by Anne Mather
‘A limit?’ Ben gazed at her as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, and then, when comprehension dawned, he still continued to regard her with wary eyes. ‘You don’t—mean this.’
‘Oh, yes, I do.’ Shelley nodded vigorously, the action causing an upheaval in the securing of her hair, so that it fell about her shoulders in wild disorder. ‘Oh—’ She touched the recalcitrant strands with impatient fingers. ‘Just when I wanted you to see me at my best.’
‘Shelley!’ His grated use of her name was accompanied by his hands, grasping her shoulders in a numbing grip. ‘Shelley, if you’re playing some game—’
‘No game, darling,’ she assured him, her hands going surely for the cord of his bathrobe. ‘Mmm, that’s much—much better—don’t you think?’
* * *
An hour later Shelley regarded Ben teasingly across the mound of bubbles that filled the bath. And what a bath, she reflected ruefully. At least seven feet long and probably half as deep, with plenty of room for two people who didn’t mind the intimacy. The whole bathroom was unique, a modern-gothic extravagance, with ultra-efficient plumbing and distinctly opulent, if slightly out-dated, fittings.
‘Isn’t this rather decadent?’ she murmured mischieviously, leaning towards him. ‘Much more comfortable than a shower. Do you think we could have a bath like this fitted in our house? I think I like the sensation of sitting between your legs.’
Ben’s grin was rueful. ‘I don’t think my stamina would survive more than a few weeks,’ he retorted, brushing her shoulder with his lips. ‘Mmm, you know what’s going to happen, don’t you? And we’re supposed to be meeting my mother for dinner at half-past-eight.’
‘I’m sure she’ll understand,’ said Shelley huskily, abandoning her amusement as she met his hungry gaze. ‘Oh, Ben, thank God you were strong enough for both of us! I couldn’t have borne the thought of you married to someone else.’
The water lapped unheedingly over the side of the bath as Ben brought her alongside him, his mouth seeking her mouth as his hands sought other intimacies. ‘I love you,’ he told her simply, his urgent body hot against her stomach, and the explosion of their emotion left even Shelley feeling weak.
‘Where do you want to live?’ he asked her some time later, as they dried one another with the fluffy white towels. He hesitated. ‘I suppose I could find a practice near London, if you want to accept that appointment.’
‘I don’t,’ said Shelley honestly, looping her arms around his neck, delighting in their mutual nudity. ‘As a matter of fact, I think I’d rather like to have children. And then your mother won’t be thwarted in her desire to become a grandmother.’
‘So long as I have you to myself for a while,’ conceded Ben huskily. ‘That’s something I’m only just beginning to believe.’
‘But you do believe it, don’t you?’ she insisted, pressing herself against him, and his eagerly stirring body was all the answer she needed.
‘So,’ he said emotively, ‘and what if I suggested going back to Low Burton? Frank Chater would be delighted. He didn’t want me to leave.’
‘Not even—’
‘No. Not even in spite of Jennifer,’ finished Ben softly. ‘I think Frank realised some time ago that we weren’t exactly made for one another. But Mrs Chater makes it virtually impossible for him to voice an opinion.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘You know what they say—look at the mother and you’ll see the daughter twenty years on!’
Shelley bit her lip. ‘But will it matter to you—in your work, I mean—your marrying someone else and continuing to live in Low Burton?’
‘I doubt it.’ Ben was philosophical. ‘What’s more to the point—will you be able to stand it?’
Shelley snuggled closer. ‘Well, I was born in the dales, you know,’ she reminded him smugly. ‘And so long as we’re together, I suspect it won’t be so bad!’
ISBN-13: 9781460348277
STOLEN SUMMER
© 1985 Anne Mather
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