Force of Feeling

Although he was always careful not to hurt her, sometimes when he made love to her she felt as though he was reaching for something he felt was beyond his grasp. Secretly, she began to worry that she was not satisfying him, that there was something lacking in her that caused the ferocity of his passion. And she was too insecure to discuss it with him.

Sometimes she would see him looking at her as though he was waiting for something. Sometimes when they made love and he made her cry out with joy and need she felt as though he was waiting for more, but what more could there be?

Not once had he mentioned seeing her when they returned to London; and so, as their last week together sped by, she found she was slowly distancing herself from him, preparing herself for the time when he would no longer be part of her life.

They still made love; but emotionally she was once again erecting her barriers.

If he sensed it, he said nothing. If he did sense it, he could only be relieved that she was behaving in such an adult manner, she decided. After all, he was the man; if he wanted to put their relationship on a more serious footing, he only had to say. It must be painfully obvious how she felt about him.

The night before they left they were going out for dinner to a small restaurant outside Haverfordwest.

Personally, Campion would rather they had stayed at the cottage, but she suspected that Guy was afraid that if they did she might become too emotional, and that this was his way of making sure that did not happen.

The restaurant was popular and busy. Campion had bought herself a new dress, surprised to find a very expensive boutique in Haverfordwest that stocked designer clothes.

The dress was silk jersey, fluid swathes of fabric that moulded her body discreetly, in a pattern designed to suggest snakeskin.

With it, she wore high-heeled shoes and sheer silk stockings, and even with her heels she was still shorter than Guy.

Since she did not have a coat with her suitable for wearing over it, she was glad that Guy was able to park right outside.

They were offered drinks at the bar; Guy ordered champagne cocktails, but she only sipped at hers. She was wrought-up and tense, wishing with all her heart that she and Guy were alone. This was not how she wanted to celebrate their last night together.

Their last night. Guy looked at her and she trembled. He started to speak, but was interrupted by the waiter informing them that their table was ready.

As they walked to it, Campion was surprised to be the recipient of several admiring male glances. Men looking at her…

She did not realise that the lustre to her skin, the confidence in her walk, the air she now carried of being a desirable and desired woman were just as obvious as her old inferiorities had once been.

When they sat down, Guy was frowning. He looked angry about something and Campion felt her heart flutter. This whole evening was a mistake, and now Guy was annoyed.

She reached across the table and touched his hand, her eyes anxious and concerned.

‘Guy, what is it? What’s wrong?’

He threw down his napkin and said harshly, ‘Let’s get out of here.’

And, before Campion could object, they were outside in the car park, and Guy was bundling her into the car.

Neither of them spoke on the drive back, Campion because she was half afraid to, in case something she said sparked off the anger she could sense from Guy’s tension, and Guy because he seemed to be engrossed in his driving, and whatever it was that had led him to leave the restaurant so precipitously.

Not until they were inside the kitchen did Campion speak. They were leaving first thing in the morning, and so she and Guy had spent the afternoon making sure that they were leaving everything spick and span.

‘I suppose I’d better make us something to eat,’ she suggested, mentally reviewing the contents of the fridge. They had thrown everything out other than bacon, eggs and bread for their breakfast.

‘I don’t want anything to eat,’ Guy told her tersely.

It was so unlike him to be like this. He was one of the most even-tempered people she had ever met, capable of anger, it was true, but also capable of controlling it, of allowing himself to see the justice of someone else’s point of view.

Impulsively she reached out to touch him, and asked, as she had done in the restaurant, ‘Guy, what is it? What—’

‘What is it? It’s this, damn you!’ he told her violently, dragging her into his arms and taking her mouth fiercely, the pressure of his kiss bruising her lips, hurting almost. She must have made a sound of protest, because suddenly he released her, cupping her face with both his hands and resting his hot forehead against hers.

‘God, I’m sorry…’

She only just heard his muffled apology. ‘I wanted to take you out…to end…’ He shook his head, and when he spoke again his voice was raw and husky, ‘But all I could think of was how much I wanted to make love to you, and how much I hated not being able to touch you.’

Campion shivered, so closely did his words match her own feelings.