by Helen Brooks
Oh, yes, he definitely hadn’t appreciated that one. ‘I just wondered,’ she said sweetly. ‘You didn’t mind me asking, did you?’
‘Oh, no, it adds wonderfully to the moment,’ he said sarcastically.
She surveyed him steadily. Okay, so she loved him, undeserving rat that he was—Drew’s expression, not hers—but that didn’t mean she had to act like some dumb bimbo who wasn’t aware of his tactics, for goodness’ sake. She did have a brain as well as a body. ‘So, do you?’ She dared to persist.
He stared at her and she looked back at him, keeping her expression sweet and innocent by sheer will-power. He clearly couldn’t decide if she was being purposefully facetious or simply ingenuous, but she rather thought he had decided on the former when he said grimly, ‘I like to think I have never used a line, as you term it, in my life, Robyn.’
No, you probably didn’t have to, she thought waspishly. You just click your fingers and they queue up for the privilege.
‘No?’ She managed to inject surprise into her voice.
The silver gaze narrowed. ‘You seem to have the impression I conduct my love life like a stud horse,’ he said evenly.
‘Not at all.’ She rather wished she hadn’t started this now. She didn’t want to hear about his ex’s, added to which she had been foolish to think she could provoke him and get away with it.
‘I can actually use restraint and finesse when it pleases me to do so,’ he said silkily, taking a sip of his champagne as he continued to survey her with the icy-blue gaze.
‘I’m sure you can.’ She watched him place his glass on the table with wary eyes.
‘Let me give you a little demonstration.’ The glass was whisked from her already nerveless fingers as he spoke and then she was in his arms and his mouth and tongue were teasing her lips, pleasuring her slowly, subtly but with relentless intent.
He didn’t grope or rush her, his lips first toying with hers, then searching her mouth urgently before returning to their teasing. His hands were mounting an easy caress on her skin, first on the bare skin of her arms and then sliding to the silky smooth flesh beneath her top just above her trousers, until her muscles had become fluid and loose.
The pleasure that was mounting was strong and sweet and powerful, a tide of heat that was rising and falling but steadily gathering steam, and she could feel herself quivering in spite of all her efforts to disguise it.
His mouth moved to play with her ears, her throat, one hand brushing the tips of her breasts with a feather-light caress that nevertheless made her moan helplessly.
She was kissing him back wildly now, searching for his mouth, straining against him as she felt his thighs hard against hers, the soft pads of his fingertips rubbing the peaks of her swollen breasts erotically through the thin top.
They had moved—somehow they must have moved although Robyn hadn’t been aware of it through her whirling senses—because now she was pressed against the wall of the house, Clay holding her there with his body while his hands and mouth continued the intoxicating, sensual and inexorable assault.
She could feel the intimacy of his arousal and it fired the intensity of her own desire even more, her mind and emotions utterly bemused and captivated.
And then he let her go, stepping back a pace as he left her leaning against the wall. ‘You see?’ It was cool and controlled, and if she hadn’t felt his body’s betrayal she would have thought he was totally unmoved. ‘Restraint and finesse.’
She was trembling, her heart pounding far too fast, but somewhere in the core of her she found the strength to drum up enough poise to say tightly, ‘I don’t appreciate a demonstration such as that to make a point, Clay. Please don’t think you can repeat it.’
She saw the flash of admiration in his eyes before he could conceal it, and then his expression was hidden from her as he walked across to the table, retrieving both their glasses and turning and handing her hers before he said, ‘It wasn’t altogether a demonstration, Robyn. I need a little taste of what is to come now and again if I’m going to keep my sanity, because at the moment I’m eating, sleeping, breathing you and it’s driving me mad.’
‘I haven’t promised you anything.’ Her voice was jerky but the unexpected confession had unnerved her like nothing else could have done.
‘I know that, my sweet little brown-eyed temptress,’ he murmured softly. ‘But you don’t have to, not with your mouth. Your body says everything I need to know.’
‘How convenient for you,’ she said icily, and then glared at him when he laughed quietly.
‘You’re a formidable opponent, Robyn Brett.’
Opponent? Ridiculously it hurt. This was just a game to him, she thought painfully. The thrill of the chase and all that. Since she had met him again she had been the very antithesis of the young, starry-eyed teenager who had hung on his every word and had gazed at him adoringly, and it had probably pricked his male ego. Oh, she hated him. And loved him. And if there was anyone who was being driven mad…
‘A new toast.’ He was looking at her intently and now she stared at him, waiting warily for what was to come. ‘To you, my brown-eyed temptress, with your hair of russet-red and your skin of thick warm cream. One day I shall make love to you like you ought to be made love to, but until then I will worship from afar.’ He grinned at her, and in spite of herself Robyn couldn’t help but smile back. ‘With the odd fall from grace now and again,’ he added silkily, just as Mrs Jones called them in to dinner.
It was an enchanted evening. Robyn didn’t want to enjoy herself, in fact she would have given the world to find out that Clay had grown boring or offensive or tedious over the years, but he was…perfect. Just perfect, she acknowledged silently.
Once they were seated at the splendid dining table with course after course being presented by the reputable Mrs Jones, who turned out to be a magnificent cook, Clay was the epitome of the faultless host. He was charming and funny, the magnetism that was at the root of his dark attraction non-threatening for once. And she found herself laughing and relaxing in a way she could never have imagined even just hours before.
Afterwards Robyn could remember little of what they had talked about, she just knew she had never laughed so much or felt so gloriously vibrantly alive.
They had coffee in the sitting room next to the drawing room, which was smaller and cosier but again had windows opening onto the gardens, and with just a table lamp mellowing the scented darkness from the roses outside the window the effect was magical. And intimate. Robyn was very aware of the intimate, waiting all night long for Clay to make a move.
But at just gone midnight the taxi he had ordered to take her home arrived—Clay having drunk several glasses of champagne, and brandy with his coffee—and they both left the house without so much as a kiss being exchanged. He came with her in the taxi and again she felt she was on tenterhooks, but he merely chatted easily about this and that, his arm round her shoulders and his big body hard against her thigh. And once they arrived in Kensington he walked her to the door while the taxi waited.
‘Tomorrow. A drive into the country and dinner at a little place I know, okay?’ He tilted her chin up and kissed her lightly. ‘I’ll pick you up about three in the afternoon, and then you can work in the morning. I presume you want to work?’ he added wryly.
‘Yes, but I ought to work all day,’ she began worriedly, only for him to shake his head as he put a finger to her lips.
‘Three is as far as I’ll compromise,’ he said softly. And then he kissed her again, a quick kiss on her parted lips, and strode back to the taxi.
It waited while she opened the door and put the lights on, and then the engine revved and the car disappeared into the night.
Robyn stood at the window staring out into the dark street for some moments before she went upstairs, and her mind replayed the evening over and over while she had a bath and got ready for bed, her whole being still gloriously tinglingly alive.
This whole relationship was
impossible and undeniably dangerous, and she was getting in deeper and deeper every time she saw him. The warning was suddenly impossible to ignore.
She frowned to herself as she pulled out the bed-settee and fetched her duvet and pillows from the big pine chest at the far end of the room, and once settled under the covers tossed and turned for some time as sleep eluded her.
She should never have agreed to his putting up the capital and becoming part of her business for a start; that had been her first mistake. Clay Lincoln as a sleeping partner had not been one of her better decisions. Sleeping partner… She bit her lip hard and after a few more minutes padded down to the kitchen for a mug of cocoa and the obligatory chocolate biscuits.
But he was her sleeping partner—in business—and that was how it was going to stay, she affirmed silently, once she was back in bed. She just had to be sensible and on her guard the next little while until he accepted she wasn’t in the market for a casual affair. And then, then he would be off. She couldn’t hope for anything more, not with Clay.
She repeated the thought again, and then again, ignoring the sick feeling it produced that even the chocolate biscuits couldn’t remedy. He didn’t want permanency in his private life—his choice. He’d made it clear from the word go. And the trouble was anything less wasn’t viable, the way she felt about him. So, stalemate.
She snuggled down under the covers again after finishing the cocoa and biscuits, shutting her eyes, and despite the fact that she had expected to lie awake for hours was asleep in seconds.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THAT summer was the most breathtakingly wonderful on the one hand, and the most excruciatingly miserable on the other, of Robyn’s entire life.
After the business in the States was settled which Clay had been involved in at the start of their relationship, he spent four weeks on the trot in England, and they saw each other almost every evening. Robyn soon found that it was useless to say no to a date with Clay; he would simply sweep in, all guns firing, and whisk her away ignoring all her protests as though he was deaf.
Not that she wanted to say no if she was being truthful, which confirmed to her absolutely that no should be her answer! Everything they did together was heightened by Clay’s fierce zest for living; he could turn the most mundane activities into enchanting times and he did it with a natural expertise that was scary. Because—and Robyn had to keep reminding herself of this a hundred times a day—this affair that wasn’t an affair couldn’t last. And there the excruciatingly miserable side came to the fore.
Not that he put any pressure on her to take their lovemaking to its logical conclusion. He made it very clear the first week he stayed in England that he expected to kiss and caress her as his right, but that he acknowledged the boundaries she’d put on their physical relationship and was prepared to keep to them…for the present.
And as one summer day made way for another, Robyn found she was discovering more and more about him, about the real man behind the mask Clay adopted to the rest of the world most of the time. Little things, but each one subtly dangerous.
In August he was gone for two weeks again, and to her horror Robyn found she was missing him more than words could express. A small posy of flowers was delivered each day for the whole of the fortnight, and Clay phoned her most evenings. She shivered when she heard his voice, aching for him with a fierce longing that petrified her when she thought about it.
Once he was back in England again they had an evening out with Cass and Guy at Topeka’s—Clay’s treat—and had a whale of a time, in spite of Cass being as smug as the proverbial cat with the cream.
Robyn tried twice to convince her elder sibling that she and Clay were not an item in the way Cass was assuming, but she might as well have saved her breath, she realised at last, admitting defeat. Cass had a distinctly satisfied matchmaking gleam in her eyes and was determined to take credit for finding Robyn the love of her life—which was pretty ironic in the circumstances, Robyn reflected drily.
Nevertheless, Robyn found she couldn’t quite bring herself to tell Cass the full facts of her relationship with Clay, which would have put pay to Cass’s ideas, and decided she had to let her sister think what she liked in the end. Cass was too close to it all somehow, too linked with Clay, whereas Drew was different. Uncomplicated. And totally on her side.
And after the evening at the nightclub Robyn found she wasn’t in a hurry to repeat another foursome with Cass and Guy. She couldn’t have explained even to herself how that night had affected her, but being part of two couples had felt so good, so right, so wonderfully permanent, that the whole episode had been a bitter-sweet experience which had seen her crying until dawn once she was alone.
Robyn glanced across at Clay now. He was lying next to her on a sunlounger in the grounds of his home, and they were in the shade of a massive weeping-willow tree, the day having been a scorcher. The evening air was thick and sultry, and even the birds seemed exhausted by the heat and unusually silent, only the steady drone of insects coming and going on the following bushes nearby disturbing the summer evening.
‘Another glass of wine?’ he asked lazily.
He didn’t open his eyes as he spoke but somehow she knew he was aware she was looking at him. They had brought a bottle of wine and two glasses down to the little grassy dell beneath the tree some minutes earlier, Mrs Jones having arranged to call them once dinner was ready, and now Robyn took a sip of the rich, fruity red liquid before she said, her voice light, ‘No, thanks, I’ve hardly touched this one.’
The perfume scenting the air from the flowers and bushes was heady, the humid warmth of the evening having brought it out to its fullest and, as Clay opened his eyes and then sat up, his silver eyes scanning her face, Robyn was aware that this was one of those moments she would remember for the rest of her life.
The beautiful garden, the scents in the air, the warmth on her skin and the rich blackcurranty taste of the wine on her tongue, was all a background to the lean dark man at her side. She never looked at him without a thrill flickering down her spine, and tonight, his having picked her up straight from work, he was dressed in beautifully cut trousers and a pale blue silk shirt which was open at the neck and had the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, muscular arms, his tie and jacket long since discarded. He was magnificent.
‘You never truly relax, do you?’ It was softy and deep, and more of a statement than a question.
Robyn looked at him, startled. ‘Of course I do.’ Her response was immediate and defensive. ‘That’s silly.’
His eyes were narrowed in the pale hazy light, his face still, and then his mouth unexpectedly twisted in a smile that was self-deprecating. ‘Not with me,’ he qualified quietly. ‘And I don’t know why. I have done everything you asked, have I not? But I am still the enemy.’
Those silver-blue eyes saw far too much. Robyn stared at him, not sure how to play down the sudden confrontation. ‘That’s silly too,’ she said carefully. ‘Of course you aren’t an enemy.’
‘The enemy, Robyn,’ he clarified softly. ‘As in the male sex. What on earth did this guy do to you to make you so wary? He didn’t abuse you? Physically I mean?’ he asked grimly.
She was utterly shocked and it showed. ‘Of course not!’
‘But mentally, emotionally, you have scars,’ Clay murmured. ‘Maybe sexually too.’
She really didn’t know if she could handle this. She sat up with a tenseness that was tangible, her voice very controlled as she said, ‘This is crazy, Clay. I don’t know what you’re thinking but you seem to have let your imagination run away with you.’
‘You don’t want to want me but you do.’ The soft voice was relentless. ‘You’re as hungry as I am, but you don’t trust me, not even now after all these weeks. And I’m not going to take you into my bed until you do. I promised you I wouldn’t rush you, that I could wait until you’re ready, but even more importantly I promised myself because I know once I really start to make love to you there will
be no turning back for either of us. And I want no regrets, Robyn. No lies, no, “I was swept away by the moment.” It will be a conscious decision for you, because you need and want me more than anything else and there’ll be no self-reproach in the morning.’
The male ego again! The incredible, conquering-hero syndrome. Robyn took a big gulp of wine and swallowed before she said, her voice brittle, ‘Don’t you ever consider the possibility that one day you might not actually get exactly what you want?’
He smiled again but this time it was merely a twitch of the hard firm lips. ‘Where you are concerned?’ he asked huskily. ‘Never. Because if I did I might forget my promises and take you into my arms and start to ravish you until we go to heaven and back.’
Robyn felt a shuddering excitement even as she warned herself not to betray anything to the metallic eyes that seemed able to cut through all the layers of her defences. ‘How do you know we would be sexually compatible?’ she said offhandedly, forcing her voice to sound even and unconcerned. ‘Lots of people aren’t, even if they fancy each other like mad initially.’
‘The voice of experience?’ He was mocking her now, and even though the teasing was gentle it caught her on the raw.
‘Oh, I don’t doubt for a minute every woman you’ve ever wanted has just fallen into your arms,’ she said cuttingly, draining the last of her wine. ‘One hundred per cent success rate for Clay Lincoln.’
If she had been looking at him, rather than staring angrily into the dusky night, she would have noticed the hard male face had tightened, his mouth straightening, but his voice was very quiet when he said, ‘One hundred per cent is a little high for anyone, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, come on!’ She didn’t know why she was so rattled. ‘Do you mean to tell me there’s a woman out there somewhere who’s said no?’
‘I wasn’t aware of telling you anything.’
It was his complete stillness rather than the tone of his voice that brought her eyes flashing back to his face, but what she read there froze any response she might have made. She stared at him, her eyes wide and dark, and wondered who had caused the depth of pain scoring his face. Because it had to be a person, a woman. His wife? He had never talked about losing his wife, but then this hadn’t been a conversation about the pain of loss but something quite different. She didn’t understand this.
