Authors: Sara Craven
As he came in, she regretted choosing the sofa, in case he interpreted that as a mute invitation to come and sit beside her. But instead he went to one of the armchairs and dropped into it, stretching his long legs to the glow of the fire. Then he looked across at her.
'Relax,' he said wearily. 'You look like a cat on hot bricks.'
'Is it any wonder.' Cass retorted. 'Do you think I have no feelings at all?'
'No,' he said. 'On recent evidence, that's the last thing that would occur to me.' Without a change in inflection, he went on, 'Sure you couldn't use some coffee? I promise not to startle you into spilling it this time.'
She gave a constrained smile. 'I dare not risk it—not while I'm wearing your sister's beautiful clothes.'
He leaned back watching her through half-closed eyes. 'Well, there's a simple solution to that particular problem,' he said softly. 'Come over here, and I'll show you.'
Her body went rigid. 'No.'
'Why not?' he asked. 'The room is warm. The cottage is private. No-one's going to walk in on us.'
She ran the tip of her tongue round dry lips. 'Because—because I refuse to be—used as a sex object by you.'
'All right,' Rohan said equably, his mouth slanting into a smile. 'Then why don't you use me as one instead? I promise you won't hear one word of complaint.'
She said huskily, 'I can't.'
'Then come here.' His voice was implacable. 'Or do I have to fetch you?' He waited for a moment, then rose to his feet and came over to her. He took her wrists and drew her gently but inexorably upright, so that she was facing him. He said gently, 'I want to hold you, darling. I want to kiss you. I want to feel every warm sweet inch of you against me as I did that night in London. And, if you wish, it can stop at that. Only—be close to me now.' His arms went round her, pulling her to him. For a long moment, she stood, wrapped in his embrace, then her body slackened, shaking, against his, and of her own accord she lifted her mouth, blindly, seeking his kiss.
His lips were tender on hers, making few demands, allowing her to set the pace. She began to touch him shyly, running her hands along the strong line of his shoulders, and after a moment he whispered, 'Wait' while he peeled the thin black sweater over his head, and tossed it away. 'Now.' He drew her hands back to him again, holding them against the muscled wall of his chest, the strong beat of his heart.
Her fingertips moved on him slowly, learning him, sensing his pleasure as her caresses became less tentative. He kissed her again, coaxing her lips apart, exploring her mouth intimately, then, without taking his lips from hers, he sank down on to his knees on the big fur rug in front of the fire, taking her with him to kneel before him.
Slowly, as if he had all the time in the worlds he began to free the little mother of pearl buttons which fastened her silk shirt. Cass shivered as she felt the soft glide of the material from her shoulders, and down her arms as he removed it. For a moment his fingers teased her, playing almost idly with the scalloped lacey edge of her bra, tracing the soft mounding of her breasts where they swelled from the confining cups. Then the restricting clip snapped open, and his hands cupped her instead.
Her head fell back with a little, helpless sigh of pleasure as he caressed her, his fingers a sweet, inciting torment against the swollen rosy nipples. His mouth slid down to her throat, exploring the soft hollows at its base, then feathering a leisurely path downwards, his tongue curling into the scented cleft between her breasts.
His lips began to verify the excitement he had created, brushing the hard peaks as lightly as a butterfly's wing, making her body arch, shuddering with delight. At the same time, his hands were moving downwards, freeing her from the clinging folds of her skirt. Then, gently, he lowered her so that she was lying on the rug. The long fingers stroked down her body once in promise and anticipation, then he lifted himself away from her. Lying, the firelight flickering on her half-closed eyes, Cass sensed the soft sounds and movements as he undressed—the clink of his belt buckle, the rasp of his zip.
When he took her in his arms again, she turned to him, her whole body an ache of welcome, gasping as the hair-roughened texture of his skin grazed her own from breast to thigh.
His mouth sought her breasts again, hungrily and possessively, using his tongue to pleasure the urgent nipples. His hands slid over her, intimately, sensuously, and everywhere he touched, little coils of intensity began to burn, consuming her.
He whispered raggedly, 'Must I stop, darling. Must I?'
Against the softness of her thighs, she could feel the hardness of him, the potent strength of his maleness demanding access.
She kissed him on the mouth, her tongue flicking restlessly, fiercely against his, her hands sweeping down his body, exploring from his shoulders to the narrow muscular flanks, hearing the breath rasp in his throat as he fought for control.
Her mouth still locked to his, she made the slight, languorous movement of her body which was all that was needed to accommodate him. Felt his own movement in response, the breath catching in her throat as she experienced the gentle sublety of his penetration of her. In this, as in everything, he was unhurried, and when, at last, his possession was total, complete, he wrapped her in his arms, and lay holding her, joined to her, giving her time to savour the intimate wonder of his body in hers.
Then the warm weight of him lifted from her slightly, and he began to move, slowly, easily at first, beckoning her, luring her into some strange and secret world. Caught up in the rhythm he had initiated, she moved with him, responding to sheer instinct as her slim hips arched in answer to his thrusts.
The firelight was turning his bare skin to bronze, she thought, worshipping him with her eyes as he worshipped her with his body. Yet coherent thought was becoming difficult. The focus of her attention was changing, turning in on herself to her innermost physical being, and the new sensations he was creating for her. Need was spiralling— was becoming wild urgency. She couldn't control it any more than she could control the little moans bursting from her taut throat, the fierce supple twisting of her body in reply to his quickening, deepening demands.
He mouth clung, heatedly, hungrily to his. Her fingers bit into his shoulders, her slim legs gripping him with a kind of desperation as she sought for her release.
And when, at last, it came, she was almost overwhelmed. Wave after wave of delight tore through her, convulsing her in spasms so intense she thought she might die. She could hear her voice crying something in frantic disbelief, and his voice groaning an answer as he reached the climax to his own pleasure.
Then the storm passed, leaving her folded in his arms as she had been when it began.
Rohan was the first to stir> levering himself up on one elbow to look down at her, his hand stroking the curve of her passion-flushed face.
'My Cassandra,' he said huskily. 'My wild, sweet angel.'
She smiled at him shyly, then captured his stroking hand and pressed it to her lips. 'Thank you.'
He shook his head, frowning slightly. 'Don't go humble on me, darling. The pleasure was entirely mutual, and you know it.' He pushed the sweat-dampened hair back from her forehead, kissing her temples, her eyes, the tip of her small, straight nose. He murmured 'I can see my nights are going to take on a whole new dimension from now on.' He rolled on to his back, taking her with him, so that she was lying on top of him. 'When I've regained sufficient strength to tackle the stairs, we'll have that early night you mentioned.'
She pantomimed astonishment. 'You mean— again?
He sent her a lazy grin. 'That was just your starter for ten. Let's see how many bonus points you can earn.
'When would you like me to start?' She bent her head, and delicately licked his flat nipples.
His brows lifted provocatively. 'Now?' he suggested.
She woke early the next morning and lay for a long time, boneless as a kitten, watching him sleep.
She felt amazing, she thought. Twice as alive as usual, if that was possible. In fact until last night, apart from giving birth to Jodie, she wondered whether she had ever been alive at all.
She stretched luxuriously, but gently, reluctant to disturb him. He deserved his rest, she thought, a mischievous smile curving her mouth. She'd wake him later, as he'd woken her sometime during the night, with kisses…
A little shiver of anticipatory desire rippled through her, and she had to bite back a laugh of sheer exuberance.
Apart from teaching her with utter finality that she was not and never had been frigid, he'd had other lessons for her. She'd never imagined, for instance, that passion could be commingled with laughter, and enhanced by it. Never guessed that someone so strong, so totally masculine could be so gently intuitive to her every need, almost before she was aware of them herself. Never dreamed she could be coaxed into taking the initiative, lured into showing him quite explicitly what she wanted—even into telling him. Whatever lingering inhibitions she might have had, no longer existed.
Cass sat cautiously, sliding back the covers, and shivering a little as the cool morning air met her warm nakedness. His robe was lying across a chair, and she put it on, even though it swamped her. Their clothes were still downstairs, strewn all over the hearthrug, and she felt they should be moved, just in case someone decided to intrude on their privacy after all. She'd make some coffee too, and bring it back to bed, she thought as she went downstairs, holding up the hem of the robe so she didn't trip on it.
It was an odd disappointment, almost a shock, to find that it was raining, the sky thick with threatening cloud. Cass had been expecting the sun-drenched promise of the previous day to match her mood. Before they'd finally fallen asleep, Rohan had murmured something about driving over to Graystocks to see Jodie. The rain wouldn't prevent that, but it would make a difference to their plans for how to spend the day.
She smiled to herself, envisaging Jodie's delight when she saw them, then stopped abruptly in her self-appointed task of retrieving their scattered clothing, huddling the robe further around her to combat a sudden feeling of chill. The glowing joy which wrapped her around was beginning to subside as reality took over. What was it people said about the cold light of day?
She took the clothes upstairs, then trailed down slowly to the kitchen where their percolator was gently bubbling. She poured herself a cup of the brew, black and strong, and carried it over to the table. She would take Rohan's up presently, she thought, but first she had to think.
Because the plain fact was that last night, however world shattering and tumultuous it had been for her, had basically changed nothing. She had been seduced by an expert, but that was all. There was no future in their relationship, and never had been. Rohan had marked her as his prey, stalked her, and caught her. There were no excuses she could make. She'd fought a losing battle from the beginning, and in the end, she'd run out of defences against him.
Now she was in the trap she'd dreaded. Just another name on the list of ladies who'd been invited to share his life and his bed for a while. And when it was over, in however many days, weeks or months that it took, she would be expected to accept the situation with a good grace, and retire back to obscurity, with her memories to sustain her.
She sank her teeth into her lower lip until she could taste blood.
But in her case, there was an extra factor to be taken in account. Her daughter, whose stability and long term security should have been her own prime consideration. Little Jodie, who'd already shown how desperately keen she was to have a father-figure in her life, and demonstrated, embarrassingly, her readiness to place Rohan in that role.
But that could not be, and Cass knew it. And if she allowed her relationship with Rohan to develop any further, Jodie was bound to be involved, to build up hopes, expectations of Rohan that he could not fulfil.
She swallowed convulsively. Young, lonely widows, with young, vulnerable children could not afford to indulge in casual affairs. The happiness they brought was only transient. The heartbreak when they ended, guaranteed. And the effect on Jodie when Rohan backed away from them could well be catastrophic.
She drank some more coffee. Rohan would know that, of course. He was far from insensitive. In fact, it was perfectly possible that he might continue the affair, long after she'd ceased to hold any real attraction for him, out of a sense of obligation, merely because she was not one of the glamorous, sophisticated types like Serena Vance with whom he was usually involved.
But she didn't want him to feel obligated. No man wanted a ready made family foisted on him, as Lloyd had so cruelly pointed out to her. But the cruelty made the observation no less true. The last thing in the world she wanted was for Jodie and herself to become a burden on Rohan, an albatross round his neck. And the torture of waiting for the blow to fall, waiting for the kind of rapture they'd shared together to dwindle into kindness and a sense of duty was too awful to contemplate.
Pain tore through her, ripping her apart. No, better to end it now, while she was still capable of doing so. Before she made the fatal error of telling him she loved him.
He'd done so much for her, she thought. She had no right to impose the weight of her love and Jodie's need on him. Because of Rohan, she was a woman at last. He'd achieved what he'd set out to do. He'd made her free—free of fear—free of the haunted past.
Now, in return, she could liberate him too. She pressed her knuckles against her quivering lips, suppressing a sob. And now that she knew what she had to do—for everyone's sake—the sooner it was accomplished the better.
The taxi-driver sounded surprised to receive a call so early in the morning, but he agreed he was available, and they fixed a time for him to fetch her.
Moving like a ghost, Cass washed and dressed, using with reluctance some more of the clothes Marcia had provided—a classically cut tweed skirt this time, and a thin russet coloured sweater.