Fever Cure
Page 7
Well, that went down like a lead balloon too. She didn’t even reply and was still silent as he hedge-hopped the car over the speed ramp at the entrance to the Carew estate. Tom’s stomach lurched. God, you are useless with women, he thought, with your own or anyone else’s.
The evening had turned into a disaster, and yet he’d been having the time of his life back there in the restaurant. She really was gorgeous, fresh and funny, and amazingly she seemed to like him too, yes, actually like him, Tom reminded himself, rather than his money or his ludicrous title or even his very unglamorous job.
He had been enjoying the fantasy and, he reminded himself, that’s what this evening was, a sweet fantasy. He’d have to be inhuman not to want to take Keira Grayson to bed, and there was more than that. He hadn’t enjoyed himself, hadn’t smiled or laughed so much since… He felt the pang again as he remembered that night. That final night with Sarah and David. Drinking low-al beers, playing poker for pennies, talking about meeting up when they all got home again.
He gripped the wheel tighter as his heart rate rocketed.
Her voice cut into his thoughts. “Is it far now?” she asked, clutching at the grab handle. “Only we seem to have come miles.”
“We’re virtually there,” he said gently. “It’s the mode of transport that makes it seem like the other side of the earth.”
He waited for the smart reply and got none. She was either feeling sick or nervous or annoyed or all three. Braking hard as he approached the Lodge gates, he heard her little gasp and cursed himself again. The headlights cast their beams on the front of a stone porch, lit by a coach lamp.
Suddenly, everything was clear to him: much as he liked Keira, much as he wanted to take her into the Lodge now and make tender, passionate love to her, he mustn’t deceive her.
A rattle brought him back to reality. She was struggling with the door handle. As he reached across her body and brushed her breasts with his shoulder, he felt a shiver run through her. He felt suddenly awkward and embarrassed. He really hadn’t meant to touch her. “Allow me…”
Her body was stiff with tension as he thrust open the door. “Take care how you get out of this thing. There’s no step left.”
He straightened up and caught her staring at him. A smile flickered over her lips, but her breathing sounded slightly raised, and her knuckles were white as she clutched her bag. Was she worried that he wanted to take her to bed? Damn right he wanted to. His heart flipped, and his body responded too. Hell, he had to conquer this.
“I can’t stay for long,” she murmured as they stepped into the stone porch of the Lodge. “Only for a quick coffee; then I need to go back. I’ve got piles of marking to do tomorrow.”
“Fine.” He smiled. “I’ll run you back, if you can stand it.”
“I can and I will.”
Keira shivered as her eyes adjusted to the moonlight. Frost sheened the moonlit lawns and gilded the stone tubs framing the porch. Even in the cold and half-light, she thought the Lodge was beautiful. How could anyone want to leave all this?
The key scraped in the lock, and the old oak door opened with the obligatory creak. Keira slapped her hands together. A moment later and lamplight spilled out of the open door. “After you. Please.”
As she entered the hall, she felt his warm breath on her neck like a sigh. He took her coat and showed her into the front room, or rather the drawing room. That’s what it must be called, because the front rooms she knew didn’t have huge stone fireplaces, chintz chaise longues, antique clocks and paintings of ancestors on the walls. The smell of wood smoke was sweet and tangy from the hearth where a fire burned purple, orange and red.
She held out her hands, the heat caressing her palms. “That feels good.”
The light from the fire danced in Tom’s eyes. “Glad you approve. I asked Ted to make it up for when I got home.”
She noticed he didn’t use “we”, and that pleased her. She didn’t want to be that predictable. “Who’s Ted? Not some secret housemate, is he? Not something you want to tell me.”
“He’s one of the people who help us out here.”
“You mean servants, don’t you?”
He dropped the car keys on the mantelpiece with a rattle. “I mean staff, Keira. This place is a business, and like any business, we need skilled people to help us run it.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t worry. I feel awkward enough about the whole setup myself, but I can’t wish it away.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
She sensed gratitude and regret in his expression, but as usual he covered it with a joke at his own expense. “Look, let me get you a hot coffee. You look hypothermic—the heating’s rubbish in the Land Rover.”
“All the more excuse to have a fire. It’s a lovely one too—just like my gran used to have.”
“Make yourself comfortable by it, then. I won’t be long.”
Sinking back into a chintz armchair, she tried to tease life back into her frozen hands while Tom disappeared into the hall. Presumably it led into the kitchen, and in a few minutes, the aroma of coffee began to filter into the sitting room. The gurgle of the coffee machine drifted in too. Her stomach started fluttering again. In a few minutes, she would be alone with Tom.
Okay, repeat that: alone with Tom. Pushing herself out of the chair, she crossed to the fireplace and gazed up at a huge painting above the stone mantelpiece.
“The ninth Earl of Carew and Lady Helen on their wedding day.”
She stared at the couple in the painting. The costumes and the wigs, the formal pose in a pastoral setting… They looked like something from Queen Anne’s time. Not that history was her strongest point, but she got by. The earl looked dark and imperious, the way Tom could, but without his good looks. The young bride, who was barely more than a girl, seemed delicate, nervous and unsure. As well she might be.
Once again Keira asked herself what she was doing with Tom Carew. What he was doing with her.
No need to ask it, really.
Just like his ancestor, Keira guessed he wanted to bed her, and he definitely did not have the next Carew dynasty in mind; he’d made that clear enough in the car. She turned back to the drawing room with its plump cushions and floor-to-ceiling windows. The room was nearly as big as her flat, but somehow it managed to be cosy and welcoming, with its rugs and pictures and soft lighting.
The ring of a mobile brought her back to reality. Tom’s cell phone glowed and buzzed on the coffee table. Her hand hovered above it. Should she answer it, take it to him?
“It’s okay; I’ve got it.”
Tom’s long legs crossed the room in a couple of strides. He grabbed the phone just as the ring tone cut off.
“Damn.” Then, “Sorry, it could be a patient.” Scrolling through the call log, he frowned. “No, it’s a colleague.” He smiled at her apologetically. “Look, I have to see what this is about. Would you mind?”
“Making the coffee?” She smiled.
“Yes, please. Kitchen’s through there. Bottom of the hall.”
She noticed he waited for her to exit the room before he made his call. She didn’t mind. If it was work, it must be confidential.
Maybe he’d have to leave right now.
A sharp pang of disappointment stabbed at her as she crossed the hall into the kitchen. Tom’s call was exactly what she wanted, wasn’t it? He’d handed her the perfect reason to make her excuses and escape.
At least she was safe in the kitchen. Pausing in the doorway, she looked around. It was huge, all floor-to-ceiling cupboards and dressers stocked with china and glassware. An island unit with a granite worktop dominated the centre, stacked with gleaming stainless steel gadgets. Opposite her stood a hulking American fridge. It was in stark contrast to the antique cornicing and doors, but somehow it worked. The muffled timbre of Tom’s voice, deep in conversation, drifted through from the drawing room.
On the worktop, a shiny chrome espresso machine chugged away. She
cast her eyes around for mugs, but there was no sign of any except for two dirty ones on the worktop. She didn’t like to poke around in someone else’s cupboards, so she carried them over to the old-fashioned Belfast sink. Turning on the brass taps, she began to rinse the mugs.
How comforting it felt. Just the sort of thing she did at home, at her mum’s or Su’s neat little house. It was what she did. Little things for people, useful jobs, and it reassured her.
One mug was clean and gleaming again as she upended it to drain on the board before picking up the other and letting the water run, as hot as she dared, over her hand and the china. At home, she’d have had the radio on and been singing along very badly to some naff tune…
“You don’t have to do that.”
She froze, fingers rigid round the mug.
Tom’s breath was a sigh again against her nape as her heart pounded, a thick, slow beat that quickened its tempo as he reached in front of her to turn off the stream of water. Her skin prickled at the sight of the thick black whorls stretched across the sinews of his forearm.
The noise of the running water stopped. Droplets ran down her hand and dripped off her fingers as he took the china mug from her hand.
“Keira.” He swept a hand across her shoulder blades, branding her skin with his fingers. “Leave those for later, please.”
Later… Later than what, she wondered, knowing the answer already. Bereft of the mug, her fingers wavered as she twisted to face him, still trapped against the edge of the porcelain sink. He was inches away. She could feel the whisper of his breath on her cheek and smell his tangy scent, a mix of clean shirt and musky arousal. Desire flamed in his dark eyes. Her legs were leaden, and her whole body throbbed with need.
“I c-couldn’t find any mugs…”
“There are clean ones in the china cupboard.” His voice sounded odd, ragged somehow.
“I didn’t like to pry.”
He laughed softly. “I’ll get them.”
She held her breath, waiting for him to move, to free her, yet also hoping, yearning, that he wouldn’t.
“Tom?” she whispered as he stayed, motionless, his gaze burning into her.
His husky voice liquefied her. “Forget it. Sod the coffee.”
Now, everything was hard. The cold porcelain of the sink digging into her spine, the muscles of his back under her clutching hands. And his erection as he thrust himself against her hips. Only his mouth was soft as he lowered his lips onto hers.
Liquid heat bloomed between her legs as she felt his tongue searching and probing her teeth, the roof of her mouth, her lips… Suddenly, her arms were around his neck, and she was kissing him back, grinding her hips against his pelvis and begging his tongue to explore every intimate place.
And was that her breathing that rasped in her ears? Was that her cry of shock as his hand slid under the flimsy silk of her top? Her hand sliding down between them and cupping the hot swell in his jeans?
“Oh God…” He groaned, pushing harder against her cradle of her fingers. “Come on…”
If it was a dream, his voice sounded real enough as he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the drawing room. Her legs, already jelly, completely dissolved as she stumbled over the corner of a chair towards the sofa.
Sweeping the cushions off the seat, he pulled her down and snatched her breath away with his mouth. His lips were hot against hers, and he cradled her head in his hands, and she became a willing accomplice, because she opened her lips and let him kiss her deeper, more powerfully.
He took her lower lip in his and nipped it oh so softly, then ran his tongue over her teeth. She had her hands entwined in his hair now, reaching up as her tongue danced with his inside his mouth.
His teeth grazed the flesh of her collarbone in a gesture that shocked and delighted her. Her lips parted in a gasp as he nipped her shoulder lightly and a sharp, tingly pressure shot through her skin. Inside her head, a warning beat along with the blood pounding through her: Oh, Tom, please don’t make me feel this good.
“I want you, Keira.” Slipping his hand inside her top, he cradled her swollen breast. Her nipple puckered as he teased it through her bra, begging be released from the restraining lace. “I want to make love to you, right now.”
That was real enough, all right, that throaty demand. Her body heard him and responded with an unstoppable rush of desire. She pressed her thighs together hard to try to resist, but she was zinging with need.
Gently, he tweaked a nipple, and fire pulsed through her bloodstream. She gave up on resistance and yelped in pleasure at the sweet torment he was inflicting. Desire fought a battle with reason. “I want you, Keira.”
Desire was winning hands down.
“H-here?”
His voice was like raw silk. “Oh, yes. Right here and now.”
“On the sofa?”
“On it and over it.” Over it? Tom lowered her across the sofa until she lay, helpless, across his thighs, her bottom pushing against his erection. As she squirmed, he flicked open the metal button of her jeans, the zip rasping as he guided it down. “Jeans off.”
“Oh…”
Tom knew he was rushing as he dragged the tight denim down her thighs. Slow down, for God’s sake, he told himself. Even though you want to rip her clothes off. Focus on her pleasure, damn you. But with her tight little bottom squirming in his lap and his loins about to combust, it was nigh on impossible.
Dragging in a breath, he willed himself to slow down. As he flattened his palm on her abdomen, he felt the heat rising from her body. He let his hand lie there for a moment, his fingers splayed either side of the hollow of her navel.
He couldn’t wait any longer. Shifting then dipping his head, he planted a kiss reverently on the silky panties covering her sex. He wanted to feel her begging for release and to drive her as insane as she was driving him. Her whimper of delight gave him all the answer he needed, and as she parted her legs as far as she could, he drifted the tip of his tongue over her panties.
Some part of him—maybe his conscience—knew he shouldn’t be doing this, but somewhere between the car and the kitchen, he’d thrust his conscience in the deepest dungeon he could find. The desire to make love to her ran rampant and unstoppable through him.
His fingers slid beneath the lacy top of her knickers, and her wetness felt like honey against his exploring fingers.
“Keira, you are amazing.”
Tom’s voice sounded far away as the blood beat in Keira’s head and he pulled her panties down over her thighs. She lifted her hips higher, begging to be stripped. Cool air swirled over her legs and buttocks. As she tried to open her legs, the tightness of her jeans shackled her ankles.
Keira wanted to explode. He was…kissing and licking her… It felt amazing. Sweet, painful, almost.
“Is this okay for you? Is it good…” His voice was muffled, his head poised an inch above her thighs. That dark tone unleashed liquid desire that drenched her.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmured.
Strong fingers skittered over her nakedness and…oh…he was stroking her clit gently then firmly, on and on and on…stoking a fire that was burning now, setting light to the very core of her. It was so tense, so tight, surely she would implode with the tension. Surely soon she must burst with the sweet pleasure-pain of it. And still his fingers caressed and rubbed against the swollen, tender spot.
Only the constraint of her jeans stopped her from spreading her legs wide as he slipped one finger, then two, inside her. No way could she stop herself. It couldn’t be this good, she couldn’t feel this desired, this aroused, this wanted.
She heard the little cry in his throat as she started to orgasm.
“Tom—please—oh yes, please…”
Her muscles began to throb around his fingers. The breath left her body as wave after wave of stinging, silken feeling pulsed through her, and everything was a rush of noise and a dark space, somewhere, nowhere.
“Keira.”
This had to stop right now, while she had one shred of willpower left. They hadn’t even made love, and he had her at his mercy. And it couldn’t last, he was leaving…
“Please don’t do this, Tom. Don’t make me do this.” She groaned, trying to escape. He held her down with a hand on her stomach.
“What’s the matter?” he asked with such gentleness that she felt herself begin to dissolve.
She struggled to tear herself from his lap, reaching for her panties and jeans. “Don’t make me do this,” she pleaded.
Somehow she struggled to her feet and off his lap. She stood out of reach, scrabbling for her knickers, wrenching them up with her jeans, trying to cover herself. As she fumbled with the zip of her trousers, the beat of blood between her legs began to ebb away.
“Stop.” Tom took one wrist in his and held it firmly.
“No.”
“Wait. Let me.”
He took the zip between his fingers and pulled it up, then deftly thrust the metal fly button through the buttonhole.
“Okay now?”
She nodded mutely and allowed him to take her in his arms and hold her. Just hold her for a moment as he stroked her hair. As her ragged breathing eased, strong arms folded more tightly around her.
His voice was soft, careful, his eyes puzzled. “What should I not make you do, Keira? I didn’t hurt you, did I? God forbid…”
“No.” She gulped in a breath. “You didn’t hurt me. It was wonderful.”
Oh yes, she wanted him to do that again and again. She wanted a naked Tom above her, the weight of his body on hers, entering her, filling her, taking her to the very limit. But she knew if they made love now, she would never find the strength to leave before she was completely lost to him. If she woke up in his bed tomorrow, she’d wake up every morning until the morning. The one that he said good-bye.