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‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re trying to imply,’ she said as frigidly as she could, adding, ‘I don’t have a lot of time, Mr Pearce. I have another appointment in half an hour. In fact, my assistant will soon be wondering where I am, if I don’t return to the office.’
It wasn’t entirely untrue. She did have another appointment, but not for an hour. And in an hour…
‘You’re lying,’ he told her savagely. ‘But it won’t work. You came here because you’re just like all the rest.’
Charlotte tried desperately to blot out the words that spewed from his sick mind, to ignore and deny the horror of what he was threatening to do to her. He must have been like this since his wife had left him, she recognised, wondering with another thrill of horror how many other women he might have subjected to the same ordeal he was now inflicting on her.
The air in the small room was stale, putrid almost, or was that her imagination? His hands were filthy, his nails broken and black; she cringed visualising them on her skin. Nausea built up inside her. She couldn’t endure much more. Her self-control was cracking already.
‘If you’re not prepared to discuss the sale of these properties, then I’m afraid I must leave,’ she told him, trying to appear confident, as she stepped towards the door.
For a moment she thought she had succeeded, and that he would simply let her go. He actually let her reach the door, stepping aside for her, and she was trembling as she touched the handle, relief flooding her. He had simply been testing her, frightening her. Her legs felt weak, her mouth dry.
And then, just as she turned the handle, he grabbed hold of her, turning her round and slamming her back against the door. The pain winded her, depriving her of the ability to even scream in protest.
She could feel his hot breath on her face, could feel the painful bite of his fingers through her clothes. Oh, God, why hadn’t she stayed where she was?
‘Like it a bit rough, do you?’ she heard him saying thickly. ‘Like being messed around a bit, like? My wife was like that. Oh, she used to scream and cry and pretend she hated it, but I knew different.’
Charlotte shuddered as she listened to him, all too easily picturing the other woman’s agony. How on earth had she endured her marriage? No wonder she had left him.
‘Yes, she liked it so much she used to claw at my back and beg me.’
Charlotte couldn’t help it. She covered her ears with her hands and screamed helplessly. ‘Stop it! Stop it!’
It was a mistake. Her stomach lurched as she realised that her panic was only exciting him, inciting him to gaze boldly at her body, his eyes hot, his fingers kneading her flesh where he held her as he focused on her breasts…
How long had she been here? How long would her ordeal last? She dared not even risk looking at her watch. Suddenly, terrifyingly, she wanted it to be over, and illuminatingly she could quite easily see why his wife had allowed him the possession of her body. It was simply easier not to fight, to allow him what he wanted and to get it over with.
Shudder after shudder racked through her as he watched her gloatingly, telling her what he intended to do with her. With every word he was becoming more excited, more unrestrained.
He was confusing her with his wife, Charlotte recognised sickly, as he called her ‘Marlene’ not once but twice.
In another few minutes she would be unconscious. She could feel her strength ebbing, her body aching for the release from what was happening. Her head was spinning.
And then unbelievably she heard Oliver calling her name, and thought dazedly that she had actually slipped over the edge and was unconscious until Dan Pearce suddenly clamped his filthy hand over her mouth and said, ‘Don’t try and say a word. He’ll not come up here. No once he realises you want to be with me.’
Stupidly Charlotte stared at him, worn out with terror and pain, and then abruptly she realised that Oliver actually was there, that he actually had come looking for her, that he actually was calling her name, and with a strength she hadn’t known she had she struggled against her captor, sinking her teeth sharply into his palm, long enough to draw air into her lungs and to scream Oliver’s name before Dan Pearce grabbed hold of her hair and slammed her head back against the door, yelling out, ‘She wants me, not you. She’s nothing but a whore, who’ll open her legs for anyone. They’re all the same.’
Charlotte heard the words, but only distantly. Her head hurt; she felt sick and dizzy. There was something warm and sticky running down her face and someone seemed to be kicking her back. The kicking ceased abruptly when the door flew open and she was thrown to the floor. She heard herself scream as she fell, and then everything went black, although she was dimly conscious of someone touching her, soothing her, speaking to her. Someone whom it was important she reached out to…only it was all too much of an effort.
