Irresistible Temptation (22 page)

But once they were inside the French windows, and he'd lowered her to the floor, she found her voice easily enough.

'You bastard.' She was shaking with rage—and another, very different emotion that she didn't wish to examine too closely. 'Do you realise how many assault charges I can bring against you?'

Declan finished securing the French windows and looked at her.

He said slowly, 'Then I may as well be hanged for a sheep as lamb.' And he walked across to her and took her in his arms.

He wasn't gentle. His kiss was fuelled by anger. And the same emotion sparked her response. Their mouths explored hungrily, made predatory by the same burning need. She felt the heat of his tongue against hers. And instead of trying to push him away her hands curled into the folds of his shirt, holding him closer.

When they broke apart they were gasping, their gazes locked, like opponents measuring each other. Or as if a spell had been cast, binding them together throughout eternity.

The lights flickered suddenly, and the thunder roared almost overhead, making Olivia jump.

'Heavens.' Her laugh shook with nervousness, and she shivered.

Declan drew a breath, his hand closing on her bare shoulder. 'You're freezing. Come with me.'

She found herself going with him up the stairs and into a large square room, with another set of French windows opening on to a wrought-iron balcony beyond. The walls and carpet were the colour of warm sand, and two big sofas covered in deep green linen flanked an elaborate marble fireplace. One wall, she saw, was composed solely of bookshelves.

Declan had gone through a concealed door at the back of the room, but he was back almost at once, carrying a navy silk robe that she recognised.

'Go and have a shower while I organise a hot drink,' he directed crisply. 'Your dress needs drying, so leave it out.'

She said huskily, 'Lend me an umbrella and I'll go home.'

He turned at the door, his brows lifting. He said quietly, 'Ah, no, Olivia. We both know better than that'

The hot water stung her skin, reviving her magically. She reduced the temperature and let it flow through her hair, as if she was performing some ritual cleansing, ridding herself of the evening's dirt and wretchedness.

She towelled herself until her skin glowed. She combed her damp hair back from her face, staring at herself critically in the mirror. She looked pale, but her lips were reddened and slightly swollen, and she touched them gently with the tip of her finger. Remembering.

Declan's robe was far too big, so she wrapped it round her, then wound the sash round her slim waist, anchoring it securely. The sleeves were too long, too, and she turned them back almost to her elbows.

She thought, I look like a geisha…

A faint scent of the cologne he used still clung to the robe. Eyes closed, she breathed it, then lifted a fold of the silk to her cheek and held it there.

When she went back into the drawing room Declan was seated on one of the sofas, a tray of coffee on the table in front of him, pouring cognac into goblets.

He said, 'You'll be glad to know the storm's passed over.' He studied her, a smile touching his eyes. 'And the robe looks better on you.'

A mixture of shyness and excitement tangled in her throat. 'I don't think so.' She stood behind the sofa opposite, resting her hands on its padded back. She said, 'I shouldn't be here.'

'Give me one good reason.' His voice was calm.

'Your cousin…'

'Maria's gone to an old schoolfriend in Chelsea. She needs a woman to talk to tonight. Ellie's a great girl. She'll hold her and comfort her, and pour drink into her, then put her on the train back when she's ready. Now come and have your coffee.'

She didn't move. She said, 'Jeremy never gave a damn about me, did he? Not from the first. I suppose I was just a novelty because I wouldn't go to bed with him. Maria said there's always been other women.'

'Yes.' His voice was gentle.

'He made me believe he cared for me while we were in Bristol, but when I came here everything changed. But I didn't want to admit it' She paused. 'The weekend of my birthday—he said there was a conference, but I knew somehow that there wasn't'

Declan nodded, his face carefully expressionless. 'He was at a hotel in the New Forest—with Melinda.'

'Melinda,' she echoed shakily. 'But she's your girlfriend.'

'No,' he said, swiftly and sharply. 'We had a brief affair, but that was over a long time ago. Since then she's been engaged to a mate of mine. But some friends of his were also enjoying the New Forest, and saw Melinda, so the engagement's off.'

'But she was with you tonight' She'd given herself away with that small painful protest, she realised with dismay.

'No,' Declan said forcefully. 'We were in the same room, so she attached herself for a while, that's all. She's an actress, with ambitions to get into TV as a presenter, and she's always seen me as a stepping stone in her career plan.'

He looked at Olivia gravely. 'She met Jeremy here, of course, then they ran into each other at some promotional thing.'

His mouth twisted. 'I gather he exaggerated his earnings, prospects and general importance to impress her, and it worked.' He shook his head. 'But I think he was a little shaken to discover how expensive her favours can be. Bill Fenner's actually had a lucky escape.'

She said slowly, 'Jeremy said the weekend had been dire.'

'I'm sure his credit cards thought so,' Declan said drily. 'But she must have persuaded him that she was worth it, because they were here together while I was in Ireland. I came back earlier than I intended and caught them. And threw him out as a consequence.'

He sighed sharply. 'Then Maria turned up out of the blue, wanting to see him, expecting him to be around. So I had to tell her where he was—and why.'

'How could you?'

He said simply. 'Because she asked me. And though I've tried to protect her up to now, by keeping things from her, I've never lied to her.'

'Couldn't you have stopped her going to the party?'

'I tried,' he said drily. 'But she's a hard woman to convince. And she had a good reason for confronting him.'

Olivia looked at him gravely. 'She's going to have a baby—isn't she?'

His mouth tightened, and he nodded.

'But surely, now he knows that, he'll come to his senses. He'll make an effort.

'She hasn't told him. She went to the party, checked the situation for herself, and decided to call it a day.'

'But she still cares about him. And how will she manage with the baby?'

'No one said it would be easy. But she's a tough girl, and her mind's made up. He's had all the last chances he's going to get.'

He gave her a straight look. 'Jeremy's never wanted children. He married Maria for her earning potential. When they lived in Bristol he was always getting into debt, and expecting her to bail him out. When she wanted to move to London with him, he wouldn't let her. Told her she was doing too well at work, and she ought to wait until she got an equally good offer up here.'

'He lied about everything, didn't he?'

'Pretty much. I'm sorry, Olivia.'

'Don't say that,' she said quietly. 'I was a blind idiot. It's Maria who deserves the sympathy.'

He shrugged, his face bleak. 'She wanted a life. He wanted a lifestyle. End of story. Now come and drink this coffee while it's still hot'

She sat down, facing him, arranging the skirt of the robe decorously. She cupped the bowl of the brandy goblet in her hand, breathing the cognac's powerful aroma.

She said, 'Is Melinda moving into the flat with him?'

'God knows, but I almost hope so. There's a pair that deserve each other.'

Which surprised a laugh out of her. 'Yes—yes, they do.'

He'd lit the gas fire in the grate, and she watched the leap of the flames as she drank her coffee and sipped the cognac appreciatively.

There was a silence between them, but not the taut, aloof silence of recent days. This was a quietude—tranquil—almost companionable. She smiled to herself at the thought, and looked at him, and saw his eyes on her, and realised, with a catch of breath, that she was wrong.

She hurried into speech. 'Do you think my dress is dry by now?'

'I'll check it presently.'

'Only I really should be going. It's late…'

'And tomorrow's Sunday. There's nothing to rush for. Or are you really so desperate to get away from me?'

'It's not that.' She looked down at her clasped hands. 'But I don't know why you brought me here.'

'Ah, yes.' There was a ghost of laughter in his voice. 'You do.'

She shook her head, aware that her breathing was flurried. 'I just don't understand—anything.'

He said quietly, 'Did I scare you earlier—downstairs?'

'No.'

'Because I frightened myself,' he went on meditatively. 'I went to Ireland to get away from you, but you came with me every step of the way. You rode with me, walked with me, and smiled through my dreams. So when I saw you standing in front of me, touching you became a total necessity. And I forgot to be gentle.'

Olivia raised her head and met his eyes. Saw the tension in him. The unaccustomed diffidence. The question in his gaze that she alone could answer.

And realised nothing else mattered but giving him the response he needed.

She said softly, 'I'm not glass, Declan. I won't break.'

'Show me.' His voice was husky.

She rose, and walked round the table to stand in front of him. She untied the sash and let the robe fall open. Declan made a small sound in his throat as he looked at her. Then his hands slid round her, under the folds of silk, pulling her closer until he buried his face in the rounded softness of her body, his mouth burning against her skin.

She cradled his head in her hands, bending to press her own lips to his dark hair in silent offering. In acceptance.

He drew her slowly down to him, until she was lying in his arms across his body, looking up at him with eyes made drowsy by desire.

He began to kiss her, his mouth brushing hers lightly and wickedly, coaxing her lips to part for him. His hand stroked the curve of her shoulder, pushing the robe away, then travelled down to cup her breast. His fingers teased her nipple, enticing it to stand erect, eager for the soft caress of his tongue.

As his mouth moved downwards to possess its roundness her body arched in sweet voluptuous enjoyment.

His hand explored her, moving slowly down her body, tracing small erotic patterns on her skin. Every pulse, every nerve-ending was coming to singing life beneath his touch.

His mouth moved back to hers, kissing her deeply, ach, while his hand moulded the slender curve of her hip, then slid down to her parted thighs, enjoying the moist silken heat of her with sensuous mastery.

Her faint moan of pleasure trembled under his lips as his caress slowed, deepened, focusing on the tiny centre of her delight. She surrendered herself completely to the exquisite torment, aware that her self-control was fracturing, but uncaring. Knowing only that she was being carried inexorably, but with total trust, to some edge.

And when the moment came—when the world splintered into spasm after spasm of undreamed of rapture—his arms held her strongly and safely, and his heartbeat echoed against hers.

When it was over, she lay quietly, mindless and weightless, letting her fevered breathing slow, her lips pressed to the pulse in his throat. And felt herself lifted gently, carried out of the lamplit room into the shadows where his bed waited for them.

She lay, watching through half-closed eyes as Declan stripped off his clothes, her mouth curving sensuously in appreciation and anticipation.

When he came to lie beside her naked her arms welcomed him, her body shivering with pleasure as the warmth of his skin touched hers.

He kissed her without haste, savouring her mouth, the delicacy of her cheekbones, and the lids of her wondering eyes.

'Touch me,' he whispered, as his lips found the curve of her ear and the graceful line of her throat.

She obeyed, shyly at first, running her hands across the muscular shoulders and over the powerful contours of his back. She wasn't a virgin, but she wasn't experienced either, and she felt strangely at a loss.

'What's wrong?' He'd sensed her hesitation.

'I wish I knew more—about pleasing men.'

He was shaken with sudden laughter, his hand tenderly stroking the hair back from her damp forehead. 'How many are you planning on?'

She grazed his shoulder with her teeth. 'You know what I mean.'

'Yes.' His voice was very gentle. 'But I want you just the way you are, Olivia. Nothing we've learned from others can ever apply to our experience of each other. And what we need to know we can learn together.'

His mouth drifted softly down her body, discovering every pulse-point, each sensitive, responsive inch of skin. She moved against him, murmuring her pleasure, her caressing hands gaining confidence as she sought the velvet strength of him, making him groan softly in turn.

She longed to yield completely—to feel him inside her— all-male, all-powerful.

'I want you.' She breathed the words.

'Take me,' he whispered huskily, the silvery eyes slumbrous and intent. 'I'm yours.'

Slowly, she guided him to her—teased him deliciously for a moment, then lifted herself against him, sheathing him in passionate completion.

'Ah, my love.' The words seemed torn from his throat. 'My love.'

He moved slowly at first, as if relishing each long, lingering thrust, and she followed, the motion of her body matching his sweetly, almost languidly.

Then, as she felt the first quiver of ultimate response, her arms held him more fiercely. Her slender legs embraced his hips in wordless urging.

Their mouths came together greedily, demandingly as his possession of her deepened—quickened—carrying them both with utter certainty towards the agonised bliss of climax.

There was a moment when she thought she was dying— that her body would not survive this feverish ravishment She cried out, and heard his voice answer as if the sound had been wrenched from him.