Such Sweet Poison/Blind Passion

by Anne Mather

  After that, things had become a little blurred. She remembered Reed loosening the buttons of her shirt and exposing her functional cotton bra. She remembered her own regret that she hadn’t been wearing something more glamorous, but Reed hadn’t been interested in under wear. With infinite patience, he had urged her to loosen the single clip that secured her bra, and then his eager fingers had taken its place.

  Even now, Helen could remember the spurt of pleasure she had felt when he eased her back against the cushions of the sofa. The sensation, which had emanated from her stomach, and spread down into her thighs, had expanded when Reed touched her nipples with his lips. With his tongue laving the tight areola, he had suckled gently at each rosy peak, his teeth lightly grazing the taut, sensitised flesh.

  Somehow—the details of it were confused now—he had removed the remainder of her clothes, and, although it had not been cold in the hotel room, wherever his tongue touched she felt the coolness of air against her overheated skin.

  She didn’t know exactly when he had carried her into the bedroom. She did remember noticing that the bed had been turned down by the efficient staff at the hotel, but Reed had paid no attention to the neatly folded sheets. Depositing Helen on the bed, he came down quickly beside her, and only when she felt the hair on his chest, teasing her swollen breasts, did she realise that he was now as naked as she was.

  However, it was when he moved over her, when his weight crushed her down into the soft mattress, that she knew a moment’s pause. The totally unfamiliar pressure of a flat, muscled stomach was startling enough, but when he eased one of his legs between her thighs she felt a mindless panic. His tumescent masculinity, throbbing against her leg, was unbearably daunting. And yet it was exciting, too, and she didn’t know how to handle it.

  But her panic hadn’t lasted, she conceded drily. As if sensing her tremulous uncertainty, Reed had found her mouth again with his lips, his tongue urging her to participate in its possession. Slowly, but inevitably, her fears had subsided beneath its hot persuasion, and when she had learned her lesson well and entwined her tongue with his, his reaction had driven all hesitation from her mind.

  Of course, Helen remembered bitterly, there had been one other—minor—complication, but Reed had not let that faze him. His discovery that she was a virgin had caused him to utter a savage expletive, but it had been too late then. Looking back, she supposed it was unreasonable to imagine that he might have been able to stop at that critical moment. Neverthe less, it was easier now to blame him for what he had done.

  Not that he had done much more than penetrate the untried folds of her flesh on that occasion, she acknowledged. Her tightness, and his own urgent desire, had accomplished his needs in less than thirty seconds. With a helpless groan at his own lack of control, he had drawn back from her, spilling himself needlessly on the white linen sheet.

  She supposed she could have left him then. Indeed, she should have left him then. Apart from the fact that technically she was no longer a virgin, a circumstance that was hardly original in a girl of her age even then, she doubted she had conceived. It was always possible, of course. Nothing was certain. But somehow she didn’t think so. It had all been too quick. But she didn’t leave.

  Initially, it would have been difficult to do so. Reed was slumped half across her, and aside from that she felt curiously weak and exhausted. So exhausted, in fact, that she closed her eyes, and when she opened them again she knew she must have been asleep. Her body felt cool, cooler than it had done before, and although she felt chilled and clammy she was quite alert.

  She thought Reed must have been asleep, too, because when she tried to move out from under him he groaned protestingly. But, like her, he awakened, blinking sleepy eyes in the lamplight, and gazed at her half unseeingly, before burying his face between her breasts.

  She felt his stirring arousal instantly, and this time she was determined not to give in to him. But, somehow, when his sleepy mouth found hers, and his hand slid down between her legs, the demands of the situation no longer seemed so distinct. Whereas before she had been stiff and awkward, now she was totally relaxed, and his questing fingers made a nonsense of her resistance. Almost without her volition, her legs splayed to allow his probing exploration, and she moaned words against his lips that she had never used before.

  This time, when he eased himself inside her, there was none of the tension she had felt before. The sharp jabbing pain that had left her feeling weak and helpless didn’t happen. All she felt was a warm fulfilment, and an aching need to accommodate his demands.

  But it was her own demands that eventually sent her trembling over the brink of total surrender. This time, it was her satisfaction he sought before his own. His initially gentle possession, and the persuasive brush of his lips, had inspired an urgent need inside her, and it was she, Helen remembered now, who had begged him to go on.

  And he had, Helen conceded, with an involuntary shiver of recollection. He had driven them both to the edge of insanity, time and time again, before her feelings had splintered into a dizzying arc of pleasure. And, if he had thought of withdrawing from her then, she wouldn’t have let him, her legs and arms wrapped around him in a positive frenzy of delight…

  Of course, the accusations had come later. It had been two in the morning when Helen left the hotel, and by then she was wrapped in an aura of self-recrimination.

  Perhaps she had slept again, she wasn’t sure, but what she was sure of was that Reed hadn’t stirred the second time, when she had scrambled out from under him. He had been sound asleep, she recalled, one of his legs imprisoning hers within the intimacy of his thighs. And, although she had had to shift it, and him, to slide off the bed, he had only burrowed against the pillows and slept on.

  She had dressed in the exquisitely appointed sitting-room, rescuing her clothes from where Reed had dropped them earlier. That had been the start of her doubts and confusion, she remembered. Everything had looked so different to her then.

  Picking up her panties from the floor, she had felt a little sick, and degraded, and what had previously been a sense of joy became a source of shame. There were smears on her legs, but she didn’t stop to wash herself. She was half afraid he might wake up, and she didn’t want that to happen. She needed time to adjust herself to her feelings, before she saw him again.

  Only she didn’t see him again, Helen reflected now. And, until today, she had blamed him for everything that came after. Ironically enough, her parents had not found out what had happened. Not then. For once, her father had been asleep when the taxi had deposited her at the front door, and if her mother had heard her come in she had refrained from mentioning it. If her mother had been awake, she had probably thought to save her daughter the hassle of having to explain where she had been to her father. And later on, when Helen had discovered she was pregnant, no one but she had remembered the tumultuous events of that night.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TO HELEN’S RELIEF, Reed did not join them for supper that evening. When Jon asked where his father was, Victoria irritably declared that he had gone into town, and as she was in no mood to humour her nephew the atmosphere at the table was decidedly chilly.

  Not that Helen felt very hungry. Even though she had had next to nothing all day, her appetite was virtually non-existent, and she was glad that Jon put it down to her earlier sickness. He probably assumed she was just a bad sailor, she thought ruefully. Which was a pity really, because until that scene with Reed she had enjoyed the day.

  Enjoyed the day? Her choice of terminology momentarily staggered her. How could she have enjoyed anything with Reed Wyatt? But the fact was, she had, and that was half the reason she was feeling as she did.

  At least Susie—whoever she was—had gone home, she thought gratefully. Holding her own against that young woman, who was determined to stake her place in Jon’s affections, was not something she felt capable of handling tonight. Susie had been too shrewd, too knowing, almost, and until she had he
rself in control again Helen could do without the aggravation.

  Jon, however, was another matter. There was no avoiding him, and in spite of all her efforts she couldn’t go on treating him as she had before. Reed was there, between them, as he had been from the first moments of their arrival. And what then had been a cause of some alarm was now a fully fledged feeling of raw panic.

  Not that she really feared that Reed might tell Jon about their association. Somehow, that was not an issue. Reed would do nothing to hurt his son; she knew that. What was truly troubling her was her own part in what had happened.

  And she didn’t just mean the events of ten years ago, she acknowledged unhappily. She couldn’t forget how she had reacted that afternoon. All the time she was taking her shower, she had wondered what she would have done if he had kissed her again. There was no point in pretending she had been indifferent to the hard possession of his mouth…

  ‘Shall we go into town after supper, too?’

  Jon’s question jarred her into an awareness of her surroundings, and Helen struggled to keep the betraying colour out of her face. But, just for a moment, she had been imagining how it would feel to take a shower with Reed, and her palms were still clammy from the inevitable conclusion.

  ‘Um—’ She tried to think sanely and sensibly, but it was practically impossible with the moist proof of her arousal damp between her thighs. ‘Um—no,’ she got out at last. ‘No, I don’t think so. If you don’t mind, I am rather tired, and I thought I might have an early night.’

  ‘OK.’ But Jon was regarding her with curious eyes, and she wondered exactly what he was thinking. He couldn’t possibly suspect that there was anything between her and his father, could he? For God’s sake, she had done nothing but respond to Reed’s kiss.

  ‘I should have thought last night’s visit to town would have satisfied your desire for entertainment for the time being,’ Victoria ob served sharply, and for once Helen was glad of her caustic intervention. At least it gave Jon something else to think about, and she made an effort to swallow a piece of fillet steak.

  ‘You should be thanking me,’ Jon responded carelessly, apparently indifferent to his aunt’s feelings. ‘You wanted publicity for the gallery, didn’t you? Well, with my assistance, you got it.’

  ‘Not that kind of publicity, thank you,’ retorted Victoria, ringing the bell for the maid to come and clear the table. ‘Though I dare say you get the publicity you deserve.’

  That stung, and Jon took an angry breath. ‘Don’t you criticise me,’ he snarled. ‘Just because you think I spoiled your little soirée! What’s the matter? Didn’t Luther make the grade? I heard you’d been chasing after him, like a bitch in—’

  ‘Jon!’

  ‘How dare you?’

  Helen and Victoria spoke simultaneously, but Jon paid little heed to either of them.

  ‘And while we’re on the subject,’ he added, as his aunt’s face turned purple, ‘what makes you think you have the right to stop me from attending the opening anyway? You may think it’s your gallery, but it was my father who financed it, and I’m his son.’

  ‘I sometimes wonder,’ declared Victoria unforgivably, and Helen, who was not used to this kind of family feuding, wished she could just disappear.

  ‘Well, I am,’ said Jon coldly, his lips curling contemptuously. ‘And this is my house. What’s more, it’ll belong to me one day. Never to you!’ And, tossing down his napkin, he pushed back his chair and walked out of the room.

  ‘More’s the pity,’ muttered Victoria to his retreating back, but the words were barely audible, even to Helen. As far as Jon was concerned, she was never going to win an argument, and she had evidently decided to cut her losses while she could.

  However, Helen guessed she was not going to forgive her so easily for being a witness to her humiliation, and the arrival of the maid to clear delayed her opportunity to leave. Instead, she was forced to sit there until the dinner plates were removed, and a pudding offered. And, although she refused anything else, Victoria didn’t.

  There was silence for a while after the maid had left the room to get Victoria’s crème brûlée, and Helen was just wondering if she could excuse herself anyway, when the other woman spoke again.

  ‘You’re very pale,’ she remarked critically, and Helen felt like a fly on a pin. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing wrong with you? I understand you were sick this afternoon.’

  The soft option, thought Helen wearily, realising Victoria assumed she could say anything she liked to her and get away with it. And why not? she reflected bitterly. So far, she had done what she could to avoid any unpleasantness. But what did it matter? Whatever happened tonight, in less than two weeks the Wyatts would all be history.

  ‘I’m still not pregnant, if that’s what you’re implying,’ she said at last. ‘And, for your information, pregnancy doesn’t usually cause afternoon sickness.’

  ‘Don’t you patronise me!’ Victoria didn’t like any retaliation. ‘I know all about pregnancy, Miss Caldwell. My sister-in-law saw to that.’

  Helen sighed. ‘I’m sorry.’ She had no real wish to argue with Reed’s sister. ‘Anyway, this afternoon—’ she crossed her fingers within the folds of her napkin ‘—this afternoon, I was seasick. I’m afraid I’m not a very good sailor.’

  ‘Ah.’ For the first time, Victoria regarded her with a little sympathy. ‘I’m not very keen on boats myself. Not small ones, at least.’ She pulled a wry face, and briefly Helen saw a trace of Reed in her sudden humour. ‘I did take a cruise once, to the Caribbean, and that was very nice. But yachts and sailing dinghies—well, they’re something else.’

  ‘I agree.’ Helen forced a smile to touch her lips, and for a few minutes they shared a mutual reminiscence.

  And then, as if realising who she was talking to, Victoria’s mood changed again. ‘Reed took you out, didn’t he?’ she said, and it was almost an accusation. ‘Where was Jon?’

  ‘Oh—’ Helen had been expecting this, but it still wasn’t any easier to deal with. ‘Well, Jon had a headache, a migraine, I think, and—and Reed was kind enough to—to offer.’

  ‘I see.’ Victoria’s nostrils had flared a little at the mention of her nephew, but Helen’s use of her brother’s Christian name was evidently more disturbing. ‘He’s a very kind man, my brother. And generous too. Sometimes too generous for his own good.’

  Helen wasn’t sure what she meant by this, and she was tempted to ask if the gallery, which had been acquired with Reed’s money, came into this category, but she didn’t.

  ‘Of course,’ went on Victoria, with somewhat less aggression, ‘I’m sure I don’t have to tell you not to get the wrong impression about Reed. I mean, since he and Diana split up, there have been women who’ve practically thrown themselves at him, and it all gets so—embarrassing.’

  Helen stiffened. ‘What are you suggesting?’ she exclaimed. She had determined not to let this woman upset her, but this was too much.

  ‘Nothing. I’m not saying anything,’ Victoria assured her firmly. ‘My goodness, you’re Jon’s—friend.’ There was just the faintest pause before the word ‘friend’ was articulated, and it infuriated Helen. ‘I was merely making conversation, that’s all. For heaven’s sake,’ she cast her eyes towards the ceiling, ‘why is everyone so jumpy tonight?’

  Helen could have said she had only herself to blame if other people took exception to her words. Victoria’s line in small talk would have tried the patience of a saint. But, once again, she didn’t. If Victoria chose to fret about her relationship with Reed, why should she disil lusion her? It might not do her any good, but it wouldn’t do her any harm.

  The maid returned with the crème brûlée, and, deciding that self-preservation was more important than good manners in this instance, Helen made her excuses and left the dining-room. She didn’t know where Jon was, and she didn’t particularly care. She just wanted to be alone.

  She slept intermittently, her desire for oblivion thwart
ed by a series of bad dreams. The most frightening of these was one where Reed took Alexa away from her, and she awoke in a sweat, her nightie sticking to her. He wouldn’t do that—he couldn’t do that—could he? But the truth was, she didn’t know. And Reed had the resources to do whatever he wanted.

  Of course, there were other dreams to distract her, though not in any practical way. Dreams where she and Reed were alone together, which in many ways were just as frightening. She didn’t want to think of Reed touching her, and kissing her, and making love to her, but she couldn’t seem to help it. And she was up at six-o’clock, leaning over the balcony rail, wondering how she was going to get through the next nine days.

  But, for once, Reed made it easy for her. He wasn’t there when she went down for breakfast, and Jon, who was, informed her carelessly that his father had left the island.

  ‘He’s taken the early morning shuttle to Atlanta,’ he added, silencing Helen’s immediate fears that somehow Reed had found her out, and was on his way to London. ‘Some directors’ meeting, so Aunt Vee says.’ He flicked an indifferent glance towards the other occupant of the table, and Helen was relieved that at least they were being civil to one another. ‘He’ll be back tomorrow, or the day after,’ Jon appended, ladling maple syrup on to his pancakes. ‘Now sit down, for goodness’ sake. I haven’t seen you since supper.’

  ‘You mean, she didn’t go into town with you?’ exclaimed Victoria, staring at him in surprise, and Helen subsided into her chair, hoping this was not the start of another argument.

  ‘No,’ said Jon now, speaking with a mouthful of sticky pancake. He swallowed and licked his lips before filling his mouth again. ‘I went on my own. Got any objections?’

  ‘You were very late back,’ observed his aunt coolly, purposely averting her eyes. ‘Anyway,’ she had evidently decided to avoid a confron tation, ‘it’s nothing to do with me.’ She lifted her shoulders dismissingly. ‘So, what are you two going to do today?’