by Daphne Clair
'Bastard!' Gabriel muttered. He ran his hands up her arms, holding her shoulders gently.
Rhiannon was trembling, feeling like a doe running from the hounds, having blundered into some kind of sanctuary.
She couldn't look up. Fixing her gaze on Gabriel's chin, she saw the tightening of the muscles along his jawline.
He moved his hands from her shoulders, gliding them along her back, drawing her closer until she rested against him. His hold on her was very light, and his cheek just touched her temple. 'The man's a criminal,' he said. 'A predator of the worst kind, picking the most defenceless victims. I hope he rots in jail for years.'
'Thank you,' Rhiannon whispered.
'For what?' He eased away and looked down at her.
'For believing me,' she said. 'For being so angry on my behalf. For...comforting me. Though not with ap ples.' She tried to smile, lifting her head to look back at him.
Gabriel didn't smile, but the angry light in his eyes faded. 'So you do know the quotation,' he said.
It was filtering through from some recess of her mind, words spoken at a long-ago occasion—perhaps a friend's wedding. '"Stay me with flagons,"' she quoted, '"and comfort me with apples.'"
'From the Song of Songs, ' Gabriel said, and even as she recalled the next lines he recited them, his voice slow and deep, '"...for I am sick with love.'"
Watching her eyelids flutter down on the deepened colour in her cheeks, he smiled. 'Rhiannon?'
He saw the effort it took for her to look up and meet his eyes. 'Yes?' she said on a breath.
Her lips, tempting and full, and a little unsteady, were inches from him, and she didn't move, didn't turn her head or pull away, her body soft and pliant against his, although there was a hint of nervousness in her eyes.
'Rhiannon?' he said again, his voice scarcely a mur mur. He could feel her heart beating against his chest, under the tempting mound of her breasts.
'Yes,' she said again, answering the question in his eyes.
Momentarily he closed his own eyes and offered up a silent prayer of thankfulness. Then he narrowed the gap between their mouths and felt her tremble, felt the sweet, unsure welcome of her lips as he parted them with his kiss.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rhiannon floated on a sea of sensation. Gabriel was seducing her with his mouth, offering much more than comfort and compassion. His lips on hers were careful yet questing, asking, not demanding, not aggressive. Coaxing her mouth to open for him. Showing her what a kiss could be.
At first merely quiescent, afraid to do anything for fear of spoiling the fragile flowering of the most exquisite feelings she'd ever known, within moments she dared to kiss him back, a tentative, perhaps clumsy answering pressure of her lips mimicking his. Shyly she draped her arms about his neck, creating a tiny friction of her peak ing breasts against his chest. She slid a hand inside his shirt, her fingers fumbling open the button that frustrated her further exploration.
His whole body froze into stillness; she felt it. Her heart plunging, she drew back as far as his hand behind her head would allow. 'Sorry,' she said stumblingly, confused. 'Did I do something wrong?'
Gabriel made an odd, strangled sound. 'No, sweetheart! You did something very right.' Then he lowered his mouth again to hers and she drowned in desire.
Dimly she knew that was what it was—the lovely warmth in her veins turning to a melting heat as Gabriel delicately, deliciously, encouraged her deeper into the kiss, her mouth opening further under his while his arm braced her bowed body, his chest hard against her ach ing, tingling breasts.
His hand slid to her nape, then under her raised arm until it found her madly beating heart, and tenderly cupped her breast.
'Oh!' Rhiannon exclaimed into his mouth. A hot shiver started under his hand and passed right over her body, weakening her limbs.
Gabriel lifted his head, his hand abandoning her breast, both arms encircling her. 'If I'm going too fast for you,' he said, and rested his forehead on hers, 'it's all right. We'll take it at your pace, Rhiannon.'
Her heart seemed to turn into a molten pool. He'd misunderstood, but his immediate reaction surprised and touched her.
She raised her face to his, skimmed his mouth with hers, and his arms tightened again, his mouth tender and persuasive as her lips trembled open for him.
Everything dissolved into a haze around her, the only thing that mattered any more was this astonishing, mind less wanting, centred on Gabriel, and how he made her feel, drowning in sensation. He pressed her into the cushions behind her, muttering, 'It's the wrong place and the wrong time, but what the hell...'
Before she had time to think he was kissing her again, and all thought flew away, replaced by ever more stun ning waves of pleasure.
She felt strangely outside herself, her mind a separate entity from the body in Gabriel's arms, hands clutching his shoulders, and pulling open buttons so she could feel his skin against hers. Was this really her?
His fingers too opened buttons and zips and she shud dered when his hands found her warm flesh, making him draw back again. 'No?' he queried, his eyes ablaze, his cheeks darkened with colour.
'Yes,' Rhiannon said on a choking laugh, and drew his head back to her. 'Don't stop.'
He shuddered then, too, and gave a deep guttural sound of satisfaction, his mouth drawing a path from the hurrying pulse at her throat down to the throbbing centre I of a breast.
Her teeth bit into her lower lip to stop a cry of shocked! delight, and she thrust her hands into his hair, loving the surprising, silky softness of it. She seemed to be soaring j into another level of existence, every touch, every in creasingly intimate kiss bringing her closer to some kind of pinnacle that was just out of reach.
Then Gabriel stopped kissing her, sliding them both to the carpeted floor, arranging cushions under her, taking off her jeans, kissing her navel, her thighs, touching her in ways she'd never dreamed of.
'We should have a bed,' he groaned. She realised he was wearing only his jeans, his shirt discarded. His chest gleamed with a faint film of sweat. But it was beautiful. She reached out a hand to touch him, and he closed his eyes, his face going taut as he balanced himself above her. His big palm covered her hand, and he held it over the drumbeat of his heart.
He opened his eyes and they were pure silver, sheened with desire. 'You're sure you don't want to stop?' he said, his voice gritty and barely audible. 'Because from now on it's going to be damned difficult.'
Wordlessly, Rhiannon shook her head. She was scared, but elated, too. Dazed with a new kind of ex citement, caught in a tide wash of new experiences, a lightning storm of sensation.
Gabriel stroked her hair back from her hot face, kissed her quickly and said, 'Just a second.'
He evaded her clinging hands and she closed her eyes, suddenly cold as he moved away from her and she heard the opening and closing of a drawer.
Instinctively she covered her bared breasts with her hands, and faint alarm momentarily chilled her. What was she doing? Did she know what she was doing?
Then she felt Gabriel's arms around her, folding her close to his warm strong body, and realised he was na ked.
She clutched at him, at the warmth and strength of him that would dispel her fear, and when he kissed her again she melted into him, kissed him back feverishly, felt him surge against her and welcomed him with a mixture of relief, triumph and nervous tension.
He stroked her, whispered kisses against her skin, ca ressed her into a mindless, burning desire before he nudged at the entrance of her womanhood, and her legs of their own accord parted to cradle him.
He entered slowly, gently, and stilled when he found a slight resistance. Muttering something she didn't catch, he began to withdraw, but she dug her fingers into his shoulders and said, her voice muffled against his shoul der, 'No! Please...go on.'
He kissed her then, blindingly, forgetting gentleness for a moment, and there was a searing pain at his pos session, her autom
atic protest quelled under his mouth.
Gabriel lifted his head and she saw anguish in his face. 'Rhiannon...' he said hoarsely.
'It's all right,' she whispered, lifting clumsily to meet
him.
He groaned, and moved, too, cautiously, his jaw set as he watched her face. 'Are you all right?' he grated.
'Yes!' She looked back at him fiercely, and he groaned again, kissed her equally fiercely, moved until she matched his rhythm, and her eyes fluttered closed, her lips parting as at last he took her to the elusive pin nacle and flung her over the edge into a vortex of ex quisite sensation.
He was not far behind, his lips against her neck as his climax gripped him and he convulsed deliciously in his release.
Rhiannon's hands slipped from Gabriel's shoulders, and he loosened his hold, taking his weight from her. 'One thing we know,' he said, a crooked grin belying the heated glitter that remained in his eyes, 'you're not
frigid.'
Not with him, obviously. The knowledge should be liberating, and certainly one part of her rejoiced but an- other was dismayed.
How quickly comfort had turned to passion. A passion that in retrospect was frightening in its depth and inten sity.
Gabriel had the power to make her lose control—of herself, her body, her emotions. That was a revelation- and a shock. There had been no planning, unless the fact that he'd been prepared indicated a plan. No measured j weighing of the wisdom of what they were doing, not even a bed. Only a sudden, impromptu coupling on the floor.
Gabriel watched the emotions flit across her face. She hadn't yet regained her composure, and her conflicted feelings were naked to him. As her body had been.
Slamming the door on that thought, he concentrated on interpreting her expressions. He saw when she delib erately closed down, shut him out, and inwardly he cursed.
Rhiannon eased away from him, reaching for her
clothes.
'Don't,' he said urgently, fighting his need to hold her, pull her back into his arms. 'Don't run away from me again.'
Rhiannon's chin came up. 'I'm not running any where.'
Not physically, but in her mind she was retreating— he could almost see the doors being locked against him, one after another, making her inaccessible.
He wouldn't allow it. Couldn't. 'Rhiannon,' he said, 'we can't pretend this didn't happen.'
Buttoning her shirt, she turned her head aside, the habit exasperating him so much that he shot out a hand and grasped her chin, forcing her to look at him again. 'That might be how you've dealt with your problems in the past,' he said, 'but it won't wash this time.' Not that he understood exactly why making love together should be a problem, given her recent responses, but he could see she still had one. He felt her jaw tense under the tender skin against his fingers and, realising what he was doing, he dropped his hand. 'Talk to me.'
Instead she stubbornly went on dressing as if her life depended on it.
Reluctantly he pulled on his jeans, ready to face her when she got up. He stood before her, blocking the way the door.
Her eyes were jewel-bright. She took a step back from him, and as always that stabbed his heart. 'It was a mis take,' she said. 'You have no idea how I've dealt with my problems! How I've managed to make some kind of normal existence for myself.'
In a split second Gabriel made a decision. He had a choice—to placate her, apologise and let her crawl back into her protective shell—or take advantage of her rare loss of control and goad her into revealing more of her carefully guarded secrets.
He took the riskier path. 'An existence?' he repeated derisively. 'That's not a life!'
'It's my life! It's what I want.'
'You want me/' he flung at her. 'Just now, you wanted me! And you had me.' He couldn't stop the ring of tri umph from colouring his voice. It had been such a buzz, such an overwhelming relief when her lips moved under his, inexpert but eager, when she'd followed instinct and bowed her body to his, when he'd felt the hardened cen tres of her breast and his hand had found the rounded fullness with its tantalising bud. And once she'd indi cated her willingness to follow through, he hadn't had the power to resist his instincts.
She went pale, and a tug of compunction pierced him. 'Why deny it?' he asked, anguish gentling his tone. 'Why let whatever happened in the past stop you from having a future?'
'I'm not! I haven't.'
'That's what it looks like to me.' He was relentless, not daring to backtrack now. 'So maybe you've cornea long way—' he could only guess how far and at what cost '—but not far enough.'
'What would you know?' she demanded.
'Damn all!' His own raised voice shocked him. 'Be cause you won't tell me anything!' He hadn't realised that he too was furious. Furious and frustrated.
Rhiannon blinked, her face going taut, but she didn't physically recoil. He took some kind of odd pleasure in that. She wasn't afraid of him, perhaps bolstered by her own rage. 'I did tell you,' she said, 'about Dr Dodd.'
'Because you were in shock and couldn't bottle it up anymore. Why were you seeing him in the first place?'
He saw instantly that the approach was too blunt. Her eyes went blank, wariness freezing her expression. Something tightened his own facial muscles, making it difficult for him to breathe. How bad could it have been to make her look like that, even her lips going white, as if she was too numbed to say anything?
Realising he couldn't press that point, Gabriel re turned to the previous one. 'And what are you going to do about him?'
'Do?' She blinked again. Her voice was faint but at least she wasn't speechless anymore, and a slight colour tempered the alarming pallor of her cheeks and lips. 'What do you mean?'
'You did nothing before, and now he has more vic tims.'
Her eyes widened. 'That's not my fault!'
'No.' He allowed her that. 'But other women have come forward and he'll be held accountable at last. You have the chance to make your complaint now and be heard.'
'In court?' Her whole body seemed to shrink. 'They have two witnesses. There's no need.'
'For your own sake.'
'I don't need revenge.'
She sounded sure of herself, but he was still sceptical. Perhaps she saw it in his face. 'And I don't need your advice,' she said, her expression completely shuttered.
End of conversation. Unbelievably, she went to the table and began packing up empty containers, unsteady fingers shoving them into the bag. He wanted to shake her, yell at her to open herself up to him, show him what lurked in the shadows of her mind so that he could help her.
Which would be guaranteed to send her further back into the depths she claimed to have climbed from.
Gabriel thrust his hair from his forehead and went to pick up the wine, pouring the last of it into his glass and tossing it down his throat. He could see she was trying in some pathetic way to blot that blinding lovemaking from her mind. Exasperated pity squeezed his heart even while he burned with angry disappointment. 'Leave those,' he advised roughly as Rhiannon stacked the plates. 'My secretary will take care of them.'
She straightened. 'Thank you.' She wasn't looking at him, but after a pause she lifted her eyes to his, though he could see it wasn't easy.
He knew better than to kiss her stubborn, vulnerable mouth. 'You're welcome,' he said, his voice laden with deliberate irony. 'Any time.'
'I'll get back to work,' she said thinly. 'I can do that last bit on my own.'
Back to work? Gabriel blinked, then stifled a bitter laugh. This was part of her determination to wipe out what had happened between them, as if it were some unimportant interruption that.could be put aside by ab sorbing herself in her art.
Two could play at that. Succumbing to black anger, before she reached the door he said as remotely as he could manage, 'Let me know if you need anything. I'll be working here.' To add to the effect he went to the desk and randomly shuffled some papers.
Fleetingly she looked back. 'Thank
s. I'm very grate ful.'
Yeah, Gabriel thought sourly when the door had closed behind her. Grateful that he wasn't going to keep her company, distracting her from her concentration on cold, hard tiles—albeit broken ones. On his spiritual namesake who was above earthly-and earthy—things like sex and desire.
His shirt lay crumpled and forgotten on the floor, rather spoiling his attempt to emulate Rhiannon's return to normality.
He picked it up and buttoned himself into it, impa tiently shoving the ends into his pants, wondering if Rhiannon even remembered the eagerness with which she'd helped him out of it. Her fingers had been unsteady and unsure, but when they touched his naked skin he'd had to clench his teeth to keep some self-control, afraid he was about to jump the gun like some horny teenager.
Tossing aside the papers he'd just muddled up, he sank heavily into the chair behind his desk, thrusting his fingers through his hair. Rhiannon had done that, too, in the heat of passion, making his neck—his whole body— tingle with pleasure.
Abruptly he sat straighter, reaching for the on-button on his computer, bringing up a column of figures. He'd said he was going to work. If she could, so could he. He'd always had the ability to switch his concentration to his job and keep it there, no matter what. No woman had ever stopped him before.
But how shyly Rhiannon had slid her hands about his neck, her back arching against his arm. And her mouth...
Oh God, her mouth. And her lovely breasts with their pink, budded centres, her skin like smooth silk, and then the snug, satiny depths that had welcomed him, even though...
Even though...
It hit him with a blinding force. That unexpected, brief difficulty, when he'd been afraid he was hurting her, had been more than just an indication of a long abstinence. It was something else. Something new in his experience.
He stared at the screen until the numbers danced be fore him and his eyes stung.