Such Sweet Poison/Blind Passion

by Anne Mather

  With a smile of satisfaction, Reed moved lower. He laved her navel with his tongue, wetting the tiny cavity fully, before trailing a line of sweet agony down to the cluster of fiery curls that nestled at the juncture of her legs. His caresses brought a drenching surge of dampness to her thighs, and her legs parted instinctively, before she clamped them tightly together again.

  She felt as if her body were on fire, and yet she wasn’t prepared to give in. The blood was coursing through her veins, and she could hardly hear for its thundering pressure in her ears, but still she trembled. She ached for Reed to take her, but she was still naïvely hesitant, and, as if sensing her withdrawal, he moved back to her mouth.

  He was on top of her now, his weight pressing her down into the mattress. His tongue played with her lips, inviting hers to join him, and when she tentatively sent it forward he sucked on its sensitive tip.

  She responded then, reacting almost involuntarily, winding her arms around his neck and anchoring his lips to hers. She couldn’t get enough of his kisses, of the shamelessly erotic possession of his mouth, but when she wrapped one leg around him, too, Reed pressed down on the pillow beside her head and forced himself away from her.

  ‘Helen, Helen,’ he groaned, his eyes glazed and dark with passion, ‘I have only so much self-restraint. I’m trying to be patient, but you’re not making it easy. Don’t do what you’re doing, unless you want me to lose control!’

  Helen gazed up at him, her lips parted and glistening from his kiss. She found she quite liked the idea that she could make Reed lose control, and her hands slid along his narrow cheekbones, until her fingers were level with his mouth.

  ‘Perhaps—perhaps I want you to lose control,’ she whispered, examining the thought, and finding it incredibly appealing. Her eyes darkened, and she parted his lips with tentative fingers, allowing their tips to enter his mouth. ‘I think perhaps I want that very much,’ she added, barely audibly, and Reed closed his eyes against her artless provocation.

  He bent his head, and buried his face between her breasts, and Helen’s hands slid naturally into his hair. It was clean, and silky soft, and slightly moist—like his skin, she thought, with some satisfaction—and, giving in to her emotions, she allowed her legs to part.

  His thigh was between hers now, the blunt shaft of his manhood nudging her woman’s core. And Reed, who was not immune to the intimacy, said, ‘Oh—God!’ in a strangled voice.

  Then, unable to prevent himself, he pressed into that sweet honeycomb. But, as her muscles expanded to let him in, and he sensed how tight she was, he uttered a disbelieving groan. There was no hiding the fact that it had been years since any man had touched her there, and Reed’s brows descended as he gazed into her anxious face.

  But then it was too late for questions. Her warm, yielding flesh was all too desirable, and Reed was already beyond the point of no return. With a tender urgency, he brought her to a shattering fulfilment, seconds later succumbing to his own shuddering climax…

  Some minutes afterwards, Helen opened her eyes. As her temperature subsided, the air felt cool against her damp flesh, but it wasn’t just that which had disturbed her. She had been drifting, still rapt in the pleasures of her senses, drugged in the aftermath of Reed’s lovemaking, and reluctant to admit the waiting world. She hadn’t wanted to open her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to come down to earth. And, most of all, she hadn’t wanted to think about the reasons that had brought Reed to London, or consider a future based on the mistakes of the past. She wanted to live in the present. She wanted to hold this moment close, for as long as he would let her. To pretend he really loved her, without any strings attached.

  But Reed was not so unwilling to get on with the rest of his life. She realised his moving had disturbed her, and although all he had done was rest his elbows at either side of her head, and push himself a bare few inches away from her, it was enough. He was looking down at her now, his eyes narrowed, and his expression one of searching appraisal. She guessed what was coming before he spoke, and her lids dropped to hide her eyes from the expected condemnation in his gaze.

  But all he said was, ‘I’m sorry,’ and her eyes darted upwards disbelievingly. ‘I thought—oh, I don’t know what I thought,’ he continued softly, stroking her cheek with the knuckles of his hand. ‘I guess I found it difficult to believe you, when you said there’d only been one other man in your life. But now I have to.’ He bent his head, and touched her nose with his lips. ‘It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? I hope it was as good for you as it was for me.’

  Helen drew an unsteady breath. ‘Another man?’ she said, echoing his words because her brain refused to concentrate. What other man was he talking about? He couldn’t mean Jon, unless he hadn’t believed her.

  ‘Your daughter. Alexa—is that right? Alexa’s father,’ prompted Reed, grazing her cheek with the roughening stubble of his beard. ‘I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I want you to know that I’m sorry I ever doubted you. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but when you love someone you don’t always say the kindest things.’

  ‘You—love—me?’

  Helen could hardly articulate. Her throat felt so tight, and breathing was a problem. It wasn’t true. He was only saying that to get to Alexa. He didn’t love her. She was only a necessary obstacle.

  ‘Yes, I love you,’ Reed repeated now, his murmur of assent silenced in her mouth. His lips moved insistently, possessively, over hers. ‘Didn’t I tell you before? No? Oh, well.’ His mouth curved ruefully. ‘You’ve only yourself to blame. You didn’t exactly welcome me with open arms.’

  Helen had to get away from him. She couldn’t think straight with his thigh wedged comfortably between her legs, and his lips making a nonsense of any resistance. It would be far too easy to give in, while his male beauty was seducing her senses. Right now, she would have promised him anything, just so long as he would make love to her again.

  Pressing her palms against his shoulders, she pretended she couldn’t breathe—which wasn’t that far from the truth. And, although he was obviously reluctant, Reed rolled obediently on to his side. The narrowness of the bed didn’t make scrambling off it any easier. In her haste to get away from him, she ended on the floor.

  ‘Hey—’

  He rolled across the bed to help her, but she quickly backed away from him. The rough twist of the carpet was abrasive against her bottom and thighs, but it was more dignified than crawling away from him, and the inevitable picture that evoked in her mind.

  ‘Helen!’

  He sat up now, shamelessly indifferent to his own nudity, and apparently bewildered by her withdrawal. If she hadn’t known better, she would have said he didn’t know what was happening, and she had to drag her gaze away from him, before she gave in once again.

  The towelling bathrobe was still lying in the hallway of the apartment, but the towel she had used earlier was closer to hand. It was still damp, and it felt clammy as she wrapped it around her, but at least it made her look decent, even if she didn’t feel any better.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Reed’s voice was puzzled, and Helen thought, inconsequently, what a good actor he was. Anyone listening to him would be in clined to believe he was totally in the dark, and she wondered why he kept it up when she had evidently guessed what he was doing.

  ‘We—we have to talk,’ she said, choosing the least original opening she could think of. ‘How—how did you find out? Did—did Jon guess the truth?’

  Reed frowned. ‘I don’t know exactly what truth you’re talking about,’ he said, ‘but yes. I have talked to Jon. He gave me your address, as a matter of fact. Though when I came first you weren’t here.’

  Helen tucked the towel more securely beneath her arms, and perched rather awkwardly against the dressing-table. She was intensely aware that the towel barely came to the tops of her thighs, and while it was silly being coy now, when he had seen and touched every part of her body, the situation was such that she couldn�
�t relax.

  And, as if sensing this, Reed slid his legs over the side of the bed. But when he would have moved towards her she edged away, and although she guessed he was getting impatient he stayed where he was, and waited for her to continue.

  ‘Why—why did you speak to Jon?’ she asked now, and Reed heaved a weary sigh.

  ‘Why do you think?’ he demanded. ‘Because I needed to know that whatever had been between you two was over. God, when you left the island like that, I didn’t know what to think.’

  Helen swallowed. ‘I told you—’

  ‘I know what you told me,’ said Reed, with rather less control. He picked up the denim trousers he had discarded earlier, and ignoring the fact that he was not wearing his underpants he thrust his legs into them. Standing up, he fastened the button at his waist. Then, with a muscle of his jaw jerking revealingly, he turned to face her. ‘The thing is,’ he added unsteadily, ‘I needed to see you again. I’ve never felt this way about any woman before, not even Jon’s mother, believe it or not. And, although it’s taken me the better part of three weeks to get here, you have to remember I’m a little old to risk this kind of rejection.’

  Helen stared at him then. ‘It’s not—rejection—’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Reed returned her stare with grim enquiry. ‘It looks like it to me. You know, for a moment—’ He glanced back towards the bed, and then jerked his gaze away again. ‘For a moment there, I really thought you cared. It shows how wrong you can be, doesn’t it? I actually thought Jon was going to be the only obstacle.’

  ‘Jon?’

  ‘Yes, Jon,’ said Reed wearily. ‘I thought he was the only person who might stand between us. But when I spoke to him—when I told him what had happened ten years ago—it was strange. He was almost—sympathetic. He genuinely seemed to—to understand, if that’s the right expression.’

  Helen stiffened. ‘You told Jon—everything?’

  ‘Yes. Why not?’ Reed sighed. ‘Don’t worry. He’d already told me that you and he were not seeing each other any more. But naturally he was curious. Why not? It’s not every day your father makes a fool of himself over a woman half his age.’

  ‘I’m not half your age,’ said Helen, getting up from the dressing-table and pressing the palms of her hands together. Somehow, none of this conversation was going the way she had expected, and the knowledge that he had told Jon about their association didn’t make any sense.

  ‘Well, it feels like it,’ said Reed now, running his hands round the back of his neck, and ex pelling a heavy breath. ‘I just wish you had let me go before—before any of—this had happened.’

  ‘I—let you go?’ Helen breathed uneasily. ‘Would—would you have gone?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Reed dropped his arms and levelled a look at her. ‘I’d have gone,’ he agreed flatly. ‘I’m not a masochist. Do you honestly think I’d have risked this kind of torture?’

  Helen blinked. ‘But—but what about—Alexa?’

  ‘What about Alexa?’ Reed made an impatient gesture. ‘I’m not an unreasonable man. I know she’s your daughter, and I know she’ll probably always have first place in your affections. I could live with that. For God’s sake, Helen, don’t tell me this has anything to do with your daughter. You’re surely not afraid I’d expect you to choose between us?’

  Helen was stunned. ‘You—don’t—know?’

  ‘Don’t know what?’ Reed lifted his shoulders bewilderedly, and if there had been any doubt left in Helen’s mind it was instantly dispelled. He didn’t know Alexa was his daughter. That wasn’t why he was here. He hadn’t come to take her away from her mother. And, therefore, if he hadn’t, it must mean he really loved her—

  Helen’s breathing felt suspended. But only for a moment. Even as a dizzying sense of exhilaration swept over her, she felt the first twinges of apprehension. If Reed didn’t know, she would have to tell him, and the prospect of doing so filled her with alarm. How would he take it? How would he feel about her, for keeping it a secret all these years? Oh, it was easy to excuse herself, on the grounds that she hadn’t known where he was. But she had never tried to find him, had even pretended to Alexa that her father was dead.

  Reed was putting on his socks now, evidently deciding that her question had been totally irrelevant. He didn’t understand what she was saying. His whole attitude was one of disillusion.

  Realising she couldn’t allow him to go on thinking she didn’t care about him for a moment longer, Helen moistened her lips. ‘Don’t—don’t go,’ she said, taking an involuntary step towards him, and when he lifted his head and looked at her she added softly, ‘I do love you. I—I just had to be sure about something, that’s all. Will—will you forgive me?’

  The pain and indecision was wiped from his face at a stroke, and although there was still a trace of disbelief sheltering behind his lashes his reaction was such that she was left in no doubt as to his answer.

  ‘Do you mean it?’ he demanded, tossing the boot he had been holding aside, and reaching her in a few short strides. ‘Dear God, Helen, don’t ever do anything like that to me again!’ His hands cupped her face, and he gazed down at her as if he still couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘I’m never going to let you leave me again. I don’t think I could stand another separation.’

  Helen let him kiss her, because she couldn’t help herself. Her mouth opened beneath his, like a flower to the sun, and when his hands tugged away the towel she was powerless to resist. The last few minutes had been too painful to be borne; for her, as well as for him. She just wanted to forget them. To obliterate them from his memory.

  The sound of a key turning in the lock was like a sudden douche of cold water. It had been early when she got home, and what with that, and Reed’s arrival, Helen had completely forgotten the time. But now, standing in Reed’s arms without a stitch of clothing on her, she realised it was late, too late to do anything but try and rectify the situation. Her mother was never going to believe that nothing had happened, but that was the least of her worries. She was more concerned about Alexa, and what she was going to think. What a way for her to meet her father! But perhaps it was not such a bad way for Reed to meet her.

  ‘It’s my mother,’ she said now, drawing back from Reed reluctantly, and snatching up the dress she had worn to the office. ‘She’s brought Alexa,’ she added, averting her eyes, and belatedly remembering the revealing heap of clothes in the hallway. Oh, well, she thought resignedly, tugging the dress over her head, and hoping her mother wouldn’t notice she had nothing underneath it. It wasn’t as if her mother didn’t already suspect something. And if Reed meant what he said, then they had to meet sooner or later.

  Reed grimaced now, but he obediently bent to pick up his boot again, and she flashed him an adoring smile before going out into the living-room. Better to attack then defend, she thought, keeping the smile glued to her face as her mother and daughter appeared in the doorway. What was it she had once thought about being an ac tress? Since meeting Reed again, she seemed to be continually playing a part.

  ‘Whose is this coat?’ It was Alexa who spoke, holding up Reed’s leather jacket with a doubtful look on her face. ‘Is it Jon’s? Is he here? I thought you said we wouldn’t be seeing him again. Has he come back?’

  ‘No. I—’ Helen was more aware of her mother’s face than her daughter’s, particularly as Mrs Caldwell was carrying her bathrobe and Reed’s shirt over her arm. There was no way she was going to bluff her mother, she thought wryly. She didn’t need a crystal ball to know Mrs Caldwell had guessed the truth.

  ‘You should have warned us you had a visitor, Helen,’ she said now, dropping the garments she had been holding rather disdainfully over a chair. ‘I hope we’re not intruding.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  Helen bent to give Alexa a kiss, but as she did so she sensed, rather than heard, Reed come into the room behind her. Straightening, she glanced round, noticing with some relief that he had put on one of her baggy swea
ters. At least he looked presentable, she thought, still feeling a little light-headed at the realisation that he actually cared about her. Her appear ance meanwhile probably shouted the truth of what they had been doing from the rooftops, she thought. And, with her hair still damp and uncombed, her mother’s words were definitely ironic.

  Reed arched a rueful brow in commiseration, and her heart skipped at the shared intimacy. Already, some of the strain had left his face, and she knew an exultant sense of satisfaction.

  Then Alexa, who had been watching Reed with some curiosity, took a tentative step forward. ‘I know who you are,’ she exclaimed, to Helen’s, and her grandmother’s, consternation. ‘You’re Jon’s daddy, aren’t you? You must be. You look ever so like him!’

  The bottom seemed to drop out of Helen’s stomach. It had never occurred to her before, but of course it was true. Jon did look like his father. But so did Alexa. The intriguing trace of resemblance had not been to Jon at all.

  ‘God!’

  She didn’t have to hear the word Reed used, or interpret his sudden sucking in of breath, to know that her daughter had inadvertently betrayed the truth. There was no time now to choose her words, or shape the essence of what she had to say into some acceptable form. With those few telling sentences, Alexa had revealed her parentage, and they all stood like statues as the silence expanded.

  But, once again, it was Alexa who spoke. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘What’s wrong?’ And when no one made any attempt to answer her her face crumpled anxiously, and her eyes filled with tears. ‘What’s the matter?’ she demanded again, catching her mother’s hand, and then her grandmother’s, begging to be reassured. ‘Why are you looking like that? I haven’t done anything wrong. He does look like Jon. He does! Why are you all so cross?’