by Lynne Graham
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘Then take it off right now,’ Sholto murmured with succinct bite. ‘The joke’s on you.’
Her breath caught in her throat, shaken green eyes colliding with unashamedly expectant gold.
‘He who pays the piper calls the tune,’ Sholto extended silkily. ‘One of life’s more basic lessons, piccola mia.’
‘You swine,’ Molly framed unsteadily, and as she spun away, excess fabric whirling round her, she caught her toes in the frilled hem of the nightdress. Stumbling, she would have lost her balance had not a powerful arm suddenly come out of nowhere to snake round her midriff in the nick of time and support her.
Above her head, Sholto expelled his breath in an audibly shaken hiss and folded her back into the hard heat of his tall, powerful body. ‘You’re right…but I was trying not to think about our wedding night… you inside that bloody bathroom refusing to come out,’ he gritted. ‘And then tonight you emerge after an hour and a half wearing the visual equivalent of a shroud!’
Molly’s eyes had filled up with tears. She got his point even though she didn’t want to. And it shook her that he recalled that ghastly night with an embittered reluctance that sounded almost equal to her own for at Freddy’s house his single reference to that same occasion had been coolly derisive in content. For a split second, she let herself remain in contact with the all-male heat and strength of his muscular frame and then she forced herself to pull away.
‘This isn’t going to work,’ she said thickly.
In answer, Sholto bent and swept her up into his arms before she could even register his intention. He settled her down on the bed, tugging the nightdress down circumspectly over her tensely extended toes. Angling a reflective look over her, his dark golden eyes suddenly glowed with amusement and he tucked the folds round her ankles as carefully as if he were arranging her for a photographic session. ‘Now you look like an effigy on a medieval tomb. Beautiful and impregnable.’
‘Didn’t you hear what I said?’ Utterly disconcerted by his volatile change of mood, Molly lifted herself up again, her shining russet hair tumbling in silken swathes round her shoulders.
Sholto flipped the sheet over her as if he were putting a small child to bed. ‘First-night nerves, that’s all you’re suffering from.’
‘But I just can’t go through with this!’ Molly gasped, desperate to make him understand that. ‘It’s all wrong!’
Sholto skimmed a hand up to flick a switch above the bed and the lights dimmed to a soft, intimate level.
Molly shook her head in urgent stress of her last sentence, reluctant to focus on him because she knew that she should never have let things go so far. ‘It was crazy of me to think that I could… but then I didn’t really think about it… it was Nigel and Lena and the kids I was thinking about…and in the heat of the moment it felt like I had no choice…and I can’t blame you because you reminded me that I did have a choice and—’
Lean fingers slid slowly into her hair to ease her down to him while his other hand splayed round the taut curve of her hip to edge her closer. ‘We’ll talk about it in the morning,’ Sholto promised soothingly.
‘But I won’t be here in the morning…I need to talk about it now!’ Molly asserted feverishly.
‘I’m listening,’ Sholto pointed out, his deep dark voice thickening and then muffling as he lifted his dark head and pressed his mouth hotly to the tiny pulse-point flickering like crazy in the hollow of her collarbone.
Molly jerked in shock from both the surprise assault and the sensation, shivering as her spine arched and her breasts swelled against the abrasive cotton, making her agonisingly aware of the excruciating sensitivity of her nipples. ‘Don’t…can’t think when you do that,’ she muttered disjointedly. ‘And I’m trying to explain that—’
Warm hands cupped her cheekbones, long fingers brushing her hair back gently from her temples. ‘We’ll take it one day at a time.’
Breathlessly, Molly gazed down into fathomless pools of lambent gold, her mind suddenly dismayingly blank, a faint bemused frown pleating her brows as she struggled to recall what she had been trying to explain.
‘I want you very, very much, cara,’ Sholto murmured intently, drawing her softly down to him, running the tip of his tongue so sweetly along the compressed line of her lips that she shuddered and instinctively opened them. ‘And I need you to want me the same way.’
His tongue delved into the tender interior she no longer guarded and another shiver racked her as he held her above him to play erotic games with her mouth. Her heart hammered madly, her hands dropping down to fasten to his shoulders, liquid heat rising between her quivering thighs. Then it was as if a river burst its banks inside her. Her own aching hunger washed her away. Abruptly she came down on top of him, fervently sealing her lips to his, exchanging kiss for kiss in driving, eager welcome.
Truly…madly…deeply, for ever and ever, was the last rational thought she had. He flipped her over and pinned her beneath him, a hair-roughened thigh settling between hers, and her whole body responded to the raw sensual force of that contact because all of a sudden she couldn’t get close enough to him. He slid onto his side, fingers flying to the buttons on her nightdress, hands unusually clumsy, frustration currenting through him as he dragged his mouth suddenly from hers and vented a ragged expletive in Italian.
Breathing so fast her lungs felt as if they were burning, she watched him overcome the barrier, noticed his lean hands were shaking and experienced an electrifying new sense of feminine power. But then her wondering eyes were intercepted by incandescent gold and the force of her own craving made her tremble too. With an unashamed groan of need, Sholto curved his hands over the pouting white breasts he had exposed, thumbs glancing over the taut pink buds straining for his attention.
She cried out loud. He came down to her again, employed his mouth tenderly on the intolerably sensitive peaks until she writhed and clutched wildly at him, driven by a sensation far stronger than she was but still desperately wanting more. A burning, frantic ache was starting to flame low in her stomach. Her fingers clenched into his hair and then he pulled free to rise over her and crush her mouth with wild passion under his again.
And all the time his incredibly skilled hands were caressing her, smoothing possessively over her straining, acutely sensitised breasts, toying with the tormentingly tender tips and skimming down to splay over the quivering, contracting muscles of her stomach. Heart thundering insanely fast, she moaned under his wickedly expert mouth, giant waves of excitement breaking over her. Feeling the bold jut of his aroused manhood pressing against her thigh, her hips rose in wanton supplication, her knees sliding apart.
Sholto tore his lips from hers, a long shudder racking his big, powerful body as he rolled back from her, snatching in an audibly fractured breath. He groaned something in Italian and as she uttered a startled whimper of abandonment he brought her back to him, taking the invitation she offered, finally touching her where she ached to be touched and so gently and knowingly that her teeth clenched and she clung pleadingly to him in a throbbing agony of need.
‘Molly…’ Coiling one hand into the wild tangle of her hair, he demanded her attention when attention was the very last thing she wanted to summon.
So all-consuming was that explosive hunger for satisfaction, she did not respond. With a driven groan, Sholto withdrew his skilful fingers from the pulsing, damp centre of desire that controlled her. Bereft of sensation, her eyes opened.
‘Dio…if you want me to stop, tell me now,’ he spelt out with ragged bite. ‘I won’t take anything you don’t want to give!’
She looked up at him, on a high of such incredible craving, it was the most extraordinary effort to try to reason. He gazed down at her on a similar high of visible frustration, a dark flush on his spectacular cheekbones, scorching golden eyes pinned to her as if she were the Holy Grail about to be snatched out of reach. Wonderment filled her as she read those unusually eloquent e
yes and then a flood of fiercely possessive tenderness squeezed her heart like a gigantic hand.
She hauled him down to her again with forceful hands, raw physical hunger meshing with a new sense of freedom.
‘Is that a yes…?’ Sholto gritted hoarsely.
‘Yes…yes…yes,’ Molly mumbled, covering that beautifully tempting mouth of his worshippingly with her own.
He jerked back as if he had been prodded with a hot poker. ‘Protection,’ he muttered with jagged delivery.
She blinked, simply one huge, aching, mindless pool of lust, and then he returned to her, settling himself powerfully between her thighs, and she felt his smooth, hard shaft probing for entrance and simply melted. The feeling was so exquisitely pleasurable, she moaned with shock and delight. And then he was moving with hungry, driving vigour, setting up a passionate primal rhythm which sent her crazy with excitement. Their hearts thumping, pulses racing, he took her on a wild rollercoaster ride of incredible pleasure and when the sunburst explosion of release gripped her at the highest peak it was so intense, so terrifyingly strong, she wasn’t capable of anything for long, endless minutes afterwards.
But she was still conscious, still capable of tensing in surprise as Sholto pressed his mouth breathlessly to hers in a fleeting, tender caress and then slid over on his side, carrying her with him. She was hot and he was even hotter but she revelled in the closeness of that embrace. And when she finally parted her lips to say his name and earned no reaction only then did she realise that Sholto had fallen asleep with a speed and lack of ceremony that reminded her disturbingly of a very young child.
Well, she had read about men doing that. He was exhausted, satiated. It was almost a relief to realise that Sholto could do something so reassuringly vulnerable and human. Well, she reflected again, still in a daze. He had put to flight her opposition before she’d realised what he was doing. He had advanced by subtle, nefarious means, using every trick in the book of seduction, but that meant nothing to her, not when she recalled that smouldering look of near-frantic frustration he had worn for several utterly unforgettable seconds.
Molly was still stunned by the memory of that moment. Sholto, sexually within her power, and it was a power she had not even dreamt that she possessed. So when he had said in that offhand manner at his office, ‘I want you’ he had really, really meant it but she had had to see the proof for herself to actually believe him. If anything, he had been guilty of understatement. All that sexual fire and blazing passion just for her. Finally…at last. Why he should desire her to that degree remained a mystery to Molly but evidently he hadn’t been lying when he had told her that revenge had nothing to do with his demand that she live with him.
So he had ensured that she made her choice but a sense of regret remained. Nothing would ever convince her that she had made the right choice for herself. Hunger and love had made that decision, not intelligence. If anything she was now even more painfully aware that Sholto had the power to destroy her all over again if she wasn’t careful…
Molly gave a cranky groan of complaint as she was pulled gently up against supporting pillows. Her eyes opened in amazement as a garment was dropped over her head, briefly blocking out her vision. ‘What on earth…?’
She focused wide-eyed on Sholto as he sat on the edge of the bed, helpfully slotting her arms into her nightdress as if she were a boneless rag doll. And in actual fact at that instant, as she absorbed the spectacular sizzling effect of Sholto that close, she had far more in common with that doll than she wanted to admit. Fully dressed in a sharply tailored charcoal-grey suit and smiling, he just took her breath away.
Someone knocked on the door. He sprang upright and strode to answer it. Sheer poetry in motion. Briefly, Molly closed her eyes in despair. She saw that brilliant smile again, a smile unashamedly vibrant with satisfaction, and self-loathing blossomed as she recalled the pitifully slushy feelings which had kept her glued to Sholto throughout the night hours.
‘Breakfast,’ Sholto announced, settling an elaborate bed tray over her knees.
Molly’s nostrils flared on the unmistakable aroma of something fried and her stomach rolled instantaneously. She frowned down at the crisp meal on the plate and the most horrible heaving sensation clutched at her belly. ‘Take it away!’ she gulped, snaking her knees up in an awkward shimmy in an effort not to send the tray flying and then pressing her hand to her mouth in horror.
She had one brief glimpse of Sholto surveying her in appalled fascination before he reacted with commendable speed in whipping the tray out of her path. Molly flew off the bed and raced for the bathroom. Several rather unpleasant minutes followed. She was dimly aware of Sholto’s presence and she absolutely did not want his assistance but she just couldn’t get the chance to tell him that and he took charge in that infuriatingly practical fashion of his.
The sickness receded surprisingly quickly but the experience left her feeling weak. Sholto carried her back to bed with a cold damp cloth draped over her forehead. ‘I’ve got a bug,’ she lamented. ‘I hate feeling like this…’
‘Madre di Dio…’ Sholto muttered almost inaudibly.
Molly pushed up the cloth to look at him and frowned. He was gazing out of the window but she could see the ferociously tense set of his broad shoulders beneath the fine wool of his jacket. Even as she watched he raked a restive hand through his immaculately styled black hair in a telling but unusual gesture of raw impatience.
‘I should have known there was something up yesterday. I wouldn’t go all dizzy over something as minor as a missed meal. Now you’ll catch it,’ she sighed, and a part of her thought, Serve him right.
‘I don’t think so…’ Sholto’s rich dark drawl was now coolly constrained. ‘I don’t think I’ll catch this particular bug…’
He strolled back to the foot of the bed, dark eyes cloaked by impenetrable lashes. ‘You should stay in bed for the rest of the day.’
‘I’m not doing that.’ Molly sat up abruptly. ‘I have things to do.’
‘You’re a lady of leisure now.’
‘A kept woman.’
The very faintest colour scored Sholto’s hard cheekbones and tawny eyes suddenly shot warning flares at her. ‘We’re living together. That’s all. There is no need to continually resurrect how we arrived at our current status.’
Bewilderment swept through Molly. Was this the same male who had gone to such derisive lengths to stress that their arrangement was nothing more than a business deal?
‘I’ll call you in a couple of hours and see how you’re feeling,’ Sholto continued, his expressive mouth compressing. ‘I’m going down to Templebrooke for the weekend. I’m holding a dmner party there this evening and if you improve I would appreciate having you with me.’
He was exasperated that she was ill and might not be able to fulfil the role he had allotted to her, she gathered painfully. That was what was wrong. That was why he had that pronounced air of constraint. Knowing that irritation was both selfish and unjustifiable, he was striving to remember his manners. Molly bent her head, a lump the size of a giant rock forming at the foot of her throat.
Patently she meant nothing to Sholto unless he was physically in bed with her, having his sexual needs satisfied. And of course if she was ill she might well not be available for that role either! So doubtless her being off-colour struck him as an unforgivable sin, most particularly on the very morning he was driving down to see her brother and spend an absolute fortune hauling him out of his financial mess.
‘I’m sure I’ll be better in time for tonight.’ Drawing in a steadying breath, she could not prevent herself from adding, ‘Please be kind to Nigel.’
A sardonic black brow rose. ‘What do you think I’m planning to do to him?’
‘He’s scared of you.’
‘A little healthy respect won’t hurt him. If there is any backbone in Nigel, I intend to find it,’ Sholto asserted in the apparent belief that she would find that statement reassuring. ‘I’l
l sort him out. Don’t worry about that.’
Molly could barely repress a shiver. Two more different men would have been hard to find. At thirty-one, Sholto was only three years older than Nigel. But Sholto was naturally tough and self-assured while her brother’s confidence had been destroyed by the constant bullying, criticism and contempt he had received from their stepfather while he was growing up.
Molly linked her hands together as he reached the door. ‘What are you going to tell Nigel about us?’ she asked tightly.
‘That we’re together again…what else?’ Sholto responded with deflating speed, as if the matter were too utterly obvious and trivial to require any further thought.
‘Together again’. What a description; what a simplistic male evasion of reality! As the door closed on Sholto, Molly slid gingerly out of bed and studied herself in a mirror. A mistress, a kept woman. It didn’t matter that she loved him, didn’t make any difference that she wanted him as much as he appeared to want her. There was nothing equal, secure or caring about a relationship in which sex was the sole means of intimacy and money the sole reason for its existence.
Abruptly the door burst open again. Sholto paused on the threshold. ‘I forgot to mention this earlier. I like the way you look.’
She was jolted by his sudden reappearance and her eyes were wide with confusion. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Stunning dark eyes clashed warningly with hers. ‘If you change the colour of your hair, have it all cut off or start starving yourself into doll-sized dresses again, I will go stark staring mad! I don’t want you to change yourself… it was a total and complete turn-off the last time!’
Transfixed by that abrasive assurance, Molly whispered, ‘Really?’
‘I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.’
It went without saying that he wasn’t concerned about hurting her feelings now.