Smokescreen. Anne Mather

his proximity, and uncomfortably conscious of his superior strength.

      ‘Mr Gantry——’

      ‘It was Alex a moment ago.’

      ‘Alex, then——’ She squeezed all her small store of composure into a tight ball. ‘I think this conversation has gone far enough, don’t you? If you’ll just allow me to reach the door …’

      ‘You haven’t touched your supper,’ he reminded her provokingly, and Olivia’s shoulders sagged.

      ‘I intend to take the tray up to my room,’ she stated raggedly, although in fact she had only just remembered it. ‘Alex, please, stop teasing me!’

      ‘Teasing!’ He made a stifled sound of derision, and before she could move, his hands gripped her waist, hard through the fine wool of the caftan. ‘Teasing,’ he said again, bending his head towards her. ‘Oh, Liv, I’m not teasing!’ and although she twisted her head away, his mouth sought and eventually imprisoned hers.

      It was a cruel assault, made the more so by the savage way he forced her head round to his. His jaw was hard against her cheek, the roughness of his unshaven beard scraping her sensitive skin. His teeth bruised her lips as his own forced them apart, and the brutal pressure of his mouth on hers was a suffocating debasement.

      Olivia tried to fight him off, but he was much too strong and much too determined to be thwarted by her puny efforts. Her hands pummelled uselessly at his back, but her breasts were crushed against his chest, and the rigid muscles of his legs were a solid barrier to any physical protest she tried to make.

      His mouth silenced her verbal objections. Although sounds of resistance gurgled in her throat, she was powerless to help herself, and as the searching sensuality of his mouth continued to ravage her senses, new and disturbing sensations began to trouble her. His hands slid from her waist to her hips and evoked an uncontrollable response, and Olivia’s defences crumbled. With the hungry demand of his lips softening to an unbearable intimacy, weakness enveloped her, and the hands which had only moments before been hammering at his shoulders were suddenly clutching the rough wool of his sweater.

      ‘You—bitch!’ he muttered suddenly against her lips, as his leg insinuated itself between hers, but the sound of his contemptuous voice, combined with the stirring pressure she could now feel against her stomach, brought Olivia to a horrifying awareness of what was happening.

      ‘Oh, my God!’ she choked, tearing her mouth from his. ‘My God!’ and because he chose to let her go, she was able to drag herself away from him.

      She wished the ground would open up and swallow her when she saw the mocking gleam in his dark eyes, eyes that were almost black now as they raked her frozen revulsion. ‘Poor Liv,’ he taunted unkindly, making no attempt to hide his own arousal, ‘you didn’t find much satisfaction in your husband’s bed, did you? You must have been desperate—’

      Olivia’s instinctive response rang quietly in the book-lined room, and her fingers stung horribly after impacting with his cheek. Gulping back a sob, she practically flew out of the door, and lifting the hem of the caftan she ran quickly up the stairs.

      With the door of her room closed firmly behind her, she was forced to face the fact that his accusation had not been unjustified. Dear God, she thought disgustedly, she had behaved like the common slut he evidently thought her. How could she have allowed such a thing to happen? And today of all days! Henry was dead. Had Alex no respect? And how could she have played into his hands, and betrayed her own self-esteem? The tears she had not shed through these long and lonely hours spilled from her eyes and she wept for the realisation that she was not immune after all …