Free Fire Hawk by Geoffrey Archer Page A

spread the towel on the bed and helped him to remove his polo shirt and trousers.
    â€˜God, those bruises,’ she hissed, turning him round. ‘I can’t believe they did this to you.’
    He lay on his front and she manoeuvred his arms until they were stretched out by his head. Then, using the oil as a lubricant, her hands kneaded at his knotted muscles with a skill that surprised him. As she worked her way down the sinews of his back, carefully avoiding the parts that had been beaten, he felt his body begin to relax for the first time in a long time.
    â€˜You’re supposed to use aromatic oils for stress,’ she murmured, trickling more oil onto his shoulder blades. ‘Lavender, hyssop, that sort of thing.’
    She smoothed the unction round the curving spars of his ribcage and along the sides of his muscular back as if moulding a pot on a wheel. A tenderness was taking over in her touch. Less therapeutic and more sensual. Herbreathing became shorter and uneven. Then, abruptly, the massaging stopped altogether, her hands holding on to the sides of his body as if drawing on its energy.
    â€˜Sam . . .’ Her voice had become husky. ‘It mustn’t be
me.
You understand? Oh God,’ she sighed, ‘don’t make me explain. Just tell me that you won’t think of it as
me
here.’
    â€˜Chrissie . . .’ he growled.
    â€˜Not
me,
Sam. Not Chrissie. Just say yes, lover.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    Her hands left him and he heard her fingers fiddling with the buttons of her blouse. Then the snick of her bra strap disconnecting and the purr of the zip on her skirt. He began to turn over to look at her but suddenly her arms were alongside his, her breath warm against the back of his neck. He wanted to face her, to lock their mouths together and press his erection against her belly, but her weight held him where he was. He felt her bare nipples brush lightly against his shoulder blades, moving in loving circles against his oiled skin. In his mind he let himself drift back, pretending the break in their relationship had been a dream, a nightmare.
    â€˜Feeling your body like this . . .’ she whispered, close to his ear.
    He could feel her heart thudding against his ribs. He pulled one of her hands to his mouth and kissed it with the strength of a bite.
    â€˜Sam . . .’
    Her voice sounded like a plea. But for what? To sate the hunger he knew would be as strong as his own by now, or a plea for him to take her back? He needed to know. To see the answer in her eyes. He tried to turn over, but the pain in his kidneys and her weight on him stopped him.
    â€˜Not yet, lover,’ she insisted, breathlessly. ‘You have to promise me something.’
    â€˜What?’ he croaked. What now?
    â€˜That you won’t look at me.’ There was an edge of dread to her voice.
    â€˜This is getting stupid.’
    â€˜No. It
has
to be that way. It can’t be
me,
Sam. I’ve told you that.
Please.
I need you to think of this as just some woman with you.
Any
woman. No identity. No past. No future . . .’
    He understood at last. For all the time he’d known her she’d pretended things weren’t what they were. And she was pretending still. If what they were about to do had no more meaning for him than if he were doing it with a whore, then it would be okay. Her promise to her husband would somehow remain intact.
    No more meaning than with a whore. But no less either. And that would be enough for now.
    â€˜Okay,’ he breathed. ‘I’ll keep my eyes closed.’
    â€˜No. Eyes closed is not enough.’ Her voice had a tightness about it that he knew well. She wanted him inside her now. Wanted the rush of orgasmic blood that would blind her to all reality. ‘I have to cover your eyes,’ she told him.
    A blindfold. Could she have suggested that if she’d known he’d spent the past ten days with a hood over his head? What game was