Sweet Bondage by Dorothy Vernon Page B

easily answered. Sense wouldn’t come into it. I’d love him insensibly. And I’d consent to marry him only if I couldn’t bear not to marry him. It wouldn’t matter if our characters were poles apart if we were compatible in other areas. I’m not denying that it’s nice when everything is comfy and a bonus when it’s wrapped up in family approval, but sometimes it seems to me that a few obstacles along the way can forge a stronger partnership. There could be no danger that you had drifted into it because it makes a tidy arrangement.’ For some reason not quite known to her, perhaps because she was vexed by his rock-solidness and inflexibility, she slid him a flirtatious look from under her lashes. ‘You wouldn’t enter into marriage with Fiona, or anyone for that matter, to please your family. You’d marry to please one person only
—yourself.’
Her tongue rested on this last word with savage emphasis.
    â€˜I would also please one other person—the fortunate girl I married. I would give pleasure as well as take it. The more I took, the more I would give.’
    Furious with herself for being the one to introduce that sensuous note, she lashed out tautly. ‘Does everything have to come down to sex?’
    â€˜Have I misunderstood something? I thought I was agreeing with you. Didn’t you say that if the other areas were all right—and by ‘other areas’ I took it that you meant sexual compatibility—things like friendship, shared interests and having temperaments that complement and don’t clash weren’t all that important?’
    Had she really said that? Yes, she supposed she had. He had merely brought her words into sharper focus and given them more punch. She sighed. He was getting her confused. Moreover, it was not in her nature to maintain a quarrel and she felt she had been drawn into this one against her better judgment. She had been manipulated into saying what she had by his manner. It had taunted her to try to provoke a reaction in him and, instead, he had turned the tables on her by inviting her reckless comments. She always seemed to be in the unenviable position of backing down. Be damned with caution, and the consequences, too! This time she would not back down.
    With a lift of her chin and a significant sparkle in her eye she said, ‘There are many kinds of love. The affinity you have for a parent, a brother, a sister or a favorite relative. The tender love you feel for a helpless creature, a child or an animal. The love you have for a work of art, a piece of sculpture or a painting, and for growing things, trees and flowers and all the beauty of the earth and sky. But most important of all, perhaps the reason for our existence, is the love that’s strong enough for you to give yourself to one person in a marriage which you hope will last for the rest of your life. That’s some love; it’s got to be to match up to such a huge commitment. The most precious love of all and, because of its intimate nature, the most physical. That side’s got to be all right, otherwise the whole structure will fall down. And if it is, if you feel that intensely about someone, how can love not follow?’
    â€˜What if the fascination doesn’t last? What if the chemistry burns itself out like a meteorite?’
    â€˜I don’t know. It’s a risk I would have to take.’
    She heard him laugh and the laugh was the perfect partner to the cold and humorless smile on his lips, heard it and took an involuntary step back because she knew what it masked. She knew what he was thinking, knew it as surely as if he had placed his lips on hers to prove the point. Their chemistry was right. It took only a look to send shock waves down to her toes, but under no circumstances would she marry him.
    He was playing with her, she realized wretchedly. He had put words in her mouth and now he was putting unnecessary fear in