by Anne Mather
‘She says Berlitz has been making a nuisance of himself again, and I’m to provide a distraction,’ he continued doggedly. ‘I told her I was sure you wouldn’t agree with her, but she wouldn’t listen to me. So here I am.’ He lifted his head. ‘What do you want to do about it?’
Shelley frowned. ‘You mean—your mother asked you to meet me here?’
‘No.’ Ben’s jaw tightened. ‘She asked me to come out to the house this afternoon. Only I preferred to gauge your reaction in private.’
‘This is hardly private!’ Shelley gestured unsteadily about her. ‘Anyone can see us.’
‘And that bothers you?’
‘It should bother you!’
‘Why?’ The silvery eyes were slivers of ice. ‘To all intents and purposes, we met by accident. What are you afraid of?’ His eyes darkened. ‘I’m not Mike Berlitz!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, I won’t force myself upon you,’ retorted Ben grimly. ‘It seems like you told my mother a different story to the one you told me. But don’t worry. You told me how you felt about me, I’m not about to argue with that. Just tell me to go and I’ll go.’
‘Ben—’
‘Yes?’ He propped his hips against the body of the Land-Rover and folded his arms. ‘I know—my mother got it wrong. You don’t want to see me, either. I guessed as much.’
‘That’s not true.’ Shelley moved her head despairingly from side to side, but Ben was not convinced.
‘How was it you put it?—When we were making love, you felt more like my mother than my mistress!’
‘Ben!’ Shelley caught her breath. ‘I didn’t say that!’
‘That’s what it sounded like to me.’ Ben pushed himself away from the Land-Rover and shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Okay. So I’m wrong again. So what’s new?’
Shelley sighed. ‘Ben, please! I just don’t want to hurt you.’
‘Don’t you mean—hurt yourself?’ he enquired roughly, and without seeming able to prevent herself she grasped his arm.
The muscled strength of his forearm was taut beneath her fingers, the heat of his skin reaching through the shetland wool to warm her rain-chilled fingers. She knew she shouldn’t have touched him—that she had no right to touch him—but she held on to him anyway, looking up into his hard young face.
‘I’m trying to be sensible about this,’ she exclaimed fiercely, resisting the impulse to push the damp swathe of rain-darkened hair back from his forehead. ‘I’m trying to do the right thing. You’re not free, Ben. You’re engaged to be married to a girl of your own age and your own type. You just find me a—a novelty, that’s all. The archetypal older woman, who you found painfully easy to seduce!’
The bitterness she felt as she said these last words caused a grimace of self-derision to cross her face. She could imagine Mike’s contempt if he ever learned of her infatuation for a younger man. Once he had recovered from his anger, he would probably regard it as rough justice, the kind of retribution deserved by someone who contravened his wishes.
‘You—are crazy!’ retorted Ben unsteadily, gazing at her with eyes suddenly molten with emotion. ‘I told you once before—I wanted you when I was eighteen, only I never thought you’d look at me then. But, you came here, and as soon as I saw you again—for Christ’s sake, Shelley, I’m in love with you! And I don’t give a damn how old you are!’
Shelley’s breathing felt constricted. ‘Ben—you don’t know what you’re saying—’
‘Of course I know what I’m saying,’ he interrupted her harshly. ‘I’m saying I want you—and I need you—and that without you, life doesn’t seem to have much meaning.’
‘Oh, Ben!’ Shelley was trembling now, and uncaring of who might see them, Ben put one arm about her shoulders, sliding his fingers beneath her chin and tipping her face to his.
‘Let’s go to my house,’ he said, his thumb probing the delicate contours of her ear. ‘After all, it’s what my mother wanted: that we should spend some time together.’
But not like this, thought Shelley despairingly, his warm breath fanning her cheek. With an effort, she drew away from him. ‘I—I’ve got to get this prescription filled,’ she stammered, stepping past him into the doorway of the chemist’s, and with a careless shrug he followed her, into the lighted brilliance of the shop.
While the pharmacist measured out the number of capsules, he chatted away to Ben, who was evidently well known in Low Burton. As it was a country area, Shelley supposed most people had a pet of some sort, or were involved with animals through their work. On top of which, Ben’s personality was such that he would be popular in any community, and it was obvious he enjoyed the familiarity. But how popular would he be if he jilted his fiancée, particularly at a time when her father was so ill? Would these people forgive him if he abandoned Jennifer Chater and took his mother’s best friend as his wife?
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHELLEY entered Ben’s house with some misgivings. No matter what he said, it didn’t seem right that she should be there, and when he turned to shut the door behind them, she walked quickly along the narrow passage and into the living room.
With the rain pattering at the windows now, the house had acquired an air of intimacy it had not previously possessed, and it was impossible not to imagine how cosy it would be on a winter’s evening, with the curtains drawn and a log fire burning in the open hearth. She could even see herself curled up on the rug in front of the blaze, her shoulders pressed against Ben’s knees, his hand resting on her shoulder…
The elusive trend of her thoughts was seductive, and when Ben’s arms slid around her from behind, she yielded against him, almost with relief. But when his mouth sought the tempting curve of her nape while his hands probed the studded fastening of her leather jacket, she came abruptly to her senses.
‘We can’t do this, Ben,’ she protested huskily, pulling herself away from him. She shook her head. ‘I can’t hurt Marsha, and you can’t leave Jennifer.’
Ben’s face took on a weary expression. ‘I thought we’d dealt with that.’
Shelley sighed. ‘Just because I—just because we—might want one another, doesn’t mean we can just walk roughshod over everyone else’s feelings.’
‘What about our feelings?’ enquired Ben bitterly. ‘You do have feelings, I assume. Or was that little fiasco outside Hobson’s simply intended to avoid a scene?’
Shelley’s lips twisted. ‘You know it wasn’t.’
‘Do I?’
‘Yes. Oh—yes!’ With a gesture of defeat, Shelley abandoned the argument for the present, crossing the space she had created between them and sliding her arms around his neck. ‘I have feelings,’ she admitted unsteadily, pulling his mouth to hers, and with a groan of satisfaction, Ben submitted to her demands.
It was an unfamiliar delight to slide her fingers into the rain-slick vitality of his hair, and to stroke his neck where it disappeared inside the collar of his sweater. His flesh was so smooth, and yet so different from her own, the muscles that jerked beneath the skin evidence of the physical effect she had upon him. His lips parted to the eager caress of hers, welcoming her tongue into his mouth with disarming innocence. But when she would have withdrawn it again, the tenor of their embrace changed, and the initiator became the initiated as Ben made his own assault on her senses.
The leather jerkin fell heedlessly to the floor as his hands found the buttons of the green silk shirt beneath. For once, Shelley was not wearing a bra, discarding the item when she had anticipated the doctor would require to give her an examination, and Ben’s fingers trembled as they closed about her breasts.
Shelley would have closed her eyes against the look of possession in his eyes as he massaged the swollen peaks, but Ben would not let her. With his mouth taking on a very sensual curve, he held her gaze as his thumbs brought the honey-brown nipples to pulsating life. Then, her breath quickening helplessly, she watched as he lowered his head to suckle first at one breast, then at the
other, his tongue tugging wetly at each eager offering.
As he drew back, her eyes were drawn, almost against her will, to the revealing tautness of his pants, and he took both her hands and drew her insistently towards the low sofa.
‘Ought—oughtn’t we to go upstairs?’ she breathed huskily, as he tugged her down on to his lap and she felt the unmistakable maleness of his body, but Ben only shook his head.
‘I don’t want to go upstairs,’ he murmured, nuzzling the unfastened shirt from her shoulder, and Shelley felt incapable of denying him anything.
With a rapid movement, he pulled off his own sweater, and then lowered her on to the sofa beside him. Crushing her softness beneath the muscled hardness of his chest, he covered her yielding body with his, and then the hungry possession of his tongue was in her mouth. With his hands sliding down to probe her thigh, quivering beneath the thin cotton of her pants, it was incredibly difficult to remember this was Marsha’s son, and the difference in their ages seemed unworthy of consideration when he could so easily arouse her deepest emotions.
Abandoning her conscience, Shelley gave in to the demands he was making on her, and as he continued to drug her senses with long, soul-inflaming kisses, her hands began their own exploration. From the rippling muscles of his shoulders, she found the hollowing curve of his spine and then, baulked by the waistband of his pants, she transferred her attention to his chest. His nipples were button-hard beneath her fingertips, and the fine dark hair that moved with such sensual abrasion against her breasts tickled her palms. But when her hands moved lower, and found the swollen shaft of his manhood throbbing beneath the cloth, he shuddered violently and rolled to one side to unbuckle his belt.
‘Let me,’ said Shelley unsteadily, pushing his hands away and releasing the zip, and presently he was able to kick his pants aside.
Without a trace of prudishness, Ben straddled her now, loosening her pants and pressing them down over her hips. He followed their progress with his lips, allowing his tongue to stroke sensuously across the flatness of her stomach, and after making a cursory examination of her navel, he reached the quivering cluster of red-gold curls that marked her femininity.
‘Ben!’ she protested weakly, jerking beneath his probing fingers, and Ben made a ruefully amused sound as he rubbed his face against her, reluctant to leave her sweetness, and then the needs of his own body overwhelmed his failing restraint.
Parting her legs, he moved between them, and feeling the heat of him entering her, possessing her, filling her with the memory of how good it had been before, Shelley’s legs clutched him convulsively to her. She had spent too long refusing to acknowledge how much she wanted him, but now, with his hands beneath her hips, with his tongue plundering her mouth, and the pulsating length of him buried deep within her, she could give in to the needs and desires she had been stifling. Her nails raked his shoulders as he thrust and thrust against her, her little cries and moans reaching a crescendo as she arched herself towards him to meet his plunging rhythm.
It was like that other time, only better. The ordinary things of life—age, experience, identity—were all consumed by the raging fire of their passion, and when the precipice was reached they were not two beings, but one. For seconds in time they hung, suspended, drained of all emotion, yet aware of the incredible unity they had achieved. Then, Ben slumped across her, his sweat-moistened body relaxed in her arms…
She thought he was asleep, but he wasn’t, and when she tried to move, his lids lifted to allow him to survey her with lazily sated eyes. ‘Now tell me we don’t belong together,’ he taunted softly, his thumb probing the vulnerable curve of her mouth, and she parted her teeth deliberately and bit the teasing pad.
‘Ouch,’ he protested indignantly, pulling the injured digit away, and she wound her legs and arms around him in sensual abandon.
‘All right,’ she said, ignoring any lingering shred of conscience and meeting his gaze with unguarded eyes. ‘I admit it. We do need one another. And—and although I don’t want to hurt anyone, maybe we can work something out.’
‘I know it!’ said Ben fiercely, cradling her face between his palms and rubbing his lips sensuously over hers. ‘I’ll tell my mother today. It’s only fair—’
‘No!’
Shelley’s swift denial cut into his words, and Ben drew back to rest on his knees, regarding her with a sudden lack of comprehension. ‘No?’ he echoed slowly. ‘But, you just said—’
‘I said we needed one another,’ said Shelley quietly, his withdrawal enabling her to lever herself up on her elbows. ‘We do. I’m not denying it. But that’s not to say we should destroy the happiness of the people we love.’
A scowl took the place of Ben’s earlier jubilation. ‘For Christ’s sake, Shelley—’
‘Listen to me!’ Shelley managed to shift back from him, drawing up her legs to shield her body, needing the small protection to give her the strength to go on. ‘Ben, I know what I’m talking about, believe me. I know you want me. I know that when we’re—together—it’s really good. But it’s not enough—’
‘What do you mean, it’s not enough?’
‘I don’t love you, Ben. I like you. I really like you. And I’m attracted to you, I’m not denying that. But anything else—’
Ben’s jaw hardened. ‘So what are you saying?’
‘I’m saying—’ Shelley hesitated, choosing her words with care ‘—that we should enjoy what we have—’
‘Like this, you mean?’ Ben’s lips twisted. ‘A furtive little hole-in-the-corner affair, like you had with Mike Berlitz?’
Shelley’s face burned. ‘I did not have a—a hole-in-the-corner affair with Mike Berlitz!’
‘What would you call it then? You knew that he was married!’
‘I did not. At least—’ Shelley struggled to defend herself, ‘I believed he was getting a divorce.’
‘Oh, really.’
‘Yes, really!’ Shelley stared at him in horror. ‘Don’t you believe me?’
‘Berlitz seems to think you knew,’ retorted Ben savagely. ‘He believes that your ambition conveniently blinded you to the real facts of the affair. That you’d have done anything to claw your way to your present position!’
Shelley trembled. ‘How—how do you know that?’ She fought against the obvious explanation, but she had to ask: ‘Is that what your mother thinks?’
‘No!’ Ben’s response was too instinctive to be a lie.
‘Then—how—’
‘Sarah overheard a conversation you had with Berlitz,’ retorted Ben wearily, pushing himself up from the sofa and reaching for his pants.
‘Sarah!’
Shelley was stunned, and Ben made a rather rueful gesture. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ he said, picking up his sweater. ‘I was desperate for news of you—and she supplied it.’
‘When?’ Shelley gazed at him with eyes dark with the suspicion of his betrayal. ‘Did you ask her about me?’
‘No. No.’ Ben expelled his breath heavily. ‘For God’s sake, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t believe it.’
‘Until now,’ put in Shelley bitterly, dragging a cushion in front of her for protection, and stumbling off the sofa. ‘My God! Conflict does create strange bedfellows, doesn’t it?’
‘Sarah is not a bedfellow!’ grated Ben angrily. ‘I met her in town. What she told me was said in all innocence!’
‘Oh, come on, Ben!’
‘It’s true. She didn’t come right out and say you were an ambitious bitch with amoral leanings. That’s my interpretation!’
‘Is it?’ Shelley was shaking so much, she couldn’t even fasten the button at her waist, and with a groan of remorse, Ben thrust her hands aside and did it for her.
Then, unable to resist the urge to dispel the wounded pallor from her cheeks, he drew her protesting body towards him. ‘I don’t mean it,’ he said, in a shaken voice. ‘God knows, I don’t know what I’m saying! I love you. I love you. Don’t you know I’m only h
urting you because you’re tearing me to pieces?’
Shelley tried to fight him, but what he had said had shocked her to the core, and weakness was no shield to feelings too raw to be disguised. When he kissed her, she kissed him back, her hands clinging to the nape of his neck, and his fingers slid possessively into her hair, as her lips opened eagerly to his.
‘Okay,’ he said, at last, just as she was about to make her confession. ‘We’ll do it your way. I won’t tell my mother or Jennifer. But don’t imagine it will be easy, because it won’t.’
‘Ben—’
‘No. Don’t say anything else,’ he silenced her tautly. ‘I don’t think I can take any more right now. Get dressed, and I’ll take you back to where you left your car. You can tell my mother we met in town and that I—offered you a drink or something. That way you’ve covered yourself in case anyone saw us come in here together.’
‘Oh, Ben—’
‘Get dressed!’ he repeated flatly, striding towards the door. ‘I’ve got to phone Armitage. I shouldn’t be more than a couple of minutes.’
* * *
‘So you saw Dickon’s house,’ said Marsha with satisfaction, passing Shelley a dish of salad. ‘Did he show you around? Did you see the kitchen?’
‘I—saw a little of it, yes,’ murmured Shelley unhappily, helping herself to a slice of tomato. ‘I like the view at the back. The river makes it marvellously private.’
‘Yes, doesn’t it?’ Marsha smiled. ‘And although it’s not a new house, the previous owner made it over completely. It’s really modern, and ideal for a single person.’
Shelley moistened her lips. ‘I imagine a couple could manage there quite well,’ she ventured cautiously. ‘I doubt if—if Dickon will want the expense of a new house, immediately after the expense of a wedding.’
‘Oh—I think I might help out there,’ remarked Marsha confidently. ‘A new house might make an ideal wedding gift, and then Dickon could sell the old one and keep the money as a nest-egg for when the babies start to come along.’
