Propositioned in Paradise

by Penny Jordan

  She was not surprised when Imogen took the lead, walking at Miles’ side towards the table, so that she was forced to bring up the rear. So much for her supposition that Imogen was a vulnerable and perhaps shy teenager. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Imogen was all woman—and a very determined and sophisticated one at that. No wonder Miles had been so worried. Couldn’t Imogen see that at heart he was not a deeply sexual man; or was that why she wanted him? The challenge of making him want her? Or did she simply want him because he was a well-known writer? People had married for less, and Miles had told her that he was convinced that it was marriage that Imogen had on her mind. Poor Miles; told by Jeremy not to offend the father, what would he have done if she hadn’t been able to come to his rescue?

  They were half-way through their first course when Christy became aware of being the object of someone’s scrutiny. She couldn’t say what made her conscious of being watched, she just knew that she was. She could almost feel the pressure of unseen eyes studying her. It was an uncomfortable sensation and she searched the dining room discreetly, eventually resorting to the ploy of bending down to pick up her handbag so that she could look behind her.

  As she did so her eyes clashed immediately with Simon’s. He was sitting three tables away, dining with a man who was a complete stranger to her, his mouth carved into a bitterly derisive line as he studied her flushed face. What was Simon doing here?

  Why shouldn’t he be here? she asked herself. It was a coincidence that he should be of course, but nothing more. You wanted him to see you in all your finery she reminded herself as she turned her attention back to her now unwanted meal. But not like this…not studying her with all the cool insolence of a man intent on stripping what there was of the blue silk from her body, together with everything she might be wearing underneath. And Simon had no need to use his considerably powerful imagination to furnish himself with mental pictures of her naked body she reminded herself, he already knew exactly what she looked like, right down to the mole that nestled against the inner curve of her right breast. She should know. Without needing the slightest effort of will she could all too vividly remember the sensation of his mouth moving against it, caressing the small birthmark.

  ‘Christy, are you all right?’ Miles’ voice was concerned, reaching her, it seemed across a vast distance.

  ‘I’m fine.’ She wasn’t. She could feel perspiration breaking out across her forehead. Her stomach was churning and she felt quite sick. Ridiculous sensations to experience simply because of the way Simon had looked at her, and yet experiencing them she was.

  She was here to help Miles, she reminded herself, trying to pull herself together enough to field Imogen’s outrageously catty remarks. Had she really been in love with Miles, really his girlfriend, she would not have found the other girl so amusing. Some of her remarks were too obviously designed to hurt to be worthy of attention but others were more subtle, indicating that during his stay in Germany she and Miles had been more than mere friends. A girlfriend could have been made to feel extremely jealous by what Imogen was saying. If, for instance, it had been Simon sitting where Miles was, she doubted she could have born Imogen’s poison tipped remarks with composure, never mind indifference.

  ‘After we’ve eaten Miles, Daddy would like to see you in his suite,’ Imogen informed them over coffee, darting Christy a hostile glance which made it plain that she was excluded from the invitation.

  Miles’ expression was agonised, imploring Christy to come to his rescue. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Simon rise and realised that he and his companion had finished eating and were coming in their direction. They were almost level with their table when she realised that Miles was still waiting for her to rescue him. Wildly she wondered what on earth she could say, and then her ever-vivid imagination came to her rescue.

  ‘Don’t worry, darling.’ She deliberately pitched her voice to husky provocativeness. ‘I’ll go straight home and wait there for you. I’ll even make you your favourite nightcap. We can share it together when you get back.’ Her eyes and voice promised that they would share more than a mere drink and she could feel the relief flooding through Miles just as she could see Imogen’s increasing hostility.

  ‘Yes. You do that, my love, I shouldn’t be too long.’

  ‘No.’ Christy gave Imogen a cool smile. ‘If your father’s ill, he won’t want to keep Miles for very long.’

  Rage flashed in Imogen’s eyes, but Christy was beyond feeling sorry for her.

  ‘I’ll come and see you into a taxi,’ she heard Miles saying at her side, his hand under her elbow as he guided her out of the restaurant. She was just in time to see Simon and his companion getting into a taxi…Thank goodness he had gone. She had gone into this charade with Miles, partly because of Simon, it was true, but she had found it almost impossible to maintain her self-imposed role under his derisive eyes. Had he seen through her play-acting? She shivered slightly, and Miles was instantly concerned. ‘I should take you back to Simon’s apartment,’ he told her, ‘but I can’t see how I can get out of this meeting. Thanks for rescuing me by the way…’

  ‘Well, let’s hope Imogen doesn’t go to the extent of accompanying you back to your house just to check that I’m actually there waiting for you,’ Christy joked. She knew that Miles owned a small Mews house in Chelsea because she had visited it when she worked for him.

  ‘Unlikely. Her father’s extremely strict, believe it or not, and had he been with us tonight you’d have seen a completely different side of her. Talk about butter wouldn’t melt…The first time we were alone I couldn’t believe it; she seemed to turn from little girl into…well what you saw tonight right in front of my eyes…I can’t think why she’s pursuing me so determinedly, I should have thought someone like Simon Jardine was much more her cup of tea.’ He looked so glum that Christy had to laugh.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she told him, ‘I’ll do my best to protect you from her.’

  ‘I don’t suppose I could persuade you to get engaged to me could I?’ Miles asked wistfully. ‘Only on a strictly temporary basis,’ he amended hurriedly, ‘I think that might put her off completely.’

  ‘It would be rather a drastic step to take,’ Christy told him. ‘For one thing we couldn’t guarantee that it wouldn’t get to the ears of the Press…then there’d be explanations to make to all sorts of people…my mother for one, and Jeremy for another.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right.’

  A taxi arrived and Christy hurried towards it. Poor Miles, she thought sympathetically as she subsided inside it and gave the driver Simon’s address.

  The commissionaire welcomed her with a smile and let her into the private lift.

  She had no key but luckily the door was on the latch and swung open to reveal that the foyer was in darkness. So was the drawing room and it was with a feeling of relief that Christy made her way across it towards the kitchen. Simon it seemed wasn’t back. Quite why that should make her feel relieved she wasn’t sure, she only knew she was.

  Her hand was on the kitchen door when a voice behind her, soft and openly derisive, froze her to the spot.

  ‘Well, well,’ Simon drawled softly. ‘You’re back early. What happened? Didn’t he come up to scratch?’ He reached out, switching on a lamp, coming to his feet, to tower over her, the lamp throwing his shadow across the room, the shadows cloaking his expression in a way that was almost menacing. His anger was almost tangible, coupled with a savagery she could not understand. He came over to her, moving as lithely and stalkingly as a jungle cat, his fingers flicking open the unbuttoned silk of her jacket and resting just against the edge of her dress, barely touching her skin and yet filling her with an intensely disturbing emotion. He laughed deep in his throat and it wasn’t a pleasant sound. ‘I might have known you’d go running to him the moment my back was turned. What’s he got that I haven’t, Christy? It sure as hell isn’t the ability to satisfy you. Look at yourself.’ His fingers tangled in
her hair as he half pulled and half dragged her into the foyer, snapping on the light so that she was confronted with her own image in the mirror. Bruised grey eyes stared back at her, her heart thumping almost visibly beneath the soft silk. ‘Look,’ Simon insisted thickly. ‘Look at your eyes…your mouth…your body…Do you think you look like a woman who’s just found satisfaction in a man’s arms?’

  ‘I didn’t go to Miles for that.’ The denial was wrenched from her throat, born of a primitive fear she could not name.

  ‘No?’ Simon’s laugh was openly bitter. ‘Then why did you dress like this for him?’ His fingers pushed open the silk jacket and revealed her dress. ‘Why did you go to him with your body wrapped in silk so very provocatively that to look at you is to want you, if it wasn’t because you wanted him to make love to you?’ he demanded harshly.

  There was no answer she could give him. Certainly she could not tell him the truth, which she now knew to be that she had used Miles as an excuse and that she had chosen the dress for him…that she had wanted him to see and desire her…and nor could she tell him about Imogen. To do that was to rob herself of what little protection she had left.

  ‘It’s my right to take a lover if I want one.’

  Where did those defiant words come from? Christy could scarcely believe she had voiced them. She saw the rage glitter deep in Simon’s eyes; felt the harsh sound of his indrawn breath, his fingers tightening against her skin as he breathed rawly. ‘Then take me, Christy. My God,’ he snarled bitterly in the silence that followed, ‘you owe it to me for all you’ve put me through.’

  ‘I’ve put you through?’ She was bitterly incredulous. ‘The boot was very much on the other foot as I remember it.’

  She watched his mouth twist. ‘Was it?’

  What was he trying to do to her? ‘Was it, Christy?’ he muttered thickly pulling her into his arms and holding her, making her aware of his arousal. ‘I wanted you six years ago and I want you now,’ he told her simply, ‘and there was a time, briefly, when we were away when I believed you wanted me. Was I wrong?’

  What could she say? Her mind urged her to deny it, but her heart and her body wouldn’t allow her to lie.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why,’ he murmured persuasively, ‘should we not be lovers?’

  What could she say? That she loved him and he did not love her? That he loved someone else? Would that stop him? She doubted it. He had never been a man to be swayed by emotions. But there was something else…Her body trembled as she faced him. She would tell him the truth, or at least part of it and then it was up to him; he could reject her or…or not, as he chose.

  ‘Why?’ she managed to step away from him and back into the drawing room, sinking down into a chair as she did so. ‘It’s quite simple really.’ Did she sound as nervous as she felt? ‘You see, Simon, I’m afraid that I’m still a virgin.’ She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. She badly wanted a drink but even had she had one she doubted she could have lifted the glass to her lips without dropping it. ‘Had you and I just met, if there had been no past between us, it wouldn’t have mattered, but there was a past between us, and moreover you did tell me how you felt about virgins…’ she managed a brief shrug…‘I found that combination somewhat inhibiting to say the least.’

  ‘Why?’ The question was snapped at her, and she made no pretence of not understanding. She had come so far; she had to find the courage to go on. ‘No real reason; there was simply never anyone who excited me enough for me to want them as my lover.’ She attempted a rueful smile which died as he grasped her, hauling her to her feet, his eyes glittering dangerous over her face. ‘And me, Christy? Do I excite you enough? Does your body want me as its lover?’

  She quivered tensely for a second and then admitted quietly, ‘You must know that it does. At long last I’ve learned that love and desire can exist separately.’ She told him that because she didn’t want him to guess the truth, but for some reason her remark seemed to displease him. His mouth curled slightly.

  ‘Meaning, I suppose, that you believe yourself in love with Miles.’

  She made to pull away from him, but he wouldn’t release her. ‘Oh no, Christy, you don’t escape me like that,’ he told her softly. ‘You’ve already admitted that you want me as your lover…and I want you,’ he added. ‘Oh yes, I want you.’ He picked her up as easily as though she were a child and walked into the inner hall with her, shouldering open the door to his own room.

  ‘But I’m still a virgin.’ She was practically gabbling; half frightened and half excited by what she had set in motion.

  ‘In you it’s a flaw I’m prepared to overlook. Besides,’ he paused beside the bed, without lowering her on to it, ‘it’s a condition that’s easily remedied.’

  ‘Simon.’ Panic flared in her voice.

  ‘Be quiet.’ He muttered the command thickly against her mouth, imprisoning her against the bed, stopping both her protest and her breath with his kiss.

  When he released her he looked down into her face and said slowly. ‘When you told me you wanted me you gave yourself into my hands, Christy, whether you’re prepared to admit it or not. In telling me you’re still a virgin you handed the decisions over to me, so don’t argue now about the way I make them.’ He reached out and snapped on the bedside light, revealing the dark masculinity of the decor to her. ‘Six years I’ve waited to know you gipsy girl…’ His voice was slightly slurred, ‘and six years is a hell of a long time for a man to go hungry.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  SHE ought to stop him, Christy knew that but his words had struck an answering chord deep inside her. She too was hungry…hungry for the scent and touch of him…for the heat of his body against hers…for the knowledge that she had the power to arouse him and so appease the need he aroused in her.

  His hands shaped her body a little less surely than she had imagined and with a far greater need, his fingers trembling over her dress buttons. His mouth on her throat, her breasts and then against her own mouth hotly feverish, revealing a passion that sent thrills of response shivering over her skin. She had expected to feel slightly gauche; to be burdened by the full weight of her inexperience, but instead there was no room for any feelings other than those engendered by his touch; by knowing that this man who she held in her arms against her body was the man, whom she always had, and always would, love. But that was her secret, not to be whispered; not even to be thought while she was here with Simon, lest she betray it to him. He was not seducing her with false promises; he had made no protestations of a love he obviously could not feel, but he did want her; dear God she had not known that mere wanting could be so intense; so all-consuming that it could change a man almost beyond recognition so that he was stripped of his self-control and urbanity revealing a hunger and need that almost made him seem acutely vulnerable.

  It should have given her a feeling of power; of knowing that for once she was the one to control the passage of their relationship but instead it made her feel something approaching humility and she wrapped her arms round him protectively, a great tide of emotion rising up and drowning out everything but this moment in time; now when at last they were together.

  Eagerly she helped him out of his clothes, both awed and aroused by the sight of his naked body, touching him tentatively and then thrilling to the look in his eyes as he in turn studied her long-limbed body.

  He took her hands and placed a kiss in the palms of them both before placing them against his body.

  She could feel the faint prickle of his dark chest hair against her skin, the moistness of his flesh beneath her own. His mouth touched hers softly, slowly as though he relished the taste of her. Anticipation quivered through her stomach as he teased her lips with delicate kisses and she slid her arms round his neck, holding him to her, her mouth parting eagerly, enticingly; his name leaving her lips on a soft plea.

  ‘Kiss me, Simon,’ she begged him, curling her fingers into his hair, arching her body wantonly against him. />
  ‘I thought I was doing.’ His voice was thick and slightly slurred, the hands that gripped her waist betraying a tension that belied his teasing words.

  ‘Not like that.’

  ‘Then how. Show me.’ He murmured the words against her mouth and her need for him ached through her body. If she couldn’t find the words to tell him how much she wanted and needed him, at least she could show him. Her mouth clung passionately to his, her hands moving feverishly over his skin, until he gave a harsh groan, moulding her to the length of his aroused body; taking control of the kiss; taking control of her, Christy thought wildly as her body responded eagerly to his barely leashed passion.

  ‘Christy!’ The harsh sound of her name exploded into the silence between them, her body trembling in response to the need contained within it. His thighs trapped hers; dark hair-roughened skin against paler more feminine flesh. His hands cupped her breasts, his mouth savouring the throbbing temptation of her nipples, making her arch and move restlessly beneath him, calling out his name; wanting him with a shameless urgency she had no thought of hiding.

  His hands gave her a licence to touch his body; learning it slowly, thrilled by the masculinity of it and a little afraid of the hunger her touch seemed to arouse in him and then as his mouth continued to explore her body, her fear of him forgotten in the shock of discovering that what she had thought of as the pinnacle of pleasure when his mouth touched her breasts had simply been the foothills of some far-distant and only now just barely glimpsed peaks.

  Her thighs parted willingly to his intimate exploration of her body, the soft stroke of his fingers drawing small shudders of pleasure from her she didn’t seek to hide.

  She sensed that he was controlling his own need and passion in order to fuel hers; but she didn’t want restraint and care; she wanted them to be equal partners in a mutually pleasurable journey of passion and the frantic movement of her body; the hot, impassioned kisses she placed against his skin told him so.