by Anne Mather
‘Sadly, no.’ Mrs Ferreira gave Oliver a regretful look. ‘Not yet, anyway. But I’m sure we’ll like her. She’s a lawyer, you know? With a very successful career of her own. Unlike Sophie, who has never worked at anything for more than a few weeks that I know of.’
‘Nancy!’ At last, Oliver’s father intervened. ‘This is Oliver’s business, not ours. I don’t think you should be gossiping about things that are really no concern of ours.’
‘But they are our concern,’ Mrs Ferreira sniffed. ‘You want your son to be happy, don’t you?’
‘Naturally, I do. But by the same token, I don’t want to drive him away again because we’ve been interfering in his life.’
Oliver’s mother looked a little anxious now. ‘I’m sure he knows I only have his best interests at heart.’
‘Yeah.’ But Oliver threw his father a grateful glance. ‘Let’s talk about something else, shall we? I wouldn’t want to bore your guest with my problems.’
‘I’m not bored,’ said Grace at once, but this time she seemed to think better of pursuing it. Her green eyes challenging his, she murmured, ‘I suppose I ought to be going. It’s getting late and I am finding the change of temperature rather tiring.’
‘Oh.’ Mrs Ferreira looked disappointed now. But this time she didn’t argue. ‘Oh, well, if you must.’
‘I have enjoyed it,’ Grace assured her, getting to her feet, and Oliver and his father did the same. ‘The meal was delightful. I’d probably have made do with beans on toast if I was at home.’
His mother looked pleased. ‘You must come again,’ she said at once. ‘Whatever he says, I know Oliver finds our company very dull.’
Somehow he managed to stop himself from saying how he really felt, but he sensed Grace was perfectly aware of his feelings. ‘We’ll see,’ was all she allowed herself. ‘But thank you. You’re—all—very kind.’
She kissed his father and mother before leaving, but as she started across the patio Mrs Ferreira had the final word. ‘Oliver,’ she said, looking up at him with wide, ingenuous eyes. ‘Why don’t you escort Grace back to the villa? It’s not far, I know, but it is dark, and she is staying there alone.’
‘I—’
He opened his mouth to say he was sure Grace didn’t need his escort, when she spoke. ‘Oh, that would be kind,’ she murmured, her green eyes alight with provocation. ‘If you don’t mind, that is?’
CHAPTER TEN
H OW could he refuse?
However much he might want to, he was virtually compelled to accompany her. Just because he didn’t want to be alone with her, just because he had spent the whole evening convincing himself that whatever unholy attraction he felt towards her, he could conquer it, was no reason to be rude.
And refusing to escort her would be rude. And awkward. And arouse the kind of questions he didn’t want to answer. Already his mother and father were looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to say the obvious: that he’d be delighted to accompany her, that he was sorry he hadn’t thought of it himself.
The trouble was, he suspected Grace had only agreed to it because she’d known how he would feel. Well, some of it anyway. She probably thought he would resent her audacity, or maybe that it would annoy him. Annoy him? God! He wished he could sustain his anger towards her. It would be so much easier, so much healthier.
‘No problem,’ he said at last, choosing the least fulsome form of acceptance. ‘Shall we go?’
If Grace was surprised at his easy compliance, she didn’t show it. ‘Thanks, again,’ she said, raising a hand in farewell, and preceded him along the path that led around the side of the villa.
They crossed the lawn at the front of the house and then circled the Lovells’ garden to where a crushed shell path led up to the front entrance. A pillared portico shaded double doors, and Grace pulled a key out of her purse, ready to let herself inside.
‘Well—thanks for coming with me,’ she said coolly, giving him a swift appraising glance. ‘I guess I can manage from here.’
‘Sure?’ He wasn’t inclined to let her have it all her own way. ‘Wouldn’t you like me to check inside, in case there’s a prowler lurking on the premises?’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ began Grace confidently and then caught her breath on a sudden gasp. ‘Oh, God!’
‘What?’ Oliver was instantly alert. ‘What’s wrong? Are you feeling ill or something?’
‘No.’ Grace swallowed and pointed through the glass panel that edged the door. ‘There’s a light on inside.’
So there was. Oliver’s eyebrows drew together. ‘And you didn’t leave a light on, right?’ he asked softly.
‘No.’ She shook her head.
‘So—’ Oliver hesitated ‘—is there an alarm?’
‘There is, but I didn’t activate it,’ she confessed in a low voice.
Good thinking, thought Oliver sardonically. But still, she had only been visiting next door.
‘Okay,’ he said after a moment, and taking her key out of her hand, he inserted it silently into the lock. ‘You stay here.’
‘What?’ Grace licked her lips. ‘No, I can’t do that. I can’t let you go in there all alone. It—it might be a burglar. He could be armed.’
‘And you’ll do what if he is?’ whispered Oliver drily. ‘Pull out your gun and shoot him?’
‘I don’t have a—oh, you!’ She nudged his back instinctively, and then seemed to remember this was no game. ‘Um—you will take care, won’t you?’
‘I didn’t know you cared,’ he murmured, turning the key and pressing the door inward. But despite his humour, he couldn’t help wishing he did have something to use as a weapon if he needed it. Quashing that thought, he positioned her on one side of the door, out of sight of any intruder. ‘Just stay here, right. Don’t move.’
‘But—’
‘Do it,’ he commanded harshly and, stepping over the threshold, he entered the house.
The light was coming from the back of the house. If he had to guess, he’d say it emanated from the kitchen, and he wondered what a thief could possibly hope to find there. Still, he’d heard of people hiding valuables in the freezer, and it was always possible that an intruder was rifling the fridge, too.
Fortunately his feet made little sound on the marble tiles of the hall. He edged along the wall, one step at a time, trying to get his head around the layout of the house as he did so. It was dark, but the moonlight illuminated a spacious living room through an archway off the hall. A curving staircase was of some concern, but he couldn’t worry about that now. If there was anyone upstairs, he would have to deal with it later. Right now, he was intent on his first objective.
He had almost reached the kitchen door when he realised that it was ajar. That was how they’d been able to see the light from outside. But he also realised that they’d been wrong. The light wasn’t coming from the kitchen at all. It was shining through the windows from outside. Someone, or something—a cat, maybe—had triggered the security lights and the back of the villa was floodlit by half a dozen halogen beams.
Oliver expelled the breath he’d hardly been aware he was holding. The intruder—if there had been an intruder, and he rather doubted it—was long gone. There had been no attempt to enter the house. He shook his head, relieved that he wasn’t expected to act the hero, after all.
He was just beginning to breathe easily again when a hand clutched the back of his shirt. Immediately, he was on the alert, his response instantaneous and uncontrolled. He was so hyped by the adrenalin in his blood that he didn’t stop to think before reacting. With a muffled oath, he spun round and pinned the person behind him against the wall.
He didn’t know which of them was the most shocked. The whimper Grace gave as his arm pressed against her neck was piteous and he gave a frustrated groan as he realised exactly who he was abusing.
‘God, Grace,’ he muttered, his arm moving from her throat to support his weight against the wall beside her. His elbow snagged on
a switch and he pressed it down illuminating a swathe of the hall, lit by a bronze-shaded light. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you were—’
‘An intruder. I know,’ Grace supplied as he broke off, her voice a little hoarse from the pressure he’d exerted. ‘Silly me!’
‘So why the hell didn’t you stay where you were?’ he demanded, using anger in his own defence. ‘I could have broken your neck.’
‘I know.’ Grace was still slumped against the wall, her cheeks pale in the artificial light. ‘But I’d just realised what the light was.’ She rubbed her throat with a protective hand. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’
‘Scare me?’ Oliver couldn’t help the wry half laugh that escaped him at her words. ‘You really know how to eviscerate a guy, don’t you?’
Grace smiled now. ‘I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,’ she demurred. She seemed to become aware of how close they were to one another and levered herself up against the wall. ‘I really am grateful.’
How grateful?
The crassness of that thought appalled him, but that didn’t stop his eyes from dropping to her mouth. Bare of lipstick now, it was still as luscious as it had looked at the start of the evening, and his fingers moved of their own volition to touch her lips. His thumb invaded her mouth, sensual and possessive, rubbing roughly over the soft flesh he’d exposed.
Her eyes were wide now, watching him as he was watching her, and he couldn’t prevent himself from bending towards her and capturing her lower lip between his teeth. He bit down on it, hard, seeing the sudden pain that darkened her gaze. But then, as if she, too, had no control over her actions, she swayed unsteadily towards him.
Her lashes veiled her eyes even as her hands spread against his chest. But if it was an attempt to hold him off, it was a very puny effort. When he moved closer, supporting himself with both hands now, her fingers curled into his shirt almost convulsively.
‘Do you want me to go?’ he asked, his voice as hoarse as hers had been earlier. But he knew it was a foolish question. There was no way he could let her go again and she knew it.
‘Just—just stop talking,’ she whispered huskily, and abandoning any attempt to hold his emotions in check, Oliver covered her mouth with his.
Her breasts flattened against his chest, the hands that had been fisted against his stomach sliding up to his shoulders, clutching the hair at his nape.
Her lips parted, allowing his tongue to meet and mate with hers, sharing a mutual dance of provocation. Her nails dug into his neck, revealing how responsive to him she was, and blood surged hotly into his groin. A feeling of reckless hunger swept over him and, bending his arms, he allowed his body to rest against hers.
God, that was good, he thought unsteadily, his erection causing her to part her legs to accommodate him. They fitted together so well, it was as if they’d been made for one another, and he shut his mind to any memory of his brother and the fact that Tom had been here before him.
Holding her face between his hands, he angled his mouth over hers, kissing her again and again, long, drugging kisses that seduced his senses and created a feeling of mindless abandon. He had never been more aroused, hot, engorged, his sex throbbing with an almost painful intensity.
His need was a barely coherent awareness. A desire to be inside her, to feel her slickness, her heat, enveloping him, enclosing him, assuaging the hunger she’d aroused inside him. There’d be no relief until he’d satisfied that hunger. He accepted that now. Accepted it and embraced it.
His hands slid into the silky length of her hair, loving the way the red-gold strands curled about his fingers, soft and sensual. His mouth trailed a searing path from her lips to her ear, his tongue exploring its tender honeycomb, before moving on to her throat. He could feel the pulse beating in her neck, its erratic dance matching his own for rhythm, her shoulder lifting beneath his caress, inviting him to taste her soft flesh.
And he did. Nibbling at her shoulder, he drew an inch of honey-soft skin between his teeth and sucked its sweetness until she gave an involuntary moan. Looking down, his eyes were drawn to the dusky V of the cleavage exposed by the low-cut halter-top and, taking an uneven breath, he allowed his hands to follow his gaze.
He shaped her breasts first, feeling their warmth and fullness even through the sequinned basque. Her nipples were hard when his thumbs brushed over their tips, and he bent his head to bestow a sensual kiss in the hollow between.
But it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. He wanted to strip the bodice away and touch her, not sequinned silk. He wanted to tear his shirt away, too, and feel her breasts against his chest, to rub himself against her until she was as hot and out of control as he was.
There were laces at the back of her neck, he discovered, and when he pulled the ends the halter loosened immediately. But now, she clutched the front of her bodice, as if he had taken a step too far.
‘Don’t stop me,’ he groaned, the idea of having to release her causing an actual ache in the pit of his stomach. He wanted her so badly. It would be agony to let her go.
‘No,’ she said breathily, but although his heart sank at the word, she reached for his hand. ‘This way,’ she added, tugging him back along the hall, entering the living room he had glimpsed earlier.
The lights beyond the windows had gone out now and there was only a muted glow from the hall outside to show him where she was taking him. A pair of squashy velvet sofas stood at right angles to a stone fireplace, where unlit candles replaced the hearth. There were Chinese rugs covering the floor, long, undrawn curtains at the windows, and a sound system and hi-fi beside a shelf of CDs.
Grace sank down onto one of the sofas, pulling him down beside her, and now she allowed the sequinned halter-top to fall to her waist. Her expression wasn’t easy to read in the shadowy light that spilled over them, but he thought she looked a little shocked at her own behaviour. He had the ridiculous notion that she’d never done anything like this before, but then desire and his own need overrode any doubts he might be entertaining.
Her breasts were firm and tips tilted, the nipples as rich and rosy-dark as he remembered. Swollen with her emotions, they jutted proudly towards him, and with another groan he covered them with his hands.
‘You are so—beautiful,’ he whispered in a shaken voice, suddenly as nervous as she seemed to be. He traced the curve of her throat with an unsteady finger and stared at her with searching eyes. He wanted so much from this woman, he realised uneasily, but he had no idea what she wanted of him.
Yet when her hand lifted and she cradled his jawline, every nerve in his body responded. Her cool hand inflamed him, set him on fire, and he turned his face into her palm. He kissed her there, and then along her arm to her elbow, his tongue finding the sensitive veins within. She quivered beneath his caress before saying huskily, ‘Take off your shirt. I want to see you.’ And buttons flew as he wrenched the garment out of his trousers.
She drew back, but only as far as the cushions behind her, and Oliver went after her, delighting in the feel of her hard nipples against his chest. They brushed against the triangle of hair that arrowed down to his navel, and he was desperate to feel every inch of her naked body yielding beneath him on their impromptu bed.
His mouth found hers again. He felt as if he was unable to get enough of her, and her tongue was a willing participant in her surrender. He leant over her, stretching his length beside her, allowing his hand to run caressingly from her shoulder to her knee. The split skirt made it easy for him to stroke the inner curve of her thigh and her legs splayed almost involuntarily, just inviting him to lodge one of his between them.
He did so willingly, his thigh moving up to rub against her softness, and he heard the muffled cry she stifled against his shoulder as he did so. Her legs came together again, trapping him in that most intimate of places, and he experienced a similar kind of anguish at her honesty.
Dipping his head, he sought one distended breast, tugging the nipple into his mouth. He suckled gree
dily, loving the sensation of her tender flesh responding to his tongue, and then moved to her other breast and repeated the caress.
She arched towards him, her bare arms tight about his neck, and Oliver groaned deep in his throat. She was so receptive, so sensitive to his needs, and he wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t felt a sense of urgency as his hands moved to her waist.
They trembled slightly as he released the button on her skirt and he was momentarily diverted by the ruby ring that pierced her naval. But then he touched the low waistband of her briefs, and when his hand slid inside the scrap of silk the awareness of how aroused she was drove all other thoughts from his head. Her instinctive reaction was to press herself against his hand, and his fingers slipped naturally between the curls that protected her mound to find the moist cleft they were hiding.
‘Oh, God, Oliver,’ she choked when he allowed two fingers to invade the cleft, and when his thumb found the swollen nub of her womanhood and rubbed against it she bucked uncontrollably beneath his hands.
‘You—you shouldn’t,’ she breathed when she was able to speak again. But Oliver only buried his face in her softness, delighting in the taste of her passion.
‘Why not?’ he breathed at last, easing her skirt and briefs down over her hips, and she lifted herself again to make it easier for him. ‘You enjoyed it, didn’t you?’ He pointedly raised his thumb to his lips. ‘You seemed to, anyway.’
‘But you’re still dressed,’ she protested, her face flushed and adorable in the half-light. Her hands reached towards his belt. ‘Let me help you.’
Oliver expelled a strangled breath when she touched the thrusting mound of his erection. Pausing in her efforts to unbuckle his belt, she let her fingers shape its form and substance, before moving on to his zip.
‘Show me,’ she whispered, her lips soft and parted in anticipation and Oliver had never known such a sense of excitement as he felt now. He barely managed to loosen the button at his waist before her hands slipped into his shorts. Soft fingers closed around him, moved up and down his length, discovered the pearl of moisture at its tip and brought it her lips.