Beyond Temptation

by Lisette Ashton

  The feeling that she should have stayed at home grew stronger as she sat on the toilet, staring curiously around the bathroom. There were too many toiletries and too many mingled fragrances. It was as though there were a handful of guests staying at Holbert Manor instead of just Robyn and Dominic. The idea disturbed her, and she wondered if it was her imagination or simply the effect of natural nerves now that she was so close to achieving her goal of revenge.

  Whatever the cause, she didn’t like the sensation of disquiet.

  Her plan had been gloriously simple. Now it was so close to completion, she felt entitled to congratulate herself on a job well done. Holbert Manor meant nothing to her and she didn’t suppose it ever would. However, the building meant a great deal to Yale Walters and she had been determined to use that fact after the bastard had spurned her for Amelia. She remembered the night so vividly she could still feel the unfamiliar sting of tears burnishing her cheeks.

  Yale had told her to leave and never bother him again. He had said that he and his models could function more efficiently without her.

  She had sworn at him, called him a bastard and threatened him with revenge. She had told him that he would one day crawl on his knees to beg her forgiveness for treating her with such disdain.

  He had laughed at her.

  He had laughed at her and said that wasn’t going to happen in a thousand years.

  The idea of acquiring Holbert Manor had come to her that night. She had realised it was the thing that meant most to him in the whole world. He talked for hours about displaying his work in the derelict old building. He regaled anyone who would listen with stories of how he would one day shock the world by exhibiting his most daring pictures in the ancient manor house with the bawdy history. It was close to his birthplace and its foreboding shadow had left a long and lasting impression on the artist.

  And Sheridan had seen it as the ideal tool for revenge.

  After making a couple of enquiries she had discovered the name of the building’s owner. A week later she was working for the man and starting to inveigle her way into his affections. A month after that she felt confident enough to manipulate him. Now she was only moments away from owning the title deeds. Once they were in her possession she would find Yale Walters and make the bastard beg for her forgiveness.

  Even then, once she had him on his knees, kissing her feet and subjugating himself to her stiffly barked instructions, she could still toy with the idea of denying him his dream. It was all working out so perfectly she found renewed strength in her satisfaction. The feeling assuaged her fears and she took a deep, calming breath.

  Things were working out just fine, she told herself.

  She flushed the toilet and tugged her panties back on before making her way to the lavatory door. Her fingers were just about to touch the handle when the door was snatched from her reach.

  She drew a startled breath and stared into the open doorway. A couple stood there, both of them fixing her with a firm, sullen expression.

  She didn’t know the woman but she recognised Christian instantly.

  Her heart started to race as the pair of them reached for her. She didn’t dare struggle. She could suddenly see that things weren’t going to go as she had hoped.

  * * *

  ‘Have you fucked my wife?’

  Dominic held the glass out to Harold. There was an easy-going grin on his lips.

  Robyn closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. She wished things would start going as she had planned. Admittedly, she had been able to grab a discreet word with Amelia in the kitchen, but that was all. Here in the dining room she could see things degenerating to a fistfight if Harold had his way. She struggled to find the right words to calm him before he got out of control.

  ‘Don’t be so contentious, darling,’ she began softly. ‘I want to talk to you.’

  He wasn’t listening. He glared ferociously at Dominic, pointedly ignoring the offered glass of brandy. ‘I’ll ask you again. Have you fucked my wife?’

  Dominic’s smile broadened. ‘Is that a question, or an invitation?’

  Robyn saw the veins in Harold’s neck begin to pulse. He snatched the glass from Dominic’s hand, spilling half its contents with the angry gesture. He downed the drink in one swallow and hurled the glass towards the fireplace.

  The pyre of coal and logs was burning gloriously with the aid of the chill winter’s wind. Long, greedy flames licked their way up the smoke-blackened chimney, filling the room with their heat. The glass shattered in an explosion of crystal. The remainder of the brandy added a flutter of purple to the inferno. But aside from those small flames the gesture was surprisingly unspectacular.

  ‘Have you fucked my wife?’ Harold repeated.

  ‘A gentleman doesn’t discuss such things,’ Dominic said quietly. ‘Would you care for another drink? This time, I can try and find a glass that doesn’t offend you.’

  Robyn glared at Dominic, wishing she could tell him to shut up. His infuriatingly placid manner was more likely to upset Harold than a vigorous display of bluff and bluster.

  ‘Could we save the inquisition for later?’ Robyn suggested coolly. ‘Dominic and I have some ideas we’d like to share with you. It could be very profitable for the three of us.’

  ‘I don’t care about –’

  ‘Very profitable.’ She emphasised the first word.

  Harold stared at her suspiciously. He glared at Dominic, as though telling the man that their business wasn’t yet finished, then demanded a second drink and sat heavily at the head of the table.

  ‘Make it quick, and don’t expect me to be impressed. I’m in no mood for a proposition regardless of how profitable it’s going to be.’

  Robyn shook her head and smiled at him. ‘Hear us out, Harold. We have an idea that’s going to make Art magazine hit the international headlines.’

  He glowered at her and looked sceptical but intrigued. She saw him glance to his side. At any moment he would start worrying about Sheridan’s absence. Determined that he wouldn’t break the mood of the moment and spoil any more of her plans, she rushed into the sales spiel that she and Dominic had rehearsed.

  * * *

  ‘I’m getting angry now,’ Sheridan hissed.

  She struggled against the pair of them. They held her in a relentless grip, hands and arms struggling to cover her mouth. She fought them, determined to break free.

  ‘Let go of me, or I’ll scream,’ she threatened.

  The snow fell heavier. Its veil through the windows twisted the light and cast long shadows along the landing. The air was gloomy, adding to her mounting fear as the couple dragged her past doors and unseen paintings.

  ‘I mean it. I’m going to scream if you don’t let me go,’ she told them. Her voice was already becoming strident. ‘I’ll do it good and loud. And, if that doesn’t work, I’ll really start to get violent.’

  ‘Let her go.’

  She turned towards the voice, recognising it instantly.

  Recognising him instantly.

  ‘Yale?’

  Even though she had recognised Christian she was still amazed to hear Yale’s voice. It seemed like for ever since she’d last seen him. She squinted towards the darkened doorway, trying to discern features on the grey silhouette.

  ‘Yale, is it really you?’

  His arms were open and held out for her.

  ‘It’s really me. Come here, Sheridan.’

  She broke away from her captors and rushed to embrace him. His torso was naked and her hands brushed his bare flesh as she hugged him. Her naked stomach was touched by the warmth of his exposed body. The sensation sent a gentle tremor scurrying through her.

  ‘God, but I’ve missed you,’ she told him.

  ‘It’s been a long time,’ he agreed.

  He returned the embrace with controlled passion. His hands moved over her body, tracing the contours and exploring the intimate flesh beneath her skimpy clothes. His touch sparked quickening thrills of exci
tement. Aside from the pleasure she had enjoyed with Gayle, Sheridan couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so excited.

  It all seemed too good to be true, she thought suddenly.

  She moved away from him, glancing suspiciously up into his face.

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I’ve been looking for you. I’ve been wanting to make amends. As I recall, we parted on bad terms, didn’t we?’

  ‘That’s an understatement.’

  ‘We both said things,’ he remembered. ‘Regrettable things.’

  Sheridan looked down, unable to meet his gaze.

  ‘And I think it’s time we redressed the way we parted.’

  She glanced back into his face. Hope banished her suspicious frown. She had thought about meeting up with Yale since the night of their argument and she had tried to think of some of the things he might say to her. But never in her wildest imaginings had she thought he would display such contrition. Her heart began to beat faster. She deliberately controlled herself, certain that this was a trick.

  ‘Where’s Amelia?’

  He stiffened. His face went rigid, as though he was struggling with some undetectable emotion. A cloud of disappointment shrouded his features.

  ‘I don’t know where Amelia is.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’ Sheridan grinned gleefully. ‘You’ve left her?’

  ‘I’ve come to realise that I made a mistake asking her to stay, and you to leave. It was probably the biggest mistake of my life. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?’

  He was reaching for her again, his fingers touching her with an electricity that only Yale could generate. Her body was ablaze with the fire he kindled in her. Her nipples stood rock hard beneath the flimsy fabric of her top. Her pussy tingled with unfulfilled lust. Without realising she was doing it, Sheridan reached forward and began to stroke the bulge at the front of his jeans.

  He kissed her face and neck.

  ‘You’re right,’ he agreed, as though she had spoken. ‘This isn’t the time for words. We need to do more than that.’ He swept her into his arms and carried her through the doorway. There was no light inside the room. The windows were shaded and she merely caught a glimpse of half a dozen paintings against the walls. She made out the distinctive shape of Yale’s easel but mentally dismissed the sight when she saw the bed. He was pulling her towards it and she followed happily, overjoyed that she would be his lover once again.

  Her prayers had been answered and he had chosen her over Amelia.

  * * *

  Below the landing, Amelia heard the door close.

  She released a heavy sigh.

  She tried not to think what was happening behind the door. Images of Yale and Sheridan locked in a torrid embrace held no appeal for her. She felt sick as she pictured the pair of them writhing naked together. She deliberately drove the thoughts from her mind.

  Robyn had mentioned something about a briefcase and Amelia was determined to find out what was inside it. She already had her suspicions and they left her cold and frightened.

  In the silence of the hall, she could hear Yale’s faraway groans of excitement. Sheridan too was making the familiar sounds of passion that Amelia had once known so well. Sneaking across the hall to the cloakroom, she tried not to listen as the pair grunted and groaned.

  Angrily she snatched up the briefcase and flicked open the catches. They popped easily and she saw the contents straightaway. It was still a surprise, even though Yale had said it would be there. Quite how Sheridan had managed to accomplish so much in so little time was a feat Amelia didn’t dare contemplate. She reached into the briefcase and snatched the title deeds, then closed the case and put it away.

  She was halfway towards the kitchen when a thought stopped her. Perhaps they had given her instructions about what to do with the papers but Amelia had her own ideas. Yale’s groans carried easily to her ears, mingled with the mounting sighs of Sheridan’s pleasure.

  A sneer curled her lip as she looked at the sheaf of ribbon-tied papers in her hands. She glanced surreptitiously towards the door of the dining room, suddenly fearful that Robyn or Dominic had overheard her thoughts. The pair were talking enthusiastically with Harold and, as their voices came closer, the fear of being caught made her hurry. She darted quickly into the kitchen, waiting for them to move out of the dining room.

  * * *

  Sheridan wanted to scream when Yale’s cock pressed against her. He had pulled the panties from her body, ripping them in his eager need for her. Her skirt had been pushed up over her flat, narrow waist, revealing her sex for him. Her hole dripped with her desperate longing for his entry.

  She thrust herself towards his hard shaft.

  Yale was an expert lover. He had one hand beneath her T-shirt, alternating between breasts as he squeezed and caressed her nipples. He used his other hand to hold the thick shaft of his cock. He rubbed it against the sopping lips of her pussy, cajoling her with the hard rounded end.

  ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Don’t tease me. Please do it for me.’

  Her eyes had adjusted to the gloom of the room’s shadows. She stared up at him, touched by the grim smile she saw on his lips. Forcing her hips towards him she felt the tip of his cock push briefly between her slick wet labia. For an instant he was penetrating her, the head of his shaft in the dewy wet crease of her sex.

  Sheridan was dizzy with excitement.

  He pulled away, clearly intent on controlling the pace of their lovemaking.

  ‘Don’t be so bloody greedy,’ he chastised softly. ‘We haven’t seen each other in months. Let me do this properly.’

  She giggled and writhed eagerly against him.

  ‘Do it to me, Yale,’ she insisted. ‘I’m burning for you.’ The words weren’t an exaggeration. Her pussy lips were soaked with the glistening flow of her arousal. Inside her sex raged an insatiable heat.

  ‘I’ll do it when I’m good and ready,’ he decided. ‘And only when I’m good and ready.’ As he spoke, he lowered the tip of his cock so that it pressed against the rim of her anus.

  Sheridan bit back a guttural cry. She had always known he was a good lover but she hadn’t recalled him being this good. He slid the head of his shaft over the molten lips of her pussy and then eased himself back towards her sphincter.

  She shivered.

  Thoughts of Harold and the others were banished from her mind as she concentrated on the thrill of being with Yale. Waves of pleasure threatened to burst from her sex and she focused solely on her body’s need. Distantly, she supposed Harold might be wondering where she was. But it was easy to shut that worry from her mind.

  Harold was a malleable old fool. He was easy to manipulate and control. Now that she was safely ensconced in Yale’s arms, Sheridan effortlessly dismissed the man who had been her benefactor for six months. From past experience she knew that Harold would believe any excuse for her absence. It was impossible for her to imagine a situation that he wouldn’t accept once she had explained it properly.

  Eagerly, she bucked her hips towards Yale’s rigid length. The movement forced the lips of her sex around his cock.

  * * *

  ‘Let me see some of his work,’ Harold said flatly. ‘If he’s as good as you say, I want to see some of his paintings.’

  Robyn and Dominic exchanged a glance. She could see his expression mirrored her own nervousness. The flash of his eyes seemed to say: It’s now or never.

  Robyn knew exactly what he meant.

  ‘What do you think to the idea?’ Robyn pressed. ‘Using this place for an exhibition. How does that idea appeal to you?

  ‘I want to see how good he is,’ Harold said firmly. ‘I’m not committing myself to anything until I’ve seen that much.’

  He eased himself from his chair and started towards the doorway.

  ‘Where the bloody hell is Sheridan?’

  ‘I’ll go and look for her,’ Dominic offered. He rushed to the door ahead of Harold. To explain his
hasty response, he added, ‘I need to go there myself.’

  Robyn watched him slide through the doorway and hoped he would be able to pass on a warning if Amelia was still out there. She realised she was watching him too intently as he walked out of the doorway and felt sure Harold would notice, but she couldn’t help showing some signs of anxiety. A steely band of nervousness tightened around her chest.

  ‘You still haven’t told me why you’re dressed like a whore,’ Harold reminded her. He cast his gaze over her stockings and basque, his sneer of disapproval curling unpleasantly.

  ‘I wanted to get you in the mood for the style of this promotion,’ Robyn explained. ‘Yale has a couple of models here and they’re wearing something similar. I realise it’s hardly the subtlest outfit in the world. But I think it will help to increase interest in the exhibition.’

  ‘You look like a slut.’

  ‘You never used to complain about that.’

  ‘Maybe I complained, but you didn’t listen?’

  ‘Maybe you’ve come down with a nasty case of misplaced morals since you started sniffing around Sheridan?’ Robyn countered sharply.

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t denigrate Sheridan behind her back,’ he said stiffly.

  ‘Bring her here and I’ll say it to her fucking face!’

  Robyn bit her tongue to stop herself screaming the words at him. She glared at Harold, unable to disguise her anger.

  ‘Why don’t you just show me these paintings?’ he grumbled. ‘Then I can decide whether I’m interested or not.’

  She wondered why she was trying to save her marriage to such a fool. It wasn’t a question she wanted to contemplate at the moment. Her love for Harold was strong and it had brought them this far. But she doubted the emotion would withstand any great psychological or emotional analysis.

  ‘Lead the way,’ she said, gesturing towards the door. Dominic hadn’t returned and she felt confident that the coast was clear. ‘You walked past half a dozen of Yale’s pictures when you came in here,’ she added. ‘We’ve been trying to give the place the right ambience for an exhibition of his work.’