‘I don’t want to go for a drive.’
‘Tough.’
It wasn’t the result of too much alcohol making Ana feel queasy at all. She’d only drunk a couple of glasses of bubbly. But she’d let Seb think it was a hangover—that way she could explain away that hussy moment on drink rather than desperate desire.
She’d thrown herself at him. Literally launched herself aboard and stolen a ride. One that hadn’t been enough. And that was what was really making her sick. She still wanted more. One look at him in his jeans and charcoal jersey and she was all warm mush inside and longing for things neither of them wanted. Seb wasn’t into for ever and she was building her business—so she could build her life around that. And that was why she had to do this now.
She had to stop seeing Seb.
Today was the day.
Yet somehow she was walking out with him. Feeling her cheeks flush as she slid into his car. He lightened the drive with idle chat, chat and more chat. It was amazing how he could keep a conversation going all by himself.
‘Are you still alive?’
OK, so he was clued into her quietness. She smiled. ‘I’m enjoying your waffle.’
It wasn’t all she enjoyed about him. And that was her problem, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just the sex that she liked—she liked him all round. And, knowing him the way she did now, she knew that was doubly dangerous for her.
They finally arrived at the seaside. Walked for an age on the sand—not speaking, just stretching legs and listening to the seagulls. Ordinarily such exercise would soothe her. But she was too anxious for it to work today.
‘Let’s get an ice cream.’ He looked so vital—his face full of colour and humour.
‘Seb, it’s freezing.’
‘Ice cream usually is.’
‘No, I mean the weather.’
‘But we’re at the beach and when at the beach—’
‘We need to stop this, Seb,’ she said quickly.
He stopped talking and walking. Their eyes met.
‘Last night—’
‘Was a mistake.’ She interrupted him again. ‘We need to stop.’
She needed to stop.
She turned and walked back towards the car. There was nothing more to say. Nothing more she could say because the side of her head was suddenly pounding as if a hundred tribesmen were beating drums inside it. She needed to close her eyes. She needed to lie down. Why was the car so far away?
‘Ana?’ Seb’s hand clasped round her upper arm as she swayed.
‘I’m OK.’
‘No, you’re—’ His curses made her head hurt more.
‘Migraine. I’ve just got a migraine.’ The pain intensified in seconds, ratcheting up to unbearable. ‘Let’s go. I want to go.’
Blindly she turned, screwing up her eyes to block the vicious light. His other arm was at her waist, she felt him guide her, push her into the car and felt him reach across to do up her belt.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ He shut her door. In seconds he was in his seat; the engine purred as he got them away. But the waves of agonising pain worsened. She couldn’t get air into her lungs. She breathed harder, faster, but still it wouldn’t work. Panicked, she felt the pain in her head pulse with increasing fervour. Her mouth filled with poisonous-tasting spit.
‘Seb!’ She warned him just in time.
He pulled over and she got the door open and leaned into the gutter. The sickness was violent and hideous.
She groaned, embarrassment adding to her overall vile feeling as she felt his hand rubbing gentle circles over her back. But then the pounding in her head resumed so badly she no longer cared.
‘There are wet wipes in my bag,’ she muttered. ‘A little packet.’
‘Wet wipes.’ She heard the smile in his voice, then the rustling like grenades detonating in her ears. Then she felt the coolness on her brow.
‘I can do that.’ She moved too fast and winced.
He pushed her hand away.
‘Seb,’ she whispered, now mortified.
Gently he turned her head towards him and smoothed the wipe over her forehead and down. She opened her eyes, wanting to apologise, but his expression was too tender for her to bear. She closed her eyes once more.
He reached across and redid her belt. She leant her head against the seat, unable to move at all. Even a fraction caused such throbbing pain.
It felt like for ever that they were driving but finally he switched off the engine. She opened her eyes and looked.
His house. Not Phil’s.
‘Come on, honey.’ He had her door open, scooped her into his arms.
‘Seb, you’ll break your back.’
‘Shut up.’
She did, burrowing her head into his broad chest, too sore to love the fact that she was actually being carried like some feather-light feminine princess. Mercifully soon they were on the second floor and in a big bedroom and then into a room off that. He lowered her onto a chair. She heard his footsteps sound on the tiles, a drawer slide open and then close again.
‘Ana.’ He handed her a new toothbrush and a travelsized pack of toothpaste and left her alone. He was always prepared for an overnight guest, huh? But her head already hurt too much for her to add that to it. And honestly she was just so grateful to be able to brush her teeth.
After she’d freshened up she slowly went back into the bedroom. He met her halfway across the floor. Carefully he slipped the shirt over her head, smoothly got rid of her trousers. The covering on the bed was already pulled back and the curtains drawn. The sheets were cool, the room dark. Shivering, she rolled onto her side, burying the blinding side of her head into the pillow. The mattress depressed further. She exhaled as he took the space beside her. But he said nothing, didn’t move more other than to put a gentle arm over her hip and cradle her back against him. Slowly his warmth seeped into her. She felt sleep start to claim her. The relief was immense.
When she woke she turned her head experimentally, felt the rush of relief as she realised that the headache had gone. But even better than that, he was curled around her—arms about her, his legs entwined, keeping her warm with skin on skin. He was naked—and hiding nothing, certainly not his hardness.
‘Better?’ His whisper was sweet in her ear.
‘Yes.’
He rolled her to face him. She looked into his allserious eyes.
‘We’re not stopping,’ he said quietly. ‘Not yet.’
She tried to turn away, to slip from the bed, but he stopped her with the weight of his body and a kiss that stole her breath.
‘Your migraine yesterday proves it,’ he said when he finally lifted his head.
Yesterday? She’d slept through a whole night? ‘Proves what?’
‘That you’re not ready to walk away just yet. That you’re stressed about it.’
Of course she was stressed. And that was exactly why it had to stop. But he didn’t give her the chance to say it—his mouth caught hers again, silencing them both for long moments.
‘Listen to me,’ he muttered. ‘Look at me.’ His hands moved, tormenting with their slow caresses. ‘If you don’t look at me, I’ll stop.’
What choice did she have? Silently she stared up at him.
‘You have the most incredible legs. So long, so smooth, and up here—’ his fingers caressed the inner part of her thighs ‘—so soft.’
So what could she do but spread them further?
He smiled. ‘And your breasts. Oh, your breasts.’ He bent and took a nipple into his mouth—one then the other. ‘So perfect.’
He shifted, settling his weight in place, kissing her again as she melted around him. ‘And here—’ he slid home with a groan ‘—you have the hottest place a man could ever hope to find.’
She had to close her eyes; the sensation was too overwhelming for her to cope.
But true to his word he stopped moving. And then withdrew.
‘No,’ she whimpered.
‘Look at me, Ana,’ he said softly, his hand cupping her chin.
She did. His eyes were piercing and yet tender.
‘If you want me, you have to stay with me.’ He pressed into her again.
She shuddered, blinked rapidly.
‘Right with me,’ he warned.
She licked her lips but couldn’t look away. It felt too good. He was too good.
Their faces were mere inches apart, and there wasn’t a millimetre between the rest of them as their bodies fused. She stared into his beauty, knew that he was seeing right through her. They’d never been so intimate.
‘But the most beautiful thing about your body is your eyes. No, don’t close them. Let me see.’
And she let him, as slowly, silently their bodies meshed together, parted, and then merged closer still. Her breathing hitched. So did his.
She wanted to beg him not to be so gentle. That this tenderness was too much. But she could say nothing. For her heart was bursting—surely about to break. But then it wasn’t breaking. It was expanding—filling with warmth from the look in his eyes. And she could resist it no longer.
He didn’t speak again. The palm of his hand cradled the side of her face, stopping her from turning away from the intensity of his gaze. But she couldn’t, even if he let her. Those ice-blue eyes of his had melted and inside them she could read all the things she dreamed of yet dared not. That he meant his sweet words, that he wanted her, that he cared.
But she daredn’t believe. And the effort not to was pulling her apart, until she was unable to stop the stinging sheen blurring her vision.
He kissed each tear away and his whisper roared loud in her heart. ‘But even your eyes aren’t as beautiful as your soul, Ana.’
And with every long, slow thrust he tore down the last of her defences.
Overwhelmed, unable to stand it any longer, she reached up for him, captured his beautiful mouth with her own. The kiss went on and their arms wound tighter around each other. She closed her eyes but couldn’t keep anything back. Not as she felt his body flex even stronger, the groan reverberating in his broad chest as he began to move even more powerfully. And all she could do was cling, let her body move, her mouth move, touching him, pulling him closer. Urging him to finish it.
His fingers tunnelled into her hair, firmly keeping her face turned up to his as he broke the kiss and relentlessly bored into her again.
‘Please.’ She wanted faster—had to have it that way or she was sure she’d die.
But he resisted, kept it slow, so slow and so deep for so long. She was mindless with desperation, her cries sounding higher and higher. Until with an almost inhuman scream she hit the edge and went hurtling light years beyond her limits.
On and on the climax went—almost brutal in its intensity. Her fingers clawed into his muscles; her body shook with the fierceness of it.
And still it wasn’t over, still he moved, still unbearably slowly, overwhelmingly intense. His face darkened, taut with the effort, his body slick with sweat. Until he could hold back no longer, deep groans of male pleasure racking him.
She shook, her arms and legs curled tight—clamping around him. And it felt as if he were pouring everything she’d ever wanted into her.
She refused to open her eyes now—not wanting to break the spell that she was under, the sublime, treasured feeling. But moment by moment reality impinged. He’d moved just slightly, so he wasn’t crushing her, and she listened as their breathing returned to normal.
He’d just broken her heart. She knew he hadn’t meant to, but he had. No matter his old playboy habits, in his own way he was caring. He’d known she’d felt low and he’d set about making her feel good the best way he knew—with fabulous, sweet sex.
But that was all it was. Short-term charm. Because that was all Seb ever did—flings. Fun affairs. And knowing more of his background now, she even understood a bit of why he wanted only that.
She closed her eyes. The problem was that what they’d just shared hadn’t been fun to her. That had been everything.
How could she have thought she could handle him again? She was such an idiot. But she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Wouldn’t ask him for more—demand what she knew he had no desire to deliver. Mortification resurged—it had gone bone deep when she’d realised he hadn’t married her because he was madly in love with her; she didn’t want to be so foolish again now.
What she needed was a little defence. OK, she just needed to get out of there.
‘I need to get back to Phil’s. He’ll be expecting me.’
‘I’ll call him. You’re still tired.’
‘I can call him.’
But it seemed Seb had already spoken with Phil at some point, because when Ana spoke to him the plans were already in place.
‘I hope you don’t mind, darling, but I packed up most of your stuff. I’ve had a shipment of fabric in and haven’t got anywhere else to store it.’
‘Of course.’
‘You stay with Seb, darling. He has much more space there.’
It was a conspiracy. So much for the gay man being like a sister in solidarity, this was the boys clubbing together.
‘You sound tired. You could do with some rest.’
She could hear him smiling as he spoke.
‘I’ve had a migraine.’ They’d only had sex the once; it wasn’t the all-night orgy that Phil was so clearly imagining.
She pushed the ‘end’ button on the phone and turned to watch Seb dress for work. ‘You set that up, didn’t you? With Phil already.’
He shifted so she couldn’t see his face. ‘I wanted you to stay.’
‘Why didn’t you just ask me to?’
‘Because I thought you’d say no.’
Did he really not know? Had he not worked it out? She was trapped. She didn’t want to say no to him. And now, after this morning, she couldn’t say no to him—not any more.
Seb gave her a sideways glance as he did up the buttons on his shirt. She was too quiet. And still way too pale. The sudden onset of her migraine yesterday had frightened the hell out of him. He still wasn’t breathing right—the tightness in his chest not easing. It was as if he was permanently on alert for some kind of catastrophe—all adrenalin and edge. Not even being so deep inside her this morning had helped. In fact that experience had only seemed to make his sense of urgency worse. He’d said she was stressed about it and maybe she was. But so was he.
She had to stay with him. Despite knowing it meant their affair was growing in complexity, there was no question about her leaving. Not while she looked so ill. And no way was she sleeping in any bed other than his for a while yet.
‘I won’t be here more than a day or two, Seb. I’ll find another place.’
‘Just relax, Ana. It doesn’t bother me.’ Only a bit. He was feeling his way—blindly working on an instinct he hadn’t yet identified. ‘I’ll bring your things back at lunchtime.’
‘You don’t have to do that. After work is fine.’
That was too many hours away. He needed to check she was OK before then. He walked over to the bed. Exerted formidable restraint and didn’t kiss her—knowing he’d never get to work today if he did. But he did touch—a gentle push to make her lie back on the pillows. ‘Stay in bed. You need sleep.’
Half an hour later he looked at the files piling high on his desk and shook his head. How many marriages had he helped end now? Must be hundreds. And so easy it was too. A piece of paper here and sworn affidavit there. It was the division of assets that got the game trickier. No one wanted to give anything material up. It was all about protecting their interests. And Seb always did his best for his clients.
Unless there were kids. And then, he’d have to admit to himself, he’d try to do what was right for those kids. Always took stock of the psychologists’ reports if there were any. Recommended counselling—did his best to insist on it. Because he’d been that kid—more than once—witnessing the end of another marri
age and being pulled in a million directions. Weirdly, as his clients had become wealthier, more famous, the money thing became even more of an issue—the lifestyle to which they were accustomed had to be maintained. Yet there was often more than one ex in the mix. Kids to more than one mother. The mess was horrendous.
At least he and Ana didn’t have any such worries. Dissolving their paper marriage would be easy. They had their own assets and they’d invested nothing in the marriage. And there were no children.
His heart seemed to stutter every time he thought of that—the child they’d lost. So he pushed it from his mind by sheer iron will. She said she didn’t want kids. Neither did he. And that was a good thing, wasn’t it? Because it meant that maybe their affair could continue—maybe indefinitely. OK, there was never a ‘for ever’, but they could be together for as long as they both wanted. There was no fear of the complication of children. And no real commitment. And given that he desired her more than ever—this could only be a good thing. Even so he should push the divorce through—he could sign those papers today and get the process under way.
But instead he lifted the first file on his desk and opened it. Fee-bringing business first.
An hour later he shut the file—having got nowhere. His mind had drifted further than a piece of cork on an ocean.
He’d go get her bags and take them to her now. So what if lunch was still hours away—she’d need something clean to wear, wouldn’t she?
He laughed as he carried the bulky bags straight up to his room and dumped them on the floor. He walked into his big wardrobe and pushed his clothes to one side.
‘You take this half.’ Although judging by the number of bags still in his car she might need the one in the spare room as well.
She was sitting on the bed wearing his robe and he pounced on a bag spilling shoes to stop himself pouncing on her. She was still too damn pale.
‘My God,’ he teased as he tipped the bag up. ‘You weren’t joking about your collection.’ At least twenty pairs of sky-high heels had piled out into a mountain.
‘They’re pretty good, aren’t they?’
‘Most look unworn.’
‘Most are.’ She looked sheepish. ‘I can’t part with them. They’re a reminder of my stupidity. And the fact is I still love them. But I’ve been wearing them more and more.’
To Love, Honour and Disobey Page 12