by Penny Jordan
The chocolate felt soft inside its silver wrapper, and when she broke it in half, chocolate clung stickily to her fingers. Tentatively she held out one half to him and said shakily, ‘Want to go shares?’
His smile rocked her back on her heels. It changed his entire expression, and she felt ridiculously eager to respond to it, to bask in its warmth. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’ He took it from her with one hand, grasping her wrist with the other. His tongue was rough and deliciously sensual as he licked the chocolate off her fingers; shock waves of pleasure storming through her body as she tried not to react to the unexpected contact. Her fingers closed together, curling up in protest, but he caught them in his mouth, sucking them slowly as though savouring the lingering taste of the chocolate. When he eventually released her Selina could find no words to break the heavy silence, but Piers did it for her.
‘It was part of my half,’ he told her judiciously, and in the sudden darkness, eclipsing the faint light in the room as heavy clouds rolled up obscuring the faint moon, Selina could not tell whether the smile she sensed in his voice was actually mirrored on his lips.
She ate her chocolate without tasting it, her stomach churning wildly as she re-lived the touch of his tongue against her skin. Her body was burning with a fierce primaeval heat; aching with a need she didn’t want to admit to.
When he said teasingly, ‘Come on, bedtime for little girls,’ she walked blindly without a word over to the oilskin, obeying him as though she had been programmed to do so.
She would never sleep, she thought achingly, lying down carefully so that she wasn’t taking up more than half of the make-shift bed, turning to face outwards, careful not to let her body come into contact with Piers’ in any way as he lay down beside her.
The darkness was almost stygian now; a sign that the storm was far from abating. ‘There’s something extraordinarily satisfying about being warm, dry and safe, while the storm rages all around one, don’t you think?’
The sound of Piers’ voice, light and yet threaded with an unfamiliar tension, surprised her. As though he sensed her feelings he said quietly, ‘I know there is still a good deal between us that has to be resolved Selina. I know I was mistaken about you where Gerald is concerned… I also know you’re still hiding something from me, but for tonight at least could we not call a truce?’
What game was he playing with her now? Was he trying to lull her into a false sense of security before turning on her again? But if she refused would he simply not press her all the harder; determined to find out the truth?
‘Truce,’ she said slowly, knowing there was really nothing else she could say.
Surely that wasn’t relief she heard in his voice as he added softly, ‘You know if our positions were reversed, being the gentleman that I am I should feel obliged if not to share my borrowed shirt with you then at least to share a little of my body heat. I’m cold,’ he complained. ‘Come a bit closer to me, there’s a good girl. That way we can both keep warm.’
What he was saying made sense, but every instinct she possessed shrieked a rejection of what he was suggesting. She didn’t want to be close to him… She didn’t know if she could handle the strain it would put on her already over-loaded nervous system, but it seemed she had little choice, Piers was already moving close behind her, his arm curling round her waist and pulling her back against his body, his breath warm and even against her skin.
His muffled ‘That’s better,’ grazed the delicate nerve endings of her ear, pleasure shivering through her. ‘See,’ he added softly. ‘You’re cold too.’
Cold? Selina repressed a desire to laugh hysterically. Her body was overheating madly, overheating and over-reacting. There was nothing she wanted to do more than to turn in his arms, and press herself the length of him; breast to beast, thigh to thigh; absorbing the heat and maleness of him…
His hand rested impersonally on her waist, bringing her back to reality. For Piers their closeness was simply a matter of necessity; of practicality. Silently Selina prayed for a miracle—an ending of the storm and enough light for them to make the walk back, but a glance at her watch shocked her as she realised the time. It was gone ten in the evening. There would be no light tonight, so she might just as well resign herself to their situation. She closed her eyes, trying to relax her body into sleep but too tensely aware of Piers lying against her back to do more than monitor his steady breathing while she tried to match her own to it.
CHAPTER NINE
SHE must have slept. She realised that the moment she opened her eyes, her body cramped and stiff as she tried to turn over and realised too late where she was and with whom. Piers was still lying curled against her back, and as she tried to move he muttered a thick protest deep in his throat, his arm tightening around her.
Even while she was apprehensive, tremors of pleasure rippled through her body, to the extent of lulling her with idyllic daydreams that she and Piers were established lovers; that he returned her feelings and that any moment now he would open his eyes and gaze into hers with warmth and love.
Idiot, she chided herself, trying to wriggle away without disturbing him. Nothing could be less romantic than the aggravating prickle of straw beneath Piers’ protective oilskin, and she ought to know by now that the last emotion she would ever see in Piers’ eyes would be the one she longed so much to see.
‘Stop wriggling.’
The sleepy command tensed her into shocked awareness of the fact that he was awake. It was still pitch dark, impossible for him to read the truth in her eyes, even if she had been lying facing him, which she wasn’t. He was only another human being, she told herself sardonically. He had no special powers that made it possible for him to read her mind.
Now that he was awake she expected him to remove his arm and turn away from her, but instead it tightened still further, drawing her back into the warmth of his body.
‘Umm, that’s better.’
‘Let me go.’ Her protest was fierce and slightly husky, his answering laughter grazing the back of her neck and the vulnerable skin behind her ear, making her shiver visibly.
‘What and lose my human hot-water bottle?’ His hand moved slightly, settling against her midriff, his fingers against her heart, monitoring its rapid thud. ‘You’re as tense as a virgin sharing a bed with a man for the first time,’ he commented lazily. ‘We both know it can’t possibly be fear of my sex that’s causing your tension, so what is it? Fear of me? Fear that you might in a moment of weakness betray the truth to me?’
Even now he wasn’t prepared to relax his suspicion of her. Pain flared burningly to life inside her, making her lash out wildly at him. ‘You’re so caught up in your self-appointed task of proving the entire female sex untrustworthy that you aren’t capable of recognising the truth.’
His fingers against her heart tensed painfully and Selina found she was holding her breath. The grip he used to turn her round to face him wasn’t a tender one, and even though the darkness made it impossible for her to see his face clearly she could feel the tension emanating from him.
‘And just what makes you say that?’
His voice was like steel, incisive and hard, willing her to take back her impulsive words, but she refused to be dominated by his court-room icyness. Having come so far she was, suddenly, not prepared to cede victory to him. Pride and a burst of temper carried her into angry speech.
‘Sir Gerald told me how the…the woman he was involved with hurt you. I think you’ve been punishing my sex for that ever since.’
The silence was dreadful; a chasm that stretched unbridgeable between them; its depths armed with sharp knives ready to destroy the unwary. Now Selina was glad of the darkness, and although one half of her regretted what she had said, the other rejoiced in her strength in being able to do so. For too long she had cowered under the pressure of Piers’ disapproval and contempt; neither of which she had done anything to earn… Not if one discounted the fact that she was her mother’s daughter, but that
was something she refused to think of now. It would weaken her too much.
‘Quite the amateur psychologist aren’t we?’ Piers said bitingly at last. ‘I wonder what made my uncle give you that piece of information?’
Selina wasn’t prepared to tell him.
‘Unfortunately, the conclusions you have drawn from it are wildly incorrect. If I mistrust certain members of your sex it is because my legal training suggests that I have grounds for doing so. In your own case I would say that those grounds are extremely strong. I still haven’t had an explanation of what you were doing with my uncle’s papers. I still believe there is something you are hiding from me.’
Selina was beginning to wish she had never brought the subject up. As always, Piers had turned it to his own advantage and she was fast losing the initial ground she had gained. She moved restlessly, suddenly aware of the pressure of his fingers digging into her arms.
‘The thunder’s stopped,’ she said huskily. ‘Why don’t we start back?’
‘It’s three in the morning…the house will be locked up, and we’ll only disturb everyone.’
‘But surely they’ll be worrying about us?’
‘I doubt it. Gerald will guess that we’ve taken refuge somewhere. What’s the matter, Selina? Scared of being alone here with me?’
The conversation had come full circle.
‘Why should I be?’ She attempted a brief shrug and winced under the pressure of his grip.
‘Oh, I could think of several excellent reasons.’ His voice was soft, dangerously so, and she felt the coolness of his breath grazing her cheek as he bent his head towards her, ‘Including this one.’
If his kiss had been punishing, contemptuous, as she had expected it would be, she might have stood some chance of withstanding it, but instead the movement of his mouth against her own was no more than the lightest whisper, encouraging her lips to soften and part in bewildered pleasure.
He raised his head and studied her in the darkness, although what he could see of her features she wasn’t sure. Enough, it seemed to reach out and trace the shape of her mouth with cool fingers until she shivered in mute acknowledgment of the feelings he aroused within her.
She knew she could have stopped him with a word, but that word refused to be spoken, instead she stared in silence as he pulled her into the warmth of his body, securing her there with one hand, while the thumb of the other probed the pulse thudding furiously on the inside of her wrist. When he lifted it to his mouth stroking it with his tongue, firebolts of desire seemed to be unleashed inside her, turning her weak and yielding, on fire with the hunger his touch aroused. His tongue caressed her palm, making her shiver hectically and cling to him, fiercely glad that he wasn’t wearing his shirt. His skin felt hot beneath her hands, or was it from her own hands which she was running feverishly over the solid muscles of his chest, that the heat was coming?
She moaned deep in her throat when he took her fingers into his mouth, sucking them slowly, consumed by waves of desire as intense as sheet lightning. He was melting her bones with pleasure, turning her into a fluid, pliable formless being that he could mould to his own desire.
The rough abrasion of his thigh against her own seared her with heat, her fingers digging into the muscles of his back as he released her fingers to nibble delicate kisses along her throat. It seemed he was only playing with her, fuelling her need for him with light, almost teasing kisses and caresses, but there was nothing light or teasing about the aroused pressure of his lower body, pressing hers down into the oilskin, totally male and demanding in the message it was communicating to her.
He cupped and stroked her breasts, and although she tried to conceal from him the frenzy his touch was driving her to, a small moan forced its way past her closed lips.
‘Do you want me?’
How could he imagine otherwise? Pride warned her that she would be wise to deny it; he could simply be arousing her for the pleasure of making her ache and leaving her unsatisfied, but some deep and intensely feminine core of her refused to allow her to resort to any subterfuge. Her hands on his shoulders she sought out the darkly shadowed outline of his face, fixing her eyes on the gleaming darkness of his.
‘Yes, I do,’ she said simply, and in saying it she felt as though she had committed herself to the tidal flood of waters far too deep for her to swim unsupported in. Although he didn’t realise it, by her admission she had placed in him a trust he would never give to her. Not knowing what his reaction would be, she waited tensely, already preparing herself mentally and physically for his rejection.
She felt him exhale as though the breath had been tensely contained, his chest compressing. ‘Dear God, then show me that you do,’ he muttered hoarsely, the ragged, almost tortured sound of his voice stunning her.
‘I’ve been through hell, wanting you, do you know that?’ The raw admission held her immobile, only his thick, almost guttural exclamation of despair, driving her to react instinctively and enclose his body with her arms, her lips pressing tender, reassuring kisses against his throat as she tried to come to terms with the mental anguish in his voice. It hurt her to think of him in pain. Not for a minute did she stop to think that this might be another ploy; another method of undermining her defences, her every instinct to stem his pain.
His hands gripped her waist tightly, his throat tipping back under the light pressure of her mouth. Her kisses had been instinctive, designed to comfort and reassure, but as she looked down at him Selina could sense the sexual hunger he was barely able to control and as though her body was acutely attuned to the needs of his she shivered in response to it, lowering her head to touch her mouth at first tentatively, and then more surely to the masculine line of his throat.
His uninhibited response to her touch surprised her. He was normally so controlled and contained she had thought that somehow he would control his sexual desire in the same way that he controlled the other aspects of his life. Instead he moaned her name with hoarse need, his fingers burrowing into her hair as he held her against him, her mouth tremulous as it touched the rigid muscles of his throat and felt him tremble against her.
Lost in the pleasure of discovering how much she could arouse him, it came as a shock to find herself suddenly thrust away from his body and rolled underneath him, the weight of his torso pinning her down, his palms cupping her jaw, holding her so that it would have been impossible for her to evade the bruising passion of his kiss even if she had wanted to.
His mouth moved urgently on hers, compelling an equally urgent response. The barrier of his shirt and their underclothes was a physical agony it almost hurt to endure. As though the same thought had struck him, Piers removed his hands from her face, lifting her body slightly without breaking the kiss. She moved willingly with him, making a small sound of satisfaction deep in her throat when he unfastened her bra. The slow slide of his fingers against her skin removing both his borrowed shirt and her bra was almost torture. When she was finally free to arch her body into the heat of his she shuddered deeply. Piers broke the kiss to mutter throatily. ‘Night after night I’ve dreamed of you like this. Melting in my arms, on fire for me…wanting me as you’ve never wanted any of your other lovers…’
It should have put a brake on her need for him, but it didn’t. Nothing, but nothing, was more important than this aching, crazy hunger his touch stroked up inside her, and she responded feverishly to every touch of his hands against her body, scattering wild kisses against his shoulders and neck, interspersing them with small female sounds of pleasure when his hands found her breasts, shaping and caressing them until she was writhing wantonly against him, her body shameless in its invitation to his.
Piers released her and she shivered in the sudden access of cold air, desperately straining her eyes to make out the male shape of his body as he moved away from her. What was happening? Had he simply been playing a game with her? But no…surely no one could fake the desire she had read in his kisses; felt in his body.
&nbs
p; He moved again, the faint light filtering into the room revealing the aroused, tormented expression on his face. Pity and love welled up inside her… He wanted her and yet at the same time he hated himself for doing so. She knew that as clearly as though she had heard him say the words. This was the time for her to pull back…to make the decision for both of them.
Kneeling beside her Piers cupped her breast, slowly anointing it with his mouth—the lightest most delicate touch; and yet enough to banish forever any thought of stopping him from what he was doing. Her other breast was revered in the same fashion; the ache of wanting his complete possession churning hotly through her stomach. She reached out to touch him and encountered the muscled hardness of his thigh. Her fingers stirred the roughly male hairs. She felt him tense and shudder; his mouth, which had been caressing the valley between her breasts, suddenly hot and demanding, his voice hoarse and ragged as he raised his head and muttered in her ear. ‘Dear God, do you know how much I’ve wanted you to touch me like that?’
He took her hand, placing it against the hard, throbbing swell of his manhood, his mouth covering hers, deeply; hungrily; moving over its softness in increasing fierce demand as she traced the rigid flesh beneath her fingers, exploratively at first and then caressingly as she heard the moaned sounds of pleasure stifled in his throat, his tongue hot and possessive as he explored the inner sweetness of her mouth.
Beneath her hand his body pulsed and shuddered, his mouth wild and hot as he caressed her throat and then moved lower down to her breasts, making her shudder as convulsively as he was doing himself as his tongue stroked roughly over her taut nipples and his teeth bit delicately into her tender flesh. Her body arched and moved seductively, instinct taking over from logic. She wanted him with an intensity she had never imagined herself feeling for any man, Selina realised shakily. She wanted him with a primitive urgency that made her wonder at her own loss of self-control. Her hand moved yearningly against his body, communicating her need. Piers moaned deep in his throat, muttering her name thickly, pressing himself against her in a mute demand for her continued caress.