by Anne Mather
Her hands slid into his hair, winding the silky strands around her fingers, bringing his mouth back to hers with uninhibited eagerness. There was a wild sweet pleasure in knowing she was arousing him just as much as he was arousing her, and acting purely on instinct, she wound one leg around his.
Rafe groaned, but he didn’t let her go. Instead, he lifted her against him so that she could wind both legs about his hips, bringing her even closer to the throbbing need he could not disguise. His teeth grazed the skin of her shoulder, and then, capturing the lobe of her ear in their grasp, he bit down almost painfully.
‘You want me,’ he stated at last, nuzzling between her breasts. ‘And God knows, what I want has never been in question!’
Swinging her round, he carried her to the bed, and after laying her on the satin coverlet, he quickly disposed of his own clothes. She watched, half-dreamily, as he tore off his jacket and shirt, but when his hands went to the waistband of his pants, she had to look away. All of a sudden, she remembered that day in the meadow, and the way he had forced his leg between hers. He had destroyed all her girlish fantasies that afternoon and, she realised with a sense of horror, that she must not go through with this.
Stifling a moan of anguish, she rolled on to her side, drawing up her knees in a futile effort to protect herself. How had she ever let it get this far? she asked herself disbelievingly. Despite all her vaunted arrogance, she was no better than Sandra Venables.
Yet, even as she summoned the words to repulse him, she felt his weight depress the bed behind her, and the sensuous heat of his body behind hers. Oh, no! she moaned silently, but somehow her denial was never spoken. She told herself she didn’t want this, but when his hand moved possessively over the skin of her midriff to capture the tender fullness of her breast, she knew she was lost. His hard fingers were so deliciously different from Adam’s soft caress, and although that thought alone should have brought her to her senses, it only inflamed her already undisciplined emotions.
Instead of turning her on to her back, Rafe drew her back against him, curling her body into the curve of his, and letting her feel the hot length of him against her spine. Meanwhile, his disturbing hands wandered possessively over her breasts and her flat stomach, down to the quivering triangle of dark hair nestling between her thighs. With his lips making their own exploration of her neck and shoulders, his teeth teasing the heavy swathe of hair aside to admit their sometimes painful invasion, she found it difficult to think of anything but the pleasure he was giving her, and the blood was beating heavily through her veins when he eventually moved so that she could feel him between her legs.
‘Oh, God!’ she whispered, turning on to her back of her own accord, capturing his face between her hands and bringing the wine-dark hunger of his lips to her mouth. ‘Do it,’ she commanded, her legs parting to allow him to kneel between them, and his darkskinned features mirrored a matching need.
‘Be patient,’ he breathed, his tongue circling her navel, but when his head moved lower, she twisted protestingly.
‘Now,’ she choked, a sob in her voice, and a curious expression crossed his face.
But she didn’t want him to delay any longer. Already she was wild for him to take her, and although she had no reason to suppose that the ultimate result would be any more satisfying than her relationship with Adam had led her to believe, she wanted to get it over with. She could not dispel the belief that she was incapable of achieving true sexual satisfaction, and she dreaded the feeling of anti-climax that had always followed Adam’s lovemaking. Just because Rafe had the ability to make her do things Adam never could, did not mean he could change her character. She was still the same person, and all she was really inviting was pain and humiliation …
All the same, when the pulsating heat of him probed the honeyed place between her thighs, she was amazed to find herself opening to him, and when he thrust himself inside her, she knew a trembling satisfaction that almost took her breath away.
‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded, as she gulped for air, but all she could do was shake her head in an agony of excitement.
‘Nothing,’ she got out at last, arching towards him, and with a groan of fulfilment he began to move.
She couldn’t really believe what was happening to her. Her body seemed to have taken control and she found herself meeting his thrusting body with an eagerness born of compulsion. Her mouth was open wide to his lips and his tongue, and although her tongue met the flick of his with instinctive sexuality, she could not get enough of him. Her arms were around his neck, her nails raking the skin of his shoulders, and she could hardly believe that the incoherent cries and moans she could hear were issuing from her own throat. Her legs were about his waist, fusing their pulsing bodies together, and Rafe’s hands cupped her buttocks so that she could meet his demands with greater enjoyment.
Dear God, she thought, in one fleeting moment of lucidity, and she had believed that she knew everything there was to know about the relationship between a man and a woman! How wrong she had been. What had begun as a compelling need to get closer to him, was building into a pleasure so intense, she was half afraid she was losing her mind. The rhythmic demands of Rafe’s flesh had become an urgent striving towards a goal she hardly knew existed, and just when she had begun to believe there could be no greater pleasure, she felt herself fragmenting in a splintering wave of ecstasy.
Rafe felt it, too. His sweat-streaked body slumped on hers only seconds after she had climaxed, and she felt the flooding warmth of his release. But Helen was floating on a sea of contentment, and the physical realities of what had happened did not occur to her until later. For the moment, she just wanted to savour the amazing thing that had happened to her, and she felt an enormous sense of gratitude towards Rafe for giving her so much. Besides, the delicious fatigue that was sweeping over her made conscious thought an effort. She was too tired, she thought sleepily, and when Rafe rolled on to his back and drew her closely against him, she was quite content to let him have his way …
CHAPTER TEN
HER first coherent thought was one of shame. In the aftermath of Rafe’s withdrawal, the cool air that fanned her moist flesh cooled her blood as well, and with the return of sanity came the unwelcome realisation that she had virtually invited Rafe to make love to her. It was useless trying to console herself with the thought that she had made one feeble attempt to stop him. The truth was, she had let her senses rule her head. Like an animal, she had acted on instinct, and Rafe had been more than willing to accommodate her.
Her second thought was equally as disturbing. She had taken no precautions. The contraceptive she normally used was in the bathroom cabinet in her apartment in London, left behind in the natural confusion of her grief. Besides, even if she had thought about it, she doubted she would have brought it with her. It was not something she would have expected to need. Indeed, the young woman who had left London less than a week ago would have treated such a suggestion with scorn. And yet, here she was, four days later, flat on her back on the bed she had slept in since she was a child, with Rafe’s lean, muscled frame coiled intimately beside her.
She stirred and immediately Rafe moved to imprison her with one long leg. She turned her head to find him regarding her through lazily-narrowed lids, the green eyes still glazed with emotion and disturbingly possessive.
‘Let me get up,’ she said tightly, as his hand slid familiarly over her midriff, his thumb brushing the nipples still erect to his touch. For a moment, she thought he was going to ignore her, and she wasn’t exactly sure of what she would do if he did. But then, with an indolent shrug, he withdrew his leg and she turned and scrambled off the bed.
Not until she had the folds of the pink bathrobe securely wrapped around her, did she permit herself to look at him again, only to avert her eyes abruptly from his shameless beauty. He was lying on his back now, his hands propped behind his head, and the shame she had felt earlier swept over her again in increased measure.
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sp; ‘I think you should go,’ she said, concentrating on the toes of her slippers, and he uttered a resigned oath.
‘Oh, come on,’ he muttered. ‘You know what I look like. Stop behaving like the outraged virgin we both know you were not. You may be pretty naive, but I’d guess Adam gets what he wants when he wants it!’
‘Don’t be coarse!’ Helen looked at him then, and he smiled without humour.
‘Why not?’ he demanded. ‘It’s the only thing you respond to.’
Helen swallowed. ‘I want you to go.’
Rafe sighed. ‘All right. I’ll go. But not before you tell me why you’re acting like this. For God’s sake, you wanted me. I wanted you. So what?’
‘So what?’ Helen’s face burned. ‘I’m afraid I don’t see it like that.’
‘No.’ Rafe acknowledged her words grudgingly. ‘You’re ashamed of your own sexuality.’
‘That’s not it!’ Helen was trembling. Pushing back the weight of her hair, she turned her back on him. ‘You wouldn’t understand!’
‘Try me.’ As if taking pity on her, Rafe pushed himself into a sitting position. Rescuing his trousers from the rug beside the bed, he pushed his legs into them and then shuffled off the bed so that he could pull them up over his hips.
Helen heard the hiss of the zip being fastened, and permitted herself another glance in his direction, only to press the flat of her hand to her mouth when she saw the blood on his back. Rafe heard her gulping intake of breath and turned, too, realising what was wrong when he glimpsed his reflection in the dressing table mirror.
Lifting his arm to reach his shoulder-blades, he touched the small wounds she had inflicted. His fingers came away smeared with blood, and Helen’s embarrassment was complete when he looked first at the blood and then at her. ‘I’d say this proved something, wouldn’t you?’ he probed softly. ‘It was good, wasn’t it? It was for me.’
‘Oh—you’re disgusting,’ she choked, unable to endure the knowledge that he had turned her into some kind of ravening beast. At least with Adam she had retained her self-respect. With Rafe, she had humiliated herself completely.
Rafe was angry now. It was there in his eyes and in the grim contortion of his mouth. Dragging on his shirt, he directed the full force of his contempt on her, and his voice was harsh as he tore her argument to shreds. ‘It’s not me that’s disgusting!’ he told her savagely. ‘It’s you! You’re so bloody afraid to admit you have any feelings, you’ll lie and cheat and call me names, just to convince yourself that you’re innocent of any blame. What’s wrong with you, Helen? What kind of a relationship do you have with that bastard in London? Okay—so what we did wasn’t exactly admirable! You don’t have to tell him, do you? Except to salve your own conscience, that is. But don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it, because you did. You loved every minute of it! And if you can’t admit that, then I’d say it was you that was pretty sick, not me!’
Helen caught her breath. ‘Don’t—don’t you dare criticise my relationship with Adam! He’s everything you’re not, thank God! He’s good, and kind, and gentle; and he doesn’t make me do things that make me feel—ashamed!’
‘It sounds like he doesn’t make you at all,’ retorted Rafe with crippling sarcasm. ‘You know, I should have guessed.’ He shook his head as enlightenment dawned. ‘God! So you were a virgin after all! Emotionally, at least!’
‘Get out!’ Helen couldn’t bear to listen to any more. With one hand pressed over her ear, she jerked open the door, covering her other ear as she waited for him to go. ‘Go on!’ she choked. ‘Get out of here!’ and with an expression mingled of pity and contempt, Rafe collected his jacket and sauntered out of the room.
The first thing Helen saw when she turned from slamming the door behind him, was the tray of soup and sandwiches. It still resided on the chest at the foot of the bed, completely indifferent to the traumatic encounter it had silently witnessed. Although the heat had long since dispersed from the cooling broth, the thought of the sandwiches was infinitely appealing, and abandoning any attempt to justify what had happened, Helen hurried to remove the silver lid.
She was hungry, she found to her amazement, ravenously hungry—although ravenous was not the word she would have chosen to apply. Nevertheless, for the first time in days, she tackled the food with real enthusiasm, and not until she had consumed all the sandwiches and drunk two cups of luke-warm coffee did she feel any relief from the void inside her.
Of course, eventually, she was forced to face the truth of what Rafe had said. For some inexplicable reason, she had encouraged him to make love to her, and what was even worse, she had allowed him to discover how sexually inexperienced she was. If only she had anticipated the extent of her self-betrayal. If only she had suspected that her preconceptions of a woman’s role were so extremely personal; that in spite of loving Adam, she had never allowed him to invade the true depths of her sexuality. He had never complained, of course, but now she knew how it could really be. Could she share that knowledge with him? Could she, though she was loath to admit it, expunge the guilt she was feeling at this moment by doing so?
Putting her coffee cup aside, she slid off the bed and pushed her feet into her slippers. Then, gathering up as many of her belongings as she could carry, she went into the dressing room and pulled down her cases from the top of the closet. Determinedly, keeping all other thoughts at bay, she swiftly packed the suitcases, only leaving out those items that she intended to wear in the morning. If she got up early and tackled the painful chore of attending to her grandmother’s personal effects at first light, she should be able to leave by lunch-time, she assured herself. Someone—once again her mind skittered away from the obvious choice—someone would drive her into Salisbury to collect her car. If she drove fast, she should reach London before dinner. She could imagine Adam’s delight when he learned she was back a day sooner than he had expected.
Because her mind was still active when she went to bed, it took her ages to get to sleep. She thought she heard the sound of a car’s engine in the early hours, but she forced herself to ignore it, realising that if she got out of bed, she would simply set her brain in motion once again. She at last fell asleep at about three o’clock, and in consequence she was still slumbering soundly when Mrs Pride drew back her curtains.
‘Well,’ said the housekeeper, as Helen struggled up on the pillows, ‘you’re a fine one! I thought you must be up and about, but Rafe said you were probably having a well-earned rest.’
Helen could feel her embarrassment sweeping up her throat and over her face. Rafe! she thought at once, oh God! Rafe! He would expect her to oversleep this morning. After all, he was responsible for the weakness in her legs, and the lingering feeling of lethargy that made the prospect of getting out of bed unattractive even now.
‘What time is it, Mrs Pride?’ she asked, already guessing the worst, and the housekeeper gave her a knowing smile.
‘Nearly ten o’clock,’ she announced cheerfully, coming to stand beside the bed. ‘And I’m glad to see your appetite has returned as well as your peace of mind. Now, I’ve brought you a cup of tea, and while you drink that, I’ll go and rustle up something a little more substantial.’
‘No!’ Helen put out her hand in protest. ‘I meant—don’t bother, Mrs Pride. I don’t want any breakfast, honestly. I’ve got a lot to do before I leave, and as I have slept in, I’d just as soon get started.’
Mrs Pride frowned as she handed over the tea. ‘Now, there’s no need for that. Oh, I know all about that clause in your grandmother’s will—the one that gives Rafe the right to run the estate and so on—but that doesn’t mean Castle Howarth can’t still be your home.’
‘Mrs Pride …’
‘No, let me finish.’ The housekeeper folded her hands together. ‘I know Rafe, Helen. Probably better than you do.’ Her brows arched as Helen almost choked herself with the tea, but it did not deter her. ‘I mean it, young lady. Wills are wills, and there’s no gainsaying the plans Lady Eli
zabeth made for the future. But I’m sure it wasn’t hers—or Rafe’s—intention that you should cease to regard Castle Howarth as you always have … as your home base, so to speak. The place where you’ll get married from, when that happy day comes.’
Helen drew in an unsteady breath. ‘I don’t think …’
‘Now, don’t you go making any hasty decisions,’ declared Mrs Pride, interrupting her. ‘Just you remember, we’re the only family you’ve got.’
‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ Helen bent her head. ‘You—you and Paget, anyway.’
Mrs Pride sighed. ‘Rafe’s not so bad, Helen. And he is your cousin, isn’t he?’
‘So it seems.’
‘There you are then.’ Mrs Pride shifted impatiently. ‘Oh, I realise your grandmother had no right to try and organise your life for you, but——’
‘You know?’ Helen looked up, her eyes wide.
‘That she hoped you and Rafe would get together one day? Of course.’ The housekeeper grimaced. ‘Bless you, child, she used to say to me: “Mrs Pride,” she’d say, “why is it that the two people I care for most in the world can’t seem to stand the sight of one another?”‘ She shook her head. ‘It used to really hurt her, it did. I mean, it was obvious, wasn’t it? As soon as Rafe came back here to live, you stayed away.’
Helen put down her teacup. ‘It wasn’t quite like that …’
‘Near enough. I said to her, I said, you can’t run people’s lives for them. Helen’s got a life for herself in London, I said. Probably got a young man, too, I shouldn’t be surprised. But she wouldn’t hear of it. “I’d know,” she used to say. “Helen would have told me.”‘