Love Play by Rosemary Rogers (27 page)

Preferring to ignore the other implications of his statement Sara said
brightly: 'That fire does look good!'

There was a waiting silence behind her while she gathered up her courage
on a deep breath. Nude statues and paintings were everywhere! So were free
beaches, topless-bottomless dancers and centrefolds. The centrefolds decided
her. After all, she was supposed to be leading him on; only to reject him when
the moment of truth arrived. 'Would you mind passing me my robe, please?'

It must have just slipped out! The snort of disbelief she heard behind
her acted as a goad that sent Sara to her feet, holding herself straight as she
turned around to face him, with his night-black eyes pin-pointed with the red
reflection of fireglow. Pride held her posed for an instant longer than
necessary. Well, since he wanted to look, let him look- damn his hide - and eat
his heart out for something he would never have!

With a deceptively guileless motion, Sara lifted her arms to lift up
strands of dripping hair off her shoulders. 'I'm afraid I'm never going to get
my hair dry unless you're gallant enough to go and bring me a towel!

'And what makes you think that I am gallant?' His voice grated on her
nerves, almost sending her back to being unsure of herself. But somehow, Sara
managed a light, rueful laugh.

'Just trying, that's all. I suppose I should have known, shouldn't I?'

'Yes, I'm sure you should.' The timbre of his voice had changed subtly,
transforming it into a deep, lazy drawl. 'But why don't you come to the fire
now? I think I just saw you shiver again, and I would not like to feel
responsible for having you catch cold!'

He, of course, lay to one side of the fire with his arms crossed under
his head and one leg bent at the knee. Sara tried not to stare at the muscular,
fine-planed length of his body as he lay there watching her with a total lack
of modesty or embarrassment as she made herself walk casually forward. It was a
relief all the same to be able to drop to her knees and lie on her stomach with
her head turned away from him as if she preferred to study the fire.

In the silence that seemed to deepen between them Sara became suddenly
aware of the music. Soft, subtle; winding like sensuous threads of silk around
her. Tristan und Isolde -the love theme. The music only; without what had
always seemed to her the intrusion of voices. Surely the most sensual music in
all the world. Music to lose one's senses by.

'I suppose you would have preferred rock and roll, but this music
happens to suit my mood tonight.'

'You're always supposing, and you really know nothing about me-
Nothing!'

'In that case - am I going to be allowed to find out?'

'I doubt that there's any need for you to bother!' Sara sniffed. Why did
he keep sniping at her?

'But why not? Especially since you have managed to keep your… mystery. I
am intrigued, and I admit it.'

'Huh!' Sara had learned to love that particular expres¬sion, with its
enormous range of nuances.

'You don't believe me? But there is a great deal I would like to find
out about you, Delight. For instance - do you enjoy being massaged? Your back
looks very rigid and tense, even from here, and that's not good. Here, since I
was not gallant enough to fetch you a towel for your wet hair, let me make up
for it by helping you to relax all those tense muscles.'

'I don't really . . .'

He cut her off ruthlessly.

'Lie still. This is only oil that you feel and it contains Vitamin E,
which is supposed to be very good for keeping the skin supple and young.'
Without waiting for a response he had already begun to massage her shoulders
and neck with a lightness that surprised her. 'Don't worry,' he said mockingly
from somewhere above her,'I am not trying to arouse you. Only to make you feel
warmer and more relaxed.'

Oh, sure! her mind jeered. But after carefully weighing her choices,
Sara had decided that discretion was the better part... and she was surely
safer lying on her stomach than if she had started to scramble up on to her
feet. In any case, she could not say that the pressure of his fingers was
anything more than impersonal, moving from the damp nape of her neck to her
shoulders and further down, where he seemed to find all the tense spots and
relieve them. As long as he stayed above the base of her spine . ..

'Am I hurting you or does it
feel good?' She hadn't known till now that the wolf could purr. Did he think to
get her guard down? 'Now you're stiffening up again - haven't you ever learned
how to relax?'

'I suppose I'd find it a lot easier if your sudden show of niceness
didn't make me suspicious.'

'What a cynic you are! Turn around and I'll prove to you that I can be
nice, if that means in your vocabulary that I should remain completely
impersonal. Shall I pretend that you are ... a favourite niece perhaps? The
pure daughter of a friend?'

'God help your nieces if you have any! And I tend to doubt that you have
many friends left with pure young daughters!'

She cried out when his hands tightened over her shoulders as if he had
been suddenly tempted to slam her head against the marble floor.

'Your tongue's too sharp, Delight, and it could very well get you in
trouble some time. Feel fortunate that you extracted a promise from me!' His
voice was threatening enough to quiet her for the moment as she lay newly
tensed under his hands that were strong enough to break her apart if he chose.

Abruptly, his attentions moved to her feet, startling her. First the
soles of her feet, one by one, and then, with the oil making her skin feel as
supple as silk, her calves — lingering over them long enough to give her a
faint feeling of confidence. It was only when she felt the insinuating warmth
and strength of his touch move slowly upwards to her thighs that Sara protested
sharply.

'Please stop! That's enough. I'm all relaxed now and I think I'd like to
go back to my room.'

'I didn't think you were a coward as well.'

As well as what? Her mind snapped out the question she refused to ask.

'I don't really care what you think,' she said instead, coldly.

'Good. Then perhaps I was mistaken in thinking that you were afraid of
me for some reason. Come, you may turn over in perfect safety from me, I assure
you. Since you can hardly be shy I presume that fear is the reason for your
coyness?'

'You shouldn't assume anything! Why should I be afraid of you?'

'Well, in that case .. ' With surprising ease and swiftness Sara found
herself held, lifted, and turned over on to her back as if she had been a limp
rag doll.

'Why, you . . .!' She closed her eyes against the blaze that erupted in
his for a fleeting instant, to hear herself cut off by his voice.

'It's not becoming for a lady to curse and swear - and you have been
trying to convince me for these past few weeks that you are, in fact, a lady.
So lie still and be quiet, unless my hands take any intimate liberties that you
object to.'

'Have I told you lately that I don't like you?' Sara said stonily into
his darkly mocking face, and caught Ms twisted smile with a spurt of rage.

'Is that so? How ungrateful you are, when I am only trying to do
something nice for you. Why don't you — how does the saying go? — yes, just lie
back and enjoy?"

It seemed easier to close her eyes again, as if she could shut him off
that way. Close her eyes and keep herself stiff; resisting the slyly insidious
touch of his hands against her fire-warm skin with the oil sinking into it,
making it shine like shimmering satin in the reddish-gold firelight.

He took her by the shoulders, massaging with deceptive gentleness there
and along her collarbone until he could feel the almost imperceptible softening
of her muscles. And then from there his hands moved lower, feeling her tense
all over again and deliberately avoiding any contact with her nipples. Very
gentle here, a lightly stroked curve as light as a brushstroke until he reached
her firm, flat belly and moved upwards again, still very lightly. In spite of
her studied pretence of bored indifference he thought he felt a slight tremor
run under the silken smoothness of her skin, betraying her,

Damn her for an experienced little tease who chose to fight her own
instincts rather than give in too easily! And she must have surely realised by
now that there was no longer any question of being allowed to marry Carlo? What
did she think to gain by this virtuous act of hers? And for how long did she
intend to keep it up?

Chapter 25

How incredible and how unbelievable this would have seemed less than two
days ago! That she would be lying naked and on her back on a warm marble floor
with a fire to heat her tingling flesh while the one man that she most hated
and despised was seeing her as no other man had ever seen her; touching her as
no other man had ever touched her before.

Why was she letting him? If his touch had turned harsh and abrasive
again, or if he had in some sly way tried to skirt the strange pact they had
entered into, then she would have stopped him — and left him. But he wasn't...
wasn't doing anything she could protest against derisively; just massag¬ing her
as impersonally as he had promised. Or was he being quite that impersonal? She
was sure she hadn't imagined the featherlight brush of his fingers against her
inner thighs a moment ago. And, damn it all, she was supposed to be the one to
do the leading on, arousing him until just the right moment, when she would
reject him. He and his teasingly sensual hands that roamed far too familiarly
with her body . . , and God knew how many women he must have played this
particular game with. 'Massage,' indeedl

Sanity and a sense of grim purpose returning almost belatedly, Sara sat
up, blinking her eyes as if she had been on the verge of falling asleep.
'Mmm-hmm! That did feel good! But turnabout's fair play, you know, and now it's
my turn. I'm really quite good at giving a massage myself, you know.'

Well, at least she had read a book on the subject and her retention was
excellent. With a teasing smile, Sara reached for the open vial of oil,
steadfastly keeping her eyes on his surprised face.

'And now it's your turn to let yourself relax, so lie down do!'

'How . . . reciprocal of you! I'm flattered.' But Sara noticed that even
after he had stretched himself out on his belly as she had done in the
beginning, he squinted up at her suspiciously.

Pleased with herself she gave him an upcurving cat-smile. 'Oh, but I'm
sure you have lots and lots of eager female volunteers. I'll try to do the best
I can, though.'

'Thank you,' he growled dryly. 'And I'll give you your rating after you
have done. I have no desire to feel your sharp claws sink into my flesh!'

'Oh, but I might surprise you and rate a perfect ten — you never can
tell, can you?'

'Go ahead!' He made a shrugging movement of wide shoulders and casually
pillowed his face in his hands as if resigned to a not-too-pleasant experience.

Poised on her knees above him it was all Sara could do to resist pulling
a face at the back of his arrogant head. He was right, she would' like to sink
her nails in him, but she was out to prove a point. And so, with fingers that
he found surprisingly strong, she began to massage the back of his neck, just
as he had done with her.

The oil, sliding like thick honey between her palms and his brown flesh,
gave her the strangest feeling - almost of wonder at herself for doing what she
was doing and actually enjoying in an unexplainable fashion, the unfamiliar
texture of his skin and the hard contours of his back. She could feel the
ripple of animal muscles under her fingers as if he was tensing and untensing,
still not too sure of what she was up to. She slid her knuckles down the length
of his spine and back up again; kneading his shoulders and trailing teasingly
the next minute down to his waist — passing daringly over tightly held muscles
to rest almost consideringly on-his thigh.

'That's a massage?' There was a snarl in his voice that only made her
smile this time. She could sense from his restless stirring that he tried to
control the disturbance that her touch had aroused in him.

'That's a complaint? Her voice was deliberately provocative while her
hands semaphored messages up and down the hard, harsh length of his body;
learning new things all the time, and gradually beginning to feel a heady sense
of power when she started to sense with her fingertips his unwilling reaction.

'You are . . . making me want you. Be careful!'

Her oiled hands continued to move with more and more assurance against
his warm skin while she responded lightly: 'But why? You swore to me that I
could trust in your given word. Do you want me to stop?'

She was teasing, taunting, tempting — and a bitch of the first order,
Marco thought grimly. Of course, she was out to get even with him, and his
typically male reactions put him at a disadvantage. Dio! How he'd like to have
her squirming, long-limbed body under his while he made her admit to what she
was - nothing more than a cheaply available slut who was ruled by her senses;
giving herself far too easily to any stud she fancied. It had been his
intention to let Carlo discover that for himself. . . He caught himself up
sharply, angry at the slip. Had been? Was! She might be spirited enough, but
she was also a woman, and weak like the rest of her sex - including his own
mother. His mouth twisted in a harsh grimace that was hidden from her by his arms.
Putting Delight in that particular room had been a bitter private jest that
only he could know the irony of. His mother, running off with her peasant
lover, had been a slut too. Kindred spirits. And there was only one, obvious
way to exorcise them both.

Gloating in her victory and yet fascinated in spite of herself, Sara
could not repress a startled gasp when she suddenly found her wrist caught and
held in a hurtful, implacable grasp.