by Helen Brooks
But she had to resist him. Candy tried to summon up the antagonistic spirit of earlier but it was hopeless. Then she had been alone in her bedroom—now she was with Quinn, the real flesh and blood man, and it made all the difference in the world.
'Here,' He handed her an elegant crystal glass filled with deep red wine, which was as far removed from the paper cups and warm lemonade Candy associated with picnics as chalk from cheese, and raised his own glass as he said, 'Another toast, from you this time?'
There were a hundred and one things that sprang to mind, but all of them would have destroyed the carefree mood of the moment, and so she dismissed terms like 'lifelong happiness' and 'our future together' and said instead, her mouth smiling, 'To more picnics like this,' and was rewarded by his appreciative chuckle.
The wine tasted of cherries and blackcurrants and hot summer days in the country and made her head spin. And the lunch…the lunch was heavenly. Smoked salmon and caviare and chicken coated in something wonderful, along with other delicacies that were out of this world—there wasn't a jam sandwich in sight. And just when Candy thought she couldn't eat another thing Quinn produced a bowl of succulent strawberries out of the magic basket, which he insisted had to be eaten with the bottle of champagne that followed them.
'That was wonderful.' Candy blushed as Quinn sent her a mockingly quizzical glance from wicked black eyes as she finished off more than her fair share of the strawberries. 'Well, it was. I can't help it if you tempt me,' she said with sleepy defiance, draining her glass of the strawberry-tasting, effervescent champagne. 'I'm a glutton; I admit it.'
'Relaxed?' Quinn's voice was deep and throaty and made her want to purr, like a small well-fed cat.
'Totally.' She lay back on the sun-warmed grass, the scent of flowers heady in her nostrils and the sunshine stroking her face with its languid heat.
'Happy?'
'Ummm.' She was too comfortable and too content to even open her eyes. The past had gone; the future didn't matter. All that was real was the sunshine, the feel and smell of the soft perfumed carpet beneath her, and Quinn.
She felt him draw her head on to his chest, but she still didn't open her eyes, and when he said, his voice very soft, 'Go to sleep, little glutton,' she was already drifting into the mellow folds of slumber that were swamping her with soothing languor.
She wasn't sure how long she slept, but it was the feel of something slightly strange—alien—beneath the smooth skin of her face that awoke her. And then she realised what it was. She froze, still curled into the warmth and smell of Quinn, with her head on his naked chest—his shirt was open to the waist—and opened her eyes slowly.
'You purse your lips when you're asleep, like a small child.'
She gazed up past the tight black curls on his thickly muscled torso but she couldn't think of a thing to say.
'What were you dreaming about just now?'
'I don't know.' Her voice was a breathless whisper.
'Was it me?' he asked huskily. And then, without waiting for an answer, he began to kiss her, drawing her up to lie along the length of him as he took her lips. Her soft, full breasts were pressed against his chest, her belly resting against his as his hands moved down the length of her, and his breathing was as ragged and sharp as her own.
'You're so beautiful, Candy, exquisite…' He moved in one lithe manoeuvre that brought him leaning over her, and she gasped as she felt his touch on the swell of her breasts. His open palms moulded their voluptuousness and then the dress was about her waist and he had released them from their lace cups, his thumbs rolling over her erect nipples and causing such incredible pleasure she was shaking. But it was nothing to what she did when his mouth followed his hands.
She didn't know how to contain herself and she didn't try; she moaned, she gasped, she shuddered in an ecstasy of sexual tension and pleasure, her head turning from side to side in utter abandonment She was swollen and tender and barely realising what she was doing as her fingers tangled in his hair, holding his head to her breasts as she arched against the passion that was consuming her.
'Candy…' Quinn whispered, lifting his head and kissing her again, his body tautening still more as she unmistakably kissed him back. 'Candy, I soon shan't be able to stop. You know what I'm saying?'
'I don't want you to stop.' She was past false pride.
'Are you sure?' He had raised himself slightly, shoulder muscles bunching under charcoal silk, and now she let her hands and mouth answer him as her fingers struggled to pull off his shirt with touching inexpertise, her mouth covering his chest in feverish little kisses.
His fingers moved to capture hers, but only to guide her as he helped her undress him, and then he undressed her, slowly, sensuously, careful to keep her desire high— he had seen the momentary apprehension in her face as she had seen the full power of his manhood and he didn't want her to be frightened of him. Not for a moment, a second, did he want that.
He continued to touch and taste her for a long time, carefully building sensation upon sensation until she was begging him, in small, helpless, guttural sounds, to possess her utterly. But even then his head dipped and nuzzled every part of her, her full, rounded breasts, her slender waist, flat belly and long, long legs. Her skin felt like pure silk and the perfume emanating from her skin was heady, and as his tongue and his hands pleasured her he had to remind himself, time after time, to control his own desire until she was open and ready for him. He mustn't rush her. It was her first time and she deserved all the experience he could bring, but his skin was burning and his body was hard and waiting was the hardest thing he had ever done.
When he did ease himself between her wet thighs she was ready for him, and not as tight as he had feared, and because of the hunger raging through him he was soon plummeting to his own summit even as he tried to do it gently, so as not to hurt her.
Candy had her legs locked round his body as she moved with him, aware even in her innocence of how unstintingly he had put her needs before his own, and now she went with him into a world of colour and light and brilliance as pain and ecstasy combined until she felt herself shatter into a million tiny pieces at the same time as he uttered one primitive, savage cry of exultation.
And then, as she continued to cling to him, he gathered her into him, his fingers stroking the small of her back soothingly as she drew in long, shuddering breaths against his body and felt the hard slam of his heart against his ribcage.
They lay locked together for a long time in the mellow sunshine and Candy was amazed—considering the intimacy they had shared and the things Quinn had done to her— that she felt no shyness. Instead there was a repleteness, a consuming satisfaction that outweighed any diffidence.
'Well, now, little wife.' She felt Quinn's fingers at her tousled ponytail and then her hair was swinging free to fall in thick waves about her bare shoulders. 'Now you know how much I want you,' he murmured thickly, stroking back her hair and moving her so that his eyes could roam her uplifted face. 'Did I hurt you?'
'No.' And he hadn't, not really. And then, because she couldn't imagine ever being closer to him than she was at this moment, she whispered, 'I didn't think you wanted me, not in that way anyway. You…you left me last night.'
'You didn't think I wanted you?' he said incredulously, drawing away a little and reclining on one elbow so that the full length of his magnificent body was stretched out beside her for her eyes to feast on. 'I've done nothing but want you since the first time I saw you, curled up in the waiting room chair like a beautiful bronze kitten.'
'But you didn't…I mean, you never tried to…' She was suddenly bashful and acutely aware of her nakedness as Quinn's eyes narrowed and he shook his head slowly.
'Ridiculous child,' he said softly. 'Candy, you had told me how you felt about that side of things, the pain you carried from your childhood. What did you think I was going to do? Make you feel worse? Would that have helped? Besides, physical intimacy was not necessarily part of the proposal,
not until you were ready at least.'
Proposal. This was still just an arrangement to him, not a thing of the heart. She shivered, suddenly quite cold, and immediately he reached out and drew her against the warmth of his body.
'I want you, Candy, don't ever doubt that,' he said huskily, his body hardening against hers in such a way she couldn't doubt what he was saying. 'I want you more than I have ever wanted any woman.'
She felt the surge of his desire against the soft roundness of her belly and suddenly she wasn't cold any more. He had never pretended to love her, not like Harper, Quinn had been totally honest from day one, and that was a vital ingredient for any marriage. But he had just revealed that she was important to him, and that was essential too. It would have to be enough for now. She had his name, she had his body, and if she could find the key to unlock the steel enclosure he had built round his heart then that would make all the heartache worthwhile.
She had to be patient. He was kissing her, his hands moving slowly over her satin-smooth skin as he stroked and petted her, teasing her sensitised skin with the alien feel of his own rough body.
He didn't know how she felt and she had to keep it from him, had to allow his feeling to develop naturally, without any pressure from herself.
His hands slid down her body and he lifted her buttocks up to meet the thrust of his manhood, moving softly inside her at first and then, as her face mirrored her enchantment at the pleasure he was inducing, faster and faster.
He could feel the small rhythmic undulations deep in the core of her, and he matched his movement to her gathering passion so that as their shared pleasure grew to an unbearable pitch they were together all the way. And then they were consumed by the fire and light again, floating away into another sweet world where sensation was the master and the past, the present and the future all combined in a shattering explosion that left no room for anything else.
They stayed far longer than planned at the farmhouse, and every moment was engraved in Candy's memory. Now Quinn shared the huge four-poster bed and she knew the bittersweet joy of sleeping beside him all night and waking to see his face on the pillow next to hers in the morning.
They made love often, and in the most unlikely places; Quinn was insatiable, and she matched him kiss for kiss and passion for passion.
They swam in Mart's beautiful swimming pool, which was housed in a big extension with its own changing rooms, showers, bar and bevy of loungers and easy chairs, besides an excellent gymnasium, sauna and steam room. Quinn opened the big glass doors at the end of the pool to the sunshine, and they enjoyed a barbecue each night on the patio beyond, when they feasted on steak and chicken dipped in herbs and spices and salad and baked potatoes.
They walked the grounds, hand in hand, finding new hidden idylls and little wooded dells in which to make love, and they laughed together and talked together, each of them confiding some of their own bitter truths and past pain. And yet through it all, even as Candy delayed their departure each time Quinn asked her if she wanted to leave and start the tour he had planned, she was aware he was still keeping part of himself from her. The important part. The part which Laura had damaged so badly when she had killed herself and their son.
He was gentle with her, incredibly tender and understanding in their lovemaking, wickedly amusing at times and gloriously sexy all the time, but he wasn't hers—not as she was his, if he did but know it.
And it made her desperate to stay on at the farmhouse, where it was just the two of them without anything or anyone from outside to interfere with their growing relationship.
She didn't want to be like Laura, she reassured herself time and time again when darts of panic assailed her. She didn't want to own or control every part of his life and say who he could see and what he could do. That wasn't it at all. She just wanted to love him and know that he loved her. It really was that simple.
On the morning of their sixth day at the farmhouse Candy awoke to see Quinn, clad in the short black silk robe that was his only concession to nightwear, and then only once he was out of bed, packing his clothes into the black leather suitcase he had brought with them. 'Time for us to go, sweetheart.'
Her heart leapt wildly at the 'sweetheart'—he had taken to using such endearments now and again, in a casual, easy fashion that told her she couldn't put any store by them but which, nevertheless, were painfully sweet to hear—and she sat up in bed, careless of her nakedness, and said plaintively 'Why? It's wonderful here, and I don't care about seeing the rest of the world!'
'Because, my beautiful little siren, Matt phoned first thing this morning to say that his wife's mother has been taken ill and they're arriving home tomorrow, and it might shock the kiddies to find a naked man and woman in their parents' bed.' He had strolled across to her as he'd spoken, moving with the fluid animal grace that made him twice as sensual as any man had a right to be, and now he sat on the edge of the bed at her side and ran one winsome finger round her right nipple. 'Such deliciously dark rude nipples,' he murmured appreciatively, before his mouth took hers, urgent and hungry.
It was another hour before the packing was resumed.
They left the farmhouse just after midday, and Candy felt quite bereft for a few moments as she glanced backwards until she couldn't see the beautiful thatched building any more, in spite of the fact that Quinn had promised he would set the ball rolling to purchase the estate.
They had had such a wonderful few days, locked away in their own private paradise where no one could contact them, and they had been completely alone. It would be different when they were living there permanently, of necessity the world would intrude and real life would rear its demanding head, but the last six days had been magical, enchanting.
She would never be so happy again. She pushed away the nasty little voice in her head that had caused a dark chill to run down her spine and turned round in her seat, her back straight and her eyes fixed ahead.
Whether she was happy or not was up to her, wasn't it? And, having come this far, she wasn't about to throw in the towel and give in to defeatist mode. All her life Xavier had instilled in her that she could do anything she wanted, be anything she desired, if she wanted it badly enough. It had been that mind-set which had got her through the first horrific weeks after the crash and enabled her to walk again, as well as empowering her to throw off the numbing effects of Harper's betrayal and the deep depression that had resulted from it.
Well, she wanted Quinn—-body, soul and spirit—and she had already got the first part, which was something. More than something! She glanced at the dark, handsome figure at the side of her, his jet-black hair gleaming in the sunshine and his impressive body relaxed as he expertly manoeuvred the powerful car, and wanted him so much she ached with it.
He had married her on the understanding that the arrangement would benefit them both—socially and career-wise. They would stand together, united in mutual respect and friendship against any outside forces, and through the bond of good-fellowship and fondness carve a satisfactory future. He expected her to be a career woman, not the mother of his children; an excellent hostess and companion, not a home-maker who met him at the door with his pipe and slippers and shared all the highs and lows of his day.
And she would never trick him into fatherhood like Laura had done. Whatever, she wouldn't do that.
'Penny for them?'
She breathed in deeply and flashed a carefree smile at him, 'Just wondering how soon we can decently stop for lunch,' she said lightly. 'That cooked breakfast seems like years ago.'
'You'll get fat,' he warned amusedly, with a swift glance at her slender shape, 'but I'll still—' He stopped abruptly, swerving slightly to avoid a large crow that was sitting in the middle of the road with the sort of expression that said, My territory, Buster! and then continued, 'I'll still do my duty as an obedient husband.'
'How very gracious of you!' For a moment—just a split second—she had thought he was going to say something else, but that wa
s ridiculous. Love didn't feature in Quinn's vocabulary, not any more.
The last two weeks of their honeymoon passed in a haze of different hotels and sights and sounds as Quinn showed Candy most of Wales and part of Yorkshire in a whirlwind tour that left her breathless.
It was different from the time at the farmhouse, but then she had known it would be, and she enjoyed seeing more of the country that she would be living in from now on. Nevertheless, those first lazy, sensual days were engraved on her memory and became more precious as time flew by, although the nights were just as steamy, and they often didn't get to sleep until dawn was colouring the night sky in soft pastel shades.
It was strange returning to the practice as Mrs Ellington and learning to live in the apartment above the surgery. She knew it wouldn't be for ever—Quinn had put in an offer for the farmhouse, and his friend had accepted it, but Matt's mother-in-law's illness was more serious than they had thought and for the moment all efforts to find a house in America had been put on hold.
As the country plunged into a record-breaking July, with the pavements hot enough to fry eggs on and streams and rivers drying up all over England, Candy had to acknowledge to herself that she was pinning all her hopes on moving to the farmhouse.
It wasn't that she was desperately unhappy with Quinn. Not all the time anyway. Sometimes she was deliriously happy, floating on cloud nine when there seemed to be some breakthrough in his iron resolve to keep the door in his emotions labelled 'love' tightly shut, but always it was followed by a definite retreat—one step forward and two back—and then she would have to act a part that was growing increasingly hard as her love for him grew.
The cats were completely settled into their new home, which was one weight off Candy's mind, and the pressures of living 'above the shop' didn't seem to worry them at all, although Candy knew the farmhouse and its surrounding grounds would be a feline—and canine—paradise.
