by Penny Jordan
Upstairs in her room she showered and changed quickly into a soft blue dress which Mary had helped her choose, and applied her make-up carefully, her heart pounding with excitement.
Yorke’s car was long and low, luxuriously upholstered and smelling of leather and some elusive masculine fragrance. Autumn smiled shyly up at him as he helped her into her seat.
They drove for several miles in silence, Autumn struggling to formulate the sort of small talk Aunt Emma had taught her was an essential part of any young lady’s accomplishments. Yorke was patently amused and turned once or twice to smile at her.
‘You sound like something out of Pride and Prejudice,’ he teased at one point, and Autumn blushed in chagrin, thinking he must be finding her very boring. Of course he was not interested in polite chit-chat. The women he knew would be sophisticated and witty, capable of holding their own in the sort of conversation that made much use of double entendres and was loaded with subtly sexual connotations.
He took her to a small pub and, feeling she daren’t betray any more gaucherie, Autumn asked for a Martini and lemonade instead of her normal fruit juice, although one taste of the slightly bitter liquid had her grimacing faintly. She thought Yorke hadn’t noticed, but when he ordered them a second drink, hers was non-alcoholic, and his eyes mocked her blushing confusion. They talked and he told her about his business. He had travelled all over the world, and if anything was needed to emphasise the gulf which lay between them this was it.
They left shortly afterwards, and as Yorke drove back to the hotel Autumn reflected that he soon seemed to have found his way about, for he betrayed no hesitation in his driving despite the dark and the unfamiliar roads.
He pulled up in the forecourt, and Autumn felt her stomach clench in nervous excitement. Most of the dates she had had ended with a goodnight kiss, but so far she had found these no more than mildly enjoyable. Aunt Emma had imparted the ‘facts of life’, as she termed them, to Autumn with a detailed lecture on the manner in which a ‘young lady’ should conduct herself with members of the opposite sex, and Mary had been reduced to tears of mirth when Autumn in all innocence had paraded these views to her. Autumn had learned a good deal since then and now knew that girls need no longer consider themselves cheap if they indulged in lovemaking, but she found it hard to forget Aunt Emma’s warnings, and the intensity with which she longed for Yorke to kiss her caused her the utmost consternation.
He was just turning towards her when a car pulled up in front of them, disgorging a rowdy crowd of young people, and Autumn heard him swear. Their intrusion had destroyed the tenuous sensual web his presence had spun around her, and before he could speak Autumn was reaching for the door handle, thanking him nervously for her evening out.
He let her go without protest, and later, alone in her room, she wondered why she should feel so disappointed that this was so. Had she wanted him to coax her into remaining?
The next day Mary was too full of her visit home to notice Autumn’s quietness, and after lunch when she relieved the other receptionist, the latter handed Autumn a sealed envelope, her name written on it in bold, unmistakably masculine handwriting.
Autumn’s heart pounded as she opened it and scanned the few brief lines.
Yorke wanted to take her out on her day off! He really must like her.
It was evening before she saw him to give him her answer.
He was wearing a dinner jacket and a startlingly white dress shirt, and Autumn thought she had never seen anyone who looked quite so malely attractive.
‘Well?’ he asked without preamble. ‘Do we have a date?’
Autumn nodded shyly, overwhelmed by his proximity. She had a strange longing to reach up and trace the bones of his face, so hard and sensual under the tanned warmth of his skin. Her feelings shocked her. Was this what Mary and the others meant when they talked about love? Merely thinking about being loved by Yorke made her bones turn to water, and she barely noticed the faint narrowing of his eyes as she stammered an acceptance.
They had a perfect autumn afternoon, pale lemon sunshine shining from a soft blue sky, and Yorke parked the car on a narrow country road and suggested to Autumn that they went for a walk.
She had dressed casually in a neat jumper and skirt, low-heeled shoes on her feet, and had brought a soft suede jacket with her in case she got cold. As she slid out of the car she felt Yorke’s eyes on her and flushed with embarrassment when she realised that they were noting the soft curves concealed by her thin jumper, and she smiled uncertainly, wondering if he thought her unbearably gauche. No doubt the women he was used to did not blush just because a man looked at them.
The air was crisp and clean with the scent of wood-smoke hanging intangibly over them. The path wound through a field and through a wooded copse to a small natural lake. When they reached it, Yorke flung himself full length on a patch of bracken.
‘I’m not used to all this exercise,’ he told her with a brief smile. ‘God, living in London you forget that places like this still exist.’
‘It must seem very quiet to you,’ Autumn murmured. Her heart was pounding like a sledgehammer. She didn’t know whether to remain standing up or sit down at his side, and eventually he decided the issue for her by leaning up and pulling her gently down beside him.
‘Quiet?’ He seemed to be brooding on something, suddenly remote, and Autumn shivered, feeling as though the sun had gone in.
‘You can’t know how I sometimes long for that.’ He took off his jacket and rolled it up, placing it beneath his head and glancing up at her, the look in his eyes making her go hot and cold all over.
His fingers were playing with her wrist, stroking the softness of her skin and doing unbearable things to her pulses. The caress was almost casual and yet it affected her intensely. She was acutely conscious of everything about him—the dark column of his throat, his skin exposed where his shirt was unfastened, and the texture of it fascinating her. She had never been so close to any man and she observed everything about him minutely. His eyes were closed and her own were drawn to the hard length of his body in nervous bemusement.
‘Do I get to pass?’ he asked suddenly, his eyes wide open and as green as jade as they noted the swift colour running up under her skin. She tried to move away, but her rolled over, pinning her beneath him as he made a lazy inventory of her body.
‘Fair’s fair,’ he murmured softly, when she made an inarticulate protest. ‘You’ve got a fantastic body. But I don’t suppose I’m the first to tell you that!’ His attitude had changed subtly, his eyes no longer teasing but hard and faintly watchful, but Autumn barely registered the change; she was too concerned with coping with the effect the hardness of his body was having upon her.
When his head bent towards her blotting out the light she tensed automatically, longing for and yet dreading his kiss.
His mouth was warm and persuasive and she felt her resistance melt under its subtle coaxing. When his tongue ran across her lips, probing and insistent, she started to panic and struggled in his arms.
Yorke released her at once, his hands cupping her face, so that she couldn’t turn away.
‘I don’t believe it,’ he muttered in an almost reverent whisper. ‘You can’t be for real. Haven’t you even been kissed before?’
‘Of course I have,’ Autumn stammered.
He had raised himself up to look at her and the weight of his thighs was pressing her back against the bracken, a delicious feeling of hard warmth emanating from him.
‘Boys’ kisses,’ he said contemptuously, his eyes smoky green as he looked at her. ‘Did I frighten you?’
She shook her head, too bemused to bother to lie, the intimacy of his hold melting away her fears.
‘I must be mad!’ she thought she heard him murmur as his mouth moved over hers again; this time teasingly and lightly so that she was forced to strain up towards him to prolong the intoxicating contact. Her arms crept round his shoulders, exploring the hard muscles beneath his sw
eater, and she made no protest when his hands slid beneath the fine wool of her jumper, stroking her rib cage and soothing her fluttering fears as they moved upwards to cup the rounded swell of her breasts. She gasped at the contact, her eyes widening and darkening, and then Yorke’s mouth was on hers, teasing no longer, but hard and warm, tasting the inner sweetness of her mouth as excitement trembled through her, her body arching instinctively against him as she sought to prolong the contact.
This time it was Yorke who gasped; the small sound more of a groan than a sigh as the gentle stroking motion of his hands turned to fierce possession.
Quivering with exultation and pleasure, Autumn responded automatically, her hands sliding inside his shirt to feel the hard bones of his shoulders, her mouth parting moistly for him as her desire to please mingled with the urgent longing to know his full possession. Aunt Emma’s warnings might never have been. All that mattered was Yorke.
He was the one who drew away first, leaving her feeling cold and cheated.
‘My God,’ he muttered huskily as he released her. ‘You can’t be for real! You’re the most sexy thing I’ve ever known, and yet you don’t even begin to know what it’s all about, do you?’
His voice was almost savage. He stood up, pushing a hand through his hair and coming to looking down at her.
‘You oughtn’t to be allowed out on your own! You don’t know the first thing about looking after yourself. You’d have let me do what the hell I liked to you without a word, wouldn’t you? Hasn’t anyone ever warned you about men like me?’
His change of mood startled her, driving the colour out of her face as she realised the import of what he was saying. Tears rose in her eyes and splashed weakly down her cheeks. ‘What on earth must he think of her?
She turned away from him and picked up her jacket with shaking fingers. What could she say? If only she were more like Mary and could make some flip retort which would conceal from him exactly how much he had affected her.
‘Don’t expect me to apologise,’ he said brutally. ‘You should be thanking your lucky stars that I didn’t take the lot.’ He had his back to her, but his words were like an electric shock, as hot shame flooded through her.
Had he thought when she agreed to go with him that she had known what he had in mind? Miserably she conceded that he must have done, and now she had disgusted him. For the first time in her life she felt a fiercely bitter resentment against her aunt, and longed for the sexual sophistication of her peers. Men did not like virgins, Mary had told her that. It was so unfair, she thought bitterly. Had he found her unbearably inexperienced and inept? Was that why he had pulled away so abruptly?
‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered, swallowing her tears.
He swung round, his eyes blazing.
‘You’re sorry! God, don’t you have any idea what you’ve just done to me?’
She touched her lips with her tongue and stared at him uncomprehendingly. For a moment he seemed about to say something and then he shook his head tiredly.
‘Forget it. Come on, I’d better get you back to the hotel before I forget my own rules. And for God’s sake stop crying! You’re damned lucky you haven’t really got something to cry about. What’s with you anyway?’
‘I’m sorry if you think I’ve deceived you,’ Autumn replied with pathetic dignity, her fingers curling into small fists as he raised his eyebrows sardonically. ‘I can’t help being a virgin. I can’t help it if I’ve been brought up by someone who believes in chastity…’
‘Chastity!’ He stared at her disbelievingly. ‘My God, this I don’t believe. You’re like something out of another era! In a minute you’ll be telling me that you’re saving it all for the man you marry and that men don’t respect you if you don’t!’
It was all so close to what Aunt Emma had said that Autumn flushed betrayingly.
They drove back to the hotel in silence, and the next day Mary arrived in reception full of curious questions, wanting to know where she had disappeared to on her afternoon off.
‘Yorke Laing has been asking about you,’ she told Autumn. ‘Ellen, Mr Hopkins’ secretary, told me that she heard your name mentioned when he was talking to Mr Hopkins.’
No doubt Yorke had wanted to know what had given rise to such an anachronism as herself in this enlightened age, Autumn thought a little bitterly. Thank God he had put her response down to inexperience and not guessed the simple truth—which was that she had fallen deeply and irreversibly in love with him.
‘Okay, so you want to learn,’ had been his last cutting retort as he left her. ‘But I’m not going to be used for target practice. I don’t have that much self-control.’
She didn’t see Yorke for several days, and her senses told her, before Mary confirmed it, that he had left. She had known instinctively that he had gone and her heart mourned him even while her common sense told her that she was being a fool. The curt astonishment in the look he had given her when he realised how appallingly innocent she was had seared her to the soul with chagrin.
Christmas came and went and the hotel was busy. Autumn barely had a moment to herself. Mary had started going steady with one of the chefs and was too caught up in her own life to see how listless and pale Autumn had become. In three short months the soft contours of adolescence had given way to growing maturity, her eyes no longer guileless and innocent but wary with pain and knowledge.
In January they had heavy snowfalls and business slackened off. The hotel manager called Autumn to his office. She had completed her initial six months training and his words of praise brought a soft glow of pleasure to her face.
When she had gone he sighed and commented to his secretary, ‘Were we ever so frighteningly young?’
She laughed. ‘I expect so, but Autumn is rather unusual for these days. A result of her upbringing, I expect.’
‘Umm. I suppose I’m being old-fashioned, but I can’t help feeling responsible for her in a way. She’s so green it’s untrue!’
Autumn went from his office to her room, and as she wasn’t on duty that evening she washed her hair and spent some time experimenting with the new make-up the other girls had given her for Christmas.
She had promised to meet a couple of them in the bar later on and she changed into the hip-hugging black cord jeans Mary had persuaded her into. Aunt Emma had never approved of women in trousers, and Autumn daren’t contemplate what she would think of these! Her thin silky blouse emphasised the rounded swell of her breasts, their curves in direct contrast to her long, slim legs.
Her hair swung round her shoulders in a bell as she crossed the foyer and more than one person turned to look at her. She was half-way across the room when a familiar figure brought her to an abrupt halt her heart hammering in her throat.
‘Yorke! Mr Laing… ‘
‘Autumn!’
His voice sounded gritty and his thick sheepskin coat was covered in melting flakes of snow. He seemed to have lost weight, and Autumn stared up at him in mingled bemusement and disbelief.
‘For God’s sake stop looking at me like that,’ Yorke told her grimly, his fingers tightening on her wrist as he drew her towards him.
‘I didn’t know you were back.’ Autumn tried to control the sudden acceleration of her pulses. Alarm suddenly widened her eyes. ‘Have you been ill again…?’
‘Ill?’ The harsh word exploded around her. ‘Yes, I’ve been ill,’ he said tersely. He was wearing jeans and they clung to his powerfully muscled legs, his woollen shirt stretched across his chest. Her awareness of him made her breath catch in her throat, a pulse beating frantically there as she stared up at him.
‘I have to be sick to feel the way I do about a child who’s still wet behind the ears,’ he groaned savagely.
‘I’m not a child,’ Autumn protested, ‘I’m nineteen.’
‘Who’s talking about years? In experience you’re still a baby. God I think I’m beginning to lose my sanity. This morning I told myself I wasn’t going to come within a thousand
miles of you. When I left here I told myself it was for good, and yet here I am, and do you know why, you little witch?’
Autumn wasn’t listening. She was staring up at him, unable to believe what she had just heard. He had come all this way just to see her!
‘Come with me, Autumn,’ he whispered.
‘I can’t,’ she protested. ‘I promised the other girls I’d meet them in the bar.’
‘To hell with them,’ Yorke muttered harshly. ‘Come with me now. I want you so much,’ he groaned against her hair as he pulled her closer. ‘I want to be your lover, little Autumn.’ His words shivered through her, stirring up a nameless excitement that began deep in the pit of her stomach and spread all through her body until she was conscious of nothing but him. ‘Don’t deny me, Autumn,’ he begged her. ‘Oh, these last months have been pure, undiluted hell! There hasn’t been a night when I haven’t fantasised about what it would be like teaching you to make love. I’m going crazy for you—don’t you know that?’
He had pulled her into the shadows and his hands slid down to her waist, pulling her against him until she trembled with the realisation of his need, her eyes huge and uncertain.
‘I won’t hurt you,’ he told her unsteadily, his fingers trembling against her face. ‘Oh God!’ he muttered thickly, his arms imprisoning her as his mouth locked on hers, draining her of the ability to do anything but respond mindlessly to the desire he was arousing. Aunt Emma and her lectures faded from her mind. All that existed was this moment—and Yorke. Yorke, who had come several hundred miles to tell her how much he wanted her—Yorke who must surely love her as much as she loved him.
She managed a shaky smile and was just about to tell him how she felt when someone walked past and glanced curiously at them.
‘Where’s your room, Autumn?’ he asked her urgently. ‘I can’t take you to mine, I haven’t checked in yet.’
‘I can’t take you to my room,’ Autumn protested unhappily. ‘It isn’t allowed. I’d lose my job…’