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like that now.'
'Is that so?' Curtis's words were provocative, insinu- ative, and Laurie
thought she knew what he was implying.
Flushed of cheek, her teeth catching at her bottom lip, she turned
away to hide the sudden over-brightness of her eyes. She made for
the stairs. Curtis knew she'd been a virgin. He was asking if, having
given herself to him once, she would refuse that gift a second time.
Or, and this was much worse he might be asking if, having given
herself to one man, she would as readily give herself to another. She
was very much afraid that, of the two kinds of woman Curtis had
described to William, he saw her as the former kind, the one a man
did not marry, did not make the mother of his children.
The idea that this might be the case made her furiously angry, not
only with him but with herself for her ready gift to him that had
cheapened her in his sight. And yet given the same circumstances,
she thought unhappily, given Curtis's lovemaking, she'd probably do
the same thing again. Oh God, she prayed, don't let me go on being
this miserable for the rest of my life.
There was plenty of work needed still on the upper floor, for a
chimney breast needed replastering, but Laurie found herself
strangely lethargic, reluctant to begin. Gazing idly through the
window she saw George leave, tyres skirling the dusty surface of the
track. He needed the pick-up to collect some materials for the other
site. She and Curtis were alone here. Her heart bumped against her
ribs.
She heard him coming up the stairs. Her stomach began to flutter
with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. She continued to
stare out of the window, seeing nothing, but feeling everything.
'Laurie!' It was said abruptly, gruffly. He was standing behind her,
several feet away, but she was as aware of him as if he were touching
her.
'Yes?' She breathed the word without turning. Her limbs seemed to
have lost all power of movement.
'We have to talk.' A hesitation, then, 'Don't we?'
'Do we?'
'You know we do,' he said softly. 'We can't just pretend nothing ever
happened.' And as she steeled herself to turn and face him, he
admitted, 'I wasn't intending to come back.' His eyes were dark,
intent in a brooding face.
She swallowed, her throat dry. 'No?'
'No,' he confirmed. 'And when I walked out of the abbey last night I
intended to go away again.'
'Then why didn't you?' Green eyes searched his face.
'I don't know.' Then, more forcefully he'd had time to think his
motives through since yesterday he continued. 'Yes, I do. It would
have been cowardly not to see you, to apologise, to make sure you
were all right.'
'Why shouldn't I be all right?' she demanded tautly. He wasn't
clairvoyant. He couldn't see so far into her soul, to see how nearly his
absence had destroyed her.
'Because,' he said with irritable ferocity, 'surely you're not that much
of an innocent, because we took no precautions. I could have made
you pregnant.'
'Oh!' His words had the oddest effect upon her. Her legs began to
shake uncontrollably. Pregnant! By Curtis to have his child! Her
stomach warmed and fluttered almost as if the seed of his
lovemaking were already living and moving there. This possible
result of their coming together had honestly not occurred to her.
She'd been too concerned with other problems, the new sensations
her body had experienced and now craved tormentingly, the fear that
he might not return, the hope that he would. 'I never thought of that,'
she whispered and sat down suddenly on the broad expanse of
window-sill.
'I thought not,' He stood looking down at her, compassion in his eyes,
and something else.
Laurie couldn't look away from him. His presence, something in his
tense stance, in the almost electrical atmosphere, had her spellbound.
And when he moved towards her she simply sat looking up at him,
waiting.
He reached out and almost angrily he pulled the woollen working cap
from her head, letting the strawberry-blonde tresses tumble free. He
plunged a hand into them, tangling them, making her wince.
'It's a crime to hide your hair like that,' he muttered, but his dark,
unfathomable eyes were not on her hair but on her lips.
'If I didn't,' she said shakily, 'it'd soon be full of plaster dust.' Her
heart was pounding, startled, excited by his nearness, his own
disturbance which was a tangible emanation surrounding them both.
'Come here,' he said huskily and without conscious volition her limbs
obeyed him.
She rose, moved into the circle of his arms, reached up, her hands
sliding over his upper arms to his shoulders, her face raised to his as
he bent to kiss her.
It was as if there had never been any intervening days since that
Sunday on the hillside, as though that white- hot passion had never
cooled, their lips never parted, their bodies never separated. In the
unfinished bedroom, dust motes flying around them in the streaming
sunlight, they were aware only of each other, of their bodies' urgent
demands. It was almost possible to forget that he had gone away and
left her in such desolation, to forget the words that had hurt her so
much, because, surely he was proving them wrong? He did want to
make love to a woman like her. His lips, his hands, the hard pressure
of his thighs on hers were telling her so.
She heard him murmur breathlessly, fiercely. 'This is madness,
madness...' But it didn't stop him from doing the deliciously sensual
things he was doing to her.
It was Laurie, faintly clutching at some sort of sanity, who said,
'Curtis don't. Not not if you're going to regret it and be angry with
me again.'
At her words he released her suddenly, his hands clenched at his side,
staring down at her, his face grim, once more the cynical, world-
weary man who wanted no emotional involvements.
'You're right.' The words seemed to come with difficulty. 'But we still
have to talk. We'd better get out of here, go somewhere where we
won't be tempted to ...' He limped towards the door and, after a
moment's hesitation, she followed him downstairs and out into the
sunlit garden at the rear of the house, a garden at present overgrown
with weeds.
Curtis flung himself down among tall, unmown grass, seared by [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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like that now.'
'Is that so?' Curtis's words were provocative, insinu- ative, and Laurie
thought she knew what he was implying.
Flushed of cheek, her teeth catching at her bottom lip, she turned
away to hide the sudden over-brightness of her eyes. She made for
the stairs. Curtis knew she'd been a virgin. He was asking if, having
given herself to him once, she would refuse that gift a second time.
Or, and this was much worse he might be asking if, having given
herself to one man, she would as readily give herself to another. She
was very much afraid that, of the two kinds of woman Curtis had
described to William, he saw her as the former kind, the one a man
did not marry, did not make the mother of his children.
The idea that this might be the case made her furiously angry, not
only with him but with herself for her ready gift to him that had
cheapened her in his sight. And yet given the same circumstances,
she thought unhappily, given Curtis's lovemaking, she'd probably do
the same thing again. Oh God, she prayed, don't let me go on being
this miserable for the rest of my life.
There was plenty of work needed still on the upper floor, for a
chimney breast needed replastering, but Laurie found herself
strangely lethargic, reluctant to begin. Gazing idly through the
window she saw George leave, tyres skirling the dusty surface of the
track. He needed the pick-up to collect some materials for the other
site. She and Curtis were alone here. Her heart bumped against her
ribs.
She heard him coming up the stairs. Her stomach began to flutter
with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. She continued to
stare out of the window, seeing nothing, but feeling everything.
'Laurie!' It was said abruptly, gruffly. He was standing behind her,
several feet away, but she was as aware of him as if he were touching
her.
'Yes?' She breathed the word without turning. Her limbs seemed to
have lost all power of movement.
'We have to talk.' A hesitation, then, 'Don't we?'
'Do we?'
'You know we do,' he said softly. 'We can't just pretend nothing ever
happened.' And as she steeled herself to turn and face him, he
admitted, 'I wasn't intending to come back.' His eyes were dark,
intent in a brooding face.
She swallowed, her throat dry. 'No?'
'No,' he confirmed. 'And when I walked out of the abbey last night I
intended to go away again.'
'Then why didn't you?' Green eyes searched his face.
'I don't know.' Then, more forcefully he'd had time to think his
motives through since yesterday he continued. 'Yes, I do. It would
have been cowardly not to see you, to apologise, to make sure you
were all right.'
'Why shouldn't I be all right?' she demanded tautly. He wasn't
clairvoyant. He couldn't see so far into her soul, to see how nearly his
absence had destroyed her.
'Because,' he said with irritable ferocity, 'surely you're not that much
of an innocent, because we took no precautions. I could have made
you pregnant.'
'Oh!' His words had the oddest effect upon her. Her legs began to
shake uncontrollably. Pregnant! By Curtis to have his child! Her
stomach warmed and fluttered almost as if the seed of his
lovemaking were already living and moving there. This possible
result of their coming together had honestly not occurred to her.
She'd been too concerned with other problems, the new sensations
her body had experienced and now craved tormentingly, the fear that
he might not return, the hope that he would. 'I never thought of that,'
she whispered and sat down suddenly on the broad expanse of
window-sill.
'I thought not,' He stood looking down at her, compassion in his eyes,
and something else.
Laurie couldn't look away from him. His presence, something in his
tense stance, in the almost electrical atmosphere, had her spellbound.
And when he moved towards her she simply sat looking up at him,
waiting.
He reached out and almost angrily he pulled the woollen working cap
from her head, letting the strawberry-blonde tresses tumble free. He
plunged a hand into them, tangling them, making her wince.
'It's a crime to hide your hair like that,' he muttered, but his dark,
unfathomable eyes were not on her hair but on her lips.
'If I didn't,' she said shakily, 'it'd soon be full of plaster dust.' Her
heart was pounding, startled, excited by his nearness, his own
disturbance which was a tangible emanation surrounding them both.
'Come here,' he said huskily and without conscious volition her limbs
obeyed him.
She rose, moved into the circle of his arms, reached up, her hands
sliding over his upper arms to his shoulders, her face raised to his as
he bent to kiss her.
It was as if there had never been any intervening days since that
Sunday on the hillside, as though that white- hot passion had never
cooled, their lips never parted, their bodies never separated. In the
unfinished bedroom, dust motes flying around them in the streaming
sunlight, they were aware only of each other, of their bodies' urgent
demands. It was almost possible to forget that he had gone away and
left her in such desolation, to forget the words that had hurt her so
much, because, surely he was proving them wrong? He did want to
make love to a woman like her. His lips, his hands, the hard pressure
of his thighs on hers were telling her so.
She heard him murmur breathlessly, fiercely. 'This is madness,
madness...' But it didn't stop him from doing the deliciously sensual
things he was doing to her.
It was Laurie, faintly clutching at some sort of sanity, who said,
'Curtis don't. Not not if you're going to regret it and be angry with
me again.'
At her words he released her suddenly, his hands clenched at his side,
staring down at her, his face grim, once more the cynical, world-
weary man who wanted no emotional involvements.
'You're right.' The words seemed to come with difficulty. 'But we still
have to talk. We'd better get out of here, go somewhere where we
won't be tempted to ...' He limped towards the door and, after a
moment's hesitation, she followed him downstairs and out into the
sunlit garden at the rear of the house, a garden at present overgrown
with weeds.
Curtis flung himself down among tall, unmown grass, seared by [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]