Belle - Lesley Pearse [176]
He caught hold of her shoulders, his fingers digging into the flimsy silk which covered them. ‘You were well enough when you arrived here. If you can give yourself to any man I find for you, why not me?’
His eyes were no longer expressionless, they were sparking with anger, and Belle felt a pang of fear.
‘Because I like and respect you as a friend,’ she lied.
His right hand left her shoulder and he slapped her hard, first on one cheek and then on the other. ‘Don’t lie to me. I know you scorn me because I am just a concierge.’
Belle’s head did hurt now, for she was stunned by the vicious slaps. ‘That isn’t true,’ she gasped. ‘I do not scorn you for being a concierge, why would I? We’ve had a good arrangement together until now. Now let me go home. Please!’
‘After you’ve given me what I want,’ he snarled at her, and he grabbed hard at the neckline of her dress and ripped the bodice away.
Belle screamed and tried to get away from him but he was stronger than he looked and caught hold of her arm, swinging her away from the door and back towards the couch. Beneath her dress she was wearing a cream and pink striped camisole which barely covered her breasts, and now he’d ripped her dress she felt half naked.
As he pushed her down on to the couch she bit his hand as hard as she could, drawing blood.
‘Tu vas le regretter, salope que tu es!’ he exclaimed, and let go of her to suck on his hand. Belle seized the moment, pushed him away and ran for the door. But she found it was locked and there was no key, and Pascal was right behind her. He caught hold of her shoulder, spun her round and punched her in the face so hard her head banged back against the door.
‘You can’t get out!’ he shouted at her. ‘You will stay here until I’ve finished with you.’
All at once she felt she was back in that room at Madame Sondheim’s, trapped and powerless. Her face was burning, she could taste blood in her mouth and she was terrified. In a flash of insight she saw that she should have realized that the competent, servile manner Pascal adopted with the guests at the Ritz was just a polished veneer. Beneath that was a volcano of intense jealousy. He probably resented everyone who was wealthy and successful, because he knew he could never be that. But he’d believed she could be his because she was only a whore.
‘Please don’t be like this,’ she begged him, forcing herself to sound sweet and docile, and clutching her torn bodice together to hide her breasts. ‘We just got off on the wrong foot tonight. You shouldn’t have pretended I was to meet Philippe; I would have been happy to spend the evening with you if you’d just asked me.’
‘Liar!’ he spat at her. ‘When I opened the door to you I saw your true feelings in your face. I was as welcome as a snake! You smile, you flirt with any other man. You do anything they ask as long as you are paid. But you don’t even look at me.’
She looked at him squarely in the face then, although her right eye was swelling and she could barely see out of it. There was so much anger in his face, the flared nostrils, the straight set of his lips, and such cold eyes. She shuddered. ‘You and I have had a business arrangement,’ she said again, trying very hard not to cry. ‘I thought it best for it to stay that way.’
‘I don’t want a business arrangement, I want you to be my mistress,’ he snarled.
Realizing this argument could go on and on, and he’d only get even angrier and hit her again, Belle felt she had to try to calm him down. ‘Why don’t we start all over again?’ she suggested. ‘Go back by the fire, have another drink, and talk a little?’
‘I don’t want to talk, I want to fuck you,’ he shouted at her.
Belle fought down a feeling of nausea. Her face was throbbing, she was scared of him, and the idea of being forced to have sex with a deranged man was utterly abhorrent. But there was no alternative, he wasn’t going to let her go without it.
‘All right then,’ she said. ‘Where would you like to go, in there by the fire or upstairs?’
He