Starting Over (28 page)

All’s fair in love and war.

His lips paused. She remembered his kisses. And felt herself swaying forward, body extending, heels lifting. Until their lips touched.

His arms sprang around her like a trap, bringing her powerfully against him, his tongue found hers and she was jolted by a charge worthy of the national grid. His kiss was thorough. Lengthy. And the second was better even than the first.

Finally, he drew back. ‘
That
makes things easier.’

If it was wrong to lean against his body and feel his heart trotting as fast as hers, funny it felt so right. Even while her brain was trying to raise problems about being hurt and being second best, her heart and her body were drifting along on a puffy cloud of dawning exultation and anticipation.

His gaze was fixed on her with – yes, she was sure it was with tenderness. ‘I’d better tell you the story,’ he murmured, ‘but I don’t know where to begin.’

‘Cut to the chase,’ she suggested. The soft kisses he kept dropping on her face were delicious, made her half close her eyes, feel carefree and loopy. Maybe they
would
have a thing. Go to bed. It would be fun.

‘OK, bottom line – Princess, I love you.’

It took a few moments, to open her eyes again and focus. Her mind supplied her with a riot of responses, but her vocal chords failed her. She swallowed, tried again and whispered, ‘Love me?’ Not just a thing?

‘Really.’ He pulled her harder against him.

But she felt a flash of sudden anger. Why did he have to spoil things, just when she was building up a delicious hot, horny anticipation by saying something so insulting to her intelligence? She pulled sharply away. ‘And what about
Franca
?’

He sighed, clasping his hands behind the small of her back so that she’d really have to fight to remove herself. ‘
Franca
was ... a way of making things clear for you.’ His grip tightened as she began to try and force his hands apart.
‘
Tess, you’re going to listen to this
!
Listen!

‘
Franca
and I were together a couple of years ago. She was working here for six months, when her time was up she wanted something permanent, I didn’t; she went home.

‘Then she met Darrel, who’s much better for her. They married recently.

‘When she wrote that she was coming back for a couple of months – well, I could see how she would be useful.
Listen
!
Darrel took a bit of persuading, though, Frenchmen are terribly mean about lending their wives.’

‘Unsporting!’

He laughed, looked at her face, and stopped. ‘Anyway. She agreed to ...’ She could see him struggling for the right phrases. ‘... Give the impression ... pretend ...’

‘… that you were passionately in love and couldn’t keep your hands off each other?’

‘I suppose. Yes. That was the plan.’

She stopped listening. She’d been moved and manoeuvred, manipulated, and it made her bloody furious! A plot! ‘Who knew about this precious plan?’

He sighed. ‘Angel and Pete, who’ve been calling me every kind of bastard and telling me I was all wrong.
Franca
and Darrel, of course.’

She felt her fingers curl into claws. They’d all been watching, assessing her misery, knowing they could end it! ‘That’s outrageous,’ she hissed through wooden lips. ‘That is just about the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard in my life!’ She again tried to break away, her eyes beginning to burn. ‘It was all a plan, no, a
conspiracy
against me! Let me
go
!’

Contrarily, he jerked her inflexibly against him, his breathing fast and hard, his eyes angry sparks. ‘No, listen!
Just listen
! What am I supposed to do? You sent me crazy with your safe, no-risks, no-pain philosophy! Your sterile
“Don’t touch me, we’re only friends!”
OK, you’ve been hurt, but it was Olly Gray who hurt you, not the rest of the world. Not me! I’m not Olly Gray! And I’ve known, I’ve
known
I love you, I’m pretty damned sure that you feel something for me! Would you admit it? Would you react when I made a move? When I kissed you?’ He kissed her mouth, hard. ‘How was I supposed to make you admit what there is between us and confront your feelings?’ He began to punctuate his words with hot rough kisses, temple, cheeks, neck. ‘Tell me how it made you feel, me with
Franca
. Anything like it felt when I saw you driving off with Olly? Like free-falling without a parachute?

‘Admit it hurt! Tell me you missed me! Be honest with yourself, be brave,
break
out of your safe world.
Feel
again. Tell me. Admit the truth, Tess, and don’t you dare tell me you only want to be my fucking friend!’

He stopped, his blazing gaze searching her face. She knew he was waiting for her. But she was afraid.

She’d loved before and it had hurt, it had hurt! It had led to hopelessness and helplessness and humiliation, illness, the loss of a baby. She allowed herself to think of her lost baby, feel the grief; grief from love.

Was she ever going to be ready to expose herself, ever, ever again?

But, with Ratty’s eyes boring into her, seeing past her fears, she thought about being without him again. Ow. About the disdain she’d see in his eyes if she denied what she felt. For what, anyway?

Safety’s sake.

Safety’s sake? The deadness and woeful isolation she’d experienced watching him with
Franca
?

She swallowed, whispered, ‘And afterwards? When it’s over?’

His whisper was a caress. ‘Why should there be an afterwards? Why shouldn’t it last?’

Would it? Was that relevant? She’d shrunk from the deeper relationship to protect the friendship – but, as he’d quite brutally demonstrated, if he got close to someone else, the friendship would change anyway.

Maybe she owed it to him to admit she loved him back. The feeling welled, strong, imperative.

She let it.

Her eyes shut, fists clenched, she whispered, ‘OK.’

Fingers bit into her arms. ‘OK, what?
Tell
me, you chicken!’ His voice was dangerous-amused, strangled, exasperated, in her face.

Right, she would. One-two-three-
go
! She opened her eyes, took a big breath, met his gaze, half shouted, ‘
Yes
, I love you!’

‘I believe,’ he murmured, when he came up for air. ‘I believe there’s a bottle of Moët chilling at your place?’

‘You devious bastard,’ she marvelled. ‘You and your circuitous routes.’

‘Where’s your coat?’

Hand in hand they flitted across the foyer, the dancing still in full swing through the door to the hall.

Outside, into a breezy spring evening. Ratty admitted he’d almost pulled out of his machinations at the eleventh hour, when he’d kissed her on the bridge and chased her through the coppice, when he’d caught her and thought her defences finally down. Before discovering their audience. ‘Then,’ he complained, bringing up her hand, which he was holding very hard, to kiss it, ‘Simeon suggested we were an item and you snapped his head off, as if the idea was poison. I had to reduce your options.’

‘It’s Simeon who’s poison.’

At Honeybun Cottage, after retrieving the champagne, Ratty fished two napkin-wrapped crystal flutes from the side pockets of his jacket. Uncorking the champagne like a waiter, he cradled the bottle’s mouth with the linen cloth, turning the bottle not the cork,
tutt-shushhh,
not wasting a single bubble. Handing one pale sparkling glassful to her, he touched it with his. ‘Us.’

She sipped. ‘To us.’ She let her tongue lick the delicious crisp dryness from her lips, groaning happily as he sent his tongue tip chasing hers. Champagne-chilled kisses dotting her jaw, she shuddered as he nuzzled the electric spot immediately below her ear lobe.

He suggested softly, ‘Upstairs?’

She nodded.

Up the dogleg stairs, hands clasped, clutching glasses, Ratty holding the bottle neck between strong fingers. Watching him set down the bottle and his glass, light one lamp to a soft pink gleam, turn to her, a tall outline.

And reach for her.

She twitched away, breath racing. ‘God, look at my clothes thrown everywhere! You’d think I’d be able to use a laundry basket at my age, wouldn’t you? Just let me tidy up.’ She knew she was babbling. But the washing! And how fresh were her sheets?

He caught her, swung her against him. ‘Don’t worry, Princess. Everything will be fine.’

For goodness’ sake, she was trembling. She could actually feel herself vibrating like an idling car. His head was just above hers, face tilted towards her, his hands running up and down the backs of her arms. Her voice cracked as she gazed into his face. ‘It’s been so long.’

‘I know. Just let me love you. Tess.’ Face touching hers, lips skimming her forehead, down to her mouth. ‘It’ll be fine. It’ll be marvellous. We’re going to be wonderful, together.’ He held her to his kisses and his caressing hands until she felt secure again, able to melt against him, let him slide off her outer clothes. It was going to be OK.

He reached behind her head and unspiked the clasp in her hair. Because Angel had put it up without the thirty-four grips Tess would have rammed in, her mane swung down with a rush, slithering about her back and her arms and her breasts.

His breath hissed between his teeth. ‘You’re beautiful!’

He stroked her back, her neck, stroked, stroked, until she was aware of nothing but his hands. On her collarbones, shoulder blades, down her ribs at the back and up again at the front. Nuzzling the crook of her neck, making her gasp and rock, the balls of his thumbs a gossamer touch on the sides of her breasts. Breathless with his kisses and hot with anticipation she reached for his shirt buttons. Soon his naked chest was against her and his movements became urgent, hot hands on her breasts, fumbling for a second with a clasp, flinging her underwear across the room.

Hand winding in the thickness of hair at her nape, holding her for his demanding kiss. His sigh rasping, ‘
You’re a gorgeous, sexy woman
!’ Neither of them laughed.

Scooping her up, swinging her onto the bed, Ratty rolled down beside her.

He was right, it was going to be marvellous.

She might even faint from it. From the scalding of his mouth on her breasts, from the roughness of his hands, from the excitement of his flesh on her flesh.

When she reached for him she held her breath – this was where Olly would have refused to let her participate, and her pleasure would be compromised as he twitched away, insisted upon complete control, withdrew until she acquiesced.

But she laid her hand on Ratty and he bucked like a pony, groaned, sinking back onto the pillows.

‘Is that good?’ she breathed.

‘Jeez! It’s ... incredible! Don’t stop.’ His eyes rolled back and he moved with her touch, gasping and clutching as she explored, desire rocketing inside her because she could make him feel like that. And when he reached for her again it took him only seconds to coax her, quivering, to the end of the roller coaster ride.

When the darkness showed the first hint of dawn, he woke her, pulling her nakedness against his body. This time he made love to her with silent urgency. Because at last she was there! He could claim her; pull her body, warm and yielding against his. And love her. He’d made it happen. He deserved to cradle her in his triumph and revel in her response.

Awake. Soaring, glorious, rushing joy.

Tess was in love. The grainy hand that cupped her breast belonged to him; the chest against her back was his, the legs following the crook of hers, the heavy arm across her ribs. The tattoos, the ‘One Miles’ milestone and a car she seemed to remember was a Porsche Speedster.

How incredible she should be in bed with a man with tattoos, Ratty, an unlikely product of a comfortably-off family of lawyers and Army officers. In love with him and his cars and his tattoos and the whole thing.

Rain at the window; she didn’t care! Nor that the floor was strewn with clothes, some of which was yesterday’s laundry. If the sheets hadn’t needed changing before, they did now. She was free to spend the day doing nothing or making love or walking through the woods in the soft, gorgeous, sexy rain. Or making love.

‘What’re you smirking about?’ Gravelly voice, just behind her ear. She wriggled round to face him, his hair tumbled to quills on his forehead like an Angora goat. Kissed the stubble on his cheek. Pressed the flat of a hand to the fan of black hair on his chest.

‘I’m happy.’

The smile began in his blue eyes. ‘Told you it’d be wonderful.’

‘Smug bastard.’

‘Happy bastard.’ Kiss. ‘Lucky bastard.’ Two kisses. Under the quilt, his hand trickled across her stomach. ‘Horny bastard.’