Devil's Fire (28 page)

From the moment he slid in and began to pump, my whole body quivered. I could feel every ridge, every slow, lovely inch he moved in and out of me, including testicles that pressed my inflamed lips when he was all the way inside. I’d never heard him moan with every motion, and the guttural sound of his pleasure ignited my passion again.

‘Open your eyes, Mary Grace. See how beautifully right we look making love.’

Our reflection stunned me. Hyde’s light brown hair rippled with his every move, alongside eyes that burned into mine as we gazed into the mirror. He rode me slowly, and I raised on to my elbows to watch his muscled body move in the morning sunshine, catching its light like an aura. My breasts bobbed above the mattress, and I gripped a handful of blanket to keep myself from coming too fast.

With a triumphant grunt, the man inside me succumbed. He drove into me again and again, his head thrown back, his Adam’s apple quivering with his hoarse cries. The sight of his extreme pleasure prompted mine, and I found a sharper, sweeter release than I did the first time.

He fell forward, bracing himself on one muscled arm while wrapping the other around my shoulders. ‘From the moment I first saw you, I had to have you,’ he breathed, ‘and you’re mine at last. Be my wife, Mary Grace, so we can share this pleasure forever.’

His words should have filled me with joy, but I froze. When he pronounced me his at last, I realised why our sex sounded as much like recollection as present reality: Hyde Fortune spoke the words Father Luc had used, when he laid me on that table. Memories of the abbot’s behaviour filled me with such disgust I couldn’t stand the feel of Hyde’s flesh against mine.

I struggled out from under him, wrapping myself in the blanket to ward off a chill.

He scowled. ‘What have I said, to make you —’

‘If this is your idea of a joke, it’s unforgivable.’

He sat back heavily. ‘You’re not making any sense, love. One moment we’re climaxing together, and now you’re accusing —’

‘You were there. You heard every word Father Luc said, and you’re repeating him.’ My head reeled with thoughts I didn’t want to have, and my headache returned. ‘All he wanted was to claim me. It was just a game to him, and now you’re playing the same damn thing!’

‘Mary Grace, how can you say that? We talked of love and marriage before you went to Heaven’s Gate.’

‘And how do we know it’s not true? How do we know Father Luc isn’t some demon puppeteer, pulling our strings for his own purpose — just like your poor mother said he was.’ I clutched the covers around me, deafened by my pounding pulse and the fear that had again reared its ugly head.

‘Then how is it I convinced the abbot to let you go?’ he asked, wincing when I shrank from his touch. ‘If he was in supreme command, and he intended to keep you for his own devious purposes, nothing I could’ve said would’ve set you free.’

‘You told me yourself! He got what he wanted, so he cast me aside — like he did your mother. Do you know how horrible that makes me feel? And now you’re sounding just like him.’

Unshed tears burned my eyes. It tore me apart to have such awful thoughts, but I couldn’t go along with his idea of forever, if he was following the abbot’s example as part of some fiendish plan. ‘I don’t think I should marry you, Hyde. And I’ll only stay in this house if you allow me to repay you, as I sell my quilts. Thank you for the way you’ve helped, but —’

‘Don’t you dare insult me that way.’

Hyde Fortune made a formidable sight as he got off the bed to gather his clothes. ‘If you think I’d take your money — or consciously imitate Father Luc — then you’re more pitiful than my mother. I never dreamed you’d throw your life away, like she has, over such an outlandish obsession.’

He tersely pulled on his clothes. I cowered on the bed, knowing I’d spoken foolishly yet unable to shake the shadow of fate Father Luc had wrapped around me like a shroud. My heart thudded heavily, aware that if Hyde walked out under these circumstances, he would never return. Tears rolled down my cheeks, but I was too upset to wipe them.

He tied his shoes and stood up, jamming his hands into his pockets — to keep from choking me, I sensed. ‘I’ve always believed you were heaven-sent, Mary Grace, by the same God who created you with such a lovely, responsive body. I’m appalled that a woman of faith can accept Luc as the devil — or feel he’s woven us into a web of inescapable fate. But if that’s what you believe, that’s what will be true for you.’

He pulled something from his jacket pocket, and then flung them on to the mattress. ‘I was going to ask you to wear these today, but it’s pointless now. I’ll send Sebastian with your things.’

As his footsteps faded down the stairway, I saw two circlets of gold on the sheets…the gypsy hoops Sybil had provided as part of my ceremonial disguise. Once again Hyde was reminding me of an ordeal I was trying very hard to forget, adding insult to the injury of his words as we’d made love.

Yet how could I see these earrings without smiling? Without recalling the bond I’d shared with an incredibly beautiful and brazen…and loyal friend. Sybil would be shaking her finger as she scolded me in that smoky voice, about how I’d just forsaken the love of a lifetime — a man who’d had her in his bed but never in his heart. A man she herself could only wish for. She would consider it an inexcusable waste of her time and teachings if I wallowed in my self-loathing instead of living my life boldly and fearlessly, as she did.

On impulse, I donned the gypsy jewellery. When I looked in the mirror, I watched the gold hoops sway, reflecting tiny rays of light to capture the imagination of the beholder. I couldn’t miss my resemblance to Sybil, and couldn’t help grinning because we’d played our own little game, and we’d won.

Yet also floating in that glass was a mystical reflection, images of lovers pleasuring each other until they cried out with joy. I could’ve sworn I saw Hyde gazing into my eyes, urging me towards my climax, and then throwing his head back to reach his own. Did these alluring hoops contain the erotic spirit of the woman who gave them to me? Or was I awash with wishful thinking?

I stepped towards the mirror to touch those elusive images. They vanished, leaving me with a sadness I dared not deny.

Had I been the pawn of a deceitful abbot, marked as his prey since before Papa died? Had Father Luc truly controlled the climate and lives on his timeless mountaintop domain?

It didn’t really matter. I’d left that world behind, bringing home the astounding knowledge I’d acquired about myself, and about loving. A beautiful woman gazed at me from the glass, and I saw her because my friends at Heaven’s Gate had opened my eyes to a wide array of pleasures. It occurred to me that I’d welcomed the attentions of those residents, and that even the abbot had made my body sing with his skill as a lover. It was his attitude I detested, his humiliating tactics and manipulation…his lies about Hyde Fortune — the son he wouldn’t acknowledge, and who’d kept all his promises to me from the start.

Hyde was right: if I didn’t set my resentment behind me, it would eat me alive.

And Father Luc would win.

I yanked the top sheet from the bed and wound it around me. I hurried down the stairs and out the door, knowing this lovely house would never be my home if Hyde weren’t sharing it. Waving to a neighbour lady whose eyes nearly popped, I trotted barefoot down the brick street. No sense in acting demure: the longer I waited, the less my chance for happiness.

Mount Calvary loomed at the end of the block, rows of sombre gravestones reaching out behind it. With a sense of destiny and completion, I rushed across the front lawn, my sheet flapping wildly around me. To the side door I went, where that engraved brass plaque proclaimed
HYDE A. FORTUNE, MORTICIAN;
where, weeks ago, I’d stood trembling with questions concerning my future.

I had the answers now.

I hesitated and then knocked, grinning when the door again opened of its own accord. This time, however, I didn’t feel like a Gothic heroine entering at her own peril, and Hyde wasn’t humping Delores Poppington in her casket. He slouched at his desk, raking his fingers through his thick, dishevelled hair. A snifter half-full of brandy sat before him, and he watched me warily as I approached.

I downed the rest of the amber liquor in one gulp. A delicious sense of decadence filled me as the fire sang through my insides, and I laughed low in my throat.

‘Yes?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ I replied, gazing purposefully into his handsome face. ‘It seems you’ve cast your spell upon me, Mr Fortune. It seems there’s no escape, for I’m helplessly, hopelessly yours.’

I let the sheet slither down my limbs, to stand before him wearing nothing but a smile and those wicked little gypsy hoops. With a grin that was positively predatory, Hyde came around the desk, grabbing me up in a breathtaking kiss that declared him master of my fate — at least when I wanted him to be. I returned the kiss with equal fervour, mistress of my own destiny at last.

‘How do you do this to me?’ I murmured against him, and then I laughed when he grabbed my bare arse in his hands.

Hyde fixed those hypnotic cinnamon eyes on mine. ‘Am I not my father’s son, after all?’

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