Come Lie With Me - Linda Howard [81]
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,