by Pia Tremayne
“I did,” he said briefly, “but I’ve changed my mind.”
“Well, I can certainly ask her.”
“Hen, she’s…she may decide she doesn’t want to come. If there is anything you can say or do to persuade her I’d really appreciate it.”
“You know I’ll do my best, Anthony,” she assured him warmly. “Just leave it with me.”
* * * *
Nicola arrived at about six o’clock on Thursday. Henrietta had told him to expect her. As soon as the doorbell sounded he opened the door to see her standing there, wearing her overcoat and high-heeled black boots and carrying only an overnight bag, which seemed to emphasize she wasn’t going to take a chance on wearing out her welcome.
The sight of her sent his heartbeat into triple time. She was tanned, and stunning. As far as he could tell, except for the delicate shade of coral lipstick that shimmered on her lips, she was wearing no makeup at all, and on her, no makeup was perfect. Her hair was pulled back from her face, making her large green eyes appear larger still in their frame of thick, sooty lashes. For several seconds all he could do was stand there like an idiot, his eyes feasting on her gloriously exotic face and the luscious gleaming baby mouth that just cried out to be kissed.
He was wearing jeans and a black Boca T-shirt that revealed nicely developed biceps and forearms shadowed on the outside with downy looking fine black hair that invited touching. His broad shoulders and chest strained against the fabric of the tee shirt and she swallowed as an image of herself, pressed against his broad chest, licking his nipples, stormed unbidden into her mind. She deleted it hastily. She really had to get a grip if she had any hope at all of taking control of the situation for a change.
“Time is money,” she said, her voice lilting suggestively. “If you really want to spend it standing in the doorway I don’t mind, except I can think of at least a hundred other ways that would definitely be more entertaining.”
Her words, her whole demeanor broadsided him. He’d sort of expected her to be wary, cool toward him, but this vampish woman with her sexy, teasing voice, her tempting pouty mouth, and bewitching Scheherazade eyes that promised a thousand and one Arabian nights, had sent his already revved up hormones zinging about crazily with a single sentence. His cock came to attention instantly, outdistancing his brain by a full nanosecond, the difference between Olympic silver and gold. He ordered his brain to get on the ball. He was definitely going for the gold—all the way.
“Sorry,” he said, experiencing a minor chagrin at how lame that sounded. “Come on in.”
She walked in. and he shut the door behind her. “It’s almost dinnertime,” he said as she dropped her bag and began to unbuckle her coat. “Maybe we should head right out for dinner. I just have to change clothes. I made reservations at Rubens. Unless you’d rather stay in and order takeaway,” he amended hastily, catching a gleam in her eyes. He’d better stay on his toes. She had him doing a tap dance to keep up as it was.
“Well, here’s the thing, Anthony,” she said. “I think Rubens has a dress code, and quite frankly, love, I’m not dressed.” She removed her coat with one quick movement, slung it over the stair railing and stood there, dressed in nothing but a dark green lace camisole with matching high-cut briefs and her boots. He heard a roaring in his ears as blood surged through his veins and flooded his instantly erect phallus. He moved forward instinctively, propelled by a blind need to tear that camisole off her, to see without hindrance all of the dusky nipples peeking through the lace, to feel her skin under his hands, to hold her, stroke her, possess her completely. But she had only just begun.
“Can you help me get these off?” she asked, backing away two steps.
She rested her hand on the newel post at the foot of the stairs and lifted her leg. He glimpsed the soft edible-looking flesh on the underside of her buttocks, and desire slammed his gut with the force of a pile driver. He caught hold of her booted leg, seized the zip, drew it down, and eased the boot off. He fondled her calf lovingly, and trailed his hands upward, behind her knee, up the back of her thigh, all the way to her temptingly soft buttocks.
Want clawed her belly and she pulled her leg away, resisting it. “Now the other one,” she said, raising the still booted leg. This time, when he removed the boot, it was irresistible. He bent down and kissed her knee, then licked his way to the top of her thigh. Her leg wobbled in his hand as his mouth approached the danger zone and she drew it out of his grasp. Now she was standing in front of him in her bare feet.
“Nicola!” he said, his voice choking.
“Definitely a night to order in,” she said, stretching her arms above her head like a luxurious feline, the movement hiking the camisole up to reveal a sleek, tanned midriff. He caught her around the waist and pulled her to him, caressing the soft skin with his thumbs and gradually moving upward under her camisole, sliding back and forth across her nipples, feeling them harden under the pads of his thumbs. She arched away from him, a convulsive movement that invited him unmistakably to feast. Bunching the fabric in his hands he pushed it up and leaning down, took her nipple into his mouth, sucking on it with a raw, hard hunger that made her writhe.
Oh God! His mouth was pushing her relentlessly to the brink. She felt the wetness drenching her briefs as her vagina throbbed in preparation for certain invasion. His hunger was communicating itself to her, making her want to reach for him, to suck him into her, do to him what he was doing to her. Her resolution to set the pace was hanging by the thinnest of threads. She buried her face in the downy hair at the base of his skull and grazed his neck with her teeth. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, she pulled his head up.
“Wait,” she panted. “Wait.”
“Wait for what?” he asked, his chest heaving. His face was haggard, deprivation stretching the skin tautly over his cheekbones.
“We have all night,” she said, stroking his hot face. “I want to do it with you, all night. But I think you should feed me first.” Mischievousness danced in her eyes, and he drew a deep breath. Impulsively, he leaned forward and covered her mouth with his, flicking his tongue over her lips, awarding a consolation prize to his jangled and frustrated nerves.
“Go into the living room where it’s nice and warm,” he told her, “the fire’s switched on. I’ll cancel the reservation and order the food. Szechuan’s okay?”
“My favorite,” she replied.
He watched her as she walked away, her long dark braid swinging teasingly down her back. She looked like a wood nymph, come to entice him back into the forest with her. Hell, he’d follow her anywhere, anytime, take whatever she felt like giving, sit up and beg or grovel. Name it, and he’d do it.
Nicola sat on the floor in the living room in front of the fire and leaned back against the sofa, her legs curled up under her, wondering where she would get the strength to walk away after this one last weekend with Anthony. Barely inside the door and she had become putty in his hands. What would she be after three whole days? A mindless puddle?
Nicola was well aware that to him what had passed between her and Anthony was nothing more than business and he had dictated the pace from the beginning, dictated what she should do to turn him on, what would happen after that and when it would end. But she had begun to fall in love with him from the first moment he touched her, and her awareness that he had no feelings for her was killing her and she had come to a decision over the holidays. She couldn’t go on feeling torn like this. It had to end. But feeling about him the way she did, she would never find closure by simply walking away. It would leave too much unfinished business hanging in the air. What she would do was restart the arrangement, keep it businesslike by doing whatever he wanted her to do, and then she would simply walk away when it was over. But this time there would be no wagers, no bets. She would make sure that when she left, she would have what she wanted. The money to save her estate. Wasn’t it the reason she put herself up for auction in the first place?
But now that she was here,
in his arms, surrendering to the feel of his hands and of his lips and his mouth igniting her skin, she was afraid she wouldn’t have the strength to pull it off, afraid that she would never find the strength to walk away from him.
When Henrietta Colefax had approached her about returning to Anthony, her first instinct, born of total panic, had been to refuse. “I think you should reconsider, Nicola,” Henrietta responded seriously. “Don’t lose sight of your goals.”
“Is he saying that he wants to be back in the game?”
“I would imagine so. How else would it work?”
In the end she had agreed and now here she was. It was too late to turn tail and run.
His voice broke her train of thought.
“It’ll be here in forty-five minutes or we get it for free,” he announced, walking into the living room. He dropped to the floor next to her. Immediately, he reached out to toy with her long braid of hair. “I like your hair like this,” he told her, eyeing her. God, would he ever get enough?
“Tell me something,” she said. “Why did you change your mind?”
“About the game?”
She nodded.
“Just felt like it,” he said, a shade too casually. “Why did you come back?”
“Why not?” she parried, equally offhand. “I can’t think of anything more rewarding to do.” She flashed him a cheeky smile, inviting him to appreciate her double entendre.
“No other reason?”
“Come on, Anthony. We’re both grown up, remember?”
“Yes,” he said. “You’re right. We are.”
A little silence fell. He continued toying with her braid. She uncurled her legs and stuck them out in front of her, flexing her feet in the warmth emanating from the fireplace. Her legs were shapely, her feet average size but slender, elegant, and uncallused, and her toenails were coral, like her lips. Her tan was flawlessly even, from head to her littlest toe.
“How did you get so beautifully tanned?” he asked, not taking his eyes away from her legs.
“Spent some time on the beach in Jamaica over the Christmas holidays,” she told him.
Jealousy and possessiveness gnawed him. Her tan was too perfect. He had to ask. “Was it a nude beach?”
“No, just…secluded,” she replied, giving him a quizzical glance.
“Were you alone?”
She glanced at him again before replying. “I was born in Jamaica. My sister still lives there, and I’m finished playing twenty questions.”
He realized she hadn’t given him a direct answer but knew he couldn’t press her further.
“Would you like to see the rest of my tan?” she asked, turning toward him and eyeing him naughtily.
“Only if you’re prepared to starve tonight because I won’t be in a position to answer the door and neither will you.”
“Look,” she said, ignoring his veiled warning. She pulled one strap off her shoulder, revealing smooth hint-of-copper skin. “I don’t even have tan lines.”
The soft flesh of her breast pillowed against the fabric, and he was beset by a gnawing hunger that demanded to be assuaged. Swiftly, he descended, searching under the fabric with his lips until his tongue made contact hotly with her nipple. Her response was instantaneous, her arms lifting and clutching him tightly as he crushed her to him, her fingers groping his hair as they came together, his mouth at her breast, hers buried in the nape of his neck in a heated clash of mutual pent-up need that sent them free-falling into a maelstrom of passion that stripped away her careful plans and strategies and tossed them into the void.
The insistent chime of the doorbell finally probed their consciousness and they pulled away from each other reluctantly, their breathing shallow and fast.
“Saved by the bell,” he groaned. He got to his feet, looked down at his erection that strained against his trousers, gestured futilely, and went to answer the door. When she heard the front door close she got up and went to join him in the kitchen.
Watching this new Nicola eat was a delightful experience. She savored every mouthful, her lashes swooping down, heavy-lidded with delight, as the bursts of the different flavors flowered in her mouth. She speared a forkful of spicy chicken slathered in peanut sauce and fed it to him, nodding her head at his enjoyment like a culinary conspirator who has happily snagged a willing accomplice. He took a bite of a spring roll and fed the rest of it to her, turned on by the sight of her lips rounding to take it in. Before he could withdraw his hand, she grasped it and inserted his thumb and the two fingers that had held the roll into her mouth, licking each digit sensuously before releasing it. His cock trembled jealously. Watching her was so absorbing he might have forgotten to eat at all if she hadn’t kept feeding him bits and pieces. He picked up a shrimp dumpling and fed it to her, just to see her mouth opening and her small pink tongue sweeping efficiently over her moist lips to collect any wayward crumbs. Watching her confirmed for him what he had suspected on and off over the years. Enjoyment of food and sex go hand in hand. Nicola didn’t pick at her food. She gave it the same treatment she gave to sex—her full and undivided attention.
“Open,” she commanded, holding a loaded fork to his lips. “You need to keep your strength up or you won’t make it through the night.” She studied him as he chewed obediently. The marks of tension that she had observed around his mouth when he first opened the door had disappeared completely, leaving only a residue of longing buried in his dark eyes. She felt her heart softening and expanding in response and knew that if she wasn’t careful, her feelings about him would be mirrored in her eyes. She was on the brink of losing herself once more in dangerous territory—that state of belonging utterly and completely to one man and one man only—from which it would be impossible to chart her way out ever again. She drew a finger softly down the side of his face, turned away and picked up her glass of wine, shuttering her eyes as she drank.
They had mango sherbet for dessert to cool their heated palates, threw out the leftover food, put the dishes in the dishwasher, and took their wine back to the living room.
“Let’s watch a film while our dinner digests,” she suggested, sinking back down onto the carpet. He went over to the video cabinet and began running his hand over the collection of tapes.
“What are you in the mood for? Action, sci-fi, chick flick, erotic?” He looked back at her, twitching his eyebrows in suggestive humor.
“Oh, definitely erotic,” she said, stretching languorously. He slipped a tape into the VCR and came back to sit next to her. Then he got back up abruptly.
“Let’s sit on the sofa,” he said. “My rear end wants to sit on something soft.” He pulled her to her feet, and they sank down into the sofa. His arm went around her and she curled up against him with a sigh of contentment. He put his glass of wine to her lips and she took a sip, then they were silent as the film began.
The young, attractive couple on the screen were having four other couples over for dinner, and judging by the initial heavy footwork going on under the table, it was going to be a consensually unorthodox kind of evening. Soon, the couples were helping themselves to everything at the table, including each other’s partners. As the couples reformed with new partners, the camera began to focus on the after-dinner activities of the individual pairs. One couple ended up in the swimming pool, and Nicola watched fascinated as the woman floated on her back across the pool piloted by the man whose face was hidden between her thighs.
About thirty minutes into the film, she slipped down into a horizontal position, her head in Anthony’s lap, her face turned to the screen. She felt the beginnings of wetness between her legs and pressing her head into his stomach to make room for her hand to maneuver, began to stroke the fabric of his trousers, feeling his cock stirring under her ministrations. He smoothed her cheek with the back of his forefinger then slid the back of his hand over her jaw, across her collarbone and down her arm, the pressure increasing in tandem with his swiftly accelerating pulse.
She unbut
toned his trousers, and he groaned aloud as her hand slipped inside his under shorts and began to fondle his straining shaft, her thumb flicking smoothly over the slick delicate head. She sighed with pleasure, forgetting about the film as his hand roamed her body, palming her rib cage with smooth flat strokes as it journeyed to her breasts and squashed them together, thumb and fingers splayed so that one nipple rubbed against the flat of his thumb while he toyed with the other with his fingers. Her nipples stiffened under his fingers, and he was torn between the primitive urge to flip her over on her back and seize them with his teeth and the reluctance to do anything that would terminate the sweet massage she was giving his aching cock.
His hand moved down again, took hold of the lacy briefs and pulled them down to caress her thigh. She bent her legs, giving him the cue to pull them off entirely. He slipped them all the way off and tossed them aside. His hand travelled back up her thigh and caressed her mound lovingly before he parted her wet folds with his thumb and fingers, holding them apart as his forefinger rubbed the slippery nub. She squirmed with delight and squeezed her thighs together, pressing down on his finger as it slid inside her, leaving his thumb to massage the sensitive bud.
He was suddenly consumed by a need to hold her, all of her, length to length against him and look into her face. With his free arm around her, steadying her, he slipped down next to her, so that they both were lying on their sides, face-to-face, bodies aligned. When his hand left her vagina, she gave a small cry of protest, pressing her lower body against him, against his erection, trying to fill the sudden void. He reached an arm around her hips and pulled her tight against him, holding her close, letting his aroused cock press into the warmth between her legs, so she would know he was there, always there for her.
She sensed what he was trying to say, without words and became quiet, remaining still, looking into his face, an inch or two away from hers. The sudden awareness made her pupils dilate, turning them into orbs of black ringed with green as her soul poured out of them in response. It was going to be all right. She didn’t have to be on guard, cautious, braced for hurt. His eyes told her that she didn’t have to be afraid. He closed the tiny distance between them, and her mouth opened for his kiss, letting him pull her heart, body, and soul into himself.