by Penny Jordan
'Lucas . .. it's me Lindsay,' she protested huskily. 'Let me get up.' She was wasting her breath. His eyes had closed again and his skin will flushed, the incoherent mutterings he was making confirming her suspicion that he had lapsed back into his fever. Doctor Simmonds had warned her that it could happen, but how was she going to get
free, she wondered wryly. Lucas had wrapped one arm completely round her, and even as she struggled, he rolled over, flinging one powerful leg over hers, half lying on top of her, his weight pinning her to the bed, making it impossible for her to move at all. She tried to wake him, shaking him quickly, but it was no use. When her fingers brushed his skin it felt burning hot again, and she knew that he was completely unaware of what he had done.
Sighing faintly Lindsay thought wryly that it was just her luck to end up in bed with the man she loved while he remained completely oblivious to her presence.
She didn't mean to fall asleep; but the day had been a particularly exhausting one, and at first when something wakened her, she wasn't even sure where she was. It took her name, muttered by Lucas, in a questioning slurred voice, to recall her to reality, freezing her within the circle of his arms, her senses immediately aware of their intimacy; of Lucas' body half lying over hers, of the pressure of his forearm just below her breasts, his breathing erratic and audible close to her ear.
She held her breath automatically, as she waited for him to demand to know what she was doing in his bed, her eyes fearful and defensive as she forced herself to look into his. In the half light of the lamp lit room, his eyes gleamed dove grey rather than the cold metallic hardness she was more used to. 'Lindsay?' There was still a question in his voice, but the question was a different one, the sensual enquiry in the husky way he said her name, underlined by the slow drift of his fingers along her arm.
'Lucas!' He obviously had no idea what he was doing ... He was in the grip of a fever, Lindsay reminded herself desperately, trying to push away from him, as she fought against the slow, languorous pleasure flooding through her veins at his touch. 'Lucas, let me go,' she begged tensely. 'Lucas, it's me, Lindsay.'
Her protest was silenced by the questing warmth of his mouth as it found her lips. Found and explored them with a slow sensuality that totally destroyed her defences. Her lips when Lucas finally released them felt soft and swollen, and Lindsay ran a nervous tongue over their contours, the movement arrested as she caught the hoarse, thick sound Lucas stifled in his throat.
'Let me do that for you.'
This couldn't be happening Lindsay thought crazily, feeling her body melt into aching compliance at the slow drift of his tongue against her parted lips.
Lucas couldn't possibly know what he was doing. But she did . . . she was not in the grip of a mind-distorting fever . . . she was not weakened by illness and drugs. She must. . .
Whatever it was she must do was forgotten as Lucas bit softly against her mouth, exploring its feminine contours, just as his hands were exploring her body. She was melting ... on fire ... aching with the delirious pleasure of his touch . . . no longer Lindsay Ferris but some formless mindless creature created only to meet and match his need.
His eyes closed, Lucas muttered thick, husky sounds of pleasure against her skin, inciting her to respond to him, to touch him as he was touching her. His skin felt hot and moist beneath her
shaking fingers, but when she tried to withdraw them, he captured her wrist, and unfurled her tightly closed fingers, placing her hand palm down against his heart.
'Feel what you do to me.'
She could feel his heart racing against her hand, its beat fast and unsteady, unconsciously she smoothed her fingers over his skin and was shaken by the hoarse sound of pleasure he made against her throat. What was happening to her? She was drowning in a vast sea of sensual delight drowning without making any attempt to save herself; without wanting to save herself, totally seduced by the magic wrought by touch by the lure of Lucas' maleness and what it did to all her senses. It was like suddenly coming alive; like being blind and suddenly able to see; deaf and able to hear . . . the full weight of so much hitherto unknown pleasure clashed down over her, and unknowingly she sobbed Lucas' name, her hands clutching wildly at his shoulders as his lips caressed her throat, exploring the long, tense arch of it, seducing her away from reason and reality. She heard someone moan and realised it was herself. The tip of Lucas' tongue explored the convolutions of her ear, tracing them, teasing and tormenting her until she could endure it no longer and she was moaning his name, in a hoarse unfamiliar little voice, her pulses thudding out a wild cacophony of primaeval pleasure. It was all too much too soon, like being engulfed in all the pleasures of the senses at once, and yet in some ways it was almost too much to bear.
Lucas was touching her bare skin now, pushing aside the lapels of her robe. The sash had worked loose, and Lindsay wasn't sure whether pleasure or anguish was uppermost; which was the more powerful feeling bursting into life inside her when Lucas touched her breasts, his hands enclosing them, possessing and yet somehow subtly conveying to her by his touch that to possess was to be seduced by the femininity of her.
Lindsay was aware of her nipples hardening; aching; and as though she were somehow standing outside herself, watching she saw the wanton arch of her body, enticing and encouraging Lucas to pull her robe completely free of her body; to study its feminine contours and to marvel at the subtle play of light and colour against her pale skin.
'Lindsay . . . My God . . .'
His voice was a muffled whisper of pain and longing, the delicate, almost tentative touch of his tongue painting aching circles round her nipples banishing all the urgings of caution and common sense. So what if he doesn't really know what he's doing, a reckless inner voice whispered softly. You know . . . you will always have the memory of this no matter what comes after. The memory and the anguish, not to mention the pain and self- contempt, common sense warned her, but she was long, long past listening to common sense, long, long past doing anything other than weaving her fingers into Lucas' hair and clasping him against her body when his mouth opened over her nipple exploring its sensitivity with delicate precision that bordered on torment, until Lindsay discovered that one way of relieving the sensations he was arousing inside her was to touch her burning lips to his skin; to let her fingers explore the alien maleness of his body.
Fire fed on fire, she reminded herself hazily as she recorded his body's response to her touch; felt it, in the increasing passionate demand of his mouth against her skin. Tasting, exploring, inciting . . . wanting . . . And he did want her. She could feel his wanting in his touch; in the hard aroused pressure of his body against her own. Deep down in the pit of her stomach she ached for him with a savagery that half shocked her. There was nothing she wanted more right at this moment than his total possession; than the satisfaction of knowing he wanted her to the point where that wanting obliterated everything else, including his self-control. But how could a man who didn't really know what he was doing exhibit self-control. Pain and self-disgust ripped through her body. Dear God what was she thinking of? What madness was possessing her? Lucas had no idea who he held in his arms. She could have been anybody . . . literally. Nausea flooded through her stomach and she tensed against it, hating herself almost as much as she hated the cold little voice inside her forcing her to realise the truth. Why now, her senses pleaded ... why not later ...after . . .
After what? After Lucas had possessed her? Because that's all it would be, a physical appeasement of a physical need ... nothing else But she had needs too . . .
Merely physical ones; that same inner voice demanded to know. No, of course not. If that was the case she would have taken a lover years ago. And she was deceiving herself if she thought Lucas actually cared for her. He did not. His hand was on her thigh, but suddenly she felt cold and empty, all desire gone and an acute sense of self loathing taking its place. She moved away from him and miraculously Lucas released her. 'Gwen?' There was an uncertainty
in his voice that confirmed all she had been telling herself, and it tore her apart to know that he probably thought he had been caressing his ex-wife; if indeed he was aware of touching her at all. Just at that moment he opened his eyes and looked straight into hers, and Lindsay knew with a fatal sick certainty that he knew exactly who she was; that right now he was completely lucid and free of fever. Even the way he said her name, smokily with bitter anger, held a familiar ring to it. His eyes left her face and his glance raked down along her body, and Lindsay was sickly aware of her provocatively bared breasts; the nipples still tautly aroused. The contempt in Lucas' eyes when they finally locked on hers once again was more than she could bear. She hid her face in her hands with a stifled moan, but he prised her fingers away, forcing her to look back at him as he gripped her jaw.
'What's the matter, Lindsay? Are you ashamed of wanting me? Of wanting sex?'
The way he said it made it sound sordid, so much so that Lindsay felt herself shrivel with pain and humiliation. What could she say to him? How could she explain away the totally unexplainablc'1 Her very presence in his bed ... in his arms said it all.
'I wonder what your precious Jeremy would have to say about this? Two days away from him and . ..' he reached for her, as unable to endure any more, Lindsay tore herself away from him and off the bed, but she managed to evade him, sobbing in agonising breaths of air from a throat too tight to enable her to breathe properly as she dragged her robe back on. Her fingers were shaking so much she couldn't tie the belt. She couldn't bear to look at Lucas. 'What would daddy have said?' Lucas mocked ... 'Is that the only way you can enjoy sex, Lindsay? By stealing satisfaction from a man who doesn't know what he's doing?'
The pain was more than she could endure. Without being able to respond to him Lindsay left the room, praying that he would not come after her. How could she have behaved like that she demanded of herself half an hour later, standing under the chilly lash of her own shower, scrubbing her flesh as though she wanted to mortify it. How could she have done it . . . She shuddered and trembled remembering the feelings Lucas had aroused inside her. Feelings that if she was truthful, were even now, still there.
No, no ... her aching throat screamed the denial defiantly, but there was no one to her hear above the lash of the water. No one to see the tear, that streamed down her face to mingle with the u v spray. Tomorrow morning she would have to leave. She would have to find Lucas a nurse. She couldn't stay now . .. She could not!
CHAPTER SIX
Lindsay would have given anything not to have had to face Lucas the next morning, but her pride would not allow her to simply leave without seeing him. She twisted her hair into an elegant knot on top of her head and applied her make-up with more than usual care, hoping to hide the fact that her skin was too pale, and her eyes still sore from all the bitter tears she had cried. She dressed with care too, a slim pleated skirt and a toning buttoned up to the neck blouse. The sort of clothes Jeremy liked to see her wearing.
She was downstairs in the kitchen when the postman knocked and handed her a large parcel. Caroline had been as good as her word and had sent her some more clothes. Well she wouldn't be needing those now, she told herself as she prepared a tray for Lucas, her stomach muscles tensing as she tried to come to terms with the reality of what had happened. Even now while her mind scorned and lashed her for her weakness, her body still ached betrayingly, still wanted him, she acknowledged numbly.
Outside his bedroom door she hesitated, not wanting to go in but knowing she must. He stirred as she walked in, opening his eyes to look at her, Just for a moment she thought she saw in ten so pleasure softening their harsh grey, but she knew she had been imagining things when he demanded harshly, 'Lindsay, what are you doing here?'
Lindsay trembled, wishing now that she had simply left without seeing him, but she hadn't been able to do that. She had needed to assure herself that he was all right. 'Still hoping to persuade me to change my mind and sanction your marriage is that it?' As he taunted her, he thrust aside the bed clothes, ignoring her half stifled protest. He was half-way out of bed when he sank back against the mattress, his skin grey and stretched tautly over his bones. 'God, I feel as weak as a kitten,' he muttered, shakenly. 'What the devil. . .'
'You've been ill,' Lindsay reminded him, curbing the urge to go over to him and smooth the tangled hair back from his forehead. Comfort from her was the last thing he would want.
'Ill?' He stared at her, so obviously nonplussed and disbelieving that it was obvious that he wasn't aware of the return of his fever.
Yes,' Lindsay explained patiently. 'You've had a bout of fever . . . don't you remember?'
Her heart was in her mouth as she looked at him. Could it be possible that for once the Gods Were going to smile on her and Lucas genuinely could not remember anything about last night?
She knew that Doctor Simmonds had pointed out the possibility of him not being able to remember willing that had happened while he was semi- dellirious, but last night he had seemed so normal . . .
All I can remember is you storming out saying you were going back to London, after I'd refused to sanction your marriage,' Lucas told her grimly.
'Now you're idling me that I've been ill.'
'So ill that I had to send for Doctor Simmonds,' Lindsay assured him, picking up the medication from the table next to the bed. 'You've been delirious and practically only half conscious for nearly forty-eight hours Lucas, and Doctor Simmons told me it could be a fortnight before you're properly back on your feet again.'
'Forty-eight hours?' He sat up frowning heavily, unaware apparently that the sheet had slipped downwards revealing the taut muscles of his stomach. It took a considerable effort for Lindsay to drag her eyes away, and she knew that her pulses were racing uncomfortably, her body traitorously reminding her of last night and things she had promised herself she was going to forget. 'Damnation . .. That means that today's Tuesday, and Don Carter, one of our American customers is flying in today. He wants to talk business with me, and I'd invited him to stay here. Hell ... we need that contract too. Where's the 'phone, I'll have to try and get him booked in somewhere. I suppose Mrs James isn't back yet?'
When Lindsay shook her head, he swore briefly again, his glance suddenly sharpening as it fell on her. 'Dare I ask if you would stay on here for a couple of days to act as my hostess?' He said it quite casually and yet Lindsay had the distinct impression that beneath his surface coolness, he was tense. Was the American's contract so important to him that lie was prepared to risk her refusal .. . that he was actually prepared to ask her to help him? Pain a nil anguish smote her. Dear God, didn't he realise that there wasn't anything she would not do for him?
Her common sense warned her that she ought to refuse; that to stay was to lay herself open to mora pain, and yet the temptation to stay ... to be with him was too great for her to withstand.
'I'd already arranged to stay here anyway,' she told him as nonchalantly as she could. So . . .'
'You had?' He frowned again, 'Why? On Sunday you were all set to leave. Hoping to persuade me to change my mind were you?'
His cynicism appalled and hurt her, and her temper, never very controllable when she was around him, exploded painfully inside her. 'You would think that,' she said bitterly, 'I don't suppose it's occurred to you that I was worried about you . . . That I might have decided to stay because you were ill, that. ..'
'That what? You thought you might be able to use my weakness to coax me into having a change of heart?' He laughed derisively. 'No way, Lindsay. Why the sudden urgent desire to marry anyway?' he demanded, 'You're not carrying his child are you?'
Lindsay couldn't keep the shocked expression off her face. 'Oh come on, Lindsay,' Lucas jeered. 'I wasn't born yesterday. You live a pretty free- wheeling life in London, at least according to what Gwen told me. You and your precious Jeremy must be lovers, and given that it's not impossible that you might be carrying his child. However, since you're obviously not—and d
on't want to be, if your present expression is anything to go by— you'd better take care that you don't become pregnant. I doubt he'll marry you once he discovers that marriage to you doesn't come with the guarantee of your father's wealth.'
'You, you bastard!' Lindsay flung at him fiercely, 'For your information, I . . .'
?Yes,?' he drawled mockingly, 'You .. .'
I haven't had any lover, she had been about to
say, and Lindsay could only stare at him in appalled confusion, horrified by what she had been about to admit to him. It seemed impossible that he couldn't remember anything of the previous night, but it was obvious that this was the case— she ought to be thanking her lucky stars for that . . . not arguing with him about her marriage to Jeremy, she told herself, adding the mental rider that if she had any sense at all, she wouldn't be here at all, but on her way back to London.
'You don't want his child, is that what you were going to say? But he'll expect you to produce a son and heir for him, Lindsay, otherwise who's going to benefit from all your father's money. How does it feel to be wanted for your father's wealth or are you still trying to pretend to yourself that it's you he wants ...'