Come Lie With Me Read online

  “Stop trying to change the subject,” he ordered sharply. “Was Serena warning you away from Richard?”

  That again! She stiffened, both angered and hurt by the way he had continually accused her of seeing Richard on the sly. How could he possibly think that of her? She had agreed to marry him only two days before, but for some reason she couldn’t get it out of his mind that she might be involved with another man. She sat up, the sheet falling to her waist, but she was too angry to care if she were nude.

  “What’s with you?” she demanded furiously. “You sound like a broken record. What is it that makes you so suspicious of me? Why am I always the cause of any trouble between Serena and Richard?”

  “Because Richard can never take his eyes off you when you’re together,” he replied, his mouth a hard line.

  “I’m not responsible for Richard’s eyes!” The injustice of it made her want to scream.

  “Aren’t you?” he snapped. “Whenever you look at him, it’s as if you’re passing secret messages.”

  “You just accused me of doing the same thing with Serena. Am I having an affair with her, too?” Dione exploded. She clenched her fists in an effort to control the burgeoning fury in her. It would be stupid to lose her temper, so she forcibly sucked in a deep, calming breath and made her muscles relax.

  Blake eyed her narrowly. “If you don’t have anything to hide, then why won’t you tell me what Serena meant by what she said?” he questioned.

  Another sneak attack. She registered the hit and realized that again he’d caught her when her control was slipping. “If you’re so curious, why don’t you ask her?” she said bitingly, and lay down again, turning her back to him and pulling the sheet up to her chin.

  She heard his breath hiss through his teeth a split second before the sheet was jerked away from her and thrown to the foot of the bed. An iron hand bit into her shoulder and turned her over, flat on her back. “Don’t turn your back on me,” he warned softly, and the cold uneasiness in her turned into icy dread.

  Silently, her face white and set, she threw his hand off her shoulder. She had never, never, been able to passively endure, even when resistance cost her additional pain. She didn’t think; she reacted instinctively, the automatic resistance of someone fighting for survival. When he reached for her, angered by her rejection, she eluded his grasp and slid from the bed.

  It didn’t matter that this was Blake. Somehow, that made it worse. His image blurred with Scott’s, and she felt a stabbing pain that threatened to drive her to her knees. She had trusted him, loved him. How could he have turned on her like that, knowing what he did about her? The sense of betrayal almost choked her.

  He sprang from the bed and reached her as she stretched her hand out for the doorknob. He grabbed her elbow and spun her around. “You’re not going anywhere!” he growled. “Come back to bed.”

  Dione wrenched herself away from his grip and flattened her body back against the door. Her golden eyes were blind, dilated, as she stared at him. “Don’t touch me,” she cried hoarsely.

  He reached for her again, then stopped abruptly when he looked at her and saw the fixed expression in her eyes. She was white, so pale that he expected her to slide into a faint at any moment, but she held herself tautly upright. “Don’t touch me,” she said again, and his arms dropped heavily to his sides.

  “Calm down,” he said soothingly. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you, darling. Let’s go back to bed.”

  She didn’t move, her eyes still locked on him as she measured every move he made, however slight. Even the expansion of his chest with every breath he took made an impact on her senses. She saw the slight flare of his nostrils, the flexing of his fingers.

  “It’s all right,” he repeated. “Dee, we had an argument, that’s all. Just an argument. You know I’m not going to hit you.” He extended his hand slowly to her, and she watched as his fingers approached. Without moving her body somehow drew in on itself, shrinking in an effort to avoid his touch. Just before he would have touched her, she slid swiftly to the side, away from the threatening hand.

  Inexorably he followed, moving with her but not coming any closer. “Where are you going?” he asked softly.

  She didn’t answer; her eyes were wary now, instead of blindly staring. Blake held out both his hands to her, palms up in supplication.

  “Honey, give me your hands,” he whispered, desperation threading through his veins, congealing his blood. “Please believe me; I’ll never hurt you. Come back to bed with me and let me hold you.”

  Dione watched him. She felt odd, as if part of herself were standing back and watching the scene. That had happened before with Scott, as if she somehow had to separate herself from the ugliness of what was happening to her. Her body had reacted mindlessly, trying to protect itself, while her mind had exercised its own means of protection by drawing a veil of unreality over what was happening. Now the same scene was being replayed with Blake, but it was somehow different. Scott had never stalked her, never talked to her in a crooning, husky voice. Blake wanted her to put her hands in his and go with him back to that bed, lie beside him as if nothing had happened. But what had happened? He had been angry, and he had grabbed her shoulder, throwing her to her back…no, that had been Scott. Scott had done that once, but they hadn’t been in bed.

  Her brow knitted, and she brought both hands up, rubbing her forehead. God, would she never be free of Scott, of what he had done to her? Blake’s anger had triggered the memory of the other time, and though she hadn’t confused their identities, she had been reacting to Scott, not Blake. Blake hadn’t hurt her; he had been angry, but he hadn’t hurt her.

  “Dee? Are you all right?”

  His beloved, anxious voice was almost more than she could bear. “No,” she said, her voice muffled behind her hands. “I wonder if I’ll ever be all right.”

  Abruptly she felt his touch, his hands on her arms, slowly drawing her to him. She could feel the tension in him as he folded her into his arms. “Of course you will,” he reassured her, kissing her temple. “Come back to bed with me; you’re cold.”

  Abruptly she felt the cold, the chill of the night on the bareness of her body. She walked with him to the bed, let him put her between the sheets and draw the comforter up over her. He walked around to the other side, turned out the lamp and got into bed beside her. Carefully, as though he were trying not to startle her, he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly to his side.

  “I love you,” he said in the darkness, his low tones vibrating over her skin. “I swear, Dee, that I’ll never again touch you in anger. I love you too much to put you through that again.”

  Hot tears burned her lids. How could he apologize for something that was, essentially, a weakness in her? How long would it take before he began to resent the flaw in her nature? He wouldn’t be able to act naturally with her, and the strain would tear them apart. Normal couples had arguments, yelled at each other, knowing that their anger didn’t harm the love between them. Blake would hold himself back, fearing another scene; would he come to hate her because he felt restricted by her? Blake deserved someone whole, someone free, as he was free.

  “It would probably be better if I left,” she said, the words trembling despite all she could do to hold her tone level.

  The arm under her neck tensed, and he rose up on his elbow, looming over her in the darkness. “No,” he said, and he achieved the firmness that she had striven for but failed to obtain. “You’re where you belong, and you’re going to stay here. We’re getting married, remember?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to say,” she protested. “How can we have any sort of life together if you’re constantly watching what you say and do, afraid of upsetting me? You’d hate me, and I’d hate myself!”

  “You’re worrying about nothing,” he said shortly. “I’ll never hate you, so forget that line.”

  The edge in his voice cut her like a razor, and she fell silent, wondering why