The Strength Of Desire

One kiss and all breath, reason, sanity were knocked from Hope’s body. Even as she pushed at his shoulders, kicked at his legs, struggled for her freedom, the most terrible excitement spread through her body.

Guy knew it. He could feel it. That was why he kept kissing her, forcing her lips to open, her mouth, invading, tasting, remembering the sweetness of her, the softness, the smell of her, still the same.

It shocked Hope. Nothing had changed. Guy touched her and she lost all pride, all strength, all will. Guy held her, his hard male hands running over her back, relearning the shape of her as if he had the right. And all the time still kissing her, her cheek, her eyes, her temple, then back to her lips, biting, licking, thrusting into the warm recesses of her mouth until she had to stop herself moaning aloud. But she couldn’t stop the memories flooding back, the camera rolling in her head, of him and her, and the time they had loved. The briefest of times, but it was imprinted on her brain as if it had lasted a hundred years.

As were the words he had said afterwards. ‘It was nothing. Just sex. Proximity. Curiosity.’ And each word had been like a hammer-blow to her heart.

The same words saved her now, dredged up from memory to salvage her pride. They made her cry out, ‘No,’ and mean it, made her twist from him, with a low curse.

He watched as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. It was a gesture of contempt, intended to wound, but the small smile on his mouth mocked her late show of pride.

‘I lied,’ he said in a low undertone, catching her eyes. ‘You were that good.’

It was no compliment. The look on his face told her that was all she’d been good for. A quick session or two in bed.

This time she didn’t slap him. Anger gave way to humiliation.

He had the last word, as he’d had the last time they’d met. He turned on his heel and walked away. She heard him go down the hall and open the front door. He didn’t slam it.

Guy Delacroix had too much control for such petty gestures. He hadn’t kissed her out of desire or impulse. He had wanted to see if he could still reduce her to a weak fool.

He could.

She wrapped her arms round her body. It was still trembling with a mixture of emotions. She felt a little sick. She wanted to go upstairs and lie down and sleep. Sleep for however many days it took to forget Guy Delacroix once more.

But she couldn’t. Her daughter trailed into the kitchen, eyes all curious at her flushed face, and she took refuge in her role of mother by busying herself with the tea.

She didn’t get away from Guy Delacroix that easily, however, as Maxine insisted on bombarding her with questions about her uncle. What did he do for a living? Did he still live in Cornwall? Was he older or younger than her father? Was he married?

‘How should I know?’ Hope snapped at the last question as she finally lost patience.

Maxine gave her an offended look, muttering, ‘I was only asking.’

‘Well, don’t!’ Hope snapped again. ‘Just eat your tea.’ She slapped the plate in front of Maxine and effectively silenced any more talk of Guy Delacroix or the past.

But later, when Maxine went to bed, Hope couldn’t silence her thoughts.

Of course, things had turned out just as Guy had predicted. She’d joined Jack on tour in America and it had been a disaster—moving from one American city to the next, living out of suitcases, lying awake and alone in a hotel bedroom while Jack had thrown a party for anyone and everyone next door, still awake and alone the following day while Jack slept off the party.

It would never have been the life for her, but it had been made worse by the depression she was suffering. It had been less than three months since her miscarriage.

Jack, if he’d grieved at all for their dead baby, had long since put it out of his mind. Hope hadn’t felt ready for lovemaking, but bare tolerance on Jack’s part had quickly turned to resentment. She had given in. Sex had become a joyless physical act without love. Jack hadn’t seemed to notice.

She’d been in America a fortnight when she fell ill. She’d felt unwell for days, and had woken up in the early hours with severe pains in her abdomen—and no sign of Jack.

She’d telephoned the hotel reception just before blacking out. A doctor had come. He had called the paramedics, who had whisked her to hospital for a proper examination. It was gynaecological—complications from the stillbirth resulting in possible long-term damage. It was unlikely there would be any more babies.

It had followed the pattern of the stillbirth. Jack had turned up the next day, with flowers and excuses and apparent concern. She had told him that they might never have children now, and he had taken the news almost too well.

He had explained his absence with an all-night poker game, and Hope hadn’t challenged it. She’d felt a little guilty herself, because throughout the crisis she had found herself wishing that another man had been there, one who could cope, who would be strong, unselfish, reliable.

She’d returned to Britain on discharge from hospital. Jack had made a token effort to talk her out of it, but had been quick enough to arrange for plane reservations.

He’d been less happy with her plan to stay with her friend Vicki until she could find a house of their own in London. Even when not on tour, Jack had preferred to live in hotels, with the convenience of room service, rather than keep a house or flat. He was still trying to dissuade her from her plan as she boarded the plane.

She had phoned Vicki beforehand, of course. Her friend had sounded taken aback at first, then sympathetic at her circumstances. She’d gone on tour with Jack as a gofer the year before, and knew what an exhausting round it was. From her initial reluctance, she’d quickly switched to insistence that Hope make her temporary home with her.

‘She’s agreed?’ Jack said in near-shock when Hope put the telephone down.

Hope nodded, frowning. ‘I know you think Vicki is silly and self-centred, but she’s not really…You said yourself she was pretty useful as an assistant.’

‘Yes, well.’ Jack still looked unhappy. ‘It’s different. You need someone who can look after you.’

Hope shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine when I get back to Britain, and it’ll be less than a month till you join me.’

‘I suppose.’

Jack didn’t argue further, and Hope assumed the matter was settled. She didn’t know Jack very well then. If he wanted something to go his way, he enlisted other people to make sure it did.

In this case, Guy. He was there at Arrivals at Heathrow. But so was Vicki.

Hope noticed them immediately, before they noticed her. It was hardly surprising. They were deep in argument. Guy had his hand on Vicki’s arm, holding her there as he talked down at her. Hope was so surprised that she stopped in her tracks and watched. Whatever they were arguing about, it was obviously something heated and personal, yet she couldn’t remember any occasion when Guy had even met Vicki.

She was still staring at them when Guy looked up and saw her. So did Vicki, and took a step forward, only to be stopped by something Guy said.

Whatever it was, it must have been something pretty powerful, as the other girl gave Hope an anxious look before suddenly breaking off and almost running in the opposite direction, leaving the field clear for Guy.

He walked up to her, reaching for her hand-luggage, and saying, ‘You look exhausted. How are you?’

‘I…Fine,’ Hope answered automatically, her gaze going beyond him to the milling crowds. Vicki had disappeared. ‘What’s going on? Where’s Vicki gone?’

‘Don’t worry about her,’ he dismissed, and, taking her arm with his free hand, began steering her towards the nearest exit.

Hope went with him rather than cause a scene. She was tired and in no state for a stand-up argument. In the airport bus that took them to the car park, she said with low anger, ‘I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I’ve arranged to stay with Vicki and you can’t stop me.’

As usual, he kept his cool and replied shortly, ‘Vicki’s changed her mind.’

‘What do you mean?’ She just managed to keep her voice down in a bus full of strangers.

‘What I said,’ he sighed. ‘She came to the airport to tell you. I understand there’s some man involved.’

‘Oh.’ Hope stared at him, as if she could gauge the truth of what he was saying that way. He stared right back, his eyes not wavering an inch.

She lapsed into silence. She supposed it was possible. When she’d called Vicki and invited herself to stay, Vicki had initially been reluctant. If she already had some boyfriend staying, that would explain why.

So what was she going to do now? She was still pondering the question when they arrived at the car park and he steered her towards his Jaguar. They’d been travelling for a quarter of an hour before she realised he was driving west on the M4 instead of east towards London.