‘Mine.’ She caught him by the hand and led him through to the salon. ‘There’s much more room to dance in mine,’ she added in a playful, teasing tone.
With her shoes off, she discovered, she reached barely to his broad, male shoulders, and she seemed almost to be floating in the sure, strong grip of his arms as they moved in slow time to the music. It was a dizzy, dreamlike feeling, more ethereal than real, as she laid her cheek against the wide expanse of chest, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder while the other balanced a half-full glass of bubbly.
Matthew breath was soft against her hair as he questioned, with a light smile in his voice, ‘How on earth can you drink and dance at the same time, I’d like to know?’
‘Easy.’ She giggled and took a mouthful, then held the glass up to his lips. ‘Go on, try for yourself,’ she urged. ‘Help me finish it.’
He drank, humouring her, then let his dark eyes roam her face as she drained the last few drops herself and sighed contentedly, letting her weight fall against him, loving the warm, safe feel of his arms.
Olivia was deliciously aware of the hand that had begun to caress her back and now was slowly moving upwards to massage the sensitive nape of her neck. She moaned slightly, instinctively pressing into the caress, and let her eyes close dreamily as long, strong, gentle fingers slid onwards on their sensuous journey, delicately smoothing her upswept hair.
The next instant, before she had realised what he was up to, he had removed the combs that held her topknot in place. With a soft, silky swish, her long, dark hair fell in a soft cloud around her ears. Then his fingers were trailing through the loose silken tresses, sending quicksilver shafts of breathless sensation licking like hot flames across her scalp.
‘Naughty!’ Half mesmerised by this heady sensation that was sweeping like a warm tide through her veins, Olivia leaned her head back a little from his chest and squinted up into hypnotic hazel eyes. ‘Now you’ve completely ruined my hairdo,’ she chided, feeling a stab of longing pierce right through her as she met the smouldering dark gaze. Suddenly, the state of her coiffure was the very last thing on her mind.
The burning eyes smiled down, unrepentant. ‘I already told you, I prefer it like this.’ Then his fingers lightly caught her chin and he was gazing down into her face, seeming to explore her very soul with those deeply penetrating, bright dark eyes.
For one long, endless moment, Olivia hung suspended—waiting, knowing what would happen next, and longing for it with every atom or her being. Her breath had frozen in her breast, her lips lightly parted in anticipation, and the invitation in her deep blue eyes shone as clear as neon in her flushed, excited face.
And it seemed she would expire from the agony of the moment, her poor heart clamouring so hard that its anguish seemed to fill the room, until, at last, the hand at her waist was crushing her body against his and his lips came down to conquer hers in a fierce and hungrily compelling kiss.
It was a kiss she would remember and relive many times in the weeks ahead, like a bush fire tearing through her senses, devouring, ripping her apart.
She could feel his desire, hot and strong, as his hard male body pressed against hers. But beyond that raw power burned a richly smouldering, carefully controlled sensuality. And it was to this deep, erotic, secret promise that she could feel her flesh responding, as it licked into life a longing in her that she had never known before.
As Matthew’s lips ground down on hers, his moist tongue exploring the inner sweetness of her mouth, Olivia felt her arms twine round his neck and was dimly aware of the empty champagne glass falling with a soft thud to the carpeted floor. Then her pulses quickened and she shivered, weak with wanting, as his hand came round to cup her breast. All at once her senses were in turmoil, a bubbling, boiling, sweet agony of desire as, with one expert hand, he circled and caressed, while the other swiftly began to undo the row of buttons at the back of her blouse.
‘Olivia, Olivia…’
As the slippery silk back of the blouse fell open and his fingers made contact with her naked flesh, Olivia felt a ripple of excitement burning like wildfire down her spine. Helplessly, she gasped and let out a little moan. Then he was peeling the thin silk from her shoulders, his lips bending to press a trail of molten hot kisses across her shivering, defenceless flesh.
One movement and the blouse had slithered forward, exposing her eager, uptilted breasts. Then, as it fell to the floor with a whisper of surrender, suddenly he was gathering her into his arms.
‘I think we should continue this next door,’ he was murmuring huskily against her hair. Then he was carrying her through to the bedroom, and she was clinging to him, her senses reeling, her eyes closed tight, her heart beating like a drum.
He laid her down against the sheets, pausing to kiss her on the lips—but a gentle, seductive, lingering kiss, without the forceful urgency of before. Then, as he shed his shirt and tie and lay alongside her on the huge four-poster bed, he was drawing her gently into his arms, his hands caressing, his lips exploring, softly whispering her name.
He paused to peel away his own trousers and the restraining silk skirt she still wore, then gathered her to him again, his body warm and eager and hard. Then he was leaning across her, the dark eyes gazing down into her face as he cupped her ripe, swollen breasts in his palms, his thumbs caressing the taut, hardened nipples, sending shock-waves of excitement racing to her loins.
With growing hunger she pressed against him, her tentative, unschooled fingers responding to the rising need in her as they caressed with a mounting sense of wonder the firm, hard contours of the deeply muscled chest, the powerful, dark-tanned shoulders, the sinuously rippling back.
She could feel his heart hammering against her own as he rained fiery kisses across her throat, down her collarbone, over her shoulders, then sent shafts of raw electricity ricocheting through her as, with excruciating thoroughness, he paused to draw into his mouth the aching peak of each breast in turn.
Involuntarily she felt her back arch and the breath caught in her throat in a hungry moan. This can’t be Happening, her brain was shouting. This has to be a dream.
But it was no dream. As he lowered himself on top of her, one hand in her damp and tousled hair, the other was moving downwards to ease the lacy briefs away.
‘Olivia, my lovely. Olivia, my wife…’
In that moment her entire body stiffened, sudden, cold panic stamping on the brakes. Was she mad? her brain was clamouring. Had she taken leave of her senses? She was on the brink of surrendering herself to a man for whom sex was no more than a commodity to be used as leverage in a business deal.
With the strength of harsh reason she struggled free from his embrace. ‘No! Let me go! Let me go this minute!’
His body was still pinning her to the bed. With a frown, he raised his head to look at her, but did not move away. ‘Olivia, my love,’ he started to soothe, ‘don’t be afraid. There’s nothing to be afraid of.’
She struggled more fiercely, fists pummelling his shoulders and chest, sheer, unbridled fear filling her mouth with venom. ‘You brute—let me go this minute! You bullying bastard! You filthy animal!’
Shock was written all over Matthew’s face as he moved away then, instantly freeing her. And before he could say a word she was wriggling away from him, staggering to the floor, then fleeing like a hunted animal across the room and through the door into the safety of the salon.
As she turned to slam the door behind her, she caught a brief glimpse of stunned dark eyes boring into her. Then, with fumbling fingers, she was snapping the lock shut.
‘Keep out, you animal! Leave me alone!’ she sobbed helplessly beneath her breath. All at once her trembling legs seemed to buckle under her, and she sank weeping to the floor.
Some dark voice in the caverns of her soul was telling her what she already knew: that her cruel and bitter accusations were nothing but self-deceiving lies. And not all the locked doors in the world could keep her safe from him any
more.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Hi, Sis! We’re back!’
Olivia glanced up from her magazine as Richard came bounding into the sitting-room, his fair hair windblown, his wide blue eyes alight with youthful energy and enthusiasm. She smiled at him and rose from her chair. ‘So how did the gliding lesson go?’
‘Great! Matthew says next time we go up I can take the controls for a while.’
‘Good for you!’ Her eyebrows lifted with sisterly pride. ‘I hope you’re being an attentive pupil.’
‘He’s the brightest pupil I’ve ever had.’ As Matthew came striding through the doorway, Olivia felt every muscle in her body go stiff. These days, just the sight of him was like a physical rebuke. He paused in the middle of the room, a tall, commanding figure in black cord trousers and matching black polo-neck sweater, and fixed her with piercing hazel eyes. ‘You should have come along,’ he told her. It was a beautiful day. You would have enjoyed yourself.’
Selfconsciously Olivia glanced away, knowing that the remark had been made solely for her brother’s benefit. Matthew was no more anxious to spend time in her company than she was to spend time in his. ‘Perhaps some other time,’ she responded quietly.
Then she had to keep a tight hold on her smile as Richard elaborated brightly, ‘You can come along and watch us this summer. Matthew says I can come and spend some of my summer vac here with you. I’ve even managed to twist his arm into agreeing to a skiing holiday next Christmas.’
Matthew reached out to tousle the boy’s hair affectionately, deliberately catching Olivia’s eye as he answered ambiguously, ‘I said “maybe”, remember? I didn’t make any promises. A lot of things could happen between now and Christmas.’
Like a divorce—or, worse still, an annulment-Olivia thought grimly to herself, fighting the pang of guilt that shot through her at this deception she and Matthew were perpetrating. As long as it had involved just the two of them, the situation had been almost tolerable. But involving her teenage brother in this insidious web of lies was something her conscience was having trouble coming to terms with.
Unfortunately, the situation had been foisted on her. Just a matter of days ago, completely out of the blue, Richard had phoned her at St Albans.
‘I was just wondering how my newly-married sister’s getting on,’ he’d begun. ‘How’s married life agreeing with you?’
It had been a lovely surprise to hear from him—their first communication, apart from the couple of unanswered letters she had sent him, since that somewhat taut exchange when she had called to tell him about her impending marriage. ‘Everything’s just fine with me,’ she’d lied. ‘Tell me about yourself. How are things with you?’
‘Great, just great. I’ve got a half-term holiday coming up this weekend…‘He had paused for a moment before continuing, and his tone had been contrite as he’d gone on to tell her, ‘I thought I might come and spend it with you—if you’ll agree to have me, that is. I’ve decided maybe I was a bit hasty. I ought at least to meet this new husband of yours before I make up my mind about him. Even if he is a Jordan,’ he’d added with a twist of humour. ‘What do you say, Sis? Do you forgive me? Will you let me spend a long weekend at St Albans?’
‘Of course! I’d be delighted to see you.’ The sentiment was true, but she’d had reservations, all the same. She had hated falling out with Richard, and she was delighted that he was keen to make it up. But, at the same time, she had been secretly hoping that it might be possible to see out the six months of this wretched marriage without her brother becoming involved. This unexpected move on his part had totally put her on the spot. ‘But don’t feel you have to come rushing down here at your half-term if you’ve got better things to do. There’s plenty of time for you to meet Matthew,’ she had hedged.
But he’d obviously made up his mind. ‘No, I want to come.’ Then he’d added, misinterpreting her hesitation, ‘Unless you don’t want to see me, of course.’
That was the last thing she had wanted him to think! ‘Idiot!’ she’d protested straight away. ‘Of course I want to see you, Richie! It’s just that I thought you might have something more exciting lined up with your friends. I’m very glad to hear you don’t.’ On a warm note, she had reassured him, ‘I’m going to get the spare room ready for you this very afternoon!’
As she had laid down the phone, she’d smiled wryly to herself. In this particular instance, getting the spare room ready would involve a little more than simply putting clean sheets on the bed. She would have to empty the cupboards and drawers and move out all her things.
For the past three weeks, since their return to England after that disastrous last night in Paris, Olivia had adopted the spare room as a kind of private sanctuary. Not only did she sleep there, with the door locked, at night, she also frequently retired to its peaceful seclusion with a book in the evenings with Matthew was at home. It was an arrangement, she suspected, that suited him as much as her.
She could tell he had not forgiven her for that brutal, insensitive verbal attack, and, in truth, she had not expected him to. For, despite her shame at what had passed the night, Olivia had never apologised.
The omission had been deliberate, the only way that she could see of coping with the maelstrom of conflicting emotions that were suddenly besieging her.
Predominant among these emotions was fear. Once, Olivia had believed that she was capable of total self-control in certain matters. It had come as a devastating shock to discover that she was not. That night in Paris, she had reacted to Matthew as any warm-blooded woman would when thrown together in a physical situation with a virile and wildly attractive man. Even now her flesh burned like a torch, remembering how it had felt to lie naked in his arms, and that deep, raw longing that had awakened in her then clawed again like a hunger inside her.
What a fool she had been to believe that it was Paris that had bewitched her. The spell she’d been under had not been the spell of a city—but something far more dangerous. The spell of a man.
The realisation had knocked her sideways, for at once she had seen the mortal danger she was in. If she were to become emotionally involved with Matthew, what would become of her when the six months were up? A brief liaison would have its pleasures—at least, she had no doubt about that! But, equally, she knew for certain that it was not in her psyche to cope with casual affairs. Wasn’t her emotional vulnerability the very reason for the armour she’d built up over the years? What madness had possessed her to shed it, even briefly, with a man as calculating and uncaring as Matthew Jordan?
Hence her very deliberate failure to offer an apology for the awful, untrue accusations she had made. Matthew had not behaved like an animal. On the contrary, he had revealed himself to be a sensitive and thoughtful lover. And before that belated attack of panic, she had been as eager for the picking as a ripe and juicy plum. Which was why she must never allow herself to run such a risk again. Though she burned with shame at the things she had said, it was safer to live with his anger and her guilt. Any attempt at a reconciliation could prove utterly fatal to her in the end.
As soon as they had arrived back at St Albans, Olivia had insisted on moving into the spare room—though it had to be said that Matthew’s resistance to the arrangement had been little more than token. He doubtless had no more desire than she for a repeat of that ugly, demeaning scene.
But, convenient as their current sleeping arrangements had proved to be, they were bound to look curious to the eyes of a visitor. Especially when that visitor was a bright and sharp-eyed boy of sixteen.
‘We can take the sofa-bed into my room,’ Matthew had suggested, grim-faced, when Olivia had tentatively raised the subject. ‘No one but ourselves need ever know that we’re not in fact sleeping in the same bed.’
Even sleeping in the same room sounded risky to Olivia, though she could think of no better solution herself. She nodded vaguely, avoiding his eyes.
But, as usual, Matthew read her mind. ‘Don’t worry
,’ he told her, his tone stiff with sarcasm, ‘for the duration of our cohabitation, I shall endeavour to keep my animal instincts under control.’
He succeeded manfully. The first couple of nights of Richard’s stay, Olivia lay wide-eyed and sleepless in the big double bed—which, like a gentleman, Matthew had surrendered to her—and listened to the gentle rhythms of his breathing as he slept peacefully on the sofa-bed. It seemed he had more will-power than she, she found herself thinking with wry resentment. For, no matter how hard she tried to blot him from her consciousness, her senses were all too tinglingly aware of the vibrant, half-naked male presence lying just a few short feet away from her.
Even when she finally slept, her dreams were heated and disturbed. When she woke up in the morning, half exhausted and bleary-eyed, the object of her distraction had already vanished, leaving the sofa-bed all neatly folded in one corner, almost as though he had never been there.
At least the days were easier.
In spite of Richard’s earlier reservations, and somewhat to Olivia’s surprise, Matthew and her younger brother seemed to hit it off right from the word go—even before Matthew enigmatically revealed that he was working on a plan that would restore Richard’s lost inheritance to him.
Did that mean that honour had finally won? Olivia asked herself on a prayer. Had he decided against the annulment? Had the transfer of Garland’s been taken off ‘hold’? When she questioned him, however, Matthew was evasive. ‘You’ll know when you need to know,’ was all he would tell her.
Before Richard’s arrival Olivia had worried that the tension in the house, already high, might rise to unbearable proportions with the addition of her brother. Richard was, after all, another potentially hostile Garland, and adolescent boys could be tiresome at times. Add to that the indisputable fact that Matthew’s nerves were running on an exceedingly short fuse these days and you had the kind of volatile situation that could explode at any minute in your face.
Bride for a Price Page 10
