Savage Obsession

Well, she wasn't going to pander to his male ego. Wrenching her head away from its dangerous resting place, she bunched her hands into small fists and pushed against his shoulders, at the end of her tether, grinding out, 'Leave me alone, can't you?'

Her efforts to push him away were worse than futile; they seemed to be heightening his desire to subdue her, she thought frantically, noting the rapid rise and fall of his deep chest, the savage glitter of his narrowed eyes as he tightened his hold on her squirming body and bit out, 'Why the hell should I? You're still my wife, damn it!'

And then the world went very still, very silent, only the chaotic drumbeats of her heart sounding wildly in her ears, only her own sobbing, burning breath, the quick, rasping hiss that escaped his clamped lips before his mouth possessed hers in a brutal kiss that was like nothing that had ever gone before, his big body subduing her panicky attempts to escape, carrying them both down to the soft forest floor, down and down to a hot dark warmth from which there was no way out. A burning, fe­verish heat, all sense and reason gone because, although he no longer wanted her in his l

ife, she was still, legally, his possession, and he was stamping his brand, this one last time, just to prove his domination.

And this was going to be rape.

CHAPTER FOUR

But it wasn't rape. Of course it wasn't.

As far as Charles was concerned, Beth's re­sponsive body was all fire and fury, matching his own. It had been so long since he had touched her, wanted her, that when she felt his hard body covering hers all logical thought flew out of her head, her arms reaching up to twine around him, gathering him closer.

And, as if her eager response triggered a more caring approach, the tenderness that had always been an intrinsic part of his passion in the early days of their marriage, his kiss gentled, his mouth tasting hers now, exploring a world within a world, searching, finding the gateway to her soul.

Because her soul, her heart, her mind and body would always belong to him, no matter what hap­pened, Beth thought, and closed her mind off as his sure fingers undid the buttons of her top and slid the soft fabric from her gleaming satiny shoulders, and surrendered herself to him and the moment—the future, the past no longer important.

Groaning softly, he buried his face in her breasts and her throat arched back, her hands avidly stroking the magnificent breadth of his back be­neath his sweatshirt, the strong arch of his ribcage.

It wasn't a journey of discovery; she was simply coming home. She knew and worshipped every inch of his hard male body, and when he lifted his head and looked at her from narrowed, glittering eyes, she could only whisper his name.

'Kiss me,' he commanded roughly, his skin pulled tight across his angular cheekbones, and she lifted eager hands to his head, her fingers twisting in the dark softness of his hair as she pulled him down, her lush lips parted, receptive.

And when she thought she would die from the sweet, melting torment of his mouth he rolled away from her, his eyes holding hers with scorching in­tensity as his hands went to the buckle of the leather belt that spanned his narrow waist. And her whole body was shaken with fine tremors of need.

For far, far too long she had ached for the love he had denied her and their mating on the soft forest floor was explosive, a wild, tumultuous release that left her satiated, her delicate body bruised by passion, curling immediately into the sheltering warmth of his as she fell asleep with the utter sud­denness of a child.

Waking slowly, Beth felt flutters of cool air beating against her naked skin and she made a tiny mewing sound of distress then opened her eyes, fo­cusing on the tall, dusk-shadowed man. He was fully dressed now, zipping up his jeans, and, at her small sound of protest, he was on his knees in front of her, his hands rubbing her arms and shoulders, his voice rough at the edges as he told her,

'You're cold. I'll help you dress.'

And he did, his fingers deft and sure, making up for her clumsiness. Her brain was in shock at what had happened, the lovemaking he had forced upon her to begin with but which she, craven idiot that she was, had then actively encouraged.

She felt so ashamed of herself that she wanted to die.

She had slept in his arms for hours, his body half covering her, keeping her warm, and now she was stiff and cold, back to reality, the fantasy and magic all gone.

Because there had been no magic at all, she re­minded herself as she forced her feet into her sandals, merely stupidity on her part and the natural masculine desire to brand a possession—even if he no longer actually wanted it.

Ineffectively trying to smooth the crumpled folds of her skirt, she whimpered her self-disgust, and Charles said thickly, his face remote, 'Have my sweatshirt.' He was already beginning to strip it off and although the extra warmth would have been welcome it would be his warmth. She shook her head impatiently.

'No, thanks,' she said, and set off quickly down the track. 'I have to get back.' Back to the security of the old farmhouse, her own little room. She would think about how to explain her long absence to William some other time. Just now the de­grading way she had behaved left no room for any­thing else in her head.

One minute she'd been telling her husband that she understood why he'd taken his former mistress back into his life, saying that, in any case, she had been thinking about a separation for some time, implying that he could have the divorce he so ob­viously wanted if he were to legitimise his son. And the next… Well, the next minute she had been locked in his arms, writhing around on the forest floor, practically begging him to make love to her!

'Beth.' He caught her arm, just above her elbow, swinging her round to face him. It was already late afternoon and the heavy canopy of leaves cut out the light and his face was shadowed, remote. 'We have to talk.'

'Not now!' She dragged her arm away and watched his hands fall to his sides, his mouth clamping in a grim line. She swung away again, her slender shoulders rigid with temper.

How could he expect her to discuss the divorce he wanted, sordid things like settlements or whatever, when he had so recently filled her body with the explosion of his passion? How could he bring that hateful subject up? Couldn't he see how she was almost disintegrating with self-disgust, her anger the only thing keeping her together?

And she snapped through her teeth, 'Just drive me home. I never want to see you again!'

'If that's what you want,' he ground out tightly, overtaking her with long, furious strides, stalking ahead and flinging over his shoulder, 'But Templeton's house is not your home. Never forget it!'

Dog in the manger, Beth thought angrily, her burning eyes boring into his back as he swung through the trees on the track ahead. He no longer wanted her as his wife, yet he couldn't bear the thought of her being with another man.