by Miranda Lee
He got up immediately to stride into the bathroom and do what he had to do. Afterwards he glared in the vanity mirror and warned himself not to let her lack of experience corrupt his common sense. Virginity did not necessarily equate with innocence. Or ignorance. She still might be faking it.
But what kind of girl would fake what had happened out on that bed? Such a devious action didn’t equate with the Justine he now knew: the daughter who loved her mother and her home with such a selfless passion; the girl who’d sold her car and her clothes to make ends meet; the proud and high-spirited creature who took a cleaning job rather than ask her wealthy lover for money.
Marcus scowled at his reflection, with its wary eyes and sour mouth. The trouble was he’d hugged his lack of faith in females to himself for so long it was difficult to give it up—difficult to be open to real feelings, difficult to accept the possibility that Justine might not be trying to manipulate him for her own ends.
Damn it all, he could not stand his suspicion and distrust any longer. It was getting in the way of what he wanted, which was Justine in his bed—not just for a night, but every night. He wanted her as he’d never wanted Stephany. And he wanted her to want him back the same way. Obsessively. Possessively.
Maybe it was love. Maybe it wasn’t. Whatever, he couldn’t turn his back on it any longer. He had to embrace it. Had to!
Justine could not feel sad as she lay there. Or even regretful. Making love with Marcus had been too wonderful to spoil it with negative thinking. He might not love her, or want to marry her, but she felt sure he liked her now. Maybe he even respected her a little these days. He certainly wanted her. There was no doubt about that in her mind.
The bathroom door opened and she turned to look at him. God, but he was lovely naked. A real man. Broad shoulders. Narrow hips. Long, muscular legs. And the most incredible chest, with a matting of soft dark curls in its centre.
Her eyes lifted to his and her stomach lurched. He’d looked at her with desire before, but this was something else. His narrowed eyes held hers as he came forward and lay down beside her and began to kiss and stroke her anew. Yet with a strangely restrained passion this time. There was nothing remotely rough in his lovemaking this time. His touch was gentle, his mouth teasing, his tongue softly tantalising.
Slowly, skilfully, he rekindled the fires within her, taking her to that point of no return where her own passion took over and she became the aggressor, pushing him onto his back and bending her mouth to him as he had to her.
Marcus gasped when her lips brushed over his straining flesh, clutching at the quilt lest he go all noble and stop her. He hoped and prayed that the part of him which ached to surrender mindlessly to her own seemingly mindless passion would prove much stronger than the stupidly spoiling feelings which kept besieging him. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? For her to be so turned on, so carried away that she would do anything he asked of her, anywhere, any time? Such a scenario had plagued him ever since he’d met her. He wanted it. Hell, he needed it. Only then would this madness have a chance to burn itself out and leave him in peace.
He didn’t want to love her. He wanted it to be nothing but lust. A passing passion. A quenchable fire.
Her lips were moving intimately over him and everything inside him lurched.
Dear God, girl, don’t do it, he found himself thinking in an agony of ambivalence.
For at the back of his mind, in that place reserved for the harshest of truths, he knew if she did, if she took him into the heat of her mouth, if she reduced him to a screaming, mindless mess this way, then he would be lost in her for ever.
He moaned when her lips parted, groaned when she started to take him in. The physical sensation was delicious, the emotional impact devastating. She was doing it. Dear God...
His muscles tensed as he fought the tempestuous feelings which threatened to overwhelm him. But he was powerless against her passion, and his own. She was supposed to become his victim. Instead, he was on the verge of being the vanquished one. A slave to her superior will. Hers, in love and in lust.
Her mouth and hands were masterful, and merciless. They brooked nothing but his total surrender.
Marcus fought the good fight for what felt like an interminable time. Perhaps it was only a minute or two. She stopped for a second, giving him a moment’s respite, making him think he might survive this after all. But then she glanced up at him, blowing him away with the look of blind adoration in her passion-filled eyes.
Now, instead of stopping her, he urged her back to his burning flesh and just let go of everything he’d been battling to contain. His body. His heart. His very soul.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MARCUS stood beside the bed, staring down at her nude body. She was curled up in a foetal position, her left arm covering her perfect breasts, her lovely hair spread out on the pillow, the curve of her bare bottom looking childlike.
Yet there’d been nothing childlike in the way she’d responded to him. She’d been all woman.
How many times had he had her already? He’d lost count. He’d imagined making love to her countless times might rid his body both of his passion for her and those other more disturbing feelings.
It hadn’t worked. He was still flooded with the same emotional weakness every time he touched her. There really wasn’t any point in denying it any longer. He loved her.
So what are you going to do about it, Marcus?
He didn’t know yet. There was no rush to do anything, he supposed. No reason to reveal this unexpected development in their relationship. He really needed time to think about his feelings further, time away from the corrupting and confusing influence of her flesh.
His gut crunched hard as he thought of how that flesh felt. He really could not get enough of it. He walked around the foot of the bed, his gaze still hungry upon her.
But enough is enough, Marcus, he lectured himself. Besides, it won’t work. Even when it’s over, you’ll still want her again. And again. And again.
It was going on three o‘clock. They’d been making love on and off for several hours, their torrid matings punctuated only by coffee and a couple of revitalising swims in the pool. They hadn’t eaten anything except each other. Their conversation had been the talk of lovers. Basically empty but complimentary. Flattering. His especially.
Of course he hadn’t told her he loved her. Neither had she even come close to saying the same in return. But he was in no doubt that her sexual feelings for him were real. The mechanics of orgasm could be faked, he knew. But not the gush of liquid heat which flooded her. Neither could she engineer the way her nipples lengthened and hardened at his touch, or the way her eyes would darken and grow heavy.
He didn’t think a faker would be quite so accommodating, either. There was nothing he’d demanded that she hadn’t done with an abandon which had stunned and enthralled him.
He groaned at the memory, grimacing as he felt his body begin to ache one more amazing time. He really had to wake her and take her home. But he couldn’t. Just thinking of her responses had him lying down beside her and stroking her silky flanks till she uncurled on a low moan and snuggled against him.
‘It’s late,’ he murmured, and kissed her on the shoulder.
‘Mmm,’ was all she said, and she kissed him on the chest.
‘I really should take you home, Justine.’
‘I don’t want to go home.’ She licked at a nipple, then nibbled at it till he gasped.
‘I want to stay here with you for ever,’ she sighed against his skin.
Marcus frowned. Was this the first sign of plan B? He decided to test her.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked carefully. ‘Are you saying you want to move in with me?’
Her head shot up, her hand pushing her hair out of her face. ‘Good heavens, no. I can’t do that. I have a boarding house to run. I didn’t get round to telling you, but we had so many enquiries today from the ad in the Herald. I could fill each of those rooms ten
times over. It was just a...a wish, that’s all. I know I have to go home.’
Perversely, he felt disappointed. If she was in love with him, she would jump at the chance. If she had marital designs on him, she’d be doing cartwheels!
He almost wished she did have designs on him.
‘What if I asked you to?’ he said, and waited in an agony of anticipation for her answer.
She sat up and blinked at him. ‘But why would you do that? I wouldn’t have thought you’d like that idea at all.’
Hardly the answer of one besotted. No, he was the only fool around here who was besotted!
‘I don’t see why not,’ he drawled, and reached out to tweak her nearest nipple, his male pride soothed by the sight of its instant response. If nothing else, she was in lust with him at least.
Or was it lust itself she was enamoured of? That newly discovered dark side of herself which could drive one to go to the bed with the strangest partners? Since Stephany’s departure Marcus had found carnal solace in the arms of women he hadn’t particularly liked. Maybe Justine was doing the same.
The thought that she might not particularly like him at all was quite crushing.
‘What is it that you want of me, Justine?’ he was driven to ask. ‘What are you expecting from our relationship?’
Justine heard the edge in his voice, and the emphasis on the word ‘expecting’. Oh, dear heaven, he thought she was angling for marriage. As much as she loved the man, marriage bad not even entered her head!
How could it when she already knew marriage was the last thing Marcus wanted? Trudy had warned her of this, warned her not to fall in love with him. If he had even a hint of her true feelings, she wouldn’t see hide nor hair of him again.
The concept of never making love with Marcus again, of never experiencing what she knew only he could make her feel, brought forward a brutally pragmatic response to his question. Better she lie than lose him. Better she fulfil the role he wanted her to play than have no part in his life at all.
‘Expecting, Marcus? I’m not sure what you mean. I’m not expecting anything from you but what you offered.’
‘And what was that?’
‘Your friendship. And your body, of course,’ she added with a saucy little smile.
‘My body...’
She stroked down his chest and over his halferect penis, her heart leaping along with his flesh. It was still hard to believe how love had changed her perception of sex. She found it all so delicious. Nothing embarrassed her with Marcus. Everything seemed perfectly natural yet at the same time unbearably exciting. She loved the feel and taste of his body, loved arousing him, loved hearing him groan and tremble deep within her.
He rolled away from her and sat up on the side of the bed. ‘Tell me about plan B,’ he grated out.
Shock tripped her tongue for a moment. ‘Plan...B?’
His glance over his shoulder was harsh.
‘Please don’t act obtuse. Felix mentioned your plan B on the night of his party. He implied I was the first cab off the rank.’
She stared at him, her heart hammering in her chest. Dear God, had he been thinking all the while that she was trying to ensnare him into marriage? Did he believe the things she’d been doing in this bed tonight had been inspired by greed and not genuine feelings? Had he demanded and enjoyed such intimacies with her suspecting she was nothing but a cold-blooded ambitious little bitch?
If he did, then he could go to hell!
‘Firstly, it wasn’t my plan,’ she ground out in an agony of dismay and disappointment. ‘It was Trudy’s. Some ridiculous idea she had about my catching myself a rich husband. At one stage she thought you might be a suitable candidate, but I soon set her straight about that, believe me.’
He had the hide to actually look offended! ‘You don’t think I’m suitable husband material?’
‘You have to be joking. You’re far too bitter and cynical about women. A woman would have to be crazy to want you as her life’s partner.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Yes. When I marry it will be to a man who loves me to pieces and thinks I’m the best thing since sliced bread. A man who would never question my motives because he knows I love him back the same way. I’ve seen first-hand what happens when someone marries for money, not love. I want no part of such a sick bargain.
‘So, do stop worrying, Marcus darling,’ she flung at him, barely controlling her temper. ‘I have no designs on you personally, or on your bank balance. I just want your body. But if you’re not careful, I might not want that any more, either. I’m sure I will very shortly develop an aversion to being intimate with a man who thinks I’m nothing but a gold-digging tramp!’ She scrambled off the bed and began scooping up her clothes from the floor.
‘Justine,’ he said frantically as he followed her around the room. ‘Please don’t be angry. I’m sorry. I...’
‘Oh, I’m not angry!’ she spat at him before he could voice a single more insincere word. ‘I’m bloody furious! To think I waited this long, just to give my virginity to a cynical bastard like you!’
When she went to brush past him on her way to the bathroom, he grabbed her upper arms and forced her to face him, her bundle of clothes a convenient barrier between their naked bodies. Temper, it seemed, was no barrier to desire. Or love. Justine could not believe she still wanted the man!
‘You’re right,’ he growled. ‘I am bitter and cynical about women. I admit it. And I hate it as much as you do. Hate the stupid, narrow-minded, prejudiced view I formed of you the very first night I saw you.’
Justine was taken aback. But it hadn’t been night, the first time they’d met. What on earth was he talking about?
‘Yes. I see you’re confused. I’m not talking about that day you came into the bank. I’d seen you once before that—at one of Felix’s parties. Last November, it was. You wouldn’t have seen me. I was inside, with Felix. You were frolicking in the pool, surrounded by young male admirers.’
‘And?’
‘I watched you for a while...’
Justine remembered that night very well, since it had been the night her father died. She vividly recalled being in that pool, recalled Howard’s silly antics, pulling down her top underwater. She especially recalled flouncing out of the pool like the spoilt little miss she’d been back then.
She thought of Marcus watching her and her cheeks pinkened with embarrassment. ‘I suppose I looked pretty silly,’ she said.
‘I thought you looked incredibly beautiful,’ he said, dark eyes gleaming hotly. ‘I wanted you so much it was almost unbearable. Felix noticed my fascination and said he’d introduce me to you, but I chose to leave instead. I’d already tagged you as another Stephany, you see...’
Justine’s heart twisted at the pain in his eyes. ‘She must have hurt you a lot, Marcus.’
‘She destroyed my dreams.’
‘Your dreams?’
‘Yes. But that’s another story, and not one you’d be interested in. I’m simply trying to explain that when you came into my bank that day I was programmed to believe the worst of you. Not that that made any difference to my wanting you,’ he added ruefully. ‘If anything it seemed to make things worse. Instead of despising you, I desired you even more. I was severely tempted to abandon every standard I valued for just one night with you.’
‘Goodness!’ she exclaimed.
‘Well, I’ve had my one night now and I want you more than ever. I adore everything about you, Justine. Your enthusiasm for life. Your spontaneity. Your passion.’
‘Don’t you mean sex?’
‘That, too. Marry me, Justine. Marry me.’
She gaped up at him. ‘Marry you! But I...I can’t!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because...because if I do, you’ll destroy my dream.’
‘What’s that? Your boarding house plan? Good God, Justine, as my wife you won’t have to bother with that. I’ll clear your debts. Hire your mother a housekeeper. Neither
of you will have to worry about a thing for the rest of your lives.’
Justine wanted to slap his arrogantly insensitive face. Couldn’t he hear himself? He was no better than her father, or Stephany. No talk of love, just money. She resisted the urge to cry, or scream, settling for straight talk instead.
‘No, Marcus,’ she said firmly. ‘You’ve got it all wrong. My dream has nothing to with houses. It’s about love.’
‘Love?’
‘Yes. You sound as though you’ve never heard of it, despite it being a four-letter word! The fact is, Marcus, I promised myself I would never marry except for love. True love. Not simply to fulfil a sexual attraction. I’m sorry, but you...you just don’t fill the bill.
‘Thank you for asking,’ she raced on blithely, before she could do anything stupid like cry. ‘But it really wasn’t necessary. Men who deflower virgins don’t have to marry them in this day and age. I’m sure once you think about it later you’ll be relieved I didn’t take you up on your impulsive offer. After all, you don’t love me, Marcus. You simply want to make love to me, which you can still enjoy, quite frequently and free of charge, without the encumbrance of a wife. Because I like making love to you too, darling. You’re as great in bed as I thought you’d be. Now I’m going to have a shower and get dressed. Then I think you’d better drive me home before Mum comes after you with a shotgun.’
Marcus stared, wide-eyed, after her retreating nakedness, his head whirling with a perverse joy.
She’d knocked him back. Told him where to stick his offer of marriage, and his bank balance. She was nothing like Stephany. Nothing at all!
Except in that she doesn’t love you, you fool, the ugly voice of brutal honesty piped up, dampening his exuberance a little. You heard her. She’ll only marry for true love.
Then he’d have to make her fall in love with him, wouldn’t he?
But how?
Sex? Oh, yes, he’d use sex...at every opportunity. He thought she was great in bed, did she? Well, he aimed to be great out of bed as well. She ain’t seen nuttin’ yet!