‘You’re lovely,’ he said, and his voice sounded rusty and unused. ‘God help me, Tricia, I need you.’
‘Then God help us both, Rhys, because I need you too.’
With a muffled groan he lifted her and turned, laying her down in the middle of the bed and coming down beside her. His lips found hers and clung as his hands sought her body, unclipping her bra and freeing her breasts to spill out into his waiting hands.
He lifted his head and looked down at her, and his eyes darkened. ‘Rose-pink,’ he growled softly. ‘I knew it.’ And, bending his head, he dragged his tongue slowly over each aching nipple in turn. He blew on them and they puckered tighter, then he suckled at them deeply, one then the other, and each pull of his mouth tightened her body like a bowstring until she arched against him, sobbing.
‘Rhys, stop,’ she pleaded.
He lifted his head instantly. ‘Stop?’ he whispered, misunderstanding.
She clutched at him. ‘No—not stop. Just that—it’s so—’ She shook her head. ‘It’s too much—not enough.’
‘I’ll slow down,’ he murmured. His mouth found hers again, gentle now, taking it slowly, building the need until she thought she’d die from it.
His hand lay against her ribs, and she felt it move, deliberately, measuringly, over her waist, her hip, the back of his fingers tracing the bowl of her pelvis, then turning, sliding under the elastic of her briefs so that his palm cupped her mound and his fingers tenderly, carefully traced her petalled softness.
A shudder ran through her and he sighed. ‘That’s it. Oh, yes.’
She clutched his shoulders, clinging to him, almost fainting with the sensations.
‘Touch me,’ he breathed against her lips. ‘Please, Tricia, touch me.’
She flattened her palms against his spine, feeling the strong muscles bunch as he stiffened. She slid one hand round over his ribs and up, against his thudding heart. How could it stand the strain? she wondered. How could hers?
The dense cushion of curls was so soft, so fine. She arched against him and chafed her nipples against the hair, and her breath caught. It felt so good, so right to be here like this with him. Her hand slid down, following the pattern of hair, tracing it as it narrowed and plunged down over that rigid abdomen.
She met the encumbrance of his briefs, and with a muffled curse he stripped them off, then hers, and turned back to her.
‘Touch me,’ he repeated, and with a trembling hand she reached out. As her fingers closed around him he shuddered, dropping his head against her shoulder, his breathing ragged.
She stroked him gently, marvelling at the softness of his skin against the steel beneath, and his hand left her and caught her wrist.
‘Stop. Damn. Give me a minute.’
She missed his hand, the subtle, teasing strokes, the caress so gentle that she had hardly registered its impact until it stopped.
‘Rhys?’ she breathed. ‘Please...?’
For a second he hesitated, then with a ragged groan he moved across her. ‘This is going to be a disaster,’ he muttered, and then with one slow, easy stroke he entered her.
She had expected pain, but there was none despite his size. Just a fullness—a wonderful, incredible fullness that made her cry out.
She arched under him, trying to draw him deeper, and he lifted her legs and wrapped them round him. The next thrust touched her soul, and with a sobbing cry she felt herself convulse around him, whirlpools of sensation centring on him as she turned her face into his shoulder and cried out his name.
‘Tricia?’ he whispered, and then she felt him shudder, his body arching over her. Sweat broke out on his skin, and deep within her she felt the elemental, pulsing flow of his release, and wept.
Rhys lay against her, his body drained, the raging need slaked for now, silenced by the awesome power of their lovemaking. Never before, he thought. Not like that. He shifted, conscious of his weight on her tiny, delicate frame. It was a wonder that he hadn’t torn her apart, she was so tiny.
So tight, so firm, so hot. Even now, so soon afterwards, the memory stirred him. He lifted his head and looked down at her face, but she burrowed into him. He felt moisture on his shoulder and moved again, cupping her face and turning it so that he could see into her liquid sapphire eyes.
Guilt swamped him. ‘I’ve hurt you,’ he muttered, washed with remorse. ‘Oh, God, Tricia, I’m sorry. I should have realised I was too big for you—too heavy, too awkward—’
‘Rhys, no. You didn’t hurt me. I thought you would, the first time, but you didn’t.’
Her words sank in slowly. His brow creased. ‘The first time?’ he repeated, hardly able to bear the answer. ‘What do you mean, the first time? Our first time—or your first time?’
‘Both,’ she said softly.
He shut his eyes, unable to meet her innocent, tearfilled gaze. She had been a virgin.
Oh, God. And he had simply taken advantage of her sweet innocence for the slaking of his long-neglected lust. He dropped his head against her shoulder and swore under his breath.
‘Why me?’ he said with undue savagery. ‘Why pick on me, Tricia? I can’t give you anything. I won’t give you anything. Damn, I knew you were trouble.’
She was motionless beneath him, soft and vulnerable and hurting, and he hated himself more than he had hated himself in his entire thirty-four wretched years. He moved, cupping her damp face, pressing his lips to hers.
‘I’m sorry. That’s all I can say. I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’ she asked simply. ‘I wanted you, Rhys. Just because I was a virgin doesn’t make that any different. If I hadn’t been, you wouldn’t be having all this trauma and grief, so why now?’
He sighed. ‘Because it just has to have meant that much more to you before you’d do it.’
‘Not necessarily—’
‘Oh, come on, Tricia., don’t lie to me,’ he growled shortly. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve held back for all these years just because you didn’t meet anyone that turned you on.’
‘OK,’ she said calmly, ‘I won’t. Even if it is the truth. Rhys, you can flatter yourself if you like, but the days of saving yourself for Mr Right are long gone.’
He was appalled at the stab of regret he felt at her words. They seemed so cold, so casual, so much a part of the woman he’d thought she was at first. Perhaps she was right. Maybe he’d just hit the right buttons with her. Certainly she’d responded well enough.
His body quickened, still within hers, and he felt her tiny gasp.
‘Rhys?’ she whispered.
Desire poured through him again, the tormenting need that had flagellated him since his first sight of her bringing him to instant readiness. He moved carefully, afraid to hurt her, and she sighed and shifted beneath him, curling her legs around his waist again and lifting herself to take him deeper.
Damn, she was a quick study. His mouth locked with hers, his hands cupping her face, steadying her as he built the rhythm to fever pitch. She fell apart under him, her body convulsing, and he felt the deep welling of his climax just as a thought hit him with the power of a freight train.
Neither of them had mentioned birth control.
Rhys lay beside her staring up at the ceiling. Unsure of post-coital protocol, she lay silent, watching him. He looked preoccupied. More guilt about her virginity? It hadn’t held him up for long, she thought with a contented sigh.
‘Rhys?’
He turned his head.
‘What is it?’
His eyes were troubled. ‘I don’t suppose you did anything about birth control?’ he said quietly.
She felt her eyes widen. Of all the stupid-
‘No,’ she confessed, ‘but don’t worry; it’s extremely unlikely I could be pregnant. It’s right at the start of my cycle.’ In fact, so near the start that she had wondered if she would have to put him off tonight, but she had been all right. Her periods were always short.
‘Take some PC4s.’
She sh
ook her head. The thought of the morningafter pill disturbed her. She had never been quite able to convince herself that it wasn’t a form of abortion. ‘I don’t need to, Rhys; I know I’m safe,’ she assured him.
‘Tricia, that’s so inesponsible—’
‘And you weren’t?’
He sighed harshly and sat up, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head forward into his hands. ‘Of course I was. We both were, but I just foolishly assumed you would be on the Pill. I had no idea you were a virgin or, believe me, I wouldn’t be here now.’
He’d made that clear enough already, she thought with a stab of pain.
‘I need a shower,’ he muttered, jackknifing off the bed.
‘Help yourself.’
She lay back against the pillows and listened to the sound of the shower. He wasn’t singing, as Matthew had done while she’d been talking to Linsey in the kitchen. Why should he? Matthew was contented, his life on track, his happiness complete.
Rhys, on the other hand, now had another problem. She turned on her side, her hand sliding down to lie over her womb. Her eyes filled. How she’d love to have his child. She had taken steps to prevent it—the top drawer of her bedside chest had several condoms raided from the treatment room downstairs where they held the family-planning clinic. A lot of good they’d done her in the drawer.
At the time, though, it had been the last thing on her mind. Even when she had felt that hot, pulsing surge of his life within her she hadn’t considered it.
She blinked away the tears. Perhaps she should take the PC4s. After all, if she was ever to have a chance with him, then she couldn’t become pregnant, or that chance would be destroyed for ever. The parallels with Judy would be too close, and he would never forgive her or himself for putting them in that situation.
The water stopped, and she heard him step out of the shower. There was a thud, and he swore quietly but viciously. Oh, dear. He was angry.
She slid out of bed and pulled on her robe, then went into the bathroom through the door he hadn’t bothered to close. He was naked except for the water clinging to his chest, and he was feeling a bump on his head.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
‘I banged my head on this stupid ceiling,’ he muttered.
‘Is that all?’
‘What do you mean, is that all? It hurt—’
“That isn’t what I meant.’
‘Then what did you mean?’ he snapped.
She reached up to him, cupping his damp cheek. ‘I meant is that all that’s wrong? You sounded so angry.’
He sighed sharply. ‘I am angry—angry with myself. I can’t marry you just because you’re pregnant—’
‘I wouldn’t ask you to,’ she assured him, ignoring the ache in her chest. ‘And anyway, I won’t be.’
‘But if you are—’
‘I’m not. I can’t be. It’s all right, Rhys. Really. And I’ll go on the Pill.’
‘Sure?’
She nodded. Her mother and father wouldn’t approve with their strict Catholic morals, but so what? They wouldn’t approve of her standing here in her bathroom with a naked man either. She put them out of her mind.
‘I think I’ll have a shower too,’ she said, and dropped the robe.
His breath sucked in sharply. As she bent over the taps to turn on the shower, she felt his hand on her bottom, cupping the soft curve, stroking the skin. He eased her up against him, and her breath caught. He wanted her again!
She straightened and turned her head. ‘Coming back in the shower?’ she asked, marvelling at her brazen nerve.
He shook his head. ‘Not unless you’ve got a handy supply of condoms in the house.’
She smiled. ‘Of course. In my bedside table.’
He groaned. ‘You had them there all the time?’
‘I wasn’t exactly thinking about that then,’ she reminded him. ‘I had—bigger things to worry about.’
She let her eyes trail over him, lingering pointedly halfway down. He blushed. With all his experience and skill, he blushed at her inspection, and she laughed delightedly. ‘Go and get one and come back,’ she chivvied, and he went.
She stepped into the shower, washing herself quickly and wondering about the logistics of someone so short making love with someone so tall while they were standing up.
Then the shower curtain moved and she felt his arms around her, easing her back against his chest and taking the soap from her hands. He washed her again, not with the clinical speed she had used but with a lover’s caress, his fingers slick on her skin, intimate and searching.
She tipped her head back and turned it, and his mouth found hers, tasting, coaxing, tormenting, until finally he turned her, lifting her against him. Her legs circled his waist instinctively and he slid home with a ragged groan.
‘Lord, you feel so good,’ he muttered, and, leaning her against the cool tiles, he drove into her again and again. The suspense built slowly this time, fuelled by the heat in his eyes and the slow, rhythmic stroke of his hand between them.
She caught her lip between her teeth, release so close yet somehow unattainable. The water was cold now, the tiles hard, but she needed—something—
‘Come for me, Tricia,’ he whispered raggedly. ‘Come for me...’
She shattered in his arms.
He put his knife and fork down and pushed the plate away with a sigh. ‘Wow. That was delicious.’
She coloured slightly at the compliment. ‘Good. There’s more.’
He shook his head, his smile rueful and tender. ‘No. I’ll die. Anyway, I ought to be getting home,’ he added reluctantly. ‘I told my neighbour I’d be home around eleven and it’s nearly twelve.’
Tricia was amazed it was that early. She felt utterly different, and it seemed incredible that so fundamental a change in her could have taken place in so short a time.
At the top of the stairs he drew her into his arms. ‘Don’t bother to come down. I’ll set the alarm on my way out.’ He touched her face with one broad, blunt fingertip. ‘Thank you for tonight,’ he murmured. ‘For all of it—everything. I’m sorry I got ratty.’
He kissed her briefly, then lifted his head. His eyes were troubled again. ‘Tricia, you will tell me if your period’s late, won’t you? I need to know.’
‘Why? So if I am pregnant you can force yourself to do the decent thing and marry me?’ she teased gently, then went on, the words killing her, ‘Rhys, think about it. If I found I was pregnant, do you suppose I’d want to marry you anyway? I mean, why would I want to marry you and have four children when I could just quietly slip away with only one?’
He swallowed hard. ‘Tricia, don’t play games with me. Just promise you’ll tell me.’
‘I promise,’ she lied. ‘Anyway, I’m going on the Pill, remember, so it won’t happen. I won’t ovulate this month, so I can’t get pregnant even if you’ve got the most long-lived sperm in the world.’
The smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Maybe I have,’ he said softly. He hesitated for a moment but then said nothing, instead bending his head to kiss her again with lingering tenderness. ‘Sleep well,’ he murmured, and then he turned on his heel and ran lightly down the stairs.
She heard the beeps of the alarm being set, then the sound of the lock turning on the back door.
The outside lights came on and she went into the sitting room and watched him out of the window. He opened his car door and then looked up, straight into her eyes. She waved, and he smiled—a fleeting, rather sad smile—then slid behind the wheel of his car, started the engine and backed quietly out of sight.
Tricia made a cup of tea, found the chocolates he had brought her and went into the sitting room. So much for her scene-setting. They hadn’t so much as set foot in there.
She curled up in the chair, wincing at the slight and unaccustomed soreness that was the legacy of her first night of passion, and bit into the first chocolate. They were Belgian truffles, her favourite, and she savoured t
he smooth, rich chocolate taste and thought of Rhys.
She hadn’t had the slightest idea that making love—really making love, not just using the phrase as a euphemism for intercourse—she hadn’t realised that it could be so intensely, almost painfully beautiful. She had never felt so close to another person, so in touch, so—what? Cherished?
He had touched her, she thought, as if he really cared, not as if he’d just been slaking his thirst. If he had done that she would have understood, but he hadn’t. He had put her first, her pleasure more important to him than his own.
She could understand that. She felt the same about him. She closed her eyes and replayed the evening, and tears filled her eyes. She should be so happy, she thought, but instead she was empty inside, aching with loneliness.
He should have been here with her now, but he had had to go back to his family. She understood that—of course she did—but she needed him too. For the first time she understood just what she had opened herself up to, and how lonely and desolate she would be without him when she left here alone.
Which she would do, she was sure. Rhys would never ask her to stay, pregnant or not. Judy had scarred him too deeply, hurt him too much for him to have the courage to love again.
This time together was all she could give him, and give it she would although it would tear her apart. She had no choice. She loved him.
He came into her consulting room in the morning, looking fit and relaxed and more wonderful than he had any right to look. He closed the door behind him and gave her a tentative smile.
‘Morning.’
Her own smile wasn’t tentative. It was one hundred per cent a genuine welcome. ‘Hi,’ she said softly. ‘How are you?’
His face mellowed. ‘Wonderful. How are you?’
‘Still a little stunned. I think you must be an exceptionally gifted lover.’
He flushed brick-red. ‘Hell, Tricia,’ he muttered.
She laughed softly. ‘Don’t be coy. I mean it. I’m almost afraid to try again in case it isn’t as good.’
The Ideal Choice Page 10
