he at least was free to do; and now the
waiting began . . .

There was not enough spirit left in her for her mind to be able to
formulate protests. Her tingling cheek felt hot and swollen as she turned her
head on the pillow. Don't think - don't try to think yet! her brain urged her,
and she let herself fall easily and almost eagerly into the oblivion of sleep.

Why couldn't she have slept forever? There were far too many things that
she would have preferred not to think about to be faced along with the sun. The
sun? The room was full of light, pouring in from widely opened shutters, and
there was the delicious fragrance of coffee to sting her nostrils.

'I am sorry to wake you up, signorina. But II Duca thought you would
like to have breakfast before he takes you out riding with him.' Serafina
looked significantly towards the sunlit terrace as Sara, who had jerked
upright, now snatched up a corner of the sheet to hold over her nudity. 'If you
will sit up straighter, signorina, I will adjust the pillows behind you, bring
the tray . . .'

'I must have slept right through the evening and the night!' Sara mused
aloud. Her body felt stiff and sore - in certain places. Damn him, damn him!

Serafina's bustling efficiency tactfully ignored the dark bruise on
Sara's cheekbone, and the sudden rush of colour that threw it into prominence
in the bright morning sunlight.

'You slept a long time,' the housekeeper said as she busied herself with
the bed tray. 'You have not eaten since yesterday morning, but orders were
given that you should not be disturbed — not even for dinner. You must be
hungry now, so please eat while I run your bath. Is there anything you would
like to have pressed? Bianca irons carefully and very fast.'

Did the usually taciturn Serafina keep talking just to put her at ease.
Sara wondered. What did Serafina really think?

Probably that it was none of her business, Sara answered herself
bitterly. It was clear that II Duca's autocratic word was law here in his
domain, and when he spoke everyone was expected to jump to attention; when he
gave an order. . .

'I don't have any riding clothes,' Sara said sullenly over the rim of
her cup of steaming coffee while she darkly considered what he'd do if he were
faced with open rebellion. Taking her riding with him indeed! Couched as a
statement instead of a request.

'II Duca asked me to say that formal riding clothes are not necessary
here. He said any kind of pantaloni would do. If I may, signora?'

Well, none of this was really poor Serafina's fault, Sara had to admit.
She should have her arguments with him - and she would! Here and now in the
bright light of day, all those ridiculous threats of his just seemed . . .
ridiculous! He wasn't a Barbary Coast pirate, and this sunnily cheerful suite
didn't really resemble a seraglio at all! Which showed what imagination –
fantasy, rather - could do. Fantasy -that's all it had been. And they had both
got carried away — he even more so than she . . .

Rather gingerly, Sara's fingers touched the painful bruise he'd left on
her face. The brute! She was a woman. How dare he strike her so viciously just
because she'd paid him back in kind? Slave girl indeed! Ha! Let him find
another, more gullible female to play his fantasy games with. She had read
enough to be quite well informed about . . , about — casting balefully in her
mind for a suitable word Sara came up with it. Perversions. All those words
he'd whispered to her while he ... words telling her exactly what he'd like to
do to her — what he'd make her do for him. Disgusting, lewd things she didn't
want to think of in the clear and rational light of day.

Chapter 29

She had hurried over her bath - no sensuous soaking today -insisting
that Serafina stay close at hand in case she needed anything. And now Sara took
the pair of freshly ironed jeans that Serafina handed her and tugged them on,
hoping she was still the same size - this had to be the tightest pair of pants
she possessed and she had only bought them because Delight had insisted she
must go to Giorgio's and buy herself some of the latest designer jeans.

'Wish I could come with you, kid, but. .. anyhow go get yourself a real
tight, sexy pair for a change, huh? Just for me -and my image around this town!
God, am I glad baggies went out fast!' Delight, on the phone. Playing cloak-and-dagger,
 
Sara had thought then; never guessing, never
realising that her sister's apprehensions were perfectly well founded.

God — if Delight knew what he'd actually done?

She would probably think it the funniest thing ever! Sara had to admit
to herself. Delight would think it was just fantastic that her rather prudish
sister was having a real Adventure - being carried off by a Duke, no less, was
at least travelling first-class. All she'd lost was her virginity - which she'd
been tired of anyway. And it hadn't been all bad - he'd really been rather
tender and nice the first time, when he'd been drunk . . .

Angry at herself, Sara whirled about to face the mirror while she
fastened her belt. Damn him! She was still going to get even with him, one way
or another. What did they call it here in Italy? Vendetta . . .

She didn't look too bad... The faded blue jeans were tight, but they
still left her lots of room. And the red silk blouse clung nicely at all the
right places too. Rather daringly, Sara undid another button. There! She might
as well play Delight to the last. A Delight with Sara's practical, clinically
logical mind. She was sure that when she talked to him in a calmly rational
manner, pointing out to him without seeming to accuse (what a nasty temper he
had!) that now that he'd achieved his object and had - ugh - laid her a few
times, he might as well let her go. If he felt he must pay her, then he could
make it a Lamborghini sports car. Top-of-the-line, of course, just as she was.
Oh, yes - he should really appreciate that subtle little touch!

But he would let her go, of course. When she told him who she really was
he'd be only too glad to avoid a scandal. Why, in the old days, he would have
been forced to marry her, and poor Daddy -would probably have had to fight a
duel! That particular flight of fancy brought an unwilling smile to Sara's
determinedly tight lips as she finished pinning up her hair., sliding in a
tortoiseshell comb to keep it up. Poor Daddy would probably have a heart attack
if he ever found out. His carefully nurtured little Sara would never do
anything crazy and reckless and downright wicked She wasn't at all like that
wild half sister of hers! Or was she?

Maybe there was more devil than angel in her after alll Here she was,
actually daring enough to go looking for the big bad wolf himself. And why not?
What was there left to be afraid of? Sara marched down a flight of marble
stairs with the usually impassive Serafina all but clucking in her wake.

'But, signorina... II Duca assured me that he would send for you when he
was ready. There is no need — '

'Send for me when he's ready, indeed! Well, I'm sorry, Serafina, but
he's your II Duca and not mine, even if he has made me his amante- without my
asking for the position, I might add! And when I'm ready I detest having to
wait for some lazy man who has me waked up early while he spends a few extra
hours in bed!'

Sara hadn't meant to say quite so much to the housekeeper, but it had
just seemed to slip out — and, in spite of the fact that Serafina had actually
been startled into a gasp, wouldn't retract any of it. Enough with hypocrisy,
let all of the ducal retainers discover what their feudal lord was really like.
Her mind dwelt vengefully on words that would describe him. Reprobate! Philanderer!
Sadist! Degenerate! Come back to twentieth-century American frankness, Sara!
What he was . .. was an asshole! And he'd better not tempt her to tell him so!

'Signorina . . . please reconsider. II Duca . ..'

Sara stopped in mid-stride when they reached a landing and sighed.
'Serafina, I'm sorry! But would you please stop referring to Marco as "II
Duca"? In America we don't use titles. (Ha! Daddy would really love that
one!) And in any case, what is wrong with my wanting to know where his rooms
are? After all he comes and goes in mine quite freely!'