The Longest Pleasure. Anne Mather

cheeks to the unusually warm weather. Nevertheless, she did gain a great deal of pleasure from just looking at him, and if Rafe was aware of her covert appraisal, he gave no sign of it.

      In spite of her absorption with his appearance, Helen also learned quite a lot about him during those outdoor gatherings. Because she had never asked, she had not known the subjects he had been studying at university, but now she discovered he had gained a double first in biological sciences, which evidently endorsed the faith her grandmother had had in him all those years before. What was less palatable to accept was the news that he had been offered a job with a chemical company in the north of England, and that as soon as the holidays were over, he would be moving away from Castle Howarth. Which meant she had less than two weeks left to make him as aware of her as she was of him, she realised hollowly. If only she had more experience; if only she was as sexy as Sandra.

      Drawing a steadying breath now, she glanced round the empty stackyard. It was deserted, as she had expected, the men who had been haymaking all afternoon retiring to the farmhouse kitchen where Mrs Robinson, the farmer’s wife, would be reviving them with mugs of beer and plates of her home-made scones. Helen’s mouth watered at the thought of Mrs Robinson’s home-made scones, but she put the thought aside. She was aware she had eaten too many fattening things these holidays already, and her shorts were infinitely tighter now than they had been at the end of July.

      But she wasn’t here to think about food, she told herself severely. She already knew Rafe had not accompanied the other men up to the house. It was a heavensent opportunity. She had sauntered down here in her scantiest vest and mini-skirt to meet Rafe on his way to the farmhouse, only to be told, with a knowing smile, that he was still stacking hay in the barn.

      The light in the barn filtered down through the slats, throwing bars of sunlight across the floor. Dust motes danced in its muted brilliance, thousands of tiny particles forming a moving waterfall, yet seemingly suspended in the air.

      To Helen’s surprise, the barn seemed deserted too, and she stood for a moment in the doorway, wondering if the men had been mistaken. Perhaps Rafe was in the loft, she considered, taking a step forward and opening her mouth to call his name. But before she could do so, she heard something—a sound, a muffled giggle, and then the unmistakable ripple of Rafe’s attractive laughter.

      She froze, glad that the beams of sunlight did not reach her where she stood in the shadows. It was obvious Rafe was here, in the loft as she had suspected, but he was not alone. That girlish giggle was too familiar. She had heard Sandra’s laughter before. But never with Rafe? Never with Rafe!

      Her breath catching in her throat, she would have left then, but a few stray words drifting down to her kept her rigid. ‘She’s crazy about you!’ Sandra gurgled carelessly. ‘Haven’t you seen the way she watches you? My God! If her grandmother only knew! And she thinks I’m the shameless one!’

      ‘You are,’ retorted Rafe, his voice muffled; as if his face was buried between those huge breasts, thought Helen sickly, and Sandra’s moan of approval seemed to confirm it.

      ‘Well, I don’t care. I know what I want,’ declared Sandra after a moment. ‘Hmm—take your clothes off, Rafe. You know I don’t like it when you just use me like this.’

      ‘You like being used,’ Rafe replied, a certain harshness in his voice now, and Helen put her hands over her ears. She didn’t want to hear any more. She had already heard too much. And although she despised Rafe for falling for a loud-mouthed little tart like Sandra Venables, what hurt most was that they had been talking about her!

      ‘Oh—Rafe——’

      Sandra’s cry rang in Helen’s ears long after she had put the width of the long meadow between herself and what was happening in the barn. In all honesty, she had only a faint idea of what was happening, but she had seen animals mating, and she could imagine the rest. In her mind, it all added up to something ugly and unacceptable, and her stomach heaved in protest at such a rude awakening.

      Helen was lying back on her elbows, her eyes closed, her face dewed with the perspiration that prolonged retching had provoked, when she became aware of a shadow blocking the warmth of the sun. She opened her eyes at once, seeking the source of the sudden barrier, and then wished she hadn’t when she met Rafe’s accusing gaze.

      She would have scrambled to her feet at once, but his booted foot balanced precariously on her midriff kept her where she was, while his eyes raked over her. ‘How does it feel,’ he taunted, his expression grimmer than she had ever seen it, ‘to have someone creep up on you unannounced? It’s not much fun, is it? In fact, it’s bloody sick!’

      ‘Well, if it’s any consolation, you made me sick!’ she retorted in a small voice, realising there was no point in pretending ignorance, and his face contorted.

      ‘That’s what you get when you play Peeping Tom!’ he grated, allowing his weight to bear down painfully on her middle for a moment before withdrawing his foot completely. ‘What’s wrong with you, Helen? What did you hope to see?’

      ‘I didn’t hope to see anything,’ she exclaimed, pushing herself into a sitting position, and hunching her shoulders against his hostile stare. ‘I came to find you, that’s all. I didn’t realise you had a prior engagement!’

      ‘So why didn’t you make your presence known? Why were you hanging about in the doorway? Don’t tell me you didn’t know we were there, because I won’t believe you!’

      Helen’s indignation gave her the strength to look up at him then, and her eyes were wide with anguish. ‘Do you actually imagine I would have followed you into the barn if I’d known that—that creature was with you?’

      Rafe’s green eyes were hard. ‘Why not?’

      ‘Why you——’ Helen stumbled to her feet to face him, her chest heaving painfully beneath the thin vest. ‘How—how dare you even suggest such a thing? Just who the hell do you think you are?’

      Rafe’s lips twisted. ‘I wondered how long it would be before that line was uttered! My God, and I let your grandmother persuade me you had changed! I should have known better. You’re still the spoiled, selfish little bitch you always were!’

      Helen’s hand came up and struck his cheek almost without her volition. The first realisation of what she had done came with the stinging pain in her palm, and she looked down at her hand half-incredulously before transferring her disbelieving attention to the reddening weals on his face.

      ‘I——’ she began, but she was not allowed to finish what she had been going to say. She thought she had been about to apologise, but afterwards she was never actually sure. What happened next wiped all coherent thought from her brain, and by the time he released her, her head was spinning so badly it was an effort to even keep her feet.

      She remembered Rafe reaching for her, and she remembered lifting her arms to protect herself. She was sure he was going to retaliate and she was half prepared for him to hit her, but he didn’t. Instead, he jerked her towards him, clamping her shaking body to the muscled strength of his, and fastening his mouth to hers with grim determination.

      ‘Is this what you want?’ he snarled, and she felt a hot moist pressure forcing its way between her lips and her teeth and into her mouth. It was his tongue, and she almost gagged when he thrust it back towards her throat in an ugly parody of sexual possession. ‘You should have told me!’ he taunted, and her skirt rode up to her hips as he forced his leg between her thighs. ‘Sandra said this was what you wanted, but I didn’t believe her!’

      ‘God! I—don’t!’ she choked, dragging her mouth from his with a supreme effort, and trying to turn her head away. But it was useless. He was so much bigger and stronger than she was, and she couldn’t escape his hand behind her head, forcing her face back to his. His mouth was devouring her, possessing her lips with a feverish urgency, making her senses swim beneath a torrent of brutal adult emotion. She hated him for hurting her; she fought his rough passion all the way; and yet, in some remote corner of her mind, she sensed he despised himself for touching her as much