by Kim Lawrence
‘I’m not an invalid,’ she snapped, displaying her independence by climbing into the front seat. ‘And what I mean is, I had watering my plants in mind when I handed over the key, not assaulting my friends. You’ve been watching too many Rambo movies.’
He started up the engine. ‘If life was as simple as it is in action movies I’d be a happy man,’ he admitted, with a lamentable lack of shame for his ludicrous behaviour. ‘There are roadworks at the junction so make yourself comfortable, it’ll be a long ride. You told Wood I’m the father?’ His eyes flickered to her face.
Sensational, thrillingly blue eyes that were part of his Celtic heritage. She’d never associated sensational and thrilling with Liam’s eyes before. She suddenly experienced a deep longing to step back in time and have their relationship back on its smooth, familiar footing.
‘Before your dramatic announcement, you mean? Yes, I did.’ Just as well—the poor man would probably have had an apoplexy if he’d first learnt the truth that brutally. ‘I think I owed Justin the truth after all we’ve had together.’
Liam’s nostrils flared and he made a sound of disgust.
‘Does it bother you he knows? Is it meant to be a secret?’ she shouted, her indignation rising at his sneering response.
Jo saw the flicker of anger in his eyes as he shot her a swift sideways glance. ‘It seems I was the only one not in on the secret—he probably knew before me,’ he accused thickly. ‘Forgive my confusion but I’m obviously out of date. The last time you spoke about Justin, he’d broken your heart. Or don’t you remember the occasion?’
‘I’m hardly likely to forget, am I?’
‘Neither am I, Jo.’ The inflection in his deep voice sent the colour flaring in her cheeks. ‘You didn’t tell me he wanted to marry you.’
‘No.’ She’d been distracted. Had he forgotten, or was he remembering what she had said that night?
The possibility that he was recalling the same things she was made the fine, downy hair on her forearms stand on end. A shiver slithered slowly down her spine as, dry-mouthed, she risked a swift look in his direction from under the sheltering sweep of her eyelashes.
He’d come hotfoot in response to her tearful phone call when Justin had walked out on her. She’d been too absorbed by her own misery to register the lines of exhaustion bracketing his mouth and the tell-tale shadow on his jaw. He’d held her whilst she’d wept, murmuring soothing nothings in appropriate places, sliding his fingers tenderly through her damp hair, pushing the tangled strands off her hot forehead and gently patting her back. When the storm hadn’t abated his lips had replaced his fingers on her damp cheeks, across her forehead, the tip of her nose.
Finally, when her sobs had subsided, she’d given an exhausted sigh. ‘What would I do without you?’ His tenderness brought a lump of emotion to her throat and made her voice husky. She put all the gratitude, warmth and love that filled her heart to overflowing into the kiss she pressed on his lips.
The sudden tension in him communicated itself to her immediately. Had she offended him? ‘I’m sorry. . . ’ she began, suddenly horribly afraid she’d overstepped some invisible boundary.
His blue eyes were burning with a strange light. She was ill prepared for the sudden weakness that pervaded her limbs—it went bone-deep. His glance flickered to the bare curve of her right shoulder, exposed where the baggy neck of her nightshirt had slipped. A sharp, painful sound swiftly cut off emerged from his chest.
Holding her upturned face, his thumbs running down the length of her jaw, he bent closer. Like a sleepwalker he repeated her own impulsive action exactly. It should have been chaste, clinical even, their lips were modestly closed. It wasn’t!
Frantic! When he lifted his mouth from hers she felt frantic. It couldn’t stop! He had to do that again, surely he could see that too? Through half-closed eyes she tried to read the hard lines and angles of his face.
His laugh grated on her sensitised nerve-endings. ‘Feel better now?’ He wasn’t reading the right page of the script. She shook her head in a gesture of denial; this wasn’t the time for prosaic words.
She felt a spurt of anger as he ruffled her hair, a need to lash out. Why must he always treat her like a child?
‘Do you feel better?’ she enquired in open challenge. She didn’t even try to understand the compulsion which drove her.
She couldn’t plead error in retrospect; it was quite deliberate when her hands moved under the hem of his shirt. Fingers spread, palms flat, she slowly slid her hands up over his flat, tight belly and higher still to the muscle-packed expanse of his chest. Nothing, she decided, could feel better than his warm, satiny skin—the texture was intoxicating. The deep shudder that rippled through his immobile form must have involved every muscle in his body.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
If his voice had been icily cold it might have doused the fire in her brain, but it wasn’t—it held a husky rasp that made her tremble even harder. Tremble, yes, I am, she realised, feeling oddly objective about this discovery.
‘We both know what I’m doing, Liam.’ Her voice was husky but incredibly calm. Calm was the last thing she felt, she felt reckless, and drunk on power. ‘It’s what I’ll do next that’s got me wondering.’
‘You’re not yourself.’
‘You’ve no idea what a relief that is.’ Herself was miserable, depressed. . . repressed, a small voice added.
‘You don’t know what you’re doing.’
‘I know that these buttons are hellish difficult. Could you help. . . ?’
He caught her wrists then, roughly, and pulled them away from his body. ‘Don’t play games.’
This had to be the most humiliating moment of her life! ‘Don’t look at me as if I’m an axe murderer! All I want is a kiss. If it’s too much trouble, don’t bother!’ she yelled, feeling totally mortified. She tossed her head and ripped her hands from his grasp. She held only a tenuous hope of salvaging even a shred of pride.
She didn’t get more than a step away before he reached her and, with one arm around her waist, lifted her feet off the ground. The impetus of his action as he turned her around drove them forwards until her back was against the wall. The breath was driven from her body.
Her head dropped forward. No wonder he was angry. She was acting like some sort of. . . of sex-starved tart. His hands were on her shoulders and she could feel his nearness from the heat of his body. She was too ashamed to look at him.
‘I’m sorry, don’t hate me. . . ’ Her voice cracked.
‘Hate? Oh, God, Jo, I could never, no, don’t cry again, darling. I know you’re feeling rejected; the bastard, I’d like to kill Justin,’ he said viciously. ‘You don’t need to indulge in casual sex to prove you’re desirable.’ She wanted to deny this analysis but he kissed the corner of her mouth, then the other corner. ‘I know you don’t believe me, but you’ll be better off without him.’
She did shake her head in denial this time, and the next kiss hit dead centre. He pulled back, but only a fraction. Jo opened her eyes; she still had her eyes open when they moved forward simultaneously. Her lips parted and there was only a momentary delay before he accepted her offer. He didn’t just accept it, he took the initiative out of her hands in a big way. She’d never experienced anything that came close to the onslaught of his lips and tongue as his teeth tugged and nipped, his tongue tasted and explored. Her body was filled with a languorous heat, her senses swam, she ached!
‘This is crazy!’ The groaned words were wrenched from him. He might have acknowledged insanity, but that didn’t stop his lips from continuing to strain hungrily against hers. His hands slipped to her hips barely covered by the plain cotton nightshirt she wore. The contact made her body jerk.
‘That’s lovely, don’t stop,’ she begged throatily. Lovely, exciting, sizzlingly erotic, it was all that and more! Jo had never felt so primitively aroused in her life. As her feet left the floor she instinctively wrapped her legs around his
waist. She arched her back and provocatively pressed her slim, lithe body as close to him as possible.
‘Your skin’s so soft, so smooth.’ His tongue strayed over the graceful curve of her collar-bone for a moment and she whimpered with delirious pleasure.
Blindly, panting hard, Liam reached behind her for the door. More luck than judgement brought their erratic progress, interrupted as it was by gasps and moans as each new sensation was explored and enjoyed, to her narrow bed. He fell with her onto the bed, impressing her body into the soft mattress.
Her trailing arm sent the bedside light crashing onto the floor. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said as he lifted his head. She didn’t want to illuminate the scene, she didn’t want anything to intrude on the unreal quality of this incredible episode. Dark was safer.
If she paused long enough to think that it was Liam who was pulling her nightshirt over her head, and Liam whose tongue was tasting every inch of her aching breasts, it would spoil everything. She’d be left with the paradox of why she wanted—no, why she needed him to.
His need was as great as hers, even through the layers of his clothes she could feel that. He was in the grip of a desire just as blind as the one which drove her to rip at his shirt and curse softly with frustration as her fingers fumbled over the buckle of his belt.
When he took control of that problem she encouraged or very possibly distracted him with soft kisses pressed on the strong curve of his back. He lay back down and she eagerly insinuated herself closer to him, only to be momentarily thrown off her stride when he sat up again, laughing.
‘What?’ If he changed his mind now the consequences might well be fatal!
‘I’ve still got my boots on.’ Faint laughter still rumbled in the vault of his chest.
Laughter was rapidly replaced by frantic murmurs when he returned to her. Imprisoned by his heavy, hair-roughened thighs, her nostrils filled with the warm, masculine, aroused scent of his body, she lost what little control she had and every inhibition that had ever restrained her.
She wanted to taste him, touch him, and she did so with joyous abandon. The strength of his body and its eye-opening muscularity delighted her. He guided her forays with a firm hand, and in his turn touched her until her harsh gasps echoed in the dark room.
Over the years, she knew, he’d had enough practice at such things, but there was nothing slick or polished about him now. His responses were raw, his elegant, strong hands shook and his body trembled as though he were struggling against an invisible barrier. The next day her body bore the marks of his urgent caresses.
Waking at some point in the night, Jo’s mind instantly went into replay mode. The culmination of their wild, unrestrained coupling had resulted in an equally violent release. Sleepily, she tried to make sense of it. She didn’t have a strong sex drive, did she? I actually shouted! She sat up with a jolt. No. ‘I screamed!’ In the darkness the blush spread over her body.
Her action in the confined space sent the quilt slithering onto the floor. Run or retrieve the quilt? Not a complex decision, but one that taxed her flustered mind at that moment. If she hadn’t sat there dithering Liam wouldn’t have woken up!
He rolled over onto his side and threw his leg over her hip. The weight of his thigh immobilised her. ‘What did you say?’ The purr of his deep, sleepy murmur made her tense.
‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘Yes, you did.’ He paused, obviously trawling through his sleepy recollections before coming up with the goods. ‘You said, “‘I screamed.”’
‘Nonsense.’ She tried to pull the rumpled sheet up from the bottom of the bed.
‘You did, you know. You said—’
She didn’t need reminding of what she’d said, it was branded on her memory. ‘Don’t!’ she shrieked, putting both her hands firmly over what she hoped was his mouth. It was—despite the pressure of her fingers his lips parted and his tongue flickered over the centre of her palm.
She might have denied the words but she couldn’t deny the arousing quality of the damp touch. It was ridiculous but all the strength left her body in a silent whoosh. She fell forward and put her hands out to cushion her fall. It was all part of the weird conspiracy that Liam found her hands had been replaced by the soft contours of her breasts. It wasn’t an exchange he appeared to have any problems with.
‘A gift from the gods,’ he murmured as his mouth closed around one swollen rosy peak. His actions no longer had the raw urgency of earlier, but as she lay, her body spread-eagled over his, she couldn’t doubt the strength of his arousal.
She moaned and tried to raise herself up on her elbows. ‘We can’t do this.’
Liam’s hands came up to cover the curve of her buttocks, his thumbs hooked around the angle of her hipbones. ‘Actually, it wouldn’t be that difficult and there’s a strong possibility it would be pleasurable.’ Her breath caught sharply as his tongue unexpectedly traced the still damp area of her nipple. ‘You are so sensitive it’s incredible, especially there.’
‘Everywhere.’ With you, anyway, she realised in bewilderment.
The whispered admission brought a deep purr of male satisfaction from his throat. ‘Then I’ll have to be very attentive. You’ll have to tell me if there’s anywhere I miss.’
‘You can’t say things like that to me.’
‘Why, don’t you like to hear them?’ The taunting quality in his deep, caressing tones made her throat ache. Her body was taut and trembling with anticipation so she couldn’t immediately allow herself to accept. Excitement was building inside her until she couldn’t breathe.
‘You’re sorry for me.’
‘Lust isn’t pity.’
‘Is this lust?’ He tugged her down until her face was level with his, her breasts were crushed against his chest and her knees were either side of his thighs.
‘Does it need to have a name,’ he groaned, ‘when it feels so good? You smell of me. You taste of me.’ His open mouth moved over her neck. He obviously found the discovery exciting—his body surged suggestively against her.
‘I want to. . . ’
‘What, sweetheart? What do you want to do to me?’ His breath was warm and fragrant on her cheek. His hands moved slowly, sensuously over her back, down the curve of her thigh. He flexed her knee and ran his thumb over the sensitive skin of her instep. ‘If I tell you what I like, will it help?’
Every wicked, honeyed syllable was fraying the edges of her doubts and inhibitions until they snapped. ‘I want. . . want to do everything to you,’ she half sobbed. ‘And I want you to do everything to me.’
That was the end of her resistance and the beginning—the beginning of an experience that was infinitely more intimate than their earlier frantic encounter. A slow, sensuous voyage of discovery where the power of the word was as great as the power of taste and touch.
And such words—she couldn’t think now about the things she’d said without her skin burning. She hadn’t even suspected that the male mind could contain such erotic fantasies—she ought to have been shocked, but each velvet syllable that had dripped like honey from his lips had aroused her to even greater heights of passion.
‘I’ve been thinking.’
Totally disorientated, she blinked and tried to focus her glazed vision. Her own thoughts had absorbed her so deeply she couldn’t immediately respond.
‘Are you all right?’ he persisted.
‘Yes, fine.’
‘You looked a bit strange there for a minute.’
‘Don’t fuss.’ Just as well I wasn’t in the driver’s seat, she reflected grimly. It isn’t healthy, this constant preoccupation with an incident best forgotten. What’s wrong with me? It was a one-off—well, two-off to be accurate—the result of a freak set of circumstances, nothing more. Forget it ever happened, wasn’t that what Liam had said? He’d only slept with her out of pity, she reminded herself.
‘I’ve been thinking.’
So have I! So you keep saying. Are you going to sh
are it?’
‘I think we should get married after all.’
CHAPTER THREE
THE car drew to a halt. ‘Did you hear what I said? You must have considered it too.’
‘Must I?’ Had Liam gone mad, stark staring mad? He sounded as if he were discussing nothing more emotional than buying a new car.
‘It’s the obvious solution when you look at things logically.’
‘Logic’s going to come into this, is it?’ Logic had always been the term Liam used when he twisted facts to prove he’d been right all along. Jo gritted her teeth and squared her shoulders. Anger was to be expected—anyone would be angry, but why was this farcical proposal hurting so much?
‘We have to be practical.’
‘Thanks for sharing your breathtaking insight and wisdom.’
‘You can’t laugh this situation off,’ he said, his expression austere with disapproval.
‘I promise you this isn’t laughter.’ Her bosom swelled with indignation. She winced as the fabric of her light bra chafed her ultra-sensitive nipples. He could offer her advice when his bosoms were almost visibly inflating by the hour! If he had bosoms, that was—which he didn’t, he had. . . She felt a confusing surge of warmth as she remembered exactly what he had in their place.
She was relieved when his sober voice interrupted her mental detours. ‘I know you like your independence, but a baby will inevitably make inroads into that, and if you have me to support you misfortunes like losing your job needn’t become major disasters. I don’t think you’re being entirely realistic about the future, Jo, are you?’ His tolerant, kindly tone made her want to punch him. ‘Friendship isn’t such a bad basis for marriage. It would make our families happy.’
‘So I should marry you to please our families?’ she enquired with interest. Anger was building steadily inside her. Was he trying to insult her? Did he honestly think that any woman in her right mind would go along with such a crazy—such a cold proposition?
