by Penny Jordan
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHE woke up slowly, warm with languorous pleasure, half reluctant to leave sleep behind and yet knowing that something better awaited her.
The name that murmured past her lips as she reached out to touch the man beside her belonged to the past, and she knew it, but the intensity of the physical pleasure she had experienced with Jonas had been so overpowering that she was still half in shock. It was easier, and much, much safer, to pretend that it was Rick who had made love to her and not Jonas.
She had thought Jonas was asleep and that there was no one other than herself to hear her self-indulgent lie, but the moment Rick’s name was whispered past her lips she knew she was wrong.
Strong fingers bit into her arms as Jonas turned over, pushing her back against the bed and holding her there, one hand momentarily leaving her arm to snap on the bedside lamp.
‘So that’s it, is it? You were using me as a stand-in,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Damn you, Sara—but I should have guessed, shouldn’t I? You’d never have given your precious virginity to me, would you?’
He was barely speaking above a whisper, but she was frighteningly aware of his anger. His mouth, the mouth that had kissed and caressed her skin to such a pitch that it still tingled slightly, was now curled in a vicious snarl of rage, his eyes as cold and empty as a winter landscape.
She sensed that he was using his anger to mask the blow she had struck to his pride, but instead of pleasing her, all she could feel was a vast aching well of emptiness, because she had not pretended he was Rick when he was making love to her. She had known exactly who was holding her in his arms, touching her…loving her. A terrible tearing pain threatened to wrench her body apart as the truth hit her. Despite everything she had taught herself, despite all the barriers she had built up against him, despite the fact that he was now looking at her as though he would like nothing better than to choke her to death, she had fallen in love with Jonas.
For a second her shock was so intense that she thought she was going to black out, her first panicky thought being that whatever else happened Jonas must not discover how she felt. If he did… Not so very long ago he had told her he was on the verge of falling in love with her and she had rejected him; she wasn’t going to give him the opportunity to reject her in the same way.
And if he didn’t reject her…if he did genuinely love her… It made no difference, she reminded herself. After Rick’s death she had made her decision never to leave herself vulnerable to the agony of loving and losing someone ever again, and she intended to stick to that decision.
Yes, it was better that Jonas continued to think she had pretended he was Rick, she told herself stoically, gritting her teeth as she felt him shake her as though he wanted to shake the damning words out of her.
‘What sort of man was he, anyway?’ he demanded thickly, starting down at her in bitter dislike. ‘Why did he never make love to you, Sara? Wasn’t he capable of…’
The sound of her open palm hitting his face startled them both; Sara felt the reverberation of the blow shudder through her body, her eyes closing against the blazing anger she saw in Jonas.
‘Don’t you dare say a word against Rick!’ she heard herself stammering wildly. ‘He loved me and he respected me. We weren’t lovers because there wasn’t time…’
She knew that the anguish in her voice was as much for what she considered her own betrayal of Rick’s memory in loving Jonas as it was for what Jonas was saying. She knew now with the experience that Jonas had given her, with the knowledge of the intensity of physical love that Jonas had shown her, that Rick must have seen her more as a cherished child than an adult woman. And hadn’t that just been what Sam had been trying so gently to tell her during these past weeks?
With an anguished moan of pain, she tried to wrench free of Jonas’s grip and bury her face in the pillow, but he wouldn’t let her; his voice was thick with anger as his fingers tightened round her arms. ‘Oh, no, you don’t… I’m not your precious Rick, content to behave like some bloodless hero out of a children’s story book. I’m a flesh and blood man, Sara, with all the failings and needs that the words imply. So you thought it was Rick who was making love to you, did you?’ he demanded with a soft venom that was somehow more frightening than his earlier anger. ‘Well, then, this time I’d better make sure you know exactly who it is you’re holding in your arms, hadn’t I? Hadn’t I?’ he reiterated gratingly, giving her a little shake.
Sara couldn’t think past his ominous ‘this time’. Did he mean to make love to her again, then? A tiny shock of fear tensed her spine, a betraying tingle of excitement heating her blood.
He moved—not quickly, but with a slow deliberation that held all the frightening grace and beautiful menace of a panther moving in on its prey.
While her heart and pulses leapt with something that was not entirely fear, her body registered the satin heat of Jonas’s against it, the hard length of his leg pinning her to the bed, the slow, insolent movement of his hand as it slid from her arm to her wrist and from there to her waist and her hip, finally coming to rest on the quivering vulnerability of her stomach.
‘Now,’ he demanded softly. ‘Tell me that you know who I am. Say my name.’
The soft words rippled against her ear, as innocent as a wave caressing the beach, but waves could be dangerous, treacherous, and Sara felt her body tremble in apprehension as it recognised the willpower cloaked by the gentle whisper.
She found she was swallowing, her throat tight with nerves, tight and dry, far too dry for her to say anything.
‘Say it. Say my name.’
He wasn’t even watching her now; instead his attention seemed to have strayed to her body, his voice deceptively light and expressionless. His hand moved, making the nerve endings under her skin pulse and flutter.
Drawn against her will to watch what he was doing, Sara saw his hand stroke from her stomach up to her breast.
Hot colour sprang into her cheeks as she saw the way her nipples hardened in exultant anticipation of his touch.
‘Your body wants me, doesn’t it, Sara? He never possesed it, never taught it the pleasure of which it was capable. You want me.’
She had intended to deny it, to fight him every inch of the way, so whose was this voice that ached and cracked with longing?
‘Yes… Yes…’
His hand had reached her breast now, sliding warmly beneath it, cupping it so that she could feel the faint callouses against her more tender skin. He moved, dipping his head, and her whole body quivered in anticipation of the sensation of his mouth against her breast.
Little shock waves of mingled arousal and frustration exploded through her as he murmured, a breath away from her skin, ‘Yes, who, Sara?’
Like Shylock, he wanted to extract every last ounce of retribution, to wring from her payment in full for letting him think she had pretended he was Rick.
And the longer she withheld his victory from him, the more he would make her pay. Every second that ticked past accrued interest on the debt, and she shivered again. Not in desire this time, but in despair, sensing the abyss opening up in front of her. To admit that it was Jonas who aroused her body, who made her ache and cry out for fulfilment, was to lay herself open to unimaginable pain, but if she refused, if she pretended she was not in the least affected by the warm pressure of his hand against her breast, or by the promise implied by the proximity of his mouth and its moist heat, then he would go on and on, until she was forced to concede.
Surely it was better to give in now, while she still had some last remnants of self-control, when she could get away with admitting merely that sexually she found him desirable? If she withheld that admission, who knew what she might be driven to betray to him in the intense paroxysm of pleasure she knew all too well he could drive her to?
And yet one part of her wanted that from him, wanted him to make slow and languorous love to her until both of them melted in the fierce heat of culmination, until neither of
them had the willpower to resist the force they had built together.
Sanity urged the former course. Swallowing against the dryness in her throat, she whispered huskily, ‘Yes, Jonas.’
She went limp with relief as his hand left her breast, and yet part of her ached for him to go on touching her. He moved, rolling his weight off her body, but as she made to scramble away his arms came round her, securing her against him, taking her with him as he moved so that she lay sprawled on top of him, chest to chest, unable to even take a breath without becoming excruciatingly aware of him.
‘What are you doing? You got what you wanted.’
Panic made her voice high and tremulous, the deep sound of the laughter rocking his chest making her tense, her eyes widening on his face.
‘I’m not as easily satisfied as your precious Rick,’ he told her mockingly. ‘That was just a small foretaste of what I want from you, my lovely.’
She saw then that he had just been playing with her, that nothing less than her total subjugation would satisfy the blow she had struck his ego, and she began to fight against his imprisoning arms, gasping out in panic as she felt them tighten round her, effortlessly constraining her, every frantic movement of her body serving only to enforce on her the masculinity of his.
He waited until she was breathing in harsh sobs of exhaustion before saying softly, ‘Now we’ll begin. Say after me, I want you, Jonas.’
The words stuck in her throat, held prisoner there not so much by fear but by the awful realisation of how true they were. She did want him; shamingly, shockingly so.
Logic and sanity were ignored now. Something more primitive ruled her senses. Her mouth locking in a hard line of denial, she turned her head away.
‘Cat got your tongue, has it? Maybe this will help.’
He moved, and she had to tense every muscle against the slow exploration of his mouth as it caressed her throat, its pressure subtly increasing until he reached the pulse at its base. The sensation of his mouth closing over it and sucking her skin in a rhythm that quickly matched the frantic throbbing of her vein made her go weak with longing, but she still refused to give in.
‘Well, if that didn’t appeal to you, perhaps you’d prefer this…’
Not appeal to her? Sara shuddered as his mouth left her throat. He knew exactly what he was doing to her; she had betrayed herself physically even if she had remained silent verbally.
His hands gripped her waist, lifting her slightly. Still fighting for breath, she looked down at him, suppressing a sharp cry of denial as she saw his tongue stroke teasingly against her nipple.
Over and over again he repeated the light caress, first on one breast and then on the other, until she was shivering with a mixture of arousal and anguish. She raised her hands to push herself away from him and instead found that she was curling her fingers into his skin, scarring its surface with her nails as her spine arched in involuntary ecstasy, her breasts swollen and eager for the heat of his mouth.
When he stopped touching her she shivered convulsively, unable to stop herself looking down at her body. Her nipples throbbed deeply pink; her skin was flushed and still faintly moist from his tongue.
‘Say it.’
The words whispered invitingly against her skin, tormenting and tantalising her as she watched the movement of his mouth and then heard herself saying as though she had no will of her own, ‘I want you, Jonas.’
‘And this, you want this. Tell me, Sara.’
His mouth closed over her breast, gentle at first as he caressed her swollen nipple and then more demanding as he felt her shuddering response.
‘God, yes… Yes…’ Barely aware of speaking, Sara arched her back, inviting him to do with her whatever he wished.
His mouth found the valley between her breasts and teased the tiny bead of sweat forming there, his hands sliding to her hips and then her thighs, moving her so that she straddled him. His skin felt hot against her own, burning into her.
‘And this. You want this?’
His voice wasn’t as cool or as steady now, but Sara had all but forgotten what had first precipitated his touch. When his fingers stroked softly against her body, seeking and then finding the intimate feminine core of her, she cried out in pleasure, pressing eagerly against his caress, finding relief from the frantic tension building up inside her by burying her mouth against his shoulder. Her tongue tasted the salt tang of his sweat, and found it enjoyed the maleness of him, her hands eagerly caressing his skin as she tried to stifle her whimpers of pleasure against his throat.
‘Say it. Say that it’s me you want.’
Say it? Didn’t he know? Couldn’t he tell?
‘I want you. I want you, Jonas.’ The words, once said, seemed to pour out of her as though they had previously been dammed, words that had no meaning save that they formed a litany that told him of her pleasure and her desire, his name interspersed with her sharp high cries of need.
The world exploded in a spasm of pleasure that tore his name from her throat; her body was reluctant to lose contact with his as he gently rolled her over on to her back.
As he leaned over her, she reached up and touched his face, her eyes closed, her fingers drifting down his throat. His skin was slick with sweat, like her own. He had given her so much pleasure, but he…
Her hand slid down his body.
‘No!’
The harsh denial in his voice as he captured her fingers shocked her into opening her eyes. His face was flushed, his eyes brilliant with arousal. He wanted her, didn’t he?
She glanced at his body covertly, and felt his fingers tighten around her own.
‘Not yet.’ His voice was thick and unsteady. ‘This time there’s going to be no misunderstanding, Sara. This time there’ll be no room in your mind for anyone but me. You’ve thrown your precious Rick in my face once too often, and I intend to make sure that you won’t be able to spend any more nights bringing him back to life in your imagination. From now on, whenever you try to imagine he’s making love to you, you are going to have the reality of my lovemaking to compete with.’ His voice had become harsh again, and she was sorely tempted to tell him the truth. Instead she said pettishly, ‘Jonas, I’m tired…’ and wished she hadn’t as she saw the glitter in his eyes and heard him say silkily,
‘Oh, no, you’re not, but you will be, I promise you that.’
And then as she closed her eyes against that glittering look she felt his mouth moving delicately against her skin, caressing the slight swell of her stomach.
Shocked by the ripple of sensation coiling through her, she struggled to move away, kicking out at him.
His fingers curled round her ankle, constraining her, and then, like the movements in some perfectly choreographed ballet, his fingertips and mouth moving in perfect synchronisation, they travelled slowly together from opposing directions to the swollen heart of her body where her womanhood awaited the gentle caress of his fingers and the sensual stroke of his tongue against and into her honeyed warmth with eager anticipation even while her mind and her conscience screamed out in shocked rejection of what he was doing to her.
She tried to squirm away from him, to deny the slow-building waves of pleasure gathering inside her, but somewhere her will deserted her and instead she heard herself crying out his name in husky supplication until he gently released her, taking her into his arms and letting her feel how much caressing her had aroused him.
‘You’ve told me how much you want me, Sara,’ he muttered thickly against her mouth. ‘Now show me.’
And as though she had spent all her life in preparation for this very moment, Sara lifted herself against him, stroking her hands down his back, pressing her open lips against his throat and nuzzling his skin until she heard him groan in pleasure.
Beneath her palms his buttocks felt hard and lean. She arched up against him, her hands trembling as they sought his hips. Moving to accommodate her, he shuddered violently the first time she touched him intimately, his res
ponsiveness to her touch unlocking some primitive force within her that wouldn’t let her rest until she had guided and absorbed his body within her own.
‘Love me, Jonas. Please love me.’
She was barely aware of moaning the words against his skin, or of repeating them over and over again until he silenced them with his mouth, his body reestablishing its mastery over her own as it set the pace for their lovemaking. He took her to a climax that made her cry out in astonishment and pleasure, her lips whispering his name over and over again until the sound was drowned out by his harsh cry of release, the heat of him deep within her so unbearably poignant that for a moment she felt she wanted to cry.
CHAPTER NINE
WHERE on earth was she? The angle of the light coming across the bed was unfamiliar, and so was the curious lethargy that filled her body. And then, shatteringly, she remembered. Sitting up with a cry, Sara snatched up the bedclothes as she remembered that she was naked, but she needn’t have bothered; she was completely alone.
Hardly daring to believe the previous night had actually happened, she glanced fearfully at the pillow next to her own. Sure enough, it still held the indentation of another head.
Jonas. Where was he? There was no sound from the adjoining bathroom. She glanced at her watch, appalled to discover how late she had slept; Jonas must be outside working. Thank God for that. At least that meant she would be able to leave without enduring the humiliation of having to see him again. In fact, she decided as she gathered up her clothes and locked herself in the bathroom, she intended to make sure she never had to see him again. Her mind was a mass of seething feverish thought as she tried to make plans. She would tell Sam that she needed to spend some time in London looking for accommodation and a job; he would protest, but she would convince him, and Vanessa was there to take care of Carly. It wouldn’t be long before he and Vanessa married. The wedding… She would have to attend the wedding and Jonas would be there. She winced as she put her full weight on her aching ankle; she would have to overcome that hurdle later. For now she must put as much distance between herself and Jonas as she could.