The Token Wife

by Sara Craven

  A stranger stared back at her. A girl with exotically shadowed eyes and glowing mouth, whose low-cut, tightly boned bodice cupped her small breasts like the hands of a lover. The passionate red of the dress emphasised the delicacy of her pale skin, and the graceful skirt swung like a slender bell as she moved.

  For once in her life she seemed to have got it right, she thought.

  There was a tap on the door, and Alex’s voice said, ‘May I come in?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Yes—yes, of course.’

  He came to a total halt as he saw her, his lips parting in a soundless whistle.

  He said huskily, ‘You look—very beautiful.’

  He looked pretty amazing too, she thought. Black tie formality suited him. Thought it, but dared not say it.

  She felt her face warming helplessly under his regard. ‘Thank you, but I think we both know that’s an exaggeration.’ She paused. ‘If you’re going to tell me that your grandmother doesn’t want the buffet in the dining room after all, I’m going to kill myself.’

  ‘I’ve come to say that people are starting to arrive, and Selina needs us downstairs.’ He produced a flat velvet case from his pocket. ‘And to give you this.’

  She gasped when she saw what lay on the satin bed inside. A diamond choker, with one magnificent ruby at its centre.

  ‘It—it’s wonderful. But I can’t accept it.’

  ‘You’re my wife, Louise,’ he told her quietly. ‘I have every right to make you a gift. And you’ll wear it for me tonight.’ He lifted the lovely thing from the box. ‘Allow me,’ he said, and fastened it round her throat.

  She raised a hand and touched the gleaming stones almost with disbelief. Alex stood behind her, watching her reflection in the mirror, and she realised with shock that the hands that lightly clasped her shoulders were trembling. That in the lamplight his face looked stark, pared down to the bone. That the green eyes were suddenly hotly, broodingly intense.

  The breath caught in her throat. She said hoarsely, ‘I think we’d better go down. Your grandmother’s waiting.’

  He said, ‘There’s a little hook undone here on your dress.’

  ‘I—I couldn’t reach it.’

  ‘Then I’d better.’ Alex smiled at her in the mirror. ‘Because it would be disastrous if this amazing creation were to slip even an inch—don’t you think?’

  She was beyond thought. She felt his fingers brush her naked spine, and had to bite the soft inside of her lower lip to control the small moan rising inside her.

  She said, ‘Yes.’ And, ‘Thank you.’ She turned away, and picked up her evening purse, the taffeta rustling like dried leaves as she made her way to the door.

  When they reached the top of the stairs Alex offered her his arm, and they descended together.

  Selina, elegant in pale grey lace with pearls, was waiting in the massive hall. Beside her was Cliff Maidstone looking sullen, and Della in layers of blue tulle.

  ‘Do you think she dyed that damned veil?’ Alex muttered out of the corner of his mouth, and she was shaking with laughter, her feeling of tension evaporating fast, as they reached the foot of the stairs.

  The evening became a blur of faces, young and old; some friendly, some curious. A murmur of names she would never remember, and Alex’s voice saying quietly, ‘This is Louise, my wife.’

  When the music began Alex led his grandmother onto the dance floor, and Louise found herself partnered by a tall grey-haired man, who turned out to be the lord lieutenant of the county.

  Someone else seemed to be in charge of her. Someone who smiled her acceptance each time a voice said ‘May I have the pleasure of this dance, Mrs Fabian?’ Who chatted animatedly with complete strangers, and ate cold salmon, and smoked chicken puffs and caviare, and drank champagne.

  And who bore no relation to the shy girl caught up in a maelstrom of unfamiliar emotions, whose gaze scanned the crowded rooms for every glimpse she could garner of a tall, tawny-haired man, only to find him looking straight back at her, a smile in his eyes that set her heart pounding.

  ‘What a nightmare,’ Della muttered discontentedly at some point in the evening. ‘Call this a dance? Where’s the disco?’

  ‘My grandmother doesn’t like them.’ Alex appeared suddenly beside them. ‘Darling, I think this is our dance.’

  She said breathlessly, ‘Isn’t there someone else you should ask?’

  ‘I’ve done my duty,’ he told her. ‘Now it’s time for pleasure.’

  The music was slow and dreamy. He drew her into his arms, and they began to move to its gentle rhythm, his cheek resting against her hair. There was a space around them which gradually grew larger as people drew to the side of the floor to watch Alex Fabian dance with his new bride.

  When the music ended Alex leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek, then took her hand and raised it to his lips.

  It was an elegant and courtly gesture, and it brought a ripple of laughter and applause from those looking on.

  But his eyes, as they met hers, told Louise a very different story. They were sensuous—heavy with desire.

  And they said, more plainly than any words could do, that tonight she would cease to be merely a token wife—and that he would not take ‘no’ for an answer.

  She was trembling inside, her body suddenly weak with yearning. She was afraid too. Scared of her own inexperience, and a little ashamed too, because it was ridiculous for a grown woman to be still a virgin.

  It wasn’t the physical surrender she feared, anyway, but the emotional commitment. The certainty that, once taken, she would be his forever.

  She stood beside him, shaking hands, saying the right, polite things as, eventually, people began to leave. She heard him decline his grandmother’s offer of coffee and sandwiches when everyone had gone. And knew that there was nowhere to run—nowhere to hide.

  She said her goodnights, quietly, and went with him, her hand clasped firmly in his, up to their room.

  Where reality waited for her, and the possibility of heartbreak. And where the dreamlike state which had encompassed her all evening was no longer any protection.

  She stood in the middle of the room, hugging herself with folded arms, as Alex removed his jacket and tie, and began to unfasten his dress shirt.

  She said huskily, ‘I—I need some time.’

  ‘Take all you need,’ he said. ‘While I undress.’

  ‘You’re going to do that—here?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But you don’t have to watch,’ he added with a touch of dryness. ‘It’s not obligatory, and I’d hate you to be turned to stone.’

  She turned away, and went across to the dressing table, her fingers nervously playing with the silver-backed mirror and the trinket boxes on its polished surface.

  At last he came to stand behind her, his hands clasping her shoulders as he’d done earlier. The lamplight revealed the sheen of his skin, suggested the planes and angles of his chest, and hinted at the long, supple line of hip and thigh. She could feel the warmth of his naked body through the thin taffeta.

  Her voice shook. ‘Alex—please. Don’t do this…’

  ‘Do what?’ he questioned. ‘This?’ He stroked her hair aside, and kissed the nape of her neck. ‘Or this?’ He bent his head and pressed his lips to her bare shoulder, forcing a shiver of response from her.

  ‘Because I hear what you’re saying, my reluctant wife,’ he told her softly. ‘But all evening I’ve seen your eyes. Felt the way you’ve touched me—how you went into my arms. And you know it’s true.’

  His fingers released the tiny hook at the back of her dress, and began to slide down the long zip.

  The bodice fell away from her body like the petals of a dark red flower, baring her breasts.

  For a moment she tried to cover herself with her hands, but he took her wrists and drew them gently away.

  ‘Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of this?’ There was a raw note in his voice. ‘Of seeing you like this?�
� He eased the whispering taffeta down over her slender hips, and let it pool round her feet. She stepped out of it, and he picked up the mass of gleaming fabric and tossed it over the dressing stool.

  He said softly, ‘Now tell me you don’t want me.’

  His arms went round her, drawing her back against the heat of him, and she went pliantly, leaning her head on his shoulder, because her legs were shaking so that she could barely stand.

  She watched herself in the mirror. Watched him as his lean fingers cupped one rounded breast, stroking gently, making the helpless breath catch in her throat, while his other hand slid down her body to curl possessively round the curve of her hip, pushing away the ephemeral protection of the ivory silk.

  A stranger looked back at her. A girl with half-closed eyes, and parted rosy mouth, the erotic charge of her nakedness heightened by the blaze of diamonds at her throat, and the crimson flare of the ruby, like a drop of captured blood. A girl whose body moved restlessly under the first sensual caresses of a man’s hands. Who arched against him, gasping as his straying fingers reached the shadowed cleft between her thighs. And paused.

  Alex dropped to one knee beside her, undoing the strap on one sandal, then the other, and removing them. He caressed each foot, kissing the instep, then her ankle, his hands and lips moving upwards until they reached her thighs. Coaxed them apart.

  His mouth was gentle, skimming over the soft skin like the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Tantalising without satisfying in a way that was beyond all imagining.

  She heard herself moan softly, languorously—pleadingly.

  And he stood, lifting her into his arms and carrying her across the room to where the bed waited, its covers stripped away, lit by a single lamp.

  Alex put her down on the mattress, and lay beside her. For a moment he was very still, looking at her, cradling her face between his hands, then his mouth sought hers with passionate, overwhelming hunger.

  Louise yielded totally, her arms sliding round his neck, her fingers twining in the crisp tawny hair she’d longed so often to touch, as she tasted the sweetness of his tongue exploring her mouth.

  And she returned his kiss with feverish ardour, her body melting into his, gasping as she felt the stark heat of his arousal. Pressing against him. Longing to absorb and be absorbed.

  He raised his head and looked down at her, his smile crooked. ‘Hey,’ he whispered. ‘There’s no hurry, my love. I want to make this good for you. Something you’ll remember.’

  I’ll remember, she wanted to cry out to him. Every moment of this night is going to be etched on my memory in blood—along with every word you’ve ever said to me, each kiss, your lightest touch.

  Alex began to kiss her body, his mouth lingering on her breasts, his tongue flickering provocatively against the rosy peaks.

  His hand explored gently, smoothing the slender curve of her hip bone, the slight concavity of her belly, the passage of his fingertips lighting small trails of fire in her racing blood.

  Her head fell back blindly onto the pillow, her body arching up to him in mute yearning as he stroked the smooth line of her thigh, circling lightly on her flesh, pausing, then circling again, oh, so slowly. Making her wait a trembling eternity for the caress she wanted. For the intimacy of the long, clever fingers discovering the secret, molten core of her.

  When he touched her, at last, as she desired, his fingers cool as they explored with exquisite precision the white heat of her need, a long, trembling sigh escaped her.

  His mouth tugged on her nipples, coaxing them erect, as his fingers teased her tiny hidden bud to an equal pitch of arousal.

  Deep within her, she was aware of the thrumming of a tiny pulse. Felt it strengthen—then tauten endlessly, unbearably, stretching her on some breathless rack, her senses screaming.

  She made a small, stifled sound in her throat, then the tension broke, like the snapping of a wire, and her astonished body was carried away, lifted to some unknown height by wave after rippling wave of a pleasure so intense she thought she would faint—or even die of it.

  And when the storm passed there were tears on her face, and Alex was kissing them away, whispering that she was his darling, his heart’s delight, his beautiful, clever girl.

  For a while she lay quietly, cradled in his arms, then, obeying an instinct she had never known she possessed, she moved slightly but with definite purpose, smiling up at him, her whole body a silent invitation.

  He said her name softly, and slid his hands under her hips, lifting her towards him. There was no pain as he entered her. Her body was too relaxed in its own delight to offer any resistance to the smooth, fluid thrust of his possession. She was filled, completed, amazed by the reality of their union.

  He paused. ‘Darling.’ His voice was shaken. ‘Is it all right? Have I hurt you? Do you want me to stop?’

  In answer, she reached up and drew him down to her, offering him the sweetness of her parted lips, and eager tongue meeting his.

  He had promised her a night to remember, she thought. Well, he was going to remember it too—forever.

  She caressed him in turn, running her hands over his muscled shoulders and down the strong back, forcing a smothered groan from him.

  And as he began to move inside her, slowly at first, even carefully, then with increasing power, Louise found herself responding in the same way, lifting her slender legs and locking them round his hips.

  Gasping, damp with sweat, she realised suddenly that her body was reacting fiercely to these new sensations, her own urgency building all over again with his, strong and inexorable. Threatening, almost before she knew it, to spiral out of control.

  Knowing that Alex knew it too.

  ‘Yes.’ His voice was husky—almost fevered. ‘Yes, my love—my angel.’ And, ‘Now.’

  She felt his body convulse scaldingly in hers. Heard him call out to her. Then she was overtaken, swept away in turn, her body wrenched and shuddering in an agony of rapture.

  When it was over they lay together quietly, exchanging kisses, sated and at peace.

  At last, Alex propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at her, his hand gently playing with her breast.

  ‘Well, Mrs Fabian,’ he said, his voice quivering with tender amusement, ‘let me congratulate you on passing your aptitude test. May I recommend you register for the advanced course?’

  She stretched languorously. ‘How soon does it start?’

  He groaned. ‘God, darling, don’t tempt me.’

  ‘You mean I could?’

  He captured her straying hand and kissed it. ‘Yes, you Jezebel. But it would be very selfish of me to let you.’ He retrieved the covers from the floor, and arranged them round her, before pulling her back into his arms. ‘You need to sleep for a while. Let your body adjust.’

  ‘To sex?’ How could anything so natural and glorious need any kind of adjustment? she wondered in bewilderment.

  ‘No,’ he told her softly. ‘To having a lover. Now, rest.’

  Louise wanted to say ‘But I’m not tired’, only it wasn’t true. Her eyes were already closing, her body nestling against the warmth of his, relaxed as never before.

  He whispered, ‘Goodnight, my sweet.’ And she felt his lips on her brow.

  Yet, just before she drifted into sleep, it occurred to her with a strange, piercing clarity that he had never once said ‘I love you’.

  And on the heels of that came the stark and sobering realisation that he probably never would.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE thought stayed with her in her dreams like a dark thread in a golden tapestry, and waited for her when she awoke early the next morning.

  She lay for a while, thinking. Her heart and mind might be counselling caution, but physically she was basking in a sense of well-being that she had never experienced before, while the events of the previous night unrolled in her memory in glorious, nerve-tingling detail.

  She turned and looked at Alex sleeping beside her, watching th
e curl of his lashes on his cheek, the steady rise and fall of his chest. Then, slowly and delicately, she drew back the covers and allowed herself the indulgence of studying him in every detail.

  With or without his clothes, he was heaven to the eyes, she thought, stifling a sigh, feeling the first helpless pang of desire stir anew within her. Lean, tanned all over and amazingly strong, as she’d learned last night.

  She reached out a hand and touched his chest, letting her fingers stray over the flat male nipples. She bent her head and kissed them, then ran her fingers down, over his rib cage, to the firm stomach. She smoothed the clean line of his hip bone, and moved down to the long muscular thigh, where she paused, suddenly hesitant, realising that her tentative caresses were already having their powerful effect on him.

  He said softly, ‘Don’t stop there—please.’

  She withdrew her hand swiftly, helpless colour flooding her face as she wondered how long he had been lying there, observing her from under half-closed lids, that glinting smile playing round the corners of his mouth.

  ‘So,’ he went on, ‘what happened to the shy lady who couldn’t bear to look at me last night?’

  She said, stammering a little, ‘I think she died, and went to heaven.’

  She paused. ‘I—I didn’t mean to wake you.’

  ‘Whereas I,’ he told her, ‘had every intention of awakening you.’ He turned onto his side, drawing her gently towards him. ‘Like this,’ he whispered, and began to kiss her, his lips gentle as they caressed and nibbled hers, his tongue warm and teasing as it found her own.

  She yielded her mouth blindly, completely, the breath sighing in her throat as his kiss deepened, beckoned. As his fingers cupped her breast, stroking its rosy peak to renewed and almost startled awareness. Making her melt and burn with longing.

  She said his name, softly, yearningly against his mouth.

  He repositioned himself slightly, and without haste, raising her so that she was lying half across him, before entering her subtly and sweetly. Her breath caught, and her eyes dilated as they stared into his.