An Imperfect Affair

by Natalie Fox

  ‘Do you improvise in bed too?’

  ‘You’ll probably never know.’

  ‘Only probably, so there is still hope,’ he teased, running his hand up and down her back.

  ‘Very little,’ she murmured, and suddenly knew that to be true. She did want him and there was no doubt he wanted her, but only while they were here in this isolated mill house. Then the affair would be over and they would return to their lives. So what more did she want? Disturbed by that thought, she tried to get up from his lap.

  ‘Not so fast.’ His hand locked around the back of her neck and he pulled her down to him. The kiss was incredible. Powerful and promising, and the temptation surged urgently inside her. She responded because she could do little else. Her lips parted, her hands slid over his shoulders. His warmth and smell engulfed her, tempting her further and further down into his sexuality.

  He moved and swivelled her round so she was lying on the sofa and he was straddled across her. His head was above hers and he gazed down into her eyes.

  ‘Do you mean that, that we have little chance of coming together?’

  She bit her lip and couldn’t answer. How did she know? Today was today, tomorrow tomorrow. If he kept up those kisses, who knew where it would lead?

  He smiled as if knowing her hesitation. ‘It will have to be your choice—’

  ‘That’s not fair!’

  His brows rose darkly. ‘I think it’s very fair. You know I want you, so you’re not going to get a fight from me. But I’m not going to force myself on you,’ he grinned suddenly, ‘unless, of course, that’s what you want.’

  ‘Violence?’ she husked, aghast. ‘You wouldn’t?’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ he smiled, ‘but you do rather tempt me at times. Now it’s my turn to be honest with you. I want to make love to you. I want an affair with you, but I warn you, I’m not very good at relationships.’

  Verity smiled cynically. ‘So you’re offering an imperfect affair, no strings, no pain. Straight sex and when our time is up—’

  ‘We more than likely go our separate ways,’ he finished for her.

  She started to laugh then, and her body shook under his. ‘Well, I’ve had some propositions in my time but that takes the biscuit. Sarah did the right thing by walking away from such blatant chauvinism.’

  He stiffened against her and then sat up. Verity swung her legs over the sofa and stood up.

  ‘I suppose you thought you were being very nineties by making a statement like that?’ she asked him, though it was more of a statement than a question.

  His dark eyes held hers. ‘I said it, Verity, because it’s how I feel. I’ve had one sour relationship which I don’t want to repeat—’

  ‘So you’re afraid? Well, so am I,’ she told him levelly. ‘But that gets you nowhere in life. Some time you’ll have to take the plunge with another woman, but with that dour warning at the beginning of things I’ll doubt you’ll ever get further than a one-night stand.’

  ‘So you are a typical female after all. Making demands and expecting hearts and roses and wedding bells from the off.’

  ‘I didn’t say that. I’d be quite willing to live with a man if I cared for him enough, and I’d have an affair if I cared and wanted enough.’

  ‘So why this argument? Do you care enough for me to take on an affair with me?’

  ‘I... I...’

  ‘You don’t know, do you? You’re putting up barriers before you even know what’s going on in your own mind. You do want me, you do want an affair, but you’re as scared as I am.’

  ‘Of course I am. I’ve already said I am. I’ve had a rotten relationship too and I’m wary, but at least my heart is open to offers. Yours isn’t. Sarah still lies bleeding in yours and not because you really cared for her but because your bloody pride was stung because she walked out on you!’

  She went to skirt the sofa and he reached for her, tenderly, which surprised her. His hands smoothed down her upper arms.

  ‘You’re very right,’ he said quietly. ‘I failed in a relationship and that isn’t anything to be proud of. I can’t offer you anything more than I could offer Sarah. I can make love to you, I can provide for you—’

  ‘But you can’t give your time and your heart?’ she offered quietly.

  He didn’t say a word, not one, just held her eyes tenderly. She didn’t understand him; how could he be so certain of that? A challenge stirred inside her, a very odd one. Did she have a chance of persuading him otherwise? That it was possible for him to love and give his time and his heart? And was that what she truly wanted? Those thoughts frightened her.

  ‘I think we’d better eat before the food spoils,’ she suggested, and turned away from him.

  ‘Verity?’

  She turned.

  ‘It doesn’t end here, you know,’ he told her bluntly.

  She nodded and this time knew the truth when it was put to her. She said after only a moment’s consideration, ‘I know. It’s only the beginning.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  Her body burned. Verity flung the bedclothes from her and sat up. The bedroom was cool but she burned, an inward heat that pulsed through her.

  They had talked all evening. The spaghetti had been good and the wine heady and she had fully expected Rupert to try to make love to her in front of the fire.

  But he hadn’t and she knew why. It had been an evening of exorcism. They had talked about their ex-lovers as if they needed to clear a path through their emotions before taking their own course.

  Now she burned. She held her head in her hands. She burned with need, the need for Rupert Scott to hold and love her.

  ‘Verity?’

  Her hand shot to the bedside lamp and she snapped it on.

  ‘Can’t you sleep?’ he asked in little more than a husky whisper. He stood in the doorway, wrapped in a white towelling robe. His hair was damp as if he’d just stepped from the shower. Verity glanced at her travelling clock.

  ‘It’s three o’clock. What are you doing up?’

  He stepped into the room. ‘I’ve been working. Come, I want to show you something.’

  Verity scrambled out of bed and slid into her satin robe. He took her to his bedroom and she fully expected his computer to be glaring and the final page of his screenplay displayed to be read.

  ‘What?’

  He slid his arm around her shoulders and led her to the window. A full moon hung moodily in the black sky, and Verity exhaled a small gasp at the huge moonbow that caressed it.

  ‘They say it’s a sign of rain,’ he murmured behind her and slid his arms down and around her waist. She felt his warm breath on the top of her head and his heart pulsing in her back.

  This was the beginning and she was ready for it. The end she didn’t even want to try to foresee. It was the moment, the time. She leaned back into him and clasped her hands across his. ‘I didn’t think you were romantic,’ she murmured. The heat was already building up inside her, the heat and need that had woken her.

  ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me and a lot you’re going to find out very shortly.’

  He turned her into his arms and she went willingly, her mouth seeking his as urgently as he sought hers. The kiss was wild and frenetic, as if the world had only minutes to live its last. Verity coiled her fingers into his damp hair, almost clawed at him with the passion that rose so desperately inside her. Rupert ran his hands down her back, pressing his thumbs into her hips and grinding her against him.

  Suddenly he lifted her and lay her down on his bed.

  ‘I think you arranged that moon just to get me into your room,’ she murmured as he lay beside her, gathering her into his arms to hold her against his body.

  ‘I can’t make love to you in a single bed.’

  ‘So you’re not romantic after all,’ she laughed softly into his cheek.

  ‘I arranged the moon for you, didn’t I?’

  She didn’t answer because her mouth was too busy, grazing across
his jawline, seeking his mouth once again.

  He groaned under the pressure and then he parted her lips and explored the soft silkiness of her inner lips with his tongue. Verity’s heart and senses spun with the depth of her passion for him. She slid her hand into his robe and smoothed her fingers over his chest, caressing the hair and the muscled flesh beneath.

  His exploration was equally heated. He pushed her robe aside and smoothed her nightie up over her thighs and then lowered his head to kiss the smooth planes of her stomach. Verity arched against him, feverishly pulling at his robe to completely release his body from any confinement.

  At last she felt his heated flesh on hers and, drugged with the intoxication of it, she gasped out his name and rushed her hands down over his hips.

  She marvelled at the sheer splendour and power of his body. It was taut and power-packed, hot and hard, yet yielding under her every caress.

  He lowered his head and drew on her creamy breasts as her hands made contact with his arousal. The power that charged through them both was catastrophic. Verity cried out and he steadied her with his mouth, desperately trying to cool the heat with small, soothing kisses on her face and neck that did little but heighten her need to the point of explosion.

  His legs entwined with hers as he crushed her to him, moving restlessly, urgently against her perfumed flesh. And then his mouth crushed hers once again, his tongue fierce in its deep exploration.

  There was just one small tremor of his hand as he parted her thighs, as if even now he was unsure of her. With a single smooth, elongated caress of his arousal Verity soothed his uncertainty and, gauging her need, his fingers parted her silky womanhood and began his seductive prelude.

  Oh, God, he was beautiful, his tantalising thrusts so skilled and sensuous. Her orgasm rose and hovered and hung suspended in the web of her ecstasy. She desperately wanted to please him before wallowing in her own pleasure but her caresses weren’t enough. She wanted to give every part of herself, to give him everything. Her most intimate love.

  ‘Dear God, Verity,’ he moaned. ‘Don’t do that.’

  She did. Unashamedly she lowered her head and kissed him tenderly, caressed him with her tongue and lips, drew deeply on his lust till he shuddered deeply with the intimate pleasure she was giving him. And then he would allow her no more but lifted her away from him and rolled her over.

  He entered her immediately, his breathing heavy and harsh. And she was ready for him, curling her arms around him possessively and drawing him deeply into her suppliant body. They moved awkwardly for a fraction of a second, but then the rhythm was set and their urgency unleashed as they rose higher and higher into that red vortex of liquid pleasure and hedonism.

  Verity cried out as she came and then cried again as his orgasm swelled inside her. He let out a shuddering groan, so deep and primeval that her heart raced excitedly at the power she had over him at that moment. But she didn’t feel triumph at that power, more a pride and a fantastic thrill that she had excited him so deeply.

  They lay in each other’s arms for a long while before raising the strength to speak. And when they did they spoke soft intimate praises to each other.

  They slept at last and, when Verity awoke in the morning, Rupert was still there, coiled into her back, holding her as if never to let her go.

  And so it began. The affair she had fought against and lost and didn’t regret for a minute.

  Verity loaded the washing-machine and stood back, watching her underwear tumbling with his, and smiled.

  ‘What are you grinning at?’ Rupert came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist.

  ‘That.’ She grinned happily, and nodded at the machine. ‘Our washing, sloshing around so intimately.’

  ‘Hmm. What’s it supposed to mean?’

  Verity shrugged. To her it meant everything. That very special closeness, somehow more intimate than anything else they shared, apart from bed, of course. It might be an imperfect affair but their lovemaking was perfect enough.

  ‘It’s a woman’s thing that men wouldn’t understand,’ she murmured, leaning her head back so he could graze his lips down the side of her face.

  ‘I’ll leave it alone, then,’ he laughed, and spun her round and kissed her lips. When they parted he flicked her hair behind her ears. ‘I’m going to the village—what do we need?’

  He’d got into the habit of going to the village most mornings and he never offered to take her, not that she wanted to go. She had far too much to do. They’d slid into a very domestic routine. While Rupert shopped she did the housework. They lunched together, mostly outside on the sunny terrace, as the weather had turned so good, and then parted company for the afternoon to work. Though that didn’t always pan out. Sometimes Rupert would come to her room and they would make love, unhurriedly, as if they were on a permanent honeymoon and had all the time in the world to indulge themselves.

  Verity moved away from him and picked up a pencil and paper and made a list. When he’d gone she stood staring at the washing-machine. It was all so unreal. This old mill house, her love for Rupert Scott, his insatiable appetite for her.

  She loved him, had known it for days now, but deep in her aching heart she sensed he didn’t love her. He made love to her beautifully, sometimes very erotically, anywhere he pleased and always satisfactorily, but there was never any talk about their feelings for each other or of their future or what would happen when they both had to return to England.

  Sometimes she suspected he called Sarah from the village because when he came back he was quiet and morose, and sometimes she suspected he was thinking of her when he was making love to her. She wished she didn’t have these suspicions because they were without foundation, but they were there nevertheless and added to her insecurity.

  ‘I’ve brought you a present.’

  In surprise Verity turned to him from the computer. He tossed her a plastic bag.

  ‘Market-ware, but it comes from the heart.’ He grinned as she pulled the garish T-shirt from the bag.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ she screeched. ‘It’s perfectly hid...’ She stopped and bit her lip. Perhaps he thought it was fantastic. It was huge, bright red with a lurid appliqued parrot on the front. It sparkled with gold and silver sequins, not her style at all.

  ‘It’s a bit of fun, Verity,’ Rupert assured her, noting the look of horror on her face.

  Verity smiled up at him, but there was a deep sadness in her heart. Yes, it was a bit of fun, but the parrot reminded her of her remark about her cousin and her boss being sick as parrots if their plan didn’t work. Part of it had worked. She had fallen in love with Rupert and that was the only part, nothing else. The T-shirt was also a painful reminder that their time together was nearly up. Another week and it would all be over.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Verity croaked. ‘No, I mean it.’ Her eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘It’s just what I need to clean out the bath.’

  He was upon her in a second, laughing and sweeping her up into his arms and crushing him to her.

  ‘For that, you’ll wear it as a penance,’ and he added throatily, ‘now.’

  ‘You want me to actually wear it?’ she giggled.

  And when he held her away from him she knew the look in his eyes and her heart hammered out her acceptance.

  ‘Turn your back,’ she murmured coyly and he did, with a smile of resignation.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘You can look now.’

  It was made for an Amazon and hung limply from her narrow shoulders and skimmed her thighs. But he looked at her as if she were swathed in the most sensuous of eastern silks, his grey, moody eyes eating her hungrily.

  He held his hands out to her and she stepped into his embrace and buried her face in his sweater so he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. His arms enfolded her and held her tightly and then he lowered his mouth to hers, crushing her lips so desperately that she stemmed a cry of pain.

  Their lovemaking was different this time. He insis
ted she keep the T-shirt on; he thought it sexy and arousing and slid his hands under it to caress and arouse her. For Verity it was heartbreaking. She quickly went under his spell but her heart ached at all the gift meant to her. Losing him, having to face Stuart and Alan. It was a life she didn’t want any more. She wanted Rupert’s life, not his working empire and that fifteen-roomed house with the lingering perfume of his ex-mistress, but this life, eating and working together and sprawling in front of the olive-wood fire at the end of the day.

  She blotted it all away as Rupert made love to her, feverishly, as if he too was aware of the time slipping away from them. His thrusts were deep and penetrating, his kisses executed with that same urgency, and when at last there was no more energy and strength left they allowed their orgasm to swell and burst till there was nothing left but their hot breath, their skin raw and aching, their muted kisses and weak caresses fading as the afternoon sun faded over the distant hill.

  Later they cooked a meal together and tried to recapture something of their passion over the last few days. But something had changed, and neither knew what it was, and neither spoke of it.

  ‘Did you manage to finish it?’ Rupert asked.

  Verity was exhausted. Time had been running out, but the book was finished now. She peered into the casserole Rupert was stirring on the kitchen table.

  ‘Yes, and I can’t say I’m sorry.’ She poured two glasses of wine and sat down while Rupert dished up the food. ‘Towards the end I was beginning to think the whole idea of the wedding book a waste of time and effort. Thank goodness it’s fact not fiction. It must be awful to be writing something you haven’t any heart for. It must show.’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be a success, though. The bride-to-be market must be quite a lucrative one. And, talking of weddings...’

  Verity held her breath and her heart stilled. She watched his eyes, searching, searching.

  ‘... how would you like to go to one?’

  Her heart, already overworked and flagging, began to pulse feebly. ‘Whose?’ she murmured, trying to keep the hope out of her voice.