by Anne Mather
Her mouth tasted vile, and sliding out of bed again she steadied herself before staggering into the bathroom once more. Toothpaste had never tasted sweeter, and her breath was sweet and peppermint-scented before she rinsed her face and hands.
Grimacing at her appearance in lacy bra and panties, she tossed them off and pulled on her green satin nightdress. Then, after brushing her hair thoroughly, she climbed back into bed and turned out the lamp.
Immediately the awful dizziness returned, and she groped for the light switch and turned it on again. Darkness was obviously something to be avoided, she decided, but it wasn’t easy trying to sleep with the lamp on.
As she lay there, she heard the sounds of the party subsiding, and presently the revving of engines as the Shards’ guests departed. The Conways went first, then the Mannings, and eventually she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and Robin and Nancy saying goodnight to his parents. There was the murmur of unfamiliar voices, as Liz showed the Hyltons and Angela to their rooms, and finally the deeper murmur of Jaime’s voice as he exchanged a few words with his mother.
Then silence.
Rachel shifted a little restlessly, wondering whether Jaime had said goodnight to Angela yet. One thing was certain, she thought bitterly, he would not need to seek oblivion in a bottle of Scotch with such an open invitation only waiting to be accepted. Her lips quivered at the unwelcome image of Angela and Jaime together. Even if she did not want him, she resented having to watch his developing relationship with another woman…
When her door was silently opened, she thought for a moment that Liz had come to see if she was all right. But it wasn’t Jaime’s mother who looked into the room, but Jaime himself, and Rachel’s breathing almost stopped altogether.
When he saw she was still awake, a curiously impatient expression crossed his face, but after glancing behind him, he let himself into the room and pushed the door almost shut behind him.
‘I saw the light,’ he explained. ‘I thought you must have fallen asleep and left it on. I was going to turn it out for you.’
‘How kind.’
After her thoughts of a few moments before, Rachel didn’t find it easy being friendly towards him, and his expression grew speculative.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ Rachel moved her shoulders beneath the covers. ‘What could be wrong?’
‘Then why isn’t the light out?’
‘Because—oh, because I felt dizzy when I turned it out.’
‘I see.’ Jaime frowned. ‘You don’t feel dizzy now?’
‘I don’t know, do I? I—I haven’t tried it again.’
Jaime hesitated. ‘But you’re okay?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’ With a helpless shrug he turned back towards the door, leaning heavily on the stick he had brought with him this time, and Rachel pursed her lips.
‘Are you?’ she asked unwillingly. ‘Is your leg painful?’
‘I can cope,’ he replied dryly, and indignation made her reckless.
‘I bet you can,’ she muttered bitterly, and his dark brows descended.
‘I beg your pardon?’
Rachel sniffed, but she had to go on. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’
‘Keep me?’ Jaime looked puzzled. ‘Keep me from what?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know.’ Rachel spoke resentfully. ‘I’d hate to play gooseberry.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ he demanded, turning back to her now, and as he met her sulky green eyes comprehension dawned. ‘My God!’ He uttered an angry ejaculation. ‘Are you still bugging me about Angela? For heaven’s sake, what do you think I am? Some kind of stud?’
‘Aren’t you?’
Jaime’s eyes smouldered and he made a gesture of disgust. ‘I don’t know why I concern myself about you.’
‘Why you concern yourself about me?’ Rachel propped herself up on her elbow, and as she did so, the bedcovers slipped back to expose the creamy line of her shoulders emerging from the bootlace straps of her nightgown.
‘Yes.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Oh, go to sleep! It’s too late, and I’m too weary, to have this kind of an argument!’
Rachel knew a pang of regret as he moved towards the door. Almost in spite of herself, she believed him when he denied an involvement with Angela. The trouble was, she didn’t trust Angela; or Jaime’s reactions now she had accused him.
‘Jaime!’
Her whispered use of his name arrested him, and he glanced round at her suspiciously, reaching for the door. ‘Well?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, replacing a strap that had slipped off her shoulder. ‘I am sorry, honestly. Please—don’t go.’
‘Don’t go?’ His expression was ludicrous, a compounding of disbelief and anger and pure frustration, and she gave him an appealing look.
‘The dizziness,’ she said. ‘It—it frightens me. Couldn’t you stay for a little while? Just until I fall asleep.’
Jaime closed the door with precise constrained movements, then turned to face her, tight-lipped. ‘You have to be crazy!’ he told her savagely. ‘What do you think I am?’
‘I thought you were my friend,’ she murmured plaintively, affecting Angela’s childlike innocence, and his free fist clenched ominously.
‘We can never be friends, Rachel,’ he snapped violently, then realising his voice might be overheard, he came nearer the bed. ‘Leave the light on,’ he advised, supporting himself stiffly on his stick. ‘I doubt if it will bankrupt my father, and if it means you’ll have a good night’s rest—’
‘But I won’t,’ she exclaimed, not quite knowing why she was doing this, but driven to it all the same. ‘I mean—I can’t sleep with the light on, you know that. Couldn’t you—couldn’t you turn it out for me, and just—sit by the bed until I go to sleep?’
Jaime’s mouth compressed. ‘What kind of a game do you think you’re playing?’
‘No game!’ Rachel’s eyes were wide. ‘Please! I hate the dizziness.’
Jaime looked as if he would refuse, but his leg was evidently paining him, and after a moment’s inner conflict he flung himself into the basket chair beside her. ‘All right,’ he said, extinguishing the light without ceremony. ‘Now, go to sleep, or I leave.’
‘Give me your hand.’
Rachel lowered herself back on to the pillows carefully, relieved to find she no longer felt dizzy, and after a moment Jamie’s firm fingers found hers.
‘Goodnight,’ she murmured softly, deciding to keep him there for no longer than half an hour, and closed her eyes peacefully, amazingly content.
* * *
She awakened to the grey light of a winter’s dawn, and to the uneasy sensation that all was not well. Her head ached a little, but it wasn’t that that troubled her. It was something else, something she should have remembered, and as she shifted beneath the covers she encountered an unexpectedly solid object.
She turned her head quickly, unable at first to distinguish who or what it was beside her, then blinked her eyes disbelievingly at the sight of Jaime’s soundly slumbering form. In an instant, the events of the night before came back to her in hazy detail, and although she closed her eyes against their memory, the evident result of her recklessness was there beside her. Dear God, what had happened after Jaime came to her room? If only she could remember. But all she could recall was the argument they had had, and his hand holding hers before she fell asleep.
She expelled her breath a little unsteadily, and stretched her legs, tentatively investigating what she was wearing. She breathed somewhat easier when she discovered she still had on her nightdress, and shifting her weight carefully, she turned on her side to look at Jaime.
The brown skin of his shoulders, exposed above the sheet, was disturbing, and on impulse she stretched a hand towards him, her fingers brushing his bare leg only inches away from hers. But above the bandage her hand encountered the cotton hem of his trunks, and her investigations ceased when his e
yes flickered open.
‘Rachel?’ he muttered, his brown eyes confused, and then, as comprehension dawned, he thrust her hand away, saying harshly: ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘I—I—I could ask you that question,’ she exclaimed, momentarily unnerved by his aggression. ‘What—what are you doing here? Did I—did I invite you into my bed?’
Jaime brought the watch on his wrist up to his eyes, and after ascertaining that it was barely seven o’clock he looked at her through narrowed lids. ‘Don’t you remember?’
Rachel’s lips pursed. ‘If I did, I wouldn’t be asking you, would I?’ she retorted crossly. She circled her lips with a thoughtful finger. ‘I remember going to bed, I remember you coming in here—’
‘But nothing else?’ Jaime was mocking.
‘I’m not sure.’ Rachel was loath to give him any further advantage. Then, summoning what little dignity was left to her, she said: ‘Anyway, you had no right to stay with me, whatever I said—did! You knew I’d had too much to drink. I didn’t know what I was doing.’
Jaime shrugged, stretching indolently beside her. ‘There’s a pity!’ he taunted, and Rachel propped herself up on one elbow to look down at him.
‘What—what did happen?’ she pleaded, unable to sustain her indignation, when inside she was in turmoil. ‘I—I—why did you stay here?’ She moved her legs restlessly. ‘Did we make love?’
Jaime turned his head to look at her. ‘Don’t you know?’
Rachel sighed. ‘Well, I don’t feel—that is, oh, how can I be sure? Jaime, please—’
‘You fell asleep holding my hand,’ he declared flatly. ‘I think I dozed too.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, when I came round I was frozen, and as I didn’t fancy going back to my cold bed, I decided to share yours.’
Rachel gasped, and now that she could breathe freely again, she was angry, too. ‘You—you had no right!’
‘Probably not,’ he agreed. ‘But before you start berating me, remember, you invited me to stay.’
‘Not to sleep with me!’
‘Why not?’ He folded his arms behind his head. ‘As you wanted me to keep out of Angela’s bed, it was the least you could do.’
‘You swine!’ His sardonic indifference infuriated her, particularly as she was having to fight the subversive influence of his attraction. ‘I must have been mad to ask you for help!’
She turned abruptly, intent only on getting out of bed and putting a safe distance between them, when he reached for her. She struggled violently, managing to wrench her arm out of his grasp, but he caught a handful of her nightgown, the satin clinging to his fingers, and in its cloying folds Rachel was like a butterfly in a net.
‘Let go of me—let go of me!’ she muttered, through her teeth, twisting and turning, and trying to kick him, but this time he gave her no chance to hurt him. He imprisoned her body beneath the weight of his, and when his lips found hers she had no breath left to resist him.
‘You should have known better than to provoke me in the morning, sweetness,’ he said, against her mouth. ‘Particularly when you’re in such a vulnerable situation. You know I only take what I’ve been offered.’
‘I haven’t offered you anything!’ she protested huskily, but her hands seemed to deny this, moving of their own accord over the muscled length of his back, so that a shudder ran through him.
‘Rachel!’ he muttered, his lips probing her ear, his tongue finding the sensitive hollow behind it. ‘Oh, Rachel, I want you, I want to be a part of you. Don’t tell me no, because I don’t think you could stop me now.’
She wanted to object. She wanted to keep her head, and push him away from her, but she didn’t. When his hands disposed of the bootlace straps and pushed the bodice of her nightgown down to her waist, she let him, and she could only moan in sensual abandon when his mouth took possession of one of her breasts. No one but Jaime had ever made love to her, but he had taught her well the delights and desires of her own body. With his muscular thighs pressing her down into the soft mattress, and the swollen evidence of his manhood thrusting against her, she found her emotions impossible to control.
The bedclothes were thrust aside, but they didn’t heed the cooler air against their heated flesh. Following the line of her satin gown with his lips, he pressed it down the quivering length of her, and her traitorous body arched towards him.
She realised he was as naked as she was when the warmth of him surged against her, but by then she was too aroused to offer any protest. Only Jaime had ever been able to make her feel like this, to melt the cool exterior that concealed the passionate woman beneath, and in spite of everything that had gone before, everything she knew about him, she had to experience that subliminal sensation one more time.
It was like the first time, only better, because then she had been shy and tentative, and in consequence had not enjoyed it. She had found it rather painful, and not at all what she had expected, but Jaime had only teased her, and assured her she would change her mind.
And she had. In the early hours of that first night they had spent together, he had taught her the true meaning of making love, and after that she had been as eager as he to share that intimate experience.
Now she was a woman, in every sense of the word, who had for too long been denied the completeness of surrender. She was hungry for him, and she wound herself about him eagerly, returning his caresses with all the instinctive sexuality of her young body. His mouth plundered her breasts, his tongue setting the downy skin on fire, inciting the flame that was growing inside her. She twisted and turned desperately beneath him, bringing a groan of satisfaction from his lips, then his mouth covered hers, opening it wide to his touch.
When the climax came, she could feel the sweat along his spine, the damp heat of his loins as they clung to hers. He filled her with his strength, with the mindless sweetness of complete consummation, and her senses surged to limitless peaks of pleasure. It was like being carried on a tide of physical sensation, and although the waves subsided, she was loath to let them go.
Her brain surfaced reluctantly through a misty cloud of satiation, and as the contours of the room came back into focus so, too, did the horrifying ignominy of what she had done.
Jaime was still slumped beside her, one leg over both of hers. His arm, too, was draped possessively across her body, as if to restrain any ideas she might have of escaping from him, and as she attempted to move away from him his drowsy lids lifted.
‘That was good, wasn’t it?’ he said huskily, turning his mouth against her shoulder. ‘God, Rachel, how have I lived without you for so long? You’re the only woman who can make me feel like this.’
Rachel’s jaw jutted. ‘Please! I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Why not?’ Jaime aroused himself sufficiently to blink and open his eyes wide, though they were still glazed and drugged with sexual satisfaction. ‘What are you talking about, Rachel?’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘Surely you’re not inhibited with me!’ A faint smile tugged at his lips. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it possible—now.’
Rachel pushed his questing mouth away and struggled up on to the pillows, reluctant to pull the covers over her, even though she badly wanted to, because it would mean covering him, too.
‘You don’t understand,’ she said impatiently. ‘I don’t want to talk about it—ever. I—I—I wish it had never happened.’
‘But it has,’ said Jaime flatly, rapidly getting the message and levering himself into an upright position. ‘And you’re crazy if you think you can dismiss our relationship, and pretend it’s all over. What happened just now was as much your fault as mine!’
‘So it was a fault, was it?’
‘Damn you, you know what I mean,’ he snapped, and she knew he hated being forced to discuss it now. He was lethargic and heavy-eyed, and the exhaustion of two broken nights of sleep had painted dark rings around his eyes. ‘You’re mine, Rachel. I put my brand upon you years ago, and now that I know how you re
ally feel, no one is going to come between us, not even you!’
‘That’s what you think.’ Rachel jack-knifed off the bed, snatching up the satin wrapper that went with her discarded nightgown and wrapping it closely about her. ‘You may have possessed my body, but you haven’t possessed my mind, and nothing—nothing you can do will change the way I feel about you.’ Jaime expelled his breath in a heavy sigh, drawing up his uninjured leg and resting his chin on it. ‘Oh, Rachel,’ he said wearily, ‘don’t do this to me!’
‘I—I’m not doing anything to you,’ she hissed, keeping her voice low, just in case anyone had overheard them. ‘I don’t know how you can sit there and pretend that I’m to blame! After—after the way you lied to me!’
Jaime tilted his head to look at her. ‘I didn’t lie to you,’ he declared expressionlessly. ‘I didn’t tell you I was married, but you didn’t ask.’
Rachel gasped. ‘Why should I? You didn’t act like a married man.’
‘Because I didn’t feel like one,’ Jaime retorted harshly. ‘Betsy and I were separated fifteen—eighteen months after the wedding! It was a fiasco!’
Rachel put her hands to her ears. ‘I don’t want to hear.’
‘All right.’ Jaime moved his shoulders in a dismissing gesture. ‘That’s typical of you. You get an idea into your head, and nothing anyone can say will move it.’
‘What could you say?’ Rachel’s hands dropped, and she made a scornful gesture. ‘You were married. That’s all there is to it. And—and you were living—living with her!’
‘No!’ Jaime fairly bounded off the bed then, only to mutter a groaning imprecation as he jarred his wounded leg. ‘Rachel, that’s not true. I was not living with her. For God’s sake, how could I be? Every spare minute I had, we spent together!’
Rachel turned aside from his male beauty, aware that even now he had the power to make her senses spin. There was a treacherous voice inside her that urged her to forget her grievances, at least until she left Clere Heights, but she knew it was only sex that was rearing its greedy head. If she allowed what had just happened to happen again, she would be that much weaker a second time, and sooner or later her body’s needs might deafen her ears to the cool voice of reason. Somehow she had to resist him, and once she was back in London, away from his influence, time would achieve what common sense could not.