‘I really don’t want you driving me home,’ Lizzy persisted in the face of his silence.
‘No, you would have happily taken to the unlit roads in the depths of winter whilst over the limit. It’s the same reckless selfishness that made you take to the road in blizzard conditions on a motorbike.’
Lizzy’s nerves at having to sit alongside him in the close confines of a car, disappeared at this blatant insult, although a little voice in her head was telling her that he was absolutely right: there was no defence against his argument. So she pressed her lips together and stared fixedly ahead in silence, her pulses thrumming with tension as his silent Range Rover ate up the miles between Crossfeld and her parents’ house.
‘I take it you have a key to get in?’ Her moody silence had been a tonic for Louis. An expert at reading other people, he could only deduce that she was finding it difficult to deal with his presence. So difficult, in fact, that she had temporarily lost her will to argue with him. He liked the thought of that. He liked the fact that he was getting to her, because she was getting to him—big time.
‘Key?’
‘House key.’
‘Damn it. No; doesn’t matter. You can leave me here. I can still get in, because we always keep a key under a flower pot at the side of the house.’
Louis had no intention of doing any such thing. ‘Leave you here? I was brought up to always see a woman to the door.’
‘Fine. You can stay in the car and watch me walk to the door.’
‘You can take this as a compliment when I tell you that your sense of humour is growing on me.’ He followed her to the front door, waiting and watching with amusement as she fumbled under a flower pot and retrieved a little bag containing the house key.
‘Thank you for the lift, Louis.’ Lizzy forced herself to smile, although her mind was in slow rewind, remembering the feel of his mouth against hers and the way his hand had confidently found the soft swell of her breast. ‘There’s really no need to see me in.’
‘But what if there’s an intruder inside waiting for you?’ He pushed the door and held it open with his hand, allowing her just enough room to slide past him, and then stepping into the blessedly warm hallway.
The house bore evidence of robust family life. Shoes adorned the bottom of the wide staircase. The Oriental rug, like the solid wooden floor underneath it, was worn with use, but not unattractive for that. From where he was, he could glimpse the end of the long pine table in the kitchen and the old-fashioned tiles on the floor which were now back in fashion. This was the house that the family would find themselves losing, thanks to Adrian Sharp’s overspending and poor investments. Little wonder they were desperate to hang on to it by hook or by crook.
Lizzy left him standing in the hallway and headed towards the kitchen. More than anything else, she wanted a cup of coffee. She would have to offer him one. He didn’t look as though he was in any hurry to leave and she couldn’t see how she could push him out. He was bigger, taller and stronger than she was.
‘I can see why your parents are so keen on a match with Nicholas and his bank balance,’ Louis drawled, startling her, because she hadn’t heard him follow her into the kitchen. ‘I suspect the last thing they want is to lose the family home.’
‘Would you like a cup of coffee? I’m making one for myself, so it’s no bother.’ There was no way that she was going to be drawn into this familiar argument, although when she looked at him he was smiling at her with no sign of that cold hostility in his eyes. It was disconcerting. Somewhere between hall and kitchen, he had shed his coat and he looked rakishly, sinfully sexy. What would he look like under those expensive, tailored clothes? Lizzy squashed the thought and looked away hurriedly but her hand was shaking a little as she handed him the mug of coffee: black, no sugar. She had seen him drink coffee once, and already her brain had stored the insignificant detail of how he took it.
‘I saw you whispering with Freddy.’ Louis sat on one of the kitchen chairs and sipped his coffee. He hadn’t liked it. For the first time he admitted that he had been jealous, had had to restrain himself from marching over like a feudal master and breaking up the little confab.
‘We were chatting, yes. I happen to like him.’
‘Chatting about what?’
‘None of your business.’
‘If you’re thinking about getting involved with him, then I’m warning you not to bother. Freddy is only interested in women who have sufficient money to keep him in the style to which he thinks he’s entitled.’
‘How did I know you’d say that? You always see the worst in everyone!’
‘And, if he’s interested in one of your sisters, then I would pass the warning on if I were you. He might have fun with them for a while, but he’ll walk away without a backward glance the minute it suits him.’
‘Because they’re broke students without a family pile and an inheritance?’
Louis shrugged. Her cheeks were pink and she was leaning forward, glaring at him. His eyes drifted to her full mouth, currently compressed with anger.
‘He likes women with money and plenty of it.’
‘Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?’ Lizzy snapped and was gratified when his face darkened.
‘Where are you going with that?’
‘Where do you think?’ Lizzy muttered under her breath. She was aware that she might have pushed the boundaries a little too far this time but she wasn’t going to back down. Quite.
‘To use an old-fashioned term, Freddy is a cad.’
‘Funny, but that’s exactly what he said about you.’ She gave a little squeak of dismay as the words shot out of her mouth and hung tensely between them.
‘So that’s what your cosy tête à tête was all about,’ Louis murmured. ‘You were in a huddle talking about me. I didn’t think I was that fascinating a topic of conversation.’
‘You’re not.’
‘What did he have to say about me? I expect he spun you the story of the money he was due that never came his way because I’m the big, bad, greedy wolf?’
Lizzy had never been a gossip, yet here she was—mortified—because, not only had she gossiped madly about Louis, she had enjoyed it. What would he think of her? she wondered. Of course, it didn’t matter what he thought of her, but still.
‘I don’t normally talk about people behind their back,’ she said by way of grudging apology, and was surprised when his eyes lingered on her flushed face thoughtfully.
‘No, I don’t suppose you do.’
‘I. I was annoyed with you and Freddy was there.’
The jealousy that had gripped Louis was fading fast; this he could deal with.
‘And, yes, he did say something about being done out of money that was due to him.’
‘Interested in hearing the other side of the story? Or would that risk you having to see my point of view for a change?’ He caught her eye, held it and then watched in some fascination as she pensively chewed her lower lip.
‘I’ll interpret that silence as a yes,’ Louis said drily, draining the last of his coffee and standing up. ‘Freddy’s father was a very good, very loyal and very faithful family retainer.’ He held up one hand, as though she had said something. ‘And let’s not get sidetracked by the rights and wrongs of families who have retainers. I agree that it’s an outdated custom, but spare a thought for the fact that it also provides an extremely comfortable job for life. The families of retainers being looked after is also a handy perk for them.
‘Samuel always worried about his son. The older Freddy got, the wilder he became, and my father promised that whatever happened he would be financially looked after. I think he hoped that somewhere along the line between puberty and manhood Freddy would straighten himself out, but he never did. When my father died, he left a codicil in his will that Freddy be taken care of financially at such time that it became necessary, and that any money handed over would be at my discretion. When Samuel died three years later, it was my duty
to decide what to do.’
Louis raked restless fingers through his hair and shot her a dark, brooding look from under his lashes.
He had been prowling around the kitchen, absentmindedly taking in the bottle-green double-fronted aga and all the paraphernalia of a well-used kitchen. Now he paused to stand in front of her and Lizzy looked up at him, guiltily aware that she had been eager to hear one side of a story, and would have left it there because it suited her ends to clutch on to something that placed Louis squarely in a poor light. He was so tall that she had to lean back into her chair to look at him. His hands were in his pockets and he looked absolutely and completely at ease, although she could sense the angry tension radiating out of him in silent, invisible waves.
‘Freddy was right—there was no way I could give him a wad of money and then let him loose to get on with it. He was dabbling in recreational drugs at the time. I took the view that handing him over any money at all might encourage a habit. Instead, I stuck him in rehab and then offered him a job at one of my companies. Needless to say, he was never that thankful for the opportunity to earn an honest crust. Not when he had always expected to be given a lump sum to squander.’
Lizzy flushed and lowered her eyes. Now, instead of looking at the beautiful, hard angles of his face, she was confronted by his black, polished shoes and his trouser legs. The tailored cloth outlined his muscular thighs to perfection and was almost as disconcerting.
‘He goes to the office on an occasional basis,’ Louis continued. Lizzy thought that he was remarkably phlegmatic about the situation, all things considered. ‘I keep a check on him through my people there. I wasn’t surprised when he showed up at the restaurant in search of a handout.’
‘You weren’t?’
‘I knew he’d been spending way over his limit. I also knew where the money had gone.’
‘And you don’t mind?’
‘Of course I mind. But I have a duty of honour. Freddy’s expenditures are a necessary write-off as far as I’m concerned—within reason, naturally. And just so long as no money gets spent on drugs.’ He leaned over her, supporting himself on the arms of the wooden carver-chair. ‘But this all brings me back to Freddy and what he looks for in women. I don’t target women because they have money—Freddy does. Let him in, and he’ll break your heart.’
‘Break my heart?’ Lizzy laughed for the first time, a rich, full sound that went straight to Louis’s head like a goblet of the finest red wine drunk on an empty stomach. ‘No chance.’
‘Really? He has a high strike-rate with the opposite sex. That little-boy-in-need-of-care-and-attention look works wonders, I gather.’
‘Not with me,’ she said scornfully. When she glanced down, she could see his fine, dark hair curling over the dull silver of his watch strap where the sleeves of his shirt had ridden up.
‘No. You like them thoughtful and caring.’
‘That’s right.’ But her voice faltered, and with the instincts of a born predator Louis picked up on that infinitesimal hesitation with something that tasted of victory.
‘You don’t sound convinced,’ he offered, and Lizzy looked at him helplessly. ‘I agree,’ he murmured, pinning her with his amazing eyes and hypnotising her with the soft, velvety drawl of his voice. ‘Thoughtful and caring are traits that sound great on paper, but in practice? Well, not exactly scintillating, are they? Thoughtful, caring guys might cook a great meal and offer to do the vacuuming, but do they really set the bed ablaze?’
‘They, er, I don’t know where you’re going with this.’
‘Where would you like me to go with it?’
A steady drum beat began in her head. She was straining up to him with every fibre of her being. Her body was obeying its own rules now, so that when she found herself reaching up and stroking the side of his face with her fingers it felt like a disembodied gesture. Someone else was doing that, just as it was someone else’s hand that was being caught by his and turned over so that he could press his mouth against the soft palm.
‘Like that?’ Louis kept his mouth against her hand so that she felt the warmth of his breath when he spoke, but he was looking at her with a crooked smile that made her shiver.
‘You should go …’
‘Where would you like me to go?’
The tantalising, wicked suggestion hung in the air between them and suddenly Lizzy felt reckless. While Rose had been busy being traditional and looking pretty, Vivian had been busy saving the world, and Maisie and Leigh had been busy just being Maisie and Leigh, she had been busy pretending that she was the free thinker in the family—the unique one who didn’t give a damn about looks or about what other people thought of her. She could ride her motorbike, work in an innercity school in London, wear whatever she wanted to wear and she certainly would never waste her time trying to be sexy for the sake of a guy. Especially not for the sake of a guy who was as far out of reach for someone like her as the man on the moon.
But there was no denying Louis did something to her. He made her keenly, stupidly aware of herself as a woman, and when he had kissed her he had left her wanting much more. And more than that; he was no cardboard cut-out she could write off with a toss of her head. He was clever, sharp and witty and, judging from what he had said about Freddy, scrupulously fair. She wasn’t attracted to him because of the way he looked. She was attracted to the whole package—and it scared the life out of her.
So, in answer to his question, the appropriate words—out of the house, of course, and as far away from me as you can possibly get—were not the ones that sprang to mind.
‘You’re going to have to tell me, you know, Lizzy,’ Louis said conversationally. ‘Because I don’t make it a habit to force myself on anyone.’
‘You shouldn’t have kissed me.’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t have enjoyed it so much.’
Lizzy stood up on wobbly legs and walked towards the kitchen door, then she threw him a look over her shoulder. Louis had never in his entire life seen anything so sexy. Her long, dark hair tumbled in vibrant disarray over one shoulder. She had kicked off her shoes in the hallway, and there was something mind-blowingly erotic and yet weirdly innocent about the suggestive dress twinned with her bare, stockinged feet.
Her bedroom was upstairs at the far end of the house. As with what he had seen downstairs, up here bore evidence of young women: an odd, high-heeled shoe lying in the corridor, and through the open doors he passed he could see two dressing-tables that could barely be seen underneath the riot of make-up.
But Lizzy’s room, when they got there and she switched on the little lamp on the chest of drawers, was surprisingly tidy. He felt himself smile at the motorcycle helmet on the chair by the window.
Lizzy, looking at him as he cast his eyes over her room, felt exposed and vulnerable, and for one frantic moment she wondered what on earth she was doing here, with him, in her bedroom. At least, she knew what she was doing; she just briefly wondered why.
With a sigh of desperate longing, she reached behind her to unzip her dress, but she didn’t get as far as pulling the zipper halfway down before he was standing in front of her, making her tremble with the intensity of his gaze.
‘No way.’
‘But I thought …’ Lizzy began.
‘I mean, no way are you going to undress yourself. That’s a pleasure that’s reserved for me.’ He liked the way she quivered as he very slowly unzipped the dress; there was no coy giggling or attempt to smoulder as he pulled it down. She just stepped out of it and stood there in a simple cotton bra, some matching pants and her sensible tights. He had told her that he was going to undress her and she was taking him at his word, her stillness a turn-on beyond belief.
Louis wondered how long he had been thinking of doing this. Certainly the second he had kissed her in that conservatory, he had known that he had started something that would have to be finished. But playing on the edges of his mind was the suspicion that he had been thinking of her for a while before
that.
He unclasped her bra, and this time she gave a soft gasp as her breasts were exposed to his admiring eyes. It was an effort to control himself as he looked at the full swell and the rosy, pouting nipples.
‘Now you’re not to move a muscle,’ he whispered to her. ‘I want you to just stand and enjoy …’
Lizzy nodded, because actually she didn’t think that she could articulate anything coherent. Her tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of her mouth and, Lord, it felt downright decadent to be standing like a statue with her bra off and her breasts aching to be touched. She knew that he was going to get to that, and the anticipation coursed through her bloodstream like a powerful drug.
She looked down as he knelt like a supplicant in front of her and slowly eased off the tights, which she stepped out of. Then, when her underwear followed suit, she had to fight to control her breathing. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and gasped out loud when she felt his tongue slip into her moistness, gently and slickly darting against the throbbing bud of her femininity; teasing her until she could no longer maintain her statue pose, but instead had to clasp her hands into his dark hair and open her legs to accommodate his questing mouth.
It felt so good that she wanted to splinter into a thousand pieces. It should have been an invasion of her body. This was a private part of her that no one had ever touched before—certainly not in the way he was now touching her—but it didn’t feel like an invasion, it felt shockingly right, and she caved in to the pleasure of having him taste her.
When she felt as though she could no longer resist being tipped over the edge, Louis stood up. His body was so close to hers that she could feel the hardness of his erection pressing against her through his trousers.
While he ravaged her mouth with his, she fumbled and finally succeeded in undoing the zip of his trousers. Then it was her turn to take control as she took his erection in her hand, and started doing things to him that made his big body shudder and drove him to plunder her mouth with even more hunger.
In Want of a Wife? Page 10
