‘What shall we talk about then?’
‘I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll think of something.’ Glancing over her shoulder, she found him watching her intently, speculatively. But starting to smile again. ‘But first I’ve got to find Kat and tell her to make her own way home. She probably would anyway … She and her boyfriend, Greg, can’t keep their hands off each other.’
‘Really?’ Jay’s eyes widened.
‘Yeah … I could tell you some tales about what they get up to, believe me.’
Could she? Could she really? Tell this stranger about the kinky things Kat had so enjoyed describing … Wouldn’t that just be asking for trouble? Or something.
‘I’ll look forward to it. You can tell me all about it over tea.’
Yeah, right …
Back at the Lawns Bar, Sandy began a rapid circuit of the room, searching for her cook, while Jay – his jacket restored to him – left to get his car, saying he’d meet her out front in ten minutes.
But Kat was nowhere to be seen. Where the hell was she? Holed up somewhere with Greg, doing something horny and experimental no doubt.
The rather plush ladies’ cloakroom revealed no Kat either, but Sandy took the time to prod a few wayward strands of curly red hair back up into her loosely assembled knot.
Oh shit! Did I really let him do that?
The enormity of what she’d done made her hand shake and nearly jag her lip gloss across her cheek. She didn’t know the man, and yet his breath, his lips, the stroke of his tongue against her sex had all felt right. Wonderful. Unbelievable. Exquisite. Her body quaked and shimmered as if he were licking her again, and deep in her loins heat gathered, tightened, condensed.
She needed to come again. A woman who barely even masturbated, or thought about sex these days. But now a pair of steely dark eyes and a scarred bearded face seemed to challenge her and, as if it were looking up at her from between her own thighs again, the shade of Jay winked at her.
Heart and sex pounding, she plunged into the cubicle and locked the door.
Chapter 4
Safe behind the door though, things did not come so easy. Time, all of a sudden, weighed heavy. Jay was waiting. And yet it wasn’t her strange new friend who seemed to steal her orgasm. It was the man from her past, Prince Charming, pretty much Jay’s antithesis.
It didn’t make sense, she was hornier than she’d ever been in her life, and she had an exciting man waiting for her, but a fragmentary dream from her past was messing with her head and standing in the way of what she needed.
Closing her eyes and subsiding onto the closed toilet seat cover, she leaned back against the cistern, trying to recover the moment.
Images danced before her eyes. The vague snapshots of what Prince Charming might have looked like flicked and phased, becoming Jay and totally confusing her.
Past. Present. Past. Present.
When she touched herself, though, her fingertip stirred echoes of Jay’s nimble daring tongue. Lust flared again, and her sex clenched as elusive orgasm floated back within her reach.
Rubbing quick and hard, she focused on her strange new knight, so dark and troubling, so flawed and threatening, yet so desirable. Displayed on the screen of her imagination, she was in a room with him, spread on a bed, open and available. But this time, he didn’t hold back, he took his pleasure.
With no idea what his body was like beneath his expensive clothes – beyond the feel of his hard, developed musculature – she imagined him big. In all ways. With a cock as perfect as his face and hands were scarred. And he’d fit her perfectly as he pushed in, filling her and stretching her.
Rocking on the seat, she worked herself two-handed, fingers inside, fingers on her clit. There was no finesse, but she didn’t need that. She had to come.
As her dream of Jay cried out hoarsely, her body convulsed, the pleasure as savage as the imagined expression on his face.
As Sandy rushed through the foyer, clutching her pashmina around her, she barely noticed the twinges from Kat’s ridiculous slingbacks. She felt as if she were skimming over the carpet, buoyed up on a raft of confused and lingering pleasure.
A glance at her watch told her that her ten minutes was now more like twenty-five. What if Jay had got tired of waiting for his casual conquest and decided to look elsewhere? He might be sharing that whisky in his room with another, more biddable partner.
The idea of that particular scenario made her grind her teeth, but she forgot it in an instant when she stepped out onto the Waverley’s elegant forecourt.
‘Oh my God.’
A car out of anyone’s dreams stood on the gravel, with the man who was half-dream, half-nightmare leaning casually against it. His dark brows lifted in amusement when he caught sight of her gaping at his fabulous chariot.
Sandy wasn’t a petrol-head, but she was enough of a fan of television motoring shows to know an Aston Martin when she saw one. And enough a fan of James Bond to recognise 007’s vehicle of choice from the Casino Royale movie.
Jay straightened up, and shrugged. Then strolled around to the passenger-side door without saying anything.
‘It’s an Aston Martin,’ observed Sandy, aware she sounded mildly inane. Jay was perfectly aware of the famous marque of his beautiful car. As she touched the gleaming steel-grey coachwork she acknowledged vaguely that it was just a few shades lighter than her companion’s eyes. Eyes that were now darkened with an odd, almost resentful expression, as he opened the door for her, that seemed, curiously, to be directed at the car.
‘This is a beautiful car,’ she said as he slid into the racing seat beside her, and did a little shimmy as if it was hard to get comfortable. For her own part, it was like being cradled and caressed by the leather upholstery, and the whole experience was like gently sinking into an aristocratic dream of luxury and high performance.
A new thought popped into her head.
What on earth was he doing in Kissley? It’s not exactly where a jet-setting single man with an Aston Martin would choose to holiday. That is, if he was single. He wore no ring, but that didn’t mean anything. Some guys simply didn’t wear them.
Jay still didn’t speak, and Sandy realised he was glowering at the steering wheel, that peculiar sense of resentment writ large on his damaged features.
‘What’s the matter? Don’t you like your own car?’ As she watched, he squared his shoulders and reached for the Aston’s distinctive rectangular ignition unit, already sitting in its slot. Pressing it filled the air with a silky, almost erotic roar of engine music. ‘It’s amazing. Most guys I know would give their eyeteeth for a Bond car.’
After a long pause, and in a low weary voice, he said, ‘It is a beautiful car, and I wouldn’t drive anything else.’ His long fingertip stroked the fine leather encasing the steering wheel. ‘It’s just that Astons and I … well, you might say we have issues.’
In a moment of revelation, the scars explained themselves.
Jay had been in a car smash. A bad one. In an Aston Martin. The accident had nearly killed him, judging by the visible damage he’d incurred.
As he revved the engine self-indulgently, her blood ran cold. If he’d crashed once, he could crash again.
Still feathering the accelerator, he glanced at her as if he’d read her qualms on her face. His eyes narrowed. Yes, he knew what she was thinking. ‘You’re right.’ His raw voice was very low. ‘I totalled my last Aston. I admit it.’
He turned off the ignition and the silence seemed louder than the engine noise.
‘I’m sorry to hear that … What happened?’
Long fingers tapped the leather-covered wheel again. ‘I swerved to avoid a fox, hit a pot hole and, hey presto, me and the car are doing a triple somersault … with pike.’
Images of twisted metal and carnage assaulted her eyes. Jay’s body twisted and broken. His face … his face … She couldn’t see it, no matter how she tried to picture him based on his appearance now. It was like one of those stra
nge surrealist paintings where the subject’s features were blank. She simply couldn’t imagine the original Jay at all.
‘Were you badly hurt?’
He nodded, not looking at her. ‘Yep, fairly mangled. Broke more bones than I can name, and said goodbye to my pretty, boyish face.’
He turned and looked at her, the angles of his mouth and jaw hard. He wasn’t pretty, that was true. But still, she found him compelling in a way that went far beyond classic ideals of good looks.
‘You don’t look so bad.’
‘Yeah, right …’ But he laughed, and shrugged, and seemed to accept her cautious compliment. ‘So, knowing what you know now, do you still feel safe to ride with me?’
‘Yes, of course.’
A part of her didn’t feel safe at all. A part of her felt in deep peril, a danger that was nothing to do with his driving capabilities. She feared herself, as much as him, in his presence. Even as she slid down deeper into the comfortable form-fitting seat, the urge to slide her skirt hem towards her crotch bubbled up inside her.
‘OK then.’ He flashed her another grin, and she almost wished he hadn’t. These smiles of his were dynamite, and they stoked her insane urges even higher. ‘And if it’s any comfort to you, when I got back behind the wheel again, I took a course in “conservative driving techniques” at the Institute of Advanced Motorists. So you’re perfectly safe with me.’ He waggled his dark brows. ‘In the car, that is …’
‘Oh, that’s very reassuring,’ she shot back, her voice tarter than she’d intended, his sudden playfulness rocking her.
Jay just laughed, jabbed on the ignition again, and gunned the car. Then with no further ado they were gliding down the gravelled drive, oozing along with a stealthy panache that James Bond would have been proud of.
Where are we heading? she mused as Jay smoothly exited the Waverley’s drive and pointed the car in the direction of Kissley.
The question was nothing to do with the drive home.
The presence of a beautiful woman in the car with him should have created tension. In fact, he should have been all over the place.
For one thing, Alexandra Jackson was not his Princess. Yes, she was the girl he’d taken care of briefly, all those years ago. But she certainly wasn’t the gentle sweet paragon he’d always fantasised about. No way. She was combative, stubborn, strong-willed. It was a bloody miracle he’d got her into the car at all.
Only where sex was concerned did she seem to be pliant and responsive. Hell, he’d never met a woman like her, and his wayward cock was kicking even now, thinking about the sweet taste of her delicious body and those awesome, rough, out-of-control sounds she’d made as he’d pleasured her.
And that was the other thing. Tonight had gone completely off the rails. He’d never planned to move so far, so fast. But he’d run out of control himself at the slightest hint of her pussy. Just like the randy teenager he’d been when he first met her.
Weirdest of all though, despite everything about tonight and the woman at his side being completely out of kilter, she still had a weirdly Zen-like, almost soothing effect on him. He couldn’t explain it. Sandy might not be Princess but, for the moment, he didn’t mind.
He kept his eyes on the road, a keen awareness of her body and her familiar face distracting him from the fine jagged thread of fear that always plagued him when he drove. When he glanced in the rear-view mirror he was astonished to catch himself smiling. He couldn’t even bring himself to feel guilty for the fact he was lying to her.
Would she ever forgive him for not telling her immediately that he was the handsome lad who’d once helped her? Would she still want to sleep with him if she knew he was the son of the man who was probably currently her worst enemy in the whole wide world? Probably not, but he’d face those bitter truths – and their ramifications – when the time came.
As surreptitiously as she could, Sandy snuck a glance at Jay.
A slight smile was playing around his mouth, giving his bearded face a devilish saturnine cast. Combined with the scars and the generally hard look of him, it made her heart feel as if it was rolling over in her chest. Especially bearing in mind that, driving course or no driving course, he could still well be a reckless testosterone-addled driver whose next supercar smash could be his last. That line about the Institute of Advanced Motorists was probably utter bullshit. Once a boy racer, always a boy racer.
Even so, despite more speed than she was used to, his driving style was silky smooth and perfectly controlled. Contrary to all logic, she actually felt safe with him. Well, in the car at least, as he’d so rightly teased her. Otherwise, he was totally outrageous.
And yet she’d still invited him back to her place. Now it was her turn to smirk.
She wanted more of what he’d given her. More of the same, and a lot of different stuff too. Kat wasn’t the only person who was interested in sensual experimentation. With Jay Bentley, so mysterious and daring, Sandy sensed that her chance to sample the new and the hot was here.
‘What are you thinking about?’
It was the classic girlie question, but Jay seemed man enough to ask it.
‘Oh, just my friend Kat. I couldn’t find her at the party. I’ve no idea where she is, but she probably found Greg and they’re shagging like bunnies somewhere … or doing something extremely kinky.’
Jay laughed. ‘Ah yes, you were going to tell me some tales.’ He licked his lips, his tongue flicking out quickly, darting in a way that reminded her of his prowess in the garden. She felt an intense urge to wriggle in her seat.
‘Well, Kat’s always been one for the blokes. She’s got a heart of gold and she’s a dear, dear friend, but she likes to have fun. She’s always the one who suggests a Chippendales night out, or a sex-toy party. That sort of thing.’
‘She sounds like an entertaining person to know.’
‘Not half. She’s got no shame when it comes to talking about her sex life and, since she started seeing Greg, she’s been completely outrageous.’
‘Do go on.’ Jay changed gear with perfect equanimity, but she could tell from his husky voice he was interested. More than interested.
‘Greg’s into a bit of the pervy stuff. I think it’s because he works at the Waverley. He and Kat play sex games. Bondage, spanking, little power trips, you know the sort of thing.’
Jay laughed again, accelerated, that naughty smile playing around his stern mouth.
‘Indeed I do, Sandy. Indeed I do.’
She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t breathe. That sense of being caught in an electrical field increased in voltage, and she got the impression she didn’t even have to speak. He could taste her excitement like a killer snake sampling the air. As if he’d read her mind, his tongue flicked across his lower lip again.
‘So … bondage, spanking, power games? Have you tried any of those?’
‘No.’ Her voice shook on the word. Her throat felt dry.
‘Would you like to?’
‘I … I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘Oh, I think you do. I think you’ve already started.’ The car rounded a sweeping bend, hitting the perfect apex of the curve.
‘Allowing a man you don’t know to give you head in a hotel garden seems plenty kinky to me. Daring, at least.’
Sensation trickled like quicksilver down her spine, and the place where his tongue had roved shimmered with excitement.
‘I didn’t intend to let that happen. It just did.’
The tips of her fingers tingled. She wanted to do something. Touch something.
‘Indeed. But what about doing something intentionally? Something for me.’
Blood began to surge faster through her body. She could feel it, and almost see it in her mind’s eye, pelting along her veins and vessels. Her head nodded, completely of its own volition and, even though Jay’s eyes were on the road ahead, she knew he’d seen it.
‘Touch your breast.’
A sensation like vertigo gripped her. It was if
she were on a merry-go-round, floating and rising in a wild unreal whirl. Her hand seemed disconnected from her arm but, as if by magic, it lifted, moved, and pushed her wrap aside. Returning to her breast, she cupped the slight weight of it. Her fingertips were hyper-sensitised and she could feel the texture of her flesh and skin, the pattern of the lace that covered it, and the slipperiness of the delicate silk of her dress. She daren’t press hard because just the faintest contact sent a tingle of excitement to her pussy.
‘That’s good,’ observed Jay blandly, still apparently totally focused on his driving. ‘But give me more. Caress yourself. Squeeze. Be a little rough. Play with your nipple.’
I can’t! I can’t! It’s too much!
But it wasn’t nearly enough, and she could do it. Because he’d told her to.
She gasped out loud as she squeezed herself, caught unawares by the heavy lurch of arousal in the pit of her belly. Her nipple was so sensitive it was almost painful when she thumbed it, and the simple action brought a drench of silky fluid into her panties. Wetness. Nature’s welcome for the rampant potent male of the species. Jay Bentley.
‘More. Pinch yourself. Twist your nipple … Try a little pain with your pleasure, see if you like it.’
Obeying him, she yelped out loud. But he was right. She did like it. At least her body did. Her pussy rippled deliciously, and the crotch of her knickers grew even more sopping.
‘Good?’
‘I don’t know! I don’t know!’ It came out as a wail, even as she shuffled in the deluxe seat of his Aston Martin, suddenly and completely his object, his slave.
How had she come to this? She’d always tried not to be a sexual doormat, to do her own thing. But tonight she’d met a man who was a thousand times her match, and seemed to be able to use just a few words to render her his puppet.
‘Are you aroused? Do you want to come?’
Sandy bit down on her lip, trying to resist him. Between her legs she was hot, and wet like a river. Of course she fucking well wanted to come! But somehow she also wanted to defy the soft raw words that could well lead to all kinds of downfall.
The Gift Page 4
