Yesterday's Husband
Angela Devine
Sleeping with the enemy? "You've had your choice - your father's company in exchange for your body!" Emma had walked out on her husband eight years ago with good reason. But now Richard Fielding was back - with a vengeance. Emma's father had lived for his company - it had meant everything to him.How could she let Richard destroy it and all her father stood for? She had no choice - she had to pay Richard's price. But, even though Richard had reclaimed his place in her bed, it was clear that was the only place he wanted her!
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u031f9e4b-fda6-5047-ac84-856d05f6c843)
Excerpt (#ubd60027e-4e5a-5219-b837-0c9d7a504fb2)
About The Author (#u5de7fc02-678f-5e3e-96ba-9826be18242b)
Title Page (#u6d7a0e7f-68f9-5535-b41e-41f17ddbeba6)
Dedication (#u32de6bf1-e56d-578a-8481-38bfa96737be)
Chapter One (#u45177a17-94a5-5fe2-8b06-61320896a796)
Chapter Two (#uc8d463ca-25d7-5c2b-9f0b-1138e5e63751)
Chapter Three (#u6031ccac-d813-5b28-8e10-c2157a5fc304)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“Richard…we shouldn’t…it’s insane!”
“Yes, we should. And it isn’t insane. I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything in the past eight years, and you do, too. Don’t you? Admit it, Emma. Tell me that you want me. Say it!”
“I want you, Richard,” she breathed. Oh, how she wanted him!
“That’s all I needed to know,” he said coldly.
And to Emma’s astonishment and chagrin, Richard rose to his feet.
“Good night, Emma.”
ANGELA DEVINE grew up in Tasmania, Australia, surrounded by forests, mountains and wild seas, so she dislikes big cities. Before taking up writing, she worked as a teacher, librarian and university lecturer. As a young mother and Ph.D. student, she read romance fiction for fun, and later decided it would be even more fun to write it. She is married with four children, loves chocolate and drinking tea and hates ironing. Her current hobbies are gardening, bushwalking, traveling and classical music.
Yesterday’s Husband
Angela Devine
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Kirk, whose eyes are the color of a storm-tossed sea,
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_8d55af2f-5bcb-5336-941c-0392a3fd9eab)
AS THE hotel bus bowled along through the lush green Balinese countryside, Emma Prero felt a wave of nostalgia so powerful that she caught her breath. The Indonesian island was every bit as magical and exotic as her memories of her honeymoon had told her. Graceful palm trees waved their feathery green foliage overhead, monkeys scuttled in alarm up the mossy green walls of stone temples, girls in colourful tie-dyed skirts and blouses strolled along the roadside verges with baskets of fruit balanced on their heads. Once the driver was forced to come to a complete halt when a flock of noisy, squabbling ducks spread right across the road. As he opened the door to shout a protest at their owner, a warm rush of tropical air filled the vehicle’s air-conditioned interior. It brought with it the unmistakable scent of the island, a dense, intoxicating compound of moist sea breezes, frangipani blooms and Eastern spices. Breathing in that distinctive fragrance, Emma was hit by a sharp, painful longing for Richard. The sensation was so vivid that she shut her eyes briefly, almost expecting to find him sitting beside her just as he had done nine long years before. But there was no warm, muscular thigh next to hers, no large, calloused hand brushing her fingers, no rumble of masculine laughter beside her. When she opened her eyes again, the seat was empty and the door of the bus was closing with a soft hiss. Emma gripped her Gucci handbag and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to control the wild beating of her heart. Why did I come? she wondered in panic. I must have been crazy! Do I really want to inflict this kind of pain on myself? It was a stupid idea. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Turning her head away from the window, she glanced at the other occupants of the bus. But that only made her feel worse. In front of her were two elderly couples with silvery hair and cheerful, smiling faces, who looked as if they were still on their honeymoons forty years after the wedding. Behind her she could hear a large assortment of excited young people, already striking up friendships. And directly opposite her was the most painful sight of all. A genuine honeymoon couple. The woman still had scraps of confetti in her long, curly auburn hair and she was gazing with luminous happiness at her new husband. As for him, he seemed to he oblivious of everything except his bride’s liquid brown eyes. The sight sent a pain like a knife twisting through Emma’s heart. She couldn’t be much older than them in years—after all, she was only twenty-eight—but she felt centuries beyond them in bitter experience. Sighing, she unscrewed the crumpled colour travel brochure which she had been thoughtlessly mangling, and tried to read it. It was no use complaining. She had made her own bed and now she must lie on it.
There was another bad moment as the bus pulled up in the leafy courtyard of the hotel. Following the luggage porter into the dim, cool interior, she heard the sound of a gamelan orchestra. The strange, percussive music with its drums and cymbals and bronze pots held a thrilling dissonance that was instantly and hauntingly familiar. Yes, there had been an orchestra just like that when she and Richard had signed in at this very desk nine years ago. It was the first time she had used her married name and her fingers had shaken as she’d taken the pen in her hand. They were shaking again now and her writing came out spidery and illegible.
‘Emma Fielding.’
The name looked strange to her, for she had barely used it in the eight years since she and Richard parted. Yet some foolish impulse had made her leave it on her passport, so that when she travelled she still had the illusion of being genuinely married. The same foolish impulse had prevented her from ever asking Richard for a divorce. Although she told herself that she despised him, it gave her a hollow, aching kind of comfort to pretend that one day they might get back together. Pigs might fly! she told herself savagely, setting down the pen. Richard would go to the moon sooner than have anything further to do with me. Her lips twisted at the thought.
‘You do not look happy, madam,’ said the desk clerk, his almond-shaped eyes narrowing in concern. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘No, no,’ Emma assured him in a stifled voice. Just that my husband bates me, I’m on the verge of going bankrupt to the tune of twenty million dollars and I’m so miserable I wish I’d never been born. ‘Nothing important.’
The man smiled warmly at her, displaying perfect white teeth.
‘Ah, you travel alone. Perhaps you are lonely, yes? Allow me to make a suggestion. Every night we have a cabaret in the Arjuna Room, very friendly, very informal. Lots of Balinese dancing, very happy for our guests. There will be many young people there. Perhaps you like me to put you at a table with some other tourists so you can make friends?’
Emma winced inwardly. The last thing she wanted was to sit with a group of total strangers in a holiday mood. But the clerk was so earnest, so genuinely anxious to help that she felt she owed him some kind of explanation.
‘Er…that’s very kind of you,’ she said, inventing wildly, ‘but I’m rather tired from the plane trip and in any case I probably won’t be alone for long. My husband may be arriving later in the evening, so I’d rather stay in my room and wait for him.’
‘Of course, of course, madam. I understand. I will look out for him.’
Well, you’ll be looking for a long time, thought Emma as she took the key with a wry smile. But when a bellboy in a black sarong, vividly printed scarlet shirt and batik headscarf came forward to take her bag, she felt her spirits lift unexpectedly. As she followed him along the highly polished teak floors through a maze of corridors, the depression of the last few months began to ebb away from her. Perhaps it had been a good idea to come on this trip, after all. With a shock she realised that it was the first holiday she had taken since she left Richard.
The bellboy opened a glass door leading to the outside of the building and ushered her on to a shady veranda. Once again she experienced that heady waft of warm, moist, tropical air. Her companion’s sandals scuffed softly on the crazy paving of the path as he led her between low, clipped hedges that bordered a garden filled with ginger lilies, hibiscus and frangipani bushes.
“There, madam,’ he said, pointing to a building directly in front of them. ‘That is your bungalow. And the closest swimming-pool is just through the stone gateway on the right.’
In spite of being called a bungalow, the building in front of Emma was actually two storeys high and built in the traditional native style. It had a high gabled roof covered in orange pantiles, the walls were covered in orange rendering with inset panels of carved grey stone and the shady verandas both upstairs and downstairs were scattered with invitingly deep, cushioned bamboo chairs. She found her thoughts turning immediately to long, cool, fruity drinks clinking with ice.
‘Come in, come in,’ urged the bellboy, smiling. ‘Nice and cool inside.’
It was nice and cool. The air-conditioning purred softly and the room that met her gaze was tastefully furnished and welcoming. Against the neutral cream walls hung vividly coloured Balinese paintings of landscapes and mythological scenes. A Barong mask with intricately decorated gold ears, bulging eyes and monstrous teem grinned wickedly above an ornately carved teak drinks cabinet. The actual furniture was minimal—a comfortable lounge suite covered in green batik, a couple of bamboo coffee-tables and a bamboo dining suite. But behind a magnificently carved wooden screen the bellboy pointed out a tiny, fully equipped kitchen. Then he led her up the stairs to the bedroom.
Here the memories were so sharp that they were almost a physical pain. As she looked around every detail seemed to be etched vividly in her memory. The two vast beds with their exuberant bedspreads writhing with brilliant tropical flowers, the paintings of courting egrets on the walls, the carved dressing-tables and wardrobes were all unbearably familiar. Even the bathroom with its gold taps and green marble fittings was a poignant reminder of the past. All the same, as the bellboy deposited her suitcase and pointed out the various features of the room to her she tried to smile. Yet the only thing she wanted now was to be left in peace, alone with her memories.
‘Thank you very much,’ she said at last, gently cutting him off by handing him a five thousand rupiah note. ‘If you could have some iced juice and fruit sent over to me soon, I’d be grateful.’
When his thanks had died away and the door downstairs had closed quietly, she was finally free to stop keeping up appearances. Kicking off her shoes with a sigh of relief, she delved into the thick chignon at the back of her head, yanked out the hairpins and felt her long hair tumble loose around her shoulders. Then, driven by another of her absurd impulses, she wrestled her suitcase up on to the bed and rummaged inside it. At last she found what she was looking for and laid it out on the bedspread. With shaking fingers she pulled off everything—her expensive French suit with the gold brooch on the lapel, her silk tights, hand-embroidered underwear, pearl necklace and gold pearl drop-earrings. Then she picked up the long, wrap-around batik dress which Richard had bought her on their honeymoon. It was a smoky blue colour with a halter neck, no back whatsoever from the waist up, a long, swirling skirt and a red starburst of colour like the explosion of a supernova on the front. The smell of the sandalwood chest where she had kept it all these years rose faintly to her nostrils as she tied it around her. Picking up a hairbrush, she attacked her hair with long, jerky, tugging strokes, but flung the brush aside before she had finished. A small, stark smile distorted her lips as she walked slowly across to the dressing-table mirror.
‘You haven’t changed much, Em,’ she said to her reflection.
But the cynical narrowing of her eyes and the wry pursing of her mouth told her she was wrong. Oh, in one way it was true. With her wavy, dark hair cascading around her shoulders and her petite, almost adolescent figure, she still looked much like the nineteen-year-old girl Richard had married. Her pale, creamy skin was still fresh and unlined, while her small breasts were little more than a gentle swell beneath the thin fabric of her dress. Yet in other ways she was a woman, and an embittered woman at that. Her eyes, yellow-flecked at the centre and deep green around the outer edge of the irises, stared back at her with their habitual wary expression. And there was an indefinable tension in the whole carriage of her small, neat body.
‘Oh, damn it!’ she exclaimed. ‘Why did I do this? I should have known there was no going back.’
Tearing off the gauzy Balinese dress, she opened the bathroom door and flung it down on the floor. Perhaps a shower would freshen her up and stop her being so ridiculously gloomy. After all, this holiday was supposed to be fun. A last fling, a chance to enjoy herself before the dreary, humiliating task of declaring herself bankrupt.
With a determined gesture, she slammed the door to the bedroom, turned on the taps and stepped under the shower. Deliberately she let it run quite cool, so that when she stepped under it she let out an involuntary squeal of shock. But after five minutes under that cool, invigorating hail, a sense of well-being began to invade her. I won’t think about Richard any more, she told herself forcefully. I’ll just relax, unwind and soak up the sun and the atmosphere. After that, I’ll be in much better shape to tackle my problems.
Closing her eyes, she lifted her face to the downpour of cool water and shuddered luxuriously. Mmm, she was feeling better already. She turned off the taps, groped for a thick, fluffy towel and stepped out of the shower stall. As she wrung the water out of her hair, she thought she heard the distant sound of a door closing downstairs. Probably Room Service with the snack she had ordered. Well, she had better make herself decent in case the maid came upstairs. Rubbing herself briskly, she pulled on the flimsy Balinese dress, gave her hair a final wipe and dropped the towel. Then she opened the door, stepped into the bedroom and suffered a shock so appalling that her heart almost stopped.
‘Richard,’ she moaned.
It was him. Really him. Not some lunatic figment of her imagination like the fantasy on the bus, but a real, solid, breathing human being. As tall and broad as he always had been, with the same sun-streaked, curly blond hair, tanned skin and vivid blue eyes. But different. Oh, God, how different! He was still devastatingly goodlooking, but there was a harshness about him that the younger Richard hadn’t had. A brooding quality of power and authority that radiated out to meet her with devastating force. Like Emma, he was dressed in the sort of casual clothes they had worn on their honeymoonin his case thin beige shorts and a beige and tan batik safari jacket which revealed his muscular legs and forearms. Yet the resemblance to the man she had once loved with all her heart ended with the clothes. In all other ways this was a stranger, who stood grim and unsmiling between the two huge beds, his stance and expression radiating an unmistakable hostility. But what on earth was he doing here?
‘Hello, Emma.’
She clutched at the door-frame to support herself. His deep, throaty voice was unmistakable.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked in a frozen whisper.
He seemed as unruffled by the question as if he had only left her ten minutes before to step out for a breath of fresh air. With a casual motion of his hand, he waved at the stairs.
‘I’ll explain in a moment,’ he said serenely. ‘In the meantime, why don’t you come down and join me in a snack?’
A feeling of unreality took hold of Emma as she glided down the stairs behind him. Could this really be happening? It was outrageous, impossible! And yet the ornately carved teak banister felt disconcertingly firm under her fingers and the jug of iced juice accompanied by a platter of luscious, tropical fruit looked real enough. Sinking unsteadily into one of the cushioned chairs, she accepted a drink from Richard and carried it to her mouth with nerveless fingers. The sweet, fruity blend of pineapple, coconut, ice and milk flowed refreshingly into her mouth and gave her a little reassurance. No, she wasn’t dreaming! All the same, her feelings were in turmoil at this unexpected sight of her husband after so many years apart. A swirl of questions whirled in her head like a cloud of coloured butterflies. Why, how, when? Without even stopping to think, she spoke.
‘How did you know I was here?’ she blurted out.
Richard shrugged, smiled and looked as if it had been the easiest thing in the world to find out Emma’s whereabouts, even though they were supposed to be strictly secret. Picking up his own drink, he settled into the depths of one of the cushioned chairs.
‘Miss Matty told me,’ he said.
‘Matty?’ echoed Emma indignantly. ‘You wormed the information out of Matty? I can’t believe it! She’s always been the perfect secretary, totally discreet. And I told her nobody was to know where I was.’
Richard gave a faint, mirthless laugh and raised his glass to her in a taunting salute.
‘Well, perhaps she thought your husband was entitled to special treatment,’ he said in a steely voice. ‘Besides, I told her I had an important proposition which needed to be put to you immediately.’
‘Proposition?’ cried Emma in alarm. ‘What kind of proposition? What do you mean?’
‘Now don’t be so hasty, Emma,’ drawled Richard lazily. ‘We’ve got a lot of catching up to do before we talk about that. It’s a long time since we’ve seen each other.’
It certainly is, thought Emma, and her hand shook as she set down her glass. For one crazy moment she had felt an exhilarating uplift of joy at the sight of Richard, but now she saw how mistaken that reaction had been. There was nothing friendly in the brooding face that confronted her across the table and she felt absolutely no urge to catch up on what he had been doing in the time since she’d seen him last. In any case, she was all too bitterly aware of it. The glossy magazines and the financial journals had kept her informed of every detail of his meteoric rise to wealth and of the glamorous, sexy women who helped him to enjoy it. With a brief, aching sense of regret, she wished that she had never driven him away from her. Then she would never have had to endure the anguish of watching him find love and success without her. With a wry twist of her lips, Emma wondered whether Richard had followed her career and her supposed love life in the Press as thoroughly as she had followed his. His next words showed that he had.
‘I’m not hypocrite enough to pretend that I was sorry to hear of your father’s death,’ he said bluntly. ‘But I hope it wasn’t painful.’
A shadow crossed her face as she thought of the agonising weeks she had spent in the private hospital at her father’s bedside. Weeks when she would have given anything for the friendly touch of Richard’s hand on her shoulder.
‘It was,’ she said hoarsely.
‘I’m sorry. Liver cancer is a dreadful disease. But I’ve got to hand it to you, Emma. You showed a lot of guts in tackling it the way you did. I know you were close to your father and it must have been hell to see him die by inches. I also think you did an amazing job of taking over Prero’s when you were only twenty-one.’
Emma felt surprised and grateful at this unexpected praise. Her pale cheeks flushed with colour and her eyes brightened.
‘Th-thank you,’ she stammered.
‘Of course, the recession must have dealt you some pretty heavy blows since then,’ continued Richard, scrutinising her shrewdly. ‘Times haven’t been easy to property developers, especially those with large office holdings in the central business district. Tell me, how is the company performing now in your view, Emma?’
The question shot out like a bullet from a gun and wounded Emma to the heart. For a moment she contemplated telling him the truth, but her pride wouldn’t allow her to make such a humiliating confession of failure. Instead she forced a strained smile to her lips.
‘Times haven’t been easy,’ she said glibly, ‘but on the whole I think the company is doing very well indeed.’
With lazy, unhurried movements, Richard set down his glass and rose to his feet. Then, moving around the table, he leaned forward and caressed Emma’s cheek with an enigmatic smile on his face.
‘You’re a barefaced liar, sweetheart,’ he said softly.
Her senses reeled as if he had assaulted her. The double shock of his words and his touch were too much for her to deal with. The colour drained away from her cheeks and her heart began to pound violently. She tried twice to speak and failed. Then her words came out in a hoarse croak.
‘You know?’
‘Yes.’
Emma shuddered and flung back her head, feeling a terrible pain jolt through her entire body as if she really had been wounded. Shaking her head in a dazed fashion, she gave Richard a haunted look as he resumed his seat.
‘Then I suppose the whole Sydney business community knows?’ she demanded. Her throat felt so tight she could hardly force the words out.
‘No,’ replied Richard in measured tones. ‘You’ve concealed matters well and, to your credit, I must say you ran a damned hard race to save the company. If the Sawford merchant bank hadn’t failed, you might even have made it. As it is, you’re at the end of your rope, aren’t you?’
Emma shuddered again.
‘Yes.’
Richard caressed his glass with a long brown finger, as sensually as if he were stroking a beautiful woman’s neck.
‘Just as a matter of interest,’ he said, ‘what are you doing on an expensive holiday when you’re about to go bankrupt? Is there some good reason for it or is it just another one of your spoilt-little-rich-girl tricks?’
This lazy innuendo, delivered hot on the heels of the shock he had just dealt her, made Emma’s over-strained temper snap. Leaping to her feet, she stared at him with flashing eyes and gritted teeth.
‘Damn you!’ she cried. ‘Did you just come here to insult me?’
Awkwardly she sidled between the chair and the table, intent on putting as much distance as possible between herself and Richard. But as she emerged from the cluster of furniture his voice cracked through the air like a whiplash.
‘Don’t leave yet, Emma; we haven’t finished.’
‘Well, I’m finished with you,’ she flared. ‘You never could watch me spending money without carping about it, could you? And I don’t suppose it makes a blind bit of difference to you that I could have a perfectly good reason for being here!’
‘Such as?’ he taunted, raising one eyebrow indolently.
Her body was shaking so much that she had to clutch the back of a chair for support. How could she tell him the truth? That the real reason she wanted to come here was because it was the one place on earth where she had once been perfectly happy. A happiness based on being with him. That was the last thing she wanted to admit to him now.
‘I don’t see that it’s really any of your business,’ she said. ‘But if it’s any comfort to you, I did feel guilty and worried about the thought of spending money on a holiday, although the few thousand dollars it cost for this would just be a drop in the ocean compared to the debts I’m going to owe very soon. But as a matter of fact I didn’t pay for this holiday. It wasn’t even my idea that I should take it. It was my mother’s and she put up the money for it, not me.’
‘Your mother?’ echoed Richard in surprise. ‘Do you mean you’re seeing her these days? I thought good old Daddy had forbidden it.’
‘Don’t speak about my father in that hateful, sneering voice,’ blazed Emma. ‘I was twenty-one when he died, a grown woman. I know he and my mother were on bad terms after the divorce, but I felt I had to make my own choice about what I did.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Richard bitterly. ‘It’s a pity you didn’t stand up to him on a few other issues, or maybe you wouldn’t have stuffed up your life the way you did. You were certainly well and truly under his thumb when I knew you.’
‘I wasn’t!’ cried Emma.
‘Really? I beg to differ. In fact, I’ve always thought that if it hadn’t been for good old Daddy maybe you wouldn’t have jumped into bed with Nigel Wellings while you were still married to me.’
Emma’s skin went cold and clammy with horror at this cruel reminder of the past.
‘You bastard!’ she hissed. ‘You know damned well it didn’t happen like that. Look, if you’ve just come here to insult me, it’s a total waste of time. Now do me a favour, will you, and leave?’
‘No,’ said Richard softly.
‘I’ll have you thrown out!’ threatened Emma.
He gave an unpleasant laugh.
‘Really?’ he taunted. ‘Now that will be interesting. What will you tell the hotel staff when you ask them to come and throw me out? After all, darling, I’m your husband. You told the man at the desk you were expecting me tonight. He made a point of mentioning it to me when I asked about you. Won’t it all be rather embarrassing for you?’
Emma shuddered and fell silent. The scene would not merely be embarrassing, it would be utterly unthinkable. But before she could say another word, Richard continued in a dangerously silky voice, ‘So you’ve got a lover, have you? Well, I can’t say that really surprises me, knowing you as I do. But I rather object to having him smuggled in under my name. Who is the lucky man anyway?’
‘Nobody!’ cried Emma. ‘I only said that because they were offering to put me at a table with other tourists. I wanted a. bit of privacy!’
Richard’s even white teeth gritted together in a feral smile.
‘I’ve told you once you’re a barefaced liar,’ he murmured. ‘And now I’ll say it again. I don’t believe you.’
‘Well, I can’t care what you believe!’ cried Emma in a voice shaking with rage. ‘Because it’s all over between us, isn’t it? So why don’t you just get out? Go on, get out!’
‘Oh, no,’ said Richard, still with that same dangerous smile. ‘I’m not leaving till you’ve heard my proposition. You see, Emma, I just may be able to save you from bankruptcy.’
Emma’s whole body felt suddenly cold and still.
‘You’d do that?’ she breathed. ‘But why? I always thought you hated me.’
Richard’s blue eyes narrowed shrewdly.
‘Maybe I do, but I have my reasons. I’ll tell you about them over dinner tonight. Of course, there’ll be conditions.’
‘Conditions?’ said Emma in a high, frightened voice. ‘What kind of conditions?’
Richard’s fingers flexed and unflexed slowly as if he thought he was holding her in the palm of his hand.
‘Conditions which I don’t think you’ll like,’ he purred. ‘But then that’s part of being rich enough to call the tune, isn’t it, Emma? You probably remember the pleasure of holding that kind of power, don’t you, sweetheart? Now, what time would you like to eat? I’ll tell you what. You put on your prettiest dress and I’ll call for you at seven…’
After the door had closed quietly behind Richard’s departing back, Emma sank down on one of the chairs in a daze of disbelief. So often in the past she had daydreamed fervently of the day when Richard would seek her out. Somehow all the festering hurts and longstanding bitterness that had sprung from their estrangement would be smoothed away and they would feel the same passionate love for each other that they had felt when they first met. But never in her wildest moments had she dreamt of a reunion like this one. Meeting Richard again so unexpectedly had shocked her beyond measure. And all the old wounds which she had thought healed, or at least numb, seemed to have broken open afresh. A raw, painful sense of humiliation assaulted her as she thought of this recent encounter. There had been no doubt whatsoever that Richard still hated her. Equally, something in the expression in his eyes told her there was no doubt that he still desired her. Just as she desired him. The shameful, humiliating fact was that she only had to look at him to experience a flood of pulsating warmth through her entire body. If only he had come back to her in love, not hatred, she felt certain that they would now be naked together in the big bed upstairs. Covering her face, she let out a low groan. Why had he come? Why? Why? Why? It made no sense. Why should he want to save Prero’s from certain disaster? If he hated her, wouldn’t it make more sense simply to let her sink without throwing her a line? And what sort of proposition did he have in mind?
She couldn’t answer these questions and brooding over them only gave her a headache and a strong urge to burst into hysterics. Pulling herself together with an effort, she rose to her feet. There was no sense in worrying herself sick. It would be more sensible to go out for a swim, change into her best clothes and meet him at dinnertime on her own ground, as the hard-headed, cool businesswoman she had become in the past few years. Setting her lips grimly, she rummaged in her bag and found a large beach towel, a skimpy emerald-green bikini, sandals and a bottle of suntan lotion. Thus equipped, she made her way down to the pool.
The setting was idyllic and, if she had not been so upset by Richard’s unexpected arrival, all her worries would have ebbed away at the sight of it. In fact, it wasn’t just one pool but several winding in a serpentine pattern in and out of the landscaped gardens. Two or three changing-huts, open to the breeze and with orange tiled roofs, offered welcome shade, while carved stone elephants on the tiled surrounds of the pool squirted water from their upraised trunks. In the background a line of palm trees flailed like green windmills in the breeze from the ocean. Emma slipped out of the sarong that she was wearing over her bikini and dropped it on to a bench in one of the changing-huts. Then she slid into the deliciously warm, silky water. It was heavenly to lie back floating and stare up into the cloudless blue sky. If only Richard hadn’t come, this would have been a marvellous vacation. Perhaps it still would be if only she could persuade him to go away and leave her in peace. For somehow she had an ominous sense of certainty that his proposal to save Prero’s was going to come at a price that she wasn’t prepared to pay.
She found out how accurate that presentiment had been when she and Richard met for dinner that evening. He arrived on the dot at seven o’clock looking coldly handsome in a lightweight white dinner-jacket, black trousers and white shirt. Emma had dressed equally carefully. Not because Richard had told her to put on her best clothes, but because the knowledge that she looked as glamorous as possible gave a badly needed boost to her confidence. She had swept her dark hair up into its usual chignon at the back and she was wearing a long frock of scarlet chiffon with a sweetheart neckline and a gold and pearl necklace around her throat. Tawny eyeshadow brought out the gold flecks in her eyes and a light touch of blusher high on her cheekbones concealed her pallor, while her lips were painted a defiant scarlet to match the dress. Richard gave her a small, ironical bow when she opened the door to him.
‘Very attractive,’ he commented.
‘Thank you,’ she said curtly. ‘Shall we go?’
The restaurant was on the fifth floor of the main hotel building with a panoramic view over the ocean. The front door was flanked by two huge statues of fierce-looking Indonesian warriors intricately carved in stone and lit from below so that their eyes seemed to gleam wickedly. A smiling girl in a scarlet sarong came forward from behind a desk flanked by masses of greenery to ask their names.
‘Mr and Mrs Fielding,’ said Richard as casually as if they had been together for the past eight years.
‘Of course, sir. Please come this way.’
The restaurant was dimly lit in order to take full advantage of the magnificent view over the ocean and Richard seemed to loom like a caveman beside her as they picked their way through the flickering candlelight. At last the waitress showed them to a table discreetly secluded by an ornate carved screen from the rest of the room and with a superb view of the moonlit ocean far below. Emma felt as nervous and tongue-tied as if she were fifteen years old when Richard held out one of the cushioned bamboo chairs so that she could sit down. When he was seated too, the waitress spread large scarlet napkins on their laps and handed them each a menu.
‘May I get you some pre-dinner drinks, sir?’ she asked.
‘Emma?’
‘Oh, just a gin and tonic for me,’ said Emma hastily.
She felt far too agitated at this moment to know or care what the local drinks were, although normally she was quite adventurous when it came to sampling regional specialities.
‘That seems a bit tame,’ said Richard, his eyebrows shooting up. ‘I’ll try the arak cocktail myself. But I do hope you are going to be a little more adventurous when it comes to choosing food, darling.’
Darling! thought Emma scathingly. Well, that was definitely for the benefit of the waitress, not her. But why was Richard behaving like this? Was it simply good manners to avoid embarrassing other people by displaying the hostility between them? Or was there something more to it? She was relieved when the waitress returned with their drinks and she was able to take a sip of the bitter, refreshing liquid. In the background a western-style dance band began to play softly with a catchy rhythm and again that odd sense of unreality took hold of Emma. If it hadn’t been for the tell-tale muscle twitching in Richard’s cheek, she might have thought they were here for a second honeymoon. When the waitress returned to take their orders for the meal, the illusion was intensified. Letting his fingers close briefly over Emma’s hand, Richard looked up at the waitress with the heart-stopping smile that had once made Emma go weak at the knees. Then he turned the smile back on Emma full force and she made the disturbing discovery that it still did make her go weak at the knees.
‘I think some chicken satay with peanut sauce to begin with, don’t you, sweetheart?’ he suggested. ‘And after that the rijstafel to share. And perhaps a platter of tropical fruit to follow. Oh, and please ask the drinks waiter to bring us a bottle of champagne.’
But when the waitress had glided away, Richard’s smile vanished too. Leaning back in his chair, he drummed his fingers on the table in a rapid, staccato beat and scrutinised Emma’s face with far less charm.
‘I heard that Nigel Wellings went broke after he left you,’ he announced.
Emma opened her mouth to protest that Nigel hadn’t left her. In fact it had been the other way around. And then she wondered wearily what was the use. After all, she had grown used to Nigel’s spite. He had been coldly furious when she had explained to him after a few months that she had mistaken her feelings, that she did not love him and never could. And on her father’s death she had asked him to leave Prero’s for good. He had never forgiven her and he had also told her in no uncertain terms that her money had been the only thing that had attracted him to her in the first place. Naturally that had hurt Emma’s pride, but on the whole she had found it an enormous relief. Genuine love that ended was such a painful experience that she wouldn’t wish it on anyone, even Nigel. And when he’d spread the rumours around Sydney that he had walked out on her, she had thought it more dignified not to protest. She thought it more dignified even now.
‘Yes, I heard that too,’ she said coolly, taking another sip of her drink. ‘It was unfortunate for him.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ said Richard in a dangerously mild voice. ‘In my opinion, it couldn’t have hap pened to a more deserving man. But I suppose that if you were in love with him you may have felt differently about it.’
Emma flinched and said nothing, but fortunately the wine waiter arrived at that moment with their champagne and made a great fuss of uncorking and pouring it.
Still studying her face, Richard picked up his glass and smiled grimly as the man departed.
‘Mind you, I did think you might come crawling back to me like a whipped puppy after he left you,’ he announced in conversational tones. ‘But I was surprised to find that you did have some pride, Emma.’
Emma had always had an explosive temper. Now, with her nerves ragged from the events of recent months, Richard’s needling was simply too much.
‘A puppy, Richard?’ she mocked. ‘Surely not. You’re making a bad mistake if you think that I’m any kind of a lap-dog, darling. All you’ll get from that theory will be a bite on the wrist.’
Richard swirled the champagne in his glass and looked at her over the rim. Then he took a sip and set it down.
‘Oddly enough, that’s quite a tempting prospect,’ he said quietly. ‘You still haven’t lost your sexual allure, you know, Emma. As a matter of fact I still find you quite powerfully arousing.’
Emma caught her breath and stared at him in horror. Why did he have to say such things even if he thought them? And yet, although the tone of his voice was so dry that it robbed his words of any emotion, they still had a powerful impact. To her dismay she felt a shameful heat beginning to throb through her entire body. She bit her lip, terrified that she might make the equally outrageous statement that Richard hadn’t lost his sexual allure either. Swallowing hard, she managed a small, cynical smile.
‘You flatter me,’ she said. ‘But I find it hard to believe.’
‘So do I,’ agreed Richard grimly. ‘After all, you’re flat-chested, only passably pretty and your nose is too long. Added to that you’ve been spoiled rotten from birth, you have no conception of loyalty, you’re extravagant, wilful and heartless. I just can’t imagine why I should still find you attractive. But, oddly enough, I do.’
Emma’s fury exploded like a supernova at these provocative words. Catching her breath, she stared back at him with glittering jungle-cat eyes.
‘Really?’ she challenged. ‘Now you, on the other hand, are God’s gift to women. Handsome, charming, rich, irresistibly sexy and possessing a wonderful way with words. I just can’t imagine why I don’t find you attractive. But, oddly enough, I don’t!’
Richard’s powerful brown hand came out and closed over her wrist.
‘Don’t mock me, Emma, or by heaven I’ll make you regret it,’ he said through his teeth.
‘Stop making ridiculous threats, Richard!’ she snapped. ‘And come to the point. What is this proposition you want to discuss with me?’
‘It’s very simple, Emma. I propose to offer you a ninety-day bill, which will allow Prero’s to keep trading for the next three months. In addition, I’ll come to your rescue with that damned office block of yours. You need a tenant, I need new premises. Fielding’s is expanding so rapidly we’ve outgrown our present quarters and I’m prepared to take over the lease you were offering Sawford’s.’
A wave of shock and relief swept through Emma at this announcement. Her father’s company need not go broke after all! She could still hold up her head and face the employees who depended on her for their livelihood.
Then seven years’ experience of the cut and thrust of the business world settled on her like a damp, chill blanket of wariness.
‘On what conditions?’ she asked suspiciously.
Richard’s lips drew back in a feral smile.
‘Two,’ he said softly. ‘The first is that I am appointed managing director of Prero’s immediately. With my expertise I believe that I can turn the business around and have it trading profitably by the end of three months. At that point you can resume control yourself if you wish.’
Emma’s brain raced.
‘And the second condition?’ she asked, her throat constricting.
Richard paused before he replied. In the flickering candlelight, his eyes had a glitter that was almost menacing and his voice when he spoke was low and husky.
‘That you come back to me as my wife—in the fullest sense of the word—during the three-month period in question.’ He spoke as drily as if he were outlining a business clause. ‘At the end of that time we can review the situation and make a final decision about our intentions. I imagine we’ll get a divorce then.’
Emma almost swooned with shock at the outrageous implications of this suggestion.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked in a voice sharp with alarm. ‘What do you mean “wife—in the fullest sense of the word"?’
Richard took another sip of champagne and smiled thinly.
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ he demanded. ‘I mean that we begin living together again. Sleeping together.’
He spoke the last two words with unmistakable relish.
Emma stared at him in disbelief.
‘Why?’ she burst out. ‘You’ve just told me I’m spoilt, disloyal, extravagant, wilful and heartless!’
‘All true,’ agreed Richard. ‘You left me for another man simply because of a stupid quarrel which wouldn’t have made a blind bit of difference to any woman with an ounce of maturity or commitment. I’ve never forgiven you for that, Emma.’
‘So what possible reason could you have for wanting to sleep with me now?’ challenged Emma. ‘You’re not going to tell me it’s love, are you?’
Richard’s grip on her fingers tightened cruelly and his blue eyes glittered like chips of ice.
‘Oh, no,’ he murmured throatily. ‘Not love, Emma. Revenge.’
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_6455d120-5e9a-5b42-9c17-504b3d142ea5)
EMMA was stunned that Richard could sit there smiling so blandly while uttering words that cut her to the heart. She swallowed hard, trying to contain her dismay. The silence between them lengthened. Plucking a frangipani flower out of the cut-glass bowl in the centre of the table, she crushed it unthinkingly in her fingers and inhaled its piercing sweetness. But before she could make any reply, the waitress arrived with the satay, creating a welcome diversion. Mechanically Emma put two of the little sticks with their juicy morsels of chicken on her plate and added a generous dollop of crunchy peanut sauce before giving the girl a strained smile. Yet when the waitress had departed she made no move to eat.
‘Your food’s getting cold,’ Richard pointed out genially, as if his previous words had been nothing more harmful than a comment on the weather. ‘Aren’t you going to eat?’
She shook her head.
‘Are you seriously going to sit there and tell me coldly that you want to sleep with me not out of love but just out of some power-crazed lust for revenge?’ she blurted out at last.
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’ she cried.
‘Exactly for that reason,’ replied Richard, swallowing a morsel of chicken and smiling at her. ‘Power. I want to be in control of the situation for once instead of being some kind of bloody puppet for you and your father to manipulate.’
‘You were never that!’ exclaimed Emma indignantly.
‘Wasn’t I? Look, Emma, I married you because I fell in love with you and for no other reason, but right from the start your father tried to pretend I was after your money. And you were fool enough to believe him.’
‘I didn’t!’ exclaimed Emma. ‘I wouldn’t have cared if you had had nothing. I left home and married you, didn’t I? And lived in that horrid little house in Woolloomooloo?’
‘And kept running back to Daddy every two minutes trying to kiss up to him,’ retorted Richard scathingly.
‘Only because I loved both of you. I wanted you to be friends. Is that so unreasonable?’
Richard gave a mirthless jeer of laughter.
‘It was when you were dealing with someone like Frank Prero,’ he retorted. ‘He was determined to part us right from the start.’
‘He wasn’t! I know he didn’t like the idea of our marriage’at first, but he was coming around. Why do you think he gave you that big contract on the Manly shopping centre? Because he wanted to help you!’
Richard swore violently under his breath.
‘Like hell he did! It was another one of his sneaky moves to separate us, Emma. I’m damned sure he was the one who made it impossible for me to get the materials I needed to complete the contract on time. Trying to put me out of business was his way of punishing me for daring to get involved with you.’
‘Oh, it’s easy to make rotten accusations against someone who is dead and can’t defend himself,’ she flared. ‘But do you have any proof?’
‘No, I don’t,’ he said through his teeth. ‘But I’m sure of it all the same. Frank had a bad reputation in the dirty tricks department. But in any case, whatever your father had or hadn’t done, if you’d been any kind of a wife you would have stuck by me in that crisis.’
‘Oh, would I?’ gasped Emma. ‘Even when you stormed out of the house, insulting my father all the way, and didn’t show your face for five days? And not only that but.’
‘Listen, I don’t pretend I was the perfect husband,’ growled Richard, ‘but I don’t think my faults justify the kind of revenge you took. Any decent wife would have made allowances for the way I behaved that Christmas, instead of packing her bags and running home to Daddy.’
Emma’s hand closed so hard around the stem of her wine glass that she almost snapped it. Gritting her teeth, she fought down the impulse to fling the contents in Richard’s face. Oh, yes? she thought. Any decent wife would have just looked the other way while you had a squalid affair with another woman only eleven months after getting married, would she? Well, I couldn’t do that. I hated you then, Richard, and I hate you now for the way you hurt me! But when she spoke, her words came out smooth and cold and brittle.
‘Unfortunately I didn’t happen to be a decent wife.’
Richard gave a sneering smile.
‘Not then,’ he agreed. ‘But you have another chance now, sweetheart. This time round you can get it right. Come back to me and behave exactly the way I want you to.’
‘Why?’ demanded Emma in an unsteady voice. ‘Why do you want me to do that?’
‘I told you. I want to be in control of the relationship.’
‘And if I refuse?’
Richard shrugged. ‘Then you’ll go broke.’
Emma let out her breath in a ragged sigh of disbelief.
‘That’s inhuman.’
‘Any more inhuman than the way you treated me?’
Her hands would not be still. She picked up a satay stick and set it down again, fiddled with her knife, traced patterns on the tablecloth. And all the time a blinding misery like a tidal wave seemed to be building inside her. At last she could bear it no longer and she stared at him beseechingly.
‘Richard, please! You said you married me because you loved me. If you have any of that feeling left towards me, don’t torment me like this. It’s cruel. It makes a mockery of what we once meant to each other.’
But Richard’s face was so hard and pitiless, it might have been carved from granite.
‘Ah, but I don’t have any of that feeling left, Emma,’ he said softly. ‘Your own behaviour killed any love I had for you. All that’s left is a certain reluctant but quite powerful physical attraction. I imagine three months or so of indulging that should burn it out pretty effectively.’
Emma closed her eyes briefly and shuddered.
‘And then?’
‘And then we can get a divorce. After all, I might want to marry someone else, someone I can love and respect.’
At these words she felt a jolt of horror as sickening as if she had just plunged ten floors in a lift. Her eyes flew open.
‘Do you have someone in mind?’ she demanded.
‘Perhaps,’ he said with an enigmatic shrug. ‘Or for that matter you might want to marry again.’
Emma’s face contorted into a stark smile.
‘I don’t think so. After what I’ve been through, I’m not wonderfully keen on marriage any more.’
Richard gave her a mocking smile and raised his glass of champagne.
‘Then once I set your company in order you can dedicate your life to making money and having lovers, the things which you are wonderfully keen on. Can’t you, darling?’
‘You’re such a swine, Richard,’ she breathed.
‘I’m glad you realise it, Emma. Well, what’s your answer?’
Emma’s entire body was shaking, but she tried to fight down her anger and think coolly and rationally. She had worked hard to build up the firm to the point where it was now, and if it hadn’t been for the collapse of the Sawford bank she knew it would have been a prosperous business. Besides, there were people who worked for her, people who depended on her for their livelihood. What would happen to their jobs if she let the company go bankrupt? However much she hated Richard at this moment, loyalty to others urged her powerfully to accept his offer. But beneath that there was another reason: an insane, unwanted flare of longing to be in Richard’s arms and in his bed again. It wasn’t going to be permanent, she knew that, and it would probably bring her more pain than pleasure. But the sight of him had awoken all the old, clamorous physical need for him and perhaps the emotional need too. Even if she couldn’t find love in his arms, maybe she could find a temporary quenching of the flames that scorched her. She bowed her head in bitter assent.
‘It seems I have no choice.’
‘Look at me, Emma. Tell me what you’re going to do.’
Their eyes met—naked, burning with hatred and with something else.
‘I’m going to come back to you as your wife,’ she said through her teeth.
‘Good,’ murmured Richard as blandly as if she had just agreed to become his shorthand typist. ‘Then I suggest you eat some of this excellent food and after that well go for a little stroll on the beach together before bed.’
Alarm bells rang noisily in Emma’s head. She looked down at the chicken satay with as much horror as if it were deadly nightshade. In spite of the balmy, tropical air, her hands felt suddenly chill and clammy.
‘Wh-when does this reunion begin?’ she stammered.
Richard smiled lazily, his blue eyes narrowing with amusement.
‘Oh, didn’t I tell you? It begins tonight.’
Emma took a sudden gulp of champagne and choked.
‘T-tonight?’ she gasped, her eyes streaming.
‘Yes. I stayed in another hotel in Sanur last night, but I’ve given orders for my luggage to be transferred to our bungalow this evening. It should be there by the time we get back from our walk.’
‘I don’t believe this,’ she said, shaking her head in a dazed fashion. ‘It’s not really happening.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Richard assured her kindly. ‘You’ll find it much easier to believe tomorrow morning after… a good night’s sleep. And don’t worry. I’ll send off faxes to my lawyers and my bank first thing after breakfast to organise the financial side of our agreement.’
Emma scarcely heard that last sentence. She was too busy panicking about the implications of ‘a good night’s sleep’ in Richard’s company. Trying hard to maintain an air of normality, she pulled one of the chicken pieces off its skewer, dipped it into the peanut sauce and ate it. To her surprise, she found it was delicious.
‘The food is still very good here, isn’t it?’ she remarked, with the half-hysterical feeling that she was dreaming and would wake up at any moment.
This time Richard’s smile seemed almost genuine.
‘Yes. I’ve often thought about this place over the years and I suppose you have too or you wouldn’t be here. Let me see, what else did we do last time we were here? Oh, yes. The trip to Penelokan. Now that really was a highlight. Perhaps we ought to set out tomorrow and see if it’s still as beautiful as ever. What do you think?’
Emma stared at him as if he had gone insane. Was he really proposing to replay every detail of their honeymoon just as if the violent quarrels, the estrangement, the hostility of the last eight years had never existed? Well, if he was, perhaps the safest thing she could do was to humour him.
‘That would be lovely, darling,’ she said in a strained voice, looking wildly round the table for some means of escape. But all she could see was the waitress bearing down on them to remove their empty plates. Shortly afterwards the girl returned with the rijstafel—a fragrant and delectable array of pork, prawns, chicken, vegetable and curry dishes around a central mound of steamed rice. Richard helped Emma to a massive serving of everything and grimaced comically when he dropped a prawn in the centre of the flower arrangement.
‘Oops, looks as if I’m still clumsy in the dining-room. Are you still as lousy at cooking as you used to be, Em?’
Emma pulled a face, torn bctwoon amusement and resentment.
‘Not quite, but it isn’t my favourite activity. I tend to buy a lot of take-aways and heat them in the microwave oven.’
‘You cooked a chocolate cake once in the microwave oven. It rose and rose and then exploded. Do you remember?’
Her lips quirked involuntarily at the reminder.
‘Yes, it was ghastly. I forgot the sugar, too. You ate it, though.’
‘"Greater love hath no man”,’ he murmured.
A terrible sense of constriction gripped her chest as if a cold hand were squeezing her heart. How could he sit there and joke about it all, as if this reunion were genuine? As if the love which had carried them through those early trials of married life were still alive and burning brightly? She caught her breath and dropped her gaze.
‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded.
‘I wish you’d asked me to do anything else but this, Richard,’ she replied in a passionate whisper. ‘It’s going to be so painful, so repellent. I can’t bear it.’ The good humour died out of his face and his blue eyes were suddenly chill and merciless.
‘You’ll have to,’ he said brutally.
They talked little during the remainder of the meal and even the luscious pineapple, cantaloup, mangoes and pawpaws which appeared as dessert failed to rouse Emma’s enthusiasm. Her whole mind and body seemed to be focused on the single, alarming question—What’s going to happen afterwards?
Yet when they finally finished their coffee and rode to the ground floor in the lift, Richard did not lead her straight back to the bungalow as she had half feared. Instead he put his arm around her shoulders and steered her towards the beach.
‘Let’s go and look at the ocean.’
The touch of his warm, muscular arm on her body made her flinch. She wanted so badly to relax into his embrace, to lean against his shoulder and rub her face against the light fabric of his jacket, to feel the beating of his heart. Instead she held herself stiffly aloof, trying to send out to him the silent message that, while she might have agreed to this farcical union, she was doing so under protest.
‘I despise you for this,’ she said unsteadily.
‘Do you?’ he retorted with a short laugh. ‘Well, I think I can live with that. It really makes very little difference to me how you feel about it, Emma. It’s how I feel that concerns me. And I feel quite satisfied.’
As the word ‘satisfied’ passed his lips, he brought her to a halt so suddenly that she was taken by surprise. Hauling her savagely into his arms, he bent his head and kissed her. His body was hard and intoxicatingly virile against hers, with a wild spicy tang of cologne and masculine warmth that she found irresistibly arousing. He tasted of champagne and tropical fruit and, when his tongue slid between her lips, she offered no resistance. Instead, seized by some primitive instinct, she gave it a soft, teasing bite. His sharp intake of breath told her that that was a serious mistake and now his hard, merciless fingers began massaging her back in a sensual, urgent rhythm that she found wildly exciting. The eight lonely years without love vanished as if they had never existed. The world spun around her and suddenly she was a young woman on her honeymoon, tasting the delirious bliss of love in a setting that was made for romance.
Sighing sensually, she tilted her trembling lips to his and let her body sway in his hold so that she brushed lightly against him. The heated evidence of his arousal was unmistakable and he caught her by the hips, grinding himself against her so that she was in no doubt of what he wanted. She heard him give a low groan deep in the back of his throat, then he cupped her face in his hands and looked down at her so intently that she felt he was studying her. Overhead the palm fronds rustled lightly in the mild breeze and the tropical sky was like a dark blue banner ablaze with stars. An aching sweetness trickled through Emma’s entire body as she met Richard’s gaze and she felt herself quivering as if she were shaken by a fever. It wasn’t too late for them, was it? Surely if Richard could still make her tremble and throb and yearn to cry out with this mysterious, molten passion there must be something between them worth saving? Mustn’t there? It couldn’t be mere lust that made him stare down at her so fiercely with that glittering moonlit gaze. Could it?
‘Come on,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I can see you want this as badly as I do. I’d strip you off and have you here and now, Emma, down on that silver strip of sand with the foam surging around our bodies. But somebody else might come out for a walk. Better to be inside our house where you can let yourself go and moan and gasp and cry out when I take you, you beautiful, heartless little witch.’
Emma stiffened at that cruel taunt. Yes, it would be mere lust! Easily, very easily. In fact she would be a fool to deceive herself for one moment into thinking that Richard felt anything else for her. Wrenching herself out of his hold, she began walking furiously down the beach.
‘Well, come on, then,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘What are you waiting for?’
Her gold evening shoes sank into the sand at every step and Richard had no difficulty at all in overtaking her. She almost hoped that he would ask for an explanation of her abrupt departure, so that she could tell him a few blistering home truths about himself. But he was too shrewd or too indifferent for that. He simply strode along beside her looking as relaxed and nonchalant as if they had come out for no other reason than to enjoy the soft hiss and rush of the waves breaking on the silvery sand, the sweet, potent fragrance of the tropical flowers and the moonlight shimmering over the water. Emma was seething so furiously that she almost missed the turn-off to their bungalow and Richard had to reach out and catch her hand.
‘Let go of me!’ she spat.
‘Just as you like,’ he replied in a soft, mocking voice. ‘I can wait.’
When they reached the bungalow she hurried ahead of him, inserting her key into the door with shaking fingers and then rushing up the stairs and into the bathroom. Shutting the door behind her with a vicious slam, she leaned against it, her heart pounding.
‘Damn him,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘Damn him, damn him, damn him!’
Her heavy, dark hair was falling out of its chignon and her make-up was smudged from Richard’s kisses. A strange air of febrile excitement seemed to crackle dangerously about her as if she were a teenager who had just been kissed for the first time. It infuriated her to see herself looking so dishevelled in the mirror when she was used to being confronted by the image of a cool, composed businesswoman. With jerky, impatient movements, she took a pot of face cream out of her sponge bag and deliberately sponged every trace of make-up and of Richard off her face. Then she hauled off her clothes, flung them carelessly on the bathroom floor and stepped into the shower. It gave her a certain spiteful, childish pleasure to linger there. Let Richard wait if he wanted to use the bathroom! She hadn’t invited him here, had she? Maybe he would take the hint and go somewhere else!
But at last the water began to run cold and she was forced to emerge. She rubbed herself dry and then stood there hesitating. What was she to do now? There had been no sound of a door closing below and she felt fairly certain that Richard was still out there, waiting for her. Her skin crawled with a half-delightful apprehension at the thought. Should she get dressed again? But the mere thought of climbing back into the same clothes made her grimace. Of course she could just wrap herself in a large bath-towel and go out like that. But it seemed like a terribly poor-spirited thing to do, especially when she was bound to have it ripped off her anyway. Well, she’d show Richard that she wasn’t afraid of him! Defiantly she tossed back her long black hair, opened the bathroom door, and stepped out into the bedroom stark naked.
Richard had turned on the bedside lamps so that the room was bathed in a soft, apricot glow and he had taken off his dinner-jacket and shirt. At the sound of the opening door, he turned round and faced her and she felt an unwelcome pang of admiration at the sight of his lean, hard, muscular physique. The flare of interest in his eyes made her suspect that he was regarding her with a similar admiration. Her cheeks burned but she rested her hands defiantly on her hips.
‘Well, is this what you want?’ she demanded contemptuously.
‘Yes.’
Without a trace of embarrassment, he strolled across the room, swept her up in his arms and planted a long, burning kiss on her mouth. Then, staring down at her with glittering blue eyes, he walked across to one of the huge beds and dropped her in the centre of it. Before she could utter more than a single indignant gasp of protest, he knelt astride her, pinioned her wrists on either side of her head and kissed her even more violently than before. Emma wanted to show her complete disdain for him by remaining totally unmoved and at first it was easy. She struggled angrily, turning aside her face from his kisses. But as his mouth travelled down the column of her neck in a series of soft, biting caresses she could not repress a faint moan of pleasure. He raised his head for a moment and she saw a flicker of triumph in his eyes. Then slowly, sensually he drew her nipple into his mouth and caressed it with his tongue. A tingle of pleasure so acute that it was close to pain flared through every nerve-ending in her body and she caught her breath and arched instinctively against him, writhing and shuddering under his touch. His lips released her, only to move further down her body, nibbling over her flesh in a provocative, rhythmic stimulation that drove her wild with longing. Her hands clenched tightly on the sheets and she closed her eyes, whimpering softly. When his mouth touched the most intimate, secret part of her, she started up with a shuddering gasp of protest of incoherent pleasure, but he thrust her back.
‘Lie still and enjoy it,’ he urged, his body so closely linked to hers that she could feel the vibration in his throat. She tried to remind herself that she hated him, that she was doing this only under protest, but her body seemed to have taken on a will of its own. And what it wanted it wanted urgently, violently, without any delay.
‘Richard… we shouldn’t… it’s insane…’
‘Yes, we should. And it isn’t insane. I want this more than I’ve wanted anything in the past eight years and you do too. Don’t you? Don’t you? Admit it, Emma; tell me that you want me. Say it!’
He had hauled himself up in the bed and was looming above her now, supported on his forearms, with his halfnaked body crushed against her. She could feel the warmth, the heat, the tension in that body, the unmistakable virile hardness of it, and she wanted him! Oh, how she wanted him! Not just to touch her and hold her and kiss her, wonderful as that was, but to plunge deep inside her until they were fused in a total union.
‘Say it,’ he rasped again.
‘I want you, Richard,’ she breathed.
‘That’s all I needed to know,’ he said coldly.
And, to her astonishment and chagrin, he rose to his feet and stood staring down at her with a strange, ravenous mixture of desire and hatred in his eyes.
‘Goodnight, Emma.’
She lay in shocked disbelief, instinctively drawing up the sheet to cover her nakedness, and watched as he swiftly finished undressing with his back turned to her, pulled on a pair of lightweight cotton pyjamas and climbed into the other bed. Then, without another word, he switched off the light and began breathing deeply and evenly. She didn’t ask him why he was doing this. She already knew. It was an act of cold-hearted, calculating revenge. First the challenge had been to see whether he could excite her to the point where she actually wanted him and then, having demonstrated the humiliating fact that she did, he had twisted the knife by rejecting her. The bastard! The unutterable, manipulative bastard! She wanted to kill him…
Her heart was still pounding furiously and her body was hot and pulsing with the effects of unsatisfied desire so that it made her more angry than ever when a few minutes later she heard his quiet breathing deepen into the unmistakable rhythm of sleep. How could he lie there and just sleep when Emma herself wanted to cry and rage and throw things? It was inhuman! There must be some way she could get back at him for this, there must, there must! For hours she lay awake, tossing and turning, thumping her pillow and letting out occasional, low gasps of annoyance. But some time after three o’clock she fell asleep with her last conscious thought surging through her head as monotonously as the breaking surf outside. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him…
Her dreams were confused and anxious, centring not on the humiliating scene she had just endured but on the violent parting quarrel which had separated them eight years before, except that this time Richard didn’t storm out without any explanation. Instead he came back to her and told her some long and complicated rigmarole which made everything magically all right. In the dream she was filled with a happiness so quiet and profound that it was like listening to lyrical music. Then the dream changed and she was in her office at Prero’s, trying to make her father proud of her, feeling anxious and unhappy with a computer whirring in the background and the printer grinding. As she came slowly up to the surface of consciousness, she realised that it wasn’t just a dream. There was a computer whirring right in this very room. Blinking, she sat up and squinted. It seemed quite crazy, but Richard was sitting at the foldout mahogany desk in the corner of the room with a portable computer, the telephone and a tiny printer laid out in front of him. Without even stopping to think about how much she hated him, she spoke impulsively.
‘What are you doing?’
He turned around and smiled at her, then tore a document off the printer and waved it in the air.
‘Working. I’ll have to get you to sign this in a moment. It’s a faxed letter from my lawyer concerning our agreement about the office complex.’
His voice was neutral, even friendly. As the events of the previous evening came rushing back to her mind, Emma stared at him in consternation. Had she dreamt all those torrid details of what he had done to her? Her face flushed and she darted a quick, uneasy glance at him and then hastily looked away. No, she hadn’t. That cruel, superior look of amusement around the edges of his lips made her certain that he remembered everything just as clearly as she did. Yet he chose not to refer to it. Why?
‘Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll go and have breakfast on the balcony?’ he suggested.
At a loss to know what else to do, Emma agreed.
‘All right,’ she said warily. ‘Will you call Room Service and order it?’
‘I already have.’
She was still naked and did not want to endure the embarrassment of climbing out of bed in front of that disconcertingly cool blue gaze. But even as she sat hesitating, with the sheet pulled up high in her armpits, Richard turned back to the computer as if he had already lost interest in her. Feeling rather affronted, Emma slid out of bed on the opposite side, groped in her suitcase for a dressing-gown and made her way to the bathroom. When she returned a few minutes later, dressed in a yellow cotton T-shirt, yellow and white daisy-patterned cotton skirt and casual sandals with her hair hanging loose, she found Richard already sitting at the table on the balcony with an array of iced juice, fresh tropical fruit, coffee and Danish pastries in front of him. Next to these was a camera, and a litter of guidebooks and maps. He smiled at her as if there had never been the slightest unpleasantness between them. The charm of that smile unnerved her.
‘ “Will you walk into my parlour?” said the spider to the fly,’ she chanted under her breath.
‘What did you say?’ asked Richard, frowning.
‘Nothing.’
‘Sit down and eat,’ he urged. ‘Then we’ll decide what we want to do with our holiday.’
The coffee was fragrant and full of flavour and the Danish pastries were unexpectedly crisp and delicious but Emma found it hard to keep her mind on her breakfast. All the time she was eating she kept darting Richard nervous, speculative glances, trying to figure out his intentions. Yet he seemed as cheerful and unruffled as if he really were just enjoying a long-awaited holiday. When at last her plate was empty, he slid one of the glossy coloured brochures across the table to her.
‘Do you fancy an excursion to Penelokan?’
Emma flinched. His question brought a rush of unwelcome memories flooding back to her as she remembered the magical blue lake set high in the mountains in the northern part of the island. Lake Batur was located in the crater of a dormant volcano and the ascent to the nearby mountain and the few days they had spent exploring the idyllic countryside around it had been the highlight of Richard and Emma’s honeymoon. For that very reason she now wanted to avoid it like a plague spot.
‘No, I don’t,’ she said in a rush.
Richard shrugged indifferently.
‘What would you like to do, then? After all, we still have quite a lot of time to kill in each other’s company.’
That casual statement touched Emma on the raw. How could anybody speak of killing time in Bali, of all places? An idyllic tropical paradise whose magic had once enchanted her so thoroughly that she had believed every minute spent there was precious and irreplaceable. And of course she had once felt the same way about any time spent in Richard’s company. Well, things had certainly changed! Her lips twisted into a cynical smile.
‘I don’t care what we do,’ she retorted. ‘Although frankly I hope we won’t have to spend too much time alone together. Perhaps we could go to see some Balinese dancing, or go shopping, or do some local sightseeing.’
She tried to keep her voice as light and indifferent as his. There was no way she wanied Richard to guess her true reason for avoiding Penelokan—the fear that she would simply crack up and weep if she had to go there in his company. Besides, if she stayed here in the south of the island, she would still be close to the airport at Tuban. If she ever got too desperate, she could always flee back to Sydney.
But Richard didn’t even seem to notice the faint tremor in her voice that marred her poise. He was leaning back in his chair with a mocking smile of triumph on his lips.
‘All right,’ he agreed lazily, picking up another pile of brochures and flicking through them. ‘We’ll do all those things. It’ll be a second honeymoon, Emma.’
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_861a06d0-9e8a-53d4-878e-4b3e34ecf7ef)
THEIR second honeymoon began that very morning with a swim in the nearby pool. It was another perfect, tropical morning. The sky overhead was blue and cloudless, the air was warm, moist and filled with the scent of flowers and the water in the swimming-pool sparkled invitingly. But Emma dawdled deliberately at the poolside, feeling reluctant to shed the protective cover of her thin green, cotton beach wrap. She didn’t want Richard ogling her when she emerged in her bikini. Nor did she want to be hired into playing silly games in the water as if she were really enjoying his company. And his ostentatious concern for her comfort didn’t make her feel any better disposed towards him. Even when he pulled up a cushioned banana lounge for her and ordered a couple of iced fruit juices from a passing waiter, she didn’t thank him but simply continued to glower at him. With a mocking smile, he took a swift gulp of his iced fruit juice, set down the glass and patted her patronisingly on the head.
‘Don’t seethe too hard, darling,’ he warned. ‘You’re raising the surrounding air temperature by at least five degrees, you know.’
Then, blowing her a kiss which only made her seethe even harder, he dived into the water. As she watched him cleaving up the blue pool in a powerful, surging freestyle, her simmering resentment was quenched for a moment by an unwilling spurt of admiration. At the age of thirty-five, Richard still had a magnificent bodypowerful, muscular, honed by years of hard, physical labour, it carried not an ounce of spare fat. His skin was tanned honey-gold by exposure to the sun and his fair hair was still thick and curly. If she hadn’t disliked him so much, she would have felt a throb of primitive desire at the sight of him almost naked in the clear, still waters of the pool. As it was, she tore her gaze away from him to the other occupants of the area and recognised the honeymoon couple who had been on the bus the previous day. They were disporting themselves joyfully with all the carefree abandon of youth, duck-diving, tickling each other, playing complicated games and frolicking together like exuberant dolphins. As she watched, the young man suddenly surged up out of the water with his wife giggling and shrieking on his shoulders. Then, with a growl of mischievous laughter, he sent her deliberately catapulting forward into the water. While she was still gasping and threshing and uttering laughing cries of complaint, he swam swiftly across to the poolside, reached out his hand to one of the glasses of iced fruit juice and took a long gulp.
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