A High Price to Pay (10 page)

longer interested in tormenting her.

They enjoyed a quiet, civilised dinner, then went for a walk in the

hotel grounds, relishing the last freshness of the late spring evening.

When they returned to the suite, Alison felt almost relaxed. During an

earlier exploration, she had discovered extra blankets in one of the

fitted wardrobes in the bedroom, and she brought an armful through

to the sitting room and deposited them on the end of the couch,

together with a spare pillow, for Nick to find when he came up from

having his nightcap in the bar.

Then she went and got ready for bed, changing into a pair of the thin

cotton pyjamas she preferred to nightgowns. She had brought a

paperback novel in her case, a detective story by a favourite writer,

and she managed a chapter before turning off the lamp and sliding

down into that preposterous apricot cloud.

She was half asleep when she heard Nick come in quietly and go into

the bathroom, and she closed her eyes with even greater

determination, burrowing down under the covers. She heard him

emerge at last, and waited to hear the bedroom door close behind him.

Only it didn't. She heard the sounds of movement in the shadowy

room, a rustle, then the dip of the mattress beside her as Nick got into

the bed.

Suddenly sleep was a million miles away. She shot upright. 'What do

you think you're doing?'

'Trying to get some sleep,' he returned flatly. 'If you imagine for one

minute that I'm going to spend my wedding night falling off some

bloody sofa, you can think again, and fast!'

'But you said—you promised . . .' Breathing was difficult, articulation

more so.

'And I meant it. I'm here for sleep, darling, not sex. God knows this

bed would sleep twelve at a pinch, so there's no danger of any—close

encounters in the night. Unless,' he added, 'you insist, which I doubt.'

There was a long silence. Alison didn't trust her voice to say anything.

'I thought not,' he went on, just as if she had spoken. 'One other

thing--I should warn you, perhaps, I sleep in the raw, and always have

done, but you seem to be wearing enough for both of us, so you can

comfort your outraged modesty with that. Goodnight, Mrs Bristow.'

He turned on his side, punched his pillow into shape, and appeared to

become instantly oblivious to her.

Lying wide awake, rigid with nerves and embarrassment, Alison

savagely envied him his sangfroid. She stared into the darkness,

listening to his quiet even breathing for a long time, then began

slowly and cautiously to edge away from him, towards the furthest

limit of the bed.

She was being foolish, and she knew it. Nick had showed no sign at

all of wishing to pursue her shrinking body across this vast expanse of

apricot satin, but she needed to get as far away from him as possible,

just in case by some mischance she happened to touch him

accidentally in the night. She moved cramped limbs cautiously, as

she huddled on the edge of the bed. Because if she touched him, and

he woke and thought she was— that she wanted . . . She swallowed

painfully. The consequences were too humiliating to contemplate

even, and she dared not take the risk.

Her..wedding night, she thought unhappily, and it promised to be the

most uncomfortable, miserable night she had ever spent. She wanted

very badly to cry, but knew she couldn't because, again, she might

awaken Nick. She touched her clenched fist to her lips. It was

irksome to realise just how accustomed he was to sharing his bed, she

thought bitterly. He'd fallen asleep almost at once, whereas she would

be fortunate if she closed her eyes all night.

But she was wrong. Eventually sheer physical and emotional

exhaustion overtook her, carrying her into some deep twilight

tranquillity, from which she emerged to find daylight filtering into the

room through the pale curtains.

For a moment she was disorientated, wondering dazedly where she

was, and whether she was still dreaming, then she turned over,

stretching cramped limbs, and saw Nick, propped up on one elbow

watching her, and reality came back with a jolt.

She said, 'Oh!' with a little gasp, and tugged hastily at the covers, a

reaction which was acknowledged by his sardonic grin.

'Good morning,' he said. 'I've been lying here wondering whether this

cruise is such a good idea after all. Perhaps you'd have preferred a

mountaineering holiday. Are you a keen climber?'

Alison took a hasty gulp of breath and sanity. 'I've never done any

rock-climbing in my life.'

'Amazing,' Nick said silkily. 'Judging by the way you've been

clinging to the edge of this bed, I thought you must spend all your

spare moments bivouacking on narrow ledges up the North Face of

the Eiger.'

She gave him a muted glare. 'Well, you're wrong.' She made a

performance of looking at her watch. 'What's the time? How long is it

before we need to be at the airport?'

Nick said lazily, 'There's plenty of time.' But the growing speculation

and amusement in the blue eyes nullified instantly any sense of

reassurance Alison might have felt.

'Well, perhaps we should be making a move just the same,' she found

herself babbling, and he laughed.

'Stop pressing the panic button,' he advised coolly. 'What's the

matter? Did your mother warn you that men are at their most

dangerous early in the morning?'

'No.' It was no more than the truth. Mrs Mortimer's material advice

had been restricted to I a few embarrassed remarks about Nick being

'a man of the world' and girls being 'so much better informed these

days, darling, than we ever were'.

He laughed again. 'Then perhaps she should have done,' he said.

Before she could escape, or take an evasive action, his arm was across

her, imprisoning her, the weight of his shoulders pinning her to the

bed. His mouth was warm and deliberate, and terrifyingly persuasive

as he began to kiss her. The heat of his bare skin was penetrating the

thin cotton pyjama top, making her tremblingly aware of her own

helplessness and vulnerability. Her lips were already parting

obediently to the insistence of his kiss.

This time he was neither forcing her nor playing a part, Alison

realised dazedly. He was seducing her. As his mouth moved

enticingly on hers, his hand was stroking her slender throat, marking

the flutter of her pulse, before sliding down into the modest vee

opening of her pyjama jacket. His fingers. brushed gently across the

upper curves of her slight breasts, and she felt the breath catch in her

throat with shamed excitement. The touch of his hand on her naked

flesh, the warm sensuous invasion of her mouth, were an almost

painful delight to her untutored senses.

The sudden ringing of the telephone was like a slap across the face, a

rude awakening from the sensual dream world which had begun to

enfold her.

Nick released her, snarling an expletive under his breath, and turned

to pick up the receiver.

'Yes?' His tone was not encouraging.

The sound of his voice had an instant effect on Alison, rocketing her

back to earth with a vengeance. A soundless gasp of dismay escaped

her as she realised he'd undone half the buttons on her pyjamas

without her even being aware of it. Clumsily, she tried to repair the

damage, pushing aside the covers as she did so, and swinging her feet

to the floor.

'Our early call,' Nick said shortly, replacing the receiver. The blue

eyes appraised her burning face and shrinking figure, and his mouth

curled slightly. 'Or I suppose you could say—saved by the bpll!'

She was amazed to hear how steady her voice sounded. 'You

promised you'd leave me alone!'

'I know,' he said. 'But the temptation to—coax you a little was quite

overwhelming, believe me.'

'Really?' Alison asked coolly. 'I'd have said myself that it was because

I—just happened to be there. A kind of reflex action on your part.'

His face darkened. 'You could be right,' he said after a brief pause.

'However, it won't happen again. You have my personal guarantee on

that.'

'I'm not so sure that's a valid assurance,' she said bitterly.

The lines beside his mouth deepened harshly, it was an impulse, for

God's sake—one which I now regret. Or did you think it was a

deliberate plot, hatched by my lust-crazed brain?' he added

contemptuously. 'God, you must think I'm desperate!'

'No.' His words were like a whiplash, but she bore them without

flinching, at least not outwardly. 'And nor am I. Perhaps you'd

remember that.'

'With pleasure.' Nick sat up with energy, pushing the covers away,

and reaching for his robe, making Alison avert her gaze hastily. 'The

instruction is now etched on my memory cells for ever. And you

needn't worry about the
Ariadne.
She's a big boat. Play your cards

right, and we need only encounter each other at mealtimes. Now,

would you like first use of the bathroom, or shall we flip a coin?'

'No, I—I'll go first.' She couldn't bear to stand there any longer,

confronting him over that great expanse of bed, like enemies on

opposite sides of some vast sexual minefield.

She didn't care for the connotations of the bathroom either, but it

seemed like a sanctuary, as she bolted the door behind her.

She was shaking all over suddenly, her heart racing madly, and she

sank down on the tiled rim of the bath with a little stifled groan,

thankful that Nick's piercing gaze could not pursue her here, and see

the state she was in.

Or had he already guessed, she asked herself bleakly, just how close

she had been to complete surrender?

She sighed. Nothing was working out as she had expected, least of all

her own emotions. And that was the most troubling realisation of all.

ALISON poured a measure of sun-oil into her palm and began to

massage it into her neck and shoulders. Over the weeks, she had

acquired a warm honey tan, and she didn't want to spoil everything by

burning now—especially when, tomorrow, they would be on their

way back to Rhodes, and home.

Home, she thought. Ladymead—redecorated, and refurbished, and

waiting for their occupation. It was amazing how remote it seemed

suddenly. Light years away from the gently swaying deck of the

Ariadne
, and the sunbed with its prettily striped awning set above it.

Surprising, too, how quickly these four weeks which she had so much

dreaded had passed, and how easily.

After that first disastrous morning, she hadn't known quite what to

expect from Nick. Further advances, possibly. Recriminations and

resentment almost certainly. And yet it hadn't happened. Once they'd

embarked on
Ariadne,
Nick had undergone some kind of sea-change

almost in front of her eyes. On the flight to Rhodes he had been silent

and aloof, deep in his own thoughts, and Alison had sat beside him,

her normal nervousness due to the flight exacerbated by his

remoteness. How could she spend the next month of her life

imprisoned on a boat in the Aegean with a man who neither looked at

her nor spoke? she wondered wildly. Anything would be better—

even a flaming row. And then, suddenly, everything had changed.

Nick had gone to his stateroom on
Ariadne
a hostile stranger, and had

emerged the next day a relaxed, friendly companion.

She had responded to his casual camaraderie shyly at first, and then

with growing confidence as the days passed. And there was no

denying that he had brought the islands of Greece alive for her in a

way she could not have imagined. She had brought several excellent

guide books, but he had taken them away from her, telling her she

would learn far more by looking and using her senses to interpret

what she saw. She hadn't realised before how well he knew the

islands, and loved them, and he made her share his own enthusiasm,

as well as teaching her to appreciate their variety of landscape and

atmosphere.

She had scrambled with him over the ruins at Knossos, walked with a

strange sense of awe beneath the stone lions on sacred Delos, caught

her breath at the bleached beauty of Hydra, and giggled at the

pompous pelican of Mykonos.

She'd swum, and sunbathed, and even, after some caustic coaching

from Nick, tried her hand at water-skiing. She had acquired her tan,

and even put on some weight, filling out the painful hollows in her