by Rosalie Ash
She heard herself whispering, 'No…no! I don't,I didn't mean to…' but at the same time her body was betraying her, acting completely independently of her brain. Reading her as easily as an open book, Matt pulled her hard against him, crushing her to his chest and holding her there tightly with a steely forearm, as she listened to the pounding of his heart. After a few numb seconds, with sensations whirling in a jumble through her mind and her body, there was heat, gradually smoldering and growing into a small fire somewhere deep in her stomach. A honeyed warmth she had never felt before was invading her, melting her thighs, and tingling through her breasts. She raised her face wonderingly to Matt's, as the pressure of his arm changed subtly, imperceptibly, and when he bent his head and kissed her gently, lightly, the small fire began to glow brighter, threatening to flicker completely out of control.
'You're incredible, did you know that?'
She stared at him, and tilting his head back from her he raised a slightly unsteady finger to her mouth.
'Does this hurt?' he asked huskily, touching the slight swelling on her lip. Mutely she shook her head, her lips parting a little under the pressure from his finger, and with a shudder Matt kissed her again, this time in an increasingly devouring, intoxicating, mindless way, his hands moving skilfully over her body, expertly pushing down the thin straps of her top, to expose her breasts to the exploratory touch of his fingers and lips. After the initial gasp of surprise, she was sinking, slipping into a sun-warmed, silky swirl of sensation, with an underlying urgency which grew, expanding and blossoming, until it somehow seemed imperative that her top and shorts were dispensed with, and that she was stretched defencelessly beneath Matt's long, hard body in bed, aware only dimly that for some reason he appeared to be trembling almost as violently as she was.
Her hair tumbled wildly around her shoulders as he gently stroked his fingers over the slender length of her thighs, back up over her hardening nipples, and then down again to the hot, wet core of her sex, cupping her and exploring her with his fingers and she arched herself uninhibitedly closer, twisting and turning as a clamour of nameless need rose inside her.
'Victoria… oh Christ…' It was a deep, strangled moan, as if Matt was making a final, supreme effort at self-control, but she was so lost in sensation that she gave a choked sob of frustration, tightening her hands around his muscular back, luxuriating in this chance to touch, caress, explore, terrified suddenly that he was going to reject her again.
His skin was smooth and firm, and smelt of lemon and musk, an intoxicating fresh, clean, male smell, and the muscles beneath the surface were a sensual delight, the coarse hairs on his chest, arms and legs an alien, infinitely exciting texture against her own softness.
She was conscious of tightly leashed power, of strength held back, and she looked up at him through half-closed eyelids.
'Matt, please! Please don't stop,' she breathed, scarcely audible against his mouth, moving against him sensuously, fingers splaying across his chest, following their caressing movements with her lips, her mouth open, her mind blank to anything but her stupendous longing.
'God help me, Victoria, I don't think I could stop now if I tried,' he ground out hoarsely against her ear, and moving with a convulsive jerk he pinned her to the bed, levering powerful thighs between her knees.
Victoria felt a split second's fear, a cold terror of the unknown experience she was willingly plunging into, but it was too late for a change of heart, and besides, fear was nothing compared with this growing, frantic, unbearable excitement transforming her into a soft, compliant, trembling body moving enticingly beneath Matt, arching up to him and giving herself up completely to his thrust of possession.
Her hoarse cry of pain was muffled against his mouth. Her slight, shocked wriggle to be free of the huge invasion of her body was quickly replaced by a tightening of her arms and legs around him, locking him to her and in her, lost in the maelstrom of shuddering, passionate unstoppable movement which followed the fusing and mating of their bodies.
Then, a silence, and a stillness.
Matt finally levered himself up from her. His grey eyes were dark, stunned and accusing.
'Victoria, for Christ's sake,' he said, 'If I'd known this was your first time…' He collapsed back against the pillow, his face rapidly resuming its unreadable mask. ‘Why the hell didn’t you say something?’
'I assumed you knew,' she whispered, 'I thought because I knew, you must know, I thought that was why you were so reluctant.' She was talking nonsense, but her brain felt incapable of coherent thought. She was stunned by the enormity of what had just happened to her.
Rolling on to his side, Matt propped himself on an elbow, eyeing her with perplexed anger.
'I assumed from the way you've been acting all weekend that you were reasonably experienced!'
Victoria gnawed her lip, gazing at him in bitter, growing comprehension.
'Oh, I see. Well, I'm sorry you're so disappointed. I know men are supposed to find virgins deadly boring, but we have to start somewhere, don't we?'
Matt's eyes were scathing. 'Victoria, the point is that girls with some…experience, shall we say, have usually taken sensible precautions. Girls who are virgins very rarely have!'
She closed her eyes miserably. She began to realise that Matt's experience hadn't even begun to match her own. That while for her this had been a unique, deeply tender act of giving, of commitment, for him it had been simply a physical act, probably as mundane as cleaning his teeth.
She considered what he was saying, trying to compute the likelihood of conceiving after just one night with a man. Surely the chances were remote? But having said that, she had to confess the possibility hadn't even occurred to her. Mundane matters like that hadn't entered her head at all, an admission which filled her with self-derision and clearly baffled a cool, calculating man like Matt Larson.
That predilection for romantic fantasy her university professor had mentioned seemed to have had the upper hand this weekend. But nothing, no matter how logical or sensible, could have detracted from that urgent need to give herself to Matt, nor the bliss of being here close to him now, still naked beside him.
But she struggled to sit up, to shake off the magic spell her own fantasies seemed to have weaved around her. Her breasts brushed against him as she moved, and her nipples tautened instantly, bringing all the sensations of the last few minutes flooding back, making her hot with confusion.
'Well, if you’re so appalled at me, you could have used protection yourself! But please don't worry,' she heard herself saying primly, 'I'm not trying to trap you or anything! If such old-fashioned behaviour still exists these days!
'I doubt if any kind of sexual behaviour goes completely out of fashion,' Matt said quietly, “And I apologise. I would normally take precautions. Obviously. In this case, you took me by surprise. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
She looked at him quickly, filled with a sudden foreboding.
'Are you already married? Is that it?'
Matt's eyes flickered with disbelief. 'No, I'm not already married. And for the foreseeable future I've no plans to get married.'
'Oh, I didn't mean that you and I would…should…' She was mortified by his misunderstanding.
'What's more, that's a very strange question to ask a man after you've had sex with him!'
He sounded as if he was trying to be as callous and insensitive as he could in his choice of words, and Victoria swallowed painfully.
'Had sex with? Is that how you describe it?' she said, 'You make it sound cheap, unimportant, like having a Chinese takeaway, or something!'
'Which euphemism would you rather we used?' he said, 'Made love? Had intimate relations?'
'Is 'making love' a euphemism? I think it describes what I just did quite well,' she said, wanting to cry but fighting against the feebleness of tears.
'Victoria…' Matt's voice, his eyes, had subtly altered, the anger and mockery fading. He seemed uncharacteristically lost
for words, and when he spoke she had the feeling it wasn't that he had originally planned to say. 'Did I hurt you?' He was stroking the back of her arm, gently and rhythmically.
'It doesn't matter.' Her voice was tight, struggling with the lump in her throat.
'I'm sorry. You made it very difficult for me to be gentle with you.' He stopped abruptly, then with a deep shuddering breath he pulled his arm away from her, as if becoming aware of the sensuous stroking rhythm of his fingers.
'It must be your come-to-bed eyes,' she said flippantly, trying to hide her pain. 'You obviously have no idea of your devastating effect on innocent females!'
'I think you'd better go.' he said.
She swung herself out of bed, stiffly groping for her shorts and top, which were in a heap on the floor.
'What happened just now was in the heat of the moment, Victoria,' he went on, his voice terse. 'And under provocation, that's my only excuse. There's a certain limit to any man's self-control.'
'Even an ascetic monk's?' she retorted, quickly getting dressed, forcing herself to shape her trembling mouth into a parody of a smile. 'Don't worry. I get the message.'
She was almost at the door, when he said quietly,
'If anything should go wrong with you…you can get in touch with me through my offices in London. De Lember and Greysteils. Or through Andrew.'
His tone was curt, businesslike, the underlying message implicit. Failing the inconvenience of an unwanted pregnancy, he had absolutely no intention of pursuing their brief acquaintance of this weekend any further.
Summoning every last ounce of dignity, she turned and flicked him her most disdainful look.
'Please don't worry. If anything 'goes wrong' with me, you'd be the last person I'd want to get in touch with. Goodnight.'
She walked out, closing the door quietly behind her, and managed to regain the haven of her bedroom before the tears began streaming unchecked down her face. She lay in bed, curled up despairingly, as the bitter tears soaked the pillow, stiff and sore in mind and body until sleep came to rescue her.
Chapter Nine
The November sky was a fresh pale blue, the sun brilliant, but an icy wind kept the temperatures well down, and the two red-haired girls waving frantically for a taxi in the cosmopolitan bustle of Oxford Circus caused a lot of heads to turn with their hair streaming out in the wind, their olive complexions glowing in the cold.
They bundled their numerous packages and posh carrier-bags into the back seat of the old-fashioned black Hackney carriage, and sank, breathless and laughing, on to the shiny leather seat, while the driver waited patiently for instructions.
'Well? Where to now? I've gone along with the mystery tour so far,' Victoria said with a humouring smile. Jessica frowned in feigned concentration for a few moments then nodded with a decisive smile and told the driver to take them to the Inn on the Park.
'It’s a shame Megan couldn't come with us, then I could have treated you both to a long overdue taste of civilisation. Still, at least we’ve bought gorgeous stuff for her as well!'
Victoria groaned, flexing her tired feet.
'Civilisation? Is that what you call it? So far, you've dragged me the length of Oxford Street, via Belgravia, Knightsbridge and Mayfair, not to mention the little detour out to that pricey nursery shop we simply had to visit in Pimlico. Why, Jessica? Why me?'
'Because, Vic darling, ever since we all started running Roundwell Farm shop and Plant Nursery, we’re in danger of turning into very drab country bumpkins!' Jessica told her, dimpling at her irrepressibly.
Victoria gazed at the crazy whirl of traffic around them, predominantly bright red buses and black taxis.
‘Hopefully reasonably profitable bumpkins, once we can rectify the mess Dad left behind! Occasionally I do wonder if we’ve taken on more than we can manage.'
'Well, I’m in charge of the accounts, and we’re going to be fine!' said Jessica, in a reasonable tone which defied argument. Victoria leaned back wearily, staring out of the taxi window but not seeing the buses and taxis any more, instead looking back down the traumatic and turbulent events of the past two years.
She had already made the decision to abandon her university course, before her father's sudden death, but naturally the idea of taking over the farm had not entered her head. But then after the will was read, leaving the farm between Jessica, Megan and herself, they had all three of them been faced with a huge decision. They could sell Roundwell and divide the proceeds between them, or hang on to it, keep that emotive link with their childhood.
Their problem had been, how to make the house and farm pay for itself, when their father had left it virtually bankrupt.
Dad had, quite literally, drunk himself to death, and during the preceding months had sold off his two-hundred-strong herd of Friesians, mainly, they suspected, because he couldn't be bothered to milk them twice daily. There was some profit to be made from the grain crops, but in the meantime the monthly cheque from EU farming subsidies no longer arrived, and, cursed with bad weather and out-of-date machinery, the situation had looked impossible.
Then Megan had the inspired idea of reviving Mum’s herb and flower nursery, and from that had come the farm shop, and then the on-line herb business, and so far things were looking hopeful.
'China tea and cucumber sandwiches!' Jessica announced encouragingly, tipping the taxi driver generously and shepherding her into the calm oasis of the hotel.
'Relax,' Jessica teased, watching the uneasy way Victoria perched on the edge of her chair in the elegant lounge, 'you definitely don't look like a country bumpkin now, so there's no need to behave like one!'
Victoria made a rude, very unladylike face at her sister, and sat back, forcing herself to relax, but she definitely didn't feel at home in luxurious surroundings like these. She would much rather be in jeans and sweatshirt, doing one of her allocated jobs of writing the herb nursery blog in the peace and privacy of the farmhouse kitchen.
Catching sight of herself in a mirror on the way in, she had thought at first that she was looking at someone else, and she had to confess she felt quite different in her new city clothes. This London shopping spree was Jessica's pre-birthday treat, as it was Victoria’s 21st birthday in mid-December. They were combining the shopping trip with a medical appointment of Jessica’s. Although she had no intention of letting her sister actually foot the bill for the numerous purchases in the carrier-bags, including her current outfit of new silky lace underwear, chic grey wool skirt suit and killer heels, her newly trimmed and smooth straightened hairstyle and the professional make-up, she had allowed Jessica to flash her credit card, unwilling to spoil her fun for the time being.
‘What time is your appointment this afternoon?'
Jessica glanced at her watch, then scanned the lounge with a faintly expectant air.
‘In forty-five minutes. It's only a quick hop over to Harley Street from here. You can either come with me, or wait for me and have some more tea, or something.'
Victoria considered the options. Her feet were so sore from traipsing around in the unfamiliar high heels, she was inclined to opt for the latter suggestion. Jessica looked more than satisfied with her decision, and resumed her slightly nervous scanning of the room until Victoria frowned at her.
‘Are you sure you’re not overdoing things, Jessica love?’ Victoria studied her older sister’s face with a touch of concern, sure she could see signs of strain, ‘This has been a hectic day, and you did only have a baby a couple of months ago!’
‘I’m fine, you know me, endless stamina!’
‘Well, even so, make sure you get lots of rest tomorrow. Megan and I can cope with the shop and cafe…’
‘Vic, for God’s sake, stop fussing!’ But Jessica glanced around them again, as she spoke.
'Is there anything the matter? Were you expecting to meet someone else here?'
'What? No, no, of course not.' Jessica shook her head vehemently and poured more tea, and they chatted about th
e children’s’ furniture and soft-furnishings they had seen.
'They have such exquisite things for babies now,' Jessica declared. 'When William was tiny you were lucky to find a cot bumper to match a cot quilt. Now you can co-ordinate an entire room—and weren't the designs absolutely fantastic?'
Victoria agreed. If you were able to afford it, you could certainly surround your baby with anything from clouds and rainbows, to woodland hollows full of pixies and elves, mice and rabbits. They had both had a wonderful time in the nursery shop.
Jessica was talking about William's latest trick of dangling his new baby brother by the heels whenever he found himself unsupervised, but Victoria's attention was suddenly caught and held, strongly, by the distant figure of a man, visible through the doors of the lounge, striding through the entrance foyer to pause for a few moments and confer with one of the staff.