Rich as Sin

by Anne Mather

  ‘I’m sorry, no.’

  She looked—anxious; hurt! Those eyes, that he had once pictured dark with passion, possessed a troubled expression. He wasn’t totally convinced of it, but he suspected she was on the verge of tears. Dear God! he thought despairingly. What was he going to do?

  Keeping his hands securely in his pockets, he managed a casual, ‘OK.’

  But her, ‘I’ll ask one of the maids to direct me,’ stung him to the core.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ he retorted, setting off along the corridor to their right. ‘Come on. I’ll show you how to find your way. Then—then when it’s dinnertime, you won’t need anyone’s assistance.’

  Samantha sighed. He heard the soft expellation of her breath behind him, but he didn’t look back. And presently she fell into step beside him, probably aware that, by dragging her heels, she was only prolonging the situation.

  It was shadowy in the long corridors, the lamps that cast their illumination by night not yet reaching their full potential. Instead, the brass-shaded lanterns cast pools of shadow over the rug-strewn floors, and Matthew hoped fervently that Samantha wouldn’t lose her footing. He didn’t know what he might do if he had to touch her. Every inch of his skin was sensitised to every move she made.

  But Samantha didn’t slip, and they reached her door without incident. Set in an angle of the corridor, its grilled panels had never appeared so welcome, and Matthew managed a grim smile as he indicated that they had arrived.

  ‘Dinner’s not until nine o’clock,’ he said, keeping the vision of his grandfather’s decanter firmly in his sights. ‘If you have any difficulties in finding your way, just pick up the phone.’

  Samantha nodded. She hadn’t bothered putting her shoes on again since they re-entered the house, and in consequence the difference in their height was more pronounced. But, when she tilted her head and looked up at him, she had no problem in meeting his gaze.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked softly, and Matthew’s breathing stilled.

  ‘I’m afraid I—–’

  He wasn’t sure what he had been about to say, but in any case he wasn’t allowed to continue. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ she queried, putting out her hand and touching his taut chest. Her fingers brushed the fine dark hair exposed by the opening of his shirt, and he shuddered. ‘You know what I’m talking about. You’ve hardly said a word for the last half-hour.’

  Matthew sucked in a laboured breath. ‘You’re imagining things.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ Amazingly, she seemed prepared to stand and argue with him. Her face, pale in the artificial light, took on a shuttered look. ‘I think you’re having second thoughts about bringing me here—–’

  ‘No!’ Matthew’s hard-won restraint faltered, but he made a valiant effort to keep his head. ‘No, I—just think we both need a breathing space, that’s all. I’ve been doing some—thinking, and I guess what I’m saying is—that—–’

  ‘—you wish you hadn’t brought me here!’ she finished tensely, and, stepping round his astounded frame, she marched into her apartment.

  Matthew saw the door closing behind her, swung by the aggressive sweep of her arm, and somehow his foot prevented it from slamming. ‘For pity’s sake, Sam!’ he exclaimed, striding after her, and it was not until he had caught her arm, and jerked her round to face him, that he realised how reckless he had been.

  She was crying. The tears he had suspected earlier were now a reality, overspilling her eyes in the aftermath of their encounter. Salty streaks smeared her cheeks, and she smudged them away with the back of her hand, as she struggled to meet his angry gaze.

  ‘Oh, God!’

  The oath he muttered was as much a prayer for his own deliverance as a protest at her vulnerability. But it was impossible for him to look at her without touching her, and when he pulled her into his arms he felt only relief.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered harshly, chasing her tears with his tongue, before finding the parted softness of her mouth. ‘I never meant to hurt you, and what I’ve done has hurt us both.’

  The sound she made could have been a protest, but her hands were gripping the hair at the back of his neck, and she was reaching up eagerly towards him. So much so that Matthew’s tongue brushed the dewy softness at the back of her throat, and her eyes closed against the passion she saw in his.

  She felt so good in his arms, he thought unsteadily, her shoulders warm from the unaccustomed rays of the sun. Her skin felt like satin, and when he insinuated one hand into the waistband of her shorts he was amazed at the sense of power it gave him.

  He wanted her! Lord, how he wanted her! He had never felt such a need to be a part of a woman before, and the hunger she inspired in him made a nonsense of his resistance. What was the point of sending her away? He knew that if he did sooner or later he’d go after her. He wouldn’t rest until she was his, and to hell with the consequences.

  She was kissing him back now, her tongue seeking his in an eager parody of his possession. Her body was leaning into his, and the unmistakable scent of her arousal rocked his senses. Whatever kind of relationship she had with her fiancé, he was convinced she had never responded like this before. It was crazy, but for all her eagerness to taste his mouth there was an immaturity in the way she went about it. Instinct alone seemed to be responsible for the wilful urgency of her lips, and although she must have some experience there was a guileless naïveté in the way she let him take the lead.

  The curve of her bottom was like the softest silk beneath his hand. His fingers cupped it, squeezed it, used it to urge her even nearer, revelling in the expectation of that soft skin against his own.

  Eagerness was making him reckless. He hardly remembered that while he had been escorting her to her room he had been steeling himself against her. His earlier plans of spending the evening in a sensual anticipation of the night ahead; of watching her across the supper table, and teasing his senses with thoughts of her eventual acquiescence, had all been discarded. The idea of savouring her submission, of picturing her slim body, pale against his crisp sheets, had become too dangerous to contemplate. Yet, suddenly, even those images seemed too distant to withstand.

  He wanted her now; this minute. Holding her like this, feeling her yielding body responding to the urgency of his, made even his pre-conceived seduction superfluous. Far from tempting her, she was tempting him, driving him to distraction with her bewitching innocence.

  His hand groped for the door behind him, and he slammed it shut. Then, keeping his mouth on hers, he urged her back, towards the bed. The swagged edge of the counterpane halted their progress, and Samantha sat down rather suddenly, jerked out of her bemusement by the coolness against her legs.

  Realising it might not be wise to give himself time to rekindle any doubts about what he was doing, Matthew dropped on to his haunches in front of her. He moved between her splayed knees, and cupped her face in his hands, parting her lips with his thumbs, and slipping his tongue between.

  ‘Matt …’

  His name on her lips was dazed and questioning, but there was no trace of resistance in the word. On the contrary, as his fingers moved to stroke down the column of her throat, she shifted against him, brushing his hand with her breasts as a whispering sigh rippled over her.

  Matthew found he was trembling. The gentle hands that probed his shoulders were unknowingly sensuous, and his whole body yearned for their delicate caress. He could feel his muscles stirring, growing and expanding, and the ache between his thighs was becoming unbearable.

  He found the ends of the cords that kept the halter in place, and tugged decisively. The two sides parted, and the silk fell away. Her breasts were just as beautiful as he remembered, and he pressed his face between them, reaching behind her again to unfasten the ties at her waist.

  The halter was tossed on to the floor beside him, and her eyes met his half nervously as his hands slid from her waist to cradle the undersides of her breasts. The rose-tipped crests semed to su
rge towards him, and she quivered when his teeth closed around one sensitised peak.

  He suckled greedily, causing a flood of feeling to torment his groin. He had never experienced such a sensation of excitement; never felt such a rush of adrenalin, spreading through his veins like wildfire. His heart was thumping; the blood was pounding in his head. Every nerve and sinew was demanding satisfaction.

  Cool it, Matt, he chided himself, drawing back for a moment and looking down at the floor, trying to calm his rioting senses. But the sight of his own aroused body was unavoidable, and the palpable nearness of hers made a nonsense of his efforts. It was impossible to behave rationally in his present state of upheaval. His brain felt as if it was on fire, and his physical needs were paramount.

  His hand moved down, one finger drawing a line from the waistband of her shorts, over her flat stomach, to the heated junction of her legs. She jumped when he pressed his thumb against her, and he felt the throbbing pulse beneath the silk. He couldn’t wait to strip the shorts from her. He wanted to touch her without the barrier of anything between.

  And yet there was a tantalising delight in prolonging his own torture. He knew that what was going to happen between them would be good, and he wanted her to enjoy it as much as he would. That was why he drew one of her hands to his body, sucking in his breath when her slender fingers traced the turgid outline of his flesh.

  She was trembing now, and if he hadn’t known better he’d have said she was half afraid of what was happening. But she didn’t draw back. In fact, she seemed disarmingly eager to learn anything he had to teach her. And, when her fingers went to release his zip, he decided she still had a lot to learn.

  He moved then, tumbling her back on to the bed, and coming down on it beside her. With one hand, he tore open his shirt, so that when he bent over her her breasts were flattened against the hair-roughened skin of his chest, and with the other he cushioned her head, bringing her mouth to his.

  It was so good to feel her beneath him, so good to find the button of her shorts and ease them down over her hips. She was wearing lacy briefs beneath, but they were soon disposed of. And then his fingers found the damp sweetness they had been seeking.

  ‘God, Sam,’ he muttered, releasing the button of his trousers and jerking open his zip. He almost groaned at the relief he felt when his swollen flesh spilled into his hand. Dear God, he thought incredulously, this had never happened to him before, not even with Melissa. He was as horny as a schoolboy on his first date.

  She was shifting beneath him now, and although when his mouth found hers and his tongue plunged deeply into her mouth she responded avidly he sensed her uncertainty. And why not? he asked himself, with a brief spurt of conscience. It was obvious she had never been unfaithful to her boyfriend before. Indeed, if she hadn’t been so adamant about her relationship with her fiancé, he might even have suspected she had never done this before.

  But he didn’t want to think about that. She was too deliciously desirable, and responsive. Her lips, bruised now from his kisses, were a constant delight, and the ripeness of her breasts simply begged for his attention.

  His gaze drifted down to her hips and her flat stomach. The curly mound of her womanhood was soft and irresistible, and he slid his fingers into the cleft that was wet with wanting him. Even though he longed to taste her, he knew he dared not risk that right now. His own urgent body demanded release, and he had to content himself with stroking the hot little nub that pulsed against his thumb.

  She jerked beneath his touch, and the whimpering sounds she emitted drove him crazy. He wanted her to make those sounds when he was inside her, and, sliding his hand along her thigh, he parted it from the other. With his tongue tracing the column of her throat, he moved between her legs, and guided himself into that dark moist passage, and when she bucked against him his flagging control gave way.

  He entered her swiftly, more swiftly than he had intended, and even when he encountered that unbelievable—but unmistakable—barrier, he couldn’t draw back. For the first time in his life, his own needs got the better of him, and, even though he struggled to resist, the marvellous tightness of her muscles defeated him.

  He climaxed almost immediately, spilling most of his seed inside her. For, although he dragged himself away from that spiralling ecstasy, the effort had exhausted him, and he slumped heavily beside her …

  CHAPTER NINE

  SAMANTHA stared up at the ceiling. Even in the lamplight the delicate plasterwork was clearly visible. The flowing style, which gave each leaf and flower such vitality, must have taken a craftsman months to create. Leaves and flowers that had no colour, she reflected tautly. Like everything else at the villa, they weren’t exactly what they seemed.

  She sighed. She supposed she ought to be feeling bad at this moment. Or guilty, at least, for behaving as she had. If Paul could see her now, he would never forgive her. So why did she just feel empty, and incapable of grief?

  She wished Matthew would go. He was still motionless beside her, one arm raised, and his head turned away from her. He was probably still nursing his outrage at finding she was still a virgin. Judging by the oath he had uttered seconds before he had slumped beside her, he was unlikely to forgive her. Join the queue, she thought indifferently. She would probably never forgive herself.

  She supposed she was still numb from the experience. Certainly, it had been nothing like what she had expected. It had been more painful, for one thing. But then, remembering the rampant power of Matthew’s body, she ought not to have been surprised. No wonder women were afraid of men forcing themselves upon them. Matthew hadn’t done that, but he had hurt her. The blood still caked her thighs with its sticky, cloying scent.

  What was harder to understand were the feelings that had swept through her body like a forest fire, and now seemed no more substantial than a mirage. What had happened to them? Why did they seem so unreal? Her ignorance had to be the key; that, and a hopeless sense of inadequacy.

  She didn’t blame Matthew. The responsibility was all hers. She had gone into this with her eyes open. It was her fault it had turned out the way it had.

  He stirred then, and, unable to prevent herself, she stiffened. If he touched her, she would scream, she thought unsteadily. For God’s sake, why didn’t he just go? How much longer was this to go on?

  But Matthew didn’t go. Nor did he touch her; not initially, anyway. He merely rolled his head on his arm so that he was looking at her, and she stared at the ceiling with greater concentration.

  ‘Am I supposed to say I’m sorry?’ he asked softly, expelling his breath on a low sigh. ‘I am. But not for the reason you think. I haven’t done this since I was in school.’

  In spite of herself, that got her attention. Unable to resist, she turned to look at him, her narrowed eyes mirroring her arrant disbelief. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’ Matthew’s eyes were dark and intent. ‘I’m usually in control. This time I wasn’t. As I say, I’m sorry. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

  ‘Again?’ Samantha gasped. ‘You surely can’t imagine this might happen again?’ His shamelessness disturbed her, and she hurriedly looked away. ‘I’m not blaming you, but—it was a mistake. I knew it before I came here, and this has only proved the point.’

  ‘Why?’ Matthew shifted, so that his weight was supported on one elbow, and he was looking down at her. ‘Because you’d never been with a man before?’ He ran lazy fingers into his hair, and, seeing the movement out of the corner of her eye, Samantha knew a moment’s panic. ‘You should have told me. I hurt you, I know. But,’ he shrugged, ‘it had to happen some time.’

  ‘You would say that, wouldn’t you?’ Samantha had to catch herself back from saying something quite vituperative about this experience. For a moment a wave of some emotion she refused to recognise swept over her. And she despised herself for being more conscious of his nakedness than her own. ‘Well—as I say, I’m not blaming you. I knew what I was doing. I just—didn’
t think it through.’

  The trace of a smile tugged at the corners of Matthew’s lips. ‘No one thinks this sort of thing through, sweetheart,’ he told her gently, and she clenched her fists against the casual endearment. ‘And forgive me, I don’t believe you did know what you were doing. If it’s any consolation, nor did I.’

  Samantha refused to be cajoled. Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, she said, ‘I think you’d better go. It’s getting late. Your—your mother will be wondering where you are.’

  Matthew shrugged, his shoulders brown and muscular in the subdued light. ‘That’s not a consequence that troubles me greatly,’ he remarked, his eyes drifting down over her taut body. ‘I just wish I’d locked that door. There are some things no one else should see.’

  Samantha’s head jerked around. ‘You don’t think—–’

  ‘Relax.’ His hand came to touch her now, and she hardly noticed the light caress. She was too shocked at the idea that anyone else might see her humiliation. She could just imagine the gossip that would cause.

  ‘Stay there,’ he said after a moment, seeming to find it difficult to withdraw his hand from the smooth curve of her arm. But at least he didn’t touch her breasts, which were already hardening against her will. Dear God, she thought, as feeling flooded back into her bones, she couldn’t want him again; not after what had happened before.

  Matthew slid off the bed, and although she wished she could look anywhere else but at him, her eyes followed his unashamed progress to her bathroom. He disappeared inside, and presently she heard water running. For heaven’s sake, she wondered, was he taking a shower? Of course! He’d want to clean all trace of their lovemaking from him.

  She sat up and looked down at herself, finding no pleasure in the sight. If only there were another bathroom, she thought. If only she could cleanse herself before he came back. Crazy though the thoughts were, she doubted anyone would want to touch her at the moment. Which should have been a source of relief—but wasn’t.