Levelling the Score

by Penny Jordan

  'Shared a bed? We won't be sharing a bed! The bedroom will have two singles, hotels always do…'

  'Well, in that case, I can't see what you're making all this fuss about.'

  'Oh, can't you?' Jenna was decidedly bitter. 'That was how we got ourselves in this mess in the first place, wasn't it? Remember Mrs M?'

  'Yes, but she's hardly likely to materialise here, is she?' Simon asked reasonably. 'And even if she did, we are engaged.'

  He said it so virtuously that Jenna was robbed of breath.

  'We are not engaged!' she practically screamed the words at him. 'And what's more, there is just no way that you and I are going to sleep in the same bedroom.'

  There was an infinitesimal pause and then Simon said softly, 'Is this really the woman who was prepared to go to bed with a virtual stranger? What did he have that I don't, Jenna?'

  It took several seconds for her to realise that he was talking about Grant Freeman.

  She took another deep lungful of air to steady the quiver of anger shooting through her.

  'I was not prepared to go to bed with him.' Suddenly she was exhausted—too exhausted to argue with him any longer, and what was the point? That adroit legal mind of his meant that whatever the argument was about he always won. 'Simon, I don't understand any of this,' she complained plaintively. 'Why is there only one room? You booked two.'

  'There's obviously been a mistake,' he soothed. 'Look, we're both tired. Tomorrow you'll see the funny side of things. If it makes you feel any better, I'll do the gentlemanly thing and stay down here until you're all tucked up and asleep.'

  'The gentlemanly thing would be for you to stay down here, period,' Jenna told him acidly, but she didn't argue the point any further. She was exhausted almost to the extent of sleeping where she stood, and what was the point? Simon was hardly likely to take advantage of the fact that they were sharing a room to pounce on her… Heavens, five years, ten years ago, she'd have given her eye teeth for an opportunity like this. That restored a little of her equilibrium. What on earth was she getting so worked up about? She wasn't sure, but suspected that it had something to do with the fact that she was pretty sure that, had Simon been caught out in this situation with any other woman but her, he would have made full use of the opportunity fate had handed him. It was galling to admit that she stood in no danger of receiving any sexual advances from him. There, she had admitted the truth. Not that she wanted anything like that from him—no, of course not—but it would be very satisfying to be given the opportunity of slapping him down should he try.

  Wearily she took the key from him and went upstairs. She found their room quite easily, unlocked the door, and put down her case on the bed.

  The bed. There was only one, a very traditional French affair with a bolster and masses of pillows.

  Off the bedroom was a bathroom, and she went into it, too tired to care about the mix up in their sleeping arrangements any longer.

  A warm bath made her feel slightly better. She pulled her nightdress out of her case and grimaced slightly. It was a brief affair of embroidered cotton and tiny satin ribbon straps. Susie had given it to her for her last birthday, together with its matching wrap. It wasn't the sort of thing she normally wore at all, and God alone knew what impulse had led to her packing it in her overnight case.

  She creamed her skin, brushed her hair, discarded the wrap and climbed into bed. And it was a climb—the bed was several feet off the floor.

  She removed the bolster and the extra pillows, turned on her side and almost immediately went to sleep.

  Sunlight woke her, bright and harsh, reminding her that she had been too tired last night to close the curtains. She closed her eyes and turned over to block it out.

  Next to her someone made a sleepy sound of approval, and an arm lodged firmly round her waist, trapping her. She opened her eyes. Simon was lying on his side, facing her, obviously fast asleep. She tried to wriggle free of his constraining arm, but it only tightened, his forehead furrowing as he made a protesting noise deep in his throat.

  She was rather shocked to discover that she quite liked the sound of that possessive, instinctive male growl of ownership.

  She yawned tiredly and closed her eyes. It obviously wasn't time to get up yet, and she might as well have half an hour's sleep. It did occur to her that by rights she ought to dislodge Simon's arm and get up and close the curtains, thus enabling her to go back to bed and turn her back on him, but she was far too warm and cosy where she was to do much more than muzzily acknowledge the thought.

  The next time she was woken up it wasn't by the sun, but by the rhythmic caress of Simon's hand as he moved it against her breast.

  He was still asleep, but his frown had changed to a smile and she could almost feel the contented purr of pleasure ripple through his body as his hand moved against her.

  It was potentially the most embarrassing situation she had ever been in. It was obvious to her that Simon had no idea who she was; she was simply a warm female body in his bed, and he, like any other virile male animal, was reacting instinctively to the presence of a female. Much as she longed to push him away, if he woke up now…

  If he woke up now, he would discover that her body was already responding to him, Jenna acknowledged. She didn't need to look down at herself to know that her nipples were pushing eagerly against the fine cotton of her nightdress, or that whenever his thumb brushed slowly over the tip of the breast he was caressing, it sent a spear of sensation rushing through her nerve-endings, that reached out to every single part of her.

  At fifteen she had longed for this… spent hours and hours dreamily imagining what it would be like to be caressed by him, shivering in teenage sexual curiosity and awe at the power of her own emotions. But those idiotic day-dreams had long since faded.

  She realised that Simon's thumb was returning more and more frequently to the aroused nub of her breast, and that his touch was far less tentative—much much more purposeful, in fact. How could he still be asleep? But he was. No doubt making love to a woman was so familiar to him that he could do it in his sleep, she thought wrathfully, trying gently to ease herself away.

  It was the wrong move to make. For one thing it dislodged the tiny ribbon straps holding up her nightgown, and for another…for another…it had brought a frown to Simon's forehead, and a husky murmur of protest to his lips. He moved, his frown deepening as his fingers brushed against the cotton and then lifted away from her. Jenna held her breath, torn between relief and the beginnings of a not-to-be-acknowledged ache of deprivation, but then just as she started to ease herself away from him, Simon reached for her again. This time his touch was surer, more knowing, pushing aside the inadequate barrier of her nightdress, so that there was nothing to stop the tiny electric thrills of sensation running through her at the intimacy of their skin-to-skin contact.

  He moved again, this time pinning her to the bed with the heavy weight of his thigh. His head rested momentarily against her breast, making her fear to even breathe and then, for the first time in her life, she felt the exquisite pang of pleasure thrill through her body at the touch of a man's mouth against the hardened centre of her breast.

  It was so unexpected, so unanticipated, that she had no defences to block out what was happening to her.

  She could only lie immobilised by the shock of the intensity of the sensations racking her as Simon nuzzled and sucked at the tender nub of flesh. His hand cupped her breast, moulding the soft shape of it, the muted sound of enjoyment he made deep in his throat causing Jenna to shudder under the assault of a fresh wave of sensation.

  If he were to wake up now! Horror chilled her flesh, and as though she had somehow communicated her thoughts to him, he did wake up. She saw his eyelashes flutter, felt the sleep leave his body. He looked up at her, his hand covering her breast, almost as though in a way he was protecting her modesty.

  He looked into her shocked eyes and swore savagely, releasing her and moving away.

  ' J
enna, I'm sorry…'

  'I suppose you thought I was someone else,' Jenna said valiantly, and then added honestly, 'I was hoping that you wouldn't wake up…'

  She flushed bright red as his eyebrows lifted and she realised the interpretation he could put on her words, and hurried on. 'That was why I didn't wake you or push you away. I thought it might be embarrassing for both of us.'

  'Embarrassing?' He laughed harshly. 'You surprise me, Jenna. I thought you knew too much about the male sex to make that mistake. Embarrassment is the last thing a man is likely to feel when he wakes up with the taste and feel of a woman in his mouth…'

  There was nothing she could say. She felt vulnerable and raw, aching from a need she didn't want to acknowledge, frightened of the strength of the sensations he had aroused. And, most of all, uncomfortably aware of the fact that she hadn't wanted him to wake up because—because she had wanted him to go on making love to her, and now that he wasn't, her body was protesting at its deprivation.

  'Isn't it time we were making tracks?' she suggested huskily, not wanting to pursue her own tormenting thoughts.

  'I'm sorry, Jenna. I've only confirmed all your worst fears about me, haven't I? Would it help if I…'

  'I think we should both forget the whole incident,' Jenna told him hastily. 'I'm not a fool, Simon. I know quite well it wasn't me you were making love to. I suppose you're so used to waking up with a woman next to you, that it's almost second nature to you to…'

  'Are you sure it was only embarrassment that kept you silent, Jenna?' All of a sudden his mood had changed, anger taking the place of his earlier contrition. 'Are you sure there wasn't a little bit of curiosity there as well? If you do want to know what I'm like as a lover, you don't have to be coy about it. Who knows, with a woman of your experience, I might learn a thing or two as well.' He saw her face and laughed harshly. 'Oh, come on, surely you don't think Susie kept it all to herself? I know all about those early days in London when the pair of you shared a flat… Almost a different man every night, wasn't it? I know that every time I rang up a different male voice answered the phone.'

  Jenna stared at him… In a way, what he was saying was quite true, but Susie had been the one with a different boyfriend almost every night of the week, not her. Of course Susie probably would have told him that they were her boyfriends, especially if Simon had been about to go into his notorious 'big brother' act.

  'Don't look at me like that. We both know I'm far from being the first man to find the taste of your breasts so intoxicating that I could almost forget how many men have enjoyed them—and you—before me.'

  Jenna was almost lost for words. Why, it was almost as though Simon was jealous! 'You're being very old-fashioned in employing such an out-dated double standard, aren't you, Simon?' she asked when she had got her breath back. 'After all, you've scarcely been celibate, have you?'

  'I may not have been celibate, but the women who have shared my bed have all meant something to me emotionally, Jenna. Can you say the same for the men who have shared yours?'

  It would have been the easiest thing in the world to tell him the truth, but instead, for some perverse reason she snapped acidly, 'It's just as well we aren't engaged, Simon. And as we're not, my past, and the men in it, are my affair, wouldn't you say?'

  There was still an atmosphere between them when they left the hotel. Jenna had remained stubbornly silent over breakfast, ignoring all Simon's acid comments about her 'sulks'.

  She wasn't sulking; she was simply in no mood to want to talk to him. How dared he criticise her morals, her way of life? How dared he comment on her sex life?

  She sat by his side, silently fuming as the miles sped by. The early promise of a good day had held, and when he stopped the car and asked if she had any objections if he put the hood down, she shook her head.

  Mingled with her anger over their quarrel were other, more worrying emotions. She was dreading this coming holiday with their families… that was only natural, but what was worrying her even more was the intensity of this morning's physical response to him. Even now, while she was still furious with him, she had only to think of the way he had held and caressed her for that dull ache to start up again in the pit of her stomach and for her nipples to press yearningly against the soft fabric of her bra. Luckily she was wearing a loose, heavy cotton sweat-shirt style top which concealed all signs of her body's burgeoning arousal.

  In other circumstances she would have enjoyed their journey, but today she was still too caught up in the complexities of emotions and worries that were still unnervingly new to her to have time to spare for the beauty of their surroundings.

  Like her, Simon seemed disinclined to talk. They stopped mid-morning and drank rich, dark coffee by the roadside under the shade of some trees.

  'Is it much further?'

  She didn't look at Simon as she asked the question. Every time she did look at him she remembered how she had felt when he… Confused and semi-frightened, she pushed the unwanted memories aside.

  'Another hour or so should do it.'

  She had her first glimpse of the river itself once they were past Calles, the rich pastoral French countryside spread out before them.

  Simon's parents' farmhouse was off the beaten track, several kilometres from a delightfully old-fashioned riverside village built of red sandstone. Jenna would have liked to stop and explore it, but she sensed Simon's anxiety for their journey to be over with.

  A narrow farm track led to the farmhouse, set among some of the most beautiful ancient trees Jenna had ever seen. The Aston took to the track like the thoroughbred that it was, with scarcely a complaint. The farmhouse, long and low, squatted against its green background. White shutters broke up the uniformity of the stone, and an ancient wisteria curled along its frontage, its branches gnarled and nearly as grey as the stone itself. Parked to one side of the cobbled yard was Simon's parents' car. He stopped alongside it.

  An odd sense that somehow she had reached a very momentous moment in her life took hold of Jenna, and wouldn't be shaken off. She remained where she was, unwilling to move, to face the moment when she would have to play the part of Simon's fiancée. But it wouldn't be for long, she reassured herself. If wouldn't be for long.

  'Come on, let's go inside.'

  She let him take her arm, her body and face stiff and tense. They found his parents and her grandmother sitting in the garden to the rear of the house. They were listening to Mozart on the radio, which explained why they had not heard them arrive.

  'Goodness, you two have made good time! ' Ellen Townsend announced, jumping up to fuss over and welcome them. 'We didn't expect you quite so soon. Are you hungry? You must be…'

  'Sit down, Ma, and stop fussing,' Simon directed, bending down to kiss her.

  'Jenna, my dear…' A fond hug and a bright-eyed smile said more than any words, and Jenna felt dreadfully guilty. She hated deceiving Simon's parents like this. They were kind, genuine people, who honestly thought of her as their daughter-in-law to be, and were prepared to welcome her to their family as such.

  Simon's father gave her a slightly embarrassed hug, and greeted his son with a handshake.

  Of them all only her own grandmother seemed at ease, affectionately kissing them both.

  'Dear me,' she announced when she stood back from them. 'Have you two quarrelled?'

  Simon's mother glanced in startled dismay from Simon's rigid back to Jenna's set face and murmured worriedly, 'Oh dear! Never mind, you'll soon make it up.'

  Her concern only increased Jenna's feeling of guilt.

  'It wasn't really a quarrel,' she said as reassuringly as she could. 'Just a little mutual grumpiness over breakfast. We had a puncture last night and were late getting to our hotel, weren't we, darling?'

  Her tongue seemed to stick to the word, causing it to have a rather odd huskiness.

  Simon turned and looked at her with an unfathomable expression. Would he realise that the pleading look she was giving him was for h
is parents' benefit and not her own?

  He walked towards her, and slid his hand caressingly against the nape of her neck beneath her hair.

  'Yes, you wouldn't believe how bad-tempered she can be in the morning! Already I'm beginning to have second thoughts about this engagement,' he drawled teasingly.

  Immediately everyone relaxed, and to show him that she was just as good at putting up a front as he was, Jenna grimaced mock-seriously, and gave a little pout, aiming a light punch at his chest.

  Immediately he caught hold of her fingers, laughing at her; but what she hadn't expected was that he would transfer them to his lips, slowly caressing them, his eyes never leaving her face.

  A flood of sensations assailed her, a feeling that somehow the ground beneath her feet had become less steady. She felt almost faint, and realised that she was holding her breath. When she released it she did so shakily, confused by what was happening to her.

  Behind her she heard Simon's father give a slight cough.

  'No need to eat the girl, Simon. Your mother's got enough food here to feed an army.'

  They all laughed, and the momentary sensation of being so aware of him that she couldn't drag herself away from his face faded and Jenna relaxed.

  Over lunch the older members of the party discussed their holiday plans. The awkwardness Jenna had anticipated she might feel receded slightly. Although seated next to her, Simon had reverted to being the person she had always known, and not the stranger who had touched her so intensely both emotionally and physically this morning.

  Jenna found that she was hungry, more than ready to eat the crusty French bread and homemade pâté with its accompaniment of crisp salad.

  It appeared that Simon's parents and her grandmother had been invited to have dinner with a French couple Simon's parents knew—a lawyer and his wife.

  'I don't suppose the pair of you will object too strenuously to being left on your own,' Simon's father teased.