by Janet Woods
A sexual relationship with Patrick would border on the edge of unreality. Like the rain after a drought, they’d both be relentless until they were satiated.
What then? Patrick could offer her nothing more. That’s what he’d been trying to get through to her. He wanted nothing more. He’d loved once, now his heart was as cold and gray as yesterday’s ashes.
She’d survived her brush with love. Perhaps she hadn’t loved deeply enough for her heart to die with it. Perhaps she was incapable of loving someone so utterly and completely that she could surrender her all to make that person happy.
Patrick had warned her that he’d hurt her. Physically they attracted each other. It was there with every glance, a fine thread of tension that stretched between them. Every parry and thrust added to it, every touch.
She knew what havoc his hands in her hair could cause. They would bring to life every pulse in her body and satisfy her cravings until they became a drug she needed. She in turn would satisfy his, find ways of making him want her until every physical aspect of lovemaking had been exhausted. What then?
Patrick seemed in capable of any emotion but anger towards women. Yet he cared enough to warn her. Perhaps there was a spark of love still smoldering in him and yesterday’s ashes could become tomorrow’s fire.
She frowned, uncertain. Either he was lying to himself or he was frightened of becoming emotionally involved. Whichever it was, an affair would only reinforce his belief in himself. There was no way she was going to exploit that. He’d end up hating her, and she him.
‘No.’ Her voice was as gentle and regretful as a sigh. ‘I’m not a masochist, Patch. I have other plans for my life.’
‘Marriage and motherhood.’ A kiss fluttered across her eyelids before he let her go. ‘I envy the man you choose, Eloise. Good hunting.’
She felt like crying. It might be you, Patch Morgan. She’d groped her way back into the kitchen when the unlikely thought insinuated itself into her mind. It took root there as she searched through the dresser for candles. Good hunting? The nuance of those words indicated a challenge. Was Patrick that devious?
She gazed at him sharply when the candle spluttered into life, and surprised an enigmatic smile on his lips. It was gone in an instant as his eyes caught hers. She sucked in her breath. Yes, he was that devious, but to what end. Did he need convincing he was worth something?
‘What culinary delight do you have in store for us tonight?’
A fleeting thought crossed her mind when he curled a grin at her. She could easily fall in love with this man if she tried. His temper was mostly bluff, she could handle that. If she could win his heart he would be completely faithful, like he’d been to a memory. There was nothing complicated about Patrick. A home, a loving partner, and a good mother for his children would make him whole. She could supply that. She returned his grin. ‘Hocus-pocus pie?’ she said.
‘What’s octopus pie like?’ Todd advanced into the kitchen behind a beam of a torch. ‘Has it got crunchy black bits on like last night?’
‘And smoke curling out of the top like a volcano?’
‘Neither of those things.’ Her attempt to sound casual as she checked her dish fell flat. She choked out an incredulous laugh. ‘Would somebody pass the matches please. I forgot to light the oven.’
* * * *
‘Another glass of wine?’
Basking in the glow of Patrick’s approval, Ellie held out her glass. She still couldn’t believe that dinner had turned out so well.
Todd was sound asleep, the storm was over and the wine making her mellow. There was nothing like a roaring log fire, a glass of wine and the companionship of a dishy male on a cold winter evening. Did it matter if that male was determined to remain indifferent to her? When the subject matter became general rather than personal, Patrick turned out to be a good conversationalist with an off beat sense of humor.
They’d moved into the sitting room. The smell of the freshly applied ivory paint still lingered. The colour was exactly right for this room. The moss colored carpet stretched towards the French windows like lawn, making the leafy courtyard outside an extension of it. When the Marguerite daisies and lavender bloomed in the summer they would match the print of the chair covers. There was a peaceful harmony of design in the decoration that Ellie wouldn’t have expected from a turbulent-natured man like Patrick.
‘I like what you’ve done to this room.’ She still couldn’t understand why he’d undertaken the job at his own expense. What favor did he owe Aunt Vera?
‘Thanks.’ His wine glass flickered with dancing amber light as he turned towards her.
‘Have you known Aunt Vera long?’
‘Quite a while.’
How long was quite a while? She would have liked him to be more specific, but didn’t push it. Was there a connection with Todd’s mother leaving? ‘I’m surprised we haven’t met before.’
‘I’m not.’ Patrick’s jaw tightened. ‘I’ve deliberately avoided you.’
Choking on a mouthful of wine Ellie spluttered in astonishment. ‘Why should you do that?’
‘Because with your background, I knew we wouldn’t hit it off.’
Trust him to spoil the mood of the evening. Ellie shot to her feet and glared at him. ‘That’s not a reason, it’s prejudice, and it stinks. It’s not my fault you lost your money when my father’s firm went under. I didn’t have anything to do with his business.’
‘Who told you I was involved with him?’ The crack of his tongue stilled her angry voice. ‘Not even Vera knew that?’ He was on his feet in an instant, towering over her, his eyes demanding an answer.
She wanted to move away from the angry energy that crackled between them, but didn’t. It was obvious that Patrick used his anger to get his own way, and Ellie wouldn’t be intimidated by him. ‘That’s my business.’
* * * *
‘For someone who had no part in her father’s business you seem to know a hell of a lot. What else did that yuppie lover of yours tell you?’
How had David Lessingham suddenly got into the picture? She gave an unbelieving grimace. David wouldn’t have given the smaller creditors a second thought, let alone discuss business with her. He’d said he didn’t believe in mixing business and pleasure. He’d lied of course. She’d come under both headings.
His smile took on a sadistic edge. ‘I’ve underestimated you, Eloise. That sob story you fed me was all lies, wasn’t it?’
‘If you say so.’
‘What’s the score? Did he salt some money away in a Swiss bank account for you both. Is he waiting for you to join him after the dust has settled?’
‘How clever of you to figure it all out.’ Her cold sarcasm surprised her when every instinct urged her to shout a protest of furious denial. He was accusing her of a crime. Not only that. He’d appointed himself judge and jury, and then pronounced her guilty. How dare he!’
‘That’s exactly what happened, of course. I’m the master-mind behind the whole thing.’ Shut up, Ellie, an inner voice cautioned. She ignored it. ‘David’s waiting for me in Switzerland. We’re going to buy a huge mansion to live in and raise yuppie babies.’ Shut up, Ellie, for God’s sake. You’re losing it. ‘And what’s more we’re doing it with money we embezzled from my father and Patrick bloody-minded Morgan.’
She shuddered. ‘I suppose you think my father found out and that it caused the heart attack that killed him?’ Her face was wet. Damn it, she hadn’t meant to indulge in the weakness of tears! ‘No wonder you deliberately avoided meeting me.’
‘Stop it, Ellie.’ Roughly pulled into Patrick’s arms she discovered she was depleted of energy. ‘You fight dirty.’
‘Not as dirty as you.’ How could she even consider falling in love with this man. She loathed everything about him, except for his wonderful, muscular body, the scent of him in her nostrils, the deep deep blue of his eyes, his warm honeyed voice and his son. ‘I found a letter in the washing machine from the auditor,’ she murmured,
feeling the need to explain. ‘I wouldn’t have read it if I hadn’t recognized the heading.’
A sigh shivered along her scalp. ‘I guess I owe you an apology.’
Did he have to sound so reluctant? ‘And an explanation. Why didn’t you want to meet me?’
‘Ah, yes.’ His lips explored her hair. ‘I’d prefer not to give you one. Aggravating creature! Her eyes narrowed. ‘I could take a stab at it.’
‘You jumped to the wrong conclusion last time,’ he reminded her, trying to hide his grin.
‘So what’s new?’ She slanted her head to one side. ‘It’s something to do with Aunt Vera, isn’t it?’ The slight start of surprise was all the encouragement she needed. ‘I would guess she’s been trying her hand at match-making.’
‘Something like that.’ The sardonic mask was back. The flickering firelight emphasized the planes of his face, highlighting the taut cheekbones and bringing them into sharp relief. He looked as if carved out of stone.
‘If you thought me repulsive enough to avoid, why did you come up here?’
‘I didn’t know you were here until I saw the house lit up. Both Andrew and Vera conveniently forgot to tell me.’
So that's why you were so mean?’ A laugh tore from her throat. ‘Vera only mentioned you to me twice, and that was with reference to your temper. “If you ever run into Patrick Morgan watch out for his temper,”’ she said, raising a smile from Patrick when she imitated her aunt’s voice to perfection. ‘She was right.’
‘She was right about you, too.’
‘Why, what did she say about me?’
‘I doubt if I’ll ever be in the position to need to tell you.’ He shifted away from her. ‘It’s getting late, Ellie. I want to make an early start of the kitchen tomorrow.’
He was as transparent as glass at that moment and laughter lilted her voice. ‘You don’t have to panic, Patrick. Aunt Vera did my star chart recently. It predicted a Libran would play a major part in my future. Besides ... if I want to know what she told you about me, I only need ask her.’
Patrick looked decidedly uncomfortable. ‘There are other Librans beside my brother, Ellie.’
He changed tactics beautifully. What he didn’t know, and what she wasn’t going to tell him was that Andrew was out of the picture as far as she was concerned. The smile she gave him was whipped cream. ‘You’ve got to agree that your brother is a good catch.’
‘Is that how you see him?’ The lid blew of his temper so suddenly that she took a step back to avoid the blast. ‘A predator like you would eat him alive.’
Predator? There was something magnificently feral about the word. Her eyes narrowed as she imagined herself springing at him. A growl gathered momentum but remained in her throat. It wouldn’t do to incite Patrick to violence.
‘I’ll find a way to stop you, Ellie.’ Quite suddenly his hand landed on her rump, propelled her towards the door. ‘Get out of here before I lose my temper.’
Her sense of the ridiculous was heightened by his superfluous threat. Laughter bubbled up in her, then overflowed. She threw herself in the nearest chair and buried her head in a cushion to muffle her chuckles.
His hand tentatively touched her shoulder. ‘Stop crying Ellie. I hate it when you cry.’
His fierce voice contrasted oddly with the gentleness of his touch. A lump formed in her throat. Under that tough facade beat an unexpectedly soft heart. Laughter fading, she gazed up at him with tenderness.
‘I wasn’t crying.’
The eyes that studied her were shadowed, but Ellie experienced their contempt as she gazed at his outline. Time stood still. Yet quite clearly, she heard the carriage clock tick away the seconds. Senses heightened by an all-pervading tension, she experienced sounds separate from reality.
The wind uttered a thousand sighs as it cajoled the lemon verbena to brush against the window. The crushed leaves would release a piquant perfume that quivered the nostrils. She could almost smell it.
Patrick’s breath was a harsh ragged sound, like a wounded animal recovering from pain. Her own breath was softer, her heart a rapid staccato of sound. Everything was out of tune, the night music lacking harmony.
Her hand crept to his. The resistance she’d expected to find wasn’t there. Instead, he turned her hand upwards and flicked his tongue over the palm.
The unexpected assault caused her fingers to curve inward, allowing his tongue to slide into the soft hollow at the join of her thumb. A sensual shock rioted up her arm into her breast. It made her gasp.
His body blocked out the firelight as he leaned forward and roughly captured her mouth. It was the first time she’d been kissed in such a punishing manner. His mouth was hard and bruising. It crushed the half-hearted protest she’d been about to make.
His tongue flicked a command at her lips. She tried to twist away but he anticipated it. His hand grasped her hair, kept her there until she weakened. The destructive tongue wreaked havoc with any intention of resistance. It filled her with its demands, acknowledged her own, made her aware that her sensuality equaled his. When he’d finished demolishing her mouth he slowly drew her to her feet.
‘You have one chance to leave.’
His huskily spoken ultimatum was no ultimatum at all whilst his thumbs brushed her nipples into inviting buds. She couldn’t have left if she’d wanted to. His hunger bound her to him with invisible chains. His anger had become a controlled passion that both threatened and thrilled her.
‘Well, Eloise?’
Her answer came in the form of a kiss. Soft at first against his unresisting lips, then she succumbed to the temptation to take his bottom lip between her teeth.
A soft oath left his mouth and his hands involuntarily jerked the silky fabric of her blouse apart. Ellie winced at the destruction of such a beautiful garment. Before the buttons had finished scattering his mouth was intent on one pulsating breast, his fingers seeking the fastening of the white lacy cups that imprisoned them, and the vandalism faded from her mind.
‘Don’t touch me,’ he whispered, grasping her fingers as they moved towards the dark head. He pushed them down to her side. ‘It’s arousing enough just to strip the expensive wrapping from you.’
Urged by the hands that slid to her shoulders, the blouse whispered to the floor, followed by her brassiere. Ellie quivered as her breasts were cupped, tilted towards his teasing kisses. Closing her eyes she savored the exquisite torture his tongue provided.
Her breasts seemed alien to her, each one a world of pleasure separate from the other, each one heavy against he confines of its skin. They competed for the moist warmth his lips offered. Instinct arched her against him.
‘Keep still,’ he growled.
The ramifications of the command excited her. She’d never considered passivity a part of making love. Could she control her need to touch, to experience pleasure by taking instead of giving? Already her knees were trembling, her hands curved with the tension of her desire. She told herself she could if that’s what he wanted. Deep inside her was a wish to please him, to release the pent-up anger that was destroying him. If that meant standing still, she’d stand until she took root in the carpet.
The frustrated sigh that left her lips must have brought his face up to search hers, for the dewy warmth of her breasts were touched by coolness.
‘Open your eyes.’ Patrick’s voice had a ragged quality that tore her up inside. She found herself staring at him, and knew her eyes mirrored the knowledge of her desirability to him.
Her sense of power was absolute. Through his need to possess she would become the possessor. The softness of her flesh would yield to his strength and she’d take that strength from him.
Her lips curved in a secretive smile as she reached out and traced the planes of his face with the softest of touches. She wished the fire wasn’t behind him so she could see the desire in his eyes. She delighted in the thought that he could see her. Her body was slim, and although not overly endowed by nature, curvy enough t
o make a statement that was all female.
He nearly turned his face to the caress of her hand, but resisted it, instead, taking her hands into his. ‘I told you not to touch.’ He sighed as he covered her hands with kisses. ‘You’re everything a man could desire - everything. But I want you to go before it’s too late.’ He sounded reluctant; as if aware what was occurring between them had become more that he’d intended.
‘It’s already too late.’
She held her breath, knowing if he thought of the past, the moment would be ruined. His lips brushed against the ring she was wearing and he took a sharp intake of breath. Stillness came over him. Deliberately he drew it from her finger and threw it into the corner of the room.
The protest she gave was cut off by the savagery of his kiss. Senses spinning she was drawn into the dark turmoil of his anger. Vaguely she felt his fingers at her waist, a slither of material against her thighs, then coolness.
He took a step back, and she felt his glance rake her body. Then a finger hooked in the elastic edging of her briefs. ‘You didn’t buy these in a chain store.’
It was obvious Patrick didn’t frequent the lingerie department of chain stores. What was just as obvious was that he was going to tear them from her body. She tensed when the material stretched, knowing they were stronger than they looked. He’d been testing it, and reached the same conclusion.
He slid to his knees and kissed the spot immediately above the elastic. The kiss edged lower as he slid the panties over her hips. He paused before he reached the object of his desire, allowed her to step from the silken garment binding her ankles. He relaxed back on his haunches and his eyes moved sleepily over her nakedness before he threw her a sardonic grin.
‘You’re perfection.’
‘Patrick–’
‘Don’t say another word.’ His voice was curt as he uncoiled to his feet, his fingers busy with the buttons of his shirt. He undressed quickly, his pants following his shirt to the floor, his black briefs kicked aside. ‘Nudity is a great leveler, Eloise.’ The class barrier no longer applies.’
She shivered as his hand reached out and stroked her body. ‘Your flesh is the same as mine, only softer, more giving. It was designed for a man to take his pleasure of.’ Taking one of her hands he guided it to him. ‘This is what is does to me, Eloise. This is what you do to me. No one has affected me this way since her.’
