Free Act of Betrayal by Sara Craven Page A

how
    vulnerable she still was where he was concerned. All she could
    do—all she had ever done—was lie still and wait for the storm
    to pass. She sighed, twisting restlessly on her pillow as the sky
    was suddenly illuminated, and that ominous rumble deepened
    relentlessly. And in almost the same instant, the first sting of
    rain flung itself against her window. Laura' groaned and pushed
    the covers aside. She always slept with the casement open in
    summer, but she would have to close it now unless the cushions on
    the window seat were to be drenched. As she knelt there,
    wrestling with the catch, lightning streaked across the sky
    again, and for a moment the houses opposite, and the garden and
    drive below were trapped in a glare more powerful than a
    searchlight, revealing the sleek lines of Jason's Jaguar, still
    parked near the shrubbery by the front door. She stayed where she
    was, staring downwards through the streaming rivulets of rain,
    telling herself she was imagining things, waiting for the next
    betraying lightning flash. But there was no mistake, no trick of
    the imagination. The car was solid fact. She slid off the window
    seat and went across to the door, opening it a fraction. The
    whole house was still and dark. No-one but herself had been
    disturbed by the storm, it seemed. There were no lights on
    anywhere, no sound of voices to indicate that Celia still had a
    visitor. She found she was gripping the door handle so tightly
    that her fingers were aching. Surely Celia couldn't be so
    indiscreet such an utter fool . . . She closed the door again
    silently, and stood, her arms wrapped protectively round her
    body. The answer to that was—Celia acted only as seemed best to
    Celia. She had never been openly promiscuous, or at least Laura
    had never been aware of it, if so, but she was no blushing violet
    either. Celia might be her junior by over a year, but it had
    always made Laura's head spin to think how much older in wordly
    wisdom her cousin had always been. By her own blithe admission,
    her first lover had been one of the ski instructors at her
    expensive and supposedly sheltered Swiss finishing school. While
    I, Laura thought wryly, was still a trembling virgin. -r-,, She
    went quickly across the room, and got back into bed, pulling the
    covers around her as if the shivers running deeply through her
    slender body were of physical origin and could be dispelled by
    the comfort of a blanket. She closed her eyes, squeezing her
    eyelids tightly, trying to banish the images of Jason with Celia,
    their bodies locked together in the ageless ritual of lovemaking.
    There were times when imagination could be anguish, when memories
    crucified. Only a few hours ago, she thought—only a few hours .
    . . But if she was coldly realistic, that was probably what it
    was all about. Jason had been as aroused as she had been by those
    too brief, abortive moments of passion. If Celia offered the
    satisfaction his body needed, then he would take it, using her as
    casually and cynically as he had always used his women. She
    turned, punching her pillow into shape as the thunder unleashed
    its fury overhead, and the rain lashed at the windowpanes.
    Perhaps it would have been better if she'd been able to be like
    Celia, to have treated her own virginity as a slight
    inconvenience to be discarded as soon as possible, to have
    discreetly taken any man she fancied ever after. In those
    circumstances, she and Jason would have met, enjoyed a brief
    affair together and then passed on, leaving each other virtually
    unscathed. Staring into the darkness, she remembered how it had
    all begun. With Julie Frant's party. She hadn't been keen to go,
    but Julie had been persuasive and persistent. 'You never go
    anywhere,' she said plaintively. 'Come on, Caswell, be a devil
    for once in your life. Stop thinking about how to create the
    perfect Hollondaise and live a little.' Laura had given in and
    accepted the invitation,