The Judas Trap Page 5

Sitting on the edge of the huge bed, she drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. It was remarkable really, she thought. She had left London that morning for a couple of weeks’ escape from the problems of her life. And now here she was, facing reality in all its harsh perspective.

  She became aware of a niggling pain in her chest. It was not severe. It might be indigestion, caused by the extreme tension she had experienced that evening, but it reminded her of the tablets in her handbag downstairs, and of her intention to go and get them. The house seemed quiet enough, in all conscience. Michael Tregower must have gone to bed.

  The door seemed to make an awful noise opening, but she realised it was her heightened senses that accentuated its natural usage. Hastening along the landing, she descended the stairs without hesitation, finding the open library door without too much difficulty in the faint illumination from the dying fire.

  Her handbag was lying by the chair where she had left it, and opening it quickly, she extracted the bottle containing the tablets. Then, going across to the tray of drinks, she poured herself some tonic water and swallowed the medication eagerly. She swayed as she replaced the bottle in her handbag, and then, not wanting to arouse suspicion, she replaced it by the chair where she had found it.

  She was coming out of the library again when the lights were switched on, and looking up she saw Michael standing at the fork of the stairs. It was too much for her, encountering him again like that, and she grasped the bannister wearily, hardly able to put one foot in front of the other.

  With an oath, he came down the stairs towards her, and before she could protest, he swung her into his arms and carried her back up to the first floor.

  ‘Wh-what are you doing?’ she stammered, endeavouring to regain her composure, aware of the strength of the arms about her, and his expression mirrored his sarcasm.

  ‘I was about to ask you the same question,’ he declared. ‘I heard a—noise. I thought I ought to make sure it wasn’t old Adam come to haunt you.’

  Sara swallowed. ‘You—you didn’t think that at all!’ she denied hotly, as he strode along the corridor to her room. ‘You probably saw me go downstairs, and decided to frighten me.’

  Michael regarded her mockingly. ‘You’ve made yourself at home, at any rate,’ he remarked, entering her bedroom and setting her down beside the bed. ‘Is this for my benefit?’

  Sara flushed then, a becoming rose colour that spread up from the neckline of the bathrobe to the roots of her pale hair. ‘If—if you mean this…’ she indicated the robe, ‘it—it was the only thing I could use.’

  ‘I’m not objecting, am I?’ he enquired. ‘And I imagine you can justify your reasons for creeping about my house.’

  ‘I wasn’t—creeping about.’ Sara held up her head. ‘I—I needed some—aspirin.’

  ‘The age-old remedy. How prosaic! Can’t you do better than that, Diane? The doors are all locked, and I have the keys.’

  She gasped. ‘You can’t honestly imagine I’d try to escape in a bathrobe!’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘How shall I answer that? Do I take it you’ve decided you like it here?’

  ‘Take it any way you like.’ She stared at him angrily. ‘Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to go to sleep.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ he averred, stepping aside and indicating the bed with a mocking hand. ‘I—er—I’ll just take my bathrobe, if I may.’

  Her lips parted in dismay. ‘You—you wouldn’t!’

  ‘Why not? It’s mine, isn’t it?’ His lids flickered. ‘Of course, if you don’t want to give it to me…’ Realising his meaning, Sara’s fingers fumbled over the knot. If he suspected that she didn’t want to give it to him, he would take it. Unloosening the cord, she turned her back on him, dropping the robe to the floor as she scrambled rather inelegantly between the sheets.

  ‘Thank you.’ He bent and picked up the robe, but he did not move away from the bed, and she held the covers determinedly under her chin, aware of that disruptive excitement taking hold of her again. ‘I’ll say goodnight, then.’

  She nodded, hardly daring to speak. ‘Goodnight,’ she got out chokily, and his eyes revealed his curiosity.

  ‘Lost your nerve?’ he enquired coldly, resting one hand on the post at the head of the bed. ‘You seem…nervous. Have I old Adam to thank for this?’ Sara closed her eyes, hoping against hope he would just go, but he didn’t. The depression of the springs revealed that he had dropped down on to the bed beside her, and was obviously waiting for her to make the next move.

  She tried to think coherently. What had happened between them downstairs returned in a wave of heat across her body, but she remembered, too, the way he had reacted. So long as he thought she was willing, he would not touch her. It was only if he thought she was afraid of him that he might change his mind about her.

  Opening her eyes again, she looked up into his face, and was surprised at the torment she found there. Realising he must be thinking of his brother, she propped herself up on her elbows, holding the sheet in place with one hand and touching his face with the other. He flinched away from her fingers, but he didn’t get up, and stiffening her resolve, she said: ‘Were you really concerned about me, Michael?’ in a soft voice.

  His jaw hardened then. The contempt he felt for her was eloquent in every line of his bitter mouth, but still he lingered. ‘So innocent,’ he muttered, half to himself. Then: ‘Aren’t you afraid I might decide to share the bed with you?’

  ‘I can’t stop you,’ she replied honestly, although she was amazed he could not hear the thunderous beating of her heart.

  ‘No, you can’t,’ he agreed through thin lips, but his narrowed eyes revealed a smouldering passion she had not seen before.

  Almost against his will it seemed, he leant over her, forcing her to drop her elbows and fall back against the pillows. With her breath whistling with laboured efforts through her lungs, he touched her lips with his fingers, caressing them, parting them, his eyes never leaving the startled dilation of hers.

  ‘Not so provocative now, are we?’ he taunted thickly, bending his head to stroke her lips with his tongue. ‘You’re panicking, Diane—I can feel it. Your heart’s fluttering like a trapped bird, and that’s exactly what you are, Diane. A trapped bird in the claws of a hawk. And nothing you say can save you now.’

  ‘You—you’re mad—’ she choked, but his lips against the skin of her shoulder were frankly disturbing, and she knew she was weakening.

  She lifted her hands protestingly, but they slid harmlessly over the smooth silk of his shirt, and he laughed low in his throat. ‘That’s right,’ he applauded mockingly. ‘Try to stop me. Then we’ll see who wins the battle.’

  Sara turned her head from side to side on the pillows, seeking some means of escape, aware that her own body was betraying her with every movement it made. He had unbuttoned his shirt and the abrasive skin of his chest made her breasts tingle pleasurably, and her blood ran like fire along her veins.

  But, unwillingly, she was arousing him, too. The eyes that despised her were glazing, and there was a certain roughness in his touch that spoke of emotions getting out of control.

  ‘You—you bitch—’ he muttered, as if the words would work some miracle of revulsion against her. But he was on the bed beside her, his legs kicking the covers aside, the weight of his body imprisoning her beneath him. His lips took the place of his fingers, and her head sank into the pillows beneath the possessive demand of his mouth.

  Her hands sought his shoulders of their own volition, stretching and expanding against his smooth flesh with sensual enjoyment. She couldn’t deny the purely physical pleasure of feeling his taut muscles beneath her fingers, the strong corded muscles that ran down his back to his thighs. She could feel every muscle and her own betraying response, and with that awareness she lost her last hold on reality. She didn’t care if he thought she was Diane, she realised recklessly. He smelt so warm and male, his limbs enveloping her completely, seeking a possess
ion she had no will to resist. She let the demands of her body dictate her reason, urging him to go on, holding her, caressing her, kissing her, giving her whatever it was he had to give.

  Then, just when she was beginning to believe, half in anticipation, half in fear, that he did indeed intend to make love to her, a shudder of revulsion ran through his body, and he dragged himself back from the precipice. He was trembling. She could feel the tormented muscles of his thighs protesting his withdrawal, but with a forceful effort he hauled himself up from the bed.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he muttered, thrusting his shirt back into his pants with unsteady fingers, ‘yes, you’d like me to lose control, wouldn’t you, Diane? What a triumph that would be, knowing you could seduce me as well as my brother!’

  ‘You’re mad!’

  It was Sara who protested now, thrusting herself up on her elbows, uncaring at this moment how provocative she seemed. Was he so insensitive to her feelings? She was not so insensitive to his. Whatever he said now, however he reacted, the man who had just kissed her and caressed her had done so with feeling, not with cold hostility, and his withdrawal had been as painful to him as it was to her.

  ‘I’m not mad, Diane,’ he said now, turning away. ‘You’ll find out how sane I am in the morning. Different situations demand different measures, that’s all. You’re cleverer than I gave you credit for being. Which just shows you should never underestimate an adversary!’

  The door slamming behind him was as chilling as the draught it caused across her body. Looking down at her firm breasts, full and swollen with the emotions he had aroused in her, she felt a renewed sense of disbelief. Was this really happening to her? Was she really lying here in a strange bed, as naked as the day she was born, actually feeling a sense of regret because a man who had been a stranger to her until a few hours ago had refused to sleep with her?

  He was right. He wasn’t mad, she was. He had done nothing to be ashamed of. He truly believed she was Diane, and she had allowed him to go on thinking so.

  With a feeling of disgust she pulled the sheets around her, hiding her nakedness from her own eyes. Was she so disreputable? she wondered anxiously. Had she really no justification for her actions? Would anyone—would he?—understand her motives when they were revealed? Maybe in the morning, she thought, sinking back against the pillows, maybe then she could explain…But would he ever forgive her?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT WAS broad daylight when Sara awakened. The sun was pouring through the cracks in the blinds, and a sleepy examination of her watch face solicited the knowledge that it was already after ten.

  ‘Ten!’

  She said the word out loud, and as she did so, the memory of the events of the previous night came back in sharp focus. That terrible scene when she had practically thrown herself at him haunted her, and she pressed agonised fingers to her lips as she recalled her abandoned behaviour. Then, with a sigh, she shook her head. She should not feel embarrassment for something he had instigated. Whatever her reactions, he had wanted her. She was convinced of that.

  Her body, which had stiffened, now yielded again upon the mattress, and she closed her eyes against the harsh light of day that cast such a different reflection on her behaviour. It was impossible not to consider what kind of girl he might think her when he found out she was not Diane. After living in South America for so many years, his attitudes were bound to be different.

  It had been so unlike her. She, who was normally so controlled, so detached, so very much in command of every situation. She had never encouraged intimate relationships, even her association with Tony had been governed more by an intellectual rather than a physical compatibility. She had never seen herself as a sexual person, and consequently she had avoided involvements of that kind.

  Yet suddenly all that was changed. Last night Michael Tregower had awakened her to an awareness of her own femininity, and in so doing had aroused emotions she had never known she possessed. And, like a child, she had turned to him, responded to him, allowed him to get closer to her, both physically and mentally, than any man had ever done before.

  A wave of colour stained her cheeks. How could she face him again, after what had happened? How could she see him, talk with him, act naturally with him when only hours before she had behaved like a wanton in his arms? What had happened to her constraint, her inhibitions, her self-respect?

  The opening of the bedroom door caused her to close her eyes tightly once more, feigning sleep, but it was apparently useless. The smell of coffee was an aromatic temptation, and half opening one eye, she found Michael standing watching her with wry speculation.

  ‘Stop pretending,’ he ordered curtly, setting the tray down on the table beside her. ‘It would be foolish to antagonise me so early in the morning, and as we’ve been almost as intimate as two people can be, it would seem a foolish notion, don’t you think?’

  Sara blinked, and compressed her lips, noticing with some relief that he was dressed. ‘I—I’ve just woken up,’ she said defensively. ‘How—how long have you been up?’

  ‘Not long,’ he assured her, going to the windows to open the blinds. ‘It’s a glorious morning. I couldn’t wait to continue our stimulating friendship.’

  ‘I see.’ Sara gulped. ‘You mean your relationship with Diane, of course.’

  ‘God!’ Michael ran a hand round the back of his neck, flexing his shoulder muscles. ‘I felt sure you would have seen the futility of that argument by now, Diane. Don’t you think it’s time we stopped playing games, and acted like two responsible people?’

  Sara levered herself up on the pillows, making sure to keep the silken covers closely about her. There was toast and coffee on the tray, as well as a glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice, and she drank this before attempting to answer him.

  ‘Did Mrs Penworthy prepare this?’ she asked, risking his anger, and he interrupted his frowning contemplation of the view to turn back to her.

  ‘No, I did,’ he retorted harshly, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his pants. ‘I’m not entirely useless. I can make coffee and boil an egg. And wash up, too, if I have to. Of course, now you’re here, I shall expect you to tackle that task.’

  Sara sighed. ‘About—what you said earlier.’ She paused as he stiffened. ‘I agree. I think we should stop playing games. I’m not Diane, and there’s no way you’re going to make me say I am. And if you’ll give me long enough to get dressed, I’ll prove it to you.’

  ‘How?’ He was sceptical.

  Sara licked her lips. By going downstairs this minute and showing you the tablets I’ve got in my bag! an inner voice screamed silently, but her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth, and she couldn’t say the words.

  ‘You see!’ He didn’t wait for her hesitant response. ‘As soon as I challenge you, you’re sunk. You’re playing for time, Diane, and I’m in no hurry to bait my trap. If it were not for Adam, I could almost enjoy tormenting you!’

  ‘If it were not for Adam, you wouldn’t be here!’ she retorted tremulously, and he inclined his head.

  ‘True.’ He regarded her mockingly for a few moments, and then, as her lips parted beneath his intent gaze, his eyes hardened. ‘So innocent!’ he muttered, half to himself. ‘So feminine.’ His mouth twisted. ‘I could almost say you’re the first woman I’ve seen who looks good in the morning, which shows how deceptive appearances can be.’

  Sara held up her head. ‘I suppose you’ve seen lots of women in the mornings.’

  ‘Some,’ he agreed dryly. ‘You wouldn’t expect me to lie, would you?’

  ‘I don’t particularly care what you do,’ Sara replied tautly, ‘so long as you let me go.’

  ‘Which you know I won’t do.’

  Sara drew a deep breath. ‘Why? Because you want me?’ she demanded, deliberately taunting him. He wasn’t the only one who could enjoy the fleeting feeling of power it gave, but his response was much different from hers.

  With a cruel smile he came to the bed and cup
ped her chin in his hand, turning her face up to his with insistent strength. ‘Don’t push your luck, Diane,’ he intoned huskily, while his free hand roamed familiarly beneath the tightly-clutched sheet, finding the hardened point of her breast. ‘If I thought—’

  He broke off abruptly and set her free, and she fell back against the pillows, the pounding of her heartbeats filling her ears. His instinctive reaction had shown her just how vulnerable she still was, and how foolish it could be to prolong this masquerade.

  ‘So,’ he said, in control again. ‘Get dressed. I’m an impatient man, remember that, and if you’re not downstairs in’—he consulted his wrist watch—’fifteen minutes, I’ll come and fetch you myself.’

  ‘With a whip, no doubt,’ declared Sara, refusing to be intimidated, and his expression grew tormenting once more.

  ‘What a splendid idea,’ he mocked, surveying her critically. ‘Perhaps I will at that. So be sure you’re not in the bathroom when I arrive. I understand wet leather has the sting of a knife blade.’

  With a polite bow he left her, and Sara lay for several minutes after he had gone, wondering whether he really could be that cruel. Somehow, in spite of everything, she doubted it. She didn’t know what it was, he had certainly given her no reason to trust him, and yet she sensed he was not entirely ruthless. It was something she felt, something she knew in her bones; a belief compounded of the reluctant compassion he had exhibited when she fainted, and the instinctive response her body had felt towards the mastery of his. No man without mercy would have treated her to such a display of passion or encouraged the kind of response she had been so eager to give.

  Even so, she did not trust him not to come back if she disobeyed him, and gulping down a cup of coffee, she hastened into the bathroom. Her clothes were where she had left them, and she dressed quickly, and without interruption. Then, after subjecting her hair to a vigorous brushing, she made her way downstairs.

  There were sounds emanating from the back of the house, and following their lead, she came to the kitchen. She had expected to find Michael washing up, despite his protestations to the contrary, and after steeling herself for the encounter she was almost disappointed to find a strange woman working efficiently at the sink, lifting washed plates on to a stainless steel drainer.