by Penny Jordan
Clinging gracefully to Slade’s arm, Chelsea bent to fuss over her shoe, which had been splashed with the contents of her now empty glass.
‘Oh, what a nuisance!’ she pouted.
‘I think they’ll dry.’
Chelsea was quite sure they would. Lifting her head slowly, she raised her lowered eyelashes and let her lips curve into a seductively promising smile. Beneath her tensed fingers Slade Ashford’s arm felt like solid rock.
His eyes which she had imagined to be brown shocked her by being a deep intense jade, and as coolly mocking as her own were sensually promising.
‘Oh, I’m not worried about my shoes.’ The husky softness of her voice surprised even Chelsea herself. Perhaps age had turned her into a better actress than she had ever imagined—age, or perhaps necessity.
‘It’s my drink,’ she murmured. ‘I had to wait simply ages to get it—waiters never pay the slightest attention to a woman on her own, and now I’ve lost it.’
‘Then please allow me to get you another…’
So far so good; she had managed to both capture his attention and very unsubtly let him know that she was alone. As she drew a rather shaky breath of relief she heard Ann saying urgently to Kirsty, ‘Darling, can you spare us a moment?’
For a second Chelsea held her breath. If Slade elected to go with Kirsty there was nothing she could do about it. Her own fingertips still rested on his arm, and she could almost feel her niece’s puzzled and hurt look, but she refused to yield to it.
‘Quite a sweet little thing,’ she said patronisingly as Ann led a reluctant Kirsty away. ‘A relation of yours?’
Only she knew exactly how much satisfaction it gave her to see the slightly grim expression in those dark green eyes as Slade said curtly, ‘No; the daughter of a business acquaintance—Now, your drink…’
Now came the most difficult part of the evening, Chelsea warned herself. She had managed to detach him from Kirsty, but now she had to keep him not only away from Kirsty for the rest of the evening, but also firmly and publicly attached to her.
She had to wait several nerve-wracking seconds before he returned to her side with a fresh Martini, and managed to draw out their mutual self-introduction for ten minutes, one half of her mind bemused and appalled by the fulsome inanities she was uttering.
‘I hate coming anywhere like this alone,’ she confessed when she saw his attention was beginning to waver. ‘My date couldn’t make it at the last moment. Oh, wouldn’t you know it!’ she pouted, suddenly having a brainwave as the band suddenly started playing a dreamily romantic tune. ‘They would play my favourite when I don’t have a partner to dance with!’
At any other time the cool irony in those green eyes would have shattered her, but tonight she was playing a part and there was no room for her normal icy reserve.
‘Far be it from me to disappoint a lady,’ Slade Ashford drawled, and just for a moment as he negotiated a path to the dance floor it struck Chelsea that his ironic comment could have more than one meaning, but she swiftly dismissed the thought as over-imaginative.
In keeping with the romantic mood of the evening the dance floor was dimly lit, and in the darkness Chelsea almost stumbled, shocked by the sudden warmth of Slade’s fingers on her arm as he reached for her.
In his arms on the dance floor it came as a shock to realise how long it had been since a man had held her like this. She had danced, of course, but never with this intimacy, since Darren, and the hard brush of muscled male thighs against the softness of her own body as they moved in time to the music became increasingly disturbing as frissons of awareness spread upwards from her thighs. Revulsion coursed through her in waves and the need to tense her body against the alien intrusion of arrogant male flesh became overpowering, but she refused to give in to it.
Slade’s hand caressed her spine, sliding upwards to stroke the vulnerable nape of her neck. Her breath caught in her throat. Dear God, what chance would Kirsty have against a man like this if he chose to submit her to the full force of his sexual expertise?
She missed a step and was drawn still closer to the lean male body of her partner, her breasts crushed against the hard wall of his chest, his breath fanning her temple. The revolving spotlight suddenly caught them in its beam and Slade raised his hand to the dusting of glitter along her cheekbones, tracing it lightly. The music stopped and she withdrew from him, smothering a gasp as his fingers left her face to trace instead the glitter-dusted curve of her breasts above the bodice of her dress.
‘Very enticing.’ He smiled at her and in the darkness there was no irony in his smile, and Chelsea felt her breath catching in her throat at the unbelievable appeal of that smile.
For the rest of the evening she clung to him like ivy, firmly closing her mind against what she was doing. He left her once to collect some food for them both from the buffet tables, and Ann hurried across to whisper,
‘Keep it up—you’re doing marvels’ You should have seen poor Kirsty’s face when she saw you dancing with him! She hasn’t said anything, but I suspect she’s discovered that her idol most definitely has feet of clay. Just to make sure I thought it might be as well if she were to see you leaving with him, if you can engineer that. He’s attractive enough for the fact that other women are attracted to him to add a dangerous piquancy.’
Unable to do anything other than agree with her sister’s observation and worried about her niece’s reaction to her behaviour, at first Chelsea almost missed Slade’s cool, ‘Do you have your own means of transport for getting home?’
For a moment she was tempted to tell him that she intended getting a taxi, and then she remembered Ann’s whispered suggestion, and summoned the last of her flagging courage to say with a slow smile,
‘I’m afraid not. I was hoping someone would be kind enough to offer me a lift.’
She couldn’t have made her meaning any plainer, and she almost shuddered to see the cynicism carved deep in the grooves running alongside his mouth, as he drawled, ‘Allow me.’
As luck would have it Kirsty was standing with a group of teenagers by the foyer, and as they walked past the group Chelsea couldn’t bear to look at her niece.
At last they were out in the cool night air, crisply autumnal with the intensely evocative and faintly mournful scent of woodsmoke and frost hanging in the stillness.
‘Here we are.’
Slade stopped alongside a svelte, powerful-looking car, its dark paintwork gleaming, and paused to unlock the doors before helping Chelsea inside. Expensive hide moulded itself to her body, its rich smell filling the dark interior, mingling with the tangy aftershave Slade was wearing.
‘You haven’t asked me for directions,’ Chelsea pointed out to him as the long bonnet nosed its way out into the traffic.
In the darkness she could feel him glance at her, and a nervous fluttery feeling began in the pit of her stomach and spread outwards as he said smoothly,
‘First I thought we’d go to my place, have a cup of coffee.’
For a moment Chelsea’s brain refused to work. When she had been planning the evening she had never thought as far as this. Somehow she had imagined that it would end with her leaving the hotel with Slade and then getting a taxi home. She turned towards him to protest, checking as she saw the cold cynicism of his smile, and anger suddenly welled up inside her. It didn’t take much imagination to guess that ‘coffee’ wasn’t all he had in mind. The arrogance of the man! she seethed. Did he expect her to jump into bed with him simply because she had accepted a lift from him?
It wasn’t purely because she had angled for a lift, honesty made her admit; she hadn’t exactly kept him at a distance during the evening. Forcefully she pushed aside the thought. So Slade Ashford thought she was going to allow him to make love to her. Perhaps it was time that someone showed him that when it came to women he wasn’t as overpoweringly irresistible as he seemed to think.
This thought was enough to boost her spirits and keep her doubts at bay for
the fifteen minutes it took them to reach Slade’s flat; one of half a dozen in a prestigious luxury two-storey block on the outskirts of the town set in the grounds of what had once been the old manor house.
With a cool economy of movement that made it impossible for her to object Slade drove the car into a garage at the back of the apartments, locked it, and escorted her into an attractive communal hallway.
‘My apartment’s on the second floor,’ he told her, indicating the lift.
It whisked them upwards so swiftly that Chelsea felt that she had left her stomach behind. She was twenty-six, she reminded herself dryly as they emerged from its claustrophobic confines, and this wouldn’t be the first time she had had to fend off unwanted advances; and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Shrugging aside the tiny inner voice that warned her that Slade Ashford was different, she allowed him to usher her into a small inner hall. As he snapped on the light she had a brief impression of stunningly effective faux-marble walls in rich brown and cream, one of them mirrored to add to the illusion.
‘Not my choice,’ he told her, noticing her expression. ‘I needed a place in a hurry and this one was vacant. I believe the previous owner was a businessman who let it to a… friend.’ His voice was expressionless, but the meaning was plain nonetheless, and Chelsea suppressed a sudden shudder as she contemplated how narrowly she had escaped being Darren’s little ‘friend’, his kept mistress.
‘Living room’s through there,’ Slade told her, opening another door.
It was decorated in varying shades of pale blue and grey; with expensive silk-covered settees, and a thick pile carpet, and Chelsea wondered if it was merely her imagination which made her think that despite its luxury this wasn’t a happy place.
‘I’ll take your coat. Make yourself at home while I get us both a drink.’
This was the moment when she should tell him that she wanted neither a drink nor his company, but he was gone before she could speak. She would tell him when he came back, she decided. Fortunately they weren’t very far from her own flat, and if he refused to take her home, she could always walk. She was studying a painting when he returned, and her first intimation that she was no longer alone came when she felt his hands on her shoulders, turning her round to face him, his expression hidden from her as he bent his head and touched his lips to the soft flesh swelling above the top of her dress, following the line of gold glitter.
‘Opium,’ he murmured appreciatively against her skin. ‘Tell me, is all of you as deliciously scented as this bit?’
‘Let me go!’
The persona she had assumed fell from her like a borrowed cloak, her eyes darkening with anger and fear as she pushed ineffectively at his hard shoulders.
‘Don’t you think it’s a little late to play hard to get?’ he laughed sardonically. ‘You should be honoured. I don’t normally fall for such obvious ploys, but there’s something about you…’
‘I asked you to give me a lift home, not… not maul me!’ she managed on a choked whisper.
‘Maul?’ His expression was ugly as he raised his head and looked at her. ‘Believe me, if I really wanted to I could make what I’m doing now pale into insignificance—and don’t bother starting to cry rape. There’s not a court in the land that would uphold such an accusation after the way you’ve been putting yourself about tonight—in front of witnesses too!’
Sickness crawled through the pit of Chelsea’s stomach. Dear God, what was she going to do?
‘Look,’ she began desperately, ‘there’s been a mistake…’
‘Indeed there has,’ Slade agreed softly. ‘I don’t know what your game is—but I can make a pretty shrewd guess. However, this time you aren’t getting away with it. I’m no pigeon for the plucking, and perhaps it’s time that someone made you come up with the goods you’re so good at offering—and then withdrawing.’
Panic clawed at her. She wanted to scream at him that he didn’t understand; that she wasn’t what he thought but she knew with complete certainty that he wouldn’t believe her.
Impulsively she turned on her heel heading for the door, but she had barely moved a yard before she was stopped and lifted up bodily.
‘Oh no,’ Slade told her slowly. ‘Tonight there’s no running out on your obligations.’
He kicked open a door without bothering to switch on the light, and all Chelsea could see was the generous proportions of the king-size bed. She was dropped on to it without ceremony, her attempts to struggle upright suddenly ceasing as Slade closed the door and slowly started to remove his shirt. A fury she had not expected seemed to possess him.
Trapped in the sardonic gleam of his eyes, she could neither move nor think. One part of her mind registered the smooth tanned flesh of his shoulders, and the dark finely curling hair matting his chest; the play of sleek muscles as he moved and the male grace of a torso that tapered from broad shoulders into a narrow waist; while the other screamed in silent protest at the monstrosity of what was happening to her.
‘What’s wrong?’ The soft goading words brought the colour flooding to her face. ‘Don’t tell me you’re opting for maidenly modesty at this late stage in the game and you want me to do your undressing for you?’
Her control broke then, deep shudders wracking her body as she tried to tear her eyes from his body and failed. His hands were on his belt when she finally managed to drag her gaze away, and as he came towards her Chelsea shrank back.
She heard him swear, and then his hands were on her body, not roughly as she had anticipated, but dangerously skilful as they traced the bones of her shoulders, their path followed by his lips as he explored the vulnerability of her skin.
She started to protest, but the words were cut off by the sensual pressure of his mouth as it explored the shape of her own. Sensations she had never experienced before flooded over her. Of their own volition her lips seemed to soften and part, the sudden invasion of his mouth shocking her with conflicting emotions. One part of her longed to repudiate him; while another, hitherto unsuspected instinct urged her to yield to the sensuous pleasure he was invoking. His fingers were in her hair, freeing it from its chignon, and weaving themselves into it while he held her, making a leisurely inspection of her face with lips that teased and tantalised from her feelings she had never suspected she possessed.
Not even with Darren had she felt this dangerously seductive desire to abandon herself completely to a man’s possession. Her mind was a jumble of confused thoughts as she told herself that she had been celibate for too long; that what she was experiencing was the result of repressed emotions. She gave a small moan of protest, and Slade’s mouth returned immediately to hers, probing her half parted lips.
She was so engrossed in trying to rationalise the feelings she was experiencing that it was several seconds before she realised that Slade had released the zipper of her dress and was easing it slowly from her body. The knowledge froze her into shocked stillness, her instinctive impulse to conceal her bared breasts from him as the blue dress rustled to the floor, and shame washed over her as she remembered the brevity of her underwear, the sheer silk stockings and the perfume with which she had scented every inch of her skin.
Slade’s, ‘You certainly believe in dressing for the part, don’t you?’ held an unexpected contemptuous anger that burned into her, reinforced by his mocking laughter when he saw the way she had crossed her arms over her breasts.
‘What the hells’s that for?’ he demanded grittily. ‘Enticement? Don’t overplay your hand; believe me, that dress you were wearing was enticement enough!’
When she didn’t move but lay staring up at him in frozen horror his mockery gave way to anger, his fingers biting into her wrists as he grasped them, dragging them away from her body, no mercy in the eyes that scrutinised every centimetre of exposed flesh.
Unable to stop herself, Chelsea cringed, hating him for making her so vulnerable; for confusing her by kissing her the way he had; and now for destroying her pride and self-r
espect. She shuddered to think that by the time the evening was over he would know her body more intimately than she did herself, and although she had always told herself that her virginity was more accident than design, now when she was on the verge of losing it she knew that some tiny corner of her heart had never entirely given up the hope that she would give it to a man who loved her as she loved him.
‘You really know all the tricks, don’t you?’ Slade breathed savagely. ‘But feigning reluctance won’t work with me. I’m not some gullible fool easily bewitched by a pair of dark blue eyes and a vulnerable mouth. But in one respect at least I’m just like any other man.’ He glanced down at her body, and Chelsea felt the tension in him.
‘I want you,’ he said thickly, and as he raised his head she thought she saw bitter anger in the eyes which were already beginning to glaze with desire.
His hands left her wrists to cup her breasts, his eyes holding hers as his thumbs moved arousingly against the pink flesh of her nipples.
Shock gave way to fear as she felt their unmistakable betrayal, and a small moan escaped from her clenched teeth as the tormenting caress continued and Slade’s lips moved tantalisingly along her throat, investigating the tremors running over her skin.
Quite when her arms slid round his neck she didn’t know, but one moment, it seemed, they were at her sides and the next they were clinging to the breadth of his shoulders, exploring the male bone structure before sliding sensuously over his back.
This time when he kissed her she had no thought of holding back, the harsh rasp of his body hair against the sensitised tips of her breasts was so intensely pleasurable. She was lost—drowning in a sea of new sensations, each one more pleasurable than the last. When Slade lowered his head and trailed burning kisses against the curve of each breast fireworks seemed to explode inside her, compelling her to arch urgently against him and gasp on a wave of burning pleasure as his tongue stroked roughly against the aroused tautness of her nipples. Lost in a rainbow-coloured cloud of feeling, she dimly heard Slade’s hoarse groan as he lifted his mouth from her breast and slid his hands urgently over the gentle swell of her stomach, shocking her into sudden awareness of where she was and with whom.