by Penny Jordan
He pulled at the top two buttons of his shirt, abandoning the task to take her in his arms, his voice hoarse and muffled against the smooth skin of her shoulder as he demanded. “Take it off for me, Chrissie. I think I’ll go mad if I don’t touch you.”
As she made a tentative movement towards the small pearl buttons Chris felt the heat of his skin burning into her through the fine material of his shirt. The need to feel that heat directly against her skin was almost terrifying in its intensity. She didn’t know which of them was trembling the most she thought hazily as she tried to work the small buttons free one hand flat against the hard wall of Slater’s chest as she steadied herself. All the time she was trying to concentrate on her task, Slater’s mouth was playing delicately over her skin, caressing the line of her neck and shoulder. Shivers of pleasure raced through her, as the last button came free and she tugged the shirt tails free of his waistband. His body was harder; stronger than she remembered, the muscles of his stomach drawn in sharply as her fingernails accidentally grazed against his chest. The hair that grew there was dark, and oddly smooth, and she gave in to the temptation to run her fingertips lightly through it.
Slater’s sharp gasp brought her explorations to a sudden halt, pleasure flooding her body like melted honey as he bit into her skin, pulling her against him so that the fine dark hairs grazed arousingly against her swollen nipples. When he moved, increasing the tormenting contact, Chris moaned huskily in her throat. It arched beneath her tentative caress inciting further exploration. Delicately Chris brushed her thumb over its male outline, feeling Slater’s harsh sound of pleasure reverberating beneath her hand. Her lips touched the spot caressed by her thumb and she was startled by the harsh exclamation of sound Slater made, his hand cupping her breast, stroking urgently over its hard tip.
“Chrissie.” The sound of her name was lost beneath the savage pleasure of his kiss, their mouths melding and fusing, passion a tangible force enveloping them as Chris wrapped her arms round him, exulting in the fierce abrasion of his body hair against her breasts, pulsing with feverish need that betrayed itself in the compulsive thrust of her lower body against his as it demanded an increasingly closer contact with the hard muscles of his thighs.
They were still standing up, and when Slater released her breast, his hands moving swiftly down her body, to slide inside the cutaway legs of her bikini bottom, and hold her against him so that she could feel the shudders of need pulsing through him she gloried in the intimate contact, pressing wild kisses against his moist skin. A wildness she hadn’t known herself capable of entering her blood, her hands stroking feverishly over Slater’s torso, her mouth obedient to Slater’s muttered urgings, following a path downward over his throat and shoulder until she rested against the hard, almost flat outline of his nipple.
Shock held Chris almost rigid for a moment, the heat of Slater’s hands cupping her bottom sending shivers of intense pleasure quivering through her. His body pulsed frantically against hers one hand freeing itself from her lower body to tangle in her hair and then spread against the back of her head. “Yes…Chrissie,” she heard him mutter, as she was convulsed with waves of pleasure. “Yes…kiss me…” Feverish sounds of pleasure wracked his body as she let her lips play with the small hard nub of flesh, and feeling suddenly, recklessly responsive, Chris let her tongue play delicately over his tense skin, teasing it with her lips, until Slater gave a harsh moan that demanded fulfilment of the promise her tormenting mouth implied.
The hoarse, almost feverish words ignited her own passions, her body throbbing with aching need as she stroked and kissed as much of his body as she could.
It was the barrier of his waistband and belt that stopped her—that and the sudden sensation of losing her balance, that it took her several seconds to recognise the fact that Slater had lifted her off her feet and was carrying her over to the low cushioned bench against the wall.
“Chris…my God, how you torment me.” The thick admission was made as Slater lowered her on to the cushions, Still bending over her, he studied her almost broodingly for a second and Chris shivered lightly under that exploration. She wanted him so much it hurt, and suddenly, she knew that no matter how much she suffered for it afterwards she desperately wanted him to make love to her. It wasn’t simply a matter of appeasing her aching body. It was something to hold on to in the lonely future. Something to dream about and to remember. And she always would remember that she had aroused him; that she had made him tremble and cry out with pleasure so fierce that she could still see it beating in his body. Instinctively she knew that if she denied him now he would not try to force or coerce her; they had gone far beyond that, and she sensed that he was as taken off guard as she was herself by their explosive response to one another.
This was the coming together they should have shared seven years ago, she thought intuitively; this was why she had never been free of him. Unconsciously she moved, reaching up towards him, the afternoon sun slanting in through the windows and outlining her breasts. There was a clear line where her tan ended and Slater traced it slowly, his dark gaze absorbing the reactions of her body, making her feel that in his mind already he possessed her and filled her.
Her fingers touched his waist, her hair golden against the dark fabric of his pants as she leaned forward and pressed tremulous lips to the firm skin just above his belt.
“Chrissie…” His response was explosive, his head lowering until his mouth touched her nipple. Fierce, almost unbearable pangs of pleasure shot through her at his touch, her teeth unwittingly nipping erotically at his skin, her body clenching beneath waves of fiery pleasure as without any gentle preliminaries Slater’s tongue rasped the sensitive peak of her breast, his mouth tugging compulsively, while his hand struggled to release the fastening of his pants, his urgent movements inciting Chris to help him, and to shiver in primaeval female responsiveness at the sight of his naked aroused body.
She wanted to touch him; a desire increased by his fierce possession of her breast, but trembled on the brink of doing so, until he released her tender nipple to mutter a plea against her skin that made her go hot with reaction and response.
As though to underline what he had said, his mouth moved downwards over her body, his tongue circling the smooth indentation in her belly, his fingers deftly untying the strings of her bikini bottom.
Just for a second Chris felt acutely self-conscious. She raised her head, intending to murmur an instinctive protest, but the words died unsaid as Slater looked directly at her, and she trembled beneath the fierce need burning in his eyes.
“You’re so very, very beautiful…” He said the words slowly, as though barely aware of having spoken them, his hand pushing away the fabric of her bikini. Just for a second it rested against her body, and Chris was stunned by her muscles’ instinctive response; by the tightly coiling sensation building up inside her that made her ache to arch against the hard pressure of his hand, to… She closed her eyes, shivering with the shock of her own sensuality.
“Chrissie…” She felt a touch as light as butterfly wings against her thigh, and then gasped at the intrusive stroke of Slater’s fingers, half shocked half thrilled by his intimacy. It was almost as though he had read her thoughts; had known… She opened her eyes to speak to him and was transfixed by the sight of his dark head leaning against her thighs. The gold eyes would not allow hers to slide away, hot colour mounting her skin as he deliberately placed his mouth against her skin. Hot shivers of pleasure surged through her. Her body seem to melt, opening to him and she gasped, shuddering beneath the caressing intimacy of his fingers.
“Touch me, Chrissie,” he commanded in a hoarse voice. “Touch me…kiss me, the way I’m touching and kissing you…”
Almost like an automaton she obeyed him, tensely at first, overwhelmed by the intimacy of what she was doing, but the heat of his skin, the sheer pleasure of hearing his raw sounds of desire, the responsiveness of his body to her lightest touch, soon obliterated every trace
of shyness.
Her own body was equally responsive to him, arching wantonly to his lightest touch, her mind cast adrift by her body as she gave in to the mindless ecstasy his touched evoked.
His mouth against her thigh made her ache with hunger but when it moved higher she tensed instinctively, thrown into shivering uncertainly.
“Chrissie?” Slater’s voice registered her unease, and suddenly fearing that he might withdraw from her, Chris said urgently, “Slater…please…I want you. I…” Tears spurted unexpectedly from her eyes, as he moved—away from her or so she thought, until she realised he had joined her on the cushions, his body hard and warm against her own as he took her in his arms, tracing the course of her tears with his tongue.
“I want you too.” His words were confirmed by the aroused weight of his body. Her fears subsiding Chris arched upward instinctively to meet it, gasping as the full intensity of her inner need washed over her, and she responded blindly to the urging of Slater’s hands and body, revelling in the rhythmic thrust of his maleness against her, startled by her reaction to the sudden brief spasm of pain that for one second threatened to overcome pleasure. She felt Slater’s fingers tighten and opened her eyes to find him looking disbelieving back at her. She had forgotten that he hadn’t known she was still a virgin. She thought he was going to speak, to withdraw from her, and pressed herself fiercely against him, holding him to her, kissing him passionately, her teeth catching on his lower lip as she felt his response in the powerful surge of his body into hers.
She knew she cried out—in pleasure not pain, but the sound was swallowed by Slater’s mouth, fiercely enmeshed with hers, schooling the fierce tide of need swelling through her just as his body controlled her untutored physical response, nurturing it until she thought she would simply explode, dissolve, with the intensity of it. The power of the spasms of pleasure wracking her made her cry out his name, conscious briefly of his own harsh exclamation of pleasure, and filled with an intensely female sense of accomplishment that she had satisfied him. Even as she tried to register the thought the world started to whirl in a blur round her. She was going to faint Chris realised in stunned disbelief… Slater had just made love to her and she was going to faint. Darkness welled up and claimed her, spinning her dizzily round. She was aware of Slater calling her name, but she could not summon the energy to respond.
Her faint could surely have lasted only seconds, Chris thought muzzily, opening her eyes, blushing furiously as she discovered that Slater was bending over her, once more fully dressed.
“Chris…” His voice was harsh, the expression in his eyes so cold that she shivered beneath it. He had covered her with her wrap, she realised, suddenly glad of its brief protection. “Chris…we have to talk…”
No words of love or praise, she realised bitterly, but then what had she expected?
“No…No…” Panic edged up under her voice and she struggled to conceal it, sitting up and clumsily pulling on her robe. When Slater moved to help her she flinched away from him as though the contact burned. He dropped her arm immediately, backing away, his mouth tense. “Chris…”
“No…no, don’t say anything, I don’t want to hear.” She stumbled to her feet, half stumbling and half running to the door. She had forgotten it was locked and banged on it impotently with her fists, tears streaming down her face. “Let me out of here,” she demanded half hysterically, not knowing why she was crying or why she was filled with this impulse to flee, knowing only that she had to get away…that she had to escape Slater’s presence.
“Chris…” He came towards her, and she backed away.
“I’m not going to touch you.” His voice was terse, his back turned towards her as he unlocked the door and opened it. She bolted through it like a terrified hare, not stopping until she was safely inside her own room. What had caused her flight she didn’t know. Now that her sexual hunger was appeased she felt bitter and ashamed. She loved Slater, but he did not love her, and worse still he now knew how she felt—he must do—he must recognise the reason why she had retained her virginity for so long—and the reason she had been so impatient today to lose it. Shame scorched her skin. If only she could simply disappear she thought helplessly. If only she never had to face him again, but there was Sophie to consider. She simply could not walk out on the little girl now. Surely her future; her good health was more important than selfish pride? Natalie might not have made her Sophie’s guardian for any love of either of them, but she was going to do all she could to carry out her task properly. Somehow she would just have to face Slater and endure his mockery. Somehow…but please God not just yet, she thought achingly as she curled up on her bed. She couldn’t face him just yet.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHADOWS were lengthening in the garden when she woke up. Downstairs a door slammed and her body tensed, her eyes fixed on her closed door, in mute dread. When Slater came in she shrank back under the bedclothes.
“Chris.” His voice was sharp. “Sophie seems to be missing.” The very real anxiety she could detect in his eyes banished any suspicions she might have had that he was making it up.
“Mrs Lancaster gave her tea as usual and she went upstairs to read. When she went to get her ready for bed she couldn’t find her.”
“I’ll help you look.”
She pushed back the bedclothes, avoiding meeting his eyes as she swung her feet to the floor.
“I’ve searched the house and garden already. Now I’ll have to ring the police.” He was out of the door before she had left her bed. She had dreaded coming face to face with him again but now their mutual concern for Sophie over-rode any embarrassment Chris might have felt.
Dressed and downstairs she was just in time to catch the tail end of his telephone conversation.
“Yes I understand how you feel, Sarah,” she heard him saying, “but obviously I can’t take you out to dinner tonight… Yes…yes…” He sounded tersely angry and Chris wondered at the other woman’s lack of concern for Sophie. After all she was Slater’s child and she thought Sarah would have cared about her for his sake if not for the little girl’s own.
Anxious for something to occupy herself with, Chris went out into the garden. It was very large and parts of it were almost overgrown. Sophie could easily be lost in it, but Slater had said he had searched it and knowing him as she did she owned that that search would have been a thorough one.
She wandered down the drive and out on to the road. It made her blood run ice in her veins to contemplate the fates that might have befallen the little girl. She frowned remembering how distressed she had been by John Howard’s visit. She hadn’t even had time to tell Slater about her humming, Chris reflected retracing her steps back to the house. She found Slater in the study, his back was towards her. He was studying a framed photograph he held in his hands. Chris didn’t need to see it to recognise the photograph of her cousin and Sophie which normally stood on his desk. Inwardly she wept bitter tears of pain, but outside she strived to appear calm as she approached the desk.
The naked ache of agony she had discerned in Slater’s expression was wiped clean as he saw her, the photograph restored to its rightful place.
“It might not be important,” she began tersely, “but Sophie seemed very upset this morning while John was here. He explained to me…”
“He did, did he?” Slater laughed with harsh bitterness. “The Chris I remember wouldn’t have… Oh for God’s sake what’s the use… Yes, it is important,” he went on bitterly. “Surely even you can recognise that much… Dear God when I think of what could happen to her…” His voice was suspended and Chris wondered on a shock wave of horror if he blamed her for Sophie’s disappearance. His next words seemed to confirm her fears. “Sarah warned me against letting you stay,” he ground out savagely, “and I’m beginning to think she might be right…” He strode past her without another word leaving Chris to stare painfully after him.
Could Sophie have run away because of John’s visit? Had she
perhaps feared that they might be a forerunner to more tests? More visits to hospital which Mrs Lancaster had already told Chris she hated? But where would she go? Unbidden the memory of her book in Sophie’s hands tormented her. The cottage! But surely Sophie could not have gone there? A two mile walk or more and all on her own. Someone must surely have spotted her.
No, she was being ridiculous to even think of such a thing as Slater would no doubt tell her were she foolish enough to confide her thoughts to him. But what if she were right…what if Sophie had… There was only one way to find out, Chris thought numbly heading for the front door and picking up her keys on the way.
Ten minutes later she was pointing the car down the lane that led to the cottage. Already it was dark enough for her to need headlights and the thought of Sophie walking all alone down this narrow, overgrown lane made her ache with fear for the little girl.
The cottage was all in darkness. Getting out of the car Chris berated herself for her stupidity. She was just wasting valuable time which would have been far better expended in searching closer to home. Sophie could not possibly be here.
The cottage door wasn’t locked. Chris remembered that she had not locked it after her last visit anticipating the arrival of the workmen who were to give her the various estimates she wanted.
The door creaked slightly and swung inwards. The sound of tiny scampering feet brought the fine hairs on Chris’s skin bolt upright. Mice… Shuddering she found the light switch.
The room looked no different than it had on her last visit. “Sophie…” she called the little girl’s name softly, feeling foolish. Of course she was not here… A quick inspection of the kitchen and dining room confirmed this view. Only upstairs to check now, Chris thought wearily already regretting her impulsive action in coming here. The stairs creaked as she climbed them, reminding her of how precarious they were. She hadn’t bothered with the light and she cursed softly as one stair gave way beneath her foot. The wood felt soft and rotten and she grimaced anticipating the cost of replacing it. The whole place was probably riddle with damp.