'Oh yes, you did, you—' he struck her hand away, backing her up to one smooth, blank white wall. 'Haven't you got the guts to finish what you started?'
'No—' she whispered, terrified at the demon she had released; at her own swirling, reckless excitement.
'Are you a masochist as well as a nymphomaniac? On the lookout for new sensations. By God, I'll give you one!'
He reached for her, and reacting instinctively Sarah clawed at him with elegant blood-red nails, but he shackled her wrists with steely fingers, holding her at bay. 'Hit me, Sarah, and I'll hit you back. The only reason I didn't last time was because I thought you were a lady. But the lady's a tramp.' A thin razor-sharp smile sliced into her. 'You're the hypocrite, not me. I never pretended to be inexperienced, and at least I'm capable of being faithful to one woman at a time. My lovers don't have to worry about queues in the bathroom.'
'I didn't know he was there,' she moaned, stupidly, hardly aware of what she was saying. He was just talking to feed the inferno inside him, building up to an explosive climax. His face, so close to hers, looked gaunt, scraped to the bone.
'No? Maybe threesomes turn you on. Was I supposed to ask him to join us?'
'You're disgusting.' She turned her burning cheek aside, but he was relentless, remorseless.
'He looked fairly shattered, though. Did he kick you out after I left? But no doubt you've kept other options open . . . was I going to be one of them?'
'Bastard,' she gritted, closing her eyes against the withering scorn, feeling the hot salty pressure against her lids.
'A whore and a bastard. Perhaps we're made for each other. Shall we find out?'
Slowly, inexorably, he pulled her wrists up and out until her arms were spread-eagled along the wall. She fought him every inch of the way, silently, with all her strength, but her futile struggles seemed to compound his enjoyment.
'You're getting excited, darling,' he drawled savagely into her hectic face. 'Does it excite you to be handled roughly? Is that all part of the game?'
He moved on to her, anchoring the centre of her body to the wall with his hips, his every deliberate action exuding sexual menace that was frightening and repelling. Yet dark, furious, threatening, he was still attractive and Sarah moved frantically, trying to twist away, horribly aware of something inside her that was responding to the physical stimulus. He laughed and laid the full length of his body against hers, rock-hard muscle from shoulder to knee and she was shaken by a compulsive, betraying shiver.
'No, please . . . not like this,' she cried weakly and the answer came, raw and insolent:
'Hell, isn't it, Sarah, when you want something you know you shouldn't? Beg if you must, but try and make it a little more convincing!'
He lowered his mouth to hers, taking his time, indicating he would use all his considerable skill to get what he wanted—complete submission. When she kept her mouth obstinately closed he moved sharply, crushing her against the wall until the pain in her shoulder-blades made her give a muffled sob. Immediately the enemy invaded the vulnerable territory, thrusting a coaxing, questing tongue into the deep moistness, tasting victory. Whichever way she moved her head he followed easily and soon she stopped, feeling hot and he
lpless and giddy, accepting him. He began to grind his hips against hers in a slow, sensual rhythm that mimicked the act of possession, rousing a sweet, familiar ache that made a mockery of Sarah's protest. But acquiescence wasn't enough for him and he kept up the forcible arousal until stark, awful reality faded and Sarah was swept back into a world of pure sensation, of touch and taste and feel. An involuntary groan broke from her lips as the blood began to throb at her pulse points, sing along her veins.
The sound was absorbed into his mouth as he loosened his hold on her wrists, keeping her pinned with his body while he untied the belt at her waist.
She freed her mouth long enough to plead:
'No, Max—someone might come . . .'
'Let them.'
He kissed her again, and again, overcoming her brief resistance, roughly stripping the wrap from her shoulders, baring her body to his touch. His mouth was warm on her neck and she felt his practised hands run knowingly over her tingling skin, her body lifting and tautening to meet them. Desire raced along sensitive nerve endings and she moaned softly as his fingers stroked down the silken curve of her breast, slipping inside her flimsy bra to find and caress the burgeoning nipple.
Her trembling increased. She was made for this, this blissful pleasure; and he to reveal it to her. It felt good. It felt right.
She whispered his name, hands coming up to settle on the soft dark hair at his nape, cupping the shape of his head.
It seemed to trigger a nerve and suddenly she felt him shudder and tense, swearing thickly against her throat, a vicious sound of self-disgust that tore the lovely fabric of her dream. He thrust himself violently away from her and she swayed, mind blunted by sensation, skin incandescent with heat, damp palms pressing back against the cool of the wall behind her.
With an effort Sarah lifted heavy lids, bewildered at the swiftness of his withdrawal. Max had his back to her, bending stiffly to pick up the fallen chair and straighten it meticulously. His shirt was clinging damply to his skin and she saw the muscles beneath clench briefly before he turned around.
'Well, that's one thing you don't have to lie about. You certainly seem to get job satisfaction.' He wiped the redness from his mouth with the back of his hand as though the taste of her revolted him.
Sarah steadied herself against the wall, the only stable thing in a shifting universe. She sought his face for some indication of passion, of softness, but there was none. Savage lines of satisfaction grained the skin around his mouth and his eyes were like knives, cold and merciless, dissecting her.
Her stomach lurched violently. She felt bruised, violated. What had happened to her self-respect? He had treated her with the same contempt that a rapist must feel for his victim; with anger and disgust. And she had enjoyed it! Invited it even, for she had provoked him to breaking point. God, what was the matter with her? She was acting as if every vile thing he said about her was true!
She watched, hypnotised as he tore a tissue out of the large box on the make-up table and wiped his mouth and hand. Then he began to sort through the lipsticks until he matched one with the smear on the tissue.