A High Price to Pay (12 page)

between them was over.

'I was merely interested,' she said shortly. 'We've walked past it often

enough. I wanted to take a look inside . .. nothing to make a fuss

about.'

'I wasn't aware I was making a fuss.' There was an edge to his voice.

'And there's no need to charge off like a maniac either,' he added

sarcastically. 'The boat will wait for us, you know.'

Alison slowed reluctantly, biting her lip. She was completely thrown

by what had happened back there in the little church. Perhaps she'd

drunk too much wine, she thought, or was suffering some strange

reaction to the lobster. People said that, sometimes, shellfish affected

you. Somehow she had to rationalise that pathetic, urgent little prayer

which had come from nowhere.

And, somehow, it had seemed essential to distance herself from Nick,

the author of all this emotional confusion.

Now she had to force herself to walk in silence beside him, her

thoughts in turmoil.

She was overreacting, she told herself desperately. That's what it was.

She was letting the moonlight, and the candlelit dinner they'd just

shared, and Nick's undeniable sexual charisma, affect her.

She had thought she was immune, but now she knew she was not, and

it was something she had to come to terms with. Something to beware

of too.

And that would undoubtedly be easier to do back at Ladymead, where

they would be leading virtually separate lives anyway. She shivered

slightly, drawing her wrap more closely around her. She knew the

terms of the bargain she had made, with Nick. It had a black and

white simplicity, so why, suddenly, did she feel so hopelessly

confused?

George was waiting with the boat at the bottom of a steep flight of

steps. They were narrow and slippery, but Alison had negotiated

them without difficulty on a number of occasions. Yet this time, as

she tried to step across into the boat, her foot slipped, and with a little

cry she found herself falling helplessly forward.

Nick grabbed her, his arms like steel bands as he pinioned her against

his body, her feet dangling ignominiously, her breathless face pressed

into the curve of his shoulder.

For an endless moment Alison was powerless in his arms, her small

breasts crushed against the hard muscularity of his chest. She could

breathe nothing but the warm, clean scent of his skin—feel nothing

except this agonising intimacy of contact.

Her startled fingers curled convulsively into bone and sinew, clinging

like the claws of a kitten, as her whole being responded to his

nearness with a long uncontrollable shudder of need and longing. She

wanted to press herself closer still, experience the hardening arousal

of his body against her slender thighs. She wanted to know that he

shared with her this swift anguish of desire ...

And instead, she felt herself set gently but firmly on her feet.

His voice quiet against George's more vociferous expressions of

concern, Nick asked, 'Are you all right?'

'Yes, of course.' She put up a hand and pushed her hair back from her

face, managing an artificial little laugh as she did so. 'I'm sorry, I'm

not usually so clumsy. I must have had too much of Yanni's ouzo!'

'It's lethal stuff.' His agreement was casual almost to the point of

indifference, as he released her and turned away, and Alison drew a

deep breath of relief.

At least he hadn't known—hadn't recognised that sudden, shameful

rush of feeling in her. She'd been spared that, at least. She sat silently

in the bows and watched the solid bulk of
Ariadne
take shape out of

the darkness. She couldn't wait to get back on board, she thought

feverishly. It wasn't much of a refuge, but it was all she had.

There was usually coffee waiting for them in the saloon, and little

glasses of the liqueur tasting of tangerines she had grown to like over

the past weeks, but tonight these were pleasures she would forgo, she

thought. Being alone with Nick was something she needed to avoid.

So she murmured some constrained excuse, and made off to the

solitude of her stateroom. And tonight, for the first time, she turned

the key in the lock, her hand trembling slightly as she withdrew it

from the door. She was being ridiculous. All these weeks it had never

occurred to her to lock herself in, so why now?

As a safeguard, she told herself bitterly. An insurance against making

a complete and abject fool of herself. Because that was the real

danger.

She undressed swiftly, and showered in the small compartment,

before sliding under the covers of the wide, comfortable bunk.

Normally she read for a while before composing herself for sleep, but

tonight the printed page failed utterly to hold her attention, and with a

sigh she let the book drop and switched off the lamp.

But still she couldn't rest. The sheltering darkness, the glimmer of the

stars beyond the porthole, the faint restful motion of the boat at

anchor seemed unable to work their usual soothing magic for her, and

she twisted and turned, pushing irritably in turn at the pillows, and the

covering sheet, as if she suddenly found their presence constricting

and intolerable.

Eventually she made herself lie immobile, forcing her lids to close

over her aching eyes. If she deliberately emptied her mind, then

surely some kind of peace would come.

What came instead was Nick's image, emblazoned on her mind,

burning in her consciousness. Memories seemed to control her, like

some relentless emotional treadmill, forcing her to relive every

moment she had spent with him over the last month. In her mind, she

heard every word, saw every look and gesture, rehearsed every tiny

unimportant incident. The stateroom seemed airless suddenly, her

body on fire, in spite of the flimsiness of its covering. Her dry lips

were moving, silently repeating his name over and over again, as a

soundless crescendo of yearning built up inside her.

At first, his voice saying quietly, 'Alison, are you asleep?' seemed no

more than another figment of her overwrought imagination. But the

softly determined rap on the door which accompanied it was real

enough, jerking her back to a full and startled consciousness. She sat

up, clutching the sheet against her in an instinctively protective

movement, as she stared across the stateroom at the locked door.

There was another knock at the door, and he spoke again, this time

with faint impatience. 'Alison?'

Her hand stole up and covered her lips, as she watched the handle of

the door turn quietly. When the door failed to yield, there was a

pause, then the handle turned in the other direction, only to be

released with an angrily frustrated rattle.

Not daring to move, ears straining, Alison heard Nick swear softly,

then move away. With a little gasp of relief she turned on to her

stomach, burying her face in the pillow, her heartbeat slow and

unsteady. The impulse which had led her to lock her door had been

well founded, it now seemed.

And the indications were that she had been over-optimistic in

assuming Nick would not have noticed her state of emotional

confusion. He was too experienced, his sexual perceptions far too

highly tuned to leave him unaware of that sudden, disastrous urgency

which had possessed her, and she had been a fool to suppose anything

differently.

Certainly, he had never come near her stateroom before. Not until

tonight, when he had recognised the unspoken needs in her and

decided to capitalise on them, she thought bitterly. Well, thank

heavens for the instinct which had prompted her to take her own

precautions!

But even as she ruefully congratulated herself on her foresight, the

lock rattled again, briefly and decisively, and as Alison propped

herself up on her elbow in stunned disbelief, the door swung open and

Nick walked in. He kicked the door shut behind him and walked over

to the side of the bunk, his brows lifting sardonically as he looked

down at her.

'No,' he observed mockingly, 'I didn't think you were asleep, in spite

of all that determined silence.'

She found her voice. 'How did you get in here?'

'The master key,' he said. 'Something you overlooked, in your sudden

passion for privacy.'

'It's not particularly sudden,' Alison said stonily. 'And up until now

it's been respected. Will you please go, and leave me alone?'

He hunched a shoulder negligently. 'After we've talked, perhaps.'

'Wouldn't the morning be a more appropriate time for conversation?'

He smiled, it is morning, as it happens.'

'Daylight, then, if we're playing games with words,' Alison said

shortly, plucking at the edge of the concealing sheet with restless

fingers.

'We're not playing games at all.' Nick seated himself on the edge of

the bunk. 'I came here to discuss a serious matter with you—a matter

of business.'

Alison wetted her lips nervously with the tip of her tongue. 'Can't it

wait? I'm tired now. I can't think straight at this time of night.'

'You don't need to think too hard.' His voice sounded cool and level. 'I

came to ask if you would consider—amending the terms of our

contract.'

The breath seemed to stop short in her lungs. She couldn't look at

him. Instead she stared down, as if mesmerised, at the hem-stitched

edge of the sheet. She began, 'I don't think I understand--'

'And I think you do,' Nick said quietly. 'When we made our bargain,

we were strangers. I feel that's no longer the case. There's no reason

why we shouldn't—re-think the situation.'

Alison found her voice from somewhere. 'We had an agreement…'

'Indeed we had,' he said drily. 'But circumstances—change. And so,

for God's sake, can minds. We're not obliged to restrict our

relationship, after all.'

'Unless we wish,' she said quickly. 'And I don't want to change

everything. You said you'd leave me alone—you promised.'

He shrugged again. 'You made all kinds of promises too, darling, in

church in front of witnesses. I'm sure I don't have to remind you what

they were. The words may be old-fashioned, but they were singularly

telling, all the same. All to do with loving and honouring and

obeying.'

Her small breasts rose and fell under the rapid, shallow rush of her

breathing, is that what you want? My—obedience?'

'Not particularly.' His tone held a kind of wry impatience. 'Especially

if it can be roughly translated as passive submission and resentment.

But it need not be like that, and I think you know it.' He put out a hand

and cupped her slender neck, sliding his thumb along the delicate line

of her collarbone. His voice softened. 'Alison, if you'd let me, I think I

could make you happy.'

Her teeth ground into the soft flesh inside her lower lip. 'I'm happy

already, thank you. I have everything I want—my home, and security

for my family. I don't need anything else.'

There was a silence, then he said, 'And are your needs the only ones to

be considered in all this?'

'Why, what's the matter?' she asked bitterly, is even a month's

celibacy too much for you to take?' She couldn't resist the jibe, but as

soon as it was uttered she regretted it.

The caressing fingers stilled suddenly, and even in the shadowy light

she could see the hardening of his face, the swift curl of his firm

mouth. 'Congratulations, sweetheart,' he drawled. 'How clever of you

to guess! So—are you going to—assuage my desires, like a dutiful

wife should?'

She muttered between her teeth, 'I'll see you in hell first!'

Nick's laugh was soft, but without amusement. 'Harsh words, darling,

which I'm tempted to make you eat.' His hand clamped at the back of

her neck, compelling her forward to meet him as he bent towards her.

She began imploringly, 'Please—no ...' then all further protests were

stifled under the bruising fierceness of his mouth on hers.

She'd provoked him and she knew it, so she could not blame him for

the suppressed anger which was dictating his treatment of her,

although it could not prevent the ache in her heart at his lack of

tenderness. And yet, in its way, as she dimly realised, that could be

her salvation too. Because it fired her will to resist, as a gentler

wooing would never have done.

Nick was lowering her back against her pillows, following her down,

muttering something hoarse and hurried in his throat as he did so. The

warm weight of his body against hers was an agonising enticement

that she had to fight at all costs. Deliberately, she relaxed, letting her