Innocent Virgin, Wild Surrender

by Anne Mather

  ‘You’re tight,’ he said, but the way he said it she knew it wasn’t a criticism. Then he cupped his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her to meet his urgent thrust.

  He stifled the cry she uttered with his mouth, but he couldn’t ignore the sudden obstruction that met his invasion. Yet he couldn’t draw back. It was much too late for that. All he could do was bury himself inside her and then lift his head to stare down at her. The tears that had filled her eyes were a silent admission of what he’d done.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he demanded.

  Rachel’s tongue circled her lips. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Of course it matters,’ he said. ‘God, Rachel, you were a virgin. You should have told me.’

  ‘I thought you wanted me,’ she whispered.

  ‘I did want you,’ he retorted. ‘God help me, I want you still. But it’s wrong.’

  ‘Is it wrong if I want you, too?’ she protested. ‘Please, Matt.’ She felt his body stirring inside her and discovered she wanted more, needed more. ‘Don’t stop now.’

  Matt gave a low groan that was half anguished, half humorous. ‘I don’t think I can stop,’ he admitted harshly. ‘But you’ve got to tell me if I hurt you again.’

  Rachel nodded, slightly apprehensive again now, but she had no reason to be. Matt was so gentle at first, so controlled, that she felt her body relaxing until she felt his length filling her completely.

  Then, as his own needs began to take over, her emotions quickened. He drew back, almost to the point of total withdrawal, before surging forward again. And as he did so her response became more demanding, and the feelings she’d had when Matt had seduced her with his tongue came back stronger than before.

  There was no pain now. Her body was slick with moisture, and Matt’s movements created a wonderful friction that made what she’d felt before seem tame. This was real, this was urgent, this was making every nerve in her body react to his need. And the feelings just kept on building, until she felt as if all her senses had reached overload.

  But then something magical happened. It was as if she’d been climbing a mountain and now she’d reached its highest pinnacle. With arms spread wide, she floated out over the precipice, her cry of fulfilment both mindless and sapped with pleasure…

  Chapter Twelve

  MATT opened his eyes to find Rachel tiptoeing across the bedroom.

  He must have fallen asleep, he realised, and with good reason. As well as making love a second time, which had been just as devastating as the first, they’d opened the champagne. He’d drunk several glasses of the intoxicating wine before exhaustion had obviously tugged him into oblivion.

  But they had shared the most sensational sex he’d ever known. Somehow it had been more than just sex, he mused. It had been the closest thing to a spiritual experience he’d ever known. He’d never felt like this before. Never felt that instantaneous recognition of something stronger than himself.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded now, propping himself up on his elbows. It was still dark outside, but there was a faint glow of sunrise on the horizon. The lamp beside the bed was still burning, however, and by its light he could see that Rachel had already found her panties and put them on.

  ‘It’s nearly morning,’ Rachel whispered, and he noticed she had her arms crossed over her bosom.

  He felt slightly irritated. Dammit, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her breasts before. Seen them and kissed them and suckled from them, he remembered, his body stirring in spite of himself. God, he still wanted her. He had the uneasy feeling he was never going to have enough of her.

  ‘It’s still early,’ he said, trying to keep his tone even. When what he really wanted to do was bound out of bed and carry her back into his lair. ‘Come back to bed.’

  ‘I don’t want to be here when—when whoever occupies that office out there turns up for work,’ Rachel declared, ignoring his suggestion. ‘I’m sorry if I disturbed you. I didn’t intend to.’

  ‘So—what?’ Matt stared at her, his mouth slightly belligerent. ‘You were going to sneak out of here and hope I didn’t hear you go?’

  ‘It’s not sneaking,’ Rachel protested.

  ‘What would you call it, then?’ Matt scowled. ‘Don’t tell me you’re regretting what happened last night?’

  ‘Heavens, no.’ Her response was so spontaneous he couldn’t help but believe her. ‘It’s just—well—I can see you later, I suppose. After—after I’ve had a shower and dressed in some different clothes.’

  ‘You could have a shower here.’ Matt gestured towards the adjoining bathroom.

  ‘No, thank you.’ Rachel turned towards the door. ‘I’ll just go and find the rest of my things.’

  ‘Let me,’ said Matt, thrusting back the covers and getting out of bed. He wanted her to see his nakedness, to show he wasn’t ashamed of himself, or her.

  Rachel caught her breath at the sight of him. But at least it made her forget about covering herself as she opened the bedroom door.

  Then he was behind her, drawing her back against his already aroused body. His shaft pulsed against her bottom, and she sucked in a little breath as his hands slid round to cover her breasts.

  ‘Let me,’ he said, bending his head to nibble on her shoulder. ‘Don’t go,’ he added huskily. ‘I want to make love with you again.’

  Another indrawn breath proved she wasn’t immune to his caresses. He felt her press herself against him almost involuntarily, and the feel of her soft bottom cradling his erection brought him close to losing control.

  But, ‘I’d better go,’ she insisted, despite all reactions to the contrary. ‘I mean it, Matt. I promise I’ll see you later. I just need a little time to—to freshen up.’

  He had to let her go. He had to watch as she picked up her bra and stuffed it into her handbag. Then she pulled on the wraparound gown she’d been wearing and hurriedly tied the cords. Without her bra, the dress was undeniably provocative, and with a muffled exclamation Matt said, ‘Wait!’

  This time she did wait, probably because she didn’t want to spark his anger. There’d been sufficient irritation in his voice for her to realise he meant what he said. In a matter of minutes he’d hauled on his pants and thrown his shirt over his shoulders. ‘I’ll take you back to your room,’ he said. ‘We don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.’

  He thought she wanted to argue, but perhaps she remembered Mark Douglas and changed her mind. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and, looking at her, he wondered if she really didn’t regret what had happened.

  She seemed so fragile, so remote; so much the innocent. He couldn’t help but blame himself for taking advantage of her.

  Rachel spent some time in the shower. It was good to feel the water sluicing all the perspiration from her skin. She felt tired—and a little sore—but otherwise wonderfully happy. It had been the most amazing night of her life and she couldn’t wait to see Matt again.

  She hadn’t wanted to leave him that morning. She knew he had been concerned about her, and it would have been so easy to abandon any worries about what other people might think and crawl back into bed.

  Into Matt’s bed, she reminded herself with a little shiver of excitement. Would he expect to sleep with her tonight? She really hoped so.

  But then she remembered her mother.

  She still had no doubt that Sara Claiborne had come to Jaracoba looking for Matt. He’d virtually admitted as much. But he’d also denied that he was having an affair with her.

  So what did that mean? Had they had an affair in the past? Had her mother come here hoping to resurrect their relationship?

  It was a situation Rachel didn’t even want to consider, but she had to. Her father was in England, waiting for her to get back to him with some good news. But what could she tell him? That her mother had changed? That she was seriously thinking of staying on the island? That, whatever Matt said, Sara’s association with him was anything but over?

  She examined herself
in the mirror when she came out of the shower cubicle. She didn’t think she’d changed, outwardly at least. But she knew she was different inside. It wasn’t so much a physical thing, although she knew that had changed too. But psychologically she was a different person.

  There was another bite mark on her shoulder and she ran her fingers over it. And felt a tingling sensation right down to her toes. Her mouth was slightly swollen, but she wasn’t really surprised. Matt’s kisses had been full of raw passion.

  However crazy she was, she couldn’t wait to see him again. If she’d known the extension number of his apartment she might have called him. So it was probably just as well that she didn’t. They had to talk again before anything more significant happened between them.

  Although what could be more significant than last night’s lovemaking?

  Shaking her head, she grabbed a towel from the rack and quickly dried herself. Her hair was still damp when she fastened it back with a scrunchie, but she was too impatient to spend much time on it. Besides, her hands weren’t quite steady, and she knew that whatever she did it would still persist in curling about her temples and her nape.

  She dressed in lime-green shorts and a scoop-necked tee shirt which successfully hid the bite on her shoulder. She could do nothing about the mark on her neck, but the heat in her skin had faded and her incipient tan made it less conspicuous.

  She used her mascara brush and an amber-coloured lip-gloss, slipped canvas flats onto her feet, and, after collecting her bag, left her room.

  Her eyes were instinctively drawn to the double doors that led to both the office and Matt’s apartment. But there was no sign of the hotel’s owner, and, despite a sense of disappointment, Rachel descended the stairs.

  Deciding that if Matt did come looking for her he would expect her to be on the patio, having breakfast, she crossed the foyer to the restaurant. A waiter seated her overlooking the pool, and she ordered coffee and French toast. For practically the first time since she’d come St Antoine she was hungry, and her lips twitched in rueful amusement. That was one outcome of losing her virginity that she hadn’t anticipated.

  She was just finishing her third cup of coffee when a flurry of movement caught her eye. She’d enjoyed the French toast, served with maple syrup, and despite a lingering sense of apprehension she was feeling pleasantly replete.

  But the movement, accompanied by an impatient exchange with the waiter, drew her attention to the woman who was crossing the patio towards her.

  Her mother.

  Rachel caught her breath. She couldn’t help it. She so didn’t want to have a conversation with her mother. Not until she’d spoken to Matt again, anyway.

  But that wasn’t to be, and, putting down her cup, she got automatically to her feet. ‘Hi, Mum.’

  ‘I’ve told you not to call me Mum!’ exclaimed Sara Claiborne angrily. Then, turning back to the waiter who had followed her, she added, ‘Just fetch another pot of coffee. I don’t want anything to eat.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  The waiter looked to Rachel, as if seeking her approval, and she nodded. What else could she do? This was her mother, after all. However outrageous she looked, still in the tight-fitting catsuit she’d worn the night before. Had she been to bed? Rachel didn’t think so. And she suddenly wished she’d never had such a rich breakfast.

  Sara pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her daughter. ‘You’re still here, then,’ she said flatly. ‘I thought I asked you to go back to London.’

  Rachel sighed. ‘You knew I was still here, Mum. You saw me at Matt’s house last night.’

  ‘I saw you at his father’s house last night,’ her mother corrected her. ‘Matt doesn’t live with his father. He has his own house. Where do you think I’ve been staying?’

  ‘I see.’

  It was a low blow, and Rachel did her best to hide her reaction.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Sara knew her too well to be deceived by Rachel’s attempt at indifference. ‘It’s a beautiful house. It overlooks the ocean. I’m very happy there.’

  Rachel was sure she was. She just wished Matt had told her where her mother was staying. But then until last night they hadn’t spoken about her mother at all.

  ‘What do you want, Mum,’ she asked now. ‘Why have you come here?’

  Sara gave her an incredulous look. ‘What do I want?’ she echoed. ‘You know what I want, Rachel. I want you to go back to England and tell your father I’ll be in touch with him when I’m ready, and not a moment before.’

  Rachel gasped. ‘Why don’t you tell him yourself? There are such things as phones, you know. Even in paradise.’

  Her mother’s face contorted. ‘Don’t try to be clever with me, Rachel. I know what you’re doing. You and your father. You’re trying to turn Matt and his family against me.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ Rachel was appalled.

  ‘It is true.’ Sara spoke forcefully. ‘And it’s not going to work. They want me here. Matt wants me here. And I want to stay.’

  Rachel couldn’t believe her mother could be so obtuse. ‘That wasn’t the impression I got,’ she murmured in a low voice. ‘Please, Mum—’

  ‘Don’t call me that.’

  ‘All right—Sara, then.’ Rachel felt as if she was talking to a stranger. ‘You know Dad loves you. I love you. Why don’t you go home?’

  Sara scowled. ‘You see!’ she exclaimed triumphantly. ‘You do want to come between us.’

  ‘Mum—Sara—Mr Brody didn’t seem very pleased to see you last night. Surely—?’

  ‘Jacob’s just jealous, that’s all.’

  ‘Jealous!’ Rachel wondered how much worse it could get. ‘Mr Brody’s not interested in you.’

  ‘Did I say he was?’

  Rachel was confused. ‘You said he was jealous.’

  ‘Yes. And he is. Jealous of my relationship with our son.’

  Rachel felt sick now. ‘Your—your son?’ she whispered faintly.

  ‘That’s right.’ Sara regarded her with suddenly critical eyes. ‘Are you feeling all right? You’ve gone very pale suddenly.’

  ‘I’m—I’m all right.’

  Rachel didn’t know how she got the words past the bile rising in her throat. But somehow she must not break down in front of this woman who had suddenly devastated her world.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure…’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  Rachel nodded, and her mother made an impatient little gesture as the waiter arrived with the coffee she’d ordered.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said shortly. And then, squaring her shoulders, she went on, ‘You don’t understand any of this, do you? I don’t know what your father told you, but it obviously wasn’t the truth.’

  Rachel stared at her with disbelieving eyes. ‘Does—does Dad know the truth?’

  ‘About Matt? Of course he does.’ Sara was dismissive. ‘He’s known for the last thirty-two years.’

  Rachel couldn’t speak. Nausea was rising in her throat now, and she was very much afraid she was going to throw up all over the breakfast table.

  ‘I—excuse me,’ she said abruptly, and, pushing up from the table, fled across the patio to the lobby and the public restrooms she’d seen there. She made it to the nearest cubicle with only seconds to spare. Her stomach heaved and she was violently sick.

  She was still hanging over the bowl when she heard someone else come into the restroom. Praying it wasn’t her mother, she remained silent, but Sara was no fool.

  ‘Rachel?’ she called. ‘Is that you? What’s wrong? What did your father tell you, for heaven’s sake? Wait until I see him. I’ll tell him exactly what I think of him, sending you out here to do his dirty work for him.’

  Rachel sagged. She wanted to say her father hadn’t sent her here for any underhand purpose, but that was no longer true. He’d known who Matt was when he’d sent her to find her mother. In God’s name, why hadn’t he told her the truth?

  That Matt wasn’t her mother’s lover. H
e was Rachel’s brother!

  Rachel groaned and pulled a strip of toilet paper from the roll. Then she blew her nose. She was very near to tears, but she knew she had to behave as if it was her father who had upset her and no one else.

  Flushing the toilet again, she unlocked the door and opened it. She was sure she must look like death warmed over, and she could only hope that her mother would put her nausea down to physical rather than emotional causes.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ As Rachel went to wash her hands at the basin her mother regarded her suspiciously. ‘What did you have for dinner last night? Something’s upset you and I can’t believe it’s anything I’ve said.’

  Rachel had to suppress a gulp of anguish. How blind could her mother be? After everything that had been said, she still had no conception of how her daughter was feeling.

  ‘I—perhaps it was the French toast I had for breakfast,’ she mumbled. And then, realising her mother was quite capable of reporting this, she added, ‘Or maybe it’s just a cold in my stomach. They say sunburn can do that. Chill you, you know.’

  ‘Y-e-s.’ Sara dragged the word out. ‘Maybe.’ She frowned. ‘Do you want to go back to the table?’

  ‘Heavens, no!’

  Rachel shook her head violently, and then wished she hadn’t when the room swam around her. But her response had been clear enough and her mother nodded.

  ‘I suggest we go up to your room,’ she said.

  ‘I—my bag—’

  ‘I’ll get it.’ For the first time Sara showed her a little consideration. ‘What’s the number of your room? I’ll meet you there.’

  The last thing Rachel wanted was for her mother to invade the only private space she had. But, short of admitting this, she had no choice. She gave her mother the number, and then left the restroom to hurry up the stairs to her room.

  Now she prayed she wouldn’t see Matt. Dear God, she hoped she never had to see him again…