Free Season of Shadows by Yvonne Whittal Page A

If
this was what making love was all about, then she could do very nicely
without it in future, she decided unhappily.
    Anton stirred beside her. 'It wasn't my intention to hurt
you, Laura, but you have only yourself to blame for what happened.'
    'I hate you!' she hissed at him, and all the anger and
humiliation she had suffered at his hands was locked up in those three
words.
    'Good,' he retaliated harshly. 'Hate from you is
preferable to indifference, and I don't ever want my intelligence
insulted by the use of the word "love" between us.'
    'Love is a word you'll never hear from me, Anton DeVere,
have no fear of that!'
    'I'm glad we understand each other,' he said abruptly and,
turning over on to his side, he promptly went to sleep.
    She drew the sheets closer about her, and stared at his
broad back while she tried to unravel her puzzling thoughts. They had
just made the word 'love' taboo between them, and although she felt
certain that she could never love him, it left her with a feeling of
inexplicable sadness. What had happened, she wondered, that he should
have turned his back so completely on love? Was it a defensive attitude
against being hurt again, or did he simply have no love to give?
    The latter seemed the most probable, but she did not dwell
on the thought for long, for the sound of the surf lulled her into a
deep but troubled sleep, and she became enmeshed in dreams fraught with
sinister encounters. She finally sought refuge in the shelter of
protective arms; arms that offered unquestionable safety and security
and, sighing contentedly, she slept on dreamlessly until the first
light of dawn stretched rosy fingers across the sky.
    She stirred, opening her eyes lazily and, to her dismay,
discovered that she had been lying in Anton's arm with her head
pillowed on his shoulder. For one paralysing moment she could not
recall what she was doing there, then the memory of her pain and
disillusionment returned, and with it came the humiliating realisation
that it had been
his
arms in which she had sought
refuge from her dreams.
    She had to get away, she thought frantically. She could
not face him so soon after what had happened last night, but as she
shifted her position carefully, trying not to wake him, a heavy arm was
flung about her waist, and a mocking voice demanded in her ear, 'What's
the rush?'
    Her heart leapt wildly into her throat, almost choking off
the sound of her voice as she said, 'I want to get dressed.'
    His lips brushed against her ear, sending a little shiver
through her that was intensified when his hand came up to clasp her
breast possessively. 'I think I like you better as you are.'
    'Go to hell!' she cried angrily, fighting off his lips and
hands, and the unfamiliar sensations they aroused.
    'It's heaven I shall be going to, Laura,' he laughed
softly against her lips as he pinned her flailing arms at her sides,
'and this time I intend taking you there with me.'
    'No… don't!' she begged frantically, her body
taut at the suggestion of renewed pain, then her lips were parted
beneath the bruising pressure of his hard mouth.
    A blanket of fear enveloped her mind, and it was some time
before she made the startling discovery that his caressing hands were
having a soothing effect on her, and, as the tension eased from her
body, her skin began to tingle as if a thousand little nerves had
suddenly come alive to his touch. He continued to caress her, taking
his time until his experience must have told him of her receptiveness,
then his lips and hands sought intimacies she no longer had the
strength or the desire to refuse. He was arousing emotions within her
which she had never imagined existed, and this time, when he took
possession of her, she found it so intensely pleasurable that she clung
to him in unashamed and rapturous delight, giving of herself freely
until she was plummeted into a vortex of ecstatic fulfilment.
    Spent, they lay beside each other, and for a time Laura
was conscious of nothing