by Helen Brooks
She gave herself over totally to the kiss, knowing the danger of letting herself become vulnerable to this man but unable to help herself. He kissed so well; she had never been kissed like this in all her life. She’d found most men used a kiss as a preliminary to other things but Nick seemed in no hurry to progress, seemingly enjoying her mouth as much as she was relishing his.
His hands moved up to her hair and within a moment it was falling down about her shoulders, silky soft and smelling of apple blossom shampoo. His fingers tangled themselves in the rich strands, using them to draw her head backwards to allow him greater access to the sensitive skin of her throat.
Cory moaned softly, her hands sliding over the powerful male chest muscles flexing beneath his shirt. The faint scent of aftershave she’d noticed earlier was teasing her nostrils again, its essence wild and dangerous, feeding her desire with its elusive aroma.
She heard him whisper her name as his mouth came back to hers, his voice husky. She knew what he wanted because she wanted it too, and it didn’t seem to matter where they were or what the rest of the world was doing.
The thought was enough to bring her abruptly to her senses. This was a William Patterson situation all over again. He’d had charisma and that extra something which was undefinable but which made a woman go weak at the knees. He had pursued her, using his wealth and magnetism to dazzling effect until she hadn’t known if black was white. She’d been wary at first. Why would a man like William, fifteen years older than her, rich, successful, be bothering with a little nobody fresh out of university? She’d been right to be wary. She should have gone on being wary…
She had stopped kissing Nick back and unconsciously stiffened as the memories had flooded in, and now she became aware that he had picked up on her withdrawal as he drew away. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked very quietly, but without the annoyance or irritation she’d half-expected.
‘I…I don’t do this, not on the first date.’ Although it wasn’t a date, as she’d reminded him this evening. Which made everything a hundred times worse.
‘You don’t kiss?’
His voice was still without expression and, because she could only catch glimpses of his face now and again by the light of passing streetlamps, she had no idea if he was angry or not. She didn’t know how to answer him. How could she say that what they’d just shared had been more than a kiss, at least to her? That would give all the wrong signals. And to admit she had presumed it was the prelude to something more would be even worse.
Cory swallowed. ‘Not like this, no.’
‘Like this?’
‘In…in the back of a car.’ She swallowed again. ‘A goodnight kiss on the doorstep is one thing, but this is more…’
‘Intimate?’ he finished for her.
‘Yes.’
‘Nice, though.’ There was warmth in his voice now and she was glad of the darkness to hide her burning cheeks. There was a pause and then he said, ‘OK, no more kissing until I deposit you on your doorstep.’ Before she could resist, his arm had gone round her and he drew her into his side, holding her against him, pushing her head down on to his shoulder. ‘Relax,’ he said softly. ‘Shut your eyes and think of that doorstep.’
‘Nick—’
‘No more talking, not unless you want me to remember I’m not a gentleman.’
Relax he’d said, with every nerve she possessed twanging and her heart thumping fit to burst at his closeness.
It seemed a long, long time until the Mercedes purred to a halt outside the flat. Cory knew exactly how a jelly must feel.
‘Your doorstep awaits, Ma’am.’ The deep voice was smoky with amusement.
From some unexpected reserve of self-preservation, Cory managed to feign sleepiness as she raised her head from the pillow of his shoulder. ‘Are we here?’ she mumbled, pretending to yawn. ‘I must have been dozing.’
He didn’t challenge her on the lie, but there was a distinctly quizzical slant to his mouth as he exited the car and then helped her out.
The night air wasn’t cold—in fact there was a humid balminess to the shadowed street which suggested another hot June day in store—but Cory shivered as his big hand closed over her fingers. When she was standing on the pavement she tried to gently disentangle herself from his hold, but Nick was having none of it.
Instead he pulled her to the front door of the house. ‘Come on,’ he said coolly. ‘In we go.’
‘There’s no need for you to come up,’ she protested quickly. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening and—’
‘I’m seeing you to your front door.’ It was spoken in a tone which brooked no argument. ‘I’d never forgive myself if a mad axeman was lying in wait,’ he added with every appearance of seriousness.
She didn’t trust the solemnity any more than she trusted him. ‘I hardly think that’s likely.’
‘No? You want to look at the news and read the papers more often. Rape, pillage, mayhem and destruction are all part of the world we live in,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Do you want me to open the door?’
‘I’m quite capable, thank you.’ Having said that the keys had got themselves jammed in the lining of the purse somehow, and it took a few moments to yank them free under his amused gaze.
Once inside the hall, Cory whispered, ‘You’ll have to be very quiet. The people on this floor have a dog that hears the slightest thing and then barks enough to wake the dead.’
‘Wonderful,’ Nick murmured sarcastically.
‘It is, actually. It makes everyone feel very safe.’
‘Haven’t they heard of burglar alarms?’
A low growl from across the hall persuaded Cory to give up the argument. She slipped off her sandals preparatory to climbing the stairs and, as she straightened, he whispered, ‘You’ve just lost about five inches. What have you been walking on all night, stilts?’
She couldn’t help giggling. ‘You wait till you see my glass eye and wooden leg.’
‘I can’t wait.’
As they reached the first landing where her flat was all amusement left Cory however. Was he expecting to be asked in for a nightcap? Was he expecting to be asked in for something else? Or both? But she’d made it plain how she felt in the car—she hoped. But if he kissed her again…
‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ she began.
‘You’ve already done that bit.’ He had to bend further to kiss her this time now she was minus the sandals, and it was still more satisfying than the most expensive chocolate. All the feelings he’d aroused in the car were there, and her arms were just beginning to snake up to his shoulders when she was free. ‘Goodnight, Cory,’ he said blandly.
Goodnight? She stared at him, totally taken aback, before she pulled herself together. ‘Goodnight,’ she said quickly. ‘And I meant what I said, by the way. It was a lovely evening.’
He smiled, his eyes glittering in the dim light on the landing. ‘I thought so.’ His hand reached out and stroked the silky skin at the side of her face below her ear.
Cory had never realised there were so many nerveendings in one place. Should she ask him in and blow the consequences? The force of the temptation was so strong it was enough to kill it. Besides, he had already turned and walked to the head of the stairs.
‘Sleep well,’ he said lazily.
He wasn’t going to ask to see her again. Well, she’d expected pretty much that, hadn’t she? And if he had, she’d determined she’d say no anyway.
‘Fancy lunch tomorrow?’
Her heart did an Olympic leap and then raced for gold. The moment of truth. Remember William. She didn’t want to remember William, she wanted to say yes. Which was why it had to be no. ‘Lunch?’ she repeated weakly.
‘You know, that meal in between breakfast and dinner?’
It was easier when he was being sarcastic. ‘I don’t think so, thank you.’
‘Why not?’ He rested his arms on the banister, his face full of sharply defined planes and angles in the shadows.
‘The work thing.’ He shook his head. ‘Not a good enough reason when your dog damn near broke my back.’
‘I’ve made recompense for that,’ she said indignantly. ‘And Rufus isn’t my dog anyway.’
‘You were in charge of him.’ He grinned. ‘Do you want to see my bruises?’
‘Not particularly.’ He was doing the charm bit again and it was lethal. Good job William had made her immune to such ploys.
‘There are women who’d die for the privilege.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ She was determined not to smile.
‘I’ll be back at midday. There’s a great little pub I know where the roast beef melts in the mouth and the Yorkshire puddings are more than puffs of air.’
‘I’ve told you, I’m not dating,’ she said severely.
‘And I’ve told you, this isn’t a date but more paying off your debt. I don’t like to eat Sunday lunch alone.’ He straightened. ‘OK?’ he threw over his shoulder as he began to walk down the stairs.
Not OK. Definitely not OK, but it was like saying no to a brick wall. She followed him to the top of the stairs, looking down at his back as she hissed, ‘Nick, I’m not having Sunday lunch with you.’
‘Twelve sharp.’ He turned just long enough for her to see the flash of his white teeth in the darkness. ‘And I’m not backing off, Cory, so accept with good grace.’
‘Nick!’
He was in the hall now and his voice was low and reproachful when he murmured, ‘Quiet, remember the dog.’
She muttered something very rude about the dog just as the front door closed behind him.
In spite of the late hour, after Cory had showered and removed her make-up she found she was wide awake. The events of the evening were spinning through her head like a fast moving film and sleep was a million miles away. She tossed and turned for an hour or more before getting out of bed and padding through to the kitchen.
A mug of hot milk and half a packet of chocolate digestive biscuits later, she tried to get a handle on the way her life had been turned upside down in less than twenty-four hours.
The man was a human bulldozer, she told herself irritably. It would serve him right if she was out tomorrow when he called.
But she wouldn’t be.
She sighed. This was madness. Getting involved with a man like Nick Morgan, even briefly, was asking for trouble. Unbidden, thoughts of William intruded and for once she was too muddled and over-tired to stop them.
When she had met him she had left university six months earlier and had been training for her present job. She and her colleagues had treated themselves to a Christmas meal at an expensive restaurant and it had been there she’d bumped into him—quite literally. The heel of one of her shoes had suddenly snapped and she’d fallen against him.
She reached for another biscuit, needing the sweetness to combat the acidity of the memories.
She had known from the beginning that William was wrong for her, that he was the type of man who would never be happy settling down with just one woman. But he had pursued her, probably because she was a challenge. Normally women fell into his lap like ripe plums and it had been something of a novelty for him to be the hunter for once. She had known that, in her head, but in spite of that she had found herself falling for him. Some little grain of sense, of sanity—call it what you would—had prevailed, however, and in spite of all his efforts he hadn’t got her into his bed.
Then he had asked her to marry him.
The packet of biscuits had almost gone now. Feeling mad at herself for the self-indulgence, Cory stuffed the remainder back in the biscuit barrel and turned off the kitchen light, padding back to her bedroom and climbing into bed.
She had been over the moon at William’s proposal. It had meant he wanted her, really wanted her and not just as a sexual conquest. For the first time in her life she had felt loved, the hang-ups from her lonely childhood and teens fading into the distance.
He’d suggested a weekend in Paris to celebrate the engagement, declaring he knew the most perfect little jeweller’s shop there where she could choose her ring. She’d said yes—who wouldn’t? Of course she’d known that ‘celebrating’ would probably mean more than the limited love-making she’d allowed so far, but they were going to be married…
Why she had called unannounced at the advertising agency William owned the night before they were due to leave for Paris, she didn’t really know. She had been visiting a problem family in Soho, and rather than go straight home she’d decided to stroll the mile or so to the agency in Mayfair. With hindsight it had been the worst—and the best—thing she could have done.
Nearly everyone had left by the time she got there, but after assuring William’s secretary—whom she’d met at the door—that she’d surprise him, she had made her way to his office on the top floor of the building. And she’d surprised him all right, as well as the partially clothed blonde he had been writhing with on the couch.
The scene which had followed had been ugly. He’d accused her of being frigid, an emotional cripple and plenty more besides in an effort to justify himself. She had walked out and had never seen him again from that day to this. A very messy end to an affair which never should have started in the first place.
Cory sighed, turning over in bed and hammering at her pillow, which felt as if it was packed with rocks. She had to get some sleep; she’d look like a wet rag in the morning. She began the technique she’d perfected in the months after William’s betrayal, relaxing all her muscles, one by one, from the bottom of her feet to the top of her head.
Half an hour later she was as wide awake as ever, but this time it was Nick Morgan who was featuring on the screen in her mind.
She must have drifted off at some point after it became light, because when the alarm woke her at nine o’clock she was in the middle of a particularly erotic dream which made her blush to think about it.
How could she imagine such antics with a man she’d only met the day before? she asked herself in the shower. She could still feel the electricity racing through her veins which she’d experienced in the dream when Nick had touched and tasted her, and the heat in her body was nothing to do with the warm water cascading down on her. Crazy. She turned the dial to cold. It didn’t help much.
He was early—fifteen minutes early—but as Cory had spent the last two hours agonising over what to wear, she was ready. Her bedroom looked like a bomb had hit it and almost every single item of clothing she possessed was on the bed or floor, but Nick wasn’t going to go in that particular room so it didn’t matter. She closed the door firmly. In fact she’d made up her mind he wasn’t going to set foot in the flat let alone her bedroom. This lunch was going to be the end of the road. Just the state she’d got in over what to wear had convinced her of that.
After William she hadn’t had a date for some time, but when she’d felt ready to go into the arena again she had made sure any hopeful suitors understood pretty quickly that what she had to offer was limited. Fun, friendship, the odd kiss and cuddle but nothing heavy. She had no intention of letting a man into her life, her mind or her body. She needed to be in control of any relationship from the beginning, and she ended things immediately if any man couldn’t keep to the rules of engagement.
She didn’t want to suffer pain again. As she pressed the intercom and told him she would be straight down, Cory’s mouth was tight. Her parents had been unable to love her as parents normally did and William had just reaffirmed that there must be something lacking in her. Something which caused people not to want her like she wanted them. So she’d concentrate on her work, on making a difference in an area where she was needed. And that would suffice. It would, because it had to.
She hadn’t opened the front door of the building for him this time, so when she stepped out into the hot Ju
ne day Nick was leaning against a snazzy little black sports car parked across the road. He looked…disturbing. His pale blue shirt was tucked into the flat waistband of his trousers and was unbuttoned just enough at the neck to show the beginning of the soft black hair on his chest.
Narrow-waisted and lean-hipped, he had a flagrant masculinity that was impossible to ignore. It was intimidating, and that made her annoyed because she didn’t want to feel intimidated. It put her at a disadvantage even though he couldn’t know how she felt.
‘Hi.’ He walked towards her, his thickly lashed blue eyes appreciative as they took in the pale rose jeans and bubble gum pink flounced strapless top she was wearing. She had left her hair loose today, wearing only a touch of mascara and lip gloss, the wide silver hoops in her ears completing the picture of casual elegance for a hot summer’s day. She had been determined not to dress up too much and by the same token wore the minimum of make-up; she hadn’t wanted him to think she was making an effort—even if it had taken over two hours to decide on her look.
‘Hello.’ She knew her cheeks matched her top but she couldn’t do a thing about it.
‘I’m glad you decided to come,’ he said softly.
Decided to come? She’d been railroaded by an expert and he knew it. She sucked in a shaky breath but her voice was surprisingly firm when she said, ‘The way I remember it, I had little choice?’
‘Ouch.’ He pretended to wince. ‘You were supposed to say, preferably with a sweet smile, that you were glad I’d asked you, that you’ve been looking forward to it, something like that.’
‘Really?’ She provided the sweet smile. ‘But I don’t lie very well.’
He grinned at her, apparently totally unabashed. ‘Then I’ll just have to work hard today to make sure you’re looking forward to our next date, won’t I?’