The Forbidden Innocent

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘I don’t mind,’ she said awkwardly, digging her hands deep into the pockets of her coat. ‘Don’t you have a favourite walk of your own?’

  ‘Of course I do. But I want to know yours.’

  She turned to look up at the smoky grey clouds which were puffing through the sky—suddenly envying that cloud its freedom to float high above the world and all its cares. ‘I think I’d like to go up that hill at the back of the house—right to the very top. You know—the bit where you get the best view of the moors.’

  ‘I know it very well,’ he said softly.

  They set off. The ground was soft and sank beneath their feet and it made the walk seem slightly tougher than usual. Ashley was fit, but unusually she was a little out of breath by the time she reached the top of the incline. Or maybe that was because Jack’s legs were long—so much longer than hers—so that they seemed to eat up the ground in front of him.

  It felt strange to be out alone with him in the great outdoors like this—but it only added to the confused swirl of her thoughts. It made her feel as if they were a couple. As if she had been born to walk with a man like Jack Marchant—enjoying the comfortable ease of their shared silence and seeing his dark, craggy profile etched against the stark landscape. Yet they were only here because his horse was sick—because Jack had asked her on a whim. No point reading any more into it than that.

  He stopped when they reached the highest point—and Ashley stood beside him—acknowledging with guilty pleasure how tiny he made her feel. And how fragile. Her limbs seemed so slight when compared with his—because even his thick coat couldn’t disguise the dormant strength which lay beneath.

  Oh, why was she thinking this way—risking making herself a laughing stock—an illegitimate orphan from the wrong sides of the track, nurturing a passion for a man who was way out of her reach?

  With an effort, she forced her attention away from his profile to stare at the scene in front of her. From here you could see Blackwood Manor as well as the rugged beauty of the moorland beyond. It was always a stunning view—but it was harsh and uncompromising, too. Had this craggy landscape helped make him the man he was? A man about whom she still knew very little, she realised—despite their forced proximity.

  ‘Have you always lived here?’ she questioned.

  There was silence for a moment, and then he shrugged.

  ‘Until I went away to school. Then university. And then the army, of course.’

  ‘The army must have been very tough.’ Embarrassed now, she shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry—that sounds like a stupid platitude. Of course it was tough. I just. just never realised how much until I starting reading your book.’

  ‘It’s a novel, Ashley,’ he said gently.

  ‘I know it is.’ The words came out in a rush, before she could stop them. ‘But that bit… the bit where the officer is out in the desert and gets out of the car and when he turns back, he… he…’ Her sentence faded but she knew that his powerful description was vividly in both their minds. The flash of a bomb. Bright light and a sickening sound. And through the dull muffle of temporary deafness—the senses returning just when you didn’t want them to. Smelling the burning of flesh and hearing the gasps of the dying—and the sight of carnage all around you. ‘He’s… he’s you, isn’t he?’

  His mouth hardened. ‘Why, Ashley? Is it relevant?’

  She heard the sudden harshness in his voice and wished she could have bitten back her words. ‘Not—not really, I guess.’

  ‘My past is irrelevant,’ he growled. ‘Everyone’s is. This moment is all that any of us ever have. Understand? That there’s no point looking back and remembering. We can’t change anything we’ve done—we just have to live with it.’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered quietly—because that was something she did understand. Because wouldn’t she go crazy if she allowed herself to remember all the hard times of her childhood? ‘I guess you’re right.’

  How calm her voice sounded, he thought. It was like balm poured onto his troubled spirit. He looked down into her face and suddenly his heart turned over. ‘Do you realise that your features look perfect against this winter landscape?’ he questioned suddenly. ‘Your skin pale as snow—and your hair the colour of the bare earth.’

  Ashley started as she searched his face for signs of mockery, but she could find none—only a kind of dark intensity about him which made him look so alive. As if in that snapshot moment he found her the single most alluring person in the world. And she wasn’t imagining it—she definitely wasn’t—because the tension was so palpable that she could have reached out and touched it.

  For one snatched second, she allowed herself the forbidden fantasy she’d entertained over and over again. Of Jack pulling her into his arms and crushing her against his hard and powerful body. For hadn’t she played out that scene countless times in her head as she lay in bed every night listening to his footsteps? Of him lowering his dark, rugged face to kiss her. Those black eyes gleaming some evocative message before his sensual lips came down to cover hers.

  With a fierce determination, she forced the image from her mind. He was her boss and she needed this job. Needed it badly enough not to risk jeopardising it with anything.

  ‘We’d… we’d better get back,’ she stammered, and yet her legs felt as if they were rooted to the spot and she’d never be able to move again.

  ‘Why?’

  She raised her eyes up to his. ‘Because—’

  ‘Because of this?’ Without warning, he pulled her into his arms, expelling a shuddering breath as he felt that first collision with her soft body. ‘This damned thing between us which won’t seem to go away?’

  ‘Jack!’

  ‘Jack, what?’ he taunted.

  All she could see was the sudden flintiness of his eyes—and the cold glint of pain at their depths. And she thought to herself, Surely a man shouldn’t look like this just before he kisses you?

  ‘Jack, we mustn’t,’ she whispered.

  ‘Oh, but we must,’ he negated harshly, compelled by something far stronger than reason or the sudden frantic clamour of his conscience. ‘Because I think I’m going to go crazy unless we do.’

  Some instinct told her to pull away from him but she couldn’t. Because by then it was too late. By then he was moulding her even closer, so that she could feel the contours of his hard body against hers. Cupping her face between his hands, he stared down at her—his face a dark mask, looking for all the world like a man who had just seen a tortured image of his own future.

  And then—just like all her forbidden fantasies—Jack Marchant bent his head and began to kiss her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JACK’S lips crushed down on Ashley’s, his kiss deep and passionate as his tongue probed deep inside her mouth. He groaned as he kissed her, making a sound of such helpless pleasure that Ashley made an answering moan of her own. She felt her hands grope blindly for his shoulders—as if she might slide to the ground without his support.

  Her blood sang and her heart pounded. How shockingly intimate that felt. Jack’s tongue inside her mouth. Jack pressing her against his body. Jack pressing his hips into hers with blatant desire. Her fingers bit into his heavy coat as she clutched onto him—and now his kiss became even more fervent.

  He plundered her mouth without restraint, like a man who had tasted food after a long period of starvation. His hands moved to her hair, his fingers impatiently weaving through the carefully positioned pins, so that several strands began to tumble down around her face. She could feel the mad quickening of her heart and the strange, honeyed sensation which was making her body seem hot and tender and tight and restless—all at the same time. Like a coiled spring which was slowly beginning to unfurl.

  He pulled her even nearer, so that the physique she had secretly admired from afar was now moulded firmly against her. And despite the clothing he wore she was acutely aware of his rampant masculinity—of the growing need at the very cradle of his body. It sho
uld have been daunting, and on one level it was—and yet on another it felt as if her entire life had been spent waiting for this moment.

  ‘Ashley!’ He whispered into her mouth and she gave an instinctive little mew of pleasure in response. She could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with hers and smell his masculine scent invading her nostrils.

  ‘J-Jack,’ she breathed—and then said it again, as if to reassure herself that she wasn’t dreaming. ‘Jack.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said unsteadily. ‘Yes.’

  Reaching down, he began to unbutton her coat, slipping his hand inside to cup one breast over her sweater, and Ashley jerked with shock and pleasure at the unexpected intimacy. Beneath the cheap wool, she felt her flesh swell and become acutely sensitive beneath his seeking fingers. And then he moved his hand, sliding it underneath the sweater to alight on her bra itself.

  His fingers had now encountered a painfully tight nipple and were rubbing at it deliciously through the lace of her bra and Ashley found her senses clamouring to have him remove the obstruction. To have his whole hand cup the exquisitely aching mound. She could feel her nipple pushing painfully against the lace—as if her bra had suddenly become several sizes too small.

  ‘Jack,’ she moaned.

  ‘You like that, don’t you?’ he whispered.

  ‘Oh, yes. Yes.’ She’d never felt like this before—never had a man touch her like this before. For several seconds she allowed the strange, sweet sensation to wash over her and felt the rush of desire which was spiralling up inside her. She registered her sudden urgent need for something more and allowed herself to wriggle restlessly in his arms.

  ‘Please,’ she heard herself whisper, as if someone had planted the word inside her mouth. ‘Please keep doing that.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ he ground out.

  No. It was her pleasure. Hers. She’d never thought that her body could feel like this. As if it were on fire—and only Jack could extinguish that fire. She met the urgent thrust of his hips with an instinctive one of her own—until reality hit her like a ton of bricks dropped from a great height and smashed into her thoughts.

  She was standing on a bleak and barren moor, letting her boss make love to her!

  Her breath coming in ragged little gasps, she tore herself out of his arms and stared up at his face—where another shock awaited her. For this was Jack Marchant as she had never seen him before, his features all dark and saturnine—looking like the devil himself. This was no longer her proud and aristocratic boss, she realised, but a sexually aroused stranger she didn’t really recognise.

  She pulled her sweater down over her aching breasts. ‘What… what do you think you’re doing?’ she stumbled.

  With an effort he sucked air back into his lungs and an unbearable frustration coated his words with bitterness. ‘Oh, come on—Ashley. A little less of the outraged innocence,’ he bit out. ‘That kiss has been weeks in the making—you know that and I know that. And please don’t pretend you didn’t want it as much as I did. It’s bad enough to be thwarted in a situation like this—but hypocrisy would make it simply intolerable.’

  Shame washed over her. Ashley opened her mouth to protest—to fling his unjust accusations back at him—but how could she do that, when deep down she knew that he spoke nothing but the truth? This had been weeks in the making—if she was honest enough to admit to all the little glances and side-glances they’d exchanged. That feeling of excitement and frustration whenever he was around. And she couldn’t deny that she had wanted it—maybe she was just taken aback by how much he seemed to want her, too.

  She was confused and bewildered, and Ashley’s instinct to escape overrode everything. Her cheeks burning with shame, she turned her back on him and ran—her footsteps slipping and sliding in the soft mud as she gathered pace.

  ‘Ashley!’

  She heard his angry roar from behind her but she paid it no attention and carried on running, her breath coming in hot, painful gasps as she fled towards the house.

  Once inside, she pulled off her muddy shoes and rushed upstairs to her room, staring at herself in the mirror in disbelief as she saw her unbuttoned coat and the rumpled sweater and remembered Jack’s hand straying inside it and touching her there.

  Briefly, she closed her eyes and swallowed as she recalled that brief burst of pleasure as his fingers had closed over her breast. And that disbelieving sense of joy as he had kissed her so passionately.

  Yet the image in the mirror mocked her with its flushed cheeks and the normally neat hair tumbling down around her face. And if that kiss had made Jack into someone she didn’t really recognise—couldn’t the same be said about her? Was that wide-eyed creature really her?

  Her thoughts spinning, she tried to put it into perspective. She was wary of men, yes—but she wasn’t a prude. She knew that sex was part of life and long ago she had decided that she was going to hold out for love, if such a thing existed. She’d seen too many people sell themselves short—and the truth was that she’d never felt even a flicker of interest in a man before. Not before Jack. And then suddenly along had come this great big flame of desire which now threatened to engulf her.

  But it was wrong on so many levels. Jack was her boss and he was an aristocrat. And things like that mattered. Rich and eligible landowners didn’t form serious relationships with teenage girls who’d spent their life in the care system. Not unless they had traffic-stopping good looks and legs up to their armpits. They might want to take them to bed—to have a bit of a fling with them—but that was as far as it went. This was her job she was putting into jeopardy—a job she needed far too much to risk losing.

  But you liked it, didn’t you? You liked it a lot. For all your supposed high moral stance about men—you capitulated pretty quickly. Maybe you’re more like your mother than you thought you were.

  Her fingers shaking, she pinned her hair back and shook her head at her own flushed reflection. No! She was nothing like her mother.

  And then to her horror she heard a knock on the door and knew it could only be one person.

  ‘Ashley?’

  She heard the dark note underpinning his voice and froze.

  ‘Ashley, answer me! I know you’re in there. Are you going to open the damned door?’

  Her heart thundering, she stared at the dark oak barrier which lay between them. ‘And if I don’t?’

  ‘Then you’ll make me very angry indeed.’

  Angrier than he already sounded? she wondered. But what choice did she have other than to open it? She could hardly barricade herself in there like some sort of cowering princess in a tower. She was going to have to come out and face him some time. Cautiously, she pulled open the door to find him standing there, his black eyes spitting out a series of conflicting messages. Anger, yes—and irritation, certainly. But she wasn’t a fool—and only a fool would have denied the desire which still smouldered at their smoky depths.

  He studied her. ‘So why the dramatics? Why the hell did you run off like that?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

  ‘Not really, no. Was it such a terrible thing which happened, Ashley? Do I repulse you so much that it made your flesh crawl?’

  She blushed as she stared down at the ground—unwilling to meet the accusation in his eyes, terrified that he would see the naked longing in hers. ‘You know you don’t,’ she answered quietly.

  ‘Yes, I do know.’ Frustration heated his blood, swamping all the guilt which coursed through his veins. And it took every ounce of self-possession he knew not to take her into his arms and kiss away that pious expression on her face. ‘So what made you run away like that?’ he questioned again. ‘Were you afraid that I was going to have my wicked way with you out there on the hilltop, whether you liked it or not?’

  Steadily, she lifted her eyes. ‘It was wrong, Jack. You know it was wrong. We both do.’

  Jack shook his head. How dared she—she—tell him what was right and what was wrong? Yet the irony was that she was
speaking the truth—it was wrong—though she didn’t have a clue why. And maybe he should listen to her. Turn his back and walk away while he still could—before he did something he might regret and brought a whole pile of repercussions crashing down around him. Instinct told him to go while he still could and that instinct was strong—but the siren call of his body was even stronger. ‘Why was it wrong?’ he demanded.

  ‘Because… because I work for you. Because of who I am and who you are. We’re worlds apart. Or rather, I don’t come from your sort of world.’ Her voice quietened. ‘But you’re an intelligent man, Jack—and you certainly don’t need me to spell it out for you.’

  His lips curved. ‘So you’re inhibited by old-fashioned ideas about social status, is that it? About your place in society and mine? Why, I’m disappointed in you, Ashley.’

  ‘Well, don’t be—it’s the truth, and you know it.’

  ‘Is it? Even if it was—I wasn’t proposing we spend a lifetime together,’ he added cuttingly. ‘I just thought we could enjoy something which we have both been wanting for some time.’

  It was the best thing he could have said—even if it was also the most hurtful. Because it reinforced what Ashley already suspected. That to Jack, she was just a commodity. Like a bottle of wine or a new shirt—she was something which he would use, enjoy and then ultimately discard. And where would that leave her? Creeping away from here shamefaced when the job ended—with him probably feeling disgusted at himself, maybe even giving her a lukewarm reference as a consequence, and jeopardising future job prospects into the bargain.

  ‘Do you know why they say you should never mix business and pleasure?’ she returned hotly, his arrogance giving her the strength to fight her corner. ‘Because it happens to be true.’ She drew a deep breath as she struggled to convince herself. ‘And it mustn’t happen again, Jack. It mustn’t. Do you understand?’

  There was silence for a moment as he saw the determination written on her now-pale features and the exquisite irony of the situation didn’t escape him. Quiet little Ashley Jones who had been on fire in his arms was now primly telling him that it was a no-go. Did she think he was going to fight to change her mind? Sweep her into his arms and make her rethink? Well, in that case—she was going to be very disappointed.