It was glorious.
“Yes,” she purred in his ear. “Harder.” She nipped him there and her hips lifted to meet every thrust, each one deeper, sending spirals of desire shooting through her.
He stopped thrusting and started grinding and she caught her breath, ready, right there.
She knew it was going to happen, she knew it was going to be intense, beautiful, like always with Colin, and, right before she exploded, she whispered reverently, “Goddess, Colin, you fit me… perfectly.”
Then she gasped, arched her neck and cried out as everything in the world but the space where their bodies joined was obliterated and she felt the shudders of pleasure course through her with pure, sweet violence.
So consumed was she in her own climax, she missed his but vaguely noted he’d wrapped her legs around his waist in his final moments.
After they both came down, still deep inside her, Colin gave her his weight and both of them lay panting and speechless.
Finally, he came up on his forearms and looked down at her.
“That’s quite a way to combat a morning mood.” His voice was low, sexy and rough with residual desire and his handsome face was soft with approval.
As the last waves of pleasure subsided, she felt them immediately replaced with acute embarrassment.
What on earth was she thinking?
More to the point, what was she doing?
She’d just attacked him!
She closed her eyes and turned her face away at the same time she tried to push him off by pressing against his chest. It was one thing for him to buy her body and an entirely other thing for her to attack his.
Goddess, she was a raving wanton! What must he think?
She needed to escape.
She pressed against his chest harder.
He didn’t move.
“Sibyl,” he called.
“Colin,” she said to the wall, her eyes still closed, “Please get off me.”
He still didn’t move.
“Sibyl, look at me,” he demanded.
She shook her head but his hand came to her face and forced her to do as he said.
“Open your eyes,” he ordered.
She did and hers were filled with rebellion mixed with a good dose of humiliation.
“What just happened?” he seemed to see only the rebellion and she knew this because his voice was still low, sexy and rough but his face was no longer soft with approval but his eyes were intense with scrutiny.
“You were touching me,” she explained, her tone accusing, deciding her best course of action was to place blame quite squarely on his very broad shoulders.
“Touching you, yes, seducing you, no. What just happened?”
She shook her head.
“Sibyl,” he was using his smooth, even voice that meant he was close to losing his cool.
“I told you, you were touching me,” she repeated.
He waited but the expression on the hard planes of his face told her it wasn’t patiently.
Sibyl, again, obviously had no choice but to give him what he wanted.
“In a very sensitive spot,” she admitted reluctantly.
At her words, he looked startled. She should have been pleased at that but instead she felt all the more embarrassed.
“A very sensitive spot,” she stressed.
He simply stared at her but the intensity in his eyes was quickly fading to something much less hard and far warmer.
“I get somewhat,” she hesitated, fighting for the right words, “Out-of-control if someone touches me there for any length of time.”
“Does this happen often?” Completely gone was the intensity and in its place was something entirely satisfied and more than a touch amused.
“Never quite like this,” she confessed, his hand on her face had relaxed and she looked away again. “But no one else had done it so,” she hated to say it but there it was, “well.”
He kissed the exposed line of her throat (but not before, out of the corner of her eyes, she caught sight of his mouth twitching) and he murmured against her skin, “I’ll have to remember that.”
“I shouldn’t have told you.”
He lifted his head and, there it was, right there in front of her, his lips were twitching. “You don’t think I would have discovered it eventually?”
“No one else has,” she informed him, straightening her head to look at him again.
And that was when she saw his eyes start dancing with hilarity, absolutely dancing. At that look she lost all embarrassment and became instantly grumpy.
“Then they weren’t very good at it, I’d already suspected. You jump and moan every time I touch you there,” Colin told her.
Sibyl grunted with ill-humour.
“Or lift your ass to meet my hand,” he continued informatively. “I was already intrigued.”
“Thanks Colin,” she gritted between her teeth. “You can stop talking now. I think I have the picture.”
He grinned at her before his head dropped to nuzzle her neck.
Then he suggested, “Let’s talk about your dream now, shall we?”
Her body went rigid.
She could not, under any circumstances, tell him about her dream.
She could provide an entire list, even in writing (if he were to require) of every sensitive spot on her body (behind her ears, the skin underneath her breasts, and so on).
But she could not tell him about her dream. She could not tell him she’d seen him in her subconscious before she’d ever even met him. He’d think she’d lost her mind.
This meant she was going to have to lie to him.
And Sibyl hated lying. It wasn’t a very nice thing to do and she wasn’t at all good at it. One could get caught up in lies but Sibyl always got caught up in them. She was too absentminded to remember what she’d said, she always had been.
“It was nothing,” she muttered, trying to blow it off.
“It was enough for you to kick me, rather forcefully, in the shin and drive you from the bed and the across the room.”
Her eyes rounded at this news. “I kicked you?”
Colin nodded.
“Did I hurt you?”
“Surprised me, I was dead asleep when it happened.”
Without her volition, her hand went to rest on his waist.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly and she meant it.
His body became quite still as he watched her face. He seemed captivated by something there, so much so he was lost in whatever it was.
“Colin?” His body jerked at her calling his name and his eyes cleared.
“Tell me about it,” he commanded, his voice now strangely husky.
“What?” she asked.
“The dream,” he persisted, rather annoyingly, Sibyl thought.
“I said it was nothing.”
“Tell me,” he urged.
“I’d rather not. I don’t want to think about it,” she demurred, beginning to get panicky.
And anyway, why, exactly, did he want to know so badly?
“Sibyl, tell me.” The huskiness had vanished and he was lapsing into his smooth, angry voice again and she decided he was not going to let it go.
So she gave in, in a way. “I’ve had it before. It’s just… not nice.”
“Yes?” he prompted.
“In it, I’m sleeping.” Her mind was racing, she was going to have to make something up and decided, in case it came up in the future, or she dreamed it again and kicked him or hurt him in some other way (which she hoped she never did, indeed, she hoped never to have the awful dream again), she would remember what she said. “Peacefully, alone… I mean, by myself, sleeping by myself… all alone…”
“Go on,” he prompted when she’d trailed off, his eyes assessing. “You were alone, by yourself, sleeping.”
Sibyl nodded. “Then someone, or it feels like more than one person, I never see them, they don’t have faces, drags me out of bed and they slit my throat. Th
at’s it.”
“Christ,” he swore immediately after she finished speaking, dropping to his side and taking her with him. Once there, he pulled her deep into his body and repeated, “Christ.”
She tipped her head back to look at him, feeling guilty at her white lie and somewhat surprised (in a funny, happy way) at his reaction. He seemed so concerned, it was almost touching (well, it was actually very touching but she didn’t want to consider that).
He dipped his chin to look at her.
“Last night, you touched and kissed my throat. Why?”
Oh goddess, she’d forgotten she’d done that.
“I don’t know,” she fibbed for she bloody well did know. “Maybe just a spontaneous reaction. I was kind of out of it at the time.”
He was watching her closely, very closely and she was fairly certain he knew she was lying. It wouldn’t be hard to figure out, she was the worst liar.
“That’s all?” he asked, his voice showing his doubt.
She thought it best not to utter another word so she nodded.
He seemed to decide to let it go and tucked her head under his chin as his hands roamed her back. This she found soothing, even though she still felt guilty for lying to him.
“Do you want breakfast?” she asked against his throat, wishing to be on another subject.
“What?” he queried distractedly.
“Breakfast,” she forced her head back and he again dipped his chin to look at her. She noticed he looked lost in thought and she explained teasingly, “You know, the first meal of the day. The most important meal of the day. Breaking your fast. The French call it petit dejeuner. The Spanish call it desayuno.”
He awarded her one of his fabulous grins and, at the sight of it, Sibyl felt her entire body relax and warm.
“I know what breakfast is,” he told her, his voice low and effective.
“Would you like some?”
“I’ve got to take a shower and get to the office.”
For some reason, Colin’s announcement made Sibyl feel a vague sense of disappointment.
Well, if she was honest, not all that vague. It was more like a keen sense of disappointment.
She hid it by pushing her face into his throat again and then she worked with every ounce of strength in her to push the disappointment aside.
This, she had to remember, was a temporary arrangement. He’d paid for this, paid for her.
This was not boyfriend and girlfriend having a morning quickie and an affectionate chat.
This was not that at all.
And with those thoughts firmly (kind of) planted in her brain, she whispered against his skin, “I need to take Mallory for his morning walk.”
Then she shoved away from him and started to leave the bed but he caught her forearm.
Half in, half out of bed, Sibyl looked back at him.
“I’ll be back tonight,” he told her, his grin gone, he was watching her and she felt as if he could see passed everything, straight to her heart.
“Same time?” she asked and the words made her feel wrong. They made her feel like what she was to him, a word she was not allowed to say but she should never allow herself to forget.
“Yes,” he replied.
She nodded and with a rough movement jerked her arm away. She had to get away from him, now. She could get lost in him, she knew, especially when he turned into sweet, teasing Colin. When he was like that, Sibyl could start pretending that this was more than it was and she mustn’t ever do that.
Ever.
She snatched her robe off the hook on the back of the door, shrugged it on, grabbed some clothes and ran out of the room.
She dressed in the bathroom.
Then, with effort, throughout her errand of the morning, she kept her mind carefully blank.
After she arrived back from Mallory’s walk, Colin was gone.
Chapter Eleven
Reprieve
“I’m dreaming about him.”
It was the next Monday morning and Marian was having her breakfast with Sibyl.
Marian was also realising that Sibyl clearly needed a confidant.
“Yes, my dear?” Marian prompted. “Who?”
Sibyl looked distracted, the streak of fine weather had broken and the day was grey, rainy and cold and Sibyl was gazing moodily out of the diamond-paned windows. They were eating in a small breakfast nook in Sibyl’s warm and cosy yet elaborate kitchen. Marian had visited Granny Esmeralda’s abandoned cottage many times when the last owners left it unoccupied for years but she had not been there since the unknown (now known) Americans had bought it and refurbished it as a holiday home.
She’d been delighted when Sibyl suggested they not meet at a café but instead asked Marian to come to her house and Sibyl would cook for her. She’d been captivated by the loving renovation that Sibyl explained she and her father had done to Granny Esmeralda’s sweet cottage. It felt welcoming and warm and Marian was immediately relaxed and at peace there.
And her young friend was an excellent cook, making Marian homemade American pancakes with maple syrup and big bowls of bite-sized pieces of ripe, delicious fruit.
Now, food consumed, Sibyl was on her second cup of coffee and Marian was finishing a pot of tea.
“He’s away in London for three days,” she changed the subject, or at least Marian thought she did.
“Who?” Marian asked again, thinking she knew who but uncertain.
Sibyl started and seemed to come back to the room. She blinked at Marian and gave her a feeble smile.
“I’m sorry. It’s Colin. You should know Colin and I are together now,” Sibyl hesitated, then finished. “Well, sort of.”
Marian smiled encouragingly. “I guessed that when I saw you two the other night but, how do you mean, ‘sort of’?”
Sibyl shook her head and gently changed the subject. “And I’m dreaming about him, all the time, nearly every night. Except he’s blond and he’s…” She paused then stated, “This is going to sound stupid.”
But at her words, Marian’s heart skipped a joyous beat.
What did she mean, he was blond? Was she dreaming of Royce?
Dear goddess, was Sibyl Godwin clairvoyant?
“Go on, nothing’s stupid. You can tell me anything,” Marian urged, her voice betraying her excitement (she couldn’t help it, it was exciting).
Sibyl shuddered and then forged ahead. “It’s like he’s from another time. I’m there too, always. We’re wearing old clothes… not old as in age, a different style, clothes from a different time period, a long, long time ago. But the dreams are so vivid, so clear they almost seem real.” Sibyl turned to Marian. “Marian, I know you’re going to think this sounds a million kinds of crazy, but they don’t seem like dreams at all,” she leaned forward, her eyes intense but confused, “they seem like memories.”
Marian’s mouth parted in surprise.
She was a clairvoyant.
Hallelujah!
Sibyl, clearly oblivious to Marian’s elation, kept speaking.
“He makes me call him Royce in the dreams and he refers to me as Beatrice. And I get this very bad feeling that although they’re beautiful together, their story is not a happy one. I know that sounds even more stupid, considering they’re only in my mind, but I just get this sense, you know? Just like Colin and I will not end well.”
Marian closed her eyes to hide her joy, her heart skittered again and, when she opened them, she smiled reassuringly at the younger woman.
“You’re falling in love with Colin, aren’t you?” she said sagely.
“No!” Sibyl exclaimed instantly and strangely somewhat desperately.
Her forceful cry made Marian rear back.
Sibyl, being the sweet girl she was, noticed Marian’s reaction and immediately apologised. “I’m sorry Marian, but no, I’m not falling in love with Colin. I can’t,” she announced firmly.
This was not good news, nor was it what Marian expected to hear.
&n
bsp; “Why on earth can’t you?” Marian’s voice had just the slightest edge and it, too, was desperate.
“He’s not the one. I’m supposed to…” She stopped talking, closed her eyes tight, and, when she opened them, she continued, “All my life I knew there was one perfect man out there for me. A man like Royce is to Beatrice. My match. I have a space in my heart that only this person fits into.” She bit her lip, her expression pained before she finished, “And it’s not Colin.”
Marian’s heart felt light at this news. It was all too right.
“How do you know it’s not Colin?” Marian asked, trying to appear calm.
“Trust me,” Sibyl answered, her voice sounding awful, “I know.”
Marian’s mind whirled with what to say.
This was all perfect, dreaming of the doomed lovers (without even knowing they existed!), living her life yearning for the special man that fits in her heart. It was perfect, beautiful, sublime.
Marian wished she could tell Sibyl about the legend, she itched to tell her. But she’d promised Colin. She had a tentative hold on his trust already; she certainly shouldn’t fall at the first hurdle. Marian could see in her crystal ball that things were still not quite right with the pair. Although, she could never hear the words they said, there was just something wrong.
Marian believed, though, that true love would find a way.
It did with Royce and Beatrice, even though, at their beginning, they’d had a time of it.
Just, it seemed, like Sibyl and Colin were.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” Marian invited in a soothing tone.
Sibyl shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it. He’s gone for three days and I’m glad.” Marian noted she didn’t sound glad, she sounded positively gloomy. “I can’t seem to get my head around things when he’s around. He’s overpowering. He fills a room… no, the entire house, with his presence. He didn’t let me out of his sight all weekend.”
Lacybourne Manor Page 17