Who's Sorry Now (2008) (17 page)

Alec chuckled. ‘I can see that wouldn’t exactly be your thing.’

He brushed a stray curl from her cheek, a surprisingly intimate gesture which startled Carmina. Usually he looked too nervous to touch her, treating her with gentlemanly deference. Not that she minded too much. She was feeling particularly raw and rejected after seeing Luc and Gina together, and felt in need of proof that she was still attractive to men.

She pretended to frown at him. ‘I think you’ve been following me, you naughty man. I thought I heard someone a while back.’

‘Would you mind if I had?’ Alec softly asked as he edged nearer.
 

He ran the heel of one thumb down her bare arm, making Carmina shiver. The sensation wasn’t entirely unpleasant and she dimpled a smile at him, stretching herself as a cat might when it wants to be stroked and petted.

‘Depends why you did it.’

‘Maybe I like following you. You are rather irresistible.’

Carmina almost purred with pleasure, then tucked her feet beneath her so that her short skirt slid up her long shapely thighs. She made a show of smoothing it down again, giving him a seductive little smile as she saw his eyes darken. He was entranced by her, she could tell. Why couldn’t she have this affect upon Luc?

‘I saw how upset you were over Luc Fabriani talking to your sister. Why do you bother with him, Carmina? You’re the kind of girl who needs a man, not a boy.’ The back of his fingers brushed her cheek and Carmina jerked away, not quite liking this perceived criticism of the man she adored.

‘Luc is man enough for me.’ She made as if to get up but Alec prevented her from moving by capturing her head with one hand, his fingers now combing through her soft curls.

‘Do you know how very lovely you are, how bewitching your eyes, how luscious your mouth? Yes, I expect you do. Your many boy friends will tell you that all the time. But I’m not a boy, Carmina, so it means more when I say it.’

‘Does it?’ She felt strangely mesmerised by his closeness, by the way he was looking at her so steadily with that steely gaze of his. She could see the wrinkles fanning out beneath his eyes, the deeply etched lines between nose and mouth. He didn’t look quite so alluringly handsome close-to, his age being far more in evidence, yet still attractive in a compelling sort of way. ‘Why would that be, I wonder?’

‘Because I have more experience.’ Closing the short distance between them, he gently nibbled at her lower lip. Carmina pushed him away, excited by his daring and yet shocked by it.

‘Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ It was fine when she was the one doing the flirting, but he seemed a bit too full of himself today.

Alec didn’t seem to hear her. He gave a throaty chuckle, pulled her close again and began to kiss her more thoroughly. This time Carmina did not resist. Instead, she found herself responding. His tongue rasped against her teeth, moving and teasing, stirring a burn of desire somewhere deep in the pit of her belly. She arched her body against his, relishing his kisses, making no protest when he cupped her breast.

But then he slid his hand between her thighs and she jerked away, giving a little cry of protest.

He laughed softly. ‘Don’t play the virgin with me, Carmina, because unlike your trusting momma, I know that you aren’t.’ The next instant he was pushing her back on to the grass, dragging apart the buttons of her blouse with clumsy fingers. ‘I know what you and Luc Fabriani got up to in that old banger of his after the dance. Not quite the behaviour of a nice, well-brought-up girl, is it?’

She was struggling to catch her breath, to slap away his busy fingers. ‘You were spying on me? How dare you! You’re wrong. We didn’t do anything.’

He gave a low chuckle. ‘Then it’s time you found out what you’re missing.’

She tried to stop him, gasping for breath as she tussled vainly to free herself, but he was too strong for her, too determined. Her hair was all over her face, her breasts open to the cool breeze and her skirt almost up to her waist, all dignity quite gone.
 

‘I’ve told you to stop. Don’t you dare …’

Her protests were stopped by his mouth clamping down on hers, hard and hungry. Carmina could feel the weight of him on top of her, the bulge against her bare leg. He pulled up her skirt the last few inches and ripped off her panties. Then he was thrusting into her with an urgency that would have made her gasp, had she been able to. It was like a horror movie. It all happened so fast that she couldn’t move, couldn’t even think.

He lifted his mouth from hers for a brief second to give her a leering grin, but did not pause, his breathing ragged as he pounded into her.

She might have screamed then, only Carmina couldn’t believe this was actually happening, that she could have so entirely lost control of the situation. He had her pinned down with her arms splayed out above her head, making revolting animal noises as she lay helpless beneath him in complete shock and agony. The pain was terrible but he made no concession to her whimpers and cries, presumably taking them as some sign of enjoyment.

Yet something overwhelming was happening to her. A curl of raw, fierce emotion was born deep inside her belly, neither fear nor revulsion but the hard burn of desire. With painful clarity Carmina knew in her heart that she’d provoked this situation. She’d asked for it with her flirtatious teasing, and her irresistible allure.

And now, to her shame, the excitement of his lust had fired her own.

She tried to bite him, snapping and snarling like a bitch on heat, and when he released her hands she didn’t claw at his face, as she might have done to protect herself. Instead, Carmina ripped open his shirt and scratched him all down his back, raising them both to new heights of passion. Minutes later she gave a sigh almost of regret when he slumped from her to roll over on to the grass.

‘Oh, that was good, Carmina,’ he gasped. ‘Did you enjoy it? I certainly did. Dammit, you’re a little whore, you really are.’

That was not at all what she’d wanted to hear.
 

Fury rose in her throat like bile. She suddenly felt incandescent with rage. Sobs shook her body, tears began to roll down her cheeks and she slapped and beat at him with her bare hands, clawed at his laughing face with her nails.

‘How dare you do that to me. You raped
me. You goddammed
raped
me!

Alec began to laugh. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! You were as desperate for it as I was. That wasn’t exactly a virginal kiss you gave me. And I didn’t see you resisting when I let go of your hands. You’ve been begging for me to do that ever since that day you bumped into me on your way out of my music shop back at Easter time. And I dare say you’ll want it again. You and I, Carmina, are one of a kind. It’s as if we were made for each other.’

Chapter Sixteen

The little row of white tubes on the gas fire in the bedroom popped one after the other as Thomas put a match to light them. Mavis, seated at her dressing table in her Vyella nightdress, spun about at the sound.

‘I don’t think a fire is necessary, since we’re going to bed.’

‘It’s like an ice box in here, and if you’re going to sit about half dressed you’ll catch your death,’ Thomas said.

Mavis at once reached for her silk quilted dressing gown, then went to turn off the gas tap. ‘The bill is big enough.’

Thomas shivered as he dropped his trousers to the floor. Making a small clicking noise at the back of her throat Mavis rushed to pick them up and put them on a hanger in the wardrobe, giving her husband a filthy look as she did so.

‘I was going to do that. But if you like waiting on me, do you want to hang up me shirt, an’ all?’ He held the garment out to her.

‘Don’t be facetious.’

Mavis returned to her dressing table and took out her hair pins, dropping each one with a little ping into a china tray. ‘And do try not to wake me when you go down to the bakery before dawn. You make such a noise, falling over your own feet I shouldn’t wonder, and I need my sleep. I really wish we had a proper house, with three bedrooms, then I wouldn’t be disturbed at all.’

‘I’ll try to creep out quietly, love,’ Thomas agreed, as he did every night. ‘Anyroad, I won’t be doing it for much longer. Once our Chris knows the ropes, I intend to take a well-earned rest.’

Mavis looked at him in disbelief. ‘You mean slope off down to the pub instead of working?’

‘I mean it’s time I retired.’

‘Oh, that old chestnut,’ she huffed. ‘I’ll believe that when I see it.’

Thomas waited until his wife had put in her curling pins, encased them in a brown hair net and climbed into bed beside him. Putting on her spectacles, which she never wore in public, she picked up her
Womans’ Weekly
.

Usually, Thomas was happy to leave her reading while he drifted off to sleep. It never took him long, sleep capturing him the minute his head struck the pillow; the result of a hard day’s work in the bakery or at the allotment. Mavis would give him a few nudges with her sharp elbow if he started to snore, before finally switching off her own lamp and settling down as far from him as was humanly possible in the double bed they’d shared throughout their married life.

Tonight, however, he was feeling pleased with himself that for once he knew something she didn’t. Thomas cleared his throat. ‘Has our Chris mentioned the latest plans to you?’

From behind her magazine Mavis gave a small sigh. Engrossed in a romantic serial she really had no wish to listen to her husband prattle on about business matters, some new cake recipe or whatever it was that consumed his tiny brain. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh, hasn’t he told you?’ Thomas said, milking the moment for as long as he could. ‘I fully expected him to mention them, since you and him are like that much of the time.’ He crossed two fingers and grinned across at her.

Mavis struggled to contain her patience. ‘Well, are you going to tell me or not? What plans are these?’

‘His plan to move out.’

Thomas felt rather as if he’d dropped a hand grenade then stood back to watch as it took off. He wasn’t disappointed. His wife’s face looked as if it was about to explode. Her
Womans’ Weekly
dropped onto the green quilted eiderdown, quite forgotten, as she jerked upright in bed and almost screamed at him.

‘
Move out
?’

‘That’s the general idea. I felt sure he would’ve told you.’ Reaching over, Thomas turned off his own bedside lamp, plumped up his pillows and settled down to sleep. ‘Night, night!’

‘Don’t you dare start snoring in the middle of a conversation. Why is he moving out? Where is he going?’

Thomas closed his eyes. ‘
They
, not him. Our Chris is a married chap now, Mavis, with responsibilities, which he’s taking very seriously. Him and Amy have decided they need a place of their own, for when the babby comes. They’ve taken that house next door to the pawn shop.’

He might just as well have said brothel. Mavis was appalled.

‘The
pawn shop
! My son is going to live next door to a
pawn shop
.
Never
! I won’t allow it.’

Thomas chuckled softly into his pillow. ‘I doubt you can do owt to stop it.’

‘I certainly can. I simply won’t hear of it. I shall put a stop to this nonsense first thing in the morning. They can’t possibly move until that baby is safely born. I won’t allow it. Do you hear me?
I will not allow it
.’

Thomas answered her with a loud snore.

‘I really can’t think why you would choose to move out. It’s so much more convenient for you to live here, above the bakery, particularly since you and your father have to be up before dawn each day.’

Chris sighed. He’d half expected this reaction from his mother, but was determined not to be pressured into backing down. ‘Amy feels we should get a place of our own before the baby comes, and it’s no more than fifty yards down the street. I don’t think I’ll have any trouble getting to work on time.’

‘Next to the pawn broker? I never thought a son of mine would stoop so low.’

Chris chuckled. ‘It’s still here in Champion Street, Mother.
You
live above the shop, with market stalls opposite.’

‘More’s the pity. I’m
still
waiting for your father to find me a decent house to live in. I hoped for something better for my only son.’

Chris smiled to himself and couldn’t help glancing about him at the impeccably decorated, well-furnished terraced house he’d always called home. Not a table-mat out of place. Even now, enjoying breakfast after having completed the first baking, the kitchen table was covered with a hand-embroidered tablecloth, the toast neatly arrayed in a silver rack and his eggs and bacon on blue and white Cornishware. Yet somewhere deep inside, his mother clearly harboured a deep resentment against his father.

He wondered if perhaps she wasn’t the teeniest bit jealous, perhaps of their youth and evident love for each other, if not the home he and Amy had chosen to live in. ‘I think that’s for us to decide, don’t you? We’re happy and excited about our new life together, and starting a family. Be pleased for us.’

‘Of course I’m pleased, dear, but you’re my only son, I want the best for you. I never wanted you to go into the business with your father in the first place.’ She dabbed at her eyes with a lavender-scented handkerchief, although there was no sign of tears.