She was grateful for the ringing of the doorbell shortly after seven to interrupt her packing, although once she had identified her caller as Aaron Grantley she wasn’t quite as pleased.
His gaze raked critically over the clinging denims and fitted blue cashmere sweater she wore, her hair braided down her spine to keep it out of the way as she worked. She met his gaze challengingly.
‘Now you look like Charly Allenby,’ he finally drawled.
She blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The first night I met you you looked like Matt’s mistress, Charly, the next day at your office you were every inch Rocharlle Allenby-Hart,’ he recalled dryly. ‘That evening too. Now you look like Charly Allenby, a beautiful woman just relaxing at home.’ His eyes were dark with appreciation.
She gave him the same slow perusal he had given her, liking the way his own denims fitted snugly to his lean hips and long legs, a tan leather jacket worn over a fitted green shirt. He hardly looked like the board-room barracuda he was either!
‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ she drawled mockingly.
‘Hey, I meant it as a compliment,’ he frowned.
‘So did I,’ she returned straight-faced.
He grimaced ruefully. ‘Now I know what it feels like to be “looked over”.’
She nodded. ‘Not very nice, is it?’
Aaron shrugged. ‘Depends who’s doing the “looking over”, I suppose,’ he taunted.
Charly decided that it was time she put an end to this conversation, that it was actually bordering on flirtatious. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded to know. ‘We aren’t due to meet again until next weekend.’ She looked at him questioningly. ‘Are we? You haven’t made any other arrangements for us of which I’m unaware, have you?’ Her voice hardened.
His answer was to walk past her and into the apartment, frowning as he saw the boxes she had been packing, his eyes narrowed as he looked back at Charly. ‘Going somewhere?’
‘Obviously,’ she drawled.
‘Surely there’s legal procedures to go through before you can actually move in?’ Aaron rasped.
She frowned her puzzlement. ‘Legal procedures?’ she repeated. ‘If you’re talking about the insurance people, they’ve already been in.’ She shook her head in bewilderment.
‘Insurance…? Charly, where are you going with all this stuff?’ he asked slowly.
‘Upstairs,’ she supplied dazedly. ‘Where did you—’ Her brow cleared as she realised what he meant. ‘Yes, Aaron, there are legal procedures you have to go through before you can buy and move into a house,’ she derided.
‘Well?’
‘Well what?’ she taunted.
‘Charly, don’t play games with me,’ he scowled. ‘If I hadn’t had to go back to the States on business I would have been to see you earlier to find out if Matt approves of the house you picked out for the two of you!’
Charly looked at him with a steady grey gaze. ‘He’s still thinking about it,’ she returned softly.
‘Hell, Charly,’ Aaron bit out impatiently, ‘Matt’s a nice guy, but—’
‘I think so,’ she nodded calmly.
‘He’s married!’ Aaron reminded forcefully.
‘I’ve found that most of the nice ones are,’ she returned coolly.
‘Charly—’
‘Aaron! I’m really not in the mood to be lectured by someone who had a much-publicised affair with a senator’s wife!’ She looked at him challengingly, having made it her business to find out a little bit more about him since they last met.
He had the grace to look uncomfortable. ‘I didn’t have an affair with her,’ he denied impatiently. ‘I was involved in helping her husband’s campaign, and the media made a lot of noise about the fact that I accompanied her to an official dinner when her husband was ill one night.’
Charly gave him a mocking look. ‘Isn’t it terrible how the most innocent of incidents can be misconstrued?’
He sighed. ‘It was innocent, Charly.’
‘Of course it was,’ she humoured him, her eyes wide as he looked at her sharply.
‘I can see we aren’t going to get anywhere with this conversation,’ he dismissed tersely. ‘Could I just ask you to reconsider before buying a house to be near Matt?’ He obviously had to force himself to make it into a request. ‘Molly would be sure to realise what was going on eventually.’
Her mouth tightened. ‘It’s going to be Matt’s decision on whether or not I buy the house.’
‘No man in his right mind would turn down the opportunity to have you marked private property.’
She shied away from the intensity of his gaze. ‘I remember an occasion when you told me the thought of having to make love to me made your skin crawl, and that you would have to be drunk to attempt it!’
He winced as she reminded him of that conversation. ‘I think I may have been a little hasty—’
‘I don’t,’ she cut in briskly. ‘And no man will ever mark me his “private property!” Now instead of standing there looking useless perhaps you would like to help me take some of these things upstairs?’ She considered the idea a brainwave; she didn’t particularly want Aaron here, but she dreaded going up to her apartment alone even more.
‘You’re moving back up to your apartment tonight?’ Aaron frowned.
She nodded, putting several more things into boxes; it was amazing how much she had accumulated down here the last week. ‘Normally, I would have asked Matt to help me—’
‘But as he’s having dinner with his in-laws tonight I’ll have to do!’
She had had no idea what Matt was doing this evening, but obviously this man was keeping a check on the times they could be together. ‘Yes,’ she mocked.
He gave her a resentful glare. ‘I’m not used to being thought of as a substitute!’
She smiled. ‘It must be another terrible blow for your already shattered ego!’
‘I doubt if I have one left,’ he muttered, picking up two of the boxes. ‘Are you coming up with me or do you trust me not to go through your personal things the moment I’m out of your sight?’
She looked at him with steady grey eyes. ‘I trust you,’ she told him softly.
‘That’s something at least.’ He took the key to her apartment as she held it out to him.
‘Just put them in the bedroom,’ she requested. ‘I’ll follow with some more things.’
No matter how annoying she found his behaviour the majority of the time she was grateful for his presence while she reacquainted herself to living in her own apartment again, accepting his help in unpacking the boxes, finding the silence between them strangely companionable.
‘That didn’t take long,’ she thanked him once the last box had been emptied. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’ she offered, still reluctant to be alone up here.
Aaron nodded, having discarded his jacket to fully reveal his muscled arms and chest beneath the green shirt. ‘Do you have an apple or something I could eat too?’ he requested hopefully.
Her brows rose. ‘You haven’t had dinner?’
‘I came straight to see you once I’d showered and changed,’ he shrugged. ‘There wasn’t time to eat too.’
‘And you didn’t think you would be staying this long,’ she acknowledged ruefully.
‘You don’t usually make me this welcome,’ he agreed dryly.
‘You aren’t exactly welcome now either.’ Her eyes flashed silver. ‘But I think you’ve earnt some dinner.’
‘Charly—’
‘I won’t be long.’ She strode into the kitchen without a backward glance, sure he had guessed the reason she had wanted him here tonight.
She didn’t need anyone, had deliberately made herself self-sufficient the last year, and she didn’t appreciate Aaron pointing out her weakness tonight.
‘A sandwich will do,’ Aaron murmured from the kitchen doorway as she perused the contents of her fridge.
She turned to face him. ‘I
haven’t had dinner either,’ she snapped.
‘In that case I’ll have whatever you’re having.’ He wisely left her to it.
She cooked as she did most things, quietly and efficiently, Aaron hidden behind her newspaper when she swept through to lay the table. He lowered it slightly as he heard her moving about the room, the newspaper rustling back into place as she looked at him.
‘I don’t throw things,’ she mocked, standing with her hands on her hips.
The newspaper was slowly lowered again, green eyes dark with amusement. ‘Sure?’
‘Yes,’ she laughed softly. ‘You’ll find some wine in that cupboard over there.’ She pointed across the room.
‘You’re giving me wine too?’ he taunted, folding the newspaper neatly before putting it back in the rack. ‘What did I do to deserve that?’ He stood up to open the wine cupboard. ‘Hm, what are we having for dinner?’ He looked up at her from his crouching position on the floor.
‘Beef.’
‘Red wine, then,’ he quirked mocking brows at her. ‘Any preferences?’
‘Any one will do,’ she shrugged. ‘I chose them all personally.’
‘A woman that knows what she likes,’ he murmured, studying the contents of the wine cupboard. ‘How about if we forget about red wine and settle for champagne?’ He held up a vintage year of Dom Perignon. ‘We haven’t celebrated our engagement yet.’
‘Champagne will be fine, I like sparkling wines,’ she said stiffly. ‘But I don’t think we have anything to celebrate.’
‘Possibly not.’ He stood up with the bottle of champagne in his hand.
‘A bogus engagement to a man I barely know—’
‘And have no wish to know,’ he put in softly.
‘And have no wish to know,’ she repeated forcefully. ‘Is no cause for celebration!’
‘I agree,’ Aaron nodded. ‘So how would it be if we drank to getting to know each other?’
‘I’d just like the wine to complement my meal,’ she told him sharply. ‘For no other reason.’ She left to check on the food.
The spaghetti bolognese probably wasn’t the beef Aaron had been expecting but it was well-prepared, quick to cook, filling and tasty—and he ate every morsel on his plate, the Italian way. Charly watched in amazement as he twirled the spaghetti neatly on to his fork before popping it neatly into his mouth.
‘I have an Aunt Maria who taught me how to appreciate Italian food at an early age,’ he explained.
She looked at the trimness of his waist and body. ‘It doesn’t show,’ she mocked.
‘Willpower,’ he acknowledged. ‘Every time I see a pizza or any other Italian dish I think how much exercise I would need to take to run off all the calories, and somehow the temptation isn’t there any more.’
‘And what reason did you give yourself for giving up smoking?’ She patted delicately at the spot of sauce on her chin; unfortunately she didn’t have the same expertise with the spaghetti as he did!
He sobered. ‘Can’t you guess?’
She had noticed he had not had a cigarette the whole evening.
Charly shrugged. ‘It can’t have been because you can no longer afford it!’
‘Every time I even think about having a cigarette I remember this room as it was when you showed it to me last.’ He looked about the newly decorated room. ‘The fact that it was a cigarette that did that much damage scares the hell out of me!’
Her appetite had suddenly faded, and she sipped at her wine to hide her sudden feeling of panic. ‘It was an accident,’ she dismissed.
‘It was damned carelessness,’ he scowled. ‘And when I thought about it I knew I wasn’t always conscious of disposing of my own cigarettes properly.’
‘You do it automatically.’
‘Your friend didn’t,’ he reminded grimly. ‘I wouldn’t ever want to feel I’d been responsible for almost killing someone.’
‘So you gave up, just like that?’ she frowned, finding it incredible that the fire here should have had such an impact on him.
He grimaced self-derisively. ‘I now chew a lot of mints.’
‘You’ll get fat,’ she warned, doubting it was even a possibility; he seemed to be naturally slim.
‘Probably,’ he agreed ruefully. ‘You know, your spaghetti’s-a-lika-Aunta-Maria-usa-make.’
Charly laughed at his ham Italian accent. ‘Thank you for the compliment.’
‘But your method of eating it could do with a little working on,’ he mocked as she once again ended up with sauce on her chin. ‘Here, let me.’ He took her napkin out of her hand, leaning forward—and instead of using the napkin his tongue moved in a silky caress across her chin.
Charly flinched back, glaring at him. ‘I’ll do it myself, thank you,’ she snapped.
He shrugged, completely unperturbed by her anger. ‘Then let me show you how to use your spoon and fork so that you at least stop dropping food down your chin.’
She eyed him suspiciously for several seconds, but she couldn’t see anything wrong in the suggestion, nodding her agreement. She knew she had been wrong as he stood up to come around the back of her, his body pressed against hers as he showed her the correct way to twirl the spaghetti on to the fork.
He was too close, she could feel the heat of his body on her back, his aftershave spicy, his hands warm as they clasped hers. She didn’t want this closeness, had shunned any contact with men the last year, knew she had been right to do so as heat spread through her body, her nipples hardening against the sensuous warmth of her sweater. It was so long since she had known this sexual awareness, if she had ever felt it this strongly before. She couldn’t even remember reacting to James’ close proximity like this, usually had to be coaxed into lovemaking. Aaron Grantley had merely touched her, and she was so aware of him the colour burnt in her cheeks, her nipples seeming to throb.
‘You see,’ Aaron murmured against her hair.
‘See?’ she repeated breathlessly. ‘I don’t—Oh yes,’ she said nervously as he held up the spaghetti on the fork. ‘Very nice. But I don’t think I’m hungry any more.’ She moved restlessly within the confines of his arms, her sexual tension rising. She had to get away from him!
‘Charly…?’ He frowned down at her as he sensed her panic.
She avoided his gaze. ‘If you’ve had enough to eat I’ll clear away—’
‘Charly!’ he groaned now.
Her breathing was ragged and uneven. ‘Please. I have to clear away—’
‘You aren’t going anywhere.’ Compelling green eyes held her gaze as he pulled her to her feet in front of him. ‘Oh, Charly!’ he groaned before his mouth claimed hers, their mouths open to each other, tongues entwining, breaths mingling, Aaron curving her body into his as he showed her how deeply he was aroused.
His hands moved restlessly over her body, each caress too fleeting to be enjoyed to the fullest, Charly beginning to moan her frustration, wanting those leanly sensitive hands on her.
‘No!’ she pleaded as his hand would have once again left her breast after only the merest of touches, pressing him into her heated flesh. ‘Touch me,’ she urged, her mouth returning to his.
His caresses warmed her, excited her, their mouths locked together moistly, Charly feeling her sweater moved aside as Aaron probed beneath its warmth, cupping beneath the full weight of her breast, his thumb-tip moving lightly over the turgid nipple. She had always been highly sensitised there, and she pressed weakly against him, begging for more.
Both hands were beneath her sweater now, caressing rhythmically against her breasts, the force of his thighs telling her of his own deep need. She moved to touch him, hearing him gasp with pleasure as her hand slipped beneath his clothing to lovingly caress him.
‘Oh, Lady. Lady!’ he groaned as she continued to touch him. ‘What are you doing to me?’
Her hand began to move, leaving him in no doubt what she was doing—if indeed he had ever doubted it. It was as if years of restraint had suddenly b
een lifted from her, and she wanted to share with Aaron all the things she had been too shy to do with James, wanted to explore the depths of her own sensuality as well as his.
The deep pile carpet felt soft against her back, Aaron’s weight pressing her down into it; it was a pleasure-pain that she welcomed, blocking out the little voice at the back of her head that kept telling her this was Aaron Grantley, the man who had been nothing but a torment to her since the moment she first met him. He was still a torment, but in a much more pleasurable way.
‘I knew you would look like this,’ Aaron groaned, her sweater discarded, her breasts firm, the nipples darkly brown.
‘Please don’t stop,’ she begged, feeling the pressure building between her thighs.
‘I don’t intend to,’ he promised, claiming her lips once more while he caressed beneath her denims. ‘You’re so moist,’ he groaned. ‘So ready for me.’ He raised his head to look down at her. ‘Lady, I need to make love to you, will you let me?’
The way he called her ‘Lady’ now was so different from that first night, almost like a caress. ‘I can’t stop you,’ she admitted raggedly.
‘But will you let me?’ he persisted.
‘I—’ she broke off in confusion as the telephone began to ring. Why did they always do that when you least wanted them to!
‘Damn!’ Aaron seemed no more pleased by the interruption than she was, looking down at her regretfully. ‘By the time you’ve finished taking that call you’re going to regret what just happened between us,’ he realised ruefully.
She moistened her lips, reaction already setting in, although it wasn’t regret for what had happened, it was confusion, need, and a little fear. No—a lot of fear!
‘I’ll get it,’ Aaron sighed as the telephone continued to ring, pushing the bottom of his shirt back into his trousers as he crossed the room to pick up the receiver. ‘No, Molly, this isn’t Charly,’ he drawled. ‘But I can get her for you.’
Charly had stiffened into a sitting position as soon as the caller identified herself, pushing back the loose tendrils of her hair from her face after pulling on her sweater, her body still deeply aroused. And Aaron Grantley had been the man to excite her to a pitch that she had never known before, not even with James.
Lady Surrender Page 8