by Sara Craven
Declan nodded, his face carefully expressionless. 'He was at a hotel in the New Forest—with Melinda.'
'Melinda,' she echoed shakily. 'But she's your girlfriend.'
'No,' he said, swiftly and sharply. 'We had a brief affair, but that was over a long time ago. Since then she's been engaged to a mate of mine. But some friends of his were also enjoying the New Forest, and saw Melinda, so the engagement's off.'
'But she was with you tonight' She'd given herself away with that small painful protest, she realised with dismay.
'No,' Declan said forcefully. 'We were in the same room, so she attached herself for a while, that's all. She's an actress, with ambitions to get into TV as a presenter, and she's always seen me as a stepping stone in her career plan.'
He looked at Olivia gravely. 'She met Jeremy here, of course, then they ran into each other at some promotional thing.'
His mouth twisted. 'I gather he exaggerated his earnings, prospects and general importance to impress her, and it worked.' He shook his head. 'But I think he was a little shaken to discover how expensive her favours can be. Bill Fenner's actually had a lucky escape.'
She said slowly, 'Jeremy said the weekend had been dire.'
'I'm sure his credit cards thought so,' Declan said drily. 'But she must have persuaded him that she was worth it, because they were here together while I was in Ireland. I came back earlier than I intended and caught them. And threw him out as a consequence.'
He sighed sharply. 'Then Maria turned up out of the blue, wanting to see him, expecting him to be around. So I had to tell her where he was—and why.'
'How could you?'
He said simply. 'Because she asked me. And though I've tried to protect her up to now, by keeping things from her, I've never lied to her.'
'Couldn't you have stopped her going to the party?'
'I tried,' he said drily. 'But she's a hard woman to convince. And she had a good reason for confronting him.'
Olivia looked at him gravely. 'She's going to have a baby—isn't she?'
His mouth tightened, and he nodded.
'But surely, now he knows that, he'll come to his senses. He'll make an effort.
'She hasn't told him. She went to the party, checked the situation for herself, and decided to call it a day.'
'But she still cares about him. And how will she manage with the baby?'
'No one said it would be easy. But she's a tough girl, and her mind's made up. He's had all the last chances he's going to get.'
He gave her a straight look. 'Jeremy's never wanted children. He married Maria for her earning potential. When they lived in Bristol he was always getting into debt, and expecting her to bail him out. When she wanted to move to London with him, he wouldn't let her. Told her she was doing too well at work, and she ought to wait until she got an equally good offer up here.'
'He lied about everything, didn't he?'
'Pretty much. I'm sorry, Olivia.'
'Don't say that,' she said quietly. 'I was a blind idiot. It's Maria who deserves the sympathy.'
He shrugged, his face bleak. 'She wanted a life. He wanted a lifestyle. End of story. Now come and drink this coffee while it's still hot'
She sat down, facing him, arranging the skirt of the robe decorously. She cupped the bowl of the brandy goblet in her hand, breathing the cognac's powerful aroma.
She said, 'Is Melinda moving into the flat with him?'
'God knows, but I almost hope so. There's a pair that deserve each other.'
Which surprised a laugh out of her. 'Yes—yes, they do.'
He'd lit the gas fire in the grate, and she watched the leap of the flames as she drank her coffee and sipped the cognac appreciatively.
There was a silence between them, but not the taut, aloof silence of recent days. This was a quietude—tranquil—almost companionable. She smiled to herself at the thought, and looked at him, and saw his eyes on her, and realised, with a catch of breath, that she was wrong.
She hurried into speech. 'Do you think my dress is dry by now?'
'I'll check it presently.'
'Only I really should be going. It's late…'
'And tomorrow's Sunday. There's nothing to rush for. Or are you really so desperate to get away from me?'
'It's not that.' She looked down at her clasped hands. 'But I don't know why you brought me here.'
'Ah, yes.' There was a ghost of laughter in his voice. 'You do.'
She shook her head, aware that her breathing was flurried. 'I just don't understand—anything.'
He said quietly, 'Did I scare you earlier—downstairs?'
'No.'
'Because I frightened myself,' he went on meditatively. 'I went to Ireland to get away from you, but you came with me every step of the way. You rode with me, walked with me, and smiled through my dreams. So when I saw you standing in front of me, touching you became a total necessity. And I forgot to be gentle.'
Olivia raised her head and met his eyes. Saw the tension in him. The unaccustomed diffidence. The question in his gaze that she alone could answer.
And realised nothing else mattered but giving him the response he needed.
She said softly, 'I'm not glass, Declan. I won't break.'
'Show me.' His voice was husky.
She rose, and walked round the table to stand in front of him. She untied the sash and let the robe fall open. Declan made a small sound in his throat as he looked at her. Then his hands slid round her, under the folds of silk, pulling her closer until he buried his face in the rounded softness of her body, his mouth burning against her skin.
She cradled his head in her hands, bending to press her own lips to his dark hair in silent offering. In acceptance.
He drew her slowly down to him, until she was lying in his arms across his body, looking up at him with eyes made drowsy by desire.
He began to kiss her, his mouth brushing hers lightly and wickedly, coaxing her lips to part for him. His hand stroked the curve of her shoulder, pushing the robe away, then travelled down to cup her breast. His fingers teased her nipple, enticing it to stand erect, eager for the soft caress of his tongue.
As his mouth moved downwards to possess its roundness her body arched in sweet voluptuous enjoyment.
His hand explored her, moving slowly down her body, tracing small erotic patterns on her skin. Every pulse, every nerve-ending was coming to singing life beneath his touch.
His mouth moved back to hers, kissing her deeply, ach, while his hand moulded the slender curve of her hip, then slid down to her parted thighs, enjoying the moist silken heat of her with sensuous mastery.
Her faint moan of pleasure trembled under his lips as his caress slowed, deepened, focusing on the tiny centre of her delight. She surrendered herself completely to the exquisite torment, aware that her self-control was fracturing, but uncaring. Knowing only that she was being carried inexorably, but with total trust, to some edge.
And when the moment came—when the world splintered into spasm after spasm of undreamed of rapture—his arms held her strongly and safely, and his heartbeat echoed against hers.
When it was over, she lay quietly, mindless and weightless, letting her fevered breathing slow, her lips pressed to the pulse in his throat. And felt herself lifted gently, carried out of the lamplit room into the shadows where his bed waited for them.
She lay, watching through half-closed eyes as Declan stripped off his clothes, her mouth curving sensuously in appreciation and anticipation.
When he came to lie beside her naked her arms welcomed him, her body shivering with pleasure as the warmth of his skin touched hers.
He kissed her without haste, savouring her mouth, the delicacy of her cheekbones, and the lids of her wondering eyes.
'Touch me,' he whispered, as his lips found the curve of her ear and the graceful line of her throat.
She obeyed, shyly at first, running her hands across the muscular shoulders and over the powerful contours of his back. She wasn't a v
irgin, but she wasn't experienced either, and she felt strangely at a loss.
'What's wrong?' He'd sensed her hesitation.
'I wish I knew more—about pleasing men.'
He was shaken with sudden laughter, his hand tenderly stroking the hair back from her damp forehead. 'How many are you planning on?'
She grazed his shoulder with her teeth. 'You know what I mean.'
'Yes.' His voice was very gentle. 'But I want you just the way you are, Olivia. Nothing we've learned from others can ever apply to our experience of each other. And what we need to know we can learn together.'
His mouth drifted softly down her body, discovering every pulse-point, each sensitive, responsive inch of skin. She moved against him, murmuring her pleasure, her caressing hands gaining confidence as she sought the velvet strength of him, making him groan softly in turn.
She longed to yield completely—to feel him inside her— all-male, all-powerful.
'I want you.' She breathed the words.
'Take me,' he whispered huskily, the silvery eyes slumbrous and intent. 'I'm yours.'
Slowly, she guided him to her—teased him deliciously for a moment, then lifted herself against him, sheathing him in passionate completion.
'Ah, my love.' The words seemed torn from his throat. 'My love.'
He moved slowly at first, as if relishing each long, lingering thrust, and she followed, the motion of her body matching his sweetly, almost languidly.
Then, as she felt the first quiver of ultimate response, her arms held him more fiercely. Her slender legs embraced his hips in wordless urging.
Their mouths came together greedily, demandingly as his possession of her deepened—quickened—carrying them both with utter certainty towards the agonised bliss of climax.
There was a moment when she thought she was dying— that her body would not survive this feverish ravishment She cried out, and heard his voice answer as if the sound had been wrenched from him.
Then the world steadied, and she felt the reality of his sweat-slicked shoulders under her hands as she floated back to earth.
A long time later, Declan said, 'I thought at one time I'd have to build a willow cabin.'
'A what?' She turned her head and stared at him, then remembered. Twelfth Night.
' "And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out, 'Olivia!' ",' he quoted softly. ' "O! you should not rest Between the elements of air and earth, But you should pity me!".'
She stretched bonelessly, like a kitten. 'Is that all it was—sympathy?'
He laughed, and drew her closer. 'I can think of no other reason.'
Her hand smoothed his hair-roughened chest. 'That's the kind of modesty that's almost immodest'
'Then I'd better change tack.' He dropped a light kiss on her mouth. 'Have some more champagne.'
'Mmm.' Olivia sighed luxuriously as he refilled her glass. 'This is incredibly decadent.'
'Well, make the most of it, woman,' he said with mock severity. 'Next time it's a cup of strong tea and a bacon sandwich. I need to keep my strength up.'
She grinned impishly at him. 'Sounds good to me. I'm starving.'
'Ah, God, my perfect girl.' He kissed her again, spilling her champagne down her body.
'Oh, look what you've done,' she scolded. 'I'm soaked.'
'What a waste entirely,' he murmured. He sighed, lowering his mouth to her breasts. 'I'll just have to salvage what I can…'
The bacon sandwiches were wonderful, and Olivia demolished every scrap.
'You're a great chef.'
'Hmm.' Declan frowned critically. 'The bacon could have been crisper. I need more practice.' He smiled at her across the table. 'like every night for the rest of our lives.'
She felt the colour rise in her face as she smiled back at him, her heart lifting.
She thought—This, I shall remember always. This moment of complete happiness. For the times that aren't so golden.
And stopped, as a faint shiver of disquiet stirred deep within her. As if, she thought, some shadow had indeed fallen across her joy.
But that, she told herself, was nonsense. Because she and Declan belonged to each other now. And nothing could spoil that. Nothing.
CHAPTER TWELVE
When she awoke, the room was full of watery sunlight, and she was occupying the big bed alone.
She propped herself up on her elbow, wondering where Declan had gone and taking her first good look at the room in which she'd spent the most heavenly night of her life.
It was large and airy, with a big window framed in long cream drapes. The walls were a pale terracotta, and the wooden floor was covered in Mexican rugs in primitive earth colours. Apart from the bed, with its cream covers, the room contained little furniture. There was a television and video unit on a stand, a pair of night-tables in some dark wood, and an antique chest of drawers.
It was a very calm, uncluttered room, she decided, rather like the rest of the house.
And very much as she herself felt on this fine Sunday morning, she thought, with a small private smile. But wasn't terrific sex supposed to iron out the creases and make you see with a new clarity?
I never knew, she thought shaking her head. I never realised how it could be.
None of her previous limited experience had prepared her for the totality of her response to Declan's lovemaking. For her unexpected capacity to give and receive delight.
And she had delighted him. He had told her so in a hundred different ways—and not just in words.
She ached pleasurably in all kinds of places, she realised as she stretched languidly. But that was to be expected, considering they'd eventually fallen asleep in each other's arms in complete exhaustion.
She heard a rustle of paper, and, turning her head sharply, saw that her outflung hand had encountered a note pinned to the adjoining pillow.
She unfolded it and scanned the brief message: 'Gone to buy us some breakfast. Stay where you are for room service.'
She was tempted, she thought as she pushed back the covers, her mouth curving reminiscently. But the least she could do was put the coffee on.
She showered swiftly, slipping into her underwear and shoes, which she'd left in the bathroom. Until she could find her dress, it would have to be Declan's robe again, she decided, fastening the sash as she went downstairs.
She'd just reached the hall when the front door opened behind her. She spun round, smiling mischievously, intending to tell him he'd returned five minutes too soon. And then the words and the smile died on her lips as she found herself facing Jeremy.
For a moment there was total silence. Olivia stood as if rooted to the spot, her lips parted in shock. Jeremy looked her over, eyes narrowed, his mouth twisting unpleasantly.
'Well, well,' he said softly. 'Who'd have thought it?'
She found her own voice. 'What are you doing here? And how did you get in?'
'The door was on the latch. And I could ask what you're doing, too, but I don't have to, because it's bloody obvious what's been going on.' He gave a sneering laugh. 'You were too pure and righteous to let me put a hand on you, and now you're sleeping with the boss. Tut, tut, Livvy. What a little hypocrite you are.'
The robe covered her from her throat to her feet, but she felt naked suddenly. And ridiculously scared.
She lifted her chin defiantly. It has nothing to do with you…'
'Now that's where you're wrong. It has everything to do with me, as I've just realised.' He began to laugh. 'My God, I knew Declan would do a lot for his beloved cousin Maria, but I never dreamed he'd go to these lengths. Yet I should have known, because he told me what he intended to do— right here in this hall. Only I was too dumb to see it— then.'
'What are you talking about?'
'Bait, sweetie,' Jeremy said contemptuously. 'Declan decided he was going to split us up by leading you astray. Giving you a taste of his famous sexual prowess. Except that he served up the full banquet by the look of you. So, he offered himself as bait,
and you couldn't wait to wriggle on to his hook—could you, darling? He even moved you into his office to make sure of you.'
He laughed again. 'Poor, naive little Livvy. All the bastard had to do was reel you in. And now he'll throw you back with the other little fishes.'
She drew a deep, painful breath. 'I don't believe you.'
Only she did believe it. She'd even thought of it herself, she remembered frantically. Considered it as a possibility. Then discounted it. And now it was back to haunt her as grim reality.
'You forget I've lived with him.' His tone was vindictive. 'I've seen how he operates—and I'm a mere beginner by comparison. Let's see—he romanced you into bed last night, and now he's out buying the usual croissants and Buck's Fizz for your farewell feast All quite routine, I assure you.'
'You've lied to me for months—and you're lying now.'
He shrugged. 'I've no reason. Actually, I feel sorry for you, allowing yourself to be taken in like this. Face it, love, if he wasn't so devoted to my bitch of a wife and her interests, he wouldn't have given you a second lode Declan dates models, actresses, girls who're at the top of their particular tree—like that blonde designer he was seeing.'
He shook his head. 'You fell for the dangerous charm, darling, and failed to see the barracuda underneath. But then the devious bastard's been making fools of us both.'
'Stop it.' Olivia tried to cover her ears with her hands.
'Oh, dear,' Jeremy mocked. 'Getting through to you, is it, that you haven't been the world's cleverest bunny? But cheer up. You've been laid by an expert, and that kind of education is never wasted. The next guy along will be incredibly grateful.'
'You disgust me.'
'Now that's not very kind.' He couldn't control his malicious glee. 'He's the one who's conned you—used you.'
She looked at him steadily. 'And you didn't?'
'Guilty as charged,' he said nonchalantly. 'But you have to admit you were the perfect decoy—the old childhood friend—needy and a little sad—who wanted a brotherly shoulder to cry on. Even the most suspicious wife wouldn't have worried about that. You were the perfect alibi.