by Sara Craven
She sat rigidly on the sofa, waiting for the tray to be brought in, then responding quietly as he wished them both goodnight and left.
There was a silence, then Nick said, ‘Would you like some brandy?’
Cally shook her head. ‘Just coffee will be fine.’ She poured some of the richly fragrant brew into the cups and handed him one. ‘You still take it black, I presume?’
‘Yes.’ He spoke with cool civility. ‘Thank you.’
She sat sipping her coffee, glancing at him swiftly from under her lashes as he sat opposite her. She struggled to find the right words and, deciding there were none, thought she might as well be totally direct.
She replaced her cup on the tray and took a deep breath. ‘Nick—there’s something I need to say.’
‘I’m listening.’
She kept her voice steady. ‘I want you to know that I’m ready to—to keep the terms of our bargain.’
His brows lifted. ‘Now?’ There was a note of quiet incredulity in his voice. ‘Tonight.’
She nodded convulsively.
There was another tingling silence. Nick got up, and went to the drinks table, pouring himself a brandy. He said, ‘Cally, a couple of hours ago you were behaving as if I was the Antichrist. These about-turns of yours are making my head spin.’
She bit her lip. ‘Yes, I—I’m sorry. I behaved rather badly, I know. I suppose I didn’t like the sensation of being trapped all over again.’
He drank some brandy, the silvery eyes watching her over the rim of the goblet. ‘Trapped—as in marriage to me?’
‘Well—yes.’ Cally managed a shrug. ‘What can I say? I was young and scared, and didn’t realise what I was doing. Now I just want to deal with my side of the bargain as soon as possible—get the whole thing over and done with—so I can be free to proceed with my own life.’ She paused. ‘Unless you’ve changed your mind, of course?’
‘No,’ he said slowly, his face and tone expressionless. ‘I haven’t done that.’
‘Then—what do you think?’
He gave her a swift, brilliant smile, and finished his brandy. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Why not? In your own classic phrase, let’s get it over with.’ He picked up the decanter. ‘I’ll join you presently, darling, after I’ve acquired a little more Dutch courage.’
She was taken aback. She’d expected some kind of reaction—that he would at least come to her—kiss her. The recent memory of being carried upstairs against his heart was still hot within her. But not, it seemed, for him.
She lifted her chin. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you needed it.’
‘Ah,’ Nick said softly. ‘But then, you don’t know me very well, do you, my sweet? At least, not yet. However, the night is young.’
Her throat tightened. ‘Yes.’ She turned, head high, and walked to the door, aware of his gaze following her.
‘Cally.’ His voice halted her. She looked back, feeling her heart quicken in something absurdly like hope.
‘Don’t have another change of heart and lock the door.’ There was steel below the even tone. ‘Because I would not find that amusing.’
‘I’ve given my word.’ She spoke curtly, fighting a disappointment she hardly understood. ‘I won’t go back on it now.’
He nodded, and turned back to the brandy.
And Cally went up the wide stairs into the darkness alone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE waiting seemed endless. As Cally paced restlessly up and down the big room, its details seemed to become indelibly printed on her mind.
Both sides of the bed had been turned down in readiness, presumably by Mrs Thurston, and shaded lamps burned on the night tables. The curtains moved softly in the faint breeze from the half-open window behind them.
Another of Cally’s trousseau nightgowns—a charming piece of nonsense in flimsy white voile, with ribbon straps and a tiny bodice—had been fanned out across the bed. The one she’d worn the previous night had presumably been taken away for laundering. Cally wasn’t at all sure she’d ever become accustomed to all this very personal service.
But then, as she swiftly reminded herself, she wouldn’t have to. The situation was strictly temporary.
She realised suddenly that she was shivering, but not because she was cold. Some ten minutes ago she’d heard Nick walking quickly and quietly past the door and going into his own room, which meant that he would soon be joining her.
And she certainly didn’t want to be found going round in circles like some pathetic caged animal. She went over to the dressing table and sat down, picking up her brush and beginning to smooth her hair with it. It was totally unnecessary—her hair was shining like silk already—but Cally was desperate for something to do—something to fill the empty time.
And she hoped, too, that the gentle, rhythmic movement of her hand and arm would help compose her. Because she badly needed to appear calm and in control. A woman who’d made an unwelcome but rational choice, and could deal with it.
Later, of course, as the night wore on, she could guarantee nothing.
She was no longer the eager girl of a year ago, living in a fool’s paradise that promised her love and rapture in her husband’s arms.
But recent experience had taught her the havoc his lightest touch could provoke in her senses. And Nick was well aware of it too, so any pretence at resistance or indifference would now be futile, she thought bleakly.
And tensed.
Because he was here. He had come into the room silently, barefoot and bare-legged in a black silk robe belted loosely round his waist, and was now standing behind her, watching her in the mirror.
‘Not cowering under the sheets?’ His voice was cool—almost derisive.
Cally shrugged. ‘As you see,’ she returned shortly.
‘Are you planning to go to bed with your clothes on?’
She looked away. ‘I—don’t have any plans. I wasn’t sure what you expected…’ Her voice tailed away.
Nick leaned down and took the brush from her hand. ‘I thought we agreed to get the whole tiresome business over and done with,’ he said levelly. ‘I mention it only because, if so, you can’t spend the entire night, sitting there.’
‘Of course not.’ She hunched a shoulder again. ‘I simply thought I’d better wait—a while.’
‘Wait for what?’ He sounded faintly amused. ‘Do you want me to undress you? Because I’m more than willing.’
‘No!’ She sounded over-loud and defensive, she thought, swallowing, aware of the sudden thud of her heart. ‘God—no.’
‘Then you do it,’ he said softly. ‘And I’ll watch.’ He tossed the brush on to the dressing table and walked over to the bed, lounging across it with the air of a man preparing to enjoy himself. ‘In your own time, of course.’
She got to her feet, her hands going mechanically to the buttons on the front of her dress, trying to fumble them free with fingers that shook.
I was fantasising about undoing them all—with my teeth.
Was it really only last night he’d said that? Or several lifetimes ago?
And did he really expect her to stand here and strip in front of him? Couldn’t he realise that she’d never been even semi-naked in front of anyone before, least of all him, and this was a real ordeal for her? Or didn’t he care that shyness and uncertainty were crucifying her?
‘What’s the matter, Cally?’ he asked mockingly, as she hesitated. ‘Not feeling quite so brave any more?’
She didn’t look at him. ‘No.’ The word was little more than a breath.
There was a touch of impatience in his own sigh. He patted the bed beside him. ‘Come here.’
She went slowly, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, her body rigid. Nick began to release the buttons from their loops, his fingers deft and oddly dispassionate, as if he was taking care not to touch the bare skin he was uncovering. When he’d finished, he reached for the nightgown and draped it over her arm.
‘Get changed in the bathroom,’
he directed quietly, to her utter astonishment. ‘Longer than five minutes and I come to find you.’
Cally fled, hugging the flimsy folds in front of her like a shield. Which, of course, it wasn’t, she realised, as soon as she slid it over her head, a few flurried moments later. The bodice’s tiny ribbon-edged cups barely veiled her small breasts, and the long skirt was sheer when she was still, transparent when she moved.
But she’d bought it. Along with all the other pretty sexy things in her lingerie drawers that she’d hoped would please him. Because she’d wanted him. Wanted to turn him on.
She thought painfully, And, so help me, I still do…
She turned off the light and went back to the bedroom on reluctant bare feet.
Nick was in bed, his robe a pool of darkness on the floor. Propped on one elbow, he watched her cross the room and slide nervously under the covers beside him.
‘Admirably punctual,’ he said softly.
Her throat was dry. ‘Nick—please don’t make fun of me.’
‘I wasn’t planning to.’ He reached for her, drawing her to him, holding her close against the warmth of his body, her head pillowed on his shoulder. He said, ‘Now, go to sleep.’
There was a short, amazed pause, then Cally said, ‘I—I don’t understand.’
‘I hardly understand myself.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Except that it’s been one hell of a bloody day, and hardly conducive to the fulfilment of passion, however one-sided,’ he added with a touch of harshness. ‘So, accustom yourself to sleeping with me, Cally, if nothing else. Get used to the idea of my arms being round you, because from now on that’s how it’s going to be.’
He switched off the lamp and the night enclosed them. Cally could feel the strong beat of his heart, the texture of his skin under her cheek, and felt longing stir within her.
In a way, this was her sweetest dream come true. In another, her worst nightmare, because wrapped in his arms like this she felt safe, and that was just another illusion to be discarded with the rest. Because with Nick there could be no safety—no comfort or lasting joy. It was all—ephemeral. And it was dangerous too, because when it ended it would be that much harder for her to detach herself and walk away.
When Cally opened her eyes, the room was just beginning to fill with pale grey light. She moved slowly, languidly, stretching a little, wondering what had woken her. She turned her head and saw Nick lying on his side, watching her.
He said, ‘Good morning.’
‘Is it?’ She tried to see the small porcelain clock on the night table. ‘It still seems very early.’
‘It’s dawn,’ he said.
‘Dawn?’ Cally echoed incredulously. ‘But I’m never awake this soon.’
He smiled at her. ‘You can blame me for that. I decided to wake you—like this.’ He bent over her, brushing her lips gently with his. ‘Do you have any objection?’
‘No.’ Her mouth framed the word but no sound would come.
‘Good.’ He pulled her into the curve of his body, his hand cupping her breast almost casually, as if he’d kissed her awake a thousand times before.
‘It’s the beginning of a new day,’ he whispered, as she gasped. ‘A perfect time to put everything in the past behind us, don’t you think? To make a fresh start?’
He looked down into her widening eyes, then kissed her again, more deeply, coaxing her lips to part for him, allowing his tongue to tease hers delicately and sensuously.
In that moment she knew that the past couldn’t simply be swept away as easily as he suggested. That it would always haunt her. Always have the power to hurt her. And the fact that his relationship with Vanessa Layton was by no means over would eventually inflict more pain upon her than she could stand.
She owed it to herself to fight him, she told herself desperately. To succumb without protest was a shameful thing.
At the same time she realised that it was not Nick she had to fight, but herself. She might be ashamed of her hunger for him, but she couldn’t deny it, or hide it. And during their months apart it had grown into a famine.
Impossible, now, to resist the magic of his mouth moving on hers, inciting her to response. A little sigh rose in her throat as she yielded fully to the warm, persuasive pressure of his lips, holding nothing back, her hands going up to clasp his naked shoulders.
‘Darling.’ His voice was husky as he stroked the hair back from her face and trailed his fingers down the curve of her cheek and jaw to the vulnerable line of her throat. She felt her pulse leap uncontrollably as he caressed her. Felt a sharp, heated excitement uncoiling deep within her.
He kissed her again as his hands lingered, sliding under the ribbon straps of her gown and hooking them slowly down from her shoulders. The loosened fabric fell away, baring her to the waist.
Nick raised his head and looked down at her, the grey eyes brilliant and intense. He began to touch her again, to stroke the delicate scented mounds he’d uncovered, teasing their rosy crests with the tips of his fingers, urging them into hard, aching pleasure.
She moved restlessly, feeling her breathing change and catch in her throat as his lips followed the path of his hands. His mouth closed on her nipple, suckling it gently, tantalising it to sweet agony with the flicker of his tongue.
She heard herself moan softly, her body arching upwards in mute longing.
‘Yes, darling,’ he whispered. ‘Yes.’ He threw back the covers, tossing them to the end of the bed, and his hands moved down her body, freeing her completely from the folds of her gown. He lifted her, holding her close, letting her discover the abrasive sensuality of his nakedness against hers, as he kissed her again in a fierce, passionate demand that made few allowances for her comparative innocence.
It was as if he recognised the molten need within her, and knew that she did not wish to be spared.
She began to caress his shoulders, her hands urgent as they moved down the muscular length of his back. How long had she wondered how it would be to touch him—imagined how he might touch her?
And now every dream was becoming a physical, sensuous reality.
Cally was feverishly aware of his hand caressing her hip, moving inward to the flat plane of her stomach, then down in slow, languorous demand to the shadowy joining of her thighs. Found her small, startled cry stifled by his mouth as his fingers gently created a passage for this new intimacy—persuaded her, wordlessly, to accept this ultimate exploration of her secret, ungiven self.
She was lost immediately, her shocked body transported to a different dimension, twisting, almost sobbing under the clever, silken fingertips that were so expertly gliding on the moist inner heat of her at one moment, then, in the next, stroking the tiny hidden bud which was somehow the centre of all the pleasure that had ever been and bringing it to tumescent, irresistible arousal.
She wanted him to stop—she wanted him never to stop.
She realised dazedly that it was as if the last remaining knot of control inside her was being slowly, relentlessly undone. And there was nothing she could do to prevent it. To save herself.
As the final thread parted, she was aware of the first tremors of delight building inexorably within her, and cried out in a kind of fear. Then, suddenly, her whole being was shivering—convulsing in endless sensations of almost agonised rapture. And there was no longer any room for fear.
She could hear herself moaning. Felt each blissful pulsation reverberating in every nerve-ending, every drop of blood that she possessed.
At last, the exquisite savagery tearing her apart began to fade, and as she lay stunned and helpless with delight, her body totally relaxed in the final echoes of rapture, Nick began gently to ease his way into her.
Gasping, she looked up into his taut, absorbed face. The grey eyes were pools of silver as they met hers.
‘Am I hurting you?’ His voice was quiet, but urgent, and she turned her head in instant negation, still holding his gaze, astonished that it should all seem so simple, and so right. Knowin
g herself finally claimed, and totally possessed. Amazed at her own capacity to welcome and absorb such awesome strength and potency.
Some undreamed-of female instinct told her to lift her legs and wrap them round his hips, enfolding him, drawing him into her more deeply, and she heard him groan softly in response as he began to move, his rhythm slow and powerful at first, then increasing. And Cally moved with him, her hands grasping his sweat-slicked shoulders, blindly mirroring every driving male thrust.
He said hoarsely, ‘Darling—my sweet angel.’ She heard the sudden rasp of his changed breathing, then his body shuddered scaldingly into hers.
The silence that followed was profound—endless. She wondered if he’d fallen asleep. But eventually he moved, lifting himself away from her.
He said softly, ‘Are you all right?’ and she nodded jerkily, but she wasn’t sure that it was true. She’d just had her first experience of sex, and it had been wholly sensational—the stuff that delirium was made of. But Nick would have made sure of that, she told herself, biting her lip. After all, he had a reputation to maintain.
Lovemaking, she thought numbly, with no pretence at love.
Not that she could blame him. She’d hardly been a challenge, she derided herself bleakly, remembering Adele’s jibe. More a total push-over.
Now she felt strangely lost, and was suddenly aware that tears were not far away, tightening her throat and tingling behind her eyelids. Because for him it had simply been a means to an end, with any attendant pleasure merely a bonus. And one day she would be left with only the memory of that pleasure to haunt her—hurt her. Along with so much else, she thought with desolation.
‘Haven’t you anything to say?’ Nick’s tone was lazy as he reached out a long arm and scooped her towards him.
The conqueror, Cally thought. Reviewing yet another triumph. She pulled away a little.
She said in a small, quiet voice, ‘If you’ve finished with me, I thought I’d have a bath.’
‘I’ll get some champagne,’ he said softly. ‘And we’ll take one together. During which we’ll discuss whether or not I’ve finished with you.’