by Anne Mather
The Japanese waiter’s polite enquiry was an unwelcome intrusion, and Helen wished he would have chosen some other moment to interrupt them. Reed was presently employed in tracing her lifeline with the pads of his fingers, and her body felt as if it were melting and dissolving beneath that sensuous caress.
‘What?’ Reed’s response was resigned, but he did not sound as irritated by the waiter’s intervention as she was. ‘No. No, I don’t think so,’ he continued, looking to Helen for her confirmation, and she shook her head. But, as he had, at the same time, pressed her palm down on to his muscled thigh, Helen was in no state to make any coherent judgement.
‘If we could have the check,’ Reed suggested smoothly, almost as if he were indifferent to the touch of her hand on his leg. He lifted his own hand slightly, as if testing to see whether she would withdraw hers given the chance, and when she didn’t he gave her a mind-bending smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
The waiter departed, and Helen had the feeling that in those few, hardly private, moments their relationship had altered substantially. Not that she had taken advantage of the situation. Despite the fact that she would have liked to flex her fingers around the taut muscles of his thigh, she hadn’t moved. Indeed, she was finding it incredibly difficult to believe she was actually touching him so intimately, and when he looked at her again she couldn’t withstand his intent appraisal. Using the excuse of reaching for her bag to remove her hand, she gave him what she hoped was a confident smile as she put a little more space between them.
‘So that’s it, is it?’ he murmured, lounging on the cushioned bench beside her, his eyes dark and intent. ‘I guess I have to take you home.’
Helen swallowed. Visions of them drawing up outside her parents’ house in Chiswick, in the big Mercedes, filled her with alarm. For one thing, she had told him she had her own place; for another, her father was bound to hear the car, and look out of the window.
‘Of course, you could invite me in for cof fee,’ he appended, lazily. ‘In fact, that might be a good idea. Black coffee, I mean. For me, if not for you.’
Helen shook her head. ‘I—I couldn’t do that.’
‘OK.’
His eyes narrowed a little and, realising how rude that had sounded, Helen struggled to find a convincing explanation. ‘I mean—I don’t live alone.’ That sounded bad, so she added quickly, ‘That is—I share—with a girlfriend.’
‘Ah.’ She wasn’t sure whether he was convinced or not, but at least that guarded look had left his face. ‘So—that won’t do.’
‘No.’ Helen felt terrible. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No sweat.’ He shrugged, and reached in his pocket for his wallet as the waiter reappeared with the bill. He extracted a credit card, and a handful of notes. ‘OK?’
‘Yes, sir.’
As the delighted waiter pocketed his tip, and took the credit card away for notification, Reed drummed his fingers on the table. His indulgent mood seemed to have disappeared, and Helen imagined he was thinking what a bore the evening had turned out to be. And it was all her fault.
She sighed. It would have been nice to have had a place of her own to invite him to, she thought wistfully. But until she was eighteen her father was unlikely to permit it. Besides, until she had a proper job she couldn’t afford to support herself. What she earned at the wine bar wouldn’t even pay for her clothes.
Conversely, there was no way she could invite Reed to her parents’ house. She could just imagine their reaction if she brought a man home who was more their age-group than hers. She’d never be able to convince them that she hadn’t encouraged him. And they’d be bound to think the worst, because he wasn’t like them.
She sighed again. It had been such a wonderful evening. She had never enjoyed herself so much with anyone, and he had been so nice, and considerate. He had treated her as an equal, instead of patronising her. And when he held her hand, her limbs had turned to water.
She looked at his profile—the narrow cheekbones, and the thin-lipped mouth. His lashes were long, longer than hers, she acknowledged ruefully, and paler at the tips, like the bleached silver resilience of his hair. His hair was longer than average, too, alternately brushing over or tucking beneath his collar. It made her want to touch it, to slide her fingers through its silky strands, and scrape her nails against his scalp. But most of all she wanted him to touch her again, and if they left the restaurant now the evening would be over.
He turned his head then and looked at her, and Helen abruptly lost her breath. She didn’t know if it was extra-sensory perception or what, but something had attracted his attention, and she couldn’t seem to get any air into her lungs. Her eyes were ensnared by his, and whatever he saw in their depths made his eyes burn with sudden fire.
‘We could have coffee here, in the hotel,’ he ventured, after a pregnant moment, and Helen’s mouth felt parched.
‘Could we?’ she got out through stiff lips. ‘Um—all right.’
If Reed was surprised by her instant capitulation, he didn’t show it. But he did hesitate a moment before saying softly, ‘You’re sure?’
‘Why not?’ Helen gave a nervous shrug of her shoulders. She had committed herself now, and she wasn’t about to reveal her immaturity by changing her mind.
Reed watched her for a few more seconds, and then made a gesture of assent. ‘Good,’ he murmured, and then the waiter came back with the slip for him to sign, and Helen gave a sigh of relief.
CHAPTER TEN
HER RELIEF HAD not lasted long, Helen reflected now, leaving the window to sink down wearily on to the side of the bed. If she had known then what she knew now, she would never have accepted Reed’s invitation.
Or would she? If she was perfectly truthful, she would have to admit there was an element of doubt. It was all very well thinking about what she should have done, but would she have done it? She had been so young, she thought ruefully, but it was hardly an excuse. She had known the risks she was running, and yet she had still gone ahead with it. Still accompanied Reed to his suite, on the unlikely pretext of sharing a pot of coffee.
She sighed. Of course, when she accepted his offer of coffee, she hadn’t known exactly what he meant. She hadn’t known he was a guest at the hotel, or that after ten o’clock the only place they could have coffee was in his room. She had assumed there was some lounge, or a coffee shop, maybe, where they could continue their conversation. But the coffee shop had been closed, and the crowded bar was not an option.
Even so, she acknowledged honestly, she could have refused to go upstairs with him. Reed would not have caused a scene. That was not his way. She could have made some excuse and left the hotel. There had been plenty of taxis waiting outside. She had seen them when they came in, before the valet had taken Reed’s Mercedes for parking.
But she had done none of those things. And why? she asked herself now. Because she had had too much pride? Because she hadn’t wanted him to think she was too young, or too silly? No. Helen closed her eyes, and tipped her head to rest on her shoulder. She hadn’t left the hotel because she hadn’t wanted to leave Reed. It was crazy, considering she had only known him for a few short hours, but she had been totally infatuated with him.
Looking back, Helen realised she had not really understood the dangers of what she was doing. In spite of what had happened in the restaurant, her experiences with men had not led her to believe there was any situation she couldn’t handle. Oh, she had been naïve, there was no doubt about that. But then, she had never met anyone like Reed Wyatt before.
Of course, he might argue that he hadn’t been exactly in control of his actions either. After all, he had been drinking fairly continually all evening, and a combination of champagne, Scotch, and sake was hardly a rational choice. Indeed, she remembered, he had swayed a little when he first left the booth, and his arm about her shoulders had been as much for his sake as for hers. Could he have driven her home in that condition? she wondered. Some
how, she doubted it.
Even so, riding the lift to the twelfth floor had been a daunting experience. It was after eleven o’clock, and she spent the time calculating how long it might take her to drink a cup of coffee and get home. The result was not favourable, but it was too late to think of that now.
Reed’s suite of rooms provided a brief diversion. The spacious lamplit apartments, furnished with Edwardian elegance, were very impressive. And, although the huge bed, visible through an open doorway, was hardly in period, the huge sitting-room, with its separate dining area, was unrestrainedly luxurious.
‘Take off your jacket,’ Reed advised, taking off his own jacket and loosening his tie, and Helen, who had only put her jacket on in the lift, reluctantly complied.
The coffee arrived as she was folding her jacket, and placing it neatly on a high-backed chair by the door. Evidently the service in the hotel was excellent, and Helen stood awkwardly to one side as the waiter carried the tray into the room and set it down on a low mahogany table. Reed, who had been helping himself to another drink from the tray of decanters set on a bow-fronted bureau, thanked the man handsomely, and the waiter went away with a smug smile on his face. Helen wondered what he was thinking, and didn’t like the supposition. She was not unaware of what interpretation he must have put on the situation, and she felt her colour deepen.
‘Aren’t you going to to sit down?’ Reed suggested mildly, indicating the velvet-covered sofa, and Helen nodded. But she seated herself in one of a pair of matching armchairs, and let him think what he liked of it.
A half-amused expression on his face, Reed finished the Scotch in the cut-glass tumbler he had poured himself, and then crossed the room. Seating himself on the sofa, he spread his legs, resting his forearms along his thighs. ‘So,’ he said, indicating the tray in front of him. ‘Don’t you want to do this?’
‘Oh.’ Helen coloured anew. It hadn’t occurred to her that the tray was closest to the sofa, or that she might be expected to serve the coffee. She had been so intent on carrying this off, without making a fool of herself, that she hadn’t considered the practicalities of the situation. ‘Oh—all right.’
Reed shifted obligingly to one side, his arms along the back of the sofa on either side of him, straining the buttons of his grey silk shirt. His skin looked very dark between the buttonholes, Helen noticed, before she dragged her eyes away from his body, and concentrated on her task.
‘Er—cream and sugar?’ she ventured, perched on the edge of the sofa with at least two feet between them. ‘Or would you like it—black?’
‘How do you think I’d like it?’ Reed asked huskily, and although the double entendre was not lost on Helen she chose to ignore it.
‘I don’t know, do I?’ she responded nervously, and Reed made a careless gesture.
‘Guess.’
‘Well—black, I suppose,’ she conceded unwillingly, and Reed pulled a wry face.
‘Do you think I’m drunk?’
‘I—why—no.’ Helen was getting more agitated by the minute. She finished filling his cup and pushed it along the polished surface towards him. ‘Perhaps you’d like to help yourself,’ she added, putting the cream jug and sugar basin beside his cup.
Reed forbore to make another obvious comment, and Helen tried to apply herself to pouring herself some coffee. But her hands shook abominably, and she almost jumped out of her skin when Reed leant forward and removed the offending utensils from her hands.
‘I’m not drunk,’ he told her softly, imprisoning her hands in his. ‘At least, not enough to blind myself to certain conclusions. This is the first time you’ve done this sort of thing, isn’t it? I should have realised sooner. I guess the alcohol has dulled my perceptions a little.’
Helen shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter—’
‘It does matter.’ His lips twisted. ‘I should take you home right now. And I will, just as soon as the caffeine clears my head.’
Helen had never felt so juvenile. In spite of all her efforts to appear confident and mature, she had failed. He was probably wishing he had chosen someone else to take home from the party. Not a foolish teenager, who didn’t know her own mind.
‘Hey,’ he said now, and she realised he was still holding her hands, ‘don’t look so down. It’s not the end of the world. We’ve had a very pleasant evening, haven’t we? At least, I have. I don’t know about you.’
‘Oh, I have. Of course I have,’ exclaimed Helen hurriedly, gazing up at him with troubled eyes. ‘And I don’t have to go home. Not yet. Not unless you’re tired of my company.’
Reed expelled his breath rather noisily. ‘That isn’t exactly what I was saying,’ he said, avoiding her gaze, and looking down at her hands crushed between his. ‘As a matter of fact, it’s my decision to take you home, not yours. I shouldn’t have brought you here. It was not a good idea.’
Helen swallowed. ‘I see—’
She tried to draw her hands away from him then, but his hands tightened. ‘You don’t see,’ he said thickly, lifting his head to look at her for a moment, before averting his eyes again. ‘You don’t see at all. That’s the trouble.’
‘But—’
‘Ssh,’ he sighed, and then, almost as if it was against his will, he lifted her hands to his face, and pressed his lips to her knuckles.
She shuddered then, the touch of his mouth against her skin sending a hot rush of fire through her veins. She had never experienced such a shattering sensation, and when he turned her hand over and touched her palm with his tongue she trembled all over.
She guessed he had felt the betraying response of her body, because he released her then, reaching for his cup of coffee, and swallowing half of it at a gulp. Then, after giving her a brief regretful glance, he got abruptly to his feet.
‘Have you finished?’
His almost curt enquiry was hardly encouraging, but Helen now knew why he was determined to take her home. It wasn’t because he found her naïve and immature. It was because he was attracted to her. And that knowledge gave her the courage to look up at him and say, ‘No. No, I haven’t.’
He came down beside her again with a rush, but whether that was because he was angry with her, or because he simply lost his balance, she was never sure. All she was sure of was that he was much nearer to her now, and his lazily sensual indulgence had given way to a raw impatience.
‘It’s late,’ he said, and his voice was low and abrasive. ‘Let’s not make this any more embarrassing than it already is.’
Helen put down her cup, taking care to see it didn’t clatter in the saucer. ‘All right,’ she said, not quite confident enough to argue with him. ‘I’m ready.’
But now it was Reed who didn’t move. Closing his eyes for a moment, he raked his fingers through his hair as if he was in pain. And, watching the play of emotions across his face, Helen felt a totally unrealistic sense of responsibility.
‘Are—are you all right?’ she ventured, touching his sleeve, and Reed opened his eyes to find her looking at him with undisguised anxiety.
‘Am I all right?’ he echoed half ruefully, and then, as if her innocent enquiry had driven him over some brink of his own making, he grasped her arms just below her shoulders and jerked her towards him.
His hands slid down to her waist as his mouth found hers, his fingers hard and possessive as they moved against the sheer material of her shirt. But although Helen was aware of their arousing touch, it was the heated pressure of his lips that filled her senses, the hungry stroking of his tongue that drove her lips to part.
A momentary panic gripped her as he thrust his tongue into her mouth, but it didn’t last. His fingers were stroking her midriff, his thumbs rubbing ever so gently against the undersides of her breasts, and her body refused to comprehend what her brain was telling her. In some remote corner of her consciousness, she was aware that what they were doing was dangerous, if not totally wrong, but she simply refused to acknowledge it. The way Reed was making her feel was so w
ild and sweet and irresistible that all her bones were melting, and her skin burned like a flame.
‘Oh, God,’ she heard him moan against her neck, his mouth leaving her lips to nuzzle at the heated hollow beneath her ear. His teeth brushed against her flesh, his tongue finding the little curves and canyons of her ear, and Helen trembled uncontrollably when his hands sought the swollen fullness of her breasts.
Her heart was pounding, the blood singing in her ears with a muted resonance. It filled her head, deafening her to the urgent warning of her conscience. So long as he was holding her, caressing her, causing the innocent reactions of her body to respond to his touch, she had no mind of her own, and acting purely on instinct she slid her fingers into his hair.
He had drawn back a little then, she remembered, acknowledging her own part in her downfall. If she had shown him she was unwilling to go any further, if she had struggled with him, or merely asked him to release her, she knew now he would have let her go. So—he had a conscience, she reflected somewhat bitterly. But it hadn’t been strong enough to make him take control of the situation; it hadn’t been strong enough to stop him.
And at the time Helen had been too bemused by all the new and disturbing sensations she was feeling to think of herself. His hair had felt so smooth and vital to her touch; his scalp, and the warm contours of his ears, an unfamiliar intimacy. Her hands had moved against his neck, beneath the silky length of his hair, and she had felt the effect it had upon him.
The moment for withdrawal had passed. Even though Reed had made some hoarse protest against her mouth, he was as much at the mercy of his body’s needs as she was. And, looking back now, she realised how much of an influence the amount of alcohol he had drunk had had.
Not that she was excusing him, she thought impatiently. He must have known how innocent she was. Heavens, she hadn’t even known, before that night, that there was a point beyond which she had no control.
With his teeth tugging insistently at her lower lip, his tongue playing sensuously with hers, he had torn the tie from around his neck and dragged the two sides of his shirt apart. Then, taking one of her hands he’d brought it to his chest, and she’d felt the coarse brush of his body hair against her palm.
