by Sara Craven
She had come up to his room ostensibly to shower and dress, only to find him joining her in the tiled cubicle, his hands gently massaging shower gel into her shoulders and down the long, vulnerable sweep of her spine to her buttocks and thighs.
She’d stood under the torrent of warm water, hands pressed against the wall to steady herself, her senses tingling into a new and startled arousal as he’d parted her thighs and continued his intoxicating ministrations at a more intimate level.
Then he’d lifted her wet and slippery body into his arms and carried her out of the shower room, heedless of her breathless protests, to his bed.
This, she thought now, can’t be happening to me.
Someone new—someone wanton—had crept inside her skin, and transformed her.
Sex with Colin had been conventional, but usually enjoyable, and often satisfying. Certainly she’d never had any real complaints.
But in Sam’s arms she’d experienced another dimension. Learned wholly unsuspected truths about her body and the demands it could make. Discovered the delight of using her own hands and lips to give him pleasure.
She’d been sleeping with Colin for two years, but she’d known Sam’s body more completely and intimately in a few hours.
She felt him stir drowsily beside her, and turned her head to look at him.
He said softy, ‘So you’re real. You’re here. I was terrified you were still just a dream.’ He found her hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss into her palm.
Faint colour stole under her skin. ‘You’re saying you’ve been dreaming about me?’
‘Some of the time.’ His eyes glinted at her. ‘Most of it I couldn’t sleep at all. Or work.’
‘Nor could I,’ said Ros, mentally crossing her fingers as she remembered her turquoise-eyed hero waiting for her in Chelsea.
My God, she thought. Is he in for a shock.
And found herself jumping as a door slammed somewhere downstairs and a woman’s voice called out, ‘Sam—Sam are you there?’
‘Hell, it’s Mrs Griggs.’ Sam hurled himself off the bed and grabbed a robe. ‘She must have come round to check up and seen the car.’
‘You can’t go down like that,’ Ros protested. ‘What will she think?’
‘Hopefully, that I’ve been taking a shower.’ Sam took a towel from the rail in his bathroom and rubbed his hair vigorously on the way to the door. ‘Stay right here, darling.’ His smile curled over her like a warm wave. ‘I’ll be back.’
Sighing, she leaned back against the pillows and waited, listening to the faint murmur of voices from the floor below. But the interruption had left her feeling suddenly restive.
The idyll, she thought, was over. Now it was back to the real world.
She swung her legs to the floor, and stood up. She was aware of all kinds of little aches and tender spots, but they were honourable wounds, she thought, with a small, private smile, and all in all she felt wonderful. On top of the world.
She really ought to get dressed, she thought, eyeing her clothes neatly draped across a radiator. But the lure of looking round Sam’s room—the one he’d had since boyhood—was too strong. After all, weren’t most of her misgivings centred around the fact that she knew so little about him? Well, this was a golden opportunity to find out. To put any lingering doubts to rest.
Not that the room gave much away. The decor was uncompromisingly masculine, with a stone cord carpet, and bedcover and drapes in olive-green. There were shelves of books, ranging from childhood favourites to modern novels, and a lot of non-fiction too, mostly to do with travel, and much of it centred in Africa, the Middle East and South America.
Presumably he kept the books and professional journals to do with his job at his London base, she thought, slightly puzzled.
There were no ornaments, and no pictures apart from two photographs—one of a good-looking middle-aged couple standing, smiling, with their arms round each other in front of some crumbling agricultural buildings. Presumably these were Sam’s parents, pictured with the barns in the Dordogne, prior to conversion.
The other featured a golden retriever dog, who also seemed to be smiling.
She glanced along the shelves of books, recognising many titles she’d loved from her own childhood.
She pulled out a shabby copy of The Wind in the Willows, smiling as she recalled Ratty, Mole and Toad, and their adventures in the Wild Wood.
There was a bookplate in the front, with the name of a school on it. ‘First Prize for English’, it read. ‘Awarded to S. A. Hunter’.
She stared down at it, frowning. Not Sam’s book after all, she thought with odd disappointment. Then who…?
‘What are you doing?’
She jumped violently in response to Sam’s quiet voice from the doorway.
‘Snooping.’ She felt absurd, standing there naked, peering at books. She pushed The Wind in the Willows back on to its shelf. ‘I thought these were yours.’
There was a slight hesitation. Then, ‘Not all,’ he said. ‘I suppose, like most spare rooms once the children have moved out, this has become a bit of a dumping ground. Anyway,’ he added with mock reproof, ‘why aren’t you waiting for me in bed, as specifically directed?’
‘Because I think it’s time we headed back to London, before any other neighbours come calling.’ Rose paused. ‘Did you manage to pull the wool over her eyes?’
‘I was too busy keeping the wool over myself,’ Sam said, tightening the belt of his robe as he walked towards her. ‘She’s a sweetheart, and I didn’t want to shock her.’
His eyes were devouring her, already shadowy with desire.
Ros felt shy suddenly, and very undressed. She reached hurriedly for her clothes.
‘I see it’s stopped raining,’ she remarked over-brightly, trying to reduce the situation to a more commonplace level, and aware that she was failing miserably.
‘It stopped about two hours ago, but you were too occupied to notice.’ Sam came up behind her, wrapping his arms round her and resting his chin on her shoulder. His warm breath caressed her ear.
‘Why don’t we forget about London and spend the night here?’ he whispered. ‘We can set off at the crack of dawn tomorrow.’
She could feel herself melting again. ‘We can’t…’
‘Yes, we could.’ His voice was husky. ‘I want to sleep with you, Janie. To spend the whole night holding you in my arms. Don’t you want that too?’
Janie. Whatever she might or might not want flew out of the window as her whole body stiffened.
Oh, God, she thought. Janie—who was coming back from Dorset late this evening. And who would expect to find her at the Chelsea house, alone and untouched.
She moved her head in swift negation. ‘I—I have to get back. I have to work tomorrow.’
‘Janie.’ His voice held sudden urgency. ‘Don’t push me away again. Not after this.’
‘It isn’t that.’ She turned in his arms, clasped his face between her hands and drew him down for her kiss. ‘There are just—things I have to do.’
Like a stepsister to explain to, she added silently. A tissue of lies to unravel. Usual stuff.
‘Tomorrow night, then.’ The turquoise eyes were urgent—hungry. ‘I’ll cook you dinner at my flat.’
The wonder of the afternoon was shattering, splintering into tiny shards under the onset of reality.
She freed herself—stepped back—huddling her clothes clumsily in front of her. A gesture that was not lost on him, judging by his swift frown.
‘Sam—’ She tried to smile. ‘This is all going too fast.’
‘Janie,’ he said, not smiling at all. ‘You set the pace. And I didn’t take anything you didn’t want to give.’
‘I don’t deny that.’ She bent her head. ‘But it doesn’t change a thing. You had a list. I was a name on it.’
‘And now you’re another notch on the bedpost. Is that what you’re implying?’ His tone was harsh.
She sprea
d her hands, her eyes pleading. ‘Sam—I don’t know. After all, what do either of us really know about the other?’
And that, in spite of everything that had happened between them, was the real crux of the matter.
‘I imagined today might have built up the database to some extent.’ His smile was sardonic. ‘I learned a hell of a lot.’
Her head lifted. She said crisply, ‘That was sex.’ And the most untrustworthy element in the universe…
‘Really?’ His brows lifted ‘Now I could have sworn we were making love. I apologise for my gross error. It won’t happen again.’ He saw her flinch at the bite in his voice, but didn’t soften. ‘Get dressed, Janie, and I’ll take you back. Just don’t forget you were the one who wanted it this way.’
He stalked to the fitted wardrobe, pulled out jeans, a shirt and jacket, grabbed underwear from a drawer, and left the room, shutting the door hard behind him.
Ros trod over to the bed, and sank down on to the edge of it. She was trembling, and on the edge of tears. But she had to stay in control.
Everything had changed, she thought sombrely. Yet nothing had changed. She and Sam were still as far apart as they’d been when she’d first walked into that restaurant.
In fact, the glorious physical intimacy that they’d shared seemed to have stranded them at an even greater distance from each other. As if fate was tormenting her with a glimpse of what happiness could be like…
She wasn’t some naive girl, who thought every bedroom encounter was a declaration of commitment or that being sexually compatible necessarily indicated an equal emotional stability.
But neither was she a risk-taker—someone who lived for the sensation of the moment. She thought she was a realist.
The happy endings she wrote about in her books were compounded from hope rather than experience.
Because sex was the great deceiver. It drew you in, sent you a little crazy, then spat you out.
It made you dream of—long for—impossible things. Plan for a future that only existed in your own imagination. Ignited all kinds of other emotions, like jealousy and suspicion.
She knew all that. Which made her behaviour of the past few hours even more inexplicable.
It had been realism which had tied her to Colin, she thought. The conviction that a relationship needed solid foundations in order to thrive and grow. That liking someone was safer than being head over heels in love.
And yet in less than a week Sam Alexander had blown all her carefully constructed theories to smithereens.
He had shown her more pleasure than she’d ever dreamed of. And opened the door to a pain that could leave her in total devastation.
That was the realisation she now had to live with.
Damn him, she thought, the muscles in her throat working convulsively. And more fool me for allowing it to happen.
And one of the most worrying aspects of the whole situation was that the Sam who’d pushed himself into her life and invaded her dreams no longer bore any resemblance to the wistful personal ad in the Clarion.
The emotive words about love and marriage had just been bait. She hadn’t trusted them from the first. Yet, in spite of her disbelief, she’d been the one he’d caught in his trap.
How could I have done this? she asked herself bleakly. How could I have allowed it to happen? Wanted it to happen?
She stood. Made herself walk to the shower room and wash from head to foot, letting the water cascade over her head and shoulders, and down her trembling body. Then she towelled herself until her skin burned, before wrapping herself, sarong-style, in a dry bath-sheet.
As she walked back into the bedroom, combing her damp hair with her fingers, Sam was standing by the bed.
Ros checked with a faint gasp, and saw his eyes turn to chips of turquoise ice as they scanned her.
He said curtly, ‘Spare me the outraged virgin routine, Janie. We both know it’s rubbish. Your having second thoughts doesn’t suddenly turn me into a monster.’
‘What do you want?’ she demanded defensively. Anger seemed to surround him like a force field. She could feel its vibrations across the room, and had to resist an impulse to wrap her arms protectively round her body.
‘Nothing that your over-heated imagination is suggesting.’ His voice jeered at her. He held out her pair of cream suede loafers. ‘I found these downstairs, that’s all.’
She bit her lip. ‘Oh—I’m sorry.’
‘I don’t think you know the meaning of the word.’
Stung, she threw back her head. ‘And, you, of course, are some kind of saint.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘But I’m honest with myself, at least, which is more than you can say, my sweet rose of the world.’
‘Honest?’ Her voice rose in scornful disbelief. ‘Next you’ll be telling me that personal ad was for real. So—was it, Sam? Were you genuinely looking for love and marriage? A relationship? For once, tell me the truth—if you can.’
He didn’t look away, and she saw his face grow bleak and his mouth harden.
‘No,’ he said. ‘None of it was true.’
‘At last,’ she said. ‘Something I can believe.’
‘Oh, cut the self-righteous indignation,’ he came back at her grimly. ‘Your reply to the Clarion ad wasn’t exactly a model of candour either. Because you weren’t “Looking for Love” at all. And you admitted as much.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But I had no ulterior motive. I—I did it for the best of reasons. Can you say the same?’ She was shaking inside but she kept her voice steady. ‘Which number was I, Sam? How many of the others who fell for your “Lonely in London” charade ended up in your bed? Tell me that.’
He tossed her shoes on to the bed. His voice was harsh. ‘You’re the first, Janie. And the last. However, you can believe what you want.’
He walked to the door. Paused. ‘And while we’re dealing with honesty, let’s be brutal about it.’ His glance skimmed her contemptuously. ‘Because in spite of everything, I could have you out of that towel and back into bed, my warm and willing partner, for as long as I chose to keep you there. If I wanted to. You know it, and I know it, so come down from the moral high ground, darling. You’re not fooling anyone.
‘But as you’re so hell-bent on getting back to London,’ he added curtly, ‘oblige me by getting yourself into your clothes and downstairs in ten minutes, or I’ll come back and dress you with my own hands.’
His smile flicked her like the edge of a whip.
‘Candid enough for you, darling?’ he asked. And went.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHE had no one to blame but herself.
That was the thought that turned her brain into a treadmill during the silent, endless journey back to London.
It rained heavily all the way, and Sam, his face set in stone, drove with an unwavering, almost fierce concentration for which Ros could only be thankful.
She couldn’t bear to hear any more, she thought wretchedly. She didn’t want to be reminded of what a pathetic fool she’d been.
As they neared Chelsea, she said, ‘You can drop me anywhere.’
‘I’m taking you home,’ he retired curtly, and she subsided, biting her lip.
There was a parking space right outside her house, and he slotted the Audi into it with icy precision.
As she fumbled with the door catch, Sam was out of the driving seat and round to the passenger side to open it for her.
‘Thank you,’ she said. By now, her lip was bleeding. The bitter, metallic taste filled her mouth. ‘And goodbye.’
He ignored his dismissal and followed her up the steps. He held out a hand. ‘Let me have your key.’
She began stiffly, ‘There’s really no need…’
‘Another point we differ on. As you already know, I prefer to see you safely into the house.’ He paused. ‘And I’m not leaving until I’ve done it, so let’s not waste time arguing.’
In seething silence, Ros handed him the key.
She stood defensively in the hall while he briefly checked the ground-floor rooms.
She gave him a small, wintry smile. ‘However did I manage before I met you?’
‘You didn’t have to,’ he said briefly. ‘The security of the house was your parents’ responsibility.’ He paused. ‘When are they coming back?’
‘Two—three weeks.’ Of course, she realised, he still thought this was their house.
He nodded, his face resuming the stony expression he’d worn in the car. ‘I’ll be in touch before then.’
‘No.’ The word was torn out of her. ‘I don’t want that. We said—you agreed…’ She swallowed painfully. ‘It ends here. Now. It must.’
‘In spite of today?’ His tone was curious—almost meditative.
‘Because of today,’ she flung at him. ‘It should never have happened.’
‘I can’t disagree about that.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘But I’m afraid it’s not that simple.’
‘It was a mistake,’ she insisted stubbornly. She paused. ‘Or have I got it all wrong?’ she added scornfully. ‘Do I actually have to pay you to go away? Is that what it’s all about?’
There was a terrible silence. As the turquoise gaze swept her, Ros felt as if she’d been suddenly encased in ice.
He said softly, ‘Believe me, at this moment I’d give every penny I own and more to walk out of here and not look back. That was a cheap crack, Janie.’
She looked down at the carpet. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘But you can leave. We—we don’t have to compound the error. Make matters worse.’
He said quietly. ‘Nature might do that for us. Unless you’re on the pill, of course?’
Her lips framed another ‘no’ but no sound emerged. She stared at him—at this stranger standing in her own hall—saying the unthinkable. Warning her of the impossible.
She felt the colour draining from her face. Heard the sudden thud of her heart, panicking against her ribcage.
