Carol Marinelli – Passion & Pleasure: Savage Awakening / For Pleasure...Or Marriage? / Taken for His Pleasure (страница 17)
A haze of desire gripped him. Looking down at her, meeting her heavy-eyed gaze, he was struck anew by his own body’s needs. His sex, hot and engorged, was an actual physical ache now, and he rubbed himself against her, seeking a satisfaction he desperately needed to fulfil.
It didn’t happen. Like a mirage in the desert, the images faded, and a moan of real anguish escaped him as the dream slipped away. He awoke to find himself tangled in the bed sheets, one of his pillows clutched between his legs.
But this was no wet dream. Turning on to his back, he acknowledged he’d known that even while he was unconscious. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t make love to a woman; any woman. He was impotent.
Pushing himself to get up, he staggered out of the bed and into the bathroom. Then, in the shower, with the water beating hot and fiery on his chilled skin, he let the memories come. The fear, the beatings, the months of isolation; they had all taken their toll. But it was the night when General Hassan had sent for him, when the disgustingly fat Arab had made it clear what he expected of him, that destroyed him still.
The horror of that night was never going to go away, he acknowledged despairingly. Even though Hassan had never laid a hand on him, he had only to think about sex and it all came back in all its sordid detail. The man had expected Matt to be flattered by his attention, that he’d welcome any chance to improve his living conditions and gain some greater comfort for himself.
As if.
Matt felt sick at the thought. But, dammit, what had he said to give Hassan the idea that he might be agreeable to his demands? What had he done to attract the interest of a pervert like him?
He guessed a psychiatrist would tell him that he hadn’t done anything, that Hassan didn’t need any encouragement to use his prisoners for his own amusement. He was that kind of man, that kind of monster.
Yet Matt had never told anyone about that night. Maybe if he had, he would have been able to deal with it and move on. As it was, it remained like a cancer in his soul, something he wanted to put behind him, but which refused to be ignored.
So why didn’t he tell someone? he asked himself bitterly, reaching for the towel and drying himself with a savagery that spoke of his inner frustration. He’d done nothing wrong, for God’s sake. He’d escaped before Hassan could force his will on him.
Matt remembered now how he had still been tied to the chair in the general’s office where the guards had shackled him when the sudden sound of gunfire outside had distracted Hassan’s attention. A guard had been sent to investigate and he’d come back with the news that the small town was under attack from a unit of government forces, and the general had had no choice but to go and deal with the emergency.
For a short time, Matt had been alone, listening to the uproar outside. There’d been shouting and yelling, guns being discharged into the air, apparently in all directions judging by the howls of protest that penetrated the shutters on the windows. Briefly, he’d entertained the hope that the raid had been engineered to rescue him, but that idea was extinguished as soon as Captain Rachid appeared in the doorway.
The rebel captain came into the room, closing the door behind him, and for an awful moment Matt had thought he had been sent to kill him. He couldn’t think of any other reason why the man might be there, and even though they’d talked together at length, he’d been under no illusion that Rachid was his friend.
Even when the captain pulled out a knife and began cutting through the ropes that bound him, Matt had expected the worst. As soon as his hands were free, he’d made a futile attempt to attack the man, but he was weak from hunger and his arms and legs were numb from a lack of circulation.
He supposed it was a measure of the man’s decency that he hadn’t defended himself as harshly as he might have done. Overpowering Matt with little effort, he’d thrust his lips close to his ear and told him that a Jeep, with a full tank of petrol, was hidden around the back of the prison. By his reckoning, Matt had had less than ten minutes to find the Jeep and use it. After that, he was on his own.
In the months that followed, Matt had often wondered why Rachid had helped him. The man had been Hassan’s second-in-command, a trusted ally, who had had nothing to gain by aiding him to escape.
Except, perhaps, that he hadn’t approved of what his commander had intended to do. Matt knew he would never know now. Rachid had been killed during the final battle for Abuqara City, and Hassan had been arrested some time later for crimes against the state. The only positive outcome had been the change of government, brought about by external pressure when the rebellion was quashed, but he doubted there would be any fundamental change of policy.
Nevertheless, he owed a tremendous debt of gratitude to the rebel captain. Without his intervention—and Matt had come to believe there never had been any government forces in the area—he’d never have got away.
So why was he so unwilling to talk about it? He had nothing to be ashamed of. He scowled. The truth was, he
And, even though he knew it was crazy, he couldn’t confess his deepest fears to a total stranger and there was no one else. If his father had still been alive, he might have been able to talk to him, but Alistair Quinn had died while his son was in captivity. Another burden Matt had had to bear since he got back.
Discussing his imprisonment with his mother had been out of the question. Louise would have been horrified at the news that her son had suffered any kind of brutality at the hands of his captors. She hadn’t even wanted to see the scars on his back, that had had to be treated at a hospital and which some news hack had found out about and made such a big thing of. She’d been delighted to have him home. But she definitely didn’t want to be reminded of what might have gone on while he was away.
Diane had remained the only possibility, but she had quickly diverted him from any discussion of the squalid conditions he’d had to suffer. Like his mother, she didn’t want to think about the past. She wanted to talk about the future, their future. A future, Matt now acknowledged, that had never seemed more remote.
He dressed in a cotton vest and drawstring sweat pants and was drinking his first coffee of the day when Fliss knocked at the back door. He knew it was her. He could see her shadow through the windowed half-panels in the door, and, although he could have done with a little more time to regain his composure before seeing her again, he had no choice but to let her in.
She wasn’t alone. To his surprise, when he opened the door, Amy was standing at her mother’s side. They were both dressed in shorts and T-shirts, Amy’s hair, which was longer than her mother’s and straighter, caught up in a pony-tail.
‘Hi, Quinn.’
Predictably, it was Amy who spoke first and Matt saw the way Fliss winced at her daughter’s familiarity. But she had evidently decided to put what had happened the day before behind her and her tone was coolly polite as she said, ‘Amy’s got a day’s holiday today. I hoped you wouldn’t mind if she came and played in the garden while I’m working.’
‘No.’ Matt took a step back, silently inviting them inside. ‘I don’t mind at all.’ His eyes moved to the child and he managed a grin. ‘Hello again, Amy. Or are you calling yourself something else today?’
Amy giggled. ‘Well…’ she said thoughtfully, putting a finger against her lips, but her mother intervened.
‘Amy will do,’ she said firmly, stepping inside. She glanced behind her. ‘Don’t go out of the garden, will you, Amy? And if you want anything, come and knock at this door.’
‘She can come and have a drink,’ said Matt, not quite knowing why he’d made the suggestion, but clearly Fliss thought she did.
‘It’s not necessary,’ she said, her cheeks a little pink. ‘I’ll be starting work straight away—’
‘Well, as I’ve just made a pot of coffee, why don’t we all have a drink first?’ suggested Matt drily, and Amy gave him a huge smile.
‘Oh, yes, Mummy. Can we?’
She was obviously eager and Fliss, finding herself outvoted, had little choice but to give in. All the same, Matt noticed that she ignored his offer of a seat and took her coffee standing, her hip firmly wedged against the counter behind her.
And, conversely, he found himself resenting her behaviour. A few moments ago, he hadn’t wanted to open the door to her, and now he was finding her polite detachment hard to take. Dammit, he regretted what had happened just as much as she did. More, probably. And she hadn’t had to contend with erotic dreams that had tormented his sleep and left him feeling strangely off-key.
‘Grandad’s going to make a bigger place for Buttons,’ Amy offered, after Matt had handed her a glass of fizzy lemonade.
‘An enclosure,’ corrected Fliss and Amy nodded.