The Forbidden Innocent

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Really?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t you think that’s taking the work ethic a touch too far?’

  ‘Not really. It’s still only.’ She glanced at the inexpensive little watch on her wrist, which was the only thing she was still wearing, and gave a little yelp of horror. ‘Oh, my goodness—it’s nearly four o’clock! ‘

  ‘So what? I’m the boss and what I say goes,’ he said, in a voice of soft mockery. ‘We have as many hours as we want—and so many endless possibilities about how to spend them—and you’re just itching to get back to your computer! ‘

  ‘I’m only trying to be diligent,’ she said. ‘Sometimes a man doesn’t want diligence.’ ‘No?’ Her tongue snaked out to moisten her suddenly bone-dry lips because the way he was looking at her was making her feel boneless and melting. ‘Not even from his secretary?’

  ‘No. Not even from his secretary. Can’t you think what he might prefer?’ ‘I’m… I’m not sure.’

  ‘This.’ He kissed her, stirring lazily as he brought her naked body to lie on top of him and her mouth hovering within kissing range. ‘He prefers this.’ Jack flicked his tongue over her lips. God, she tasted good. Sweet and wholesome and yet as sexy as any woman had a right to be. His hand reached down to find her honeyed moistness and he heard her little gasp of pleasure as she squirmed beneath his seeking fingers. ‘Jack!’

  ‘You are very responsive,’ he murmured approvingly as he felt her writhe against his hand.

  ‘Am… am I?’ All she knew was that he seemed to set her on fire with every look and every touch and every kiss.

  ‘Mmm.’ Jack reached for a condom. She was eager and yet acquiescent as he parted her thighs and brought himself deep inside her—revelling in her hot and tight welcome as he began to move. And this time he watched her. This time he saw the pleasure which transformed her face into one of mindless rapture—before he too was caught up in its spell.

  Afterwards she fell against him, nestling sleepily against his chest. ‘That was… amazing,’ she said shyly.

  ‘No. You are amazing,’ he said softly as he smoothed back the hair which was falling over her face. ‘Though I confess it’s a little strange to see my Ashley looking so wild and so uncontained.’

  Her heart missed a beat as she opened her eyes. Did he mean it when he said ‘my’ Ashley like that or was it just a slip of the tongue—a careless statement said in the aftermath of making love?

  ‘And an Ashley who is uncharacteristically silent,’ he continued, tilting her chin a little—so that there was nowhere to look except at him. ‘Are you having second thoughts about what just happened?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Are you?’

  He paused for a moment—and then an odd light entered his dark eyes. ‘If I stopped to think about it long enough then I could find a whole list of reasons why it shouldn’t have happened. But it’s been building for weeks now. We both know that.’ He trickled his finger from neck to breast. ‘It was inevitable.’

  He made it sound like a storm—a violent and unexpected storm which had now passed—and he hadn’t exactly answered her question, had he? Ashley felt a tremor of foreboding. So was this to be the end of it—a one-off liaison which must now be forgotten?

  ‘You realise that I know practically nothing about you,’ he said suddenly.

  Ashley swallowed. ‘Perhaps… perhaps we should have had that conversation a couple of hours ago.’

  ‘I’m serious, Ashley—don’t be so evasive.’

  Yet surely he was the one who had made evasion into an art form. Who clammed up whenever she tried to find out anything about his past and blocked any attempts to question him. But he was the boss and she supposed that gave him the right to ask questions—even in a setting like this one. ‘What would you like to know?’ she hedged. ‘You’ve read my CV.’

  ‘I’m not talking about your qualifications! I want to know more about you. I know your parents are dead but that’s about all. What about brothers and sisters—do you have any?’

  Awkwardly, Ashley shifted, wishing that she could just pull away from him and roll to the other side of the rumpled bed—away from the temptation of his body and the questions in his black eyes. Her past was a country she had no wish to revisit and usually she fielded questions about it with a self-protective zeal and for good reason. People tended to judge you when you’d had an unconventional upbringing. But Jack was the man to whom she had just given her virginity—who had just made her feel things she’d never expected to feel. Wouldn’t it be bizarre to withhold information from him when he was just trying to get to know her better?

  ‘No, I don’t. I’m an only child,’ she said reluctantly. ‘And my mother died when I was small.’

  ‘What about your father?’

  There was a pause while Ashley considered her options. Jack might seem interested in her past but when it boiled down to it—he was descended from a rich and well-connected family. Wouldn’t he be appalled by the truth behind her circumstances? But you can’t hide it from him—for there should be no secrets between lovers. And wouldn’t it be better if he knew everything from the outset—so that he can reject you sooner, rather than later?

  ‘I never knew my father.’ She forced the words out. ‘In fact, I don’t know if my mother knew him either.’

  ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

  Hadn’t she always been honest with him? ‘One of my foster mothers used to take great delight in telling me that my mother was a… a slut.’ Ashley swallowed, her fingernails digging into the palms of her clenched hands. ‘And that she slept with men in order to buy drugs.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Are you trying to shock me, Ashley?’

  ‘No, I’m telling you the plain and unvarnished truth,

  Jack—I thought that’s what you wanted. How do I know whether or not it will shock you? You’ve seen more terrible things in your army days than most men would wish to see in a lifetime.’

  He gave an odd kind of laugh as he thought how cleverly she had turned the question round and how, unwittingly, she had struck a blow at his conscience. ‘Did someone once teach you the seductive power of truth?’ he questioned, aware that he was skating on very thin ice indeed—but, ruthlessly, he closed his mind to it. Instead he pulled her closer and let her aroused and very feminine scent remove the thoughts which so troubled him.

  She shook her head. ‘I wasn’t taught anything of any use.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you were.’ He took her by the shoulders, his fingers biting into her soft, bare flesh, and his black gaze burned into her. ‘Somewhere along the way you learned how to burrow beneath a man’s skin with quite stunning effectiveness.’

  ‘Don’t say these things to me, Jack,’ she whispered.

  ‘Don’t you like compliments?’

  ‘Only if they’re true.’

  ‘Oh, they’re true, all right. Every word.’ But he frowned as he heard the suspicion in her voice and thought about what she’d told him. ‘It must have been a tough childhood,’ he observed slowly.

  She wondered what it would be like to admit to one of those ‘normal’ households, so beloved of advertisers. Mummy and Daddy and perhaps a sibling, or two. The shiny car on the drive and the shared family meals around a table. Birthday cakes and Christmas trees and a pet dog who would chew their shoes and make them all laugh with careless indulgence.

  And yet some instinct told Ashley that she wouldn’t be lying here if she’d had that type of childhood. Because hadn’t the hardship and loneliness she’d experienced—all the stuff which had damaged her—hadn’t that forged some kind of strange bond between them? Because in ways she couldn’t quite put her finger on, she recognised that Jack was damaged too. Was it just his experience in the army which had made him like that?

  ‘It was difficult,’ she said carefully.

  ‘How difficult?’

  She bit her lip as the memories came rushing in on a dark tide. ‘Where do I begin? I mean, is there really any point i
n reliving the past and remembering all the foster parents who shouldn’t have been let near a child? The ones who did it for money or to fill up the empty spaces in their own bad relationships? The ones who.’ Her voice tailed off.

  His face darkened. ‘The ones who hit you?’

  She shook her head. ‘They didn’t hit me.’

  ‘Were cruel to you, then, in some other way?’

  She remembered the locked cupboard and the sense of imprisonment. The walls closing in on her until she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. The expression of shock on the doctor’s face. The breath caught in her throat as she stared at him. ‘How did you know that?’ she whispered.

  ‘Instinct, I guess. An instinct which can seek out suffering and can read pain.’ And then he swore very softly. ‘All your life you’ve been taken advantage of,’ he added bitterly. ‘And now I’ve just done exactly the same.’

  She shook her head. ‘But you haven’t taken advantage of me, Jack! How could you have done when I wanted it, too? You know I did. There was no force—nor even any persuasion. We were two adults who wanted the same thing.’

  ‘And you had no experience. None whatsoever. While I had plenty. Enough to know when to stop it. I should have taken control,’ he said. ‘I should have ended it while I still could.’

  He’s making excuses, Ashley realised—and she had to let him go if that was what he wanted. She mustn’t chain him to her side because of a sense of guilt, or responsibility. ‘It can end right now and right here. If you want it to.’

  He stared down into her face for a long moment and then he laughed.

  ‘Damn you, Ashley Jones,’ he said softly as he pulled her back into his arms. ‘Damn you for your soft understanding and your perception. Don’t you know that by offering me freedom, you have guaranteed my willing capture?’

  ‘That wasn’t my intention.’

  ‘You think I don’t realise that? That you are totally without guile?’ He gave a short laugh. ‘I could put it down to your youth and inexperience—but it goes much deeper than that.’ He stared deep into her eyes and lowered his voice to a murmur. ‘You just have these instincts which make you remarkable and which make me hunger for you. I want you, Ashley, and I want you now.’

  He pulled her against him and once more he began to make love to her—kissing her long and deep until she was more than ready for him once more. But his tenderness seemed to have been replaced by something else. She thought she sensed anger as he moved deep inside her—or could it have been despair? Afterwards, she must have fallen asleep because when she opened her eyes again the light had almost disappeared from the sky outside.

  She blinked as she realised how late it must be. ‘I really am going to have to do some work now, Jack.’

  ‘You don’t need my permission to get out of bed.’

  ‘Well, I did last time I tried. Remember?’

  Reluctantly, he laughed. ‘So you did,’ he murmured. ‘Well, then, you’d better run along, before the memory of how you’ve just been wrapping those delectable thighs around my back makes me drag you back into my arms again.’

  ‘Jack!’

  ‘Don’t you know I love it when you blush like that?’

  ‘I am definitely getting up!’

  ‘Go on, then. I’m not stopping you.’

  He lay back against the bank of pillows as she rose from the rumpled sheets. She looked like a modern-day Venus, he thought contentedly—all tousled and rosy.

  ‘Stop staring at me,’ she whispered.

  ‘But I like staring at you.’

  For a moment, Ashley felt self-conscious as she made her way over his priceless silk rugs—wondering if he was judging her appearance. Wasn’t that the kind of thing which all men did? Assessed naked bottoms and thighs on a scale of one to ten and decided whether or not they were wobbly? Scooping up her clothes, she carried them into his bathroom, where the image reflected back from the mirror stopped her in her tracks and she stared at it in disbelief.

  Could that really be her? Mousey and unassuming Ashley Jones, her hair all loose and streaming down over her bare shoulders and her body all flushed and naked? Her fingers crept up to her mouth, which had been kissed so thoroughly by Jack that her lips were now the colour of crushed berries.

  She washed and dressed, but when she walked back into the bedroom it was to discover that Jack had gone and the bed was empty. For a moment she just stood there, wondering if she had dreamt the whole thing—until the soft aching at the very core of her body reminded her that it had been very real.

  So now what did she do? Go looking for him or just slide behind her desk and carry on working as if nothing had happened?

  Walking over to the window, she stared at the darkening garden and then up at the sky, where the faint pinpricks of stars were beginning to sprinkle the skies. Was this how it was going to be from now on—her life inhibited by what had just happened? Not daring to express herself for fear of how it might be interpreted by her boss? No. She had to behave normally—if she could only remember how.

  She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the door opening behind her—nor realise that anyone had entered the room until she heard the sound of something heavy being put down and then the soft whisper of lips at the back of her neck.

  Turning around, she found Jack standing there—his rugged features flushed and his eyes gleaming dark.

  ‘I wondered where you’d gone,’ she whispered—wondering whatever had happened to all her good intentions about carrying on as normal. Did ‘normal’ include running her fingertips through the thick raven hair with a sense almost of wonder? Or leaning forward to inhale that raw masculine scent of soap and sandalwood which was all his—and dancing her lips in front of his.

  ‘And did you miss me?’ he murmured.

  Once before he had asked her that same question and back then she had fudged the answer in order to protect herself from her growing feelings for him. But now—surely—there was no need to erect barriers, not when he had torn them down with the heady power of his love-making. Her finger brushed against his lips.

  ‘Yes, I missed you. I missed you a lot,’ she said. ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘I was getting us a drink.’

  Looking over his shoulder, she could see a tray with champagne and glasses sitting on a table. ‘Champagne?’ she questioned, on a note of surprise.

  ‘I feel like champagne, don’t you?’ He walked over to the table and eased the cork from the bottle with a loud pop, before pouring two fizzing glassfuls and handing her one. ‘Here.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Ashley took the glass and gave it a wistful smile. ‘I’ve never drunk champagne in a man’s bedroom before.’

  ‘Then your education is only just beginning, Miss Jones,’ came his mocking reply. ‘But before we go any further—I think we’d better get something straight between us.’ His voice was suddenly serious as his eyes captured hers. ‘Nobody must find out about this, Ashley. Not Christine—not anybody. Do you understand? This is between you and me—nobody else.’

  Ashley’s smile didn’t falter—though inside her heart was racing. Did that mean he was ashamed of her? Ashamed of his own weakness in having chosen her as his lover—rather than someone like Nicole who would have been a million times more suitable? But maybe he’d chosen his secretary because he could guarantee her obedience. Her willingness to please. And her reluctance to ask him why. Did he realise that her own insecurities meant that she wouldn’t do anything which might threaten this precious bubble of happiness which was enveloping her?

  ‘Of course I do,’ she said.

  ‘Good.’

  But the champagne tasted sour on her lips and did nothing to dull the urgent questions in her mind. Wouldn’t any other woman who valued herself have objected to his desire for secrecy?

  And didn’t secrecy imply that there was something wrong about what they were doing?

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘SO WHATwould you like to do this after
noon, my little green-eyed minx?’

  Lying tangled amid the rumpled sheets, Ashley registered the lazy approbation of Jack’s smoky-eyed gaze as he stroked a lazy finger from collar-bone to breast. Was this how every woman felt when she was in bed with a man she had grown to love? As if she were ten feet tall and could climb mountains without getting out of breath? Luxuriously, she stirred. ‘How about something beginning with “S”?’

  His hand continued its erotic journey. ‘Not more sex?’ he questioned with a mocking smile. ‘Are you completely insatiable?’

  ‘Why?’ Ashley’s eyes widened. How quickly she had learnt to play the bedroom games of flirtation. Just as she had learned all the other things her experienced lover had taught her. ‘Don’t you like me being insatiable?’

  He circled a still-puckered nipple. ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way. You are the most assiduous.’ his mouth now drifted to the rosy tip itself and he felt another great tug of desire ‘… pupil—that any man could wish for.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  Ashley gave a sigh of pleasure as his lips worked their particular magic. And he was the most perfect teacher that any woman could ask for. He had taught her that sex could be many things: it could be urgent, lazy or infinitely tender. Jack Marchant wasn’t so much her dream man—he exceeded every fantasy she’d ever had. She’d never thought she’d find herself initiated into the art of love-making by someone who was so uniquely passionate and intense. Who could make her want him the moment he looked at her. She’d never imagined that she would be the lover of a fabulously wealthy man and spend nights in his vast bed while the harsh wind from the moor keened outside the window.

  It was a relationship which had made her blossom in every way—and hadn’t she dared believe that their liaison had benefitted him, too? Because hadn’t his haunted dreams of the past stopped happening? No more did he pace the corridors at night, locked in his own inner turmoil—instead he slept soundly, wrapped contentedly in her arms. And hadn’t her own self-esteem grown as a result of that?