Logan’s response was to move to the fire a, nd stretch out in front of it,
rather like a puma or a lion, all sinewy grace. His eyelids narrowed, regarding her.
‘If I didn’t know better I’d say you found my chest disturbing.’ ‘Of course I find it disturbing.’ Becky had been going to cover herself, but what was the point? ‘You’re the one that stormed out on me, remember? You rejected me.’
His eyes widened. ‘You’re joking, right? I rejected you? You said you
didn’t want to know. When I came back.’
‘You left me to twist for six weeks,’ Becky said, and her voice was cracking. ‘You slept with me and then you just let me hang. You fucked me and then you forgot me. Like I was some piece of trash to you.’
Logan stood up, pressing on the balls of his feet. He took a step closer
to her. ‘Is that what you thought? That I just wanted to have sex with
you?’
‘Why not? You left Fairfield. When you came back and jumped me,
you wanted to jump nay bones, too. Or maybe just to tease me. To take offence at - at—’ she was so angry she was spluttering ‘—at nothing and then just leave me?’
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‘Because you started talking about some servant, some shit like that.’ ‘That was in the past. That wasn’t about you, you stubborn asshole.’ ‘And I suppose throwing out that Valentine I sent you wasn’t about me either? That was my great-grandmother’s, Becky. My great grandfather gave it to her during the Boer War. My family has kept it for ever.’
Becky gasped. ‘I’m sorry. You didn’t say …’
‘I didn’t think I’d have to, to stop you throwing it away.’
‘But you just sent me a card, Logan. You didn’t even call. Nothing.’ He looked perplexed. ‘You thought I was blanking you? But didn’t I tell you that I hate the phone? Didn’t I say that something as important as us shouldn’t be done in a long-distance way? Because that’s just
bullshit. I don’t love someone down telephone wires.’
‘You said love someone.’
‘Of course. I was madly in love with you.’ Logan shook his head, as though amazed. ‘Ironic, wasn’t it, to think that the gardening boy could ever be a suitable match for the squire’s daughter? I found out that much
when you gave me the cold shoulder for asking to be paid.’
‘You loved me,’ Becky whispered. ‘You really loved me.’
‘Pity you never felt the same way about me. You always let me feel I
was only in it for your money, like I was the stud getting used.’
‘I do love you.’
‘Pull the other one, sweetheart,’ Logan said wearily, ‘it’s got bells on
it.’
Becky walked over to the windows and pulled the curtains shut. Not that anybody was likely to walk past their little country lane, but just in
case. She didn’t want anybody rhbber-necking right now. ‘A man I was with once dated me for my money …’ His eyes were ice.
‘So that’s it, was it? The poor lad from oop North after your money. It may surprise you to learn, princess, that I make my own.’
‘Yeah, but hardly - I mean, look at your offices, look at how badly you needed to pay …’
Logan shook his head. ‘Incredible. You call yourself a businesswoman, but I guess it never occurred to you that other people can have cash-flow problems. I took that space while I was waiting to get paid on . . God. Why the hell am I justifying myself to you? Do you realize the scale of my normal jobs, the work we’re taking on now? The calls are coming from Italy, from France, from Spain, from the Arabs’. The Saudi Royal family called me the week before you dropped your little bombshell. The King wants a garden created in an oasis.’
He shrugged. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but Logan Gardens
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has taken off. Just like I knew it would when I first came to work for you. I never had any doubt. My commissions this year will hit a quarter of a million in fees, not including expenses. Next year it’ll be more.’ ‘Then how come you did the rose garden for …?’
Logan didn’t smile. ‘Because it was your rose garden, and I wanted something to keep me close to you. How dumb can you get, fight? I thought we had something.’
Becky sat down in one of the soft armchairs. That brought her fight next to his thick thighs in those jeans. She stared determinedly into the
‘Are you OK?’ Logan asked, dropping to his knees.
‘Why wouldn’t I be? Oh, you’re worried about the baby. I’m just a baby-carrying device.’
‘And I’m just the sperm donor.’
Logan’s face was fight next to hers now. His dark eyes were softened
slightly. His thick jaw was up against her lips. He was gorgeous, and Becky bit down on her cheeks to stop the whimper of pain and wanting. Did he really have to put that muscled chest right next to her like that?
‘Logan,’ she said firmly, mustering every ounce of self-control, ‘can
you, please, go and put some ‘
He kissed her.
One hand came behind her head, grabbing it through the silken
strands of her blonde hair, the other reached up to her cheek and lightly traced a path down the bone, slipping from her face to her neck, trailing lightly, touching the hollow at the base of her Adam’s apple. His lips were rough, though; hungry, crushing her, his tongue probing her mouth insistently, his body pushing her back against the chair. Becky sobbed in the back of her throat, her starved body responding instantly, her nipples taut on her small breasts, her slim waist moving in the chair, pushing closer to him.
‘What about the baby?’ she whispered.
Logan muttered, ‘It won’t hurt the baby. It’s natural. It’s how the
baby got here.’ His breath was hot on her throat, his lips moving over
the hollow there. Besides, you re my wife. I’m going to consummate
this
” ‘
marriage.
His hands unbuttoned the top of her dress, freeing her smooth shoulders. Becky’s breath came hot and ragged as she reached to undo
her silk bra. Logan batted her hands away.
‘Don’t touch. You’re mine.’
He slipped his thumbs inside the silk of her bra and started to stroke,
lightly, to tease the soft flesh around the nipples without actually
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touching them. Becky moaned, softly. Logan unsnapped the metal strap and tugged the tiny cream silk strap. It slipped from her skin, dragging at the tiny golden hairs which were prickling on her arms, her back, everywhere, her body warm and flushed, sensitized to his slightest touch.
‘My breasts are too small,’ Becky whispered.
Logan grinned. ‘They’re perfect. They’re like plums. You’re so beautiful.’ He extended one fingertip and touched one tiny pale pink bud, tight against her ivory apple-breasts, and watched as it swelled slightly and darkened. The grin faded. She saw that his breath was starting to become heavy. Logan tugged impatiently at her dress and tights and the matching, tiny, cream panties. His erection was straining, chafing against the rough denim of his jeans.
‘Let’s get upstairs.’ He was insistent. ‘I’m not waiting.’ He placed his hands flat against the firm, satiny expanse of her inner thighs and slid them relentlessly upwards till he was cupping her, feeling the downy
golden fur and her damp slickness against his calloused palms. Becky tried to stand up, but her knees were shaking.
Logan smiled, that sexy, slightly cruel smile that made the lust squirm in her belly, sending little darts of need through her aching nipples and down to the sweet nub between her legs.
‘I guess I’ll just have to do it the traditional way,’ he said.
He bent down and scooped her up. Becky gasped. He hefted her weight in his arms as though she were made of thistledown. She was pressed against his hard chest, locked in his arms. Logan carried her up the wooden, polished staircase of the little cottage into her bedroom, now their bedroom. He lowered’her gently down on the old-fashioned bed carved from cherry wood and made up with cool white sheets. Becky reached up and snapped the metal buttons down the front of Logan’s jeans. He kicked them off furiously, freeing himself, large and thick against her slender legs. Becky’s hands reached out to touch him. He was so gorgeous. Thick, almost stubby, rock-hard, velvet-soft skin that leaped against her. But Logan wasn’t going to permit her to take control. He slipped his finger inside her, feeling the warmth, the wetness, the damp of her.
‘Please,’ Becky gasped. She squirmed on hr back, rocking herself against him.
‘Not till you’re ready,’ Logan said. He could hardly get the words out, but he forced himself to take his time. On her slim left hand, clawing at his back, he saw his ring flash and glitter. He put his hands on her arms, pinning her down on the soft coverlet, then moved lower, lower, his lips and tongue relentless. When he reached her hot core and
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lightly dragged the edge of his tongue over the pulsing centre of her Becky reared up against him, half screaming, and he had to put a hand over her mouth. Unable to control himself a second longer, Logan thrust inside her, slipping instantly into the tight, wet heart of his wife. He moved with total abandon, the need to explode urgent in him, his lust for her body, for her wild eyes and damp tendrils of hair completely overwhelming. He pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her savagely, feeling her belly and groin spasm against him, holding her slight body down with his, her responsiveness milking his cock until he couldn’t stop it, didn’t want to stop it, and his hands gripped Becky shuddering beneath him, and he exploded in a burst of white-hot pleasure so intense that he could think of nothing but him and her, and everything else fell away.
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‘It must be her.’
Dr Conran adjusted his tie and tried not to salivate at the sight of his wife, furious, gorgeous and highly fuckable, sitting up in bed with her black silk Pratesi sheets pooling around her olive skin, her brown hair loose and tumbling around her shoulders, and her glorious tits swaying as she moved, cat-like, on the bed.
‘I thought you had resolved this,’ he said. He had an eight o’clock meeting with Dr Jackson this morning to discuss the new lease of their building. Jackson was a short-tempered old curmudgeon who hated to be kept waiting.
Unfortunately, Lita’s tits, with their dark nipples still hard from this morning’s tussle in the sheets, were hypnotizing him. Mark felt sixteen with her. Fifteen minutes after they were done, he was ready to go again. He felt his cock stiffen relentlessly.
‘I thought so, too. But obviously not,’ Lita half hissed, her heavy lidded eyes narrowing. ‘Harry Weiss called from New York. New Wave lost six accounts last week, including Costa 1Kica Coffee.’
She stood up and turned around to where her silk negligee was hanging in the walk-in closet. Unfortunately, that didn’t help Mark much. He was now exposed to Lira’s firm, jutting ass. He loved to rub his hand over those dangerous curves. It got him hard instantly, and it made her body leap in response. Men stared whenever she wore so much as a pair of jeans. Mark didn’t mind - who could blame them? He groaned aloud.
‘Now, now.’ Momentarily distracted, Lita turned around, the silk robe clinging to her skin, a flash of dark, wobbling breast visible through the lacy opening. Her nipples were clearly delinated through the liquid material. ‘Husbands have to get to work, too. What about Dr Jackson?’
‘Screw Dr Jackson,’ Mark said, frantically tugging at the tie it had taken him five minutes to align perfectly. ‘He can wait.’
Lita had to call the office to say she was going to be late. Making love with her husband was incredible, but once he had left, and she had
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showered the sweat from her body, the limp, relaxed sensation of her crashing orgasm was slowly replaced again by simmering rage.
Fuck Becky Lancaster. She’d thought they’d come to an agreement, a truce, if not an entente cordiale. Obviously not.
Lita was confident. Her business had been booming - hiring more staff, getting new accounts, more column inches in Ad Weekly and the other trade publications. She had even toyed with opening up more branches, maybe a boutique in Australia, something in New Zealand
and Canada. She was making something of herself. Something big. And now it was being threatened.
She fixed herself a pot of the cinnamon coffee she imported from the States. Lita liked it in England, but they knew nothing about coffee. Or bagels. She missed bagels. She let the dark liquid brew, savouring the heady scent that filled her gleaming kitchen. While the coffee perked was one of her favourite times to think.
There was no way those accounts had defected because of some legitimate reason. Lita had personally flown back to the States, had deprived herself of Mark’s body for almost a week, to secure that Costa Coffee account. She had charmed the head of the company, reminding him that she got her start as the Costa girl.
‘I knew how to sell your coffee then and I know how to sell it now,’ she’d concluded her presentation, to grins and handshakes all round. Taking that account from Doheny had been a real coup. Costa was a family brand, and family brands were where the real dollars were in advertising.
Just ask Procter & Gamble. The groceries giant spent more on advertising than any other firm in the world. Lita wanted New Wave to get those kinds of accounts, because there was only so far you could go selling scents and boutique lipsticks.
Costa had been her first. And now they were blowing her off, after less than a month, without a single commercial making it on the air. Lita had had the Costa acquisition trumpeted to the skies when it had happened. It had been in every trade publication. And so would this.
You could go that quickly from being the hot new agency to being tainted with the stench of failure.
They would all be asking why Costa had fired New Wave. Should they reconsider, too?
But Lita knew why. There was a reason, and it was a tall, skinny, Boston Brahmin with long blonde hair and a country mansion. And Lita wasn’t having it.
If Becky wanted war, she was going to get it.