Midsummer Man

by Zelah Roberts

  She arched, crying out, even as he slid his hand down her body and between her legs. The silk of her panties was soaking. He stroked the damp, slick fabric as he licked and kissed her breasts, until she was squirming with need.

  By then he was lost himself. Feeling the wet silk beneath his fingers slide over her softness had him on the rack. He wanted to replace his fingers with his mouth. He smelled her warm muskiness, but he wanted to taste her, to absorb her, to consume her.

  Unable to resist, he slid down her body and farther still. Still caught in the moment, she let him, then suddenly seemed to realise what he was doing and jack-knifed.

  “No! Wait!”

  He paused, looking up at her. “Holly… Please. Please let me. Please let me taste you…”

  He was dizzy with it, the scent, the taste, the sight, so close. He couldn’t bear to think she might deny him. “Please…”

  She looked at him for a long moment. He feared he knew what was going through her head. Presumably her ex-partner had been no better at this than anything else.

  “Trust me, Holly,” he whispered, and she hesitated then nodded, letting her legs fall open in a blatant gesture of trust.

  Her faith in him almost brought tears to his eyes. What had he done to deserve such a gift? It was precious and wonderful. And now, he thought, he was going to give something back. He was going to give her the pleasure she deserved.

  His body surged. Just the thought of tasting her was enough to make him lose it. Hanging on to his control by a thread, he lowered his head to her and, with a broad sweep of his tongue, caressed her softness.

  Holly had read about this act, had imagined it countless times, had even written about it in one of her books. But she had never, ever thought it would feel like this.

  As his warm, firm tongue slid over her, she cried out in shock, arching her body. The sensation was exquisite

  He moved his tongue around everywhere—first lightly stroking her, then delving to press against her. She moaned and muttered. Something was building, a gathering storm.

  Tension roiled within her. She tried to close her legs and Mac thrust them over his shoulders, preventing her from doing so.

  The move seemed to give him even more access to her. He licked her from top to bottom and she cried out, keening.

  A sheen of sweat dewed her body. She wanted him so much. She needed him… Helplessly, she fought to get closer to the delicious contact and he redoubled his efforts.

  “Mac,” she sobbed, not knowing what she was asking for, but it seemed he did, because in the next moment, he slid a long finger inside her.

  She cried out at the blinding flash of sensation—gasped and arched. “Mac! Please, please…” A flood of pleasure ratcheted up her need. She moved, desperately trying to prolong the sensation, then suddenly he drew her clitoris into his mouth and sucked on it gently.

  She exploded without warning, electricity arcing through her as she cried out and writhed as a whirlwind of sensations blasted through her. Beyond sanity, she felt him, still there with her, forcing the fire to burn until there was nothing left but sparks and embers.

  Afterwards, she lay, shivering and shocked, sprawled out in helpless abandon. Mac moved back up the bed and took her in his strong arms. She smelled herself on him, just as she recognised the delicious, musky taste of him on her lips. They kissed, and he rested his forehead on hers.

  “Holly…you are…a miracle. A force of nature. You are so wonderful…”

  She wrapped her arms around him. “No. Mac. It’s you. Unbelievable. I never imagined…”

  She sighed as he gathered her up against him. His hardness pressed against her thigh. She reached down and stroked it wonderingly. He was as solid as a rock, and wet, too. He must be aching with need.

  Drawing back, she asked questioningly, “Mac?”

  He shook his head. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter. Later.”

  But she didn’t want to leave it till later. She wanted him to experience the explosive pleasure he’d just given her. And she wanted to see his face as he came.

  Smiling slowly, she shook her head then encircled him with firm fingers. He looked at her, and he widened his eyes as he read the intent in hers.

  “You don’t have to,” he said hoarsely.

  “I want to.”

  Slowly, she slid down him and tentatively licked him. He tasted clean and faintly salty. He jerked, bucked and a low growl rumbled from his throat.

  Smiling, she took him inside her mouth, sucking him gently even as she caressed his balls. He twisted beneath her ministrations, and she could feel the heat coming off him.

  The movements of his hips were increasingly frantic. He was close.

  But what was it he had said? ‘I want my first time with you…to be in you.’

  Drawing back, she slid back up to face him and kissed him deeply. Holding his face in her hands, she looked into his eyes, whispering “I want you in me.”

  The breath punched out of him. “Yes! Oh, yes. Hell, yes. Please…”

  He reached over to the bedside table, grabbed a condom and rolled it on, done before she could blink. She leaned over him, brushing his chest with her soft breasts, and kissed him. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  Sitting up, she straddled him. He looked at her reverently, his eyes brilliant blue and glittering, his pupils languorous and enlarged. And without warning, she slid down on him and cried out at the hot wonder of the sensation.

  There was no way it could last long. They were both so aroused that it was impossible to hold back. Mac grabbed her hips, even as she slammed down on him and they were both gasping and writhing as the tension built. Disbelievingly, Holly realised she was going to come again. The thought had no sooner formed than the world splintered. Explosive pleasure poured through her and she cried out.

  Chapter Two

  She was gone when he woke up the next morning. He reached out for her, needing her in his arms, and she was missing. His eyes flew open. No glittery dress. No silver sandals. No sparkly little evening purse. The bathroom door ajar and the room beyond in darkness. He was alone.

  He rolled over and reached for her pillow, pressing his face into it. It still smelled of her—roses and musk. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to pretend it wasn’t to hold the tears back.

  He wished desperately that she were still with him.

  His body could still feel the imprint of her touch, the sensual memory of her fingers stroking his stomach, his legs, her lips around him, her beautiful, gentle kiss. She had taken him to a place he’d never imagined—a place of such powerful, passionate pleasure that he damn near trembled to think of it. He’d never experienced anything like it.

  And the way she’d opened to him and let him touch her. He swallowed hard. For all her apprehensiveness, she had trusted him, had given herself without reservation. He had never experienced lovemaking so honest and real. She was breathtaking.

  But she could never be his.

  In a way, he was relieved she’d gone, he told himself gruffly. He didn’t like what he was feeling. Grief. Loss. Loneliness. He shouldn’t be feeling anything. They’d agreed—one glorious stolen night of pleasure. And that was what they’d had. And it had been wonderful. More wonderful than he’d ever imagined lovemaking could be.

  Not lovemaking, he corrected himself firmly. Sex.

  He couldn’t afford for it to be anything else. He wasn’t about to get involved, not with anyone. Definitely not. Especially not someone like her, who seemed to have the unnerving ability to get to him. No one apart from Emily had ever been able to do that. And she had turned out to be a gold-plated, cheating, lying mercenary bitch who had betrayed him and ripped his heart out. There was no way he would ever risk getting that involved with a woman again.

  Since Emily, who had been quite a few years ago now, his relationships with the opposite sex had been brief and largely physical. They had suited him well. He had neither the time nor inclination for anything more. And
he didn’t now, he told himself fiercely.

  But Holly… The thought of not seeing, hearing or touching her filled him with anguish.

  Holly…

  It had just been one night. That was it. That was all there was ever going to be with her. She’d made it clear that she didn’t want more—and neither did he. He just had to make himself accept it.

  He jumped out of bed, ignoring the clamouring thoughts, the emotional wrench at relinquishing her scent on the pillow. A shower. He needed a shower. And he damn well needed to get a grip.

  After a hot shower, he felt calmer. The sex had been so much more than good. Naturally, he was going to mourn its loss. But that was all it had been. Just sex. He towelled himself dry, smiling at the faint finger marks bruising the skin on his upper arms, remembering how she’d clutched at him as she’d neared orgasm, her tight grip and wide eyes showing the kind of astonishment that suggested she didn’t feel that kind of sensation often, if ever.

  He reacted sharply to the memory. He could still see the awed expression on her face in his mind’s eye. He shuddered, wishing he could give her a lifetime of pleasure.

  Stop it.

  He blocked the thought ruthlessly, pulling on his clothes with sharp efficiency. Enough wallowing. He had a huge amount to do today. He needed to get going. He was supposed to be meeting with the owner of Liberty Security at ten.

  His mobile rang as he was putting his shoes on. He picked it up, smiling as he saw his sister’s name on the display.

  “Hi, Leonie.”

  But his face changed as he heard his housekeeper’s voice on the line. “Flora? What’s wrong? Why are you using Leonie’s mobile?”

  He listened intently as the conversation continued. By the end of it he was sitting on the side of the bed, his face ashen and his expression grim.

  “Right,” he said finally. “I’ll finish up my business here as quickly as I can. I have to talk to the security firm… I’ll fly home by tonight at the latest.” His voice broke. “Flora, look after her for me. Don’t…leave her, not for a minute. Please…”

  He paused for a minute, then nodded sharply. “Right. Okay. I’ll get moving. Keep me updated.”

  Thanking his housekeeper, he disconnected the call and sat staring into space for a moment. He swallowed hard. His life was one long, ever-darkening nightmare. But for his sister it was even worse. For her, it was completely inescapable. What the hell was he going to do? How was he going to put all this right? Things couldn’t continue like this.

  He got up restlessly, walked to the window seat and looked out at the glorious gardens, serene in the sunlight. They’d looked magnificent last night while he was sitting with Holly. He hoped she was all right this morning, that she’d left feeling happy and fulfilled. At least he knew she had walked away from the encounter with a positive memory of lovemaking.

  How he wished that they’d had longer, so he could have shared more with her. He had a feeling she didn’t know much at all about the many pleasures of passion. But regret was pointless. He’d had what he’d had, and he should count himself lucky. Many men went through their whole lives without meeting a woman like her. He sighed. He would hold on to the memory and treasure it. A moment out of time. But now he was back in the real world, and the real world was hell.

  He turned and picked up his bag. At some point soon, he would have to get in touch with the organisers of the ball to get contact details for Holly. They would probably need to discuss his winning bid. His heart lifted momentarily at the thought. At least he would be able to speak to her again, just once more.

  In his mind’s eye, he saw the pile of Wayfarer books on the coffee table at home. Leonie had been living in them recently. He smiled. She had always been an avid reader, and her long-held ambition had always been to be a writer. She had never believed she could do it, had always seen it as a career for others who were cleverer, more talented. But she was talented. He had read short stories she had written, and they were gripping. If only he could ignite that passion once again, give Leonie something to enjoy, to work towards, to live for…

  An idea started to form. It was an idea fraught with pitfalls, but at least it was something. From his point of view, it was the worst idea ever. But it might work. And at this point, he was desperate enough to try anything.

  * * * *

  Meanwhile, Holly sat at home in her sunny kitchen with a steaming cup of coffee and wondered what the hell had come over her the previous night.

  Well, she knew what had come over her, but—

  Shaking her head wryly at her sometimes inconveniently juvenile sense of humour, she took a swallow of her coffee.

  She still could not quite believe the way she had behaved with Mac. It was as if every inhibition she’d ever had had flown out of the window, as if his challenge for her to be real, open and honest had released her from her reservations and fears and set her free. Until that had happened, she hadn’t realised how reserved she had been, how much of herself she had been holding back.

  She’d done things, said things, allowed things that she’d never even considered before. And it had been amazing. Intensely liberating. Wonderful.

  He had been wonderful. Her throat tightened at the thought of him. He had been so kind, so reassuring, so careful and considerate of her feelings and her body. She had never imagined a man could be like that. Even when he had been completely lost in passion, he had taken care of her. It had been amazing. She smiled.

  Not only that, but he’d been the most liberating and liberated of lovers, completely accepting of the side she’d never imagined she had. No, ‘accepting’ was the wrong word. He’d absolutely revelled in it. She felt a sharp pang of regret that one night was all she could have with him. There were so many things she wished she could explore and do.

  But there was no way she could risk more than one night, even if he wanted to, which he didn’t. He was a magnetic, dynamic, influential man, rich as Croesus—a man she should be running a mile from. And she had. The minute she had opened her eyes, she had realised she needed to get out of there. The night had been too good. Too magical. Too alluring. It made her want to do it again and again and again…with him.

  And that just couldn’t happen. There was no way she could get involved with a man like him. He was too much of a danger to her emotional equilibrium. He made her feel more than just passion. She liked him. She was drawn to him. He appealed to her. And that was terrifying. She had never felt like that about anyone, ever. Had never wanted to. Hated the fact that she did. What was happening to her? Had she inherited her mother’s dangerous weakness for charismatic alpha males?

  Nausea swirled. She was not like her mother. Absolutely not. There was no way she would ever, ever allow herself to be dominated and controlled by any man.

  She really should never have gone to bed with him, though she couldn’t find it in her heart to regret the experience. He had shown her what true passion, true pleasure, should be like, and that was a gift to her.

  A gift that in some way she wanted to share. She stared blindly out of the window at the sunlit garden, thinking about Drake. If he and Isabella got together, that was what he would be like—powerful, but caring. Isabella had had a rough time of it. She wouldn’t easily let a man like Drake touch her. But if Isabella suffered a trauma of some sort…and Drake rescued her, perhaps her defences would be down, and Drake could… But then, what kind of man would Drake be if he took advantage of Isabella’s vulnerability at such a time? But maybe if Isabella came on to him…

  Her imagination drifted. Drake would be the perfect lover for Isabella…

  She got up absently, dumping her coffee cup into the sink. Maybe Drake could do something to help Isabella trust him… Randomly, she went to fetch her post. She hadn’t opened yesterday’s yet, in the chaos of last-minute preparations for the ball. Maybe she should put Isabella in an environment where she was trapped with Drake, so she couldn’t run. A ship, perhaps… She opened stuff without thinkin
g. There was the usual random mix—a load of fan mail forwarded on from her publisher. She should think about employing an admin person to help cope with that. There was also a pretty beribboned invite to the launch of a fellow author’s book—nice—and a letter from her dentist reminding her that her check-up was due. Damn.

  She set that last one to one side. She would force herself to call later to book an appointment. A package caught her eye, a brown padded envelope with a typed label. She turned it over. No return address.

  Something else from a fan, perhaps. She occasionally received small gifts. She reached for a pair of scissors and cut open the top. What if they were trying to escape from the West Indies…if Isabella had the slaves who had helped her escape accompanying her…

  Something grey and furry slid out of the packet and she froze then dropped the envelope with a hoarse cry.

  The stench was horrific.

  A rat.

  It was a rat. A bloody, maimed, maggoty, extremely dead rat.

  She backed away, her mind refusing to accept what she was seeing, there on the polished marble counter in her pretty, sunny kitchen.

  A rat. A rat. A rat.

  The sickening stench swirled around her, even as the corpse, its innards exposed, crawled with insects.

  She bolted for the bathroom and threw up, retching until there was nothing left. There is a dead rat in my kitchen.

  Exhausted and bedraggled, she sat on the bathroom floor, trying to control her breathing. The doors to the house were locked. She was okay. She was safe.

  Someone sent me a dead rat.

  It was on the counter in her kitchen.

  Someone sent me a dead rat.

  Her head spun, and she realised she was hyperventilating. Heat washed over her skin. She was going to faint…

  No, she damn well was not. Grabbing the sink, she hauled herself up and turned on the cold tap. She pushed a limp hand under the icy blast of water. It sprayed out and she felt the vapour on her face.

  The cold brought her back to her senses. She leaned heavily on the porcelain and stared at herself in the mirror. She was ghost-white. Even her lips were pale. There was fear in her eyes…