Susan Napier - Phantom Lover

She didn’t like the sound of that. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about; there are no others.’ She strained away from him while trying not to let the extent of her panic show. Maybe Adam Blake had a split personality; maybe his letters had been dictated by a separate persona that he wasn’t consciously aware existed.

‘If that’s the way you want to play it.’ The smile he gave her sent a chill up her spine. It was almost as if he relished her resistance.

‘I’m not playing .’ But he was...playing her straining body like a fish on a line, reeling her slowly in between his splayed knees with a gradually increasing pressure of her captured wrist.

‘However many letters you might have posted, those are all that arrived here,’ she told him, her normally rich, warm voice reedy with rising hysteria. How did you reason with a madman? ‘Why don’t you let me go and we can have a drink and talk about this sensibly?’ Maybe alcohol was a bad idea. It might feed his paranoia. ‘Or a cup of tea. That scratch is probably throbbing by now. Why don’t you let me clean it for you and—? Oh!’ With a slight flick of his wrist he brought her down on her knees, his thighs levering shut on either side of her torso. She gasped at the ruthless compression of her ribs, her hands pushing helplessly against the thick muscles bunching under the dark trousers.

He watched her twist and struggle in silence for a moment or two and then he leaned forward and cupped her pale face in his big hands with a tenderness that terrified her far more than his anger.

‘Forget the tea and sympathy—I want something much more valuable. Would you like me to hurt you, Honor?’ His thumbs stroked behind her ears, his fingers threading up under her hair, cradling her skull, making her aware of its mortal fragility.

‘Is that the only way I can make you tell the truth? The things about yourself you told me in your letters—I don’t suppose all of them were lies. I remember you telling me once that you have a low pain threshold...’ The slightly calloused edge of the outside of his palm lifted her jaw, stretching her soft throat uncomfortably taut. ‘Shall we test the veracity of that statement first...?’

‘Adam, please—’

His thumbs shifted to press across her trembling mouth. ‘Don’t beg yet, I haven’t started.’ His fingers massaged her scalp gently and suddenly black dots were dancing in front of Honor’s eyes that had nothing to do with pain. After a shattering day this emotional overload was just too much.

‘You’re being totally unreasonable,’ she whispered.

‘And you don’t think I have a right to be? I don’t give in to blackmail. Not ever. I don’t know how you got hold of those damned letters but if you thought you could use them against me you made a bad mistake—’

‘But you know how I got them...you sent them to me!’ The black dots had become red and Honor could hear the blood pounding in her ears. If he leaned any closer he would be kissing her. Or, more likely, biting...

‘Did you think you’d get money for them? From me? Or are you more ambitious? Did you think you could use them to advance your journalistic career by flogging them off to the highest bidder? Maybe it was just malice. You wanted to make me pay for the sin of having wanted your sister instead of you. There are plenty of motives to choose from, aren’t there?’

His breath was hot against her face. ‘I—I’m not that kind of reporter,’ she said weakly.

‘You admitted you work for a newspaper.’

God, he was persistent. He somehow must have gained access to the record of her interview. How wonderful to have influence!

‘Only part-time. I help produce the small local bi-weekly give-away. All very innocuous—flower shows, pony club meets, advertising supplements, that sort of thing. I do the layout on my computer. I have a desk-top publishing programme...’

Except for the shrunken omelette, she hadn’t eaten anything but a breakfast slice of toast and now her blood sugar plummeted to her toes. What little colour there was left in her face drained away. Her eyes drifted defensively closed and she sagged as a wave of faintness passed over her.

She was barely aware of his hands sliding down to replace the pressure of his thighs against her waist, holding her limp body upright as he demanded insistently, ‘And that’s how you support yourself? Pay for this house, your car, your living expenses, clothes? By working part-time?’

He made it sound as if she lived high on the hog, instead of quietly and, for the most part, frugally. ‘I—I do other things sometimes—voice commercials, for radio and television, leaflet layouts for people...’ If she stopped fighting and answered his ridiculous questions maybe he would go back where he came from. Right now, that was all she wanted: to be left alone to crawl into bed and escape the bitter disillusionments of the day. ‘The house was a gift from Helen. The car is six years old. I buy my clothes at sales. OK?’

‘And you’re an ardent conservationist?’

This new tangent bewildered her more than ever. Reluctantly Honor opened her heavy eyelids. Funny how secure she felt in his hold when only a few moments before it had been a merciless threat. ‘I think whales are worth saving. Why? Don’t you?’

‘Not at the expense of human life,’ he said, watching some of the colour slowly returning to her face as she frowned, the stern tilt of her thick straight eyebrows cancelling out the slightly dazed softness of her grey-green eyes.

Sullen-faced she had the look of a boy, all freckles and bony angles, but they were fine bones and the voice that came out of that neat, narrow mouth was anything but boyish. It was smooth and soft as velvet, as unexpectedly sensuous as the extravagant curves of her breasts and hips. He tightened his grip on her waist, unable to encircle the soft indentation even with his long fingers fully extended to the limit of their generous reach. It was a timely reminder that he liked his women tall and athletic like himself, narrow-hipped, supple and slender. And, more importantly, trustworthy.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard of whales harpooning fishermen,’ Honor said, disliking the brooding shift of his expression.

‘No, but there are radicals who would like to make their point just as graphically: vandalism, car bombs, threats to spike the products of companies they say exploit animals for profits with poison...’

Something in the way he said it made Honor stiffen. ‘Is that what the police are investigating?’ Her heart went out to him, until she realised what he was thinking. It was like a reviving dash of cold water in her face. ‘My God, you can’t think that I would have anything to do with it? For goodness’ sake, you know me better than that!’

‘On the contrary, I don’t know you at all,’ he corrected her coldly.

‘Yes, you do. You have all my letters,’ Honor insisted.

‘And you have mine.’

She sighed. ‘We’re just going around in circles here. Look, I’m a pacifist, I have nothing but contempt for people who use violence to promote their point of view. I’m sorry you’re having problems but they’re nothing to do with me. I don’t know what more I can say to convince you. Can’t we talk about this tomorrow? I’m very tired. I’ve been man-handled, interrogated, frightened and insulted. Don’t you think that’s enough for one day?’ Self-pity overwhelmed her as she catalogued her woes. And she hadn’t even mentioned the worst shock of all: the defection of the romantic hero of her imagination!

‘So am I. Tired of deception and evasion.’ Adam stood, towering over her kneeling figure for a moment before making a rough sound of impatience and reaching down to lift her into the chair he had just vacated. ‘But by all means let’s talk about it tomorrow. In fact, now I think of it, that’s an excellent idea. Why don’t you just sit here and rest while I get your things?’