Beyond Compare

by Penny Jordan

  What would she give him? she wondered hazily as he touched her. The full outpouring of her love, some small surcease, some small touch of balm against his hurts? And perhaps a memory that he would cherish in a tiny corner of his heart.

  'If I do anything that hurts or offends you, Holly, please tell me,' he whispered against her mouth, adding huskily, 'And you will have to tell me because I ache so damn much inside I can't be sure I'm capable of recognising anything else.' He saw her eyes widen and smiled mirthlessly. 'Have I frightened you? Join the club. I'm beginning to frighten myself.' He took her hand and placed it against his heart. It slammed against her palm heavily and far too fast. His skin felt moist and hot, and the delicate abrasion of his body hair against her fingertips made her tremble painfully. And yet she couldn't stop herself from caressing him tentatively, from stroking his hot flesh and feeling her own heartbeat pick up the shallow, frantic rhythm of his as his muscles tensed. His hand cupped her jaw, holding her mouth under his own while he tasted it, tormented it, and finally opened it with a muted violence that sent a wild thrill of dazed pleasure through her body and made her breasts peak and harden and her stomach melt.

  She reached up and clasped her hands behind Drew's neck, her fingertips lost in the thick silkiness of his hair. The pressure of his mouth altered, softening, coaxing, suborning her will-power to the strong tide of his desire.

  Instincts she had not known she possessed guided her, her body pliant, fluid, conspiring with his to ensure that she couldn't resist the slow, drugging force of her own need. Her nails dug tenderly into Drew's flesh and he made a sound of pleasure deep in his throat, lifting his mouth from hers to stare at her with desire-drugged, brilliant eyes. Dark colour burned his cheekbones, and she touched him tentatively, delicately absorbing the heat into her fingertips.

  His heart slammed against his ribs and her eyes widened in shocked recognition of her own effect on him. She saw his mouth curl in brief acknowledgement of his own weakness, and in her veins the heady drug of sexual power sang its siren song.

  She cupped his face, as he had done hers, letting her flesh absorb the hard imprint of his, feeling the sharp stubble of his beard against her palm, sliding her hand downwards until it rested against his throat. She felt the muscles there convulse, and the knowledge that he wanted her fed her own desire.

  Drew caught hold of her hand, lifting it to his mouth, licking the soft pads at the base of her fingers, nibbling her sensitised flesh, making her heart turn over inside her body and her muscles go weak as he punished her for tormenting him.

  He moved, his weight pressing her body deeper into the bed, and even through the thickness of her night-shirt and robe her breasts responded to the heat and proximity of him.

  This was still new to her, this aching tenderness that fed her imagination with wanton desires, that made her long to feel the intimate touch of his flesh against her own.

  'Let me see you, Holly. Let me touch you,' Drew begged against her lips, his voice low and slurred like that of a man hopelessly caught up in something beyond his control. It pleased her that she could make him feel like this, react like this, and her spine arched with delicate pride as he removed her clothes, her senses glorying in the wonder and raw desire she saw in his face as he gazed down at her.

  His hand trembled as he traced the delicate line of her collarbone and then slid along the outer curve of her breast, his thumb almost brushing the dark aureole of flesh that crowned it, before his hand tightened over the narrow span of her ribcage, his fingers biting almost painfully into her flesh.

  Eyes the colour of dark fire locked on her own, the message she read there making her stomach kick in wild excitement. His hand tensed beneath the soft swell of her breast, and, as though he had asked her, she said, 'Yes. Yes, Drew,' and to her own amazement took his hand and placed it against her breast, breathing in sharply as she saw the fierce desire flood his face and felt his fingers tighten around her. And then he was caressing her, touching, stroking, teaching her things about her own body she had never dreamed existed. The world spun dizzily around her and she closed her eyes, opened them abruptly seconds later as she felt the heat of Drew's mouth against her flesh.

  She drew in ragged breaths of delirious pleasure. How had he known of her need to have him caress her just like that, to feel the heat of his mouth drag against the swollen peaks of her breast in exactly that way, to…? She cried out incoherently as he drew fiercely on her nipple, and her womb convulsed in tiny, shimmering waves of pleasure.

  'Holly. Holly…'

  When had he removed his own clothes? she wondered confusedly as he pressed hot, fierce kisses on her throat and face, and she felt the hard arousal of him against her.

  It felt so right, this heat and weight, her body adapting itself to it instinctively, so instinctively, in fact, that Drew tensed momentarily as her thighs parted to accommodate him, her body in its innocence eagerly responding to the arousal of his.

  He had wanted this for so long… ached for it, yearned for it, and yet now… Now he knew that he couldn't take her without telling her.

  Holly felt his tension and opened her eyes, every instinct she possessed screaming against the impossible. Drew had changed his mind. He didn't want her. She could feel it in the sudden coolness of his skin, that tension in his muscles.

  'Holly,' he began unsteadily, and she knew that he was going to tell her that they must stop, that…

  She wouldn't let it happen. She wouldn't let him reject her. She would show him that she could give him just as much satisfaction as Rosamund, and far, far more love. Reaching up, she sealed his mouth with her fingertips, her eyes glowing brilliantly in her small face.

  'Please don't stop, Drew,' she whispered huskily. 'Not now… Not now…' And then she covered his throat and chest with pleading, open-mouthed kisses that made him groan out loud and which brought the hectic flush of heat to his skin, his body making its own unmistakable response to her plea.

  She had won. He wouldn't reject her now. He couldn't, and her body rejoiced in its female power as she gladly let him take control of her shuddering flesh and make it his own.

  There was pain briefly, and it made them both tense, and then as it faded Holly moved. As though the enticement of her was more than he could resist, Drew gave in to the urgings of his own need.

  As his mouth silenced her soft little cries of pleasure, the words of love he knew he could not utter filled his soul. She was his… if only briefly, and he would show her how much he cherished the gift she was giving him.

  Later…looking back with the sophistication of experience, Holly recognised how difficult it must have been for Drew to control his desire to match the pace of her own inexperience. The sensation of him moving within her delighted her emergent senses, making her respond frantically to each powerful thrust until he held her and showed her how to match his pulsing rhythm so that their bodies moved in fierce accord.

  She felt the striving, the aching need to reach some totally necessary goal without knowing what it was, only that the driving force of Drew's body was a piper's call to which her own must respond, and the first quivers of climactic pleasure caught her by surprise, tensing her body, so that at first Drew thought he had hurt her. But when she opened her eyes and he saw the dawning of what was happening to her mirrored there, he whispered urgently, 'Relax, Holly. Let it happen. Don't fight it.'

  And, as her muscles relaxed in obedience, he felt for himself the delicious, frantic little convulsions, and coaxed them and nurtured them until the soft body beneath his writhed and twisted in elemental pleasure and Holly cried out to him, begging him for release.

  Her nails scored his back, her mouth pressing hot, urgent kisses against his skin, and, as the surges of pleasure grew quickly more and more urgent, Holly felt his own control snap, and knew that he had joined her in that magical place where nothing existed save for the sweet culmination they both sought.

  They found it together: the ripples of pleasure
exploding inside her so that she cried out and clung to Drew, feeling the shudders that racked him, the fierce tension that held him, and then the hot release of his flesh deep within her own. A rare, precious moment of communion that she knew she would treasure for the rest of her life.

  Later, when he had eased himself from her body and tucked them both beneath the comfort of the duvet, she slept curled against him, replete with physical and emotional satisfaction, warmed by the hard bulk of his body, protected by the arm he curled round her, imprisoned by the firm weight of his leg across her thighs.

  As she drifted deep into sleep, she thought she felt his soft breath stir her hair as he whispered in her ear, 'I love you, Holly. I love you.'

  But she knew it was only wishful thinking, because locked away deep in her heart was the knowledge that he loved Rosamund.

  CHAPTER TEN

  « ^

  Holly woke up slowly, like someone surfacing from a very deep ocean. Her body ached pleasurably and felt different. Tiny, darting thoughts battered against her drowsy mind, demanding admittance: sharp thorns of a pain she didn't want to admit.

  She opened her eyes, huge and dazed still, her skin softly pink with warmth, her dark hair silkily soft.

  As she opened her eyes, she wondered why Drew was sitting on the side of her bed, watching her so gravely. He looked as though he had a lot on his mind. His face looked oddly drawn and grim. Outside, the sun was shining, glinting off the snow-capped roofs of the buildings, but surely not the buildings she normally saw through her window.

  'Drew…' she began uncertainly, and then, as if someone were ripping a shroud from a coffin, everything came flooding back. Her skin burned, her eyes dilating with knowledge. Drew reached out to touch her, but she shrank back—not from him, but from herself.

  'Holly,' Drew said quietly, 'we have to talk. Last night…'

  'Oh, Drew, no! I don't want to… I know how you feel,' she told him in a low voice, avoiding his glance. 'And I know I should never have allowed what happened last night to happen.'

  'I see.' She sensed the distance in him immediately, and was confused by it. She thought he would have been reassured to hear she was behaving so sensibly: She had been about to tell him that she had no regrets, that she knew that he loved Rosamund, but she felt his weight leave the bed, and knew that he was walking away from her.

  'I expect you'll want me to leave,' she added huskily. 'I'll pack my things this morning.'

  'Leave?' He strode back to the bed, frowning down at her as she turned to look at him. Two hectic spots of colour burned his cheeks. 'Oh, no, Holly, you're not going to do that,' he told her flatly, adding emotionlessly, 'We made a bargain, remember?'

  She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, and wished she hadn't as she saw Drew looking at her, and her stomach muscles contracted on a wave of remembered pleasure that made her go weak and dizzy.

  She wanted him! She wanted him, right now, this minute. She wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her and caress her as he had done last night. She wanted to feel the hot pulse of his flesh within her own, easing that tight, aching sensation that was even now possessing her.

  Frantically, she looked away from him. 'I didn't think you'd want me to stay.'

  'In case I'm tempted to make love to you again?' he demanded harshly.

  Make love to her again… Her body grew hot and she had to force herself not to look at him and let him see the need in her eyes. She could feel the anger emanating from him, and acknowledged that he had every right to it. She was the one who had insisted, she was the one who had begged him not to stop. Of course, he knew that wasn't why she wanted to leave.

  'If I give you my word that I won't touch you again, will you stay, Holly? At least until after the countess's birthday party.'

  She clung gratefully to the opportunity to stay with him, even while part of her mind despised her for it.

  'If that's what you want…'

  'What I want?' he exclaimed savagely. 'What I want, Holly, is…' He saw her go white and broke off, muttering something under his breath. 'I'll leave you to get dressed. I'll be out for most of the day. We could have more snow, and I'll have to organise feed for the sheep.'

  Drew had a very small flock of prize wool-giving sheep that grazed on the less fertile acreage of the farm. 'I shan't be back until late, Holly. I'm relying on you to keep your word,' he told her quietly, and then added wryly, 'Think how it's going to look for me if I manage to lose two girlfriends in such a short space of time…'

  'I won't leave,' she promised him solemnly, and for a moment, as he hesitated, she had the impression that he wanted to come over and kiss her. If he did, he managed to resist the impulse, heading instead for the door.

  After he had gone she got up. She and Drew were lovers! Her skin shivered in remembered pleasure, the faint bruises she saw forming on her pale flesh reminding her of the intensity of Drew's passion. And that passion had been for her, not for Rosamund. He had wanted her…caressed her…kissed her…made love to her… and she would have the joy of that knowledge with her for always, even though she would not have Drew.

  It was hard to behave as though nothing had changed, but she knew that she must. She must not burden Drew with her love. She must be as sophisticated as Rosamund would be in the same situation. She must just accept what had been and acknowledge that it could never be again. It would be hard, harder than it had been before. Sighing, she went downstairs and made herself some breakfast. Then, when she had cleared her things away, she set to work on her stencil. The work needed concentration and care, and helped her to get her life back into its normal perspective.

  Her tummy told her when it was lunch time, and she stopped what she was doing to heat some of the soup she had made the previous day. In London she would simply have bought a can, but here in the country that seemed a crime. Her mother was a very domesticated woman, and she had taught Holly all her skills. Was it only yesterday lunch time that Drew had praised her, claiming that the soup was even better than his mother's?

  Would she ever feel totally at ease with him again? Would she ever be able to look at him without remembering the feel and scent of his skin, the power of his body, the vulnerability of his need? Her body contracted on a fresh wave of desire, and she stared blindly out of the window, watching fresh flakes of snow drift earthwards.

  She was just ladling the soup into a bowl when she saw Drew drive into the yard. Her heart leapt and thudded against her chest wall, nervous excitement making her go weak with pleasure.

  He came in, brushing snowflakes off his jacket.

  'I thought you weren't coming in for lunch.'

  'I changed my mind,' he told her grimly.

  Despite the healthy glow of his skin, he looked tired and drawn still. Had he come back to check that she had kept her promise?

  'I wont leave, Drew,' she told him gently. 'Not until you ask me to.'

  An odd look crossed his face. He came up to her, his hand on her throat, his eyes gravely serious as he warned her, 'Be careful what promises you make to me, Holly. It could be that I will never ask that!'

  Just for a moment she let herself believe that this was real and not just a misplaced piece of gallantry on Drew's part. She closed her eyes and only opened them again when she had the strength of will to say firmly, 'Drew, there's Rosamund and—'

  'And Howard,' he interrupted before she could go on. 'Well, at least he won't be able to accuse you of being inexperienced now,' he told her with grim cruelty, watching the colour come and go in her face. 'Is that why you made love with me last night, Holly? Because you thought it would make Howard…'

  'No… no… you know it wasn't,' she contradicted him sharply, her pain showing in her eyes. 'Drew, how could you believe that?'

  She heard him groan and then she was in his arms, his heart thudding wildly against her. 'I'm sorry, Holly. God, I'm sorry,' she heard him mutter as he shaped her skull and then tilted her head so that his mouth could whisp
er the apologies against her own, and finally he kissed her deeply, hungrily, like a man starving for the sensation of her mouth against his own.

  When he released her, his face was white.

  'Perhaps you're right,' he said quietly. 'Perhaps you should.' His thumb touched the bruised fullness of her lips. 'But not yet, Holly. Not until after the countess's party. We'll talk about it then. All right?'

  She nodded, too shaken to speak. Why had he kissed her like that? she wondered when he had gone. Because he had sensed her need, because he had wanted to comfort her, to apologise? But it had been a kiss of passion, not apology, and she had felt the unmistakable leap of his flesh, the urgent arousal of his body against her own, and had known that he shared the desire shimmering through her.

  Perhaps the Bible was right, and the apple of desire was a fruit that, once tasted, could not easily be put aside, even when that desire was not allied to love.

  Why was he insisting that she stay until after the countess's party? To give him time to prepare a story for his mother? So that they could have one last attempt at breaking Rosamund and Howard's engagement? But Howard wouldn't be there.

  Rosamund would, though, and perhaps he was hoping that, being alone, seeing him with someone else would fuel her jealousy to such a pitch that she decided it was Drew she preferred. Certainly she was showing a good deal more interest in her old love than Howard was in his, but she didn't care. The last thing she wanted right now was Howard. The only thing she wanted was Drew… the one thing she could not have.

  For the rest of the week Drew seemed to be avoiding her, working long hours outside, coming in exhausted, to retire to his office after they had eaten, claiming that he had paperwork to catch up on.

  Holly didn't press for his company; she could see the lines of tension scored alongside his mouth, see the tightening of flesh over bones that suddenly seemed almost too prominent.