She tried desperately not to react, not to respond, but she could feel herself losing control, losing the ability to think and fight, giving in to the jolting surge of desire overpowering her, her mouth softening, opening, clinging, her breath escaping on a soft, aching sigh of pleasure as he took advantage of her weakness, sliding his tongue between her parted lips, stroking and caressing them until she felt dizzy, light-headed, incapable of anything other than giving in to him.
Against her body she could feel the unfamiliar shape and hardness of his, the tautness of his muscles, the strength and power which they sheathed.
His heartbeat was rough and heavy now, the heat coming off his skin engulfing her, the scent of him drugging her like an opiate.
She tried to fight it, to open her eyes, to break the spell he seemed to have cast over her, but her eyelids felt too heavy, the demand of his mouth too strong. She could feel herself starting to tremble as the ache inside her grew, and she knew that he could feel it too. She felt him check and then heard him make a small explosive sound against her mouth. His hand moved up over her body, cupping her breast, finding the taut peak of her nipple, caressing it.
She made a small anguished sound of shocked pleasure, her eyes opening wide, brilliant with shock and arousal as she look straight up into his.
His hand stilled on her body, his expression suddenly changing, becoming hard and cold. He released her so unexpectedly that she half stumbled, her face flushing with mortification as the realisation of what had happened flooded over her.
‘As I said,’ he told her contemptuously as he studied her, ‘I know your type.’
And then, without another word or look, he walked past her, opened the door and went out into the yard.
Livvy couldn’t move. Her body felt stiff and cold, every joint and muscle ached, but the pain she was suffering physically was nothing compared with her mental anguish, her shock and self-revulsion.
What on earth had come over her? Why had she let him humiliate her like that? She was not sexually promiscuous, not easily aroused to physical desire, not someone who normally allowed herself to get out of control.
She started to shake. She felt sick with self-revulsion and shame. Close to tears, she went upstairs.
Why on earth had she let him do that to her? Why on earth had she been stupid enough to throw down that idiotic challenge in the first place?
If she hadn’t given Gale her word that she would stay, she would be packing her things right now, ready to admit defeat rather than have to face him again and to see in his eyes, in his manner towards her, how much he was relishing his victory over her. But she had given Gale her promise, and the situation her cousin was in was of far more importance than her own feelings.
She froze as she heard footsteps on the stairs, unable to relax properly even when they went past her room and she heard the opening and then the closing of the door of the bedroom he had decided to occupy.
It made no difference telling herself that she had not been the only one to be aroused; that he too… In fact it had just the opposite effect, causing her to shudder deeply with self-disgust as she fought to deny her awareness of how at the time, in his arms, held close against his body, the primitive female core of her had actually relished the hard, aroused feel of him against her.
Since she couldn’t escape from him by running away, the only alternative left to her was to ignore him, to brazen it out and pretend that she was totally unaffected by what had happened, to behave not just as though she was totally unaware of his contempt, but also totally indifferent to it.
To behave, in effect, as the sort of woman he claimed he knew her to be would behave.
What, after all, was worse? Which would make her more vulnerable…allowing him to believe that she was a sexual opportunist who responded to her body’s desire for sex with whatever man happened to be available, or letting him guess the truth, that her reaction to him, the way she had behaved in his arms, the response she had felt, was so far outside her normal experience that she had been totally overwhelmed by it, unable to either control it or defend herself against it?
She tensed as she heard him going back downstairs, relaxing only when she heard the slam of his car door and then the sound of the engine.
He had gone out. Thank goodness. If only he might never come back.
Who knew, perhaps by fulfilling Richard Field’s scathing description of what she was, she might not only be able to conceal from him how vulnerable he made her feel, but perhaps cause him such irritation and revulsion that he might actually leave?
His departure would not necessarily prevent George from finding another buyer for the farmhouse, but it would at least give Gale some extra time to sort things out with her husband.
Attack was supposed to be the best form of defence, she reminded herself, so instead of cowering nervously and becoming filled with humiliation, the next time Richard Field chose to denigrate her verbally—or physically—perhaps she ought to show him just how much a ‘woman of a certain type’ she could be.
He had used those words deliberately to humiliate her. Well, now perhaps she ought to think about finding a way of using them against him.
CHAPTER FIVE
LIVVY paced restlessly round the kitchen. Richard Field had been gone for almost an hour. Where was he? When would he be back…?
She stopped abruptly. Why should she concern herself with him? Wasn’t it far more sensible simply to carry on with her plans as though he had never arrived to upset and unnerve her?
There was that long list of chores Gale had given her for a start, and Monsieur Dubois had left before she had had an opportunity to ask him about the gas supply to the cooker and fridge.
She had no idea how much or how little might be left in the existing containers, but common sense told her that it would be a good idea not only to have a reserve supply but also to know that she was able to change over the canisters when necessary. They looked heavy, and she suspected that the betraying signs of rust on the connections would mean that a certain amount of brute force might be necessary to release an empty container and replace it with a fresh one.
No doubt, along with the generator, the farmer had deemed this a male area of skill and knowledge, but she did not want to be left in a position where she was dependent on Richard Field, not only for lighting and hot water, but for cooking as well…