Guilty

by Anne Mather

  Her lips opened wide to the wet invasion of his tongue, and almost without her own volition her own tongue moved tentatively to touch his. A sensuous warmth was sweeping over her, and although she had never experienced such intense lovemaking before she seemed to know instinctively what to do.

  Jake was biting her lips now, little nibbling kisses that caused her chest to rise and fall with the intensity of her emotions. And, in so doing, her hard nipples thrust into his palms, sensitising them to an almost unbearable extent.

  Dizziness overwhelmed her, and, as if sensing her weakness, Jake swung her up into his arms, and carried her to the bed. He deposited her in the middle of the coverlet, and although the coolness at her back was briefly sobering Jake didn’t allow her to escape him.

  Careless of his clothes, he came down on the bed beside her, and his hands and lips drove all sane thoughts from her head. When his mouth found the creamy rise of her breasts, and trailed a searing path of wet kisses to the throbbing nipple, she reached for him. With wondering hands, she cradled his dark head against her, tangling her fingers in his hair, and raking her nails against his scalp.

  There was an ache between her thighs now, an actual physical ache, that she knew only he could ease. But the means of that easement was too mind-bending to contemplate, even if at this moment he had her at his mercy.

  His tongue thrust into her mouth again, its greedy possession an indication of his own diminishing control. When her eyes fluttered open she surprised a look of raw hunger on his face, and his eyes narrowed passionately as his hands slid over her naked body.

  His touch was urgent, abrasive, shaping the gentle curve of her hip, before slipping down to her knees and up again, this time between the quivering flesh of her inner thighs. He caressed the skin from her knees to the apex of her legs with slow deliberation, always brushing the triangle of curls with the back of his hand, but never really touching. It was as if he was intentionally withholding something she desired with increasing urgency, and it was all Laura could do not to grab his hand, and press it between her legs.

  Her trembling cravings shamed her. Jake knew exactly what he was doing, she was sure of that. And while a small corner of her mind clung to that knowledge, and taunted her with it, it was easily overwhelmed by the needs and desires he was so effortlessly promoting. She knew he wanted her aroused and clinging to him. It was the only way he could destroy her inhibitions. But that didn’t stop her from bucking against his hands.

  By the time he chose to cup the throbbing core of her womanhood, Laura was almost mindless with relief. Her legs were shaking so much that she couldn’t have kept them together, even if she’d wanted to, and only when Jake bent to press his face against the tight curls did she utter a choked sob of protest.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked huskily, lifting his head and looking at her, and she thought how unfair it was that she was so naked and vulnerable, while he was still fully dressed.

  ‘You—you can’t,’ she got out unsteadily, levering herself up on her elbow, but his smile was purely possessive.

  ‘Why not?’ he demanded. ‘It’s what you want. It’s what we both want.’

  ‘No—–’

  ‘Yes.’ He moved so that he could take her resistant hand and press it against the rigid shaft of his own arousal, tautly visible against the fine cloth of his trousers. ‘Only there isn’t time to please both of us. Not right now. Only you.’

  ‘Jake—–’

  ‘I’m here.’

  He moved again, slanting his mouth across hers, and bearing her back against the covers. And as he did so, his fingers slid into the silky female flesh that was wet from wanting him. With infinite skill, his tongue mimicked the movement of his hand, and Laura was swamped with longing. This was what she wanted, she conceded dizzily, as feelings she had not even known existed rioted inside her. She did want Jake to touch her, to kiss her, and make love to her. And she wanted him inside her, not just an imitation.

  But rational thought became impossible, as Jake’s expert caresses began to arouse an unfamiliar hunger. It was no longer enough just to submit passively to what he was doing to her. She started to push against his fingers, and unfamiliar needs caused her to twist and turn beneath his hands. Even Jake’s breathing quickened, she noticed unsteadily, his laboured heartbeat jerking in tune with her own.

  She opened her eyes again, almost disbelievingly, as her body began to strive towards some goal she was barely aware of. Certainly, her experiences with Keith Macfarlane had not led her to believe she was capable of any depth of feeling, and the fear that she might never escape this craving brought panic-stricken intensity to her expression.

  But Jake knew what she was feeling. Even though his face was taut now, his forehead and temples beaded with sweat, he understood her fear. When Laura raised a trembling hand to smooth the moist hair back from his forehead, he turned his head, and pressed his mouth to her wrist, and the heat of his lips sent a searing flame along her veins.

  ‘Easy, cara,’ he muttered thickly, lowering his head to her breast, and taking the burning nipple into his mouth. And, as he suckled on the rosy flesh, Laura’s control deserted her.

  ‘God—oh, God,’ she groaned, hardly aware that she was digging her nails into his shoulders. A blinding wave of pleasure had overwhelmed her, and with it an urgent need to share her joy. Unaware that she was doing so, she wound her arms around his neck, and pulled him down on top of her, covering his face with kisses, until the tremors slowly receded.

  But Jake did not share her abandonment. With grim determination, he extracted himself from her clinging fingers, and rolled on to his back beside her. And for a few moments, there was silence in the room, broken only by the individual sounds of their breathing.

  It was the coolness of the evening air, drifting in through the open balcony doors, and chilling her bare flesh, that brought Laura fully to her senses. When Jake had first moved away from her, she had lain there, too stunned, both mentally and physically, over what had happened, to do anything. But, as her blood cooled—and likewise her flesh—she gradually felt the full impact of her own wanton behaviour.

  Dear lord, she fretted wretchedly, what had she done? After all she had said; after the way she had castigated Jake for taking advantage of her, she had actually allowed him to—to—–

  To what? To reduce her to a trembling mass of nerves and sensations, she allowed disgustedly. He had used his not inconsiderable skills to show her exactly how vulnerable she was, so far as he was concerned. He had brought her to a peak of physical pleasure she had never known before, without even availing himself of her body. Let’s face it, without even taking off his clothes, she acknowledged bitterly. Damn, how he must be laughing at her now!

  She turned her head, her face twisted with contempt at her own weakness. There was no way she was going to get out of this, without humiliating herself still further, but she had to try. For her own sake. For Julie’s sake! Oh, God! Julie!

  Jake was still lying beside her. She had half expected to find he had moved, while she was recovering her senses, but he hadn’t. He was still lying on his back, one hand raised behind his head, the other resting on the coverlet between them.

  However he had sensed the nervous movement of her head, and he turned his head on the pillows to look at her. ‘Better?’ he enquired, a little thickly, and, although Laura was sure there must be some sarcasm in his question, his expression was free of derision.

  It took her completely by surprise, however, and the words she had been prepared to say in defence of herself, stuck in her throat. ‘I—this should never have happened,’ she said instead, realising how feeble that sounded. Particularly after she had just betrayed everything she had thought she believed in, she added miserably. ‘Um—you’d better go.’

  Jake sighed then, and rolled on to his side to face her. ‘Is that all you have to say?’ he exclaimed, his tone harshening. ‘Laura, this was not a mistake! This was for real. And believe me, my
magnanimity does not extend to soothing your pretty sensibilities!’

  Laura caught her breath. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said—–’

  ‘I know what you said,’ she responded, in a trembling voice. She sat up, and presented her back to him, ‘I—I want to know what—what you meant by—by my pretty—sensibilities!’

  ‘Dio!’ Jake’s oath was heartfelt, but when he would have grasped her arm she scrambled off the bed, and snatched up the discarded bathrobe. She felt a little better with its soft folds between her and Jake’s scathing eyes, though she shifted a little nervously when he came up off the bed to face her.

  ‘What do you think I meant?’ he demanded grimly, and when she moved her head in a little indifferent gesture he raked back his hair with a frustrated hand. ‘You don’t suppose I enjoyed what just happened, do you?’

  Laura’s face flamed. She couldn’t help it. It was an involuntary response to his lack of discrimination. ‘I—don’t— think—we need to—to conduct a post-mortem—–’ she began, but his anger overruled her prim denial.

  ‘Do you not? Do you not?’ he grated, and she noticed how his accent had appeared again. ‘Mama mia, she doesn’t want to talk about it! She doesn’t even realise how hard it was for me to touch her!’

  Laura swallowed convulsively. ‘Well—if—if that was the case,’ she stammered, ‘why did you?’

  ‘Dio!’ He pressed the ball of one hand against his forehead. ‘You don’t even understand what I am talking about, do you?’ He glared at her. ‘Laura, do you honestly believe I didn’t want to touch you? That is not what I meant. Not what I meant at all.’ He groaned. ‘I have told you already, I want you, Laura. I want to be a part of you. Do you know what I am talking about now? I want to lie with you. I want to slide between your thighs, and slake my thirst in your most beautiful body, but I am careful. I know I must not rush you. I know you are not ready yet to admit your feelings, so I—I pleasure you. Not myself. Only you. And you have no idea, no idea, believe me, how I am feeling at this moment!’

  Laura quivered, drawing her lower lip between her teeth, as her eyes flickered down his body. They lingered on the unmistakable evidence of his frustration, and then, when he swore, rather colourfully, her gaze returned nervously to his.

  ‘Yes,’ he said harshly, dragging his hands down his thighs, as if to ease the constriction of the tight trousers. ‘So now you know. I want you, Laura. And I suggest you do not look at me like that, unless you are prepared to take the consequences.’ He drew a laboured breath. ‘Now, I suggest you get dressed. My parents expect you to join them for drinks in the library in—–’ he consulted the plain gold watch on his wrist ‘—a little over fifteen minutes.’

  Laura caught her breath. ‘I can’t join them now—–’

  ‘Why not?’

  Jake was buttoning his jacket as he spoke, smoothing a hand that was not quite steady over his hair, checking that his tie was straight. Laura watched him, almost possessively, aware, as she did so, that she was actually beginning to believe the things he said. He did want her. That was undeniable. But what he wanted of her—that was something else again.

  ‘Jake—–’

  ‘Get dressed, Laura,’ he said flatly, walking towards the door. ‘It’s impolite to be late, when you’re the guest of honour!’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘PAPA!’

  Lucia nudged her pony nearer her father’s bay stallion, and whispered something Laura could barely hear. She knew it was about her. Her name—Lucia called her Signora Fox—figured fairly significantly in the little girl’s oratory, but as she spoke in her own language Laura couldn’t understand what she was saying.

  Which was all par for the course, thought Laura bitterly, holding on to her mount’s reins with a grimness that bordered on desperation. She didn’t understand any of this, and Lucia’s shy reserve was the least of her worries.

  So, instead of fretting over what Jake’s daughter might be saying about her, Laura stared determinedly at the view. If she could forget that she was on the back of a horse, and that the horse was standing on a ledge, some one hundred feet above the valley floor, it should be possible to appreciate the beauty of her surroundings. Jake had said the only way to see this country was on horseback, and, although Laura had never ridden before, he had insisted he would take care of her.

  The trouble was, she didn’t want him taking care of her. It was bad enough, knowing she was here under false pretences. She didn’t want his mother and father to get the wrong impression. They had been kind to her, and she appreciated that, but she had to keep things in perspective.

  Yet it had proved harder than she had ever imagined. Dinner, the night before, for instance. When she had eventually gathered herself together, and gone downstairs, she had found her plan to explain the situation to Jake’s parents had had to be shelved. Contrary to her belief, she had not been the only guest for dinner. Jake’s younger brother and his wife; two actors, who were performing in the area; an artist of some note; a priest; and various other business colleagues of Jake’s father, and their wives, were gathered in the library, when Laura finally found the courage to join them. She had realised there was no chance then of any private conversation, and her head was soon swimming with so many introductions.

  Not least her introduction to Jake’s father, she remembered ruefully. Count Domenico Lombardi—Nico, to his friends—was simply an older version of his elder son. He was handsome, and courteous, and in other circumstances, Laura was sure, she would have been charmed by him. But he was too much like Jake for her to feel completely relaxed in his presence, and the ambiguity of their relationship made her feel like a fraud.

  Jake’s brother, Lorenzo, was much less threatening. Smaller than the other members of his family, he had a shy, self-deprecating manner, a little like Lucia’s, that endeared itself to Laura. His wife, too, was relaxed and friendly, and, like most of the Italians Laura had met, she spoke extremely good English.

  Laura was grateful she had taken some trouble over her appearance, however. Even if her hands had shaken as she’d been applying her make-up, the results were quite satisfying. The sequinned jacket she had shocked Jess by buying the previous week, worn with a simple black silk vest and trousers was definitely well-chosen. She hadn’t needed Jake’s studied approval to know she looked good. For once in her life, she had confidence in her appearance, even if her reasons for making the effort hadn’t been what she’d expected.

  Nevertheless, the evening had proved to be quite a strain. Oh, everyone had been very kind, and she had been made to feel that she was a welcome visitor. But, perhaps because of that, Laura remained on edge, aware, more than anyone, of the falseness of her position.

  Her meeting with Lucia had struck a happier note. Unlike any English child of her age, she had been allowed to stay up for dinner, and the little girl was naturally curious about anyone who might focus her father’s attention away from herself. It was understandable, Laura supposed, bearing in mind that the child’s mother was dead, but she wished she could tell her she was not who the child evidently thought her. Even though Jake had introduced them, and had said nothing to arouse her interest, Laura was sure Lucia sensed there was something between them. But not for long, Laura had wanted to cry. Just for this weekend…

  Lucia had been taken off to bed, by her nursemaid, before ten o’clock, but the evening had not ended until around midnight. Laura had wished that she, and not the protesting Lucia, could have escaped so much earlier, but she was obliged to be polite, and stay until the bitter end.

  Not that it had been really bitter, she acknowledged now, as the chestnut gelding shifted beneath her. Trying not to show how nervous she really was, Laura pressed her knees against the leathers, and hung on. The meal, which had been served in the vaulted dining-room, had been mouth-wateringly delicious, and had Laura not been so tense, she would have enjoyed the food immensely. Smoked ham, served with a delicate grapefruit mousse, pas
ta, stuffed with meat and cheese, and a sugary fruit dessert to finish, would normally have aroused her appetite. But in the event, she had eaten very little, relying on the wine to keep her throat from drying up completely.

  Bed, when she’d reached it, had offered few reassurances. Looking at the satin bedspread, smooth now, and neatly folded back, she had been irresistibly reminded of what had happened on the bed before dinner. It had been impossible to look at that soft mattress without thinking of how her own body had betrayed her. And yet, much as she hated to admit it, she had known a strange exhilaration at the memory. She might tell herself she was mortified, but her skin had tingled just the same.

  Of course, she had been half afraid Jake would come back, once his parents had retired. Long after the house had settled down for the night, Laura had lain awake, determined to remain on her guard. She couldn’t help remembering what he had said before he’d left her, and she’d been fairly sure he would try to finish what he had started.

  But Jake hadn’t come back. Although she had wedged a chair beneath the handle of the sitting-room door, no one had tried to dislodge it. She had eventually fallen asleep, too exhausted to care any longer. Only her dreams had disturbed her, and they were no one’s fault but her own.

  But now, sitting here, on this cypress-studded hillside, with the sun cresting the hills, and casting dark pools of shadow between the trees, she was aware of the instinctive response her thoughts had engendered. Her mind might be determined to resist Jake, to put him out of her life, but her emotions were not so controllable. Even now, a hot sweet swirl of weakness was invading her lower limbs, and the memory of how he had made her feel was not one she was likely to forget.

  The chestnut snorted softly, and tossed his head, and Laura’s attention was drawn back to the precariousness of her seat. Below her, the ground fell away steeply to the river, and the knowledge that only the gelding’s good nature stood between her and serious injury brought a wave of perspiration to her forehead.