by Miranda Lee
Now she was totally naked, and he was parting her legs again, exposing her totally to his gaze. An intoxicating mixture of shame and excitement flooded Justine as he touched her there while watching her face. A wild heat claimed her cheeks, and her lips fell raggedly apart. But it was him she was soon wanting inside her, not those tormenting, teasing fingers which quickly drove her insane.
‘Marcus...please,’ she groaned, and actually moved her legs wider, begging him with her body as well as her eyes.
‘All right, witch,’ he said thickly. ‘If that’s what you want. But that won’t be the end to it. Not by a long shot.’
She gasped her shock when his head began to bend towards the liquid fire between her legs. For that was not what she wanted at all! Naturally she’d read of such an activity, had heard Trudy wax lyrical about it. In truth, she was sure at some other time she might enjoy it with Marcus. But not right now, not when she was desperate to have him inside her, to hold him to her and feel their flesh as one. She was sure now it wouldn’t hurt. His fingers had slipped inside her so easily. She knew she was very ready.
‘No,’ she groaned, and his head jerked upright, dark eyes startled.
‘No?’
‘No,’ she repeated. ‘Not that. Not right now. I want you, Marcus. Only you.’
‘But I don—’
‘Marcus, please,’ she broke in, and cupped his face with her hands, using the leverage to slide her bottom to the edge of the vanity, wrapping her ankles around his hips and drawing him towards her. ‘Do it. Now. I can’t wait another moment.’
‘God help me,’ he groaned, and did what she wanted. Swiftly. Passionately. Roughly.
Justine couldn’t help it. She screamed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MARCUS sat at his desk, his head in his hands.
The sound of water running had his head slowly lifting. He stared at the washroom, with its firmly shut door, and thought of her pale, pain-filled face; of his own shocked self stumbling back from the vanity, of his staring down at the bright red spot on the white tiled floor.
He hadn’t known what to do, or to say. Yet he had said something, hadn’t he? Some thoughtless obscenity. And she’d looked up at him with such scorn in her eyes.
‘Just go,’ she’d flung at him, pressing her knees together and wrapping goose-bumped arms over her bare breasts. ‘Get out!’
So he had. And now he was slumped at his desk, his largely buttonless shirt hanging limply around him, his mind in chaos.
But, good God, how could he have known, or guessed? Virgins didn’t waltz into a bank and practically prostitute themselves to loans officers! Virgins didn’t let men they hardly knew caress their bare breasts while their mothers were downstairs! Virgins didn’t willingly go down on a man in a washroom, damn it!
Marcus groaned at the memory. Her sweetly eager lips had driven him instantly insane, had sent him hurtling towards that point of no return so that he’d had to stop her. Even then he’d been beyond rational thought, had succumbed to a recklessness totally alien to his character. When she’d begged him to just do it, he’d brushed aside his usual passion for protection to embrace a different passion, namely Justine Montgomery, the breathlessly beautiful, wickedly wanton, deliciously decadent daughter of the equally decadent Grayson Montgomery.
But the Justine Montgomery he’d thought she was didn’t exist.
A virgin! He still could not believe it. How had it come about? How could a girl looking like her, responding as she did to a man’s touch, reach almost twenty-two without having intimately known a male body?
Different if she’d been locked in a convent somewhere. Or been raised in a strictly religious community. The circles she moved in, however, were not exactly renowned for their shrinking violets!
The washroom door opened and Justine walked out with her head held high, her eyes still full of scorn.
‘I was right about you,’ she said, with more than a touch of bitterness. ‘Trudy was wrong.’
Trudy? Now, why would Justine be talking to Trudy Turrell about her relationship with him?
Marcus’s brain finally snapped back into gear.
Trudy Turrell.
Plan B...
‘I said you’d run a mile once you found out,’ Justine went on scathingly.
Marcus thought that would be a damned good idea, if good old plan B was at the bottom of all this. Had Justine been trying to trap him with a pregnancy just now? Had all her so-called eagerness been just part of the plan to ensnare a rich husband for herself? Had her seemingly stunning responses all been an act?
If they had, then by God, she was the greatest faker he’d ever met!
Yeah, right, Marcus, the cynical voice of experience argued back. You’re God’s gift to women, aren’t you, my boy? They can’t resist you. They always love you just for yourself, and never for what you can do for them. She couldn’t possibly be faking it, could she? She’s been saving herself just for you. Waiting for Mr Right to come along before she gives herself in true love.
Huh! And I’m Little Lord Fauntleroy!
The more likely truth is that she’s a mercenary ex-rich bitch who’s always seen her virginity as a marketable commodity to be bargained with, or sold to the highest bidder in marriage. Don’t forget her silver car, that cynical voice reminded him. And her home. And her designer clothes.
She wants it all. That’s the bottom line. Let’s face it, Marcus, her fancying you was very sudden, and so very, very convenient, wasn’t it?
Marcus’s heart hardened with his thoughts.
No female was going to make a fool of him a second time. Yet, dear God, he still wanted her—maybe more than ever. No matter what her motives, the thought of being her first lover, of taking that beautiful body and bending it to his will, was incredibly arousing.
But there would be no pregnancy. And no marriage.
‘You should have told me,’ he said.
She looked away from his searching eyes, hugging herself defensively. ‘So it seems.’
‘Why didn’t you, Justine?’ he persisted, wanting to see if she could come up with a smooth lie, instead of the truth about plan B.
She shrugged. ‘What does it matter now?’
Marcus had his answer. He was amazed at how much it hurt.
Her eyes were mocking as they turned to meet his. ‘I presume Saturday night is off?’
After all she’d put him through? Hell, no! He stood up and walked smoothly over to her, congratulating himself on his own acting ability. His arms curled over her shoulders and he looked down into her immediately wary eyes. ‘Now, why would Saturday night be off?’ he murmured, the warm smile on his face belying the coldness in his heart.
‘You’re...you’re not going to run a mile?’ she asked, with what might have been a heart-wrenchingly touching manner...if it had been genuine.
‘Of course not. Now that I’m over my initial shock, I find myself enchanted by the thought of your not ever having been with another man. My only regret is that I was so rough with you just now. Though you have to admit my assuming you were a woman of the world was hardly my fault, my love,’ he added, with just the right amount of gentle reproach.
She blushed delightfully. Now, that was a skill worth having, he thought cynically. Being able to conjure up a blush at the drop of a hat.
Aware of his still simmering frustration, he bent to press light kisses to her cheek, her nose, her mouth, struggling all the while not to be taken in by the soft gasps of seeming delight she made.
‘I...I should have told you,’ she confessed breathlessly against his lips.
‘Mmm. Never mind. No harm done.’ Now he kissed her properly, though still carefully restraining his hunger. Damn, but she was a good kisser, he conceded, marvelling at the way she let her body melt into his, at the way she seemed so desperate for his tongue in her mouth.
And who knew? Maybe, having held her sexuality in check for so long, she was now unable to control it. Perhaps Pandor
a’s Box had been well and truly opened. It was a tantalising thought, and one which Marcus would savour for the rest of the week.
‘You’re not angry with me?’ she managed to say between kisses.
‘Not in the slightest,’ came his quite truthful reply. For anger was no longer his prime emotion at that moment. Hell, he had to get out of there fast or he’d be right back where he started, and still without any protection at hand.
But it was Justine who stopped the kissing, drawing back to stare up at him with gratifyingly glazed eyes. ‘I...I must get back to work, Marcus.’
‘Must you?’ Already his body was demanding he coerce her back to his place, where he could be alone with her at his leisure.
‘Please don’t try to stop me,’ she said shakily, as though reading his mind.
‘Could I?’ he drawled.
‘You know you could. But if you like me at all, Marcus, please don’t. Not now. Not tonight.’
Her voice broke, as if she was on the verge of tears. As he looked down into her glistening eyes Marcus felt his own heart squeeze tight
Hell, he agonised, and looked away quickly. Not that. For pity’s sake, not that.
He whirled to stalk back behind his desk, buttoning the one remaining button on his shirt and tucking the tails firmly into the waistband of his trousers. ‘Very well,’ he said curtly. ‘I have to do some work myself, anyway. Though I think I should do mine at home, don’t you? Remove myself from this occasion of sin.’
‘Occasion of sin?’ she repeated blankly.
‘That’s being within touching distance of you, darling Justine,’ he said drily. ‘If you’d spent time in St Andrew’s Home for Wayward Boys, you’d know all about occasions of sin, and the many ways us wayward boys encountered them. You had “occasion of sin” written all over you from the moment you walked into this bank. My blood pressure still hasn’t recovered from that lime-green dress you were almost wearing.’
Damn, she was blushing again. How did she do that? The guilt it evoked in him was incredible! What he needed was a change of subject. And a change of scene.
‘Before I go,’ he said as he swept up his car keys from the desktop. ‘What day can your mother come into the bank to sign all the papers for the loan?’
‘Oh. Um. Any morning this week, I suppose. I could drive her in.’
In the silver sports, he thought acidly.
‘I’ll have Grace ring you tomorrow to confirm,’ he said. ‘She can also arrange a mutually convenient time for the removalist to come.’
‘Removalist?’
His irritation knew no bounds. What was wrong with the girl? Where had her brains gone to all of sudden?
‘For the paintings and antiques, remember?’ he said ‘I’ll get Grace to make the arrangements and give you the details when she rings.’
‘Will you ring me tomorrow?’ she asked.
One of his eyebrows automatically lifted. ‘Do you want me to?’ he said, wondering what she was up to now. Maybe she’d changed her mind and wanted to see him sooner than Saturday night. If she did, then that might mean she really wanted him. Him, Marcus. Not him the high-profile president of a bank and potential partner for a gravytrain life.
‘Yes, of course.’
There was no ‘of course’ about it. She was beginning to confuse him again.
‘Right,’ he said testily.
‘Why do you say it like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like you’re angry.’
He sighed. The last thing he wanted was to make her suspicious of his motives. ‘Justine, love,’ he said. ‘I’m not feeling too good right now. Men don’t like to be taken that far and then have to stop. Sorry if I was short with you, but I’m in considerable discomfort. It’s called frustration, not anger.’
‘Oh.’
That damned blush again! And it worked every time, making him question everything he believed about her.
‘I think I’d better go,’ he said.
‘Oh, Marcus, I’m so sorry,’ she apologised, and took a tentative step towards him.
His fists clenched into balls at his sides lest he surrendered to the temptation to take her in his arms once more.
‘I’ll ring you tomorrow,’ he promised, then marched determinedly from the room.
‘I told you he’d show up at the bank last night,’ Trudy said scathingly on the way to the used-car lot. ‘I’ll bet he didn’t go there to work at all. I’ll bet it was just to seduce you. Which he seems to have done with surprisingly little resistance from you, I might add. I’m surprised you’re making him wait till Saturday night to finish what he started, if you were enjoying yourself that much!’
‘I am too,’ Justine had to admit. ‘But you’ve no idea how much it hurt, Trudy. One minute I was in ecstasy, and then in agony. I thought it would take me at least the rest of the week to recover.’
In more ways than one. She’d been in shock afterwards, both physically and emotionally. It had taken her some considerable time to get her thoughts and feelings together. How she’d finished her cleaning job after Marcus left, she’d no idea. When she’d finally arrived home she’d run herself a bath and lain in its soothing warmth for ages before going to bed.
Unfortunately, although exhausted, she hadn’t been able to sleep, the memory of Marcus’s lovemaking fuelling her mind and re-inflaming her body. She’d tossed and turned for hours in a ferment of frustration and longing. Lust, like fire, she finally accepted, could be a good servant but a very bad master. She could well understand why Marcus had been so irritable afterwards.
‘Well, if you’d told him you’d never done it before, like you said you were going to,’ Trudy hissed, ‘then it wouldn’t have hurt so darned much. He’d have known to be more gentle. From the sound of things you’d been acting like you’d been doing it since puberty, so what did you expect? On a vanity! Good Lord! You’ve truly shocked me, Jussie.’
‘I shocked myself, believe me.’
‘You’ve certainly got it bad. Either that, or Marcus is a far better lover than I had him pegged.’
‘I told you he’d be a good lover.’
‘Yes, well, maybe I was wrong there. But I wasn’t wrong to warn you off him. Dad says he’s very bitter about his first wife. He says you’ve got very little chance of marrying Marcus Osborne!’
‘Trudy! How many times do I have to tell you? I have no wish to marry Marcus. I don’t love the man; I just want him to...to...
Justine tried not to colour guiltily when her friend flashed her a truly scandalised look.
But she wasn’t about to be a hypocrite. Or a naive fool. By morning, she’d accepted that her feelings for Marcus were strictly sexual. What she was suffering from couldn’t possibly be love. Love was warm and tender and sweet. Love was safe and secure. It didn’t hurtle one along darkly compelling tunnels into a world where shame and excitement mingled to ignite one’s flesh into uncontrollable flames, where you begged mindlessly for the burning to be stoked even further, where only the most excruciating pain could douse that seemingly unquenchable fire.
Justine had no doubt that Marcus could take her back to that point of no return whenever he wanted, and the next time there would be no excruciating pain to stop proceedings. The barrier of her virginity was gone, banished to the wilderness where once she’d walked in total ignorance of the pleasures of the flesh. She’d tasted the full potential of those pleasures now, and there would be no going back.
Still, having discovered the intensity and power of her sexuality, Justine found the future a little frightening, and somewhat confusing. Her feelings about Marcus were often mixed up. Saturday night seemed both too close and too far away.
‘Do you think we might abandon the subject of men and sex for the next hour?’ she said impatiently as she eased her Nissan over to the kerb outside the first of the used-car lots she planned to visit. ‘I have a car to trade in.’
Trudy was about to argue when she spied a salesman walkin
g in their direction. A very tall, very handsome salesman. Her switch to seduction mode was focused and immediate.
Justine shook her head as her friend bolted out of the car. Trudy had a hide accusing her of acting in a promiscuous fashion! Marcus was her first lover whereas this poor, unsuspecting salesman would probably become another victim in Trudy’s hapless male harem!
Three o’clock that afternoon found Justine the proud owner of a neat white seven-year-old Pulsar, plus a sizeable change-over cheque, which she banked before coming home and finding the rates notice in the mail. She rolled her eyes at the amount, and slid it in the drawer where she kept all the other unpaid bills. At least now she had enough in her account to cover all their living expenses for a few months, with some rainy-day money left over.
‘Mum!’ she called out. ‘Where are you?’
‘Out here, darling,’ came the lilting answer from the direction of the back yard.
The sight of her mother on her hands and knees in the garden, happily weeding, surprised Justine. Not so much the sight of Tom, standing nearby watering, and watching her mother with the tenderest look on his face, his eyes soft, his smile sweet.
Justine’s heart turned over, then twisted slightly. Now, that was the look of love, not the darkly glittering gaze Marcus had bestowed upon her last night. Or that smoulderingly sexual smile which sent her into a tailspin.
‘Hello, Justine,’ Tom said on seeing her.
‘Hi, there, Tom. It’s hot again today, isn’t it?’
‘Not as bad as yesterday. But we could do with some rain. The gardens are beginning to suffer, what with the water restrictions and all. You can only use a hand-held hose during the day, you know. No sprinklers.’
‘It’s been a long, hot summer all right.’
‘Yet we’re only at the end of January.’