by Anne Mather
‘Don’t,’ he said unsteadily, forced to stop her. Getting up from the sofa, he pushed both his trousers and his shorts down his legs, kicked off his shoes. ‘Just let me…’
He was down beside her again before he finished his sentence. Covering her with his body, he let her feel the different textures of hair and skin as they touched and mingled with hers. He nudged her legs apart, one thigh nestling against her mound, and she trembled beneath him.
For a few moments it was enough just to lie there and enjoy the unfamiliar intimacy of her body against his. Her breath was warm on his jawline, her breathing catching just a little as she anticipated what was to come. Her hands dipped into the hollow of his spine before exploring the tight muscles of his buttocks. Her nails dug into him, arousing sensations he’d never felt before, and his erection became an almost painful reality.
It was the way she moved beneath him that did it. The feel of her foot sliding the length of his calf, the sensuous shifting of her body. The heady scent of her arousal made his senses spin, and his shaft tightened instinctively. He’d wanted her before, but nothing like this. Now he knew he had to have her or die in the attempt.
Straddling her hips, he lifted himself above her and saw the way her eyes were drawn to his swollen shaft. But when she looked up into his taut face, there was no apprehension in her gaze, no regret. Just a fervent excitement to match his own.
He looked down at her possessively, covering her breasts with his hands again, loving the feeling of power it gave him. She was his, he thought exultantly. Whatever had gone before, she was his now.
‘Do it,’ she whispered tremulously, lifting her knees, exposing herself completely, and desire overwhelmed any possibility of delaying the moment.
Kneeling between her legs, he guided himself to her slick threshold, nudging the damp curls aside and pressing gently into her.
She was tight, so tight, he might almost have believed she was a virgin. But there was no hidden barrier to his invasion, only muscles that flexed and expanded to accommodate him, only her breathless little cries urging him on.
It was hard to be patient, hard to slow his need to be inside her. Yet it was incredible, too, a previously unknown delight in prolonging her pleasure and his own.
But eventually, he was totally encased in her hot sheath. Despite a momentary fear that he might hurt her, her body had welcomed his entry, and briefly he was reluctant to move.
As if she understood his feelings, Grace reached up to brush his lips with hers. He felt his stubble scratch her chin in passing, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her tongue darted to meet his with gentle urgency, and he was consumed by the desire to make this as good for her as it was for him.
Bracing himself, with a hand at either side of her head, he withdrew almost to the point of detachment and felt her instinctive surge towards him. Then, looking down, he pushed into her again and, almost helplessly it seemed, she arched upwards to meet his thrust.
They were perfectly matched, he thought, repeating the action and feeling her muscles tighten around him. For every movement he made, she had an equal response, and pretty soon the desire to prolong their pleasure was swamped by the hunger of his own needs.
Even so, he was determined that she should stay with him every step of the way. Quickening his strokes, he slipped a hand between them and massaged the throbbing nubbin he had caressed before.
Her response was immediate. Clutching his shoulders she gave a breathless cry. As her climax drenched him with her essence, his own control snapped. Slamming into her one last time, he exploded in a paroxysm of feeling, his release spilling out of him and into her with no thought of holding back.
He collapsed on top of her, his body shuddering with the aftershocks of his orgasm, and it wasn’t until she shifted a little protestingly beneath his weight that he realised what he’d done. He’d made love to her without giving any thought to protection, hers or his own, and he felt an immediate sense of remorse. She deserved better of him and he ought to be ashamed.
Yet he also knew that to have stopped at any point would have been beyond him. He’d been wrapped in the mindless web of passion and desire and he’d wanted to feel her around him, flesh to flesh and skin to skin. And if that meant there’d be consequences, then so be it. Right at this moment, he thought no price too great to pay.
But when he turned his head and nuzzled her neck, Grace reacted differently. Instead of welcoming his caress, she struggled to throw him off her, and when he obediently rolled onto his side she scrambled off the sofa with a distinct lack of reluctance.
Bending to gather up her clothes, she clutched them to her as she looked down at him, and he was astounded to see that her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying.
‘I think you’d better go,’ she said tightly, and Oliver was instantly aware of his own nakedness—and of the fact that his sex was still throbbing in a semi-aroused state.
‘If that’s what you want,’ he said, not really understanding the look she was giving him. Sitting up, he reached for his trousers, pulling them on, shoving his shorts into his pocket. He stood up. ‘Are you—that is, are you okay?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ she asked in the same strained voice. She waited until he’d pulled his shirt over his shoulders and then glanced about her. ‘Have you got everything?’
‘Grace—’
‘Just go,’ she insisted, gesturing towards the door. ‘Your mother and father will be wondering where you are.’
‘To hell with my mother and father,’ he said harshly, confusion bringing a note of resentment to his voice, and she shook her head.
‘Yes. You would say that,’ she murmured bitterly. ‘Good night, Oliver. Drop the latch on the door as you go out.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
G RACE slept surprisingly well. After what had occurred, she’d expected to lie awake half the night, but it didn’t happen. Exhaustion gripped her, and after washing her face and cleaning her teeth, she tumbled gratefully into bed and into a dreamless oblivion.
Because she hadn’t drawn her bedroom curtains the night before, the morning sunlight awakened her. Flooding into the room, it invaded her flickering lids, alerting her to the fact that it was morning.
It was still early, of course, barely seven o’clock, but Grace didn’t linger between the sheets. She felt hot and sticky with the aftermath of Oliver’s lovemaking, and she was appalled at herself for not showering before she went to bed.
Now, she stepped eagerly beneath the cooling spray, soaping every inch of her body to remove every trace of Oliver’s touch. She removed the navel ring she had worn, too, feeling as if she would like to drop it into the waste bin. Whatever, she felt sure she would never wear it again.
Despite her efforts, she seemed to have the taste of Oliver in her mouth, his scent in her lungs. She felt as if she inhaled his distinctive male aroma every time she took a breath, and deciding she needed some fresh air, she decided to go for a jog along the beach.
But before she did so she stripped her bed of its sheets and dumped them in the washing machine. Leaving coffee perking on the hob, she went upstairs again and dressed in a hot pink vest and black bikers’ shorts, plaiting her hair while it was still damp.
She only paused long enough to drink a cup of the freshly made coffee before collecting her father’s car keys from the drawer in the den, and going through the connecting door into the double garage. She’d decided not to walk down to the village in case she ran into Oliver. If she took her father’s car, she could choose her own destination.
There didn’t seem to be anyone about next door, she saw as she drove away from the villa. Perhaps the Ferreiras were having a lie-in after entertaining the night before. Despite herself, she couldn’t deny the sudden frisson of awareness she felt at the thought of Oliver lying in bed. She didn’t think she’d ever forget how she’d last seen him, stretched out on her parents’ sofa. Talk about naked and unashamed, she thought tensely. She’d never known a m
an who was more comfortable in his skin.
But then, she hadn’t seen a lot of men naked, she acknowledged. Until last night, she’d never even known what all the fuss was about. Girls she’d worked with had talked about sex—sometimes to distraction—but Grace had always believed their stories were over-exaggerated. An excuse for extolling the exciting lives they purported to lead.
Now she wasn’t so willing to dismiss their claims out of hand. However much she might regret what had happened—and she did regret it, bitterly—she couldn’t deny that for the first time in her life she felt like a real woman.
Oliver had done that for her. Whatever else he’d done—and she couldn’t forget that only the day before he’d told her he wasn’t free, that there was some other woman in his life—he’d given her a master-class in the art of seduction.
From the moment he’d touched her in the hall of the villa, until she’d belatedly come to her senses pinned beneath him on the sofa, she’d been lost to all reason, lost to all decency. She hadn’t been able to control what had happened any more, she suspected, than he had. They’d behaved shamelessly, caring for nothing but their own selfish gratification. Her lips twisted. And she’d been worried that Tom might make a move on her. Compared to his brother, Tom was an amateur.
Not that that excused her behaviour. As she drove through the outskirts of the village she admitted she’d been as guilty of betraying someone else as he had. She’d known he couldn’t be trusted, yet she’d let him get under her skin. She’d already sampled his brand of loyalty, but that hadn’t stopped her from giving in.
Which was all the more galling considering she’d spent the early part of the evening thinking of ways she could get her own back for the way he’d treated her the previous morning. She’d dressed up for the occasion deliberately, wanting him to see what he was missing. She’d wanted to humiliate him. That was why she’d agreed to let him escort her home. She’d planned on coming on to him and then spurning any advances he might make.
But then she’d seen what she’d thought was an intruder in her house and all thought of playing the siren had gone out of the window. Not that that would have been a particularly successful option, she acknowledged now. She had the uncomfortable feeling that, however she’d got into Oliver’s arms, the end result would have been the same. The man had the ability to blank her mind of all rational thinking. Her only recourse seemed to be to keep her distance from him, which was why she was seriously thinking of returning to England today.
There were few people around and, although Grace had intended to venture farther afield, the empty expanse of the beach persuaded her not to be such a coward. She doubted if Oliver would be up and about this early in the morning. If he was, she would just have to bite the bullet and deal with it.
After all, was she really going to let him drive her back to England? She mustn’t forget she had Tom to deal with when she got back. He wasn’t going to be pleased when he discovered she was looking for alternative accommodation, and there was still the problem of Sophie’s demands putting the future of the garden centre in jeopardy.
She frowned. Perhaps she ought to go to her parents’ house instead of back to Northumberland. Her mother and father would be pleased to see her and she could always make some excuse about feeling homesick.
Parking her car beside the sea wall, she sat for a few minutes just staring at the tide rippling along the shoreline. It would be so easy to blame Oliver for all of it, she brooded. If he hadn’t married Sophie, if he hadn’t neglected her so that she’d turned to Tom for comfort, none of this might have happened.
But was that just wishful thinking? She only had Tom’s word that Oliver had neglected his wife and, judging by Sophie’s eagerness to retake her marriage vows, it was unlikely to be the whole story. People had to take responsibility for their own actions. Everyone made mistakes. As she’d done, she admitted freely, pushing open her door and getting out of the car.
Kicking off her shoes, she dropped them on the floor of the vehicle before locking the door. Then, swinging one leg over the sea wall, she jumped down onto the sand.
Despite her determination not to think of him, she couldn’t help wondering what Oliver’s girlfriend was like as she paddled in the shallows. Miranda. Her nose wrinkled in disdain. Why did all the most successful women have such girly names? Mrs Ferreira had said Miranda was a lawyer. Lawyers should be called Sylvia or Elizabeth, solid, sensible names that inspired confidence in their clients. Not Miranda, that sounded as if its owner might be a fey, delicate creature, dependent on a man for protection.
Grace scuffed a toe into the damp sand. Of course, for all she knew Miranda might be exactly that type of woman. Just because she had a law degree didn’t mean she couldn’t be both delicate and feminine. Oliver evidently approved of her. Despite his apparent weakness where Grace was concerned, he’d never denied he was committed to someone else.
A lawyer! Grace scowled. That was probably the right profession for his girlfriend to have. Miranda could be relied upon to keep him out of trouble, she thought maliciously. A lover and an advocate, all in one package.
Which reminded her that taking a lover could be a dangerous indulgence. Okay, the chance of her getting pregnant at this particular time of the month was fairly unlikely, but the doubt was there. No doubt Oliver expected she was on the pill. Why wouldn’t he? He had such a low opinion of her sexual proclivities anyway, he was prepared to believe anything of her. She shouldn’t forget he still believed she was Tom’s mistress.
She knew she shouldn’t care what Oliver thought, but she did. She didn’t like the feeling that she’d been used, however willing she’d been at the time. She’d take damn good care that she wasn’t ‘used’ again.
It was after nine when she got back to the villa. And despite all her soul-searching, she still hadn’t decided what she was going to do. Part of her believed it would be cowardly to leave and let Oliver think he had scared her away, but the other part—the greater part, if she was honest—needed to put some space between them for her own peace of mind.
She parked the car on the forecourt and was just fishing her shoes off the floor when she became aware of someone crossing the lawn between her parents’ villa and the villa next door. She didn’t need to turn to know it was Oliver. Her skin was prickling with awareness and her palms were suddenly damp with sweat.
Dammit, she thought resentfully. Couldn’t he at least have had the decency to let her get into the house without tormenting her again?
Ignoring him, she gathered her shoes in one hand and locked the car with the other. It was just a handful of steps to the door. Could she possibly get inside and shut the door before he realised what she was doing?
No.
Deciding there was no way she could avoid acknowledging him at least, she cast a cool glance over her shoulder as she walked towards the porch. ‘Did you want something?’
There was some satisfaction in seeing the way his expression mirrored his surprise at her greeting. But then he gathered himself and said evenly, ‘We need to talk.’
‘Do we?’
Somehow Grace managed to sound as if she didn’t know what he was talking about, and Oliver frowned. ‘You know we do.’
‘Why?’ Grace reached the door and started feeling in the pocket of her shorts for the key. ‘I won’t tell your girlfriend about last night, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
Oliver swore then, and Grace realised smugly that she’d snagged a nerve. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘No?’ Feeling as if she was in control now, Grace arched a mocking brow. ‘She must be very sure of herself if she doesn’t care that you sleep around behind her back.’
‘I don’t sleep around,’ snapped Oliver grimly. ‘And you’re not going to provoke me into saying something I don’t mean.’ He paused, breathing heavily. ‘I meant, we need to talk about what happened.’
‘Well, not now, eh?’ Grace pretended a nonchalance she was
far from feeling. ‘I need a shower and breakfast, not necessarily in that order.’ She inserted the key in the lock, hoping he didn’t notice the slight tremor in her fingers as she did so. ‘See you—’
He moved towards her so quickly, she didn’t have time to pull her key out of the lock again and step inside before his loafer-clad foot was wedged in the doorway. ‘You can’t avoid me for ever,’ he told her flatly as she backed away along the hall. ‘We are going to talk, Grace. Now, or at some other time. It’s your call.’
Grace’s newfound confidence evaporated. ‘I’ve told you,’ she said tensely. ‘We’ve got nothing to talk about.’
‘I disagree.’ He took his foot out of the doorway now that there was no resistance from her. ‘I want to know what happened last night.’
Grace caught her breath. ‘Oh,’ she said, half hysterically. ‘Why didn’t you say so? Well, I can tell you that.’ She paused for a breath. ‘We had sex. Good sex, as it happens. I’m sorry. Did I forget to thank you?’
She didn’t understand the word Oliver used then, but she suspected it was a Spanish expletive. Whatever, it served the dual purpose of expunging his frustration and gratifying her.
Then, with a baffled gesture, he turned away, allowing the door to slam in his wake.
Although Grace would have much preferred to pack up and go home after that unfortunate little confrontation, she refused to let Oliver’s attitude intimidate her. She didn’t have to see him again, she told herself. If she got any further invitations from his parents, she’d find some excuse and refuse. In any case, she doubted Oliver would allow them to interfere in his life again.
All the same, she took extra care when she was leaving or returning to the villa. She didn’t want to offend the older Ferreiras, particularly as her own parents were on such good terms with them. In consequence, for the next couple of days she lived an almost hermit-like existence, spending only a small portion of the day beside the pool, and then only when she was fairly sure Oliver wasn’t about.