Contract with Consequences (9 page)

S
CARLET’S
mouth dropped open when she came, so astonished was she by the intensity of her climax. Never before had she experienced spasms so powerful, or so pleasurable. Never before had she made such sounds, moaning and groaning in a wildly wanton fashion as her flesh contracted around his. But any sound she made was soon eclipsed when John came. Holding her even tighter, he shuddered violently into her, his head thrown back, eyes shut.

When his orgasm finished, his head dropping forward, his eyes opened to reveal an expression which Scarlet could only describe as confused. But any confusion was gone as quickly as it came, leaving Scarlet to wonder if she’d imagined it. By then he was smiling—though the smile was sardonic.

‘You’re not even a teeny tiny bit frigid, Scarlet,’ he said in droll tones as he removed her legs from his back and let them flop back onto the bed. ‘In truth, you have the makings of a great courtesan.’

Scarlet, who was in the throes of coming back to earth, found herself thrown down with a thud by this last remark.

‘Well, thank you very much,’ she said tartly. ‘What a lovely compliment, saying I’d make a great prostitute. Now, if you don’t mind …’ She lifted her shoulders and wriggled her hips in a vain attempt to eject him from her body.

A foolish move, for all it did was remind her how it felt with him inside her. Such blissful sensations did not lend themselves to her staying angry.

‘I
do
mind,’ he said sternly. ‘It’s very comfy, the way we are. So stop being silly, lie back and just relax.’

It did seem silly to keep struggling.

‘Much better,’ John said when she slumped back against the pillows. ‘Now, how about the relaxing part?’ he went on. ‘Breathe in deeply and then let the air out slowly. Yes. That’s the way.’

Despite doing as he suggested, Scarlet was still not totally relaxed.

‘For your information,’ John said, cupping her face with his hands before sliding his fingers up into the hair, ‘a courtesan was not a common prostitute, but an attractive and often poor woman who made her living by using her erotic skills to ensnare herself a wealthy lover. She was much valued by her patron. He would often buy her a house, hire staff for her and pay her bills, all for the privilege of having exclusive access to her very beautiful body.’

‘How interesting,’ Scarlet said, finding herself perversely flattered by his words. It was somehow seductive for a girl to be told that she could be so brilliant at sex that a man would do that much to have her. Such praise was as corrupting as words of love.

‘What kind of erotic skills did a good courtesan possess?’ she asked, her curiosity piqued.

John positioned himself more comfortably on top of her, his bent forearms pressing into the bed on either side to ease his weight off her chest whilst his lower half remained intimately locked with hers.

‘They were many and varied,’ he informed her. ‘But a good courtesan concentrated on discovering what her lover
liked best in bed, what foreplay he enjoyed the most, what fantasies he had. And then she catered to them all.’

‘So what fantasies do
you
have?’ she asked.

John looked down into her wide blue eyes and considered how he should answer that.

Not the truth, of course. Most of his sexual fantasies were too decadent to be voiced aloud. At the same time, there were some fantasies which could be safely indulged in if and when the opportunity presented itself. John had often fantasised over having Scarlet at his sexual beck and call. It was a temptation impossible to resist.

‘That’s for me to know and you to find out, my darling Scarlet. Because you’re going to become my courtesan for the duration of your stay here.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me.’

‘That wasn’t part of our deal.’

‘No. It came to me when I discovered how good you were in bed.’

‘Oh,’ she said, and stared up at him. He really was rather wicked. And very knowing about women.

‘Have you done this kind of thing before?’ she suddenly asked.

‘What kind of thing?’

‘Don’t play dumb, John. You know what I mean. Is role playing one of your fantasies?’

‘No. I just thought it would be fun, that’s all. Why, aren’t you up for it?’ he said in the kind of challenging fashion which he knew she wouldn’t be able to resist. Scarlet was nothing if not competitive. Or she had been, at school with him. It had killed her whenever he’d beaten her in an exam.

Scarlet’s first reaction was to fire back,
Yes
,
of course I am
. But hard on the heels of that pride-driven urge came the stark reality of the situation. A courtesan she was not.
John was flattering her when he said she was good in bed. She wasn’t; not usually. If she’d been good just now, it was because she’d been so incredibly turned on. She didn’t even know what she’d done to make him say that. Was it when she’d touched him? Or later, when she’d been writhing around under him? There’d been nothing skilled about that. She’d just gone crazy with need. Just thinking about it was turning her on again.

John sucked in sharply when he felt her move against him.

The little minx! She was answering his challenge by showing him what she could do.

‘Obviously your answer is yes,’ he said thickly.

‘Now
you’re
being silly. I don’t have the experience or the expertise necessary for such a role.’

‘That’s a matter of opinion,’ he muttered through gritted teeth.

‘You can do it to me again, if you want to,’ she said, her eyes having gone as smoky as her voice.

He had every intention of doing so, especially when she lifted her legs and wrapped them around him. But the moment he started moving, it happened to him again, that rush of adrenaline which heralded his earlier loss of control. He tried to slow everything down but his body had a mind of its own, and he surged deep into her with almost manic determination. Immediately, he was in danger of coming.
Immediately
. In desperation, he withdrew and flipped her over, pulling her up onto her knees under him, giving himself a few precious seconds of relief before he plunged into her again. Her instant cry of release came to the rescue of his battered pride, allowing him to stop his futile struggle. Eventually, they collapsed together onto the bed, John pulling her sideways into a spoon position so that he didn’t squash her with his weight. When he
wrapped his arms tightly around her and held her close she sighed a happy-sounding sigh. Soon, her breathing slowed and she slipped into that wonderfully sound sleep which often came after great sex.

Unfortunately, John wasn’t so lucky, sleep eluding him as he tried to work out why he’d rocketed so out of control, not once but twice.

The only logical reason he could find was that Scarlet was
nothing
like his usual woman. Despite her age, she was a relative innocent where sex was concerned. Innocent and touchingly sweet, which could also be a factor in his uncharacteristic responses to her.

John’s choice of bed partners these days were not of the innocent and sweet variety. After he’d left university—where no-strings sex was a common pastime—John had quickly found that sleeping with his female peers in the wider world was hazardous to his peace of mind. Most girls around his age didn’t want one-night stands; they expected him to stay for breakfast. Expected him to ask them out again. Expected to become his steady girlfriend. In short, they wanted commitment, something John wasn’t interested in. He enjoyed the bachelor lifestyle. Enjoyed being free to come and go as he pleased without having to answer to anyone, or upset anyone.

John soon realised that if he wanted to have a reasonably regular and guilt-free sex life he’d have to choose older women to sleep with, ones who weren’t looking for love and marriage. Recently divorced was good, he’d found, along with the occasional career girl who was already married to her job. During the past couple of years, he’d favoured women whose only interest in him was an evening of pleasant company, usually over dinner, followed by a long night of sexual pleasure—always at their place. That
way he didn’t have to ask them to leave in the morning. He could do the leaving, when and if he chose.

Bianca had once asked him why he didn’t bring his ‘girlfriends’ home. He’d told his housekeeper that
she
was the only real girlfriend he had, which had made her laugh.

His heart twisted as he always did when he thought of Bianca.

Best not think about her then, buddy. You can’t change what happened
.

Scarlet stirred slightly in her sleep, pulling up her knees and thrusting her very shapely bottom against his stomach, causing his till-then deflated sex to come to life once more with alarming speed.

It was impossible to sleep here now, common sense dictated, John smothering a groan as he very carefully withdrew from her oh-so-delicious body, scowling when he saw the evidence of his renewed desire for her. Truly, this was getting ridiculous!

He threw Scarlet a rueful glance as he quietly rose from the bed and dragged on his boxer shorts.
Frigid?
She was about as frigid as Darwin in the summer.

S
CARLET
woke to solitude and silence. She blinked several times, then sat up, pushing her hair back behind her ears as she cocked her head and listened for the sounds of life.

Nothing.

She had no idea what time it was, a quick glance around showing no clock anywhere. The light coming into the room from the balcony suggested it was late. Quite late, a suspicion confirmed by the urgency of her need to go to the bathroom. Scarlet was grateful for John’s absence as she threw back the covers and jumped, naked, from the bed. Though that didn’t stop her wondering where he was. He’d certainly been in bed with her when she’d fallen asleep.

Oh Lord!

Scarlet could not believe how incredible the night had been. How incredible
he
had felt. Maybe size did matter.

But of course it wasn’t just John’s size which had made last night different from any other night she’d ever spent in bed with a man. She’d been beside herself with the most dizzying pleasure long before he’d stripped off. What John didn’t know about a woman’s body clearly wasn’t worth knowing. He was an extraordinary lover—imaginative and very patient during foreplay, but passionate and primitive when it came to the act itself. She hadn’t forgotten
the sounds he’d made when he’d come the first time; how they’d reminded her of a wild beast.

Had that been a subconscious fantasy of her own? she wondered as she washed her hands then stared up at herself in the vanity mirror. To be taken by a wild beast?

She would never have imagined so. But who knew what lurked in the dark recesses of one’s mind?

There was one fantasy that in the cool light of day she decided definitely didn’t appeal to her—that of being a courtesan. Especially John’s courtesan. No way would she enjoy kowtowing to his every sexual whim and wish, Scarlet told herself firmly as she finger-combed her messy hair into place.

On the other hand, she did not regret—or resent—the degree to which she’d enjoyed his love-making. It was exciting, in a way, to discover that with the right lover she was actually highly sexed.

No doubt John was somewhat smug over his successful seduction of her, but
c’est la vie
. It would be hypocritical of her to start pretending this morning that she hadn’t enjoyed every single moment. Saying so to his face, however, might prove difficult. She still hadn’t overcome her shyness, not to mention her pride.

Her pride was one of the reasons she was reluctant to leave the bathroom before checking that the bedroom was still empty and the bedroom door firmly shut. As much as she hadn’t worried about John seeing her naked last night when she’d been turned on, it was a different matter in the cold light of day. Hurrying back into the bedroom, Scarlet scooped up her pyjama top from where it was lying on the rug beside the bed, donning it quickly before going on a frantic search for the bottom half. She found the shorts under the covers, right down the bottom of the bed. Once
they were safely on, she made the bed then, after taking a few calming breaths, went in search of the man himself.

She almost missed him, sprawled sound asleep on one of the sofas, only the sound of his deep but even breathing attracting her attention. Scarlet shook her head as she stared down at his half-naked form, amazed that he could sleep like that without a rug or a blanket for warmth. Okay, so the apartment was air-conditioned, but still …

He really did have a great body, she thought for the umpteenth time as her admiring eyes began travelling over him from head to toe, stopping abruptly when they reached the scar on his right leg, just to the side of his knee. She hadn’t noticed it last night, but then she’d been somewhat distracted at the time. It was quite a nasty scar, purple and puckered around the edges, probably the result of that accident he’d had recently when he’d broken his leg. She wondered how the accident had happened and how bad it had been. If he’d been a normal man, she could have asked him about it. But John wasn’t a normal man, she conceded ruefully. He had this thing about being questioned. Silly, really, but so darned typical of him. He’d always been a loner, with a loner’s persona. ‘Tell ‘em nothing and take ‘em nowhere’: that was obviously his creed in life where women were concerned. It surprised Scarlet that he’d ever admitted to having this long-held desire for her. To do so must have gone against the grain.

She was still puzzling over this conundrum when she spotted an empty glass lying on the rug next to the sofa, right where John might put his foot when he finally woke up and stood up. Scarlet went round, picked the glass up and took a sniff. She didn’t much care for brandy but she knew the smell well, having used brandy often when making Christmas cakes. The fact that John had left the bed
and sat out here, drinking, till he fell asleep was another puzzle. Why hadn’t he stayed with her?

Scarlet was standing there, trying to find an answer when she realised John was stirring.

For a split second, she contemplated bolting for the bedroom but, as she’d told him last night, when she was nervous about something, she liked to get it over and done with as soon as possible.

She waited and watched whilst John stretched and yawned first before one lid flickered upwards, then another.

‘Good morning, Scarlet,’ he said as he swung his long legs over the side of the sofa and sat up. ‘I presume you slept well?’

‘Very,’ she admitted, determined to be honest. Determined to make him answer some questions as well. ‘Why did you come out here to sleep?’

‘For that reason,’ he replied somewhat drily. ‘To sleep. I was, shall we say, struggling to concentrate.’

‘Oh,’ she said, and blushed.

‘No need to be embarrassed. It’s not your fault that you’re a beautiful woman. I knew, if I stayed there, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you. So I came out here and left you to have a good night’s rest.’

‘That was … very considerate of you,’ she said, not sure now if she felt embarrassed or pleased. There was something incredibly seductive about a man admitting he couldn’t keep his hands off you.

‘My pleasure, Scarlet. But don’t worry,’ he added with a wicked little smile. ‘You can make it up to me today.’

She gripped the glass tightly whilst trying to imagine what he had in mind. ‘What time is it, do you know?’

‘Time you and I had some breakfast, after which you can join me in the shower.’

‘But …’

‘No buts, Scarlet. We had a deal, remember?’

Scarlet straightened her shoulders. ‘I don’t recall agreeing to sex morning, noon and night.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘Are you saying you don’t want to join me in the shower?’

‘I’m saying you are not to presume that I will agree to anything and everything. You are to ask me first. And respect my wishes. Otherwise, this deal is off and I’ll catch the first flight home.’

‘Have you forgotten why you came up here in the first place?’ he reminded her ruthlessly.

‘I haven’t forgotten,’ she said with a defiant tilt of her chin. ‘But that doesn’t change my stance. Take it or leave it.’

Damn it but she was calling his bluff! Not that it had been a bluff, exactly. He’d thought after last night she’d be putty in his hands this morning. He supposed he should have known better. This was Scarlet he was dealing with here.

‘Very well,’ he conceded. ‘I would love you to join me in the shower after breakfast, Scarlet. But if you don’t want to, that’s fine,’ he added through clenched teeth.

Scarlet wasn’t sure what to say now, the ease of his capitulation having surprised her. She actually wanted to join him in the shower. It was his arrogant manner which had got her back up. Now that he was asking politely, it seemed rather hypocritical to say no. But she felt she had to. To give in at this early stage would feel somehow like she’d lost the battle—as though she—or, rather, her body, she hastily corrected—belonged to him. After last night, she wanted to make sure she stayed in control, and that meant setting boundaries.

‘I’d rather shower by myself,’ she said, trying not to
sound too prim and proper. ‘I’m not used to sharing showers. Or making love during the day time, for that matter. If you don’t mind, could we confine our sexual activity to the evenings?’

‘I’d be lying if I said I didn’t mind. But you’re calling the shots for now, so sex will be confined to the evenings. Until you change your mind, of course,’ he added with a wicked glitter in his bedroom-blue eyes. ‘That is a woman’s privilege, isn’t it—to change her mind?’ And so saying, he stood up and stretched once more, grimacing as he did so. ‘Thank God I won’t have to sleep out here tonight. It’s hell on my back.’

‘You could have slept in one of the guest rooms,’ she pointed out somewhat tartly.

‘Now, why didn’t I think of that? Right, do you want breakfast before your shower or after? Note, I’m asking very politely and not telling you.’

Scarlet pulled a face at him. ‘There’s no need to be
that
polite. I also don’t expect you to wait on me hand and foot. You showed me where everything in the kitchen was last night. I can easily get myself some cereal and juice, which is all I usually have for breakfast.’

‘Splendid. I’ll leave you to it, then. I’m off to have
my
shower. A very long, very cold one.’

Regret consumed Scarlet as she watched him stalk off. But she refused to back down. She needed to keep focused on what she’d come here to do. As John had inadvertently reminded her, this wasn’t a pleasure trip, no matter how much pleasure she might have felt last night. And, actually, Scarlet remembered reading that too much sex was as bad for conception as too little. Couples who were having trouble falling pregnant were encouraged to chart the woman’s cycle and reserve sex for the days surrounding ovulation. She would have to mention that to John. But
not yet, perhaps. She suspected he would not take kindly to her telling him he would have to curtail his pleasure for a couple of days early next week so that his sperm count would be at maximum level.

But tell him, she would. Eventually.

No matter what, she had to maintain some control over John.
And
herself.

Pursing her lips determinedly, Scarlet marched out to the kitchen where she swiftly set about getting herself a bowl of muesli and a glass of orange juice, all the while making plans for the day in her head. As soon as she had breakfast, she would shower and dress—in the main bathroom—after which she would ask John to take her for a walk around the CBD of Darwin, followed by a light lunch somewhere, followed by a long drive or a boat trip on the harbour, or whatever would fill in the afternoon.

She would make sure it was late afternoon by the time they came back to the apartment, leaving only enough time for them to both freshen up before going out for dinner, which should occupy a further few hours. Although usually a fast eater, she would be very slow this evening, making sure that it would be at least ten or eleven by the time they got back to the apartment, with their energy levels low after a long day of walking and sightseeing. She doubted John would be capable of making love to her more than once. Twice, at best. He did seem to have amazing stamina in that regard. But what the heck? She was sure she would survive two more ground-shaking orgasms without totally losing her willpower or, worse still, imagining that she must be in love with John simply because she was enjoying sex with him.

Her top lip curled derisively as she dismissed that insane possibility without a second thought. Only hopelessly naive romantics believed in such hogwash, and it had been
some time since Scarlet had been either naive or a romantic. She supposed in one way it was rather sad to have one’s illusions about love and sex dashed to the ground so emphatically. But then real life was sad, wasn’t it? Real life killed off one’s father when you were only nine. And real life kept you unloved and childless till you were at such an age that your dreams were almost beyond your reach.

But only almost…

Scarlet wasn’t sure why, but she suddenly felt supremely confident that when she caught her flight home on Sunday week she would be pregnant with John’s child. Okay, so having a baby was only half of her dreams, but it was the better half. The safer and more secure half. She would settle for that half, any day of the week.

Her heart thudded in her chest as she tried to imagine how it would feel when her pregnancy was confirmed. She would be over the moon. And so would her mother.

‘Oh my God, Mum!’ she exclaimed, having forgotten all about the promise she had made to her mother the previous evening to send her some photos of the apartment today.

So much to do, she thought as she started to shovel the muesli into her mouth. And so little time!