Reawakened by His Touch

by Penny Jordan

  ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’ she demanded huskily, dragging her eyes away from his jeans-clad figure. The jeans were old and worn, the check shirt open over his chest and rolled up to reveal powerful forearms roughened by dark hairs.

  ‘I’m your neighbour,’ he told her easily, confounding her. ‘I saw you standing by the pool as I walked down the lane, and I thought I’d come and introduce myself.’

  He was laughing at her now, and Sara felt her skin burn. She hadn’t realized she was so highly visable. Anyone could have walked down the lane and seen her standing there.

  Almost as though he knew what she was thinking, he added softly, ‘Don’t worry about it. The lane only goes as far as my property and no one other than me uses it at this time of the morning.’

  ‘I wasn’t worried.’

  His intimation galled her, all the more so because he had guessed so accurately at her thoughts. That was another intrusion that she resented. He had no right to read her mind so easily; Rick had been the only man she permitted to do that. It was all wrong that this arrogant, over-confident man should be alive and healthy while Rick… A sob of resentment rose in her throat. She had felt like this before, but only in the first weeks after Rick’s death, illogically resenting that other young men should be alive while he was dead—but that feeling had faded in time. It disturbed her that this man should be the means of resurrecting it, and she glared up at him, willing him to release her and go away.

  ‘Not exactly friendly, are you?’ he murmered wryly, watching the emotions chase one another across her face. ‘I wonder why?’

  ‘Perhaps because I don’t like you,’ retorted Sara waspishly.

  The dark eyebrows rose. His hair was almost black and very thick. It was also too long, she thought disparagingly.

  ‘Really? But you don’t know me, do you?’

  His good-humoured amusement increased her sense of ill-usage.

  ‘I don’t want to know you,’ she told him through gritted teeth, ‘and if you would kindly release my arm…’

  ‘In a moment.’

  He wasn’t amused now. In fact, there was a distinctly disturbing glint in his eyes, a warning that his temper was not perhaps as equable as she had first supposed.

  He moved towards her, crowding her against the pool so that she could not escape, the fingers of his free hand drifting lightly along her arm. She shivered beneath the light caress, watching his eyes darken with sexual awareness as his head bent towards her.

  He was going to kiss her, she recognised disbelievingly, hardly able to understand what was happening. But it was happening. His parted lips were touching hers, coaxing and very, very experienced.

  She wanted to reject him and pull away, but frighteningly, her body wouldn’t respond to her will. And worse, it did respond to the sexual expertise it was being subjected to.

  Her lips seemed to melt and flower against the seductive male warmth of his, rivers of heat flooding through her veins as his arms went round her to draw against his body.

  She could feel the hard jut of his hips through the thinness of her nightdress, and the powerful movements of his chest against her breasts as he breathed deeply.

  His hands moulded the contours of her back, resting momentarily on her waist and then moving lower as he made a small sound of satisfaction against her mouth.

  Rick was the only man with whom she had experienced passion, with whom she had wanted to taste all the heady delights of fulfilment, but he had been snatched away from her before their love had been consummated, and incredibly, shockingly, her body now seemed intent on relieving all the frustrations of that denial with the man who now held her in his arms.

  She heard him mutter something against her mouth as his teasing caress turned into a passionate assault, and then he raised his head to look down into her bemused and vulnerable eyes, his own dark with a desire that her body recognised and welcomed even as her mind and heart repudiated it.

  ‘Well, well. It seems both of us got more than we bargained for,’ he told her frankly, his voice rough and slightly unsteady.

  Too shocked to make any response, Sara could only stare at him, watching in dumb disbelief as he raised one hand from her body to stroke a calloused fingertip along her moist mouth. His other hand still held her against him, and as he traced the outline of her lips he moved against her, making her intimately aware of his arousal.

  It stunned her, both that he could be so easily aroused and that he should make no effort to conceal it. She had been right to tell Sam that she would not like him, she thought feverishly. It was obvious. The casual attitude to sex which his behaviour betrayed was, to her, thoroughly contemptible.

  As she opened her mouth to tell him what she thought of him, his hand slid down her body, caressing first her throat and then the smooth curve of her shoulder, pushing aside the wide neck of her nightdress to expose the rounded gleam of her arm.

  His mouth touched the pale flesh his hand had just revealed and the words of denial were choked in her throat as her body quivered in response.

  His hand moved to her breast, sliding aside the cotton barrier to reveal its pink-tipped fullness to his gaze.

  A dark flush of colour flooded his face, his body tense as his fingers cupped the flesh that had previously only known Rick’s caress. Mentally she was filled with a sickening sense of defilement, but physically… Sara caught her breath on a gasp of mingled shock and excitement as the dark head bent towards her breast and she felt the warm mouth take the place of his caressing fingers. The shudder that went through her made her whole body sag weakly against him, every nerve ending concentrating on the intense physical pleasure aroused by the heated movement of his tongue and mouth against her sensitive flesh.

  ‘No… No… please don’t…’

  The sobbed words were torn from her throat, tears she wasn’t aware of shedding lying damply on her skin.

  The look in his eyes as he reluctantly released her breast, only to cover the still moist nipple with the caressing heat of his palm, made her shiver violently.

  ‘I want you.’ He said it harshly, as though in some way he found the words as shocking as she did, the look in his eyes suggesting that he was as shocked by the violent passion that had errupted between them as she was herself, but she knew that that could not be so. After all he was the one who had initiated what had happened.

  ‘I want you.’ He repeated the words in a slurred, unsteady voice, a blank, almost dazed look in his eyes as he pressed his body into hers, his hips moving restlessly against her.

  ‘I want you!’

  He said it more softly this time, bending his mouth towards her own, but the brief respite from the sorcery of his touch had been enough to bring Sara back to sanity. She was appalled by what had happened—that she had actually allowed this hateful man intimacies which before had been permitted to Rick alone—and even harder to accept was the fact that part of her at least had actually enjoyed and wanted the heat of his mouth against her skin. And if she was truthful, wasn’t there still a nagging ache deep inside her in rebellious response to the frantic movement of his aroused body against her own?

  Shocked by this self-admission, she stepped back from him, an expression of disgust curling her mouth.

  His eyes focused on her face, the pupils almost black and very brilliant. He looked like someone coming out of a drug-induced stupor, she thought bitterly as she watched shock and recognition of what he had done vie for prominence in his expression.

  ‘I…’ He shook his head as though trying to clear it, and Sara knew that whatever he was going to say, she didn’t want to hear it.

  Logically she knew quite well that when he had first kissed her he hadn’t meant it to be anything other than a light-hearted caress, a display of male superiority over the female, but whatever his explanation was going to be for the passionate desire that had exploded between them, she didn’t want to hear it. No doubt he would find some way of blaming her for what had happ
ened, she thought bitterly as she pushed past him, ignoring his husky demand that she stay as she fled in the direction of the house.

  He didn’t follow her, and although she told herself that she was glad, a tiny part of her felt something else. Not disappointment, Sara assured herself vehemently as she hurried back to her bedroom.

  From her window she had an excellent view of the garden and the fishpond, but she didn’t take advantage of it. Instead she sank down on her bed, covering her face with her hands, engulfed by a feeling of self-disgust so strong that she actually felt physically sick with it.

  What on earth could have possessed her? The man represented everything she detested; he was in the same mould as Wayne Housely—an arrogant bully, who thought himself lord of all he surveyed and above the law.

  And yet, in his arms…

  She shuddered deeply. That had been physical frustration, that was all. She had grieved so deeply emotionally for Rick that she had forgotten that her body must be grieving for him as well.

  Until she met Rick she hadn’t considered herself a highly sexed person. She had found it depressingly easy to reject the clumsy sexual overtures of her teenage peers. But with Rick it had been different. He had been six years older than her, for one thing; for another, he had been very sexually experienced. He had not tried to rush her into a physical relationship she wasn’t ready for, but by the time they became engaged she would have gone willingly to bed with him had he wished it.

  It had been lack of opportunity rather than the lack of desire that had preserved her virginity, and she suspected that her body, resentful of the pleasure Rick had promised it, which it had then been denied, had decide to make its displeasure felt.

  Uncovering her face, she stood up and, ruthlessly tugging off her nightdress, studied herself in the mirror.

  She was slender for her height, apart form her breasts which were lushly full—more full than usual at this moment, surely, her nipples stiff and aching a little, a sensation which was familiar to her from her days with Rick.

  That was all it was, she assured herself guiltily; her body missed Rick’s passionate caresses and that was why it had responded so eagerly to…to someone else.

  A deep wave of colour surged up over her skin as she remembered just how eager that response had been, but she hadn’t been alone in that almost frenetic flood of desire. He had been gripped by it too. Instinctively she sensed that he wasn’t a man who normally gave way so easily to physical desire. He was the sort of man who would always want to be in control, she thought intuitively, both of himself and of the situation he was in. She hadn’t been mistaken, surely, in the shock and surprise she had seen in his eyes? Or had it simply been her over-passionate response that had caused his reaction? she wondered uneasily, her skin suddenly feeling extremely hot.

  Snatching up clean underwear, jeans and a top, she hurried into the bathroom.

  It was half past seven. Carly would be waking up soon: Sam would want his breakfast. All she could do was put the incident behind her and forget about it.

  But that was easier said than done, when her flesh continued to tingle disturbingly despite her attempts to ignore it.

  It was galling in the extreme to have to admit that she had been aroused to such an extent by a man who was a complete stranger, even if that desire had been caused originally by her body’s physical loss of Rick.

  Up until now she hadn’t given any thoughts to the physical aspect of her loss, or to the fact that she intended to spend the rest of her life without a lover, and now, suddenly, all her bitterness and resentment was focused on Jonas Chesney.

  What right did he have to be alive when Rick was dead…to touch her and arouse her in a way that Rick no longer could? A sob tore from her throat as she pulled on her clothes. She hated him, loathed him…and if she ever saw him again… But she would take care that she didn’t, she decided grimly. He was not going to get another opportunity to catch her off guard as he had done this morning. No doubt he was already gloating over his conquest of her, she decided bitterly, conveniently forgetting that not ten minutes before, she had been acknowledging that he was as stunned by what had happened as she was herself.

  No doubt it was a favourite hobby of his, to go round collecting female scalps. With those undeniably good looks, and that healthily muscled masculine body… Swiftly she checked her thoughts, resenting the admissions her body had forced upon her. So he was good looking—so what? That didn’t alter the fact that she detested and loathed him.

  Perhaps she had been wrong about him, a traitorous inner voice whispered. Perhaps he wasn’t another Wayne Houseley after all?

  What did it matter? her mind demanded bitterly. He was alive and Rick was dead, and she resented and hated him for that alone.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SARA was in the sitting-room later that morning, crouched down on all fours trying to measure the floor for new carpets, when she heard a vehicle draw up outside.

  Frowning, she turned round to glance out of the window, her body freezing with shock and dislike as she recognised the man clambering easily out of the rather battered Land Rover.

  Luckily, Sam was in the front garden chatting with Carly, and would unwittingly delay their visitor.

  No doubt it was the same spirit of curiosity that had prompted him to clamber over their hedge this morning which had brought him round now, thought Sara nastily as she hurried into the kitchen, snatching up her handbag and car keys as she did so.

  It wasn’t as though she was doing something she hadn’t planned to do anyway, she reassured herself as she slipped the car into gear and slowly drove out into the lane. She had already mentioned to Sam this morning that she needed to stock up the kitchen cupboards. He had supplied the information that the village boasted only one very small all-purpose shop, and that her best bet would be to drive into Dorchester itself.

  The town was a good twenty miles away—plenty far enough for their visitor to have taken himself off long before she returned, Sara thought, pleased by the adroit way in which she had avoided meeting him. Common sense told her she couldn’t go on avoiding him for ever, but if he thought that what had happened this morning meant that she would welcome further sexual advances from him, he was very quickly going to be disabused of that idea, she decided grimly, gritting her teeth as her car bumped uncomfortably down the rutted road that was dry after several weeks without any rain.

  The sun had risen enough to be hot now, and once she had gained the main road she paused to roll back the roof of her Mini. To her left lay the village through which she had driven the previous day—and to her right? She frowned slightly, noting the massed trees and red-bricked wall. Beyond them lay Jonas Chesney’s house. What was it like? That was something she was not likely to discover, nor should want to, she told herself firmly as she turned the car in the opposite direction.

  That life in the country proceeded at a somewhat slower pace than it did in London was brought home to her as she did her shopping. Even in the large supermarket, the girls on the till took time to chat to those who were obviously their regular customers. Once she had accustomed herself to it, it was rather pleasant, reflected Sara as she loaded her purchases back into her trolley and wheeled it out to the car.

  She was in no hurry to rush back, so she spent a leisurely half-hour wandering round Dorchester, buying some magazines and books for Sam and herself and a story-book tape for Carly. It was well after lunchtime when she eventually set off back stifling her pangs of guilt as she left the carpet shop with a book of samples tucked under her arm.

  There was still some salad and cold meat in the fridge. Sam would have been able to knock up a meal for himself and Carly, and she would make it up to them tonight. For a treat she had bought some fresh salmon—too much, really, but what they didn’t eat, she could always freeze for a later date.

  It was much hotter as she drove back through the country lanes; the hedgerows were green with spring leaf, and ragged robin and ladies�
� lace mingled patches of deep pink and white by the roadside. She had the road to herself, and with the top rolled back and the windows down she could actually hear the birdsong.

  As she headed back home, her earlier tension lifted; she could even mock herself a little for her slightly ridiculous flight from Jonas Chesney. What could the man do to her, after all? All that panic over a kiss. It had been so long since any man had kissed her that she had quite naturally over-emphasised the effect he had had on her.

  By the time she turned off the main road into the rutted lane she was feeling pleasantly relaxed and calm, a feeling which disappeared as she swung round a bend and had to brake hard to prevent herself colliding with the Land Rover slewed arrogantly across the road, preventing her from getting past.

  Although she wasn’t yet sufficiently familiar with her new habitat to recognise one Land Rover from another, she guessed immediately to whom this one belonged. With her heart pumping at something approaching twice its normal rate, she got out of her car and hurried angrily towards the Land Rover. How dared he leave it there like that? Had he no thought for others…no consideration? No doubt while the cottage had been empty he had got used to considering the road his private property.

  The resentment and anger that had fuelled her impatience exploded into furious disgust as she rounded the Land Rover and then came to an abrupt stop, almost unable to belive what she was seeing.

  Jonas was half kneeling, half crouching on the far side of the vehicle, the wriggling body of a small boy face down across one hard thigh. Momentarily too shocked to do or say anything, Sara was freed from her temporary stunned paralysis as one calloused hand descended on the boy’s jean-clad rear end.

  Sara didn’t stop to think or to check her words, her horrified, ‘Stop that at once!’ causing the hand to pause in mid-air.

  As Jonas turned a grim and unrepentant face towards her, the child took advantage of his momentary lack of concentration to wriggle free and dart off into the trees at the side of the road.