by Penny Jordan
Normally she was quite happy to sleep in her skin... she preferred it, in fact... but under these circumstances...
Tiredly she ran her hand through her hair. Her skin felt grubby and gritty from travelling and the one thing the room did have, which had impressed her, was a huge walk-in shower.
James wouldn’t be in any hurry to return—after all, he would have as little desire to spend any time in her company as she did to spend time in his—and it made sense to take advantage of his absence to have a shower now rather than to wait until he had returned and then suffer the embarrassment of using the bathroom whilst he was there.
Poppy had already unpacked the clothes that she had brought with her and, quickly selecting clean underwear, a fresh shirt and a pair of simple, well-cut silk and linen trousers in her favourite shade of warm cream, she hurried into the bathroom, where she hesitated before leaving the door slightly ajar and then checking to make sure it couldn’t swing closed.
As a child she had once been locked in the bathroom at the house of friends of her parents and the small incident had left her with what she knew to be an irrational fear of the same thing ever happening again. Irrational, but strong enough to ensure that she could never actually bring herself to lock herself in any kind of room.
She showered the stickiness of their journey off her skin first before lathering it generously with her favourite shower gel. Poppy rarely wore full-strength perfume, preferring the more subtly fragrant effect of shower gels and body lotions, so that the only way other people could tell that she was wearing any would be if they actually touched her or...
She closed her eyes, clenching them against the hot sting of tears which she told herself were stupidly self-pitying as she recognised the direction her thoughts were taking and the deliberate self-infliction of pain in acknowledging that the only person who could share her awareness of her body’s delicate fragrance would have to be someone who was very physically intimate with her... a lover. But she had no lover...no one to love her... He loved someone else...
She knew that she was crying silent, anguished tears as she turned off the shower and soaped her body, too lost in the misery of her own despair to hear the bedroom door opening, so that it wasn’t until he thrust open the- unlocked bathroom door that she realised that James was back.
For a second neither of them said anything, the only sounds to break the silence being the noise of the dripping shower and her shocked, indrawn breath as the lather that covered her body-in creamy ribbons of foam slid off her skin, leaving her sleek and silky and completely naked.
For once Poppy’s reactions were the faster, her breath squeezing out of her lungs, her arms lifting to cross over her bare breasts in a gesture that was as instinctively feminine as it was hopelessly inadequate as a means of concealing her, her eyes brilliant with shock as she looked helplessly towards the towel airing on the rail, which was closer to James than it was to her. To reach it she would have to step out of the shower and walk right past him and...
Gritting her teeth and giving him a look of pure, vitriolic loathing, she prepared to do so. He had seen just about all there was to see of her now, after all, she decided grimly, and if he thought that she was going to stand there cowering whilst he enjoyed her embarrassment ...
But, to her amazement, as she took a step forward he suddenly reached for the towel, his expression difficult to read, his eyes darkening, his mouth hardening in a way that made her tense and watch him.
Being the recipient of James’s anger and contempt was nothing new to her, but on this occasion, she decided indignantly as he suddenly reached for the towel and almost threw it at her, she had no idea what on earth she was supposed to have done to merit the glittering fury she could see in his eyes.
‘Cover yourself up, for God’s sake, will you, Poppy?’ he instructed her harshly. ‘You aren’t a child any more, even if emotionally you do still behave like one.’
‘You should have knocked,’ she told him fiercely as she wrapped the towel around her body.
‘You should have locked the door,’ James countered, ‘or are we still playing at make-believe and fantasising that somehow I’m going to turn into Chris...?’
‘I don’t have that much imagination,’ Poppy told him bitterly, and added for good measure, ‘No one could have...’
‘Be careful, Poppy,’ James warned her coldly, ‘otherwise I might just forget that you are still, after all, my cousin and that as such—’
‘I might be your cousin,’ Poppy interrupted him recklessly, ‘but that still doesn’t give you the right to come barging in here, nor to treat me as though... as though I’m some kind of child you-’
‘No?’ James stopped her. ‘Then how would you like me to treat you...?’
There was a note in his voice that made Poppy stiffen and turn her head to look over her shoulder at him, at first in query and then in shocked disbelief as she saw the way he was looking at her.
She had always known that James was a man with an extremely high-voltage sexual charisma—she had heard other women telling her so often enough after ail—but to be suddenly and unexpectedly subjected to a thorough sexual scrutiny of such blistering heat and savagery that it virtually stripped the thick fluffy towel from her body and left her feeling far more naked and vulnerable than she had felt when she had actually been naked was unexpectedly shocking.
As she followed the way he was slowly and oh, so deliberately studying every line of her body, every curve, every hollow, in some satanic way, it was almost as though she could see herself through his eyes, see what he was seeing as he visually stripped her and examined her as cruelly and callously and dehumanisingly as though her body were a piece of merchandise that he had every right to assess and value and reject.
When he had finally finished his assessment and his eyes met hers, she had no defence left against the shock of what he had done, no barriers strong enough to put up.
She couldn’t make a sound... couldn’t shed a tear, couldn’t express in any way her sense of outrage and humiliation, her feeling of shocked pain at the way he had assessed her as a woman and then dismissed her. No, not a woman, she decided as she tried to swallow past the hard lump blocking her throat. Not a woman but just a piece of flesh, a body... a thing without any right to emotions or needs- of her own, without any right to self-respect or...
As she finally managed to break eye contact with him and find her voice, she told him croakily, her voice creaking under the weight of her fury, ‘I’ve often wondered why you’ve never settled down, James... married... had a family...but now I know. If that’s how you see women...if that’s how you treat your women—’
‘You know nothing about my women,’ James interrupted her harshly, and then added contemptuously as he moved closer to her and took hold of her chin in a grip that she couldn’t manage to break, ‘Let’s face it, Poppy, you know nothing about being a woman... what it means... how it feels...’
‘In your opinion,’ Poppy spat at him, finally managing to wrench herself out of his grip ‘But I’ll tell you one thing I do know, James, and that’s that you’re the last man I’d want to show me...the last man. I’d let show me,’ she added emphatically.
‘Don’t tempt me,’ James responded grimly as he turned towards the door, pausing only to warn her, ‘Don’t challenge me, Poppy; you can’t win and you won’t like the consequences... I came to warn you that we’re likely to be in for a chaotic few days. The hotel seems to have overestimated its ability to handle the mechanics of the conference and so they’ve had to suspend room service.
‘This evening’s dinner is due to be served at eight-thirty and if you want something to eat I’d advise you to make sure you’re downstairs early. I’ve got a strong suspicion that we aren’t the only ones with problems.
‘I overheard someone else’s conversation whilst I was talking to our agent and it seems that some of the rooms which should have been ready for occupation aren’t.
‘I�
�ve still got a few things I need to iron out—’ he glanced at his watch ‘—so I’ll meet you downstairs at eight.’ He paused for a moment before adding silkily, ‘Unless, of course, you feel you’re going to want another shower...’
Giving him an angry glare, Poppy started to step past him, but he stopped her, reaching out and picking up the clean underwear that she had forgotten and handing it to her.
‘Don’t forget these, will you...?’
Snatching them out of his hand, flushing as she saw the way he was looking at her perfectly respectable but admittedly rather plain, no-nonsense bra and briefs, she couldn’t resist saying contemptuously, ‘I suppose a man like you prefers something... something in scarlet satin.’
For a moment she thought that he wasn’t going to bother replying, but as she turned towards the door she saw his mouth starting to curl slightly at the corners and his eyes glint with the same dangerous, glittering mockery which she had learned long ago presaged his more razor-sharp attacks on her pride.
‘Satin, yes,’ he drawled tauntingly. ‘Scarlet...no, never. But you’re way out of date with your ideas of what a man finds sexy in a woman these days, Poppy, or of what a woman might do in that department to turn him on. No wonder you couldn’t get Chris interested.
‘Next time—if there ever is a next time... or a next man—try baiting your trap a little more cleverly. A seductive little whisper in a very public place that underneath the very respectable skirt you’ve got on you’re wearing... nothing...works wonders, or so I’ve been told..’
‘You’re disgusting,’ Poppy told him furiously, her cheeks burning as she realised what he meant. ‘And, for your information, I would never—’
“Oh, no, Poppy,’ James corrected her mock-gently, ‘I’m not disgusting, but you most certainly are naïve... very naive.
‘Now, didn’t you say something about coming here to work? I want you to send a fax for me, please. I hope that your Japanese is as good as your mother claims. I’ve just been talking to one of the German groups; their linguist spent two years in Tokyo...’
‘Probably as a geisha,’ Poppy muttered disrespectfully under her breath as James finally walked out of the bathroom and left her in peace to get dressed.
It didn’t matter that she was his cousin and that there had been countless occasions in their shared childhood when he had seen her naked. She could even remember once suffering the indignity of having her seven-year-old self stripped of her torn and filthy clothes, summarily dumped into the bath and virtually scrubbed clean by him at the same time as he delivered a lecture to her on what was likely to happen to her if her mother found out that she had deliberately ignored her instructions that she was not to play in the stream at the foot of their shared holiday-cottage garden.
Then she had foolishly actually been grateful to James... and, even more ridiculously, seen him as her saviour... Now she knew better, she decided.
James had been right about the chaos, was Poppy’s first thought as she waited for him to join her in the crowded foyer as they had arranged. She had already talked to several other people whom she had recognised from other conferences and they had confirmed what James had aheady told her.
It seemed that the hotel manager had overestimated their ability to cope with something as complex as organising such a large-scale event.
‘They say that two of the chefs have already left and that they’ve had to bribe the others to stay,’ a German sales manager whom Poppy had met at Frankfurt the previous year had confided to her.
At the time, Chris had teased her gently that Gunther Weiner was obviously attracted to her, and as she’d listened to him she had wished achingly that it were Chris’s attraction for her that they were discussing and not another man’s...
She heard Gunther asking her if she had again attended the conference with her cousin.
‘Yes,’ she told him absently, her attention on James, whom she could see making his way towards them.
Excusing herself to Gunther, she went to meet him.
‘Who was that?’ James demanded curtly, looking over her shoulder at Gunther.
When she told him he demanded, ‘What did he want?’
The aggression in his voice surprised her. ‘Well, not our company secrets, James,’ she told him, enjoying mocking him as he constantly did her, adding with relish, ‘Hard though you may find it to believe, he is more interested in me.’
She looked at him, waiting for him to come back at her with some typically derogatory response, and then looked curiously across the room to see what was occupying his attention and causing anger to tighten his mouth to a hairline, but he still seemed to be watching Gunther walking away from them.
Dinner, predictably, was a chaotic and hurried affair, although the food was surprisingly good-not that she had very much of an appetite.
Once they had finished eating James announced that he had some business he wanted to attend to and left her to her own devices. Poppy decided that she might as well explore the rest of the hotel.
The brochure had stressed the benefits of the spa, highlighting the various treatments available, but upon enquiry Poppy discovered that the delay in completion of the building work had meant that most of these facilities were not yet up and running.
There was the Jacuzzi, the sauna and steam room, the gym and the swimming pool, the receptionist informed her, although no one was allowed to use them after ten o’clock in the evening.
It was already gone ten but, nevertheless, Poppy decided that she might as well take a look. The brochure had shown photographs of the swimming pool and Jacuzzi area which had included views through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall on one whole side, looking straight out across the sheer rock-face to the spectacular view beyond it. And, even though it was now dark, the moon was almost full, and should shed enough light to illuminate at least some of the view.
Poppy found her way to the sports centre quite easily. The swimming pool was clearly marked, set in a circular, enclosed area with a raised platform overlooking the now covered pool on one side and allowing a view through the huge expanse of glass she recognised from the brochure on the other.
The remaining two walls, from what she could see in the dim lighting, had been painted with frescos, and a columned walkway led from the pool towards the Jacuzzi and, beyond it, to what she presumed to be another entrance.
As she paused to study the frescos with interest, she heard a sudden sound from the Jacuzzi. Lifting her head, Poppy stared curiously towards it. There appeared to be two people in the water. As she watched, she heard a feminine giggle followed by a soft shushing sound and then male laughter, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of the water moving, as if... as if...
Poppy could feel her face starting to flush as she suddenly realised what was happening...what she had interrupted. They were not, as she had originally thought, two people simply illicitly using the Jacuzzi after hours but a pair of lovers who had obviously decided to try out for themselves the pool’s aphrodisiac effect, and then, having discovered that it was not in operation, had patently decided that they might as well make use of... make love in it, after all.
Even though she knew that there was no way they could see her, Poppy felt her face burning an even deeper red as she heard one of them—the woman, she suspected—giving a small, soft moan.
Quickly turning on her heel, she started to walk away. Her face was still burning by the time she reached her room... their room, she acknowledged as she took off her jacket and saw thankfully that there was no sign of James. And she decided that she might as well prepare for bed whilst she had the place to herself.
Seeing that couple making love, hearing them, knowing what they were doing hadn’t just embarrassed her, it had also brought back all the pain of knowing that Chris was lost to her... Her throat and eyes ached with the weight of the tears that she refused to allow herself to cry. The last thing she needed now was for James to come back and find her in tears, and yet, as she p
repared for bed, her heart ached with the pain of her loss, her mind filled with feverish, tormented thoughts and mental images.
What was it like to have your love... your need ... your desire for a man reciprocated? To know that he wanted you? To feel his desire for you? To know that you had the freedom to reach out and touch him, to share every sensual and emotional intimacy with him? To love him and be loved by him?
Her hands trembling, Poppy pulled on the robe she had unpacked earlier. Used to sleeping naked, as she climbed into the large bed she grimaced at the unfamiliar drag of the fabric against her skin, already disliking the cumbersome restriction of the cloth. As she reached out to switch off the bedside light she was already yawning.
Poppy was having the most wonderful dream. In it all her heartache and loneliness had gone, melted away by the loving warmth of the man whose arms held her so tightly, the man whose body shielded and protected her own, the man who whispered to her that he loved her and that he had always loved her, that he would always love her...
A delicious thrill of pleasure ran through her as she moved even closer to him, pressing her body against his, enjoying the satin warmth of his skin against her own, her senses glorying in the nearness of him, in her freedom to share such intimacy with him, to show him her love.
She had known him for a long, long time... loved him for a long time, but this familiarity, instead of lessening the intensity of the pleasure that lapped at her body in soft, warm waves, only increased it. It gave her a sense of security, an ability to shed her inhibitions and to show her feelings, her desire for him freely and openly, to reach out and touch him, to smooth her fingertips over his skin.
In her sleep Poppy made a soft, contented sound of pleasure as she snuggled closer to James, burrowing against his body, unaware of what she was doing and of the fact that the robe that she had so carefully and resentfully put on earlier was now lying on the floor where she had thrown it, having finally, in her sleep, given in to the irritation of its unaccustomed feel against her skin and pulled it off.