One Hour to Midnight

by Shirley Wine

Tears of tiredness and fear were perilously near the surface. Too often in the past, Leon had seen her when she was weak and defenceless. Never again would she wear her vulnerability on her sleeve.

  Leon bundled her into her jacket and slipped an arm round her shoulder, leading her from the hospital. Within minutes they were in the Bentley, heading back to Claremont.

  Cassie had breakfast waiting for them.

  The food was delectable but Veronica had no appetite.

  "What's wrong?" Leon lifted her chin with a tanned finger.

  For a few moments she met his eyes then with a violent movement, pushed back her chair, uncaring of the wicked scrape on the tile floor, and fled.

  Before she reached the sanctuary of her room tears streamed down her cheeks. She flung herself face down on the pillows.

  The edge of the bed shifted under Leon's weight.

  "Go away," she cried, burying her face in the pillow. "Go away and leave me alone."

  He ignored her protests, lifted her bodily off the bed and cradled her on his lap. She turned her face into his broad shoulder and wept.

  When her tears stopped she lay limp and exhausted in his arms, too drained to move.

  "Better?"

  "I'm sorry," she mumbled sitting upright. She knew she could so easily be seduced by the comfort of his arms.

  "Why apologise." He shrugged, hand firm on her shoulder. "Tears are a natural release after such an intense period of strain."

  "Do you cry?" she asked acidly.

  "You don't have the monopoly on hurt and heartbreak," he countered, his expression inscrutable. "I've cried my share of tears. I'd be more ashamed to admit to not caring enough to weep. But that's not the issue is it?"

  "What do you mean?" she asked, wary.

  Leon's hand glided from her shoulder, up her neck and around back of her head. With a deft movement he freed her hair from its restraint and then threaded his hand through the honey blonde tresses, the heat from his hand a burning brand.

  "Why are you afraid to admit to the attraction between us, Veronica?" A smile touched the corner of his mouth.

  "There's no attraction." She edged away, staring up at him. The storm of tears had weakened her defences.

  His eyes narrowed, the hand on her neck tightened slightly, his thumb caressing the hectic pulsing vein in her neck.

  "Isn't there?" The whimsical question made her heartbeat accelerate. "We're adults, and now we're both free to explore this compulsion."

  "Compulsion?" She swallowed, his words hit at her composure with sure, sharp blows. How long had he known of her hopeless, unrequited love?

  "What else do you call it? This intense awareness, this desire? I've felt it for years," he said quietly. "And I suspect you have too."

  Leon has you in his sights to replace his darling Julia. The thought was like a douche of icy water.

  Veronica pulled away from him and crossed the room, leaning against the window frame. "Let's not do this."

  Leon stood up, moved away from the bed and shrugged out of his jacket and laid it across the back of a chair. She sensed him at her back a few seconds before his arms threaded around her waist and he pulled her back against his chest, his shuddering intake of breath vibrated through her.

  For a few moments she remained stiff and then with a soft sigh, she sank into his embrace, his hands splayed across her midriff.

  A rational part of her mind suspected that what Leon wanted had little to do with sex. What he wanted was comfort, to escape the fear and the uncertainty that dogged his every minute. In the night Jordan had once again narrowly escaped the clutches of death.

  Leon wanted to lose himself in her, to forget for a few brief moments, the tenuous hold his son had on life. He wanted, no needed to forget the fear, the sheer sense of helplessness a man with his wealth seldom had to face.

  He bent his head and kissed the vulnerable length of her neck.

  "Leon," she closed her eyes, panic replacing excitement. "Don't do this to me."

  His smile softened into tenderness, his lips caressed the throbbing vein below her ear. "It's okay to feel."

  The quiet words pierced the icy veil shielding her senses.

  It's been so long since I've allowed myself to feel. Anything.

  He undid the buttons of her blouse and slid it off one shoulder, his tanned hand dark against her paler skin. His lips nuzzled at her creamy flesh. A shudder of sensation slid through her as heat seared a pathway to her heart. His hands moved up her sides moulding her waist, her ribs, her breasts.

  A ragged heartbeat later, his long, supple fingers moulded and shaped her breasts through the black lace of her bra.

  "I've wanted to do this from the moment I saw you in that nightclub," he murmured against the column of her throat.

  "You thought I was a tart."

  "What a deliciously old-fashioned word." He kissed her throat, hot open mouthed kisses. "You've been around your schoolmarm friend too long."

  It took a few moments for the words to penetrate the erotic haze he'd created. She stiffened in his arms and turned, searching his face. "Kathleen?"

  He nodded the glint in his grey eyes disturbing.

  "When did you talk to Kathleen?"

  He grinned, the glint in his eyes more pronounced. "You mean, when did she talk to me?"

  "Kathleen rang you?" Heat that had nothing to do with sex, and everything to do with embarrassment coursed through her entire body. Veronica covered her hot cheeks with her hands, recalling Tania's words. She threatened to cut off his balls and shove them down his throat, and she meant it.

  "She did." He grinned, his teeth a white slash in his tanned face. "I was shocked to think a lady possessed such creative thoughts."

  A chuckle escaped her. "Shocked? You?"

  "You wound me." His laid a hand on her cheek, his expression suddenly very serious. "I'm so glad to see the old Ricki's still in there."

  Unable to maintain eye contact, Veronica suddenly developed an intense interest in the buttons on his shirt. The pressure of his hand forced her to look up but she closed her eyes unable to meet his steady gaze.

  "Open your eyes," he commanded softly. She obeyed, helpless to resist. "You've done ten years penance, don't you think that's punishment enough for one juvenile fall from grace?"

  Is that what I've been doing?

  "You don't understand," she stammered, desperate to free herself from the thrall of her senses, not certain she should let this moment go further.

  "Don't I?" A grim smile touched his mouth. "You allowed yourself to be seduced by the phoney promises of a married man and reaped such a bitter harvest. Now you won't allow any man close, afraid another mistake will inflict further crushing pain."

  She paled. His devastating accuracy left her nowhere to hide. How did this man know the secrets of her heart better than she did herself?

  "It's time, Veronica." He laid a tender kiss on her temple, "Time to throw off the constraints of the past, and live again."

  Can I? Dare I?

  He bent his head and caressed the tender flesh above the lace of her bra with hot, open mouth kisses. Sensation made her tremble and her knees went weak.

  But the thrilling intensity had no sooner registered than he was kissing her, his hand working free the front clasp of her bra. He slipped if off her shoulders and tossed it onto the chair on top of his jacket.

  "Your turn," he murmured against her mouth.

  Veronica had never been bold and for a few moments her hands fluttered like helpless butterflies. Leon caught one and guided it to the front of his shirt.

  "Undo the buttons. I need your hands on me," he murmured as he skimmed his lips down her neck.

  Her fingers fumbled and then the buttons easily came undone and exposed the expanse of his chest. His hands left her and the shirt was gone, carelessly tossed aside. Veronica spread her hands across sleek, taut muscles. Heat radiated from him. Her fingernail scraped a small male nipple and he shuddered.

&nbs
p; Leon caught her hand and guided it to his belt and her courage faltered.

  This is sex, Veronica, hot monkey sex.

  Leon's lips on hers drowned out the echo of Tania's mocking words, and then she was beyond thought as she lost herself in the passion they generated. They fumbled with each other's clothes while their lips clung and their hands caressed newly exposed skin.

  He was all tension and heat, and the need to be in his arms became as essential as her next breath. When all the barriers were gone, he eased her away from the window. She couldn't tell if she was floating or falling but she was lying on the bed, her body stretched the full length of his, intimate and exposed, without even the barrier of clothes.

  That inner demon sank its claws into her. She was playing with fire, and would surely end up so burned, she'd never recover.

  They were so close he sensed her retreat and refused to allow it.

  He lay beside her, gathered her soft curves against the hard, honed length of his, and tangling his fingers in her hair, tilted her head so he could devour her mouth.

  His hunger changed to raw, aching need. His arms tightened around her, their bodies strained towards each other. Her nipples, abraded by the hair smattered across his chest, tightened into tiny, achy nubs. Leon's hands stroked the sensitive skin of her breasts, his long fingers gentling them into flowing life.

  With a keening sigh, she gave herself up to the sensuous pleasure, succumbed to the wondrous sensations wreaked by his inventive mouth. She revelled in each caress, demanding fulfilment of every erotic fantasy she'd ever indulged.

  As he explored her body without inhibition, she reciprocated, blossoming under his sensuous whispers, the gentle demand of his inventive fingers. Then, overcome with need, she tugged at his body with feverish impatience.

  "Please..." she whispered, planting intense little kisses along the sharp angle of his shoulder, wanting, no demanding more than the caresses that were driving her wild. "Leon...please... hurry..."

  He absorbed the kittenish sounds as he eased her onto her back, rolled on the condom he'd pulled from his wallet and put on the bedside table. He'd told her they had plenty of time. He lied. Her soft hands tugging at his shoulders, the taste of her, the sounds she made, had his control hanging by a thread.

  Poised above her he whispered her name.

  She opened her eyes, looked up at him.

  And this was what he wanted. All of her. This driving need to claim was something new. But the unfamiliar, compelling and wholly primitive urge to drive all thoughts of his brother out of her mind as he sank into her heat, was undeniable.

  Hard. Deep. Then deeper still.

  He heard her breath catch, saw her eyes widen and then languorously close in the split second before she arched to meet him and he succumbed to the sensations that obliterated every other conscious thought.

  Chapter Nine

  The room was lit with the glow of late afternoon when she stirred. She lay for several moments, her eyes closed, knowing at some subliminal level that any movement would dispel the lassitude, the sensation of safety and contentment that permeated every pore.

  As she drowsily pondered this unfamiliar sensation, memory intruded.

  In an instant she was wide-awake, bolt upright, clutching the sheet against her naked breasts. She glanced at Leon and found him watching her from beneath half closed lids.

  "Sleep well?"

  Heat scalded her face and she averted her eyes, unable to think of a single word of reply.

  "Cat got your tongue?" He stretched and the sheet fell to his waist. He laced his hands behind his head, the movement rippling his chest muscles with its thatch of tight dark curls. He resembled a sleek, well fed cat.

  Veronica's tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth at his potent masculinity.

  How did I get trapped into this situation? How can I get to the bathroom where I can dress?

  "Having second thoughts?"

  Second thoughts? Try a thousand!

  "Would you turn your back while I get out?"

  "A little too late for that." A teasing gleam lit his grey eyes, amused by her predicament. "Give me a kiss and I'll oblige."

  Dare she? Veronica hesitated, feeling raw and vulnerable. The gleam in his eyes gave her pause. Once Leon had given an ultimatum she knew he wouldn't back down. Besides, after last night what would one kiss hurt?

  Before her courage deserted her, she leaned down and touched her lips to his before pulling back. For several seconds their gazes locked then Leon's hand was behind her head as he pulled her mouth towards his. This kiss was incredibly gentle, unlike any other she had ever known.

  It soothed her nervousness, evening out the erratic thudding of her heart while it whispered promises to her battered soul. On its edges lurked passion, firmly held in check. Then it was over.

  He rubbed his knuckles across her cheek in a caress so very gentle.

  This close, she could see the fine striations of lighter colour in his deep grey eyes. "Hello, to you."

  His husky murmur sent her pulse skipping madly and after a momentary hesitation she replied, "Hello."

  For several fraught moments neither of them moved then his hand slid down her arm to lie on the bed.

  "Go get dressed." He turned on his side, giving her the privacy she'd requested.

  For several moments she stared at the tempting expanse of bare flesh his movement exposed. Swallowing hard, she turned away and slid out of bed, swiftly gathering fresh clothes from the wardrobe before escaping to the bathroom.

  Once inside its sanctuary, she pressed the privacy lock and leaned against the wooden panels, her knees weak.

  Becoming Leon's lover had changed everything.

  How had she allowed it to happen?

  She shared as much responsibility as Leon. One word from her and he would have stopped and their lovemaking would never have happened. But, in a moment of clear vision she knew hadn't wanted him to stop.

  After those tense hours with Jordan, her need to be held and loved had bordered on desperation. It was a basic human need, an affirmation of life.

  Leon had only responded to that need.

  But where did they go from here?

  She straightened away from the door, turning on the water and stepping straight under the icy jet without waiting for it to run warm. Soon, the cascading water wrought its soothing magic and she was capable of facing the world, and Leon.

  She dressed, and running out of excuses, opened the door and exhaled sharply, disappointed when she discovered it empty. With an impatient sound she strode to the bed, flung back the covers and the musk of sex invaded her senses.

  Shaken, she stripped the sheets and bundled them in the linen hamper in the bathroom. She picked up Leon's pillow and buried her face in it, inhaling the lingering traces of his body scent.

  How will I survive now I know the delights of being loved by Leon?

  The traitorous weakness had her tearing off the pillowslips and tossing them in with the sheets. She opened the linen press next to the cavernous wardrobe to extract clean linen.

  The heady fragrance of lavender brought a rush of memory.

  During her pregnancy, she'd spent many pleasurable hours with Cassie, gathering and tying bunches of lavender culled from Claremont's gardens, and hanging them to dry. Once dry, she helped make the sachets that perfumed every cupboard. Claremont and lavender were inextricably entwined in her mind.

  A reminiscent smile curved her mouth as she spread clean sheets across the wide bed. How many times during the years had she fantasised about making love with Leon in lavender scented sheets?

  The reality surpassed her imaginings.

  She closed her eyes, remembering the feel of his arms, the erotic tenderness of his intimate caresses. Heat suffused her cheeks. Concentrating on her task, she tried to erase the images, but memory proved treacherous.

  With deft strokes, she smoothed the antique patchwork quilt over the bed. As she did so, she wondered an
ew whose hands had painstakingly crafted this beautiful family heirloom. Its bright colours accentuated the aged patina of the furniture. Its solidness, the airy proportions of the room and the faded silk floor rug, gave the room a homely lived in air.

  But never my home.

  She opened the door into the sitting room, and stopped short, heart thudding erratically. Leon, freshly showered, sat I a wingback chair sipping tea, a trolley laden with food in front of him.

  The late afternoon sun slanted through the long windows and burnished his dark hair, highlighting threads of gold and silver.

  "Hungry?"

  The sight of food made Veronica's stomach growl.

  "Starving." She crossed to the trolley laden with delicate morsels Cassie had prepared to tempt her. She poured tea and helped herself to a plate of food then sat in the chair opposite. "How's Jordan?"

  "Much improved." Leon looked at her over the top of his cup. "He's still sleeping. He's slept most of the day. He barely stirred during his radiation session."

  "Poor little man,"

  The relief was tangible, giving piquancy to the hearty meal. She concentrated on eating and avoiding his watchful gaze.

  "When does the chemo begin?" she asked breaking the brooding silence.

  "In the morning." He sat forward and put his teacup on the trolley.

  The oncologist had explained that by mixing the two therapies, a light dose of chemo, interspersed with radiation would see Jordan better prepared for a successful bone marrow transplant.

  "You'll be with him?"

  "While he has chemo, but I can't be with him while he has the radiation." He placed his empty teacup on the trolley. "Veronica, we have to talk."

  She pushed her plate aside knowing this discussion was inevitable, but dreading it.

  "I'm not about to apologise. Nor do I regret it." His quiet admission went a long way towards settling her nervousness.

  "Me, either." How could she deny enjoying what was to her, the culmination of a dream. Not that I'm about to admit that!

  While Leon may not regret it, he didn't look overjoyed either. Watching him, Veronica's mouth went dry and her heart raced. Where was this leading?

  "That makes this much easier." He glanced away for several moments before once more looking directly at her. "Last night is proof of just how precarious Jordan's hold on life is."