Crossfire (28 page)

A flicker of pain showed in her face. “This is hardly an uncommon situation. Patients often fall in love with the person who nursed them back to health. We’ve been spending a lot of time together. It’s purely a physical attraction. In a few weeks you’ll realize it didn’t mean anything.”

He suppressed the familiar feelings of rejection. “Marcelle, I’ve had some experience in this area, definitely more than you. I think I can tell real love from a passing infatuation.”

“But it could never work. You deserve more than this. I’m no good to you, believe me.”

“So tell me, what do you feel for me?”

She stared at him, wringing her hands nervously. “I like having you here. I’ve grown to depend on you, a lot. I like you, a lot. You’re a special friend to me...”

“How would it affect you if I wasn’t here?”

Marcelle visibly crumpled. “I guess I would carry on by myself. We both knew from the start that you would leave one day. You have your own life.”

“Why could it never work between us?” He knew she wasn’t being honest. “Is it because of my profession? Are you scared you’ll lose me like Jean-Michel? Or are you disgusted by my way of life?”

“No, no, that’s not it. We’ve been over this.” She sighed. “The problem is me, not you. This afternoon, I wanted to love you, to give myself over to the feeling. I thought I could do it, but I couldn’t. How can I love you if the only man I’m craving is Jean-Michel? Could you stand it to make love to me, knowing that it’s Jean-Michel I see when I close my eyes? Sometimes he’s so real in my mind that I can feel his presence...”

“Yes, I’ve felt it too.”

“That’s why I can’t do this to you, to live a lie. Perhaps one day... but I don’t expect you to wait for me. Get on with your own life.”

“Marcelle,” he said, capturing her hands in his, “I understand what you’re saying. But deep down, I believe you have feelings for me, although you choose to deny them. I love you, and I’m a patient man. When you’re ready, I’ll be there.” He pulled her to him, and she clung to him desperately.

“How did I ever get so mixed up, and so miserable? And why are you so good to me?”

He had no answer for her as he held her close, wishing he could ease her pain.

When it was time for bed, she said with downcast eyes, “I’ll understand if you want to sleep in your own room. I realize I haven’t been fair to you.”

He considered her statement for a few moments, but decided that, whatever the agreement, he would rather have her in his arms than to sleep alone in his bed.

He smiled. “Who’ll protect you from the monsters while you sleep? It’s just one more night anyway.”

“What do you mean? Do you have to leave?”

He laughed, reaching out a forefinger to touch the tip of her nose. “No, you are, silly girl. You’ll be gone in the morning, remember.”

“Of course, I forgot. You’ll be here when I get back?”

“Yes, I’ll be here, barring any world disasters that might call me away. Thanks to you, I’m as good as new.”

She ran an appraising glance over him. “Yes, you have recovered fast. I’m quite surprised.”

“I’ve always been a fast healer, and in my profession it’s a necessary quality. Otherwise, I’d spend half my life in hospital. Come, let’s go to sleep.”

They walked down the passage, arm in arm.

~ . ~

Stefan fought his way through mists of sleep, aware of soft hands moving over his body. He opened his eyes slowly, reluctant to let the dream fade. The caressing didn’t stop. He turned his head towards Marcelle. He could barely see her, but he could hear her breathing where she planted little kisses on his bare chest.

“Marcelle?”

She put a soft hand over his mouth. “Shh, don’t talk. Relax.” She covered his lips with her own, kissing him while her hands roamed over his body. Exquisite waves of desire shot through his body at her touch, even as he toyed with the idea of putting a stop to it. Had she changed her mind about him? If so, they should talk about it first.

Her hand passed beneath the waistband of his shorts, and as she touched him, he had to stifle a moan of pleasure. All thoughts of self-control were lost as he turned to her, searching for her mouth, his hands hungry on her slender body.

~ . ~

Stefan became aware of sunlight shining on his face. He brought a hand up to shield his eyes, blinking sleepily. A sense of unreality reigned within him. He could not believe what had happened. They had made love during the night, their hunger for each other insatiable.

Marcelle had realized she loved him. She was his. They had a future together. They could get married and when she was ready, have children. He was thrilled at the thought of a little boy looking just like him, or a little girl with beautiful gray eyes.

He could feel the warmth of her naked skin against his, and knew it hadn’t been a dream.

Just then, she stretched sleepily, and turned onto her back. The sheet slipped down to her waist. A slight smile tugged the corners of her mouth as she fell asleep again, her breathing deep and even.

Little devils of mischief danced in his eyes as he gazed at her firm breasts. He kissed one breast, and then the other. He felt himself stir as Marcelle moaned in response. Encouraged, he covered a stiffened nipple with his mouth, and circled the tender tip with his tongue.

Moving closer, he rubbed his erection against her thigh, eager to share his need with her. He wanted her to wake up, so they could make love again. He felt he would never get enough of her.

Marcelle moaned again, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed him on the lips as she murmured, “Don’t you ever get enough, Jean-Michel?”

Stefan was already moving away from her, horrified at the mix-up, when she opened her eyes. Pain stabbed through his chest when he saw the horror in her eyes as reality dawned. She shoved him away from her with both hands, disgust on her face. Somewhere deep inside his head, something fragile snapped as she accused him. “How could you? How dare you take advantage of me like that? You must have known I thought you were Jean, but you had to have me, even if you had to trick me?”

Stefan was unaware that his face had become as hard as granite, his eyes as cold as ice. His voice cut like a scythe. “I can have you, lady. Anytime I want. Whether you like it or not.”

Marcelle saw the change in him, and her anger made way for blind fear as she realized this wasn’t Stefan. This man was a stranger. She scrambled off the bed, desperate to get away, but her feet had barely touched the floor when the stranger grabbed her arm. His hard fingers bruised the delicate skin of her upper arm as he dragged her back onto the bed.

Marcelle knew screaming would be useless. Nobody would hear her. She fought like a wildcat, but her strength was no match for his. Effortlessly he used one hand to pin her wrists above her head while he plundered her breasts. His contempt was tangible as he squeezed a breast too hard; causing her to cry out in pain, but this only seemed to encourage him.

The stranger’s eyes were merciless as he used a hard knee to force her thighs apart. With a grunt of satisfaction, he moved between her knees. He stared into her agonized eyes as he reached down and positioned himself at her opening. With a brutal thrust, he drove deep into her protesting flesh, and she couldn’t keep from crying out in pain and outrage as his bulk parted her delicate tissues.

He crushed her wrists in an unyielding grip, fastening a hard mouth on one of her breasts, sucking too hard, using his free hand to pinch the delicate nipple on her other breast until she screamed in agony. She tried desperately to free herself, but she might as well have been struggling with a stone statue.

The abuse carried on and on, the stranger thrusting into her so hard that she felt the bones of their pelvises clashing together. His grunt at the end of each thrust told her of the effort he put into violating her body. Through it all, his glittering blue eyes scared her the most. He stared down at her with a cold fury that belied the heat of his body, as if she were his greatest enemy, and he hated her from the depths of his soul. This was what broke her, more than the pain and humiliation, and her resistance fled in the face of his betrayal.

She remembered that this was exactly what Claude had predicted. Stefan had gone mad. But she hadn’t listened to Claude, believing that she knew the mercenary far better than her friend did.

Encouraged by her sudden lack of resistance, the stranger released her wrists. He settled into a faster rhythm, no longer as violent, clearly moving towards his release. His cold eyes bored into hers, daring her to resist. Marcelle searched for Stefan in the icy depths of his blue eyes, and found nothing.

The stranger’s breathing increased as he shortened his strokes, and he buried his face in her neck. Her flesh quivered in revulsion, knowing he would soon void his seed into her unwilling body. When she heard his grunts turn into moans of pleasure, she could take no more. The pain and shock had taken its toll, and she felt herself spiraling down into a dark whirlpool. The stranger’s release pulsated deep within her before everything went mercifully dark.

~ . ~

Stefan came back from a far place, uncomfortably aware that something terrible had happened. He raised himself on his elbows and opened his eyes.

He saw Marcelle’s pale face, and felt her body shuddering beneath his weight. The warmth enveloping his spent member told him he was still inside her.

He felt a dark cloud of misery take possession of his soul, as what he had done dawned on him. He raised himself off her, wincing at the wet sound of their disengagement, and knelt beside her on the bed. She didn’t move, so he gently closed her legs. He turned away in shame when he saw the bruises forming on her breasts and the fragile skin of her hips, where his fingers had left their imprints.

There was a strong smell in the room. It was the smell of sex, of his semen spilled on the sheets. It was the smell of his betrayal, and it threatened to overwhelm him. He took the discarded top sheet and draped it over Marcelle, trying to give her back some dignity. He spotted his sleeping shorts and drew them on, ashamed of his nudity.

He sank to his haunches beside the bed and touched her shoulder, “Marcelle?”

She opened her eyes, but closed them again when she saw him. What should he do? Why had he hurt the only woman he had ever loved? Instinctively he moved to take her into his arms, to comfort her.

She cringed away from him, her eyes filled with fear. “Don’t touch me. Please, don’t touch me.”

Stefan felt his heart break when he saw the dread in her eyes. In a moment of madness, he had destroyed the trust she had placed in him. He would rather be dead than see her look at him like that.

He opened the bedside drawer on his side of the bed and took out the handgun he kept there. He knelt on the bed, and pulled Marcelle into a sitting position. Wordlessly he offered her the weapon.

When she stared at him without comprehension, he used his other hand to fold the fingers of her right hand round the butt of the weapon. She looked at the gun in her hand, and then stared at him, a question in her eyes.

“You have every right to kill me, for what I’ve done,” he said, misery in his voice. “The gun is loaded; just pull the trigger. I deserve to die, Marcelle. Go ahead and do it.”

A long moment passed as her eyes dropped to the gun in her hand, and she examined it with renewed interest. The Glock had no cocking mechanism, and no safety catch. All she had to do was depress the double trigger to send death from the barrel. She slipped her forefinger onto the trigger and raised the weapon to point at the centre of his chest. At that range, she couldn’t miss. She stared at Stefan, her finger caressing the trigger. His face was expressionless, the courage of a man who believed he was about to die. He met her gaze squarely, prompting her on, not looking at the weapon she held in her hand.

As she gazed at the mercenary, conflicting thoughts ran through her mind. Could she kill him? Would his death take away the pain and humiliation? She had the power to kill him. He had given her that power, a sharp contrast to the man who had savagely raped her. Her forefinger tightened around the trigger. Yet despite what Stefan had done to her, the thought of his lifeless body sent a ripping pain through her insides. She lowered her eyes, imagining his heart beating inside his tanned chest.

Undecided, she raised her eyes to his face again. In his blue eyes, she saw her own pain reflected, and knew she could never do it. She lowered the weapon and handed it back to him.

“I can’t kill you,” she whispered. Despair overwhelmed her as she felt the ice growing in her chest again, thickening her blood, choking her heart, crushing her lungs until she couldn’t breathe.

Stefan took the weapon and put it on the bedside table, aware of a small feeling of triumph. But when he turned back, he found Marcelle had turned onto her side in a fetal position, squeezing her eyes shut, breathing in short little gasps.

He swore under his breath, and went to the adjoining bathroom. He remembered dealing with raped and physically abused female hostages. They had always displayed an overriding desire for a bath. He put the plug into the bath before opening both taps and emptying half a bottle of scented bubble bath into the rushing hot water. The smell of a fresh forest filled the air, and he watched the erupting bubbles for a moment before he returned to the bedroom.