by Daphne Clair
For once he appeared at a loss for words. “Why the hell do you think?” he demanded at last. “I was in love with you, dammit! I thought you were in love with me!”
“Would you have been so keen if my family hadn’t had money?” The tormenting suspicion that she’d denied even to herself, buried deep in her subconscious out of fear and pride and wilful refusal to recognize the possibility, finally broke to the surface in all its stark ugliness.
For an instant he looked utterly blank, then almost murderous, before he wiped that expression too, from his face, and said in a deadly tone, “Would you have been so keen if I hadn’t represented forbidden fruit? The bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks, the wrong side of the blanket? Your very own teenage rebellion? Well, it didn’t last long once reality sank in, did it? When the going gets tough the rich little girls run back to Daddy.”
“That’s not fair!”
“What’s fair?” he scoffed. “Life isn’t fair, Paige. The way I feel about you isn’t fair! Nothing in this whole damn wide world is fair. This—” he swooped to haul her from the chair and into his arms, the raging passion in his eyes making her gasp “—isn’t fair.” And then his mouth crushed hers, with the same bewildering mix of anger and desire.
She could hardly breathe, he held her so close, and his warmth and his scent, sexy and seductive, drowned her in sensation. Her parted lips accepted the thrust of his tongue, and the taste of him was exciting beyond bearing.
He was instantly aroused, letting her know it with the closeness of his hold, the explicit nudging of his body against hers. The blood in her veins raced, heating her skin, making her dizzy.
She loved him, had always loved him. Everything, everyone else in the world became a distant, unreal memory. This was what she was born for, what she had once known and had given up for a half-life, for a pale imitation.
She strained against him, yearning even closer, and felt a tremor run through his entire body. He broke the kiss and stared down at her flushed face, her glazed eyes, his own as brilliant as polished emeralds. With shaking hands he cupped her face, tipping back her head, and dropped hot, fierce kisses down the line of her throat.
“The hell with this,” he muttered, and kissed her again, too swiftly. He swung her into his arms and strode through to the bedroom where a high full moon shone through the window and in the uneven light his face took on mysterious planes and shadows, gaunt and proud and taut, like a warrior going into battle.
Then they were lying on the bed, and he hauled off her shirt, and tore his own from his body. “I’m not offering you marriage this time,” he said, the words grinding from his throat. He threw the shirt on the floor and pulled his jeans off, discarding them along with his underpants. She caught her breath as he turned back to her, magnificently naked.
Roughly he unzipped her shorts, and she lifted her hips to help him slide them off. “I won’t promise you children,” he said. His lips found her navel above her bikini panties, his hand splayed on her stomach and then moved lower, nudging the satin down. His fingers touched, lightly explored, and she writhed at the exquisite pleasure of it.
She pulled down the strap of her bra, silently begging, and Jager took the hint, his lips brushing the curve of her breast even as his hand went to the clasp, freeing her from the garment.
“All I can give you,” he said, as it followed their other clothing to the floor, “is myself. And this…”
Then his mouth closed over her breast and she was spinning in the ether. His hands wove magic and his mouth intoxicated, and within a blessedly short time he was plunging into her and she was rising to meet him in an ecstasy of mutual need and fulfillment, a kaleidoscope of sensations so deep and so explosive she thought she’d break into a million glittering pieces before it was over.
And even as she lay panting in the aftermath, he began again, his hands gliding over her, his seduction sweet and slow this time, but knowing, remembering what she liked and exactly how she liked it. Bringing back poignant memories of other times, other places.
Paige reciprocated, touching him in the old ways, adoring him with her fingers, her lips, her tongue. Enjoying the guttural male purr of satisfaction he gave when she stroked him and tasted the salt musk of his skin.
This lovemaking was less frenetic, but even more satisfying, and the earth-shattering climax that clutched at her after she spread herself along his body and eased onto him until she held him deep and firm inside was enough to banish from her mind any thoughts of what tomorrow might bring. ***
When it came, she woke to see Jager coming into the room, freshly showered and wearing only his jeans.
He finger-combed damp hair from his forehead, and his jewel eyes lit on her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Her voice was husky. She tried to sit up without letting the sheet fall from her naked breasts, that still tingled from last night’s ministrations. She lifted a hand to push fine hair out of her eyes and the sheet slipped.
Jager’s eyes shifted, and she made a conscious effort not to coyly hitch the linen back into place. He swooped to pick up his shirt and shrug into it. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “I have an early appointment, and I need to get home and change first.” Already she could see him assuming his business persona, his expression becoming purposeful, remote, an intriguing and slightly unsettling transformation.
He glanced at his expensive watch. “I’ll come back tonight, if that’s okay.” But he didn’t sound as though he expected any argument. He sat on the bed to pull on his sneakers, then turned and brushed his lips across hers. For just an instant his eyes searched her face. “See you then,” he said and left her. Seconds later she heard the slam of the front door.
Paige spent the day in a kind of daze. She must have got up and gone to work, because she found herself there, going through the motions of doing her job, apparently functioning normally. But she was on autopilot.
Until she’d driven home and desultorily tidied scraps of wallpaper and last night’s dishes, and then Jager arrived, bringing a box of Chinese takeaways and a bottle of white wine. And suddenly she was alive again, every nerve end humming with anticipation and excitement.
He dished up the food, poured the wine and even produced a candle from a package he’d brought with him. A short, squat gold candle in a bubble-filled Venetian glass holder.
She remembered when they’d been just newly married he’d splashed out on fish and chips one night, produced a stub of a candle from somewhere and waxed it to a saucer disguised with leaves from a miserable, struggling grapevine in the neglected yard.
Blinking away tears of nostalgia, Paige took a sip of wine and spooned fragrant rice onto her plate, hardly making a dent in the feast spread before her. Jager had bought all her favorite Chinese dishes, things they’d scarcely ever been able to afford on their meager budget, and certainly not all at once. “We’ll never eat all this!” she said.
“Give it a go,” he answered, spearing a sweet-and-sour shrimp. “Anything we don’t finish will keep.”
They drank all the wine, and he toasted her with the last of it, his eyes full of promises. Promises of sweetness, of ecstasy, of physical fulfillment—and nothing more.
She couldn’t complain that he hadn’t warned her. Last night he’d been brutally frank about his intentions, and she hadn’t made a murmur of protest.
And now it was too late to undo what they’d done. And what point was there in denying herself what Jager was willing to give? More than just sex, whatever he said.
He could withhold commitment, and even love. He could refuse to let her into his mind, and lock her out of his heart. But when he was in her arms and his body had become a part of hers, he couldn’t wholly command his physical need for her, nor hide his emotions.
He might have had a much less complicated sexual relationship with any number of women—and very likely had, in the years they’d been apart. Paige bit her tongue on the unreasoning jealousy aroused at the thought
. But he’d pursued her from the moment they met again. Despite her less than spectacular looks, despite the bitter failure of their marriage, and all the years between then and now, something had drawn him back to her.
All I can give you is myself…and this.
She’d settle for that. At least for a while. Lifting her glass, she returned the toast.
After the meal Jager made her stay in her chair while he cleaned up the table. And then wiped his hands, came to her and kissed her with a new gentleness, before leading her along the darkened passageway to her bedroom.
Paige was slipping into sleep when the bedroom phone rang. She had to get out of bed to find it because the room was still at sixes and sevens, but she crawled back under the sheets with the receiver in her hand. Jager turned and draped an arm over her midriff.
“Paige?” Maddie’s voice queried. “You weren’t asleep, were you?”
“No. Hi, how was the wedding?”
“Lovely, great fun. How’s the decorating going?”
“Finished, really. All the wallpaper’s hung.”
“Finished?” Maddie’s voice became muffled as she relayed the news to Glen in the background. “Did Jager help?”
“Yes, he’s been…very useful.” She smiled as Jager’s lips nibbled her shoulder.
“Paige—I sort of let slip to Mother and Dad last week that he was…you know, helping out at the cottage.”
So that was why their mother had been so anxious to introduce her to Philip. She couldn’t help a small laugh. If anything, the plan had catapulted her into Jager’s arms. One look at a potential rival and all his male territorial instincts had come to the fore. Within thirty-six hours he’d been in her bed.
He was in her bed now, feathering tiny kisses down her spine, his hand resting possessively on her hip.
Maddie said, “It’s all right, then? You don’t mind?”
“It’s not a secret.”
Jager sat up, raising his brows at her. “What?” he mouthed.
Paige shook her head. Maddie was saying, “I think they were wrong about him, anyway. I was too young at the time to have an opinion, and I hardly ever saw him, but I thought he was great-looking.”
“He…he was,” Paige agreed. His mouth was playing havoc with her, wandering in places that made her blood run hot.
“Mum and Dad can’t say now that he’s a no-hoper, can they? I mean, look at him!”
Paige was looking at him. He looked wonderful, all toned muscle and tanned skin. “No, they can’t. Um, Maddie, I’m a bit tired…all that renovating…I need an early night.”
After she’d switched off and put down the phone Jager said, “Tired?”
“Lazy.” She slid down in the bed without dislodging the hand that had settled on her breast. “Oh, that’s so good. Don’t stop now.”
“Maddie?” He sounded lazy too, but he didn’t stop, his clever fingers making her skin tingle pleasurably. “What was that about?”
“You, mostly. She thinks you’re terrific.”
“I’m flattered. What about you?”
“Me?” She thought he was a superb lover and a complex human being, possibly a damaged one. And she suspected his motives.
Maybe her attraction for him was based on the fact that he’d once been considered not good enough to marry her. And maybe his determination to make her his mistress—implicit in the terms he’d spelled out—was a way to get back at all of them for past humiliation. “I think you don’t need me to flatter your ego,” she said, wondering if that was true. But if he needed her for anything but a bedmate, she knew he would be dragged by wild horses rather than admit it.
Philip phoned the following evening, while Paige and Jager were sharing her couch and listening to a CD he’d bought that day. She lay across his lap, her head cradled by his shoulder. If she closed her eyes she could imagine the years had fallen away and they were teenagers again, newly wed and still giddy with the novelty of being married.
The telephone bell shattered the mood, and she struggled up to go into the hallway and answer.
To hide her reluctance she greeted Philip warmly, and after telling him the job was finished thanked him again for his help and repeated her invitation. “When will you be having the children again? Sunday afternoon, then. Anytime. Yes, of course the dinner invitation stands. I’ll look forward to it.”
When she reentered the sitting room the music was over and Jager was taking the disk out of the machine. He closed the plastic case with a snap and put it aside. “Philip?”
“Yes.” She went back to the sofa and sat down. “I invited him—”
“I heard.”
Her eyes met his defiantly. “I’d promised. I can’t go back on my word.”
The silent lift of his brows and the sardonic curl of his mouth reminded her as surely as if he’d accused her that she had once gone back on her solemn marriage vows. Unconsciously her hands clenched against the fabric of the sofa.
Jager’s voice was deceptively mild. “Do you hear me arguing?”
Loud and clear. But not in words. Resisting the urge to excuse or apologize, she said, “It wouldn’t make any difference if you did.” She wished he would come back to the sofa and pull her into his arms again instead of standing over her with that slightly forbidding expression.
“You realize you’re giving him a misleading message?”
“I haven’t given him any message at all,” Paige snapped, “except one that says I appreciated his help. And I won’t be.” She would ensure Philip knew that any romantic involvement was out of the question.
“Thank you.”
“It has nothing to do with you.” She wasn’t going to let him think he could order her life, her friendships. He had offered her so little of himself. “I’m not pandering to your wishes, Jager, just because we’re sleeping together. So don’t expect it.”
A lambent flame flickered in his eyes. “Spoiling for a fight, darling?”
“No.” She didn’t want to fight him. She wanted to make love with him—fierce, all-consuming, mind-numbing love. “I just want you to know you can’t steamroller me. You can’t take over my life.”
“Have I ever steamrollered you?”
Paige bit her lip. “No,” she admitted. Even last night he’d given her every chance to repulse him if she’d wanted to. He was formidably self-assured and sexually confident, but that didn’t make him a bully. If she’d been overwhelmed by him that was down to her own susceptibility. The stark fact was she wanted him, at least as much as he wanted her.
He strolled over to her, the fitful gleam in his eyes intensifying. “I’m glad we cleared that up. Now—” he bent and took both her hands in his, drawing her to her feet “—shall we go to bed?”
Philip’s children were a nice, well-behaved pair, and the afternoon went pleasantly. When dinner was over Philip helped Paige wash up while the children watched a video in the sitting room.
“Thanks for this,” he said, hanging up the tea towel, then coming close. “It’s been nice, Paige.”
“I’m glad.” She moved unobtrusively further from him. “Like I said, I owed you.”
He leaned against the sink counter and regarded her thoughtfully. “Seen Jager lately?”
“Yes, actually. I’m seeing quite a lot of him.”
His lips pursed ruefully. He nodded. “I missed out there, then?”
“You’re a very nice man, Philip.”
“Thank you.” He inclined his head. “And you’re a nice woman.” He paused. “I get the feeling there’s not a lot of softness in Jager. I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”
She was touched. “I appreciate your concern, but I can handle Jager.” Even as she said it, she wondered if it was true. She could get badly burned…again.
“Okay. I’ll mind my own business.” Philip stepped forward to kiss her cheek. “I hope it works out for you.”
Jager phoned later, after Philip and the children had left.
“Are you chec
king up on me?” Paige demanded.
“Don’t be so touchy. I called to say good night. I could come round if you like.”
Tempted, Paige decided not to give in. Jager was like a drug to her—the more she had of him the more she craved him. “I’m tired,” she said. “Children have so much energy.”
For a moment she thought he’d gone. Then he said, “How’s Philip?”
“He seems fine.”
“You let him down gently?”
“Stop fishing, Jager,” she said crisply. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Is that an invitation?”
“If you like.”
“Then I’ll be there. Unless you’d like to come to my place?”
“No.” She could barely cope with him on her own territory. She wasn’t sure how she felt about venturing into his.
He laughed. “Okay. I’ll bring dinner.”
It didn’t take Maddie long to figure out that Paige and Jager were sleeping together. Jager certainly made no effort to hide it, and pride wouldn’t allow Paige to suggest they keep it secret.
“Do the parents know?” Maddie asked her, agog.
“Not yet.” They were bound to find out, Paige supposed, but she wasn’t anxious to break the news.
“I won’t tell,” Maddie promised.
“It doesn’t really matter anymore, Maddie.”
“Do you think…you might get married again?”
“It’s not in our plans.”
They had no plans, they were living wholly in the present. From day to day she didn’t know if Jager would be sharing her bed that night or not. If she was going to be out she let him know. He scrupulously never asked where or why.
He’d begun to leave a toothbrush, shaver and comb in her bathroom, clothes in her wardrobe. She kept a couple of cans of his favorite beer in the fridge.
When she shopped for floor rugs Jager accompanied her. He helped her hang curtains and choose where the pictures should go on the walls. At a flea market they found an antique oval mirror for the bedroom, where the bed was now in pride of place and Paige had arranged an Indian sari, gleaming in red silk with delicate gold edges, in a graceful swathe on the silk-look gold-papered wall behind it.
