by Sara Wood
It seemed settled. ‘You’ll miss Natasa.’
He smiled and her jealousy unfurled its claws. ‘I’ll miss her biscuits but my waistline will be reprieved,’ he said, smiling wanly at his little joke. ‘But, yes, I’d miss her.’
‘She’ll be able to visit,’ Emma said, finding her generosity hard to believe.
He said nothing but stroked her hair absently, as if his thoughts were far away. Emma reflected that Marina’s fling had not only ruined her own life, but many lives. Leon had tried to do what was right—and in doing so had destroyed his own happiness. She felt very sad. They might have been married now with children of their own.
‘Oh, Leon,’ she whispered jerkily.
She felt the air between them quiver and lifted her head to judge his expression. His lips had parted, his teeth shining white in the darkness of his face. The drowsy, sultry expression in his eyes served as a warning but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—heed it.
This was the man she’d loved and lost, the man she’d respected and had adored with every last breath in her body. And he was still that same man. He’d surrendered his own happiness for the sake of a frightened teenager and her unborn child. And now he was hurting and she wanted to ease his pain, to wipe it out as if it had never been and to make his heart whole again.
She smiled at him hazily. Everything had changed. He wasn’t heartless—far from it—and she still loved him. Terribly, recklessly, profoundly.
For a brief, wonderful moment, her own heart opened like a flower. And then it closed up again when she realised that she had to protect herself. Her eyes became dull. He might have loved her once—and still lusted after her—but he had a devastatingly low opinion of her.
‘Emma,’ he murmured seductively.
‘Tea,’ she said jerkily. ‘Getting cold.’
‘To hell with the tea.’
‘This doesn’t change anything,’ she said frantically.
‘Doesn’t it?’ His eyes glittered.
‘No.’ She bit her lip, steeling herself to ignore the mesmeric stroking of his hands as they moved up and down her arms, and the hot message in his liquid eyes. Needing to escape, she wriggled in his grip and found herself being pushed back.
He was kissing her, ignoring her moans of protest, driving his mouth into hers till it throbbed, one hand supporting her spine and crushing her against him, the other running up and down her bare leg which had somehow wound itself wantonly across his thigh.
How had it done that? she wondered. It was almost as if it wanted to encourage him. Appalled, she wrenched her mouth from his and said the first thing that came into her mind.
‘I need to ring John.’
He scowled. ‘Later.’
‘No, please, Leon—’
‘Why the desperation?’ He bit the words out. ‘Won’t I do?’
‘It’s not that—’
‘What then?’ he challenged. ‘If you’re so free with your favours—’
‘You brute!’ she said choking with incredulity, managing to pull herself back a little. Her chest heaved in anger, and her temper was made worse by the miserable sense of disappointment and sexual loss rushing through her shaking body. ‘You never believe me. In your eyes I’m a criminal with no morals at all—’
‘Right.’
‘And I leap into bed with anyone I fancy—’
‘Yes!’ he hissed.
‘Well, you’re wrong on all counts!’ she said fuming. ‘John’s nothing other than my lawyer and my friend—’
‘And stays the night with you.’
‘Once. Because I was upset,’ she yelled. ‘And he left at three. He comforted me—’
‘All innocent? Never made love to you?’ Leon queried in frank disbelief.
‘No!’
‘Never touched you?’
‘Umm…’
Her eyes flickered. And she found herself being lifted, Leon’s fury carrying her halfway across the room before she could gather any kind of protest together.
‘He kisses you. He touches you. So can I!’ he hissed, pausing in mid-stride.
Then his head descended and the fires ignited more fiercely than ever. She did her best to grit her teeth and stop herself from coiling her hands around his neck in compliance. And somehow she summoned up the strength—and the voice—to protest.
‘Don’t treat me like this! You have no right!’
His eyes silvered. His reply was a burning kiss which softened and sweetened, becoming so tender that she thought her heart would break with sorrow. Still holding that kiss, transfixing her with dreams of what might have been, he began to move towards the bedroom again.
He felt drunk. Unable to believe he was acting so badly. But he couldn’t stomach the thought of Sefton…
He felt her gasp and gentled the pressure of his mouth which had become fierce and bruising again. Gently he swept his lips over her jaw, hating his weakness for her, unable to understand why she aroused such explosive emotions in him when he’d always been rational and considerate to a fault.
But emotions there were. Pity. Anger. Compassion, jealousy—oh, God, the jealousy! And such fevered desire… His mouth caressed her high cheekbone, the sight of her half-closed eyes making his pulses race. Reverently he kissed each quivering lid and exulted in her throaty moan.
His shins suddenly hit the bed, jarring his body and he fell with her onto the soft quilt, his senses befogged by the heady perfume of roses somewhere in the room.
‘Tell me no,’ he said huskily, covering her body with his.
‘Nnnnoooo,’ she whispered languorously.
‘Not totally convincing.’
Lazily he let his fingers trail across the soft warm skin just above the waistband of her skirt. She jerked and writhed and he caught her arms to imprison her, letting his mouth swoop and mimic the caress of his fingers while she gasped in pleasure, her legs wrapping around his body while she pleaded implausibly for him to stop.
So he did. And she blinked several times, her mouth sulky with disappointment. He waited, his breath locked in his lungs, his eyes fierce with desire.
Feebly she tried to hit him, forgetting her legs were keeping his body close to hers, and then she muttered something angrily and wrenched free, tumbling with him on the bed, over and over, kissing and moaning, tangled with him in a hungry desperation as hands and mouths and teeth and limbs strained to ease the explosion of longing.
Beneath him she moved in her old, wanton way, her eyes luring, her body firing him to unbelievable abandon. She was everywhere, her hair teasing his cheek, her yielding body urgently thrashing with his, her mouth wandering at his throat and her heart beating violently against his chest.
He wanted to devour her whole, to take her in and make her his. To wipe away all other men she’d known and to leave just the memory of his body, his mouth, the pleasure he could give her.
Her tongue slicked along his collar-bone and he shuddered.
‘I want you so badly,’ he croaked.
Her mouth opened and no sound emerged. So he kissed it, the sweet pressure bringing an ache to his heart. He looked at her with dark hunger in his eyes and knew he had smashed her resistance. His mouth enclosed hers, his tongue tasting her as he slid his hand to the top of her thigh and met warm, wet silk.
Emma cried out, a needy cry that brought an answering spear of need in him. Rhythms pounded mercilessly in every part of his body: the thud of her heart and his, the movement of her hands over his back and the leaping, dangerous pulse of heat beneath his fingers which called to a deep answering pulse within his very manhood.
Her throat arched, his mouth urgently moved there, branding it with searing kisses. And then he lifted her, crazed with her, intoxicated and utterly incapable of anything other than actions of raw instinct. In a fierce movement he’d pulled off her T-shirt and had shrugged away his shirt, pulling her to him.
Skin on skin. Thunder roared in his ears. It was unbelievable. The feel of her. The softness…
She moved in a deliberately provocative way, an insistent gesture which she repeated, the hard peaks of her breasts describing a circle against his chest and its shuddering muscles.
‘Kiss,’ she moaned, taking one breast between her hands and offering it to him.
Every cell in his body reacted. With a deep, visceral groan, he lowered his mouth and took the dark, pulsing nipple in his mouth. Emma jerked as his tongue flickered and tasted and she grabbed at his hair when he closed his eyes in bliss and suckled greedily.
‘Other one.’
Without gentleness, she dragged his head from her breast to satisfy its twin, his nose and chin deep in the lushly cushioned mound.
‘Touch me again,’ she whispered.
Instead, he brought her hand to ease his own agony. And she understood, always had, knowing what she did to him and that something between them blazed so fiercely that no man, not even Leon, could keep under control.
At her touch, he bucked and drew back, his eyes glazed with passion. Gently he unbuttoned her skirt and eased down the frivolous blue briefs inch by inch over her glorious thighs. For a brief moment he buried his face in the golden triangle of hair, promising himself greater delights later. She uttered little moans of pleasure as his mouth enclosed her sweetness and then she was kicking off her briefs with frantic legs.
And then, when he fumbled with his own belt, she reached up. She seemed to be in a mist, as if a veil had drifted over his eyes, and her body simmered before him, beautiful and golden in its nakedness but annoyingly out of focus.
Then he felt her remove the rest of his clothes, gasping his name when he was kneeling above her, naked too. Gently she took him between her hands, but he couldn’t bear the waiting.
‘No. I want you,’ he urged breathily.
‘Leon…’
‘Now!’
‘Oh, yes,’ she cried and pulled him down, arching up to him, demanding his mouth, her arms guiding, helping him to slip into that paradise…
‘Emma!’
He didn’t know if he’d spoken aloud or not. Didn’t care. Silky liquid enclosed him, warm, tight, exquisite, each gentle movement a sweet torment. But Emma didn’t want gentleness. Her hands grasped his muscled buttocks and urged him on.
His body took over. In the back of his mind he knew he’d meant to pleasure her slowly, to drive her wild with desire. But this was too much. His mouth lunged at hers and his rhythm increased, primitive, long and deep thrusts which seemed to strip his mind of everything but the sensation that they were joined as one person and would never be parted.
Tears wet his face. Emma. Emma, Emma, called his aching heart and she was calling him, crying his name over and over again, gasping into his mouth, licking his salty tears—or were they hers?—and all the time the volcanic emotions in his body were rising, higher, higher, the heat and sweat and total sense of freedom and release making him yell with her as they rolled around the bed. And his movements became shorter, harder, faster. Their voices deeper, huskier. Kisses fiercer. Hands more frantic.
It was happening. Shooting up through his body like a torrent, flames of heat burning his skin, each pore electrified, faster, faster…
‘Emma, Emma!’ he yelled.
But she was silent, shuddering, jerking, a seraphic smile on her face. He realised he’d come down to earth again though they were still united and he wanted to keep it that way, warm, tingling, the sweetest feeling in the world. The sweetest woman.
He smiled back. She sighed deeply and her eyes closed, her entire body limp. Carefully he eased himself over her so that he bore most of his own weight, and snuggled up, his face close to hers. Still linked, he thought muzzily. If only that could be true for ever.
His brain wasn’t working too well. It was a moment before a slow frown found the energy to work a line between his brows. What had he wished? Confused, he gave himself up to gazing at her. It was sex talking. Nothing else.
He eased away.
‘Don’t go,’ she mumbled incoherently, her arm flapping in vague protest.
But he felt ice clutch at his heart. And swung around so he was sitting on the edge of the chaotic bed, his hand clearing his eyes of…someone’s tears. Hence his blurred vision. And he was gritting his teeth. Finding his brain. It was in there somewhere. His pulses still galloped mercilessly but they’d soon calm down.
Eyeing the distance involved, he made a good stab at lurching towards the bathroom.
‘Wharr-you-doin’?’ Emma slurred.
‘Shower.’
Her mutter showed she didn’t think much of that but he grimly staggered to it and turned it to cold. Taking a deep breath, he stepped in, suffering his penance.
Better if he’d done this before, not after. How could he have been such a prat? The freezing needles of water seemed to wake him up out of his stupor. So what kind of man makes love to a woman he despises?
Marina was right. This was the woman who’d single-handedly destroyed his family business without regard for the consequences, sparing no thought for the hundreds of people she’d left without the security they’d planned for.
Recompensing those people had broken his father and had hastened his death and, Leon reflected grimly, it had given him sixteen-hour days and no social life while he’d built up the family fortunes again, scheming, planning, networking, and begging for investment. He slapped his fist into his palm. This was also the woman who drove his brother to a terrible and violent death.
And he’d just made love to her.
‘You’ll get pneumonia!’
He looked up. Through the curtain of water he could see her, a sheet wrapped around her incomparable body. Her fingers were testing the temperature of the water and she was looking at him in sheer amazement.
He discovered that he was shivering violently and stepped out, his eyes blazing so black and hard that she took a step back.
Grabbing a towel, he snarled, ‘I don’t care.’
She cringed against the tiled wall. ‘Leon..!’ she whispered in shock.
From under ferocious brows he scowled. ‘It’s done. A mistake. Can’t be undone,’ he said shortly, grabbing towels to warm him.
And he wanted to wound her as he was wounded, ripped apart by desire for her, his self-respect torn to shreds and left bleeding on that rumpled bed. His head came up. Rivulets of water poured down his face from his saturated hair and he mopped at them with the end of the towel. He wanted her to see his eyes and the loathing there.
‘It got a bit out of hand, didn’t it?’ he said, mimicking her pitiful excuse earlier.
She gasped. ‘Get dressed and get out,’ she whispered.
‘My pleasure,’ he growled, towelling vigorously.
She left. He heard her collapse on the bed. Wondered if she was all right. And checked himself. She was a big girl. She could look after herself, only too well.
Then he remembered he had to get his clothes from the bedroom. As he gathered them up, finding they’d been hurled into odd places with surprising force and distance, he glanced at her surreptitiously.
She lay curled up in a ball just like Lexi and for a moment his heart lurched before he could steady it again. She was very still, her face almost hidden in her shielding arms.
‘My shirt’s underneath you,’ he said coldly.
She didn’t move and he was forced to lift her hips. He looked at her sharply. Tremors were rippling through her entire body.
‘Emma?’
‘Go away!’
He hesitated. ‘Do you need medicine or something?’
She sat up with a sudden violence, her eyes spitting fire. ‘Yes. I need love. I need a man who doesn’t use me. Do you know what you’ve done, Leon? Do you?’
‘Yes,’ he said bleakly. ‘Do you? Or do you think you had no part in what happened, no input, no desire?’
‘Don’t,’ she muttered, covering her face with her hands.
He pulled them away. ‘Look at me.’
When she
did, he wished he hadn’t asked. Her eyes reproached him, making him feel ashamed of himself. He made a helpless gesture with his hands. He didn’t understand what was happening to him, only that they couldn’t be near one another.
‘The truth is, Emma,’ he said tightly, ‘we’re destroying each other. This can’t go on. We have to separate or…’ He paused, fighting for breath.
‘Or what?’ she whispered.
‘Get each other out of our systems. There’ll never be a middle way for us, Emma. You know that, I know that. So it’s in my bed, or out of the country—and the choice is yours.’
‘I—I’m not ready to leave! Lexi doesn’t know—’
‘You’ve seen your child. You know she’ll be fine with me. I’ll find some way of solving Lexi’s need for parents.’
‘What?’ she cried.
‘I don’t know. But…’ He couldn’t believe he was saying this, that he was urging her to leave. He wanted her so much that every bone in his body was aching. ‘Do the decent thing and get on the next plane,’ he said in a strangled tone. And the jealousy surfaced, searing and bitter in his gut. ‘Ring Sefton and take him with you. He’s desperate to give you what you want. If he hasn’t done so already.’
‘What is it with you about John?’ she cried hotly. ‘Are you jealous or something?’
‘Yes,’ he yelled, grabbing her shoulders. ‘I don’t want anyone else to touch you but me. It sickens me to think of other men making love to you. And it crucifies me to want you. It degrades me—’
‘And if I was innocent?’ she said bitterly.
‘But you’re not.’
‘If.’
His mouth tightened but he couldn’t prevent the wishing from showing in his eyes. ‘It’s not worth discussing,’ he said gratingly. ‘I want you out of here in the morning. Make your arrangements.’
