Past Passion

by Penny Jordan

  Grimacing to himself, he acknowledged that it really was too late to turn the car round and dump her back at the party, especially with a wolf like Jonathon Hendry cruising around. The easiest thing he could do would be to take her home with him, put her to bed in the spare bedroom, and then evict her first thing in the morning before he left for New York, when hopefully she would have sobered up enough to realise how potentially self-destructive her behaviour had been.

  He made one more attempt to wake her up, knowing before he did so that he was wasting his time. It was true, she did open her eyes and focus vaguely on him, but they closed again before he could even say one word, and he could tell from the way her body slumped against him that she was already deeply asleep once again.

  CHAPTER THREE

  NICOLA opened her eyes and stared anxiously around the unfamiliar bedroom.

  It was decorated in shades of grey and white, with a plain Roman blind at the window. The bed she was in was large, the bedding white and crisp, the duvet grey and white striped. She knew immediately that this was not a woman’s bedroom, and panic shot through her; she struggled to sit up and then gasped in fresh shock as she realised that all she was wearing was her briefs.

  She had no idea where she was or why. The last thing she could remember was being at Jonathon’s father’s birthday party. She had been dancing with someone... Someone. Her body stiffened, frantic stabs of enlightening memory piercing the grey fog that covered the previous evening’s events.

  She remembered drinking the champagne cocktails, seeing Jonathon with Susie... seeing him—

  She groaned out loud and then shuddered. What on earth had she done? What had he, the strange man she had left the party with, done?

  She shuddered again. She wasn’t that naïve. There could have been only one reason she was here in his bed this morning. The facts were self-evident.

  There was a terrible wrench of nausea in the pit of her stomach, an ache in her head that made her feel as though someone had kicked it; and yet surprisingly there was nothing else—no unfamiliar aches, no real awareness that last night she had crossed the final frontier that separated the child from the woman...no memories of the man who had been her lover, other than those she had of the events preceding their departure from the party.

  As she sat tensely in the middle of the large bed, trying to overcome both her physical nausea and her mental and emotional self-disgust, the bedroom door suddenly opened.

  In the daylight he seemed even larger than she remembered. He had obviously just had a shower, because his hair was slicked back and still wet, his skin still showing faint traces of moisture. He had a towel wrapped around his hips. His body was hard and muscular, a shockingly masculine dark arrowing of hair bisecting his torso.

  He was, she saw, carrying a mug of something hot, but as soon as he approached the bed she instinctively shrank back from him, clutching at the bedclothes and watching him with terrified eyes.

  ‘So you’re awake... Just as well since I have to leave in half an hour. I’ll drop you off on my way to the airport. I’ve brought you some tea. If you want any aspirin, there are some in the bathroom cabinet.’

  He was so matter of fact, so casual... She could feel her own face starting to burn as he sat down on the edge of the bed and it depressed beneath his weight.

  She could smell the sharp lemon freshness of his soap, see the smooth sheen of his jaw where he had just shaved. His skin looked firm and tanned, the sight of his body making her tremble and then shudder as she tried not to think about last night, about how he must have—

  ‘If you want to be sick...’

  She shook her head, biting her bottom lip in an agony of self-mortification. He was so obviously used to this sort of thing, while she...

  There was a mirror on the wall opposite the bed. She caught sight of their reflections in it. No wonder he had thought she might be going to be sick, her face looked so pale, an unpleasant shade of greeny-white. She frowned, suddenly realising something, her fingers touching her bare face.

  As though he realised what she was thinking, he told her drily, ‘I washed it off.’

  She went from white to red and shuddered, all too conscious of everything else he must have done while she had been too drunk to be aware of it.

  Revulsion rose up inside her, not just for herself but for him as well.

  How could he...how could any man make love to a woman while she virtually had no awareness of what was going on? But then, men weren’t like women...men were different, dangerous, and if she was honest with herself she had encouraged him to think—to believe...

  She had started to tremble. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him reaching towards her. Immediately she arched her back to avoid him, her eyes betraying her feelings.

  Matt frowned. Surely the little idiot didn’t actually think he had...? He wasn’t sure whether to give her a good telling off or burst out laughing. Did she really honestly think...? He remembered how small she had felt when he’d carried her in from the car...how trustingly she had snuggled up against him. How vulnerable she had felt when he stripped off that appalling dress and then her tights, before washing her face clean of her make-up and tucking her up in his spare room. He had, in fact, treated her as matter-of-factly as though she had been one of his sisters, and now she was looking at him as though he was a potential rapist.

  It would have served her right if he had taken advantage of her, he decided grimly, looking at her; and, if she carried on behaving the way she had done last night, that was exactly what would happen to her.

  It didn’t take much intelligence to work out what had been going on. The silly little idiot obviously had some kind of crush on Jonathon Hendry.

  More fool her. Now there was a man who would have used the situation to his advantage without a thought for the consequences. He could see how terrified she was, and what she thought... He opened his mouth to reassure her, and then paused. Perhaps he ought to go on letting her think the worst. She looked so scared and shocked that, if he did, it might just be enough to shock her into reverting to what he suspected was her true character, and never behaving so foolishly again. It would in some ways be a cruel thing to do...but, if it stopped her from behaving with another man the way she had behaved with him last night, in the long run he would be doing her a favour.

  And so, instead of telling her the truth, he put down the mug, and reached across the bed, his hands on her shoulders, as he held her firmly and asked, ‘What’s wrong? You weren’t like this last night...’

  He actually felt the shudder that went through her, and saw the sickness in her eyes, but he hardened his heart against his compassion and reminded himself that this was for her own good.

  ‘I didn’t disappoint you, did I?’ he added, murmuring, ‘I know it was your first time, but you seemed enthusiastic enough—especially later...’

  Nicola couldn’t silence the anguished moan bubbling in her throat. This was awful, unbearable...far, far worse than anything she had imagined. She had no idea he would actually talk about what had happened as matter-of-factly as though it meant nothing. But then, of course, to him it did not mean anything... To him—

  She could feel the warmth of his breath against her ear, and she knew that if she turned her head—if she moved at all... She froze, locking every muscle in her body, willing him to let go of her and yet terrified of closing her eyes in case he moved, and—

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  His thumbs were stroking her skin—her bare skin, the delicate friction sending two conflicting messages to her senses... The first was one of shock and fear, the second... She shivered, a little unfamiliar with the shivery tremulous sensation caused by the friction of his touch, her eyes widening in sudden betraying bewilderment as beneath the protection of the duvet she suddenly felt the tightening of her nipples. A fierce tremor seemed to run through her body from where his thumb stroked her skin to the centre of her breast.

  Matt saw the ang
uish in her eyes and frowned. Perhaps he was taking things a little too far. Perhaps she had already learned her lesson; and then, beneath his fingertips, he felt the tiny rash of goosebumps lifting her skin. His body reacted to it before his brain, his senses aware before his intelligence, so that as she tensed and twisted frantically against him he stopped her attempt to escape with immediate masculine subjugation, sliding one hand up to her jaw, and holding her still while he turned his head and looked down at her mouth.

  He told himself later that he hadn’t intended to kiss her...that he wouldn’t have done so if she hadn’t suddenly panicked and let go of the duvet, which he hadn’t even realised she was holding, to dig her nails into his arm in an attempt to fight free of him.

  The pressure of her nails he barely registered; the sight of her full, soft breasts, her nipples flushed with arousal and erect, he did, and to such an extent that his free hand was cupping one of them and his mouth was on hers before he even realised what he was doing.

  If he hadn’t already guessed at her innocence, her reaction to him now must have proved it. She went still with shock in his hands, her mouth trembling beneath his, and for the first time in his life he realised how shockingly tempting such innocence could be.

  For the space of a heartbeat he was overwhelmed by a dangerous urge to continue what he had started, to kiss her until it wasn’t just her mouth that trembled, but her whole body. To caress her until the hard, flushed points of her breasts were pressing eagerly into his hands...were begging for the moist caress of his mouth. He felt his body grow taut with excitement and need, his muscles straining as he fought to control his sexual response to her, his mind torturing him with mental images of how she would feel, how she would look, how she would sound if he were to make love to her now...to show her that there was no need for her fear...to teach her that—

  She was still struggling to break free of him, and automatically he used his weight to pin her to the bed, fighting to control both her and his own desire, so that he could explain to her that she had nothing to fear, that he had only wanted to teach her a lesson... A lesson which had gone badly wrong, he acknowledged ruefully, as she bunched up her hand into a fist and thumped him in the solar plexus.

  Physically the blow didn’t do any damage at all but, as he recoiled to avoid it, his towel came loose and slid free of his body.

  He felt the shock run through her, and cursed under his breath as he saw the expression in her eyes. She was even more innocent than he’d imagined, and quite obviously had not had the benefit of growing up around brothers or male cousins, he reflected wryly. Any minute now she was probably going to start screaming ‘rape’, and all because he had wanted to show her how dangerous and ill-considered her behaviour the night before had been.

  What he hadn’t taken into account was his own reaction to her. Ridiculous that an innocent with the clean-scrubbed face of a little girl, who was quite definitely not his type at all, should have such an intense and immediate effect on him, when he prided himself on his self-control.

  But if he let her go now...

  Sighing to himself, he took advantage of her shock to reach for one of her hands, deliberately uncurling her fingers before lifting it and placing it on his body.

  Her fingers were icy-cold, their touch almost as much a shock to him physically as what he had done was to her mentally. She tried to snatch her hand away, shock burning hot flags of colour in her cheeks.

  ‘See what you’ve done to me,’ he told her softly. ‘Shall I cancel my flight to New York, so that we can...?’

  As he let go of her hand, she snatched it back, looking everywhere but at him, her voice thick and choked as she denied his suggestion.

  He really had no intention of cancelling his flight, and was hoping that the suggestion that they might have sex again would be enough to reinforce her shock and make her think once she got home that she had got off lightly.

  And then, when he saw her face, he knew he had to relent and tell her the truth. She looked so sick and shocked, sitting there clutching the bedclothes around her body, her eyes huge and dark with emotion, her body trembling.

  ‘Look,’ he began, stopping as he heard the phone ring. ‘Stay right there,’ he told her as he reached for his towel and secured it around his body.

  The phone was in his bedroom and, as he walked out of the room to answer it, Nicola could hardly believe her luck. Another few seconds...

  She shuddered from head to foot, reliving the shocking moment when his towel had slipped and she had seen— She swallowed sickly. And if that had not been bad enough, when he had taken her hand and actually placed it on his body...on that part of him...

  She could hear the muted sound of his voice in another room. Her clothes were on a chair by the window, and she realised suddenly that here was her chance to escape.

  She got out of the bed, frantically pulling on her clothes, her heart racing, her body tensing every time she heard him stop speaking. But then he would start again, and eventually she was dressed and on her way to the door.

  It took her several precious seconds to find the main door to what she realised was a flat and, when she did find it, it took her several more to negotiate the complicated locking system; but at last she was safely on the other side and in a small foyer off which several other doors opened. Ahead of her lay a lift and a flight of stairs. She opted for the stairs, hurrying down them, relieved to discover she was only one floor above ground level.

  The commissionaire in the foyer gave her a startled glance when she almost ran past his desk and through the main doors.

  Outside it was a clear bright morning. She was, she recognised, in a suburb of the city which she vaguely remembered having travelled through on several occasions with her father.

  Fortunately she had money in her handbag, and she could see a bus stop not far away. She could also see a bus approaching it, and, ignoring the angry protest of the motorist she ran in front of, she raced across the road, jumping on to the bus just as it was about to pull away.

  ‘Dangerous thing to do that, miss,’ the conductor told her disapprovingly as she paid her fare.

  She started to laugh then, a high-pitched, almost hysterical laugh that caused the conductor to frown and then shrug his shoulders. These teenagers...all of them on drugs and what have you... Who could make any sense of what any of them did?

  * * *

  IT TOOK Nicola three days to decide that she had had enough. She endured Jonathon’s taunts and goads about what had happened after she had disappeared with MH—as he referred to the man she only knew as Matt, and about whom she wished to know absolutely nothing more whatsoever—for as long as she could, and then finally, when he had accosted her in the corridor just once too often, demanding to know what had happened, and sneeringly asking her if she thought she was going to be able to keep a man like MH interested in her, she finally snapped.

  The oddest thing about the whole affair was that, from the moment she had seen Jonathon on the morning after the party, she had experienced such a sense of revulsion towards him that she couldn’t understand how she had ever even thought him mildly attractive, never mind wanted him enough to have behaved in such an appallingly stupid fashion.

  Just how appallingly and stupidly she had behaved was something she could not bear to think about at all. Every time she recalled waking up in his bed...every time she remembered how he had touched her...kissed her...how he had made her touch him...how he had intimated that during the night they had been lovers not once but several times, she felt physically sick...was physically sick—at least, on the first day.

  That had been another cause of guilt and anxiety. The rhythms of her body—normally so regular and orderly—quite obviously disrupted by the stress she was under, had even caused her to think for a few dreadful, agonising days that she might actually be pregnant.

  Once she knew she was not, she vowed that never, ever again would she behave in such a way...that never, ever again wou
ld she try to change herself, to pretend she she was something she wasn’t. And then sickeningly she realised that that was exactly what she was going to have to do, because she could not now go back to being the girl she had once been. She could not now have the same self-respect, the same belief and faith in herself. She was, she decided hollowly, a fallen woman and, as such, thoroughly deserving of any decent man’s contempt and disdain. After what she had done it was no wonder that Jonathon and his ilk should assume that she was ready and willing to indulge in casual, meaningless sex.

  If men treated her with disrespect and saw her as sexually available, then she had no one to blame but herself. She saw clearly now just what her impulsive behaviour had led her to. How long would it be before Jonathon would hear from Matt’s own lips confirmation of all that he had said to her? She gave a deep shudder. She felt so...so filled with self-loathing and disgust, so deeply ashamed of herself.

  City life wasn’t for her, she decided miserably. All she wanted to do now was to go home where she could feel safe, where there would be no Jonathon, no Matt...where she could put what had happened behind her...where she could start rebuilding her life in such a way as would ensure that never again would any man ever be able to claim as Matt had—and could—that she had had casual sex with him...where no man could insult her with the insinuations that Jonathon had been making these past few days.

  By the end of the week she had given in her notice, and long, long before Matt was back from New York she had left the city and was back at home.

  He made enquiries, of course. Despite the complexity of the business negotiations, he had been involved in in New York, he had still found time to worry about her and to wish she had not rushed out of the flat before he had had a chance to explain what had really happened.

  He pictured her worrying herself sick about the entire episode, trying frantically to remember what had actually happened. He remembered the look on her face when he had taken her hand and placed it on his body, and cursed himself for having done so.