Daring Proposition

by Miranda Lee

  The kiss didn’t eventuate, however, and when she finally opened her eyes it was to find him glaring down at her. ‘I may be an arrogant fool,’ he muttered, ‘but do you think we could try this without your pretending I’m someone else this time? Leave your eyes open, Sam,’ he rasped. ‘Watch who’s kissing you. Who knows? You might find you like it.’

  There was a wealth of controlled anger in the way his fingers closed on her chin. Not hard enough to bruise, but still very firm, brooking no opposition in this. His head descended very slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. His mouth touched, tormented, then lifted. His eyes had grown oddly dark and there was a flash of red across his cheeks. Samantha wasn’t too calm either, her breathing decidedly disjointed and a buzzing in her ears.

  ‘See?’ he husked. ‘Was that so bad?’

  He bent and kissed her again, moving his mouth with more pressure over hers, then parting his lips, taking hers with him, his tongue probing forward. An electric current charged through her body and she shuddered violently.

  ‘Goddammit!’ Guy snarled, and whirled away from her. He stood for a second, his back to her, hands on hips, his sigh heavy and exasperated. He swept up his glass of champagne and downed half of it, then, putting it back down, turned slowly to face her.

  ‘Right,’ he pronounced, his momentary annoyance no longer in evidence. But his eyes carried that stubborn look they got whenever he was presented with a problem and was determined to solve it in his own inimitable way.

  ‘I can see you need your pretence,’ he went on reasonably. ‘I’ll have to accept that. But I find your squeezing your eyes shut, very...offputting. If you must have a fantasy world to help you then let me suggest something a little more...mutually satisfying. OK, Sam?’

  She had no idea what he was talking about but she nodded dumbly. If it was to give her an out then she was all for it. My God, when his tongue had slid into her mouth just now she had been virtually galvanised with blistering sensation. How would she be later, when he really started making love to her? Ironic, though, of him to ask her permission to do anything at this point. Little did he know it but she was his to do with as he willed.

  She was still startled, however, when he reached forward and undid the silk sash at her waist, then shocked her to the core by blindfolding her with it. ‘What...what are you doing?’ she gasped, her hands fluttering upwards in defence, only to have them grabbed and forcibly held behind her back.

  ‘Trust me, Sam,’ he said firmly. ‘Don’t be frightened.’

  ‘But I am frightened,’ she whispered, the sudden blackness and imprisoning grip of his hands sending a wave of heat flooding through her. She had heard of games like this, sensual games of captive playing, of the woman acting out the role of a slave in bondage. But she had never envisaged doing it herself. Or liking it. Yet she was definitely excited, her heartbeat pumping away like a steam train in full throttle.

  He released her wrists to cradle her face in his hands. ‘Trust me,’ he insisted, and lightly kissed her quavering mouth.

  ‘All...all right.’

  His hands dropped from her and she was left standing there, feeling bereft, and awkward. ‘What...what are you doing?’

  ‘Taking off my jacket and shirt. It’s warm in here.’

  ‘Oh...’ Her mind shot back to that day in the office when he had stripped to the waist in front of her. The thought that he was doing that now sent a searing heat into her skin. Her cheeks were burning. She was burning.

  The seconds ticked by and she could hear the faint sounds of clothes being discarded. He wasn’t taking them all off, was he? If he did surely he’d put a robe on, not just walk around like...like...?

  Suddenly she couldn’t bear the uncertainty, the darkness. She had to know what he was doing, what was happening. Hands trembling uncontrollably, they lifted to the knot.

  ‘Don’t!’ he commanded instantly, his hands closing over hers, taking them down. ‘Don’t,’ he repeated in a raw whisper, and placed her hands on his bare chest.

  They jerked away as though stung by an electric shock. ‘You’re naked!’ she accused, voice shaking.

  ‘No,’ he soothed, sliding his arms around her waist and drawing her to him. ‘I’ve still got my trousers on. See?’

  ‘I...I can’t see,’ she reminded him in a daze of erotic excitement.

  ‘Feel, then.’

  ‘Yes,’ she gulped. ‘Yes...’ Dear God, but it was what she had always wanted to do, ached to do. To touch him at will, to feel him, to let her hands speak her love. They fluttered back to his flesh, revelling in the warm supple skin that covered his shoulders, sliding backwards and forwards, kneading, feeling, wanting. She sighed and bent her mouth to his chest, savouring the slight roughness of hair under her lips.

  She felt his shudder of pleasure and exulted in it, exulted in the strong male hands that shook slightly when they cupped her throat and lifted her chin upwards. ‘Give me your mouth, Sam,’ he ground out. ‘And no flinching this time...’

  Her mouth reached up, her lips parting in eager readiness.

  There was certainly no shudder, only delight and hunger and passion. She accepted his kiss avidly, thrilling to the blasts of fire that burnt into her brain every time his tongue plunged deep into her mouth. Yes, she thought. Yes... This is what I’ve always known it would be like with him. Now I want it all.

  He drew back from her at last and she could hear his breathing, as ragged and heavy as her own. The knowledge of his arousal sparked even more within herself. She clung back to him, lifting her face for more, but he took her shoulders and held her firmly away.

  ‘No more of that.’ Despite everything, his voice sounded stunningly controlled. It rocked her, this power he had to gather himself at any time. But then she remembered that he wasn’t being swept along by love. This was just sex. Sex with a purpose. He only needed to be sufficiently aroused so that he could successfully make love to her and conceive a child.

  ‘Time to move on,’ he said curtly.

  She knew what he meant the moment she felt his fingers on the buttons of her blouse. He was going to undress her, standing there in the centre of a lighted room. The thought kept taunting her that she was not his choice, that her body was not the sort that normally attracted him, that he had needed an erotic game to turn him on. Swamped by a sudden loss of confidence, she made a whimpering protest. ‘No, I... Please turn off the lights.’

  ‘No,’ was his simple denial.

  Despite the scarf, she squeezed her eyes shut as his fingers worked their way steadily down the front of her blouse. They weren’t easy buttons to undo, being square-cut glass. But Guy didn’t appear to have much trouble, except perhaps at her wrist, and even they gave way quickly. She held herself stiffly as he parted the blouse and slipped it off her shoulders.

  His sharp intake of breath came as something of a surprise, till she started imagining he found her full breasts repulsive. She had always been rather proud of them, had thought the lacy half-cup bra had made them look extra voluptuous and sexy, but as she endured Guy’s silence she began to believe she had the ugliest bosom in the world.

  When her hands lifted instinctively to cover herself they were pushed away. ‘Don’t be silly,’ he ground out. ‘You have beautiful breasts, Sam. Exquisite...’

  She swayed when she felt his touch on them, tracing lightly at first, fingertips only, but when she experienced the full heat of his open palms moulding over the bra cups a tremor shook her. His thumbs started rubbing across the tips with slow, tantalising rolling movements. She thought she would die from pleasure, her nipples springing erect and sensitive against the lace, her body gripped by the most amazing sexual tension.

  ‘Such deliciously...large...sensitive nipples,’ he said in a voice she scarcely recognised as his. It was definitely not quite under control. The knowledge that the sight of her body could stir him to lose his much vaunted composure brought both satisfaction and a sense of incredible power. She, Sam, his long-ign
ored secretary, could make his voice tremble, could make his fingers quiver. Maybe at last he would see that she could give him as much as any of his blondes. More even, if he would only let her love him as she wanted to love him. She would show him passion he had never dreamed existed in his emotionally devoid, casually sexual lifestyle. She would pleasure him, give him what every man wanted in a woman. Total willingness, absolute submission, complete surrender.

  But I can’t go that far, she thought frantically. I mustn’t. He’s far too intuitive. He might guess the truth. I mustn’t moan, even though his touch is driving me to distraction, even though I want to ask him—no beg him—to do more. I mustn’t. I mustn’t...

  If only he hadn’t chosen that moment to unhook the front-closing clasp of her bra and draw the garment from her, hadn’t put his hands back on her throbbing breasts, bent his lips to take a single tortured nipple into the hot cavern of his mouth. She not only moaned. She gasped in a series of dragged-in, shuddering breaths, arching her back in utter abandonment and ecstasy. Unbidden, love-filled words slipped into her whirling, chaotic mind. ‘Oh, my darling...my darling...’ Samantha was so enraptured, so aroused, that she wasn’t even aware the endearments had found voice.

  She vaguely heard his muttered oath, but when his hands and mouth deserted her abruptly she wondered hopelessly why he had done such a thing. ‘You...you can’t stop now,’ she pleaded huskily, her hands fluttering in bewilderment in front of her.

  He grasped them to his chest and crushed them mercilessly till she whimpered. ‘Guy! You’re hurting me.’

  He laughed and made no concession to his brutal hold. ‘Well, at least you know it’s me who’s doing the hurting, not your damned darling.’

  ‘Darling?’ she repeated, muddled for a second. Then she realised what she must have done and her cheeks scorched with heat. ‘I...I’m sorry... It’s just that...’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he bit out frustratedly, flinging her hands away from him. ‘But, for pity’s sake, Sam, it’s a bit hard for a man to take, to have a woman groaning for her lover while he’s making love to her.’

  ‘He...he’s not my lover,’ she rasped. Not yet anyway, she thought in wild desperation.

  ‘But you want him to be, don’t you? You want him with a want I’ve never seen before in a woman.’ He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. ‘Who is this man who commands such desire, such love? Do I know him? Tell me!’

  She was startled by the vehemence in his voice, the violence in his hands. He actually sounded jealous, madly jealous. And, even though she knew it was only his insufferable male ego that was being piqued, she found satisfaction in his passion. She would use his anger, his temper, pretend it was all for her and her alone.

  ‘Don’t question me, Guy,’ she rasped, winding her arms up around his neck and pulling him down to her. ‘Just touch me, kiss me, take what he doesn’t want, take it.’

  He groaned, but did as she asked, bending his mouth to hers, kissing her till she was limp with desire, till her mouth ached with his ravaging onslaughts, till her breasts were pulsating orbs of bruised flesh, till she was begging him to stop, to stop and make love to her properly.

  He ripped the scarf from her eyes and she saw a Guy such as she had never seen before, his face flushed with dark blood, his eyes wild and frightening. She stared up at him, her own eyes widening with shock. So this was the man who obsessed all those women, this impassioned, primitive animal who was as far removed from the controlled person she worked with as night was from day.

  They were well matched, this man and herself, she thought with bitter acceptance. Both fools who wore façdes, but for different reasons. Hers to mask the vulnerabilities of her emotions, his to hide the raw male passion that could so easily consume and rule his life if he let it. But, as of this moment, both their façades had been blasted to smithereens.

  Their eyes locked and she was amazed to see a type of bewilderment creep into his, and, with the bewilderment, anger. He didn’t like her seeing him like this, didn’t like it one bit. Gradually and amazingly he regained control over himself, his breathing forcibly steadied with deep, heaving breaths, cooling his passion and his anger till he had successfully achieved the impossible: total control. He’d even adopted a faintly sardonic expression.

  ‘You’re a wild little thing, aren’t you, Sam,’ he drawled, ‘once you get going?’ His hands reached out to casually cup her lush breasts, lifting and kneading them slowly while he watched her lips part in a gasping moan. His eyes narrowed and she felt his fingers dig into her flesh before abruptly dropping his hands away. They slowly encircled her waist, where his expert fingers casually undid the buttons at the back of her culottes. Her eyes rounded, her breath catching in her throat as he slid the zip down with one sleek movement.

  ‘Tell me,’ he murmured while he eased the culottes down over her hips, ‘how far exactly have you gone with this wimpish lover of yours? Has he kissed you, touched you, made you quiver with pleasure, as I have just done? Have you touched his flesh, given him satisfaction while he denies you yours? Is that why you’re so frustrated? For that’s what you are...’ Intuitive blue eyes were fixed on her dilated gaze. ‘Incredibly so...’

  How could she answer him when her world was whirling about her? He was undressing her, the man she loved. Dear God, she was only human...

  She sucked in a shuddering breath and shook her head, masking her eyes from him by looking down.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ he commanded. ‘Look up at me!’

  Drawn by the power in his voice, she lifted her face.

  ‘No more pretence, Sam,’ he growled, eyes steely and narrow. ‘Time for reality. Soon you’ll be naked in my bed and we’ll be making love. I won’t have a ghost in bed with us. Not this time. Tonight you are my woman, the woman I have chosen to be the mother of my child. I won’t share you.’

  The culottes fell from her hips and pooled at her feet. He stared down at her, frozen for a second as his eyes raked over her erotic attire. But then he smiled, and there was more than a hint of smugness in his beautiful blue eyes.

  ‘Dare I remind you, Sam,’ he drawled, taking her hand and stepping her out of the circle of black silk, ‘that you must have worn these for me, for no other man was going to see you like this tonight? An interesting thought, that, wouldn’t you say?’

  She stared up at him, eyes wide, lips apart as she sucked in some much needed air.

  ‘I’m certainly going to enjoy taking them off,’ he rasped, and bent to scoop her up into his arms, carrying her into his bedroom and laying her quite tenderly on the royal-blue quilt.

  Nervous shivers racked her body as he unclipped first one suspender, then the other. But he didn’t seem to notice, his attention riveted on her legs as he unpeeled each stocking from her and removed the last of her clothing. Only when she was totally naked did he look up into her eyes, shocking her with the undisguised admiration in his gaze.

  ‘You are one beautiful woman, Sam,’ he murmured, and bent to lightly kiss each one of her nipples before abruptly standing up and stepping down from the bed.

  ‘Where...where are you going?’ she gasped.

  He threw a reassuring smile over his shoulder. ‘To the bathroom. I won’t be a minute. Pop into bed if you like.’

  She did like. To lie there in outstretched nudity, waiting patiently for his return, was out of the question. She scrambled under the sheets, aware that she had begun to tremble from nerves. Once again, at the critical moment, he had left her alone, allowing her arousal to recede enough for doubts and worries to crowd back in. Would he realise her inexperience? Would he find her inept and boring? Would she rate poorly as a woman, compared with all his other exciting, sophisticated lovers?

  As she lay there agitatedly her whirling thoughts took a different turn. Would making love with Guy end in the ultimate in physical satisfaction that women seemed to talk about these days and want so desperately? She wasn’t sure what orgasm was like, or how a woman felt when she
experienced it. All she knew was that she wanted Guy back with her again; wanted to have him touch her, kiss her, caress her; wanted him to complete what he had started. The thought of their two bodies blending as one was enough to blast a heat wave across her skin, her heart leaping, her breath coming in shallow pants as she merely imagined it. What would the reality do to her?

  The door to the en suite opened and Guy wandered back in. Samantha gulped, for not in any shape or form had her experience with Norman prepared her for seeing a man like Guy, stunningly naked and breathtakingly aroused.

  He seemed pleased by her undivided attention as he strolled over, lifted the bedclothes and climbed in beside her. ‘I think,’ he said, and reached to enfold her against him, ‘that this is going to work out much better than I’d envisaged. Though the fact is, Sam...’ he leant over her and held her flushing face solid in his hands ‘...I don’t think I can wait much longer.’

  Nevertheless, he did, kissing her and touching her and caressing her as she’d yearned for, bringing her arousal right back to fever-pitch, making her flesh quiver and tremble till she could no longer contain her moans of pure sensual pleasure. When he eased her thighs apart and started to touch her with even more intimacy she was soon beside herself, her body arching up from the bed in its desire to get closer and closer to him.

  ‘Now, I think,’ he muttered at last, and positioned himself between her thighs, wrapping her legs around his hips before he probed at the silken sheath he had so expertly prepared. She gasped in anticipation, her nails digging into his shoulders. As though in response to her action, he simultaneously thrust forward, totally destroying any concept she had of what it might feel like to be thus joined with the man she loved. This wasn’t the stuff heaven was made of. This was hell, for she knew she would never want to be without it again.