Stronger than Yearning

‘Roger and I were just having a business discussion,’ Jenna told him coldly. Dear God, of all the people to find her in such an embarrassing position it would have to be him.

His raised eyebrows conveyed a polite disinclination to put any real belief in her excuse, and all her relief at being interrupted was overtaken by a fierce surge of anger against him. For the second time this evening he was trying to disparage her.

‘Roger. Ah, there you are…’ said Margery, appearing in the doorway. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you, I want you to come and tell Phil Edgerton all about this new development of yours.’

As Margery led Roger away, Jenna was acutely conscious of the silence left behind. James Allingham stood between her and the door, and for some reason that fact alarmed her.

‘I’ll leave you to wait for Vincent,’ she said, striving to appear calm, and heading for the door. He didn’t move and in order to get past him she would have to come within inches of his body. The thought made her cringe inwardly and then mentally berate herself angrily for her reaction to him. What on earth was getting into her? He was a man like any other, shallow, vain, impossibly egotistical, and with an uncomfortable habit of catching her off-guard and unprepared, she acknowledged.

‘I see you’re taking my advice,’ he drawled as she drew level with him.

His remark made her look frowningly at him.

‘About providing Lucy with a father.’ One eyebrow rose. ‘I wouldn’t recommend that you try to secure Mr Bennett for the post, though. He’s hoping for a peerage and most unlikely to divorce Maria…’

For a second she was too stunned to speak, and then the mockery in his eyes was like a burning torch applied to gunpowder, anger exploding so intensely inside her that it totally overwhelmed everything else. Too wrought up even to think of finding the words to release her fury Jenna reacted in the only way she could, all the anger and contempt she felt towards him behind the force of her open palm against his face.

The violence of it made her palm tingle and gave her a glorious, dizzying sense of release so heady that she was barely aware of his reaction until she felt his fingers snap round her wrists.

Fury glittered in her eyes, the trappings of civilisation stripped from her expression as she let him see the loathing in their depths, using all her strength to resist the pressure he was exerting to drag her into his arms.

She expected him to release her and he did, but only to force her hands behind her back and manacle them there, imprisoning her against his body with his other hand. Shock darkened her green eyes to emerald. No man had ever dared to handle her in this way before! She was too angry to feel fear, only an all-consuming rage that he should dare to touch her as he was. Through her suit she could feel the hardness of his body and the rapid thud of his heart. Arching back she glared up into his eyes. They were like ice water, glittering with a rage to match her own. In his jaw a pulse thudded erratically just below the dark red marks of her hand.

‘So, there is life beneath that controlled façade, after all.’ He bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. ‘What a pity your friend isn’t here to observe the real Jenna. I’m sure he’d find it most illuminating.’

‘Roger Bennett is no friend of mine,’ Jenna spat at him furiously. ‘We came in here to discuss business, but like all your sex, he believes he has a God-given appeal to women that none of us can resist.’

James Allingham’s eyes narrowed on Jenna’s face as she spoke, the anger dying out of them to be replaced by cool speculation.

‘A feminist, I see. Well, my dear, you’ll have to castrate the entire male sex to convert the world to believing as you do.’

‘With the greatest of pleasure.’ She had grated out the words before she could stop herself, twisting desperately to break free of him as she saw his expression change.

‘I see. Then I shall know how to exact retribution for this, shan’t I?’ he drawled nastily, briefly releasing her to touch the scarlet marks against his skin.

Jenna tried to use her momentary advantage to escape, bucking fiercely against his punishing grip on her wrists, driven wild by fury when she felt the soundless laugh that shook his body, and then his hand was at the nape of her neck, his fingers sliding up into her hair in a taunting parody of tenderness, the pressure of his body against hers forcing her back until she felt her muscles clench against the pressure. She tried to kick him and was rewarded by the hard pressure of his leg trapping hers, forcing her between his thighs.

Stubbornly, she refused to give in to the pressure of his hand splayed against her head, and to the agonising pain she felt when his fingers tightened punishingly into her hair, dislodging the pins in her French pleat. He was hurting her deliberately, and enjoying it, damn him!

‘No one should be allowed to inflict pain without accepting the risk of getting it back,’ he told her softly, his eyes on hers.

‘Is that how you get your kicks?’ Her own glared back at him. ‘By hurting women?’

‘Are you a woman?’ His mocking smile was derisive. ‘I haven’t seen anything to convince me of that—yet!’

Jenna struggled harder, driven to fury by his behaviour. ‘Damn you! Let me go!’ She arched against him, trying to break free, tensing suddenly when his glance fell to her breasts, moving in uneven agitation beneath her jacket.

For a moment, she thought he meant to touch her and a wave of hostile rejection gripped her body.

‘Don’t worry,’ he told her laconically. ‘I find you about as sexy as a Barbie doll and nearly as plastic.’

Just for a second his contempt pierced through her, hurting her in a way she had never thought to be hurt but then the pain was gone superseded by sheer animal rage. ‘Then why don’t you let me go and get back to your little blonde playmate?’ she shot at him. ‘I’m sure she’s everything a man like you could ever need.’

Her mouth twisted cynically over the word ‘man’. He let her finish and then said silkily, ‘You asked for this.’

She couldn’t even free her hands to beat at his shoulders as his mouth ground down on hers. Her attempt to twist away at the last moment was foiled by the fierce pressure of his fingers in her hair, tugging back her head until she thought her neck might break, his mouth grinding her lips back against her teeth, a savage display of male anger and contempt, of male desire to subdue and physically destroy the female. It asked for and got no response. It was not designed to. It was inflicted upon her purely as punishment.

When he eventually released her, her mouth felt bruised and sore. She could taste blood on her lips, and wiped her hand across her mouth distastefully, hating him with a ferocity that almost matched her hatred of Lucy’s father. But then, of course, he too was a member of that accursed family. No wonder he had behaved as he had. It must be in the Deveril blood, this desire to humiliate and degrade women.