A Wild Surrender

by Anne Mather

  ‘Well—thank you.’ Rachel wished he would just give her the cream and leave. ‘I’ll be glad to use it.’

  ‘And how to you propose to put it on your shoulders?’ Matt demanded tersely. ‘Loosen your robe. I’ll do it for you.’

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘For God’s sake, stop behaving as if a man has never seen you naked before,’ he grated. ‘I’m only offering to treat your shoulders. You can do the rest yourself.’

  Rachel swallowed. She wondered what he would say if she told him that no man had ever seen her naked. Well, not since she was a baby, of course. But pride won out over honesty. She’d embarrassed herself enough as it was.

  ‘Well—all right,’ she murmured at last. ‘Where do you want me to sit?’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MATT wondered what she’d say if he told her. But he reminded himself that he was here for one purpose and one purpose only: to try and ease her sunburn.

  The fact that it was burning him up, too, was not her problem.

  ‘Sit on the side of the bed,’ he said a little shortly, watching as she carefully eased the collar of the robe down around her upper arms. He knew she was no more exposed than she would have been in an off-the-shoulder evening gown, but the sight of her red skin caused a tightening in his gut.

  She looked so fragile, so vulnerable. He wished he could take the pain from her. But his own skin would never burn like this.

  Unscrewing the jar, he hesitated a moment and then sat down behind her. Now the heat of her skin rose irresistibly to his nose. A feminine scent mingled a flowery fragrance with warm perspiration, an essence that he found utterly desirable.

  Impatient with his reactions, Matt scooped a smear of the ointment onto his fingers. Then, trying to be gentle, he applied it liberally over her reddened skin. She flinched, as he’d expected, but she seemed to steel herself to suffer his attention. Matt couldn’t be sure if it was the sunburn cream she was steeling herself against or him.

  He could smell the cream now. The delicious aroma of cocoa butter heightened his awareness of her tender flesh. His gentle massage became a caress, took pleasure in exploring the bones and angles of her shoulders. But his fingers were now pressing far too firmly into her sensitive skin.

  He heard her catch her breath, realised instantly what he was doing. And was disgusted with himself for the way he’d behaved. But, dammit, touching her like this was the purest kind of torment he could imagine. She was so soft, so delicate. He couldn’t help himself; he wanted more.

  His whole body was suddenly charged with tension. As she allowed the folds of the bathrobe to slip lower, he was gifted with a glimpse of the creamy slopes of her breasts. And his eyes were caught by the mark he’d put upon her that day at Juno’s. His body stiffened, tightened, grew hard without any volition on his part.

  Seeing the bite, he realised what a mistake he’d made in coming here, in thinking he could ignore the connection between them. Rachel was aware of it. That was why she’d been so reluctant to let him into her room. And now here he was, having the kind of thoughts that should have been left outside the door.

  With a grim determination he finished his task and screwed the cap back onto the jar. Then, rubbing his hands together, he removed the last vestiges of the cream. She could manage the rest herself, he thought. He certainly couldn’t trust himself to touch her again.

  Yet he didn’t move. For a few seconds he just sat there, putting off the moment when he would have to leave. Then, unable to prevent himself, he leant towards her and blew gently into her ear.

  Her head positively spun round, her eyes registering her shock at the unexpected coolness of his breath. ‘Did you—?’ She broke off abruptly, obviously seeing her answer in his expression. ‘Please—don’t,’ she whispered huskily, but Matt’s eyes were on her mouth.

  She had such a sensual mouth, he thought, wide and soft and vulnerable. Doubly so as she struggled to maintain some kind of control over the situation.

  ‘Don’t what?’ he asked unforgivably. As if he didn’t know exactly what she meant. He lifted his hand and allowed one finger to stroke down the side of her neck and across her shoulder. ‘Doesn’t this feel better? Now that the cream has had a chance to do its work?’

  ‘Matt, please…’

  ‘Let me move your hair out of the way,’ he said, taking no notice of her protest. ‘We don’t want to get it greasy, do we?’

  Her hair was still damp from her shower, and it clung silkily to his fingers as he lifted a handful to his face. He opened his mouth and allowed the damp strands to invade his lips, glorying in its softness. And, although he was sure she was desperate to move, his sensuous action forced her to stay where she was.

  ‘Matt…’

  ‘Mmm?’

  But Matt wasn’t really listening to her. Using his free hand, he tugged the bathrobe lower. And as he did so one hard rosy peak emerged proudly from the cloth. Rachel gasped, and would have quickly covered herself again, but Matt wouldn’t let her. Instincts as old as time had him firmly in their grip.

  When he released her hair, it tumbled unheeded about her shoulders, and Matt allowed his hands to slide smoothly down her neck. His thumbs brushed her ears, felt the pulse beating rapidly in its hollow, and gave in to the urge to follow a path that led unerringly to her breasts.

  Common sense and decency seemed to have deserted him. He hadn’t intended to touch her, he told himself, but he couldn’t let her go. Not yet. Not while her nipples swelled against his palms and he could hear the uneven tenor of her breathing. And she didn’t try to stop him except to say in a shaken voice, ‘We shouldn’t.’

  And, God, Matt knew that. Knew he was probably damning his soul for all eternity by taking advantage of her susceptibility. She was fragile at present, weak and breakable. And this was definitely not a great idea.

  But it was useless telling himself this when she was so desirable. He already knew how good she tasted, and he badly wanted to taste her again. But not just her soft skin, all of her. Her palms, the backs of her knees, and most particularly that sensitive place between her legs.

  Feeling his own body trembling, he half turned her to face him, only to find her eyes were closed. But she didn’t resist when his thumb tugged her lips apart and invaded her sweetness. Or when he bent his head and covered her mouth with his own.

  He pushed his hands into her hair, angling her face so he could deepen the kiss, allowing his tongue to push into her mouth. Her eyes opened then, but they were soft and languorous. His tongue sank deeper and her breasts were crushed sweetly against his chest.

  Her hand rose to clutch the neck of his tee shirt. Soft fingers invaded his collar, curled with unexpected eagerness into his hair.

  ‘You want this?’ he breathed against her neck, his own breathing harsh and staccato.

  ‘I want you,’ she admitted huskily, her tongue a sexual invitation, and Matt felt any lingering doubts spinning away.

  It was easy enough to propel her back on the bed, to loosen her robe and tug the sides apart. There was a moment when he thought she might stop him. Her back arched upward off the quilt, but then subsided again.

  Matt eased himself beside her, bending to flick one of those delicious nipples with his tongue. She sucked in a breath and he was struck by how sensitive she was. She was so responsive. He’d never met a woman like her before.

  He couldn’t help himself. His eyes drifted down over her body. She lay there, legs pressed tightly together, gazing up at him with wide trusting eyes. She was definitely a blonde, he noticed, and then put such thoughts aside. His interest went far beyond the colour of her hair.

  She was amazing, he thought. Full breasts, slim and yet rounded hips, long shapely legs. Legs he could already imagine wound around him. And a waist he could span wi
th his two hands.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said a little thickly, trailing wet kisses across the slight mound of her stomach. He felt her flinch again when he explored her navel with his tongue, and was briefly diverted. She was either very tense or very nervous. He knew she’d had a tough day, but he wanted her to relax.

  Then she said, ‘Oh, please…’ and Matt gave a soft laugh as he looked down at her.

  ‘I intend to,’ he assured her huskily. ‘Do you mean you or me?’

  Rachel shook her head and he returned his attention to her breasts, lifting them into his hands with an unexpected sense of possession. Then he bent to curl his tongue about their swollen peaks.

  When he pulled one into his mouth and sucked strongly, he heard her give a soft whimper. But it wasn’t a whimper of pain, it was one of pleasure.

  ‘You like that?’ he asked, lifting his head and looking at her through his lashes.

  ‘I—like,’ she got out unsteadily, her hands reaching for his shoulders, her nails digging almost painfully into his flesh.

  Matt expelled a hoarse breath. God, he wondered incredulously, was this woman for real or what? He couldn’t ever remember wanting a woman so badly. His erection was almost painful, and he was so glad he’d changed into the loose-fitting sweats.

  His hands left her breasts to curve possessively over her hips. He raised one of her legs to bestow a lingering kiss behind her knee and the unmistakable scent of her arousal rose hotly to his nostrils. His hand slid along her thigh, cupped the provocative curve of her bottom, found her damp cleft and allowed his fingers to probe the honeyed curls of her mound…

  And then someone knocked at the door.

  ‘Dammit!’

  Matt swore more forcefully under his breath, but there was no way he could ignore the summons. The door was closed, but it wasn’t locked. And besides, all the housekeeping staff had keys.

  His dark eyes met Rachel’s startled ones, but she was already wrapping her robe about her, drawing up her legs and huddling back against the headboard behind her. It was obvious what she was thinking; she was probably grateful for the interruption. But Matt had to stifle his frustration as he pushed himself abruptly to his feet.

  Crossing to the door, he swung it open with scarcely concealed impatience. It was one of the maids, as he’d suspected, but her eyes widened anxiously when she saw her employer.

  ‘I—er—I’ve come to turn down the bed,’ she said, and Matt was glad his bulk blocked her curious view.

  ‘Thank you, but Ms Claiborne doesn’t require your services this evening,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps some towels?’ the girl suggested, and Matt wondered if she knew how dangerously she was pushing her luck.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said shortly, his eyes brooking no argument, and with another futile attempt to see beyond him the maid turned regretfully away.

  Matt closed the door, but for a moment he didn’t turn to look at Rachel. Bracing his hands against the panels, he knew without asking that the maid’s intrusion had destroyed any intimacy between them. They were back to square one, and perhaps it was just as well, he thought broodingly. This could have been a mistake. And one he might not be able to dismiss.

  Steeling his features, he turned, and found she had left the bed to stand beside the windows. The bathrobe was now securely in place again, her hair twisted into a single coil at her nape.

  ‘You heard that?’ he said, and she gave him a brittle little nod over her shoulder.

  ‘Perfect timing,’ she said tightly. ‘Are you leaving now?’

  Matt’s smile was bitter. ‘Is there any point in my staying?’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘Probably not.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’ Matt picked up the jar of cream from the bed and dropped it onto her night table. ‘Don’t forget to put some of this on your arms and legs. However they feel now, they will feel worse in the morning.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ Matt’s lips twisted and he turned towards the door. ‘And it has been,’ he added, disregarding the ache of thwarted arousal. ‘Get a good night’s rest. It’s been a long day.’

  * * *

  Rachel did not sleep well.

  As soon as Matt had gone, she’d hurried across the room and locked the door. Not that she expected to be disturbed again. But the action offered a sense of security she’d totally lost.

  And, despite being exhausted after all the physical and emotional stimulus of the day, she couldn’t rest. She tossed and turned for hours, wondering what she’d have done if the maid hadn’t interrupted them. What had she been thinking? Had she even been thinking? Or had Matt’s demands on her senses reduced her brain to a quivering lump of mush?

  Perhaps.

  She knew she’d totally forgotten her reasons for making this journey. She hadn’t thought about her mother, or her father, or what any relationship she might have with Matt would do to them.

  Particularly her mother, she conceded, half guiltily, aware that, however reprehensible her mother’s behaviour might have been, she evidently cared about Matt. As evidence: the fact that she’d virtually ordered Rachel to leave the island. It wasn’t her fault that her daughter was as susceptible to the man as she had been herself.

  Rachel’s only excuse was that the events of the day had left her reeling. And the gratitude she’d felt towards Matt had made her vulnerable in a way she’d never been before. How was she expected to understand feelings that went beyond anything she’d ever experienced? How could she cope with a man who was as unpredictable as he was beautiful?

  But that was too simple an explanation for what had occurred. She’d always been able to control her emotions in the past, so why couldn’t she control them now? Something had changed. Something she dared not examine. Since meeting Matt, common sense seemed to have deserted her.

  She’d wanted him. There was no doubt about that. For the first time in her life she’d understood the emotional needs that had so far been denied to her. She’d wanted to give herself to him. She hadn’t cared about losing control, or losing her virginity. Those things had meant nothing at that moment. She’d wanted to take what he was offering and run with it, to find out at last what she’d been missing all these years.

  Or not.

  She was fully aware that the experience might not live up to her expectations. When she was at school, she’d decided she wasn’t a sexual person at all. Despite her appearance—and the fact that boys thought she must be gagging for it—Rachel had had no difficulty in keeping amorous youths at bay.

  Unfortunately, as she’d grown older she’d realised that those early experiences had helped to establish the pattern of her life. She’d had male friends, but she’d never allowed any of them to get close to her. She’d enjoyed their company, their conversation, but as soon as some commitment was needed Rachel had quickly moved on.

  And as for love…

  How arrogant she’d been, she thought as she lay sleepless, pummelling her pillow continuously, trying to find a comfortable place to lay her head. She’d been foolish to make such a sweeping assumption about her future. Just because she’d never met a man she wanted to go to bed with, it didn’t mean he wasn’t out there somewhere.

  Someone like Matt…

  * * *

  She was up and dressed early the next morning. Her hair, untamed after her shower the night before, now curled riotously to her shoulders. There were lines around her eyes, not surprisingly after the restless night she’d spent, and her lips looked faintly bruised from Matt’s sensual mouth.

  She touched her lips with fingers that trembled slightly. But then, seeing the weakness, she dragged her hand away. Okay, she was a virgin, but thankfully Matt didn’t know that. And if she did see him today she was going
to have to pretend he hadn’t just blown her mind.

  She didn’t think she would see him, though. He had no doubt had second thoughts about what had so nearly happened last night, just as she had. She recalled how he’d stood and stared at the door after the maid had departed. It was as if he’d been steeling himself to tell her he was leaving, too.

  She shouldn’t have been surprised. Dear God, his involvement with her had obviously gone far further than he’d intended. It was all right telling herself that she was doing it for her father, but was she? How far was she prepared to go to save her parents’ marriage?

  After brushing her hair and securing it with a scrunchie, she examined her arms and legs. The skin still looked a bit angry, but the cream Matt had given her had definitely helped. The burning sensation had almost completely gone.

  Then she stepped out onto her balcony, trying to regain the optimism she’d felt when she first arrived on the island. The warmth, the atmosphere, the promise of another beautiful day, were appealing. If only she could concentrate on why she was really here.

  Below her, the seductive beauty of the pool mocked her reasoning. It held so many connotations, not least the recollection of what had happened the night before in this room. It was impossible to escape those memories. She had the feeling they’d stay with her for the rest of her life.

  Her stomach clenched. If she did see Matt again, how was she going to face him? Recalling the way he’d seen her, on the bed behind her, she felt sick. He might have been just as involved as she had, but he hadn’t been naked. Somehow that made everything worse from her point of view.

  Still, it was just as well he had had his clothes on when the maid had knocked at the door. She had little doubt that their being together, alone, in her room had not gone unremarked by his staff. She could only hope that the fact that Matt had practically followed the woman downstairs would silence the gossips. Was there a chance that her mother might hear about it, too?

  Oh, God!

  Thinking about her mother aroused other concerns. She was fairly sure Sara Claiborne would contact the hotel this morning, just to make sure that Rachel had checked out. And when she found she hadn’t, could Rachel expect another visit? And if she did appear, what was Rachel going to say?