To Love, Honour and Disobey (10 page)

Them? As in more than one opportunity? So the vixen had been hunting him for a while, had she? Ana’s claws sharpened enough to cut more efficiently than a diamond-tipped blade.

Seb stepped closer. Took hold of her chin in firm fingers and made her look at him. To her surprise it
was amusement glowing in the depths of his eyes, not anger. And while his voice was still low, it was threaded with a half-laugh that made her spine go scarily soft.

‘If I wanted to I would have a long time ago. I didn’t want to then, don’t want to now, won’t ever want to. Satisfied?’

The guilt was sloshing around inside with an unusually large dose of embarrassment. But there was a warm twist of pleasure too—and, yes,
satisfaction
. Then the embarrassment gained supremacy. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I’ll leave. I can just sneak away.’

‘No, you can’t,’ he said calmly. ‘You have to smile your way through this as I do. It’s your fault for announcing our marriage so smoothly. You were the one who insisted we come. I’d have skipped it altogether.’

‘
I
didn’t want to come. I just wanted
you
to.’

He shook his head and pulled her wrap from her shoulders, baring her arm, and her body in the silk dress.

‘What are you doing?’ She reached for it but he tossed it onto the nearest chair—grabbed her by the arm to stop her following it.

‘I think the least you can do is give me something good to look at.’

‘Seb.’

His smile was wicked. ‘Ana, what you and I need to do is make the best of a bad situation.’

Somehow she got through the dinner. The jokes. The speeches. Smiling hard, she watched the cake being cut. Finally it was the first dance. A few songs after that she was sure they’d then be able to leave. Ana watched the couple walk to the middle of the floor. Heard Seb groan as the musicians struck a few chords.

‘It’s a snowball,’ he muttered.

‘Snowball?’

Seb shot her a pained look. ‘Not up with wedding traditions, are you?’

Ana watched, mystified, as the couple began to waltz. She couldn’t see the problem; they looked sweet. And then the musicians seemed to pause—holding the note. The bride left her husband’s arms and went and got Seb. While his father went and got her brides-maid—then another chorus of the waltz was played and the two new couples danced. Another pause. Seb went to his mother and the others found new partners. They waltzed round the room for another chorus. Then came the pause again. And Seb walked to her.

She got what he meant now—the dance was repeated over and over, with each pause those dancing would go and get a new partner. Snowballing—slowly expanding the participants until all the guests would be on the floor.

She stared at his outstretched hand. ‘I don’t want to dance, Seb.’

He pulled her into his arms as if he hadn’t heard. The music began and they moved around the room. Finally, thankfully, the pause came. But Seb didn’t move. Didn’t let her go.

‘Aren’t you supposed to get another partner?’

He shrugged. ‘I like the one I’ve got.’

‘Even though I keep standing on your feet?’

‘Just stand and sway.’

And so she did. Turned her face into his neck and breathed in his scent, unable to meet his eyes for long. The expression in them was too overwhelming.

She was like a sea goddess. The pencil-slim shimmering dress deepened her blue eyes, her long glossy hair hung loose, and with her skin gently golden from the sun and the deeper brown henna tattoo across it she looked stunning. She was so lovely he nearly swallowed his tongue. It felt as if it had grown to three times its usual size—but it wasn’t only his tongue getting thick.

His heart beat uncomfortably hard as he realised just how much he’d wanted to hold her again. And now that he was, he was in no hurry to let go.

He watched her; with the shoes she was wearing she was only a little shorter than him and he could see almost levelly into her eyes. Or he would be able to if she actually looked at him. And suddenly it struck him—that was the thing, wasn’t it? For all the fantastic sex they’d had, she never looked him in the eyes—at least not for long. She took pleasure from him, burned under his touch, but refused to connect with that simplest of intimacies.

No more.

‘Ana.’ He felt an utter compulsion to reach through to her. ‘Don’t go remote.’

‘What?’

‘Look at me.’

He knew his mother was watching. And his father. Both were staring over the shoulders of their partners. But he didn’t care what they thought. He just wanted to be with her. It was all he seemed to want.

She’d enjoyed the wedding. He’d watched her face during the vows, seen her smile. Could see the way she was glowing now. Yeah. She loved the whole deal. She’d want the big performance one day. And how
would she look in a traditional wedding dress? With a veil wisping over her hair and face and the bloom of radiance that he had to admit did descend over a bride?

He pulled her closer. She followed him easily now. Her body soft against his. Then her leg tangled, brushing too close, and his pulse went even more erratic. She was going to be the death of him. He hauled her even closer and gave up on the trying-to-step bit. Stand and sway was all it could be. Her lids had drooped again, but it was different this time. Masculine pleasure filled him for he knew the reason—desire-drugged, she couldn’t keep them open.

He let her have a moment and glanced down at her arm. It looked as if someone had drizzled melted chocolate over the caramel skin of her upper arm. He ached to taste it. To run the tip of his tongue over the swirling design. OK, he was glad it wasn’t permanent, but it was fun for now. Just like the rest of her—right?

Fun for now. But their fun was over—closure. They were supposed to have left the lust in Africa.

‘Ana.’

‘Yes?’

‘You’re not looking at me.’

‘I’m looking at your chin.’

‘Look into my eyes.’

‘You want to hypnotise me or something?’

Part of him wished he could. He had no idea what she wanted from him. Did she want to kiss him the same way he was dying to kiss her? With the same kind of desperation? She wasn’t saying. But now he longed to know exactly what she was thinking. Why she was thinking it and what was she feeling for him?

Or maybe he didn’t want to know. In case it wasn’t the same.

He was losing track of his thoughts. So gave up and just sealed himself to her, lost in the blue of her eyes and the soft invitation of her mouth.

Closure? Who was he kidding?

Ana’s head was spinning and she was needy. The kiss was incredible. Soft and gentle and not enough. She wanted more—she wanted it all. But now the waltz was over. She wanted the cheesy music back. She wanted his arms back.

But he stepped away, breaking the contact. Putting on the brakes.

And then his mother was there, all over-bright eagle eyes, and his father too. She managed to be polite but inside she was bursting. It hadn’t gone—hell, would it ever go? This desire she felt for him?

And he knew. Played on it—making the best of a bad situation? He did that by invading every inch of her personal space. His hands didn’t leave her body—either he held her hand, or rested a palm on the small of her back, or slung his arm along her shoulders, his leg pressed to hers as they chatted to his father’s friends. And he looked at her—the
way
he looked at her. As if she were the most beautiful woman on the planet.

He made her feel like an enchantress. And she longed to be able to cast a spell—so she could get herself some kind of fairy tale.

Stupid. She already knew the power to make her life something special was in her own hands—down to her decisions.

So she gave up on the bubbly and switched to mineral water in an attempt to regain sanity. But it didn’t help her increasing temperature—the need spiralling through her system. She was hotter than she’d ever been in Africa—and now glad of her skimpy dress. She couldn’t be this close to him and not have him.

‘Are you ready to leave?’ His eyes searched hers.

She looked away from the heat in them. ‘Whenever you are.’

He had the goodbyes done and them out of there in under ten minutes.

They drove back through the dark, wet streets. It was late but she wasn’t tired. Every sense wide awake.

‘Did you have a good time?’ He finally broke the silence.

‘Yes,’ she admitted honestly. ‘Did you?’

‘Yeah. Parts of it were pretty good.’

He pulled into a parking bay a couple of spaces from Phil’s building. She felt a bite of disappointment. There’d been no invitation back to his place. It really was over, wasn’t it? He might have flirted, might have stolen a kiss, but when it came to it, he was playing safe.

He turned off the engine and looked at her. ‘Thank you for coming with me today,’ he said gruffly.

Well, neither of them had
come
. But she wanted to. Badly. Once more the recklessness flowed through her veins—the damn-it-all-to-hell burst of ‘I want’ that had swept over her in Africa.

And so she moved, undoing her seat belt and leaning towards him. She did what she’d wanted to do all evening. Hooking her hand round his neck, she brought his mouth back to hers.

What caused this madness? Was it the champagne or the frock or the whole shock of the evening when they’d been exposed as almost newly-weds?

None of the above. It was pure Seb. From having him so close and not touching him the way she’d ached to for seven or so hours. The pressure had mounted inside her, now it was on its unstoppable release. And with the rush of sexual adrenalin she remembered there were benefits to simply taking what you wanted. To just going for it. Excitement—raw and intoxicating.

He had long legs and so the driver’s seat was positioned back as far as it could go—meaning there was plenty of room between his chest and the steering wheel. She used all of it. Straddling him, her dress slipping up as she spread over him, she unfastened his trousers.

‘Ana.’ But he didn’t resist. Indeed his hands helped, his mouth settling on her most sensitive areas. He knew. He knew so well how to please her.

It was quiet and dark on the London street. But inside the car their breathing was harsh and fast and their movements frantic until the blissful moment when she pushed down so he was deep inside her. She clenched her muscles hard to hold him. Loved the raw groan that shook him.

‘I thought we weren’t in Africa.’ He nipped the side of her neck and she shuddered with delight.

‘This is hotter than Africa.’

‘Sure is.’

His hands slid over the silk of her dress, seeking skin, seeking to slow. But she rode him fast, catching his mouth to muffle the sounds as they both came too quickly.

Only moments later, panting, she understood the futility as the surge of bliss waned and the hunger returned threefold. This wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t ever be enough. Chasing fulfilment in this physical way was a mistake.

Damn.

She’d opened his door and was off his lap before Seb could blink, let alone breathe.

He leaned out and grabbed hold of her hand. ‘You’re not inviting me in?’

‘I don’t want to disturb Phil and Jack.’

Given that those two were a couple of hundred miles away, he knew that would be impossible. She’d just lied—using them as an excuse to stop him from spending the night with her. Ironic when she’d been the one who’d just ravished him. But now she was running. Again. He let her go. ‘OK.’

He watched her fly to the door as if the devil were at her heels. Looked down and saw he still had his seat belt on. He half laughed, figured she’d just put a whole new spin on the concept of safe sex. Yeah, real safe sex. The sort of sex where she didn’t look him in the eye and didn’t deal with him after—neither physically or emotionally. The sort of sex he’d had most of his life. And while it was frisky and fun, wickedly exciting, all of a sudden it wasn’t enough.

Something savage burned deep inside his belly. No. He didn’t want sex like that any more. Well, he did, but he wanted even more—he wanted to hold her close in a big bed for
hours
. He wanted her to look at him, laugh with him, damn it.

He inhaled a deep, totally rationalising breath of extremely
frosty air. It was just the hit he needed. Hell, what was she doing to him?

‘Hey, Ana,’ he called as she stepped through the door. ‘Who’s the pirate now?’

S
EB
knocked harder on the door of Phil’s apartment, finally heard Ana’s thumping footsteps and grumbles as she opened it up. He raised his brows at her appearance. Somehow her tan had got sallower overnight; dark circles ringed her eyes.

‘Your hangover’s that bad?’ He walked straight in.

He’d spent the whole night awake reliving those frantic moments in the car when she’d ravished him. His heart still thundered with the recollection, making the blood surge vitally through his veins. For the first time in days he felt alive. Whereas she looked queasy. That made him nervous.

‘Why are you here?’

‘Have you eaten?’ He ignored her bald question. He’d deal with that once she had some sustenance.

She shook her head, looking pinched at the suggestion. He didn’t think she’d had that much to drink at all. ‘You should—’

‘No, thanks, Seb.’

At the very least she was having a coffee. He went to the kitchen and started fiddling with Phil’s espresso machine.

She sank onto the sofa and stared at the black boots on the floor in front of her. ‘Why are you here?’

He sat next to her, tapped his finger on his knee and figured he might as well get it over with. ‘I don’t know if you realise this, Ana, but we didn’t use a condom last night.’

To his intense surprise she laughed. ‘Oh, don’t worry about that.’

Don’t worry about it? After what she’d been through?

She shook her head. ‘I’m on the Pill, Seb. I’m fanatical about it. Besides, I’m down one tube—there’s less chance of a successful pregnancy.’

Oh. OK. The Pill. Good. That was good. She was safe. And he didn’t need to feel as if there were needles being rammed in him all sides over.

But he did.

Less chance of a successful pregnancy.

Right.

The silence grew. He watched as she slowly shrank deeper into the sofa. All of a sudden he knew he had to get out—and that he had to get her out. To fresh air and salt water—to where he could clear his head and she could hers. ‘Come on, we’re going for a drive.’

‘I don’t want to go for a drive.’

‘Tough.’

It wasn’t the result of too much alcohol making Ana feel queasy at all. She’d only drunk a couple of glasses of bubbly. But she’d let Seb think it was a hangover—that way she could explain away that hussy moment on drink rather than desperate desire.

She’d thrown herself at him. Literally launched herself aboard and stolen a ride. One that hadn’t been
enough. And that was what was really making her sick. She still wanted more. One look at him in his jeans and charcoal jersey and she was all warm mush inside and longing for things neither of them wanted. Seb wasn’t into for ever and she was building her business—so she could build her life around that. And that was why she had to do this now.

She had to stop seeing Seb.

Today was the day.

Yet somehow she was walking out with him. Feeling her cheeks flush as she slid into his car. He lightened the drive with idle chat, chat and more chat. It was amazing how he could keep a conversation going all by himself.

‘Are you still alive?’

OK, so he was clued into her quietness. She smiled. ‘I’m enjoying your waffle.’

It wasn’t all she enjoyed about him. And that was her problem, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just the sex that she liked—she liked him all round. And, knowing him the way she did now, she knew that was doubly dangerous for her.

They finally arrived at the seaside. Walked for an age on the sand—not speaking, just stretching legs and listening to the seagulls. Ordinarily such exercise would soothe her. But she was too anxious for it to work today.

‘Let’s get an ice cream.’ He looked so vital—his face full of colour and humour.

‘Seb, it’s freezing.’

‘Ice cream usually is.’

‘No, I mean the weather.’

‘But we’re at the beach and when at the beach—’

‘We need to stop this, Seb,’ she said quickly.

He stopped talking and walking. Their eyes met.

‘Last night—’

‘Was a mistake.’ She interrupted him again. ‘We need to stop.’

She needed to stop.

She turned and walked back towards the car. There was nothing more to say. Nothing more she could say because the side of her head was suddenly pounding as if a hundred tribesmen were beating drums inside it. She needed to close her eyes. She needed to lie down. Why was the car so far away?

‘Ana?’ Seb’s hand clasped round her upper arm as she swayed.

‘I’m OK.’

‘No, you’re—’ His curses made her head hurt more.

‘Migraine. I’ve just got a migraine.’ The pain intensified in seconds, ratcheting up to unbearable. ‘Let’s go. I want to go.’

Blindly she turned, screwing up her eyes to block the vicious light. His other arm was at her waist, she felt him guide her, push her into the car and felt him reach across to do up her belt.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ He shut her door. In seconds he was in his seat; the engine purred as he got them away. But the waves of agonising pain worsened. She couldn’t get air into her lungs. She breathed harder, faster, but still it wouldn’t work. Panicked, she felt the pain in her head pulse with increasing fervour. Her mouth filled with poisonous-tasting spit.

‘Seb!’ She warned him just in time.

He pulled over and she got the door open and leaned into the gutter. The sickness was violent and hideous.

She groaned, embarrassment adding to her overall vile feeling as she felt his hand rubbing gentle circles over her back. But then the pounding in her head resumed so badly she no longer cared.

‘There are wet wipes in my bag,’ she muttered. ‘A little packet.’

‘Wet wipes.’ She heard the smile in his voice, then the rustling like grenades detonating in her ears. Then she felt the coolness on her brow.

‘I can do that.’ She moved too fast and winced.

He pushed her hand away.

‘Seb,’ she whispered, now mortified.

Gently he turned her head towards him and smoothed the wipe over her forehead and down. She opened her eyes, wanting to apologise, but his expression was too tender for her to bear. She closed her eyes once more.

He reached across and redid her belt. She leant her head against the seat, unable to move at all. Even a fraction caused such throbbing pain.

It felt like for ever that they were driving but finally he switched off the engine. She opened her eyes and looked.

His house. Not Phil’s.

‘Come on, honey.’ He had her door open, scooped her into his arms.

‘Seb, you’ll break your back.’

‘Shut up.’

She did, burrowing her head into his broad chest, too sore to love the fact that she was actually being carried like some feather-light feminine princess. Mercifully soon they were on the second floor and in a big bedroom and then into a room off that. He
lowered her onto a chair. She heard his footsteps sound on the tiles, a drawer slide open and then close again.

‘Ana.’ He handed her a new toothbrush and a travelsized pack of toothpaste and left her alone. He was always prepared for an overnight guest, huh? But her head already hurt too much for her to add that to it. And honestly she was just so grateful to be able to brush her teeth.

After she’d freshened up she slowly went back into the bedroom. He met her halfway across the floor. Carefully he slipped the shirt over her head, smoothly got rid of her trousers. The covering on the bed was already pulled back and the curtains drawn. The sheets were cool, the room dark. Shivering, she rolled onto her side, burying the blinding side of her head into the pillow. The mattress depressed further. She exhaled as he took the space beside her. But he said nothing, didn’t move more other than to put a gentle arm over her hip and cradle her back against him. Slowly his warmth seeped into her. She felt sleep start to claim her. The relief was immense.

When she woke she turned her head experimentally, felt the rush of relief as she realised that the headache had gone. But even better than that, he was curled around her—arms about her, his legs entwined, keeping her warm with skin on skin. He was naked—and hiding nothing, certainly not his hardness.

‘Better?’ His whisper was sweet in her ear.

‘Yes.’

He rolled her to face him. She looked into his allserious eyes.

‘We’re not stopping,’ he said quietly. ‘Not yet.’

She tried to turn away, to slip from the bed, but he stopped her with the weight of his body and a kiss that stole her breath.

‘Your migraine yesterday proves it,’ he said when he finally lifted his head.

Yesterday? She’d slept through a whole night? ‘Proves what?’

‘That you’re not ready to walk away just yet. That you’re stressed about it.’

Of course she was stressed. And that was exactly why it had to stop. But he didn’t give her the chance to say it—his mouth caught hers again, silencing them both for long moments.

‘Listen to me,’ he muttered. ‘Look at me.’ His hands moved, tormenting with their slow caresses. ‘If you don’t look at me, I’ll stop.’

What choice did she have? Silently she stared up at him.

‘You have the most incredible legs. So long, so smooth, and up here—’ his fingers caressed the inner part of her thighs ‘—so soft.’

So what could she do but spread them further?

He smiled. ‘And your breasts. Oh, your breasts.’ He bent and took a nipple into his mouth—one then the other. ‘So perfect.’

He shifted, settling his weight in place, kissing her again as she melted around him. ‘And here—’ he slid home with a groan ‘—you have the hottest place a man could ever hope to find.’

She had to close her eyes; the sensation was too overwhelming for her to cope.

But true to his word he stopped moving. And then withdrew.

‘No,’ she whimpered.

‘Look at me, Ana,’ he said softly, his hand cupping her chin.

She did. His eyes were piercing and yet tender.

‘If you want me, you have to stay with me.’ He pressed into her again.

She shuddered, blinked rapidly.

‘Right with me,’ he warned.

She licked her lips but couldn’t look away. It felt too good. He was too good.

Their faces were mere inches apart, and there wasn’t a millimetre between the rest of them as their bodies fused. She stared into his beauty, knew that he was seeing right through her. They’d never been so intimate.

‘But the most beautiful thing about your body is your eyes. No, don’t close them. Let me see.’

And she let him, as slowly, silently their bodies meshed together, parted, and then merged closer still. Her breathing hitched. So did his.

She wanted to beg him not to be so gentle. That this tenderness was too much. But she could say nothing. For her heart was bursting—surely about to break. But then it wasn’t breaking. It was expanding—filling with warmth from the look in his eyes. And she could resist it no longer.

He didn’t speak again. The palm of his hand cradled the side of her face, stopping her from turning away from the intensity of his gaze. But she couldn’t, even if he let her. Those ice-blue eyes of his had melted and inside them she could read all the things she dreamed of yet dared not. That he meant his sweet words, that he wanted her, that he cared.

But she daredn’t believe. And the effort not to was pulling her apart, until she was unable to stop the stinging sheen blurring her vision.

He kissed each tear away and his whisper roared loud in her heart. ‘But even your eyes aren’t as beautiful as your soul, Ana.’

And with every long, slow thrust he tore down the last of her defences.

Overwhelmed, unable to stand it any longer, she reached up for him, captured his beautiful mouth with her own. The kiss went on and their arms wound tighter around each other. She closed her eyes but couldn’t keep anything back. Not as she felt his body flex even stronger, the groan reverberating in his broad chest as he began to move even more powerfully. And all she could do was cling, let her body move, her mouth move, touching him, pulling him closer.
Urging
him to finish it.

His fingers tunnelled into her hair, firmly keeping her face turned up to his as he broke the kiss and relentlessly bored into her again.

‘Please.’ She wanted faster—had to have it that way or she was sure she’d die.

But he resisted, kept it slow, so slow and so deep for so long. She was mindless with desperation, her cries sounding higher and higher. Until with an almost inhuman scream she hit the edge and went hurtling light years beyond her limits.

On and on the climax went—almost brutal in its intensity. Her fingers clawed into his muscles; her body shook with the fierceness of it.

And still it wasn’t over, still he moved, still unbearably slowly, overwhelmingly intense. His face
darkened, taut with the effort, his body slick with sweat. Until he could hold back no longer, deep groans of male pleasure racking him.

She shook, her arms and legs curled tight—clamping around him. And it felt as if he were pouring everything she’d ever wanted into her.

She refused to open her eyes now—not wanting to break the spell that she was under, the sublime, treasured feeling. But moment by moment reality impinged. He’d moved just slightly, so he wasn’t crushing her, and she listened as their breathing returned to normal.

He’d just broken her heart. She knew he hadn’t meant to, but he had. No matter his old playboy habits, in his own way he was caring. He’d known she’d felt low and he’d set about making her feel good the best way he knew—with fabulous, sweet sex.

But that was all it was. Short-term charm. Because that was all Seb ever did—flings. Fun affairs. And knowing more of his background now, she even understood a bit of why he wanted only that.

She closed her eyes. The problem was that what they’d just shared hadn’t been fun to her. That had been
everything
.

How could she have thought she could handle him again? She was such an idiot. But she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Wouldn’t ask him for more—demand what she knew he had no desire to deliver. Mortification resurged—it had gone bone deep when she’d realised he hadn’t married her because he was madly in love with her; she didn’t want to be so foolish again now.