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She stared at him, quite unable to speak, her mind frozen.
'But we are civilised people, are we not?' He smiled, but it was a mere twisting of the firm, sensual mouth, and chilled her still further. 'And civilised people play games, have fun, flit from one partner to another if they get boredr—'
'I'm not like that' Her words were a trembling whisper, but he heard them. I've never played those sorts of games in my life.'
'No?' The grey eyes flickered briefly. 'Forgive me, but I'm not convinced. My mother's father, a tough old Texan with a hide as thick as a
rhinoceros—from whom I got my Christian name, incidentally—always used to say that actions speak louder than words. It used to irritate me as a boy as he invariably hammered it home when I was guilty of some fall from grace. But he was dead right, Annie. And your actions to date are somewhat—forgive me—frivolous, to put it mildly,' he added with deadly sarcasm.
'Hudson—'
'Or do you consider a breach of faith between lovers as par for the course?' he asked with lethal softness. 'Part, of the fun?'
'No, of course I don't I didn't… It wasn't like that' She didn't want to cry—she couldn't cry—it would be the final humiliation, she told herself desperately as tears burnt fiercely at the back of her eyes, and she lowered her gaze quickly in case he saw the betraying sheen that was splintering the sunlight into a thousand glittering fragments. But not quickly enough.
'And that old feminine ploy of tears won't work either,' he drawled nastily. 'I'm too long in the tooth for that For someone to behave like you did takes something the average person hasn't got, so don't try the weak, trembling female approach now. There's steel under that beautiful exterior—I know; I've felt it.'
'You know nothing about me,' she said shakily, keeping her face turned from him and her eyes downcast.
'Oh, I'd agree with that, sweetheart.' He laughed bitterly. 'Now that is the truth.'
'Then why not just leave me alone?' she muttered painfully. 'I didn't ask to come here with you; I don't want to be here with you. It was you who instigated this.'
'I've no doubt at all you would rather be back at the hotel enjoying a cocktail or two before dinner with the reputable Keith,' Hudson said sardonically. 'But unfortunately here you are and here you will remain until I choose to take you back.'
'And this satisfies some twisted idea of revenge? Is that it?' She raised her head now, her face fiery. 'What sort of person are you, Hudson?'
'I rather think that should be my line in the circumstances,' he said with a silky coldness that told her her shot had hit home. 'But if you'd like me to show you what sort of man I am, Annie… '
He had taken her in his arms before she had any clear idea of his intentions, his embrace crushing her into him as his mouth took hers in a kiss that was meant to punish and subdue. For a moment the shock of being held by him was overwhelming, the touch and taste of him achingly familiar, and then, as the tempo changed and he began to cover her face in burningly hot kisses that made her limp and fluid beneath his mouth, she strained into him, hardly aware of what she was doing.
How long the embrace continued she didn't know; the magic of his kisses, the sheer sensation that was flowing like fire between them, wiped all coherent thought clean away. She could hear herself moaning his name, and she thought she heard him groan against her throat but then, in the next moment, he had thrust her away from him so violently, she almost fell.
'How can you do that—kiss me back like that—when it doesn't mean a thing?' he snarled bitterly, his eyes blazing. 'Who, what are you, Marianne McBride—or Harding—or whatever it is you call yourself?'
CHAPTER TWO
Marianne had never been more relieved in the whole of her life than she was when a childish whoop of glee sounded from the house behind them, and a small body hurtled over to wind itself round Hudson's legs, drawing away his attention and breaking his furious gaze.
'Abdul, my little friend… ' Hudson immediately became the benevolent uncle figure, bending down to lift the small boy into his arms as he spoke. And almost in the same instant a man and a woman, the former in western dress and the latter in a long, flowing jellaba but without a veil, appeared in the open doorway.
The following minutes of greetings and introductions took them into the house—which was as beautiful inside as out. It was wonderfully cool with its marbled floors and shaded inner courtyard complete with tinkling fountain and huge, leafy palms. Admiring their surroundings and making small talk with their hosts, and their small son, Abdul, eased the tension between her and Hudson.
Idris and his wife, Fatima, didn't appear to think it at all odd that Hudson had brought her along; in fact such was their open-handed hospitality and genuine delight that Marianne began to feel like an old friend, rather than a stranger in their midst.
'Have you known Hudson long?' She was sitting with Fatima on a long, low sofa in a shady part of the courtyard, sipping freshly squeezed orange juice flavoured with limes and lemon. The men had departed to Idris's study to see his new computer set-up, with Abdul still in Hudson's arms.
Idris has known him since they were students together in the States,' Fatima answered quietly. 'But I first met Hudson on the day I married Idris, five years ago.'
'They seem very good friends,' Marianne observed, taking another sip of the deliciously cold drink. 'They're obviously very fond of each other.'
'This is true.' Fatima spoke perfect English with a quaint preciseness that was charming. 'Hudson helped Idris on the death of his first wife—you know Idris was married before?'
Marianne shook her head quickly. 'No, no, I didn't'
'She was killed in an automobile accident,' Fatima said quietly, 'with their two children. The chauffeur also was lolled. It was very hard for Idris, and Hudson—how do you say it?—dropped everything. Idris often says he does not know what he would have done if Hudson had not been there. He stayed with him many weeks. Hudson is a very compassionate man, yes?'
'Yes… ' Compassionate? He might be; she really didn't know, Marianne thought numbly. Their whirlwind romance had lasted almost two months, and from the day they'd met they had barely been apart for more than a few hours. But… she hadn't got to know him—not really—not properly. It had been crazy, unreal—they had been locked into their own little world where everything had been vibrant and vivid and magical, and where one glance, one lingering look, had had the power to send her into the heavens. They had barely talked about their respective pasts, and the future had been nothing more than a rosy dream. It was the present that had been real, and they had known their immediate time together was limited.
