Desperate Measures by Sara Craven Read Free Book Online

women. The arrogant seducer who did not
    intend to fail with his— bargain basement bride.
    She brought up her hand and slapped him across the face as
    hard as she could.
    His head jerked back almost incredulously, then he swore under
    his breath, and his hands came down hard on her shoulders, pinning
    her to the bed.
    She began to fight him in earnest then, her body struggling to
    be free of the weight of his, her hands flailing at him, nails clawing at his shoulders and chest.
    He snatched at her wrists, pinioning them above her head, with
    one hand.
    'Philippa.' There was a kind of anguish in his voice. 'In the name
    of God, no! Not like this, je t'en prie .'
    'I hate you.' She hardly recognised her own voice. 'And I always
    will.'
    He said harshly, 'So be it, then,' and parted her thighs without
    gentleness.
    She cried out as he entered her, but it was more surprise than
    actual pain. In some crazy way, she wanted him to hurt her—wanted
    him to know the guilt of having torn her—made her bleed. But even in
    this she was thwarted.
    Almost as soon as she'd registered that initial discomfort, it was
    over, and all she had as a focus for her anger and resentment was the bewildering un-familiarity of what he was doing to her—the incredible sensation of his hardness and strength sheathed inside her.
    She kept her eyes closed so tightly that bright dots began to
    dance behind her lids. She tried, in her head, to rehearse her nine
    times table, to remember poetry she had learned at school—anything
    that would stop her thinking about Alain, and the stark driving force of his body within hers.
    But she couldn't remain totally impervious. She was only too
    aware of the graze of his sweat-dampened body on hers, and she
    could hear the urgent rasp of his breathing. In some strange way, that urgency seemed to be communicating itself to her. Deep in the centre
    of her being, in spite of herself, she could feel a spiral of dark, shamed excitement beginning slowly to uncoil...
    A sound was torn from Alain's throat, harsh, almost agonised,
    then his body slumped against hers,
    shuddering in spasm after spasm as he buried his face in her
    breasts.
    For a moment, she knew a disappointment, a yearning so
    intense that her body was nearly rent! apart. Then she lay in utter
    stillness under his relaxed weight, while eternity seemed to pass.
    At last, convinced that he had fallen asleep, she began slowly,
    and by degrees, to edge away from him.
    Immediately, Alain's arms tightened around her. 'Qu'est-ce que
    tu as?'
    She said stiltedly, 'I'd like to get up. I want to go to the
    bathroom.'
    Alain propped himself on one elbow and studied her for a long
    moment, his face cold and derisive.
    'Why? So that you can wash all trace of me away from you?'
    'Something like that.' Philippa bit her lip.
    'I wonder if you can,' he said mockingly. 'But perhaps, my sweet
    bride, I don't want you to leave me so soon. Maybe, in a little while, I shall want you again.'
    She stared up at the dark face above her, her eyes widening
    endlessly, and he laughed harshly.
    'But again, perhaps not,' he said, and lifted himself away from
    her.
    Philippa slid out of bed, grabbing at her discarded nightdress
    and huddling it on over her head. She was trembling violently, and her whole body ached in a totally alien way.
    She was aware of Alain's gaze tracking her all the way to the
    bathroom, and was terrified that he might follow—might insist on
    forcing further intimacies on her.
    Fortunately, the door bolted from the inside, and she slid the
    bolt into place, uncaring whether or not he heard it.
    She dragged off her nightdress, hurling it on to the floor, then
    walked into the shower cubicle and turned on the hot spray,
    methodically soaping and rinsing every inch of her body, as she stood under the tingling jets of water.
    Then she wrapped herself in a towel and sat down at the
    vanitory unit, staring at herself in the mirror.
    With her wet hair plastered to her