Second Chance with the Millionaire

by Penny Jordan

  She was dressed and putting on her make-up when Saul came into the suite.

  ‘I didn’t unpack your case because I wasn’t sure what you’d want,’ she told him, watching him unfasten and then flick back its lid.

  When he selected a white tuxedo and dark trousers, she knew she had been right in thinking his parents would dine in some formality.

  Physically they made a well-matched couple, she thought miserably half an hour later as she caught a glimpse of their double reflection in the bedroom mirror, but they weren’t a couple at all—at least not in the true sense of the word. Just two people held together by the demands and responsibility of the new life they had so thoughtlessly conceived.

  The conversation over dinner was light and entertaining, her mother-in-law an experienced and skilled hostess. Never for one moment did Lucy feel out of place or unwanted. Her pregnancy was mentioned a couple of times in the context of the general conversation, Sophy so patently relaxed about it that Lucy felt some of her own apprehensions ease.

  She was grateful when Sophy suggested an early night, knowing that it was only will-power that had kept her from yawning openly over the last stages of the meal.

  Suspecting that Saul would probably remain with his parents, she excused herself, returning Sophy’s almost motherly kiss as she and Harry said their ‘good nights’.

  As she walked past Saul’s chair, she smiled at him, too, trying not to show how tense she was.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ he told her. ‘I’m rather tired myself.’

  While Harry laughed and teased him for being very unromantic for a newly married man, Lucy made her escape.

  Already she was beginning to take the air-conditioning for granted, showering quickly, and then cleansing her face and brushing her hair before slipping between deliciously cool and soft percale sheets. The quality of the bedding was something she had already noted and decided to ask her mother-in-law about. There were a lot of adjustments she was going to have to make in her new life and she was glad that Sophy was there to help and advise her. At home they used linen sheets, originally bought by her great-grandmother, and still going strong, but they were nothing like as soft and comfortable as these.

  The sound of a door opening and then closing brought her up through several layers of sleep but not fully awake. The alarm the sounds had triggered off faded as her subconscious recognised the sounds of the decisive masculine movements about the room. The shower ran, a distantly heard and faintly comforting sound. There were movements and then the sensation of the bed depressing, accompanied by the silken rustle of sheets and an elusively familiar, tangy male scent. Instinctively, Lucy turned towards the source of it, her sleep deepening into complete relaxation as she snuggled up against the warm male body so close to her own. A smile curved her mouth as she nuzzled, contentedly, deeper into the secure warmth.

  Lying on his side looking down at her, Saul tensed and swore silently, reaching out to push her away, and then changing his mind and instead settling her more comfortably against his body, his arm curling around her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  LUCY was having a dream. In her dream she was in Saul’s arms, and he was making love to her as he had done before that fatal quarrel. Wherever he touched her skin tiny frissons of pleasure burned along her nerve endings. What he was doing to her was delightful, but she yearned and ached for more. She reached out towards him, wanting to convey with her own touch how much she wanted him. Her fingers touched smooth skin and hard muscle. The layers of sleep parted abruptly, the sensation of flesh and bone beneath her fingers too real to be the product of any mere dream. Panic fluttered inside her as her eyes opened. She was lying in Saul’s arms, the pre-drawn light filtering through the room.

  Like a guilty child she snatched her fingers away from his skin, her throat suddenly almost too tight for her to breathe. What was she doing?

  In the same instant that she came awake she realised that Saul was completely naked, the fragile silk of her nightdress the only barrier between them. Filled with panic she tried to wriggle away, dreading the thought of him waking up and finding her here in his arms, but the minute she tried to move the arm round her waist tightened, his eyelids opening to reveal darkly glittering and far too alert eyes.

  ‘Let me go! What are you doing?’ The words tumbled from her lips with feverish panic.

  ‘You tell me. You were the one who started this,’ he told her mockingly, ‘snuggling up to me like a little kitten begging to be stroked.’

  The picture his words were making was too intimate… it made her too vulnerable. Hot colour stormed her skin as she listened to him. Had she really? She swallowed hard and forced herself to meet his eyes.

  ‘Think I’m lying?’ he asked softly.

  Why should he? He didn’t want her, while she…

  Numbly she shook her head, and then said huskily, ‘I’m sorry, I…’

  ‘Don’t be.’ His voice was oddly harsh as he added, ‘I’m still man enough to enjoy having a beautiful woman cuddle up to me—even if she is asleep.’

  He was smiling, Lucy realised incredulously, almost laughing in fact, his grey eyes gleaming, not with dislike or contempt, but amusement and… Her breath caught, her throat muscles rigid as she recognised the hot glitter of desire in them.

  ‘Of course, I’d enjoy it much more if you weren’t wearing this,’ he murmured against her ear, his fingers on the bow-tied shoulder straps of her nightgown.

  She really ought to move away from him; she knew that, but he had already untied the bows and her heart was thudding so hard she thought it might well break through her ribs, especially now that his hand was resting against it.

  ‘Lucy…’

  Her tongue touched her dry upper lip as she caught the fevered undertone of arousal hoarsening his voice.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ He was looking at her mouth, and obediently, as though she had no will of her own, her tongue retreated.

  It was like a dream, everything totally unreal, especially the unmistakable tremor in his hands as they locked on her now bare shoulders, his tongue touching the still dry tension of her mouth, stroking, moistening, totally capturing her senses until she moaned softly under her need to feel his mouth against her own, reaching up to tug his head downwards, her fingers curling into the thick tousled hair, her face lifting eagerly towards him as she shuddered beneath the fierce onslaught of his kiss.

  Since she was quite well aware that Saul would never, ever kiss her with this starving hunger, there was no need for her to try and rationalise anything. This was not reality; it could not be, and hence there was no need for her to resist or fight it—or to conceal her feelings, her need and love that welled up inside her, finding expression in the trembling softness of her body against his as her lips parted eagerly to the fierce thrust of his tongue.

  His hands swept upwards, his fingers gentle on the vulnerable contours of her throat and then fiercely locking in her hair, tightening against her scalp as desire flowed between them fuelled by the hot urgency of their mouths.

  Still kissing her, Saul thrust aside the bed-clothes, and instinctively she moved towards him, welcoming the weight of his body against her own, her nipples hardening into taut desire as they pushed protestingly against the fine silk that separated them.

  When Saul wrenched his mouth from her own, Lucy felt so totally bereft that she wanted to cry. She reached for him, her hands encountering only the thick silkiness of his hair, her fingers clenching convulsively into his scalp as his head cupped her breast, his mouth tugging feverishly at its swollen crest, too hungry for her to wait until he had pushed aside the fine silk.

  Her heart thumped frantically, her body arching in a delirium of remembered pleasure.

  ‘Lucy.’

  His head lay against her breast, the wet silk clinging to her skin. Caught up in the fever of her own arousal Lucy recognised the thick drugging quality of his desire. His voice was raw with it, as unfamiliar to her as the shudders t
hat convulsed his body.

  ‘I shouldn’t be doing this.’

  The words were hoarse with self-imposed restraint, his body hard and aroused against her own. He wanted her, Lucy thought frantically. He did want her, no matter what he might say, and she wanted him. The fact that she could arouse him to physical desire gave her new hope. Perhaps after all something could be salvaged, something made of their marriage. Perhaps if she told him the truth about Neville…

  Despite what he had said, he hadn’t moved, and now he bent again towards her body, his lips gently caressing the fullness of her breast, as though unable to resist their temptation. Shivers of pleasure rippled through her, drowning her in waves of fire.

  When she could find her breath she gasped achingly, ‘If it’s because of Neville…’

  ‘Damn Neville!’ Saul swore violently, releasing her. ‘You’re married to me, not him. He doesn’t want you, Lucy. Not the way I do.’ He broke off and added thickly, ‘I was thinking about the baby… The doctor…’

  The doctor had in fact tactfully informed her that there was no reason why she should not lead a perfectly normal married life, at least until the later stages of her pregnancy, but it was not this that made Lucy’s eyes widen slowly. Saul had said he wanted her…

  ‘You want me.’ She repeated the words slowly, savouring them, looking down at him as his head lifted.

  ‘I know I’m the first man to make love to you, but you’re not that naïve, Lucy,’ he told her roughly. ‘You know damn well what you do to me.’ His glance skimmed the outline of their entwined bodies, and Lucy felt her skin grow hot as it lingered meaningfully on the place where his body throbbed its message of desire and need against her own.

  ‘Did you really want me before… when you threw me out?’ It was a question that pride should have prevented her from asking, but now the words were out and could not be recalled.

  Saul was frowning, moving slightly away from her, so that she instinctively sought to close that tiny gap. Still frowning he let her, watching her eyes close as her body absorbed the pleasure of being close to him.

  ‘You know I did,’ he said flatly. ‘Do you honestly think I could have made love to you the way I did simply out of…’

  ‘Revenge? I thought you must have done,’ she said quietly, watching the incredulous disbelief fill his eyes.

  ‘Revenge?’ His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he said with probing softness, ‘I was half mad with jealousy, Lucy; surely you realised that the moment I mentioned Summers’ name?’

  ‘No,’ Lucy said slowly, ‘I thought your making love to me must all be part of some plan you’d conceived to punish me for… for everything.’

  Frowning, he sat up facing her; the pre-dawn light was fading now and Lucy blinked as he reached out to snap on one of the bedside lamps. Its golden glow encompassed them both, emphasising the deep tan of his skin and the paleness of hers.

  ‘I think you and I have some talking to do,’ Saul said softly. ‘Just tell me one thing. What does Neville Summers mean to you?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Lucy told him promptly. ‘I’ve already told you that before. He’s my cousin, and I’m very, very fond of his parents, but I saw Neville as he really is years ago.’ She had said more than she ever intended, but suddenly it didn’t matter what she might betray to Saul; instinct told her that having said so much she might as well go on.

  ‘When he came to see me that afternoon, to try and blackmail me into giving him some help, my first instinct was to refuse outright, but I knew if I did he wouldn’t tell me any more, whereas if I pretended I would help, I could learn more about his plans.’

  ‘But when I asked you if you had had any visitors, you denied it,’ Saul reminded her.

  ‘Because you seemed so worried… I didn’t want to add to your problems. I told you that then.’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ he agreed sombrely, ‘and I was so caught up in my own destructive jealousy I didn’t know what to believe. All I could think about was that summer and how he had encouraged you to reject me. And how much he had enjoyed it. He knew then that I was attracted to you, Lucy, even if you didn’t. He even taunted me with it.’ He smiled derisively as he saw the disbelief in her eyes. ‘Oh yes, he knew all right.’

  ‘I thought it might be something like that… that it could be because you were jealous of him that you had… that you rejected me.’

  ‘You did some pretty definite rejecting of your own,’ Saul reminded her. ‘You let me think you were in league with him against me.’

  ‘Because I was so hurt that you could… that you could make love to me like that and then reject me. I had to have some means of self-defence.’

  ‘Lucy…’ He pulled her gently towards him, resting her head against his shoulder. ‘Is it too late for us to start again? To try and build on what we do have? We desire each other.’

  ‘Desire isn’t love.’ She said it unhappily, unable to look at him.

  ‘No,’ he agreed after some hesitation. ‘But while one of us loves, surely…’

  Lucy stiffened, wrenching herself out of his arms. So all along he had known how she felt about him.

  ‘All right, I admit I do love you, Saul,’ she agreed, trembling with emotion and temper, ‘but…’

  ‘Hey, wait a minute. What do you mean, “you admit you love me”?’

  ‘Exactly what I said,’ she snapped back, hating the smile that curled his mouth and brought glimmering sparks of delight to his eyes. ‘You’ve obviously known all along how I felt, and I…’

  He was shaking his head, his smile going. ‘No, Lucy,’ he said seriously, ‘I haven’t known. Why the devil do you think I was so jealous of Neville? So unsure of you? Not because I knew you loved me, for sure.’

  ‘But you said…’ Her forehead crinkled into a small frown.

  ‘What I said was, as long as one of us loves… But the one I was referring to was me, not you.’

  For several seconds she was stupefied into silence and then she objected shakily,

  ‘But you can’t love me. You left without a word, and never even tried to get in touch with me. If we hadn’t met by accident at the Manor, you’d…’

  ‘I’d have torn England apart trying to find you,’ he groaned suddenly, pulling her into his arms, his voice thick and raw with emotion as he told her.

  ‘I was just setting out for the Dower House that night to see you and apologise when my mother rang. She was in such a panic about Harry, I didn’t dare take the time to talk to you about my jealousy. I wasn’t sure enough of you to think you would readily understand. I’d been shocked by my behaviour—shocked and disgusted, and I knew you would be, too. It wasn’t something that could be put right in a phone call or a letter. I’d hoped to get back sooner than I did, and when I did manage to fly in it was to find that you’d left. It was like a blow in the gut. I took it to mean that you were finished with me… That I’d been right after all and Neville was the one you wanted. I can’t begin to tell you what it did to me to think that all the time I was making love to you, you were wishing it was someone else. It just tore me apart.

  ‘I swore I didn’t want anything else to do with you, that I was better off without you… but none of it worked. And then, when your uncle got in touch with me to tell me about the baby…’

  He saw her start of shock and smiled grimly.

  ‘Apparently he got my number from Patterson, and he told me everything; everything apart from the fact that you loved me, that is. You were carrying my child… That made you both my responsibility. I knew then what I was going to do. I told myself I was only marrying you because of the baby, but I knew damn well that wasn’t it. It was no accident that I was at the Manor that morning. I’d flown over the night before determined not to let you out of my sight until you’d agreed to marry me. Believe me, Lucy, if it hadn’t been for Harry’s illness you’d have been back in my arms before dawn that morning, hearing how much I loved and wanted you.’

  It was said with too mu
ch conviction to be a lie, and anyway what would be the point?

  ‘You really love me?’

  She said it uncertainly, like a child promised something so magnificent that it hardly dared believe the promise was real.

  ‘You’d better believe it,’ Saul told her wryly. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t already heard as much from my mother. I told her a long time ago that I’d found the girl I wanted to spend my life with.’

  ‘A long time ago?’ Her eyebrows lifted as she teased him. ‘We’ve only known each other a few months.’

  ‘Correction,’ Saul whispered against her mouth, ‘I knew you twelve years ago.’

  He felt the shock of surprise ripple through her body.

  ‘I fell pretty hard for you that summer, Lucy, and though what I felt faded over the years, it never went away completely. When your father died and I knew I’d inherited, I was in two minds about coming over. I told myself it was safer not to, but I couldn’t forget that all those years ago I’d sensed that beneath the teenage disdain you’d shown me was someone very different. And then I heard from Patterson about what your father had done to the estate, and I told myself I was wrong after all… But still I had to come and find out for myself.’

  There would be time later to tell him the truth about Oliver. Right now all she wanted was to be held like this in his arms, his mouth moving with tantalising slowness over her skin, his hands sliding the silk of her nightdress from her body, his earlier urgency gone as he started to make love to her with a slow languor that her body loved.

  ‘Let’s start again,’ he murmured against her mouth, teasing it with small biting kisses. ‘Right from the moment when we walked into my bedroom.’