by Miranda Lee
Emotion sent a strangled sob to her throat and tears to her eyes. She nestled her face in his neck, terrified he would see her tears, and know them for what they were.
But then he began to move and she groaned, stunned by the exquisite physical pleasure of it all.
‘Move with me, Sam,’ he urged.
She did, grasping him tight and close, searching to devour him with an all-consuming ardour.
‘Hell,’ he muttered once.
She felt the changes in her body, felt the gradual increasing of tension, the relentless tightening of her internal muscles, but had no idea where they were leading. Eventually her fingers began to dig deeply into Guy’s back and a tortured moan punched from her throat. Perhaps sensing her imminent release, Guy scooped his hands under her buttocks and lifted her into him, his penetration more devastatingly complete.
She climaxed immediately, her back arching from the bed as her body was gripped by contraction after contraction of sheer electric pleasure.
She clasped Guy to her, thrilling when she felt his responsive shudder, felt his body convulsing with hers in perfect unity.
More tears flooded her eyes. Tears of joy and bitter-sweet happiness.
‘Oh, Guy,’ she sobbed, and clung to him.
He stiffened, jerking his head up to stare down at her.
There was no way she could do anything about the tears that were running down her cheeks.
‘The bastard,’ he muttered. ‘The stupid bloody bastard...’ And then he was gathering her to him, holding her and stroking her, telling her she was a beautiful woman, a beautiful, desirable, wonderful woman and she was to forget that other fool, forget him, put him out of her mind forever. He didn’t deserve her love, didn’t deserve a minute of her time.
Which only made her cry the more.
In the end she sobbed herself to sleep, still locked in his arms, unaware that she wasn’t the only person in that room to be experiencing an emotional upheaval.
Guy lay awake for a long, long time, cradling her sleeping form, thinking about what had happened. Every now and then Samantha stirred, sighing contentedly as he stroked her gently back to oblivion. Each time it happened he frowned darkly, aware of instant tension leaping back into his body whenever her soft lips pressed instinctively into his neck. It bothered him, as did all the other emotions that had besieged him that night.
‘Impossible,’ he muttered aloud at last, his eyes hardening.
And, as though that were the end of the matter, he promptly turned away from her and went to sleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SAMANTHA woke first, slowly, sleepily. Her eyes finally fluttered open, widening when she saw the foot of the bed bathed in light.
All that had happened the night before flooded back, as sharply as the sun’s rays that were streaming through the plate-glass window above her head. Rolling over carefully, her wide hazel eyes took in Guy’s sleeping form. He was well over on his side, his back to her, the pale blue sheet draped carelessly around his hips.
Her breathing quickened as her gaze followed the shape of his body upwards, the indentation at his waist, the rapidly broadening chest, the wide, very male shoulders, the strong muscles in his neck, the tangled mass of thick straight brown hair, looking longer than it did when neatly groomed around his head.
Would she remember what he looked like naked in years to come? came the suddenly bleak thought. Would she be able to recapture for her private dream-world his incredible passion, his unexpected tenderness towards her afterwards?
‘Don’t let me get pregnant too quickly, lord,’ she prayed softly under her breath. ‘Give me a few months of happiness, of feeling like this, like a woman loved, a woman in every sense of the word.’
She sighed, and stretched her arms languorously above her head, savouring the contentment in her body. Yet no sooner had she begun to think she was at peace, at least physically, than her reminiscing had a stirring effect, teasing her brain with memories of what had transpired between them. She closed her eyes and began to relive those amazing moments from when she’d been standing before him, blindfolded and half naked, when his hands had...
Her eyes snapped open as a surge of desire struck deep and hard. My God, she thought frantically. I’m worse, not better! I want him more now than ever!
Stifling a groan, she eased her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, pushing her own tangled mass of hair out of her eyes. A shower, she decided, and, giving Guy’s still unconscious state a grateful glance, gingerly transported her naked self from the bed to the bathroom.
She stayed under the hot water longer than strictly necessary, considering she wasn’t shampooing her hair. But the alternative was facing Guy. She imagined he would probably have been awakened by the sound of the gushing jets of water by now.
Uncertainty and a residue of shyness squirmed through Samantha as she envisaged emerging from the room to encounter his knowing gaze. She had no idea what he would want of her for the rest of the weekend, whether he expected her to stay with him for the whole two days, or how often he would make love to her. She tried not to think too deeply about this last matter, for it had the effect of making her drop the soap and generally lose what little composure she was desperately trying to find.
It was imperative that she keep her resolve of last night, that of being her usual cool self when they were out of bed. One hint of emotional involvement with him and Guy would be furious. Her intense responses to his lovemaking were worrying enough as it was. Who knew how long she could successfully blame her reactions on her mysterious ‘other lover’?
Thinking of that reminded her of the irony of what Guy had said during the aftermath of their lovemaking. His advice had been basically correct. The man she loved was stupid—in one regard—and she perhaps shouldn’t be wasting her time on him. But it was very hard to have regrets when he had given her the most special night of her life, when he had made dreams come true, and when he had shown himself to be far more sensitive and considerate than she’d previously given him credit for.
He could have been blunt—or coarse—in their mating. Instead he had been imaginative and exciting and quite wonderful, not feeding her insecurities but flattering her and making her feel very special indeed. He didn’t have to do that, but he had. The knowledge that the man she loved had a softer, more compassionate side pleased Samantha very much. It reassured her belief that he would be a good father. Thoughtful and loving, in the same manner that he was a thoughtful and loving son. It was only in forming deeper relationships with women that he was flawed.
She shook her head under the water with a black frustration. There were some women in this world—or perhaps not in this world!—who had a lot to answer for where Guy was concerned. His mother for one, she suspected, not to mention the three callous stepmothers who had flitted in and out of his young life, warping his youthful mind, turning him into an emotional cripple where male-female relationships were concerned.
Samantha eventually snapped off the water and dried herself with one of the lush blue towels. She had been right about the bathroom. It really did have everything that opened and shut, including a corner spa bath, tiled in royal blue with silver taps. There was even a small washer and tumble drier built into the wall behind the door, with concertina doors that could be closed in front of them to reduce the noise.
Samantha wrapped one of the enormous blue towels around herself, sarong-style, then hunted through the many and various drawers in the huge double bowl vanity in search of a hairbrush. She found a wide-toothed comb—blue, of course—and proceeded to make some order out of the knots and tangles of her thick brown hair.
One last look in the mirror showed a woman far removed from Miss Samantha Peters, prim and proper secretary. The faint smudges under her eyes from her slept-in mascara and the tellingly puffy lips conjured up the image of a mistress just tumbled from her lover’s bed.
The thought sent a ripple of excitement and satisfaction through h
er. Guy was no longer just her boss. He was her lover!
But for how long, sweetheart? taunted that other brutally honest, more vulgar voice. A man as healthy and virile as Guy will hit a bull’s-eye in no time flat! After that he won’t come near you with a barge-pole, let alone...
‘Shut up!’ she spat as naked pain flashed into wounded hazel eyes. ‘Shut up...’
Groaning, she swung away and with clenched fists strode over to the door, but as her hand lifted to turn the knob, her fingers extending, she could see it was shaking. Get a grip on yourself, girl! came the stern reprimand.
With stiff, jerky movements she wrenched open the door and walked into the bedroom, only to jolt to a halt. The bed—and the bedroom—was empty.
Startled, she hurried over to the double doorway that led into the sitting-room. That area too was empty.
Heat slammed into her cheeks as a quick glance around revealed nothing to disturb the room’s serene blue tidiness but her own clothes scattered around: her blouse lying carelessly over the back of the sofa; her bra near the leg of a small table; the black culottes still pooled on the carpet.
And the red silk scarf where it had been thrown against a wall, the knot still in place.
Shock joined her embarrassment as she saw with more clarity what exactly she had allowed. Oh, God... How was she going to face him, calmly, dispassionately...after what she had let him do?
It was impossible! Certainly impossible as she was at that moment, still stark naked, but for a towel. One look at her would remind him. And herself. She couldn’t bear to see any hint of male smugness in his face, any sort of triumph.
Sweeping up all the clothes, she raced back into the bedroom, where she reclaimed the rest from the foot of the bed. Fearing that Guy would walk back in at any moment, she fled into the bathroom and dressed in record time. The knot in the scarf, though, refused to budge to her fumbling, trembling fingers, and in the end she stuffed it into the small flip-top rubbish bin beside the vanity.
She actually managed to be sitting on one of the sofas, casually watching a Saturday morning music video show on television, when the door opened and Guy strode in.
The first thing she noticed was that he was both showered and as dressed as she was, in casual navy trousers and an open-necked pale blue shirt. The second thing that caught her eye was that he looked markedly strained.
Steely blue eyes flicked over her where she sat, nervously tongue-tied. ‘I’m glad to see you’re dressed,’ he pronounced tautly. ‘Would you like to have some breakfast here, or wait till you get home?’
Samantha stared at him as he strode over and picked up a set of keys from an ashtray on the bar. By the time he had shoved them into his trouser pocket and turned back to face her she had swallowed her shock and was able to look at him as indifferently as he was now looking at her.
‘I’m going home, am I?’ she asked with studied nonchalance, and levered herself to her feet. ‘I wasn’t sure what you had in mind. I thought you might want me to stay the whole weekend.’
A cold resolve settled in his eyes that might have sent a shiver down her spine if she hadn’t already been frozen inside. Home... He was taking her home... He couldn’t face making love to her again today...
‘That was my original idea,’ he admitted unexpectedly, ‘but I wasn’t prepared for what happened last night. I thought things would be...simpler. Under the circumstances, I think it best I take you home. I also think we should forget all about having a baby together at this point in time.’
‘But—’
‘It’s quite clear to me,’ he cut in sharply, ‘that you’re absolutely crazy about this other bloke, which means your decision-making processes have been affected. I don’t need the mother of my child having some sort of nervous breakdown because of unrequited love.’
She was no longer able to hide her dismay. ‘Yes, but...but I might already be pregnant,’ she blurted out.
His face tightened. ‘I doubt that very much. We’d have to be unlucky. But if it happens, it happens. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. But as of now, Sam, I’m calling this whole project off!’
Dismay quickly gave way to a flare of anger. Who did he think he was, changing his mind like that, now? Couldn’t he see he had no right to give her a glimpse of heaven then dash her back down to hell?
‘Don’t I have any say in the matter?’
Her cold fury surprised him, but he quickly gathered himself. ‘No,’ he returned curtly.
Her teeth clenched hard in her jaw. ‘Just like that!’ She snapped her fingers. ‘You said we were partners in this, Guy. This doesn’t sound to me as if we’re partners. It sounds like a typical self-centred male boss telling his female employee what’s going to be what, ordering her around as though she doesn’t have any rights, or even brains!’
She lifted her chin in proud defiance. But her heart was racing and her mind searching desperately for the logic that would win for her a temporary extension of what had already become a dangerous addiction—Guy making love to her.
‘Do you realise I find your decision insulting?’ she argued, trying to sound as coldly reasoning as her desperation would allow. ‘It assumes I’m wishy-washy and weak. Haven’t you always said you liked my down-to-earth practicality, my common sense? I thought you knew me better, Guy, than to judge me on a few female tears. We had a pact, you and I. A bargain! And now you’re breaking it without good cause.’
‘I do have good cause,’ he stated in a low, controlled, but definitely angry voice.
‘Oh, yes!’ she flung back at him. ‘This pathetic assumption that I might have a nervous breakdown.’ Her laughter was bitter. ‘Good God, if I was going to have a nervous breakdown it would have been while working for an impatient, intolerant, demanding bastard like you these past five years!’
His eyes flared wide with shock at her words.
Samantha turned to snatch up her handbag and stalked over to him. She stopped within arm’s distance and glared up at him, blind anger making her careless. ‘Has it ever occurred to you, Guy, that you might have made a few wrong deductions about last night? That things might not have been exactly as they seemed?’
Puzzlement leapt into his intelligent blue eyes. ‘In what way?’
Only then did Samantha see the corner she had backed herself into. But, if there was one thing she had become adept at with having to handle Guy, it was the ability to think on her feet.
‘I...I happen to like sex,’ she came out with boldly. ‘Very much. But because of this...this unrequited love of mine I haven’t had any for ages. Last night I discovered I could still enjoy sex, despite that. My tears were tears of relief and gratitude, not misery. I was enjoying not some fantasy, but a real live man. You, Guy. I enjoyed you. Not someone else. And I think you enjoyed me. Oh, I know I’m not some fluffy little blonde with mincing ways and a sweet-as-apple-pie disposition, and I dare say your experience with me might not be the best you’ve ever had. But it was good, wasn’t it?’
He straightened and glared down at her for a moment, then a black, sardonic smile creased his mouth. ‘Yes,’ he conceded drily. ‘It was good.’
‘Then why are you doing this?’ she argued, emotion taking over again. ‘Why? I...I don’t understand you. We agreed. We talked about it. I...I want this baby, Guy. I want your baby,’ she almost sobbed. ‘Please, I...’
It was the worst thing she could have done; to betray such depth of emotion. He stared at her, a look of half-horror in his eyes as he visibly recoiled. Under her stricken gaze a stony mask dropped over his face and he took her arm in a harsh grip.
‘I’m taking you home, Sam, and don’t give me any arguments! Hell, if you’ve already fallen pregnant I’ll...I’ll... You can’t have,’ he muttered, throwing her a forbidding look as though he could stop such an event with his will alone. ‘I worked it out. From my calculations, your most likely days are next Monday and Tuesday. Last night was supposed to be a damned dress rehearsal, a breaking of
the ice, so to speak. What a laugh that is,’ he mocked darkly. ‘I find out my cool, conservative secretary is all fire, not ice. And I...’ He made a scoffing sound and shook his head. ‘I’m definitely not in the market for fiery secretaries. Or mothers!’ And, closing his fingers tightly over her flesh, he shepherded her from the room.
Thankfully, they didn’t encounter either Barbara or Leon in their hurried journey through the house to the garages. Samantha liked Guy’s housekeepers—and they liked her. God knew what they would have made of the situation had they encountered her with him in so intimate a fashion. Or would they be used, by now, to their employer producing many and varied women the next morning?
She didn’t know. She didn’t really care any more. All she cared about was Guy, and he was taking her home with a stern look on his face and determination in his heart never to have anything more to do with her. No doubt he would let her work out her four weeks—to fire her on the spot would put him out—but she could imagine how strained those weeks would be, especially the fortnight leading up to her period.
Nevertheless, he was dead right about when her most likely time to conceive was. She had worked it out herself. She was due tomorrow evening fortnight, without fail, and the woman’s book she kept in a drawer beside her bed said twelve to fourteen days before the first day was the peak time. No...she wouldn’t have fallen pregnant yet, she thought bleakly as Guy bundled her into his car. And now she never would.
The garage doors opened electronically, as did his gates, Guy reversing out and getting under way without having to leave his seat behind the wheel. The clock fitted into the low-slung dashboard said nine thirty-eight.
At precisely ten-fourteen Guy swung the silvery-blue vehicle into the semicircular driveway in front of her block of flats at Lane Cove. Not a word had passed between them during the entire trip. Guy had smoked non-stop, leading Samantha to think bitterly that the sex had obviously not been that good. A night with one of his blondes certainly cured him of the habit for a while.
