Nights in White Satin: A Loveswept Classic Romance (11 page)

In spite of the agony, she felt strangely satisfied by her efforts. It had been good work for the most basic of needs—food to eat. The accomplishment had touched something deep inside her. No wonder Rick loved his manor. She was beginning to love all of it too. Too much. It was all so tempting—England … and Rick.

Jill took a deep breath, bearing the pain. To have worked beside him, though, was a mistake. She had gone out to persuade him, and instead had shared a part of his life. She had been like a helpmeet.

She shook her head to dispel the old-fashioned word for wife—and the insidious thought. She immediately yelped at the pain. When her body could tolerate movement again, she slowly took off her clothes and put on her nightgown, whimpering the entire time.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch …” she muttered, pulling back the covers and getting into bed.

A knock sounded on her door. “Jill? Are you okay?”

She closed her eyes, recognizing Rick’s voice. He must have ears sharper than George or Daisy.

“Yes,” she called out, feeling like a cornered fox with a dog breathing down her hiding place.

“What?”

“Yes! I’m okay!” She winced. Even her voice muscles hurt.

“Oh. Well, I got the …” His voice dropped off and the solid oak door effectively blocked the rest of his words.

“What? I can’t hear you?”

“Are you decent?”

“I hope so.”

He opened the door, just as she pulled the covers up to her chin. She forced herself to smile through the sharp twinges of protest. Her body wouldn’t win any Academy Awards for acting.

He gazed at her, silent for a moment. He looked great in a yellow oxford shirt and blue jeans, his American roots showing distinctly. She felt a twinge of another kind, a low pulsing warmth seeping through her system. Suddenly she realized they were alone in her room. She wished she’d recognized the implications of that before he’d opened the door.

Rick looked at home, unfortunately. That didn’t help her dissolving willpower.

“I was saying,” he began, “that I made a few calls and we’ve got tickets for the regatta next week.”

She smiled, determined to be as nonchalant as he. “Front-row seats. I knew you could do it.”

He shook his head and chuckled. “Lucky I’m a member. Henley’s been booked for months. Why are you lying flat on the bed?”

She stared up at him, her brain whirring for an answer. “It’s good for your circulation to lie flat as much as possible.”

“All the blood pools at your back.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And I just pulled in every favor I could to get
you to the regatta.” He eyed her speculatively. “You’re lying flat because something’s wrong.”

She knew she’d sound sillier if she continued to hide everything. She went for the unconcerned mode. “Just some sore muscles from today. A little rest and I’ll be fine.”

“I thought you were slowing up at dinner. How bad is it?”

“I already told you. Not bad.” She decided to sit up to prove it to him.

It was a big mistake.

Jill yelped the moment she pushed herself up against the mattress, and every muscle screeched like two thirty-car freight trains about to collide.

“Okay, so I lied,” she gasped, relaxing back onto the pillow. Another mistake. “Ouch, ouch, ouch!”

“Can I do anything?”

She appreciated the offer, but doubted it. “Just find me a case of witch hazel and a Swedish masseuse named Inga with hands like hams, and I’ll die a happy woman.”

Rick snorted in amusement. “You’ll be a board by morning.”

“Just stand me on end, and I’ll eventually warp back into place.”

“You need help now. Hang on.” He walked out of the room.

“Rick! Never mind,” she called, then winced again.

“Hang on.”

“Wonderful,” she muttered.

He returned almost immediately and held up something. “How about a bottle of witch hazel and an English masseur named Rick with hands like pork chops?”

“Thank you, but no,” she said primly.

He raised his right hand. “I promise to be a perfect gentleman. Now don’t you be a fool, Jill.”

Her face heated. “I … can’t. I’m not wearing any underwear.”

His eyes widened in surprise, then he grinned. “Really? You don’t wear underwear to bed?”

“Well, I’m wearing a nightgown!” she snapped.

“I promise not to look,” he said, repeating her words of the day he had torn his pants. He made no effort to hide his amusement.

“Sorry.”

“Look, I’ll arrange the sheet so we expose the right areas, and I don’t see a thing. Will that satisfy your puritan heart?”

It was dangerous, she thought. But to refuse would put more emphasis on her already obvious attraction to him. It would be just like slathering lotion on at the beach, surely. Besides, with her body in such agony, what
could
happen? Nothing, she firmly told herself. Absolutely nothing. She’d be screaming in pain and that ought to kill any amorous mood.

She tightened her jaw. She must be nuts even to consider it. “No. I’ll be fine.”

His eyes narrowed. “Flip over on your stomach.”

“I don’t flip. I slowly squirm my way around.”

“Then do it or I’ll do it for you.”

He looked deadly, and she knew he meant every word. The pain was riding higher, and she was desperate for relief. Without help, she’d feel much worse before she felt better. She could control her reaction to him. She had to because she’d be damned before she made a fool of herself. After one last glance at his face, she squirmed onto her
stomach, “ouching” all the way. She gasped her relief into the pillow when she was finally done.

Rick sat down on the edge of the bed and took hold of the bedclothes.

“What are you doing?” she exclaimed.

“I can’t give a massage through a quilt and sheet, or did you forget that?”

“Push the covers down to my waist. I’ll do my gown,” she ordered, not wanting his hands on her any more than necessary.

She carefully hiked up her gown until it was out from under the covers. At that point she gave up gladly. Rick pushed the gown to her shoulders, leaving the quilt safely at her waist. She stared at the bottle as he set it down on the night table, listening to him rubbing his hands together. She braced herself for his touch.

When it came, it was clinically efficient. He massaged her shoulders with a firmness even her imaginary Inga would have been proud of. Jill pressed her face into the pillow and moaned softly at the pain and the soothing sensation of the warm witch hazel.

“See? Gentleman all.”

She turned her head and glanced at him from out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t rub it in … or rather, do.”

“I’ve been thinking about the Henley,” he said.

“We’re going.”

“Right. I was about to say that even though the traffic will be horrendous, commuting will work out well. It was a good idea of yours.”

“Thanks.”

His hands were beginning to work magic on her sore muscles. The tension slowly eased from
her body. His fingers drifted from her shoulders and upper back, spreading relief across her rib cage. Jill sighed with pleasure. Although she was aware of him, the relaxing of her muscles kept the awareness from turning to something more primitive.

“You’ve got a very smooth back.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, almost drowsy. The heat of the massage radiated through her, but it didn’t quite reach the pain in her thighs. That kept her from falling asleep under his ministrations. “How’re the cabbages?”

“Dry, thanks to you.”

The room went silent. His hands smoothed their way up and down her back in slow endless circles. The flat of his palms caressed her spine, his fingers pressing lightly into her flesh. They brushed close to the sides of her breasts, but never touched her. The heels of his hands never strayed into the forbidden territory beyond the first curve of her derriere. Jill knew she was almost purring, but she didn’t care. She felt safe because he was so careful to keep to the letter of his promise.

“How are your legs?” His voice was low, as if coming from a great distance.

“I know I have two of them,” she murmured.

“You’ll be lucky if you can hobble tomorrow.”

“I know. And I thought I was in great shape.” She sighed. “I cannot thank you enough for this.”

He cleared his throat. “Turn over and stick your leg out. Maybe we can loosen those muscles too.”

“Okay,” She said as she lowered her gown again.”

She found rolling over easier. Not by much,
though. She groaned as the pain shot through her legs.

Rick stood up and lifted the sheet slightly. His cheeks looked flushed in the lamplight. “Here.”

She hesitated as a vague warning stirred. It seemed silly. This couldn’t be any worse than his doing her back, and nothing had happened then. She slid her leg out from under the sheet, careful to keep her nightgown chastely at her upper thigh. She pulled the rest of the covers up and sideways across her body.

Rick chuckled and sat down. “Charming. Shall I begin?”

She nodded and closed her eyes. She couldn’t complain about his hospitality.

This time she sensed a change. Whether it was in his touch or in her reaction, she didn’t know. She only knew it was different. She slowly opened her eyes.

He was staring at her, watching her face, as his hands massaged her calf in a near caress. His hands stroked higher.

The vague warning sharpened.

“Rick.”

“What?”

“I …” Her voice was hoarse. She couldn’t seem to think straight.

“Your skin is like satin.” He leaned forward, dangerously close. “Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Only you,” she whispered, feeling oddly captured.

“It is. I think I’m about to break my promise. But just a little.”

His mouth found hers, and she nearly lifted herself off the bed to get even closer to the heady
kiss. Their mouths opened, and whatever pain she felt was momentarily lost in a haze of heat. She grabbed onto his shirt front, and his arm curved around her shoulders in support. His other hand tightened on her thigh, his fingers digging into her skin.

She tasted him, clung, testing her tongue against the swirl of his. Everything about him flooded her senses, and she moaned in pleasure when he eased her back onto the bed. His body pressed to hers, meeting in perfect unison. His hand slid across her thigh and around her hips, then pressed into the soft flesh of her backside, pulling her hips to his.

She tugged at the buttons of his shirt, opening the front to her own questing fingers. She delighted in the feel of his hard muscles and the tickle of his chest hair against her palms.

His mouth drifted lower, nuzzling her neck, then lower still. He whirled his tongue around her burgeoning nipple through the cotton nightgown. She twisted and arched her back—and instantly yelped as the pain caught her.

“Easy,” Rick said, raising up on his elbow and helping her get more comfortable. “I was stupid.”

“No.” She panted, the pain slowly easing. “I just twisted wrong.”

“Relax.” He touched her cheek. “I’ll just massage—”

“No, no. that’s okay.”

The realization of what she’d been doing surfaced with a shock. Where, she wondered, had her brains gone? Up the river without a paddle. It seemed as if the more she tried to stay away from him, the worse things got between them.

He nodded, then started to laugh. “You’d probably kill a man if you were in good shape.”

She flushed, but was determined to act nonchalant. “That’s me. Death Daneforth.”

“You remind me of an invading Viking.” He kissed her forehead. “Now that I’ve given you a lousy massage, I’d better get to my own bed.”

When he left her room a moment later, Jill closed her eyes. A barrier had come down that day, an important one that now left her vulnerable.

She was a fool.

Rick couldn’t sleep.

That wasn’t unexpected, he admitted, lacing his fingers behind his head and staring up at the darkened ceiling. His blood had been stirred beyond redemption that day.

There were two solutions to the problem of Jill Daneforth. He could take the safe way out and avoid all contact with her for the duration of her visit. That hadn’t worked so far, but only because he hadn’t wanted it to.

Or he could say distance and job be damned, and risk everything in an all-out effort to court her.

After experiencing the unique taste of her and her uninhibited response, there was only one answer.

Rick smiled.

His hands had been like fire coursing over her body, driving her to the brink of sensual delight. And his mouth, dark and rich on her breasts, filling her with a wildness …

Jill jerked herself back to reality.
Dammit
, she thought. She was supposed to be there at the regatta looking for the Colonel, and instead she was daydreaming about Rick. Again.

He had only left her for a moment to get them something to drink. From the upper deck on the Trinity Club’s barge, she had a perfect view of Christ Church Meadow and the towpaths that lined the event, but it was packed with women in demure dresses and men in their blazers and flannels, the uniforms of the day. Jill peered at the people in futile desperation.