by Penny Jordan
‘But then maybe, darling, you aren’t his wife...at least not in the way that really counts.’
Heavens, Lorraine was persistent—and thick skinned—Sophy thought wryly, but she was not going to let her get the better of their exchange.
‘You mean you don’t think we’ve made love?’ Sophy raised her eyebrows and laughed openly. ‘Oh, but we have.’ She allowed her voice to become soft and dreamy, watching Lorraine’s mouth harden and the colour leave her skin.
‘I don’t believe you.’ Her voice was harsh, and for a moment Sophy felt sorry for her but then she remembered what Lorraine was trying to do to Jon.
‘Then I shall have to make you,’ she said quietly. ‘What is it you want to hear, Lorraine? How Jon makes me feel when he touches me? How I feel when I touch him? Those are very intimate details to discuss with a stranger but what I can tell you is that in his arms I feel more of a woman than I’ve ever felt before in my life. Under his touch my body burns and aches for his possession. I would have gone willingly to his bed, marriage or no marriage. When his body possesses mine...’ She caught the faintly strangled gasp the other woman made as she stepped back, raising her hands as though Sophy’s words were blows, retreating to the other side of the patio to glare at her with patent venom.
‘Sophy...’
She swung round, going pale as she found Jon standing behind her. How long had he been there? Had he heard? She swallowed tensely and looked at him but he was looking the other way.
‘If you don’t mind I’d like to leave. This headache...’
Relief flooded through her. Of course he hadn’t overheard! Hot colour scorched her skin as she remembered what she’d said. Now that it was over she felt weak and trembly. There was nothing she wanted more than to leave, and she went mutely with Jon as he sought out their host and hostess.
They drove back in silence, Sophy leaving Jon to go upstairs whilst she took Susan home.
Once she got back she didn’t linger downstairs herself. She too was tired, drained of all emotion. She paused outside Jon’s room, without knowing why, listening to the floorboard creak beneath her foot.
The door was open and she heard him call her name. She went to the door and stood just inside it. He was sitting on the bed, his head in his hands.
‘Why did you do it?’
His voice was a faint thread but she still heard it, the blood freezing down her spine as apprehension gripped her.
‘Do what?’
She heard him sigh. ‘Come on, Sophy, you know quite well what I mean...that little scene with Lorraine. I heard it all, but both of you were too engrossed in each other to realise I was there. It certainly was a very talented performance on your part,’ he added tiredly. ‘How did you do it? By calling up memories of how it was with Benson?’
Sophy could feel the blood draining out of her skin.
‘No.’ She practically choked on the denial. ‘No...’ she added more quietly, ‘I simply used my imagination.’
He wasn’t looking at her, but she could feel the tension gripping him. ‘What exactly do you mean?’
Suddenly she was tired of fencing...of pretending. ‘You’re the logician, Jon,’ she told him wryly, ‘Surely you can analyse what I’ve said and draw your own conclusions. I didn’t enjoy Chris’s lovemaking, as a matter of fact. In fact I found it a total turn-off. It was painful...and empty. I can assure you that he found me less than satisfactory as well.’
‘Really? So why is he still pursuing you?’
‘Because he resents the fact that I appear to be enjoying with another man what I did not enjoy with him,’ she told him bluntly, ‘and he likes causing trouble.’
‘You can say that again.’ He looked directly at her for the first time, reaching one hand behind his neck to rub away the tension.
‘Headache still bad?’
‘Mmm...’
‘I’ll massage your neck for you if you’d like.’
Now why on earth had she said that? Tensely waiting for his repudiation she was stunned when he turned and stretched out on the bed, muttering, ‘Thanks, that would be great.’
He had already removed his jacket, but his shirt was still on. Even so, Sophy dared not suggest that he remove it. Instead she leaned down towards him, flexing her fingers. She had learned the basics of massage after a bad fall in her teens when she had injured her leg and had found relief from the pain of it by massaging the tense muscles and it seemed it was a skill that once learned was never lost, although there was a world of difference in having Jon’s hot flesh beneath her hands rather than her own.
Almost by instinct she found the hard lumps of acidic matter that denoted tension and started massaging them. She felt Jon tense slightly and then relax, although he said nothing. Time ceased to exist as she concentrated on her task. Jon was breathing slowly now...so slowly that she felt sure he must be asleep. She eased gently away, flexing her own body.
‘Don’t stop.’ The slurred words stopped her in mid-movement, her eyes widening as Jon sat up, his fingers tearing impatiently at his shirt buttons until he had them all free. Shrugging out of his shirt he threw it on the floor, flopping back down on the bed. ‘That feels good, Sophy,’ he told her thickly. ‘Do it some more.’
She obeyed him mindlessly, smoothing the sleek skin beneath her fingertips, enveloped in the musky male scent of his body as she bent closer to him, trying to tell herself that what she was doing was something she would have done for anyone.
Only he wasn’t anyone. He was Jon...and she loved him...loved him? She tensed, staring blindly into space, waiting for her heart to catch up on its missed beat. Of course she didn’t love him. She wanted him, desired him, yes...but love? She fought hard but it was no use, she did love him.
The knowledge was appalling. How long had she hidden it from herself? How long had she loved him? Days, weeks, months...before they were married, even? She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, and knowing it was impossible. The shock was too great.
‘What’s wrong?’
She withdrew as Jon sat up, backing away from him. He wasn’t wearing his glasses but he was looking at her as though he could read every expression on her face.
‘I want you.’ He said it softly, reaching for her before she could move, fastening his fingers round her wrists and tugging her towards him until her progress was impeded by the edge of the bed. ‘Was it true what you told me about Benson?’
‘That he was the first man to discover that I was frigid, do you mean?’ She was glad that he had reminded her of reality because it gave her something to fight with.
‘Is that what you are?’ He tugged on her wrists again, not very gently this time, laughing at her as she overbalanced and fell on the bed in an ungainly heap. She tried to roll away from him, her angry protest smothered by the heat of his mouth as it imprisoned her own.
Heat, searing and intense, beat through her in fierce waves, a heat that had nothing to do with the hot summer night outside. This heat was generated within herself, a blazing conflagration that threatened to totally destroy her. She had never, ever felt like this before. It frightened her that she should now.
Every instinct she had told her she must escape before Jon discovered for himself the humiliating truth, but although his grip on her was now only light, somehow it was impossible to drag her mouth from his, to give up the aching pleasure of the way his mouth moved on hers aroused. His tongue touched her lips and they parted, admitting him to the moist sweetness beyond, the breath catching in her throat as the intimacy of his kiss engulfed her and she clung helplessly to his shoulders, aware of the hot sleekness of his skin beneath her fingers; aware of the frantic thudding of her heart against her ribs...of the slow ache coiling through her lower body, the moist heat between her thighs.
Suddenly it was impossible to resist. Her t
ongue touched his, tentatively at first and then more daringly, her body melting with heat as she heard his fiercely indrawn breath and felt the muscles of his chest compress.
Her whole body was aching with desire for him and he had only kissed her. Only kissed her, that was all. Her lips clung despairingly to his as she felt their pressure ease and she thought she felt him smile as his mouth moved slowly over her skin, exploring the shape of her face, his breath warm against her ear.
‘Let me take this off.’
She felt his fingers touch the single fastening that held her dress on and reacted instinctively, her body tensing, as she begged, ‘Please don’t do this, Jon.’
But it was too late and anyway he wasn’t listening to her. His eyes were fastened on the twin peaks of her breasts, fully exposed to him now that their covering of silk had slithered away. Transfixed, she watched as his head bent slowly towards her breasts, remembering on a sudden wave of revulsion how Chris had bitten her tender flesh and how she had recoiled from him in pain and shock. Until now she had forgotten that...but she had not forgotten his anger and contempt.
She reached out protestingly, her fingers digging into Jon’s shoulder. Her voice thick with anguish as she pleaded, ‘Please...’
The downward movement of his head stilled and he looked at her. ‘What is it?’ he asked her softly.
Not even the familiar sound of his voice could calm her. ‘I don’t like it,’ she heard herself whimpering. ‘It hurts...’
She saw his eyes darken and tensed in expectation of the same angry contempt Chris had shown her but instead he said gratingly, ‘Is that what he did, Sophy? Did he hurt you?’
She closed her eyes, not daring to reply in case she burst into tears. What was the matter with her? Not so very long ago she had lain awake at night tormented by her aching need for Jon to touch her but now that he was...
‘Well, I promise you I won’t.’
She could feel the tension in his body as his hands cupped her breast. Despite herself she shivered slightly. He was looking at her, forcing her to meet his gaze, and then he bent his head and gently kissed each coral nipple with warm lips.
A shuddering sigh was wrenched from deep within her, the fear flooding out of her, pushed by the slow tide of desire coming in its wake. The sensation of Jon’s mouth against her breast had been both reassuring and tormenting. She wanted more than the light brush of his lips against her skin, she realised achingly. Much, much more—but Jon was already moving away from her.
Reacting instinctively, she reached towards him curling her fingers into his hair, feeling the unmistakable hardening of her nipples beneath the heat of the sharp breath he expelled.
‘Sophy.’ He said her name roughly, warningly, but she was past heeding him, her own voice taut with longing as she moaned softly. ‘Jon, please...’
‘Please what?’ His voice was thick and slurred as though the words were unfamiliar to him, one hand cupping her breast, the other drawing her down against his mouth as he muttered against her skin, ‘Please this?’ and his mouth moved back to her breast.
For long, long moments, the only noise in the room was the tortured sound of her breathing and the moist movement of his mouth caressing her breast, his tongue moving roughly over the aroused peak of it until she was moaning in wild pleasure.
She ached when he released her but not because he had hurt her.
‘Don’t be afraid, I’m not going to do anything you don’t want.’
She closed her eyes as she felt him move. Couldn’t he see that what she was afraid of now was that she would want it...that in wanting him she would be vulnerable to him and that, like Chris, he would find her lacking and reject her? And that was something she could not endure.
She moved away from him and knew he had registered her withdrawal as he said her name sharply.
‘It’s late, Jon,’ she told him huskily. ‘I must go back to my own room.’
For a moment she thought he was going to stop her, and then she heard him sigh.
‘Sophy, you know I want you,’ he told her tiredly. ‘I want you to want me in return, not to be frightened of me. Is it me you’re frightened of, or sex in general?’
‘A little of both,’ she admitted huskily. ‘I don’t want you to look at me the way Chris looked at me, Jon,’ she told him tormentedly. ‘Believe me, it’s better if I go now. If I stayed I promise you you’d only be disappointed.’
‘Is that what he told you?’ he asked her roughly. ‘That all men would find you disappointing because he did?’
She managed a wry smile. ‘I’m not a complete fool, Jon. There have been other men...oh, none of them were ever physically intimate with me because sooner or later our relationship always reached the point where it became obvious that I was disappointing them.’
‘Are you sure you’re not just saying all this because you find me a turn-off?’
‘No!’ Her denial rang with truth. She reached out and touched his face hesitantly, trying to smile at him. ‘Believe it or not, Jon, I find you extremely desirable. But can’t you see that just makes it so much harder? Because of that, I’m frightened of disappointing you.’
She got off the bed before he could say anything and picked up her dress, hurrying out into the corridor and into her own room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHE WOKE UP during the night, not knowing what had disturbed her, conscious only of some sound alien to those she normally heard.
Her bedroom door opened inwards and she sat up in bed, her eyes widening as she saw Jon walk into her room.
He was wearing pyjama bottoms, dark silk ones, and she tensed as he came over to the bed, wanting him and yet afraid of what that wanting might lead to when he too discovered how useless she was as a woman.
As he reached for the bedclothes, she wriggled away, smothering a tiny gasp of surprise as he slid into bed beside her.
‘Jon!’
Her protest was silenced by the warm brush of his fingers against her mouth. ‘I can’t sleep without you, Sophy,’ she heard him saying huskily, as his arms went round her. ‘I only want to sleep with you in my arms, that’s all.’
Unbelievably he was already falling asleep as his arm drew her back against the warmth of his body. She knew she ought to wake him up and send him back to his own bed but it was good having him lie beside her, his body against her own. Instinctively she snuggled back against him, sighing faintly as his arm curved round her body just under her breasts.
They were married, after all, she reminded herself as she fell asleep; and there was nothing immoral in them being here together like this. Apart, of course, from the fact that he did not love her, while she...
He wanted her though, she thought defiantly. He had told her so and there had been no reason for him to lie. What on earth was it that she had that Lorraine and Louise did not seem to possess? Perhaps he just wasn’t keen on blondes, she thought wryly, suppressing a self-mocking smile as sleep stole over her.
* * *
SHE WOKE UP EARLY conscious that something was different, but not sure what it was until she felt the weight of Jon’s arm across her body. It was just gone five in the morning. She really ought to wake him and send him back to his own bed. If Alex should wake early and come in for an early morning cuddle as she sometimes did...
She tried to wriggle out from under his arm so that she could shake him but instantly it tightened around her, threatening to crush her ribs. She heard him mutter something in his sleep and then move slightly taking her with him so that somehow her legs became tangled up in his.
She knew immediately that he had woken up, even before he murmured her name in husky surprise, the tone of his voice subtly changing as he repeated her name.
‘Lovely, Sophy,’ he murmured against her ear. ‘Who would ever have dreamed that I woul
d wake up with you in my arms?’ His hand skimmed the shape of her body and she felt him shake slightly as he asked, ‘What on earth is this? It feels like something my grandmother might have worn.’
It was in fact a long cotton nightdress which was slightly Victorian in design. Normally she only wore it in winter but last night, for some reason, despite the heat, she had decided to put it on.
‘Jon, you really ought to go back to your own bed.’ She tried to turn round so that she could look at him, and found she wished she had not as she saw the lazy blue warmth in his eyes as he looked back at her. His jaw was dark and she touched it lightly, her eyes widening at the harsh rasp of his beard against her fingertips.
‘You must have to shave twice a day.’ Even as she spoke she was conscious of the banality of her comment.
Jon’s mouth twitched slightly but his voice was quite grave as he whispered back, ‘At least.’ His fingers curled round her wrist, transferring hers from his jaw to his mouth. The sensation of his mouth moving against her fingertips was oddly erotic. She could feel herself starting to tremble, a low ache spreading through her stomach as he gently sucked her fingers into his mouth, his free hand stroking down her body to caress her breast.
‘Jon...’
He released her fingers and pressed his own against her mouth. ‘No, don’t speak,’ he told her softly. ‘Don’t say anything, Sophy. Not now.’ And because suddenly she seemed to have been transported to a dream world where anything was possible and only Jon existed, she found it easy to acquiesce, to simply let herself follow where he led and give herself over completely to the voluptuosity of his lovemaking.
She had discovered so much she had not known before about him already and here it seemed was something else she had not known, her body recognising instantly that his touch was that of a man who had once learned and never forgotten how to give the utmost pleasure.
Sighing beneath the seductive stroke of his fingers she let him remove her nightdress, crying out softly when the heat of his body touched her own but not with pain, or fear, unless it was the pain of being so close to him and yet not part of him and the fear of losing this pleasure he was giving her almost before it was begun. His pyjamas followed her nightdress on to the floor, his hands drawing her against his body.
