There was no doubt that Amanda wanted her to know that she considered Dominic to be her property. Well, she was welcome to him, Christy told herself bitterly; more than welcome.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘DOMINIC, what are you doing? You’ve just driven straight past my parents’ gate,’ Christy protested sharply, sitting up straighter in her seat.
‘They won’t be expecting you yet. I thought you might like a nightcap.’
She was too bereft of words to speak, simply staring at him as he skilfully turned the car into the drive of his own home.
That he should have brought her here instead of taking her straight home was the last thing she had expected. In fact, she had half imagined that once he had delivered her home safely he would drive back to the Manor and Amanda’s undoubtedly welcoming arms.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she told him crossly. ‘I don’t want another drink. In fact, I don’t want anything at all from you.’
‘You don’t?’ His face was in the shadows as he leaned forward to silence the engine. ‘That wasn’t the impression I got earlier tonight,’ he told her cruelly. ‘However, I haven’t brought you back here to make love to you, if that was what you were implying, Christy,’ he added derisively.
‘I didn’t think you had,’ she retaliated instantly. ‘After all, you’ve got Amanda for that, haven’t you?’
There was a moment’s tense silence and then he was opening his door and sliding his lean length out.
‘Let’s get inside before we both freeze.’
She wanted to refuse, but the implacably determined expression on his face as he waited for her to join him warned her not to.
The icy wind seemed to bite right through to her skin, and she was shivering by the time she stood in the large hall.
It felt cold and slightly damp, and as though aware of her thoughts, Dominic said quietly, ‘I intend to have central heating installed in the spring. Come on, we’ll go into my study; it’s warmer in there.’
Christy stood to one side as he knelt by the dying embers of the fire and threw on some fresh logs. A shower of sparks raced up the chimney, the scent of apple logs filling the room.
He hadn’t bothered to switch on any lights, and the dancing flames licking round the logs cast mellow shadows over the shelves of books. A pair of thick velvet curtains had been drawn against the night, and Christy fingered the fabric absently.
‘This is rather a large house for a single man…’ Her skin flushed hotly as she realised that she had spoken her thoughts out loud. Dominic threw another log on the fire and dusted off his hands before standing up.
‘It affords me a welcome degree of privacy, and it’s convenient for almost everywhere in the practice. I had to find somewhere in a hurry, and it was either this, or a Victorian terrace in Setondale.’
So he hadn’t bought the house with marriage and a family in mind. ‘Amanda thinks it’s got good potential,’ he added casually, tossing the words at her over his shoulders as he moved towards one of the cupboards and removed a decanter and two glasses.
Christy watched him pour the ruby liquid through a red haze of jealousy. It bit into her with flames that burned hotter than those devouring the apple logs, scorching her like corrosive acid. She could barely see through the rage of jealousy and hurt roaring through her body, and her wayward tongue raced into hasty speech before she could silence it, her voice unnaturally high and hurried as she cried bitterly, ‘Does she now? I’d be very surprised if she agreed to settle up here, though, Dominic. I realise that she wants you very badly, but I should have thought Harley Street was more what she has in mind than Setondale.’
Like someone caught up in a nightmare, she froze as she watched Dominic tense and then put down the decanter. Prisms of light from the fire glittered off the crystal, and she was amazed that her brain could take note of such trivia when it also knew the enormity of what she had just said.
There was no kindness in the way he smiled at her as he turned to face her, and it seemed to Christy in her fear that there was an almost demonic quality to the way his skin seemed stretched tight over his facial bones.
‘Well, now,’ he said softly, ‘that’s a revealing statement if ever I heard one. You wouldn’t be jealous of her, by any chance, would you?’
Appalled by what her unruly tongue had trapped her in, Christy blazed furiously, ‘What could I be jealous of? The fact that she goes to bed with you? I was the one who turned down that opportunity—remember?’
He was across the room in half a dozen strides, gripping her arms in a hurtful furious strength.
‘My God, you just don’t know when to stop, do you?’ he breathed thickly.
She struggled against him, fear and desire mingling in almost equal quantities, but her struggles seemed only to incite the fires she could see blazing in the depths of his eyes.
‘Stop it, Christy!’ He shook her almost as though she weighed no more than a rag doll, and in an agony of bitterness, she raised her hand to claw desperately at his face. He jerked his head out of the way just in time, and then Christy heard him swear and saw the dark fury in his face.
It was too late to protest or plead for mercy, and time seemed to stand still in a preternatural silence as he slowly lowered his head towards her. She could hear the fiery crackle of the logs, and the agonised sound of her own breathing. A tortured moan was smothered in her throat as she felt the savagely harsh pressure of his mouth against her own.
There was nothing sensual or arousing about the way he kissed her; he was punishing her, deriding her, but in spite of everything she could feel the sudden upsurge of passion flooding through her, as though her body had starved so long for his touch that it was ready even to respond to this…this parody of passionate need.
She could feel the edge of his teeth against her mouth, and felt herself shiver in physical response as he used them without compunction to part the swollen softness of her lips. When his tongue thrust possessively into her mouth, she felt the molten heat slide through her veins.
Against her body she could feel the rapid, uneven thud of Dominic’s heart. Somehow her arms had locked round his neck, holding him against her. His tongue touched her lips, tracing their swollen curves. She felt the shiver that ran through him, hardly recognising the husky, raw note of pain in his voice as he muttered against her mouth, ‘God, Christy…what is it you do to me?’
His mouth touched hers again, gently this time as though he wanted to caress away her pain. She could easily have pulled away from him, but she didn’t, abandoning herself instead to the heady tide of pleasure that swept her away from reality as his mouth lingered on hers.
‘Christy…’
She shivered responsively to the note of need deepening the way he said her name. She could feel the heat of his hands where they held her, and beneath the bodice of her gown her breasts ached to be caressed.
His mouth was no longer punishing as it moved on hers, all anger and contempt expunged by the need that seemed to engulf them both. Without him saying it she could sense his desire, feel it in the way his hands stroked over her back, moulding her against him. She clung to him in the firelight, giving herself up completely into fate’s hands, wanting him too much to fight any longer.
‘Christy, you’ve no idea what you do to me. I’ve wanted you for so long.’
The muttered words shivered across her skin, her head falling back against his shoulder as his mouth explored the soft column of her throat. Tiny spears of delight shafted through her, her body so responsive to his touch that he made a sound of muttered frustration against her skin.
‘Let me make love to you, Christy. Let me show you how much I want you.’ His hands reached for the fastenings at the back of her dress, his body tensing as she stepped gently away from him.
She couldn’t stop herself from blushing softly as she saw him looking at her. A dark flush of passion stained his cheekbones, his eyes feverishly alight as he reached for her.
&nb
sp; ‘Let me unfasten it,’ she said softly. ‘The catches…’
She had stepped into a pool of light cast by the fire, and suddenly his expression darkened. Fear, and remembrance of that earlier rejection, held her immobile, her lips trembling as she asked huskily, ‘What is it, Dominic, what’s wrong?’
‘It’s that damned dress…’
She stared at him, ridiculously hurt. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘He bought it for you,’ Dominic told her savagely. ‘That’s what’s wrong with it.’ He moved towards her, his face contorting paganly as he reached for the front of her gown, and with one savage wrench ripped the bodice open.
Too shocked to correct him Christy could only stare down at the destruction he had wrought.