by Penny Jordan
He unfastened the clip deftly, and gave the stretch fabric a brief tug, so that she was forced to lift her body slightly to allow him to pull her top away. Once he had done so he simply returned to his original task of smoothing the oil over her skin, making no attempt to touch the exposed sides of her breasts.
‘Did you do any sunbathing in India?’
His question surprised her, but then her skin was already quite dark, it tanned easily and they had had a good spring and summer—working for her mother at home meant that she was able to arrange her time to take the maximum advantage of the good weather and perhaps he thought her tan a residue of the one she had got the previous year.
‘Not really, the pace was too hectic and the heat wasn’t the sunbathing type.’
‘You and Miles stayed up in the hills for a couple of months didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’ He seemed remarkably well informed about their trip. ‘That was after Miles had completed his research. He rented a bungalow there because he felt that the feel of the place helped with the book—more so than if he’d returned to England to write. It was a delightful place, part of an original hill station. I enjoyed it.’
His hand had reached the base of her spine and for some reason its pressure hardened. Her bikini bottom tied with fabric bows and his hand moved under one. ‘Do you want to take this off as well? I warn you I’m going to dispense with my shorts; the combination of wet denim encrusted with salt against my skin isn’t exactly pleasant.’ He was already unfastening the small bow, taking her silence for assent and once again Christy reminded herself that there was nothing sexual in his actions. He had already told her that he swam nude and in fact had she been alone on this paradise of a beach wouldn’t she quite naturally have sunbathed and swum nude herself?
As the first bow slackened she felt him reach over and unfasten the other. Her bottom wasn’t as brown as the rest of her. Although the vicarage gardens were private enough and large enough for her to be able to fasten her top before any unexpected visitor could find her, Harry’s habit of arriving to do the garden at any odd moment that took his fancy had meant that she had been slightly wary of stripping off altogether.
When Simon moved slightly away without attempting to remove the triangles of cotton that formed her briefs, she wasn’t sure whether disappointment or relief was uppermost. If she had needed confirmation that his suggestion was not sexually motivated she had surely just got it. He had his back to her when he stepped out of his shorts, his actions so matter of fact that they made her realise just how accustomed he was to the intimacy of male and female nudity. By the time he settled back on his towel, she had removed her bikini bottoms and was lying down on her stomach once more, her head turned slightly to one side and her eyes closed, but within what seemed like minutes she was already uncomfortably conscious of the prickle of heat on her exposed rear, and she knew that unless she wanted to burn she would have to put some oil on it.
‘What’s the matter?’
Simon must have sensed her irritation, because he reached out and removed her sunglasses, his eyes vividly gold as they stared into hers.
‘It’s nothing. I think I’ll put some more oil on. I don’t want to burn.’
He glanced down over her body and then grinned. ‘Umm, I see what you mean. I’ll do it for you,’ he offered, ‘save you having to struggle.’ She wanted to refuse, but if she did he might think it odd. He got up lazily and her eyes skimmed helplessly over his body. Unlike hers, his tan was even, his body sleekly male, smooth brown skin covering hard muscle and bone.
She turned away resting her forehead on her hands praying that he wouldn’t realise what a devastating effect he had on her. Her nipples ached, suddenly sensitive to the rough fabric of the towel, her stomach tense.
‘Umm…very sexy…’ She could hear the faint thread of laughter in his voice as he traced the demarcation line between her tan and the paler skin and her body quivered. A desire to turn over and invite the intimacy of his touch surged through her and she struggled to overcome it, inwardly deriding herself for her lack of self-control, ‘I take it you don’t make a habit of sunbathing in the nude?’
‘The garden at home’s scarcely the most private place in the world,’ Christy reminded him, trying to match his lazy humour. ‘And old Harry’s renowned for his earthy sense of humour—in addition to being the village gossip.’
‘Umm, I see what you mean. But Miles has a pool at that place of his in Surrey.’
Rather surprised that he should think she saw enough of Miles to make herself at home in his house, she simply said, ‘Yes…’ and then subsided into a tense silence as she felt the smooth stroke of his hand over her buttocks. It seemed an age before his hand moved to her thigh and when he eventually moved away completely she felt rather like a child who had successfully endured a trip to the dentist without disgracing herself. In those days she seemed to remember her mother had rewarded her with some little treat. If she were offered a treat now…She was glad Simon couldn’t see her face. This was completely ridiculous. Never in her life had she experienced such a fierce surge of desire, such a need to touch and caress another human being. Not even at eighteen had she experienced desire as intense as this. She was quite relieved when she opened her eyes to find that Simon was lying on his stomach with his face turned away from her, but then to her consternation she heard herself saying huskily. ‘Would you like me to return the favour? You could burn…’
She saw the ripple of tension grip his spine. He didn’t move and his voice was curiously harsh as he muttered curtly, ‘No…no…I’m fine.’
It was ridiculous to have to suppress the hurt sting of tears filming her eyes simply because he had made it plain he didn’t want her to touch him, but she was having to do so. He had said that he still desired her but his curt rejection conveyed a different message. Christy closed her eyes, willing her body to relax into sleep, unaware of the moment reality took over from pretence, just as she was unaware of the way Simon looked at her when he was at liberty to do so without being observed.
It was Simon shaking her shoulder that finally roused her. While she slept he had moved the umbrella so that her head lay in the shade, and as she blinked sleepily she heard him saying, ‘I had to wake you, if you lie there much longer you’ll fry, oil or no oil.’
Still half asleep she moved lazily, conscious of a pleasurable awareness of her own body, a freedom which was both unexpected and sensual. She turned on her side, stretching luxuriously as she smiled at him, her smile frozen by the look in his eyes.
‘Christy!’ Her name sounded thick and unfamiliar, his hand moving unsteadily from her shoulder to move in a caressing sweep from her breast to her thigh and then back again to enclose her breast. She had no thought of rejecting him; the delight engendered by his touch was too closely entwined with her own sun-and sleep-induced sensuality. Instead she stretched languidly beneath his caress, murmuring softly with pleasure. She had forgotten that he didn’t want her to touch him and reached out automatically, feathering her fingertips along the dark line of hairs arrowing down his body. She felt his stomach muscles clench beneath her touch and heard his muttered exclamation. He had been kneeling by her side while he tried to wake her, but now he lay down, smoothing both hands down over her back, shaping her to him. ‘Perhaps I should have let you put that oil on me after all,’ he murmured against her lips, teasing them with brief kisses, ‘but touching you had got me so damned aroused…’
So that was why he had been so curt with her? His admission came as a revelation. Somehow although he had admitted desiring her she had felt that he, unlike her, possessed some super-human power that made him able to control his desires in a way that she could not. ‘I promise you that when I brought you here I didn’t plan for this to happen.’ His mouth was still taking teasing bites from hers, tantalising and tormenting her, making her ache for the pleasure of his mouth against her own. Her arms were wrapped around him her hips arching wantonly against him
, her legs entrapped by his.
‘And now that it has?’
‘I’d be a fool not to take what the fates are offering. Six years ago the time wasn’t right for us, but now…Did you feel like this with Miles?’
The question stunned her. What on earth could she say? She supposed it was natural enough for a man to want to be praised for his prowess; for his ability to arouse and pleasure. She could tell him that she and Miles had never made love, but then he might guess the truth and if he did…A reckless tide of feeling surged through her and she smiled into his eyes, threading her fingers through his dark hair and said teasingly, ‘Who’s Miles? I can’t seem to remember.’
Her answer seemed to appease him, although his eyes were still faintly shadowed, almost as though he suffered some sort of pain. Her body, so closely entwined with his, ached for more than teasing kisses, and she reached up impulsively towards him, using her teeth to tug slowly on his bottom lip, running her tongue lightly over his top one, finding within herself an instinctive sensuality she had never known she possessed, her breasts hardening provocatively against the wall of his chest, her hands running lightly over his back, holding him to her, until the shadow disappeared and his mouth locked over hers, his hands twining in her hair to hold her still beneath the slow, deliberate ravishment of his kiss. For a long time they did nothing but that, kissing one another with deliberate appreciation, until the languid intimacy of their mouths stopped being sensually satisfying and instead became a mutually unendurable form of refined torment that their bodies registered and protested against in growing waves of urgency.
‘My God, you’re unbelievable.’ Simon lifted his mouth from hers to whisper the words thickly in her ear. ‘Beautiful, beautiful Christy.’ He lifted himself away from her slightly and ran his hand the length of her body, watching her with an intensity that burned dark gold in the tawny depths of his eyes. ‘Touch me, kiss me.’ His hands gripped her wrists, a hoarse sound of pleasure shuddering through him as she placed her hands palms down on his chest and then started to caress him with slow, languid movements, feeling the urgent thud of his heart, breathing in the warm, male musky scent of him as her lips caressed the taut column of his throat, her tongue teasing its rigid male outline. She felt him shudder, his hands gripping her hips, the aroused pressure of his body against her own intensely exciting. She was in the grip of an unfamiliar fever; its urgency so compelling that there was room for nothing else. Her body seemed to know instinctively how to move against Simon’s, teasing and inciting, his growled male protest at her torment feeding her excitement.
‘Want to play games do you?’ he muttered mock menacingly in her ear. His teeth enclosing the lobe in erotic stimulation, his hands cupped her breasts and he lifted himself away from her, studying the golden orbs of flesh with their darker crowns. As though she were a puppet manipulated by strings which he controlled, Christy found herself arching pleadingly under his scrutiny; and then gasping with pleasure as his thumbs brushed their aroused, thrusting peaks. Her breasts had always been what she considered to be slightly over-full, but Simon seemed to find no fault with them, murmuring softly encouraging words of praise as they responded with wanton pleasure to his caresses.
Need coiled and ached in the pit of her stomach, his name leaving her throat on a soft cry.
‘Ah no…not yet,’ he denied her rawly. ‘You were the one who wanted to play.’ His head came down, his tongue brushing circles of burning fire round her nipples. Her body arched and tensed welcoming the fierce heat of Simon’s touch as his hand stroked over her stomach. His tongue touched her nipple and she cried out achingly, her fingers curling feverishly into his hair as she arched against him, her thighs parting in a wave of shivering urgency that demanded more than the delicate exploration of his hand. Her sharp cry seemed to unleash a corresponding need in him and his mouth closed over her nipple, waves of sensation so acutely pleasurable that they could scarcely be borne radiating over her body as she succumbed to the sensual tug of his mouth and the slow experienced stroke of his fingers. When he suddenly stopped touching her Christy felt like death, confused and almost ill with rejection and frustration.
‘It’s the ‘phone,’ he told her tersely and sure enough Christy realising that the ringing sound she could hear was not in her head but coming from the top of the cliff.
‘Someone will appear in a moment if I don’t go and answer it…It’s the arrangement I have with Helen. No one rings me here unless it’s important. God…’ He turned his back on her while he pulled on his shorts. ‘What a time to ring.’
‘I’ll come back with you…I think I’ve had enough sun for one day.’ Now that he had stopped touching her, suddenly she was released from the powerful tug of desire that had controlled her. She felt faint and shaky with the enormity of what had so nearly happened. If they hadn’t been interrupted he would have made love to her completely and then what?
She sensed the question in his look and said shakily, ‘I think we both got rather carried away…’
‘And you’ve just realised that for you and I to become lovers isn’t a good idea.’ Simon broke in with savage contempt. ‘Oh yes I know exactly what’s going through your mind,’ he told her, ‘but you can’t deny that you wanted me.’ He frowned as the ‘phone continued to ring, and said curtly, ‘We’ll discuss this later,’ before loping off into the direction of the steps.
Christy followed him at a more leisurely pace, still thrown off balance by the intensity of her sexual response to him. She would have to be doubly on her guard from now on. Simon was a very sensual man; her’s was the only female companionship he was likely to have in the immediate future and it was only natural that that should increase his desire for her. Somehow she would have to find a way of keeping him at bay, and her own feelings under control.
And reluctant though she was to admit it, she sensed that the latter task would be the harder.
CHAPTER SIX
AT first it was hard, and Christy did not miss the angry gleam in Simon’s eyes when she endeavoured to make sure they were never left alone, but then the fates seemed to take pity on her, and after almost two days of increasing tension she was awakened one morning by Helen shaking her quickly, to tell her in her Caribbean mixture of French and English that Simon was waiting for her downstairs and that she was to pack enough clothes to cover her for a couple of days.
When she got downstairs, Simon had already had his breakfast, his manner so brisk and businesslike that it was impossible to imagine him as an importuning lover.
‘That ‘phone call the other day was the weather bureau. From what they said, and by my reckoning the next couple of days will be almost perfect for diving. We’ll leave just as soon as you’re ready. Our suits and equipment are already on board Stormsurf and Georges is standing by to drive us over to the harbour.’
Once she realised what was happening Christy was almost too excited to eat. Over the last couple of days she had spent a good deal of time talking to Pierre about Kit Masterson and the legend of his death, as much to keep out of Simon’s way as anything else, but all that she had learned from the old man had reinforced her earlier fascination and now she was almost as eager as Simon to get out to the reef.
It hadn’t taken her long to pack—shorts and shirts, clean underwear, a pair of jeans and two thick sweaters just in case it became cold, that was all she would need for their brief stay on board Stormsurf. Protective clothing and their diving gear was already on board, and her senses tingled with anticipation as she sat beside Simon in the narrow confines of the old Land-Rover.
His staff knew about his proposed dive, he had already told her, but they had been asked to keep it secret. ‘Tourists visit the island, although admittedly only in small numbers,’ he had explained, ‘I don’t want to find that Stormsurf is surrounded by half a dozen or more pleasure craft—for one thing the waters round there are just too dangerous for inexperienced sailors.’
Christy could quite understand his
point of view and it was with relief that she saw that the small harbour was empty apart from the elegant white shape of Stormsurf.
Although the harbour was privately owned and went with the house Simon had told her that the rights to it were shared by the other villa owners in the area, who often let their properties to holidaymakers during the busy season.
The constraint there had been between them during the last two days vanished completely as they worked efficiently together to get Stormsurf moving. It was still early enough in the morning for the sea to be almost perfectly calm, although Christy could see the odd breaker rolling beyond the lagoon.
‘It will take us about three hours to get out to our diving spot,’ Simon told Christy as he headed for the natural break in the coral. ‘I have checked over the diving gear, but you might do it again if you will. We can’t afford to take any chances.’
Christy did as he asked, wondering if he had made the request because he wanted her out of his way. He had made no reference to what had happened down on the beach, but when in those first tormented twenty-four hours afterwards, she had not allowed him to do, making sure she was too busy to have time to speak personally with him. But even if they did talk about it what could they say? She now knew that Simon desired her physically and that, if the circumstances promoted it, he would be likely to make love to her, but no matter how much the newly discovered sensual side of her nature might incline her to want him to there was still the hurdle of her virginity. She could see all manner of complications arising from Simon’s discovery of it; there would be guilt, possibly recriminations and an atmosphere between them that would destroy whatever pleasure there had been in their being lovers. Simon had accused her of trying to trap him into marriage once, and that accusation still stung. The diving equipment checked, she turned her attention to the supplies in the small galley, repressing a faintly self-mocking grimace as she dwelt on the injustice of discovering that the first man she met who could make her body ache for the possession of his, independently of whatever she thought in her mind, should also be the one man she would be wise not to get involved with.
