The Longest Pleasure

by Anne Mather

  His tongue circled her navel with an erotic caress before moving lower to part her legs. Helen wanted to stop him; all her prudish instincts were crying out that what he was doing was wrong, but her body ignored what her brain was telling her. She was far, far beyond the point when she could control what was happening to her, and the splintering delight when it came was no less pleasurable because she had fought it.

  ‘You—you shouldn’t,’ she breathed as he moved back over her, and Rafe’s mouth twisted with gentle mockery.

  ‘Shouldn’t I?’ he answered, his hands exploring where his tongue had been, and Helen trembled helplessly as the sweet delight swept over her once again.

  With a cry, she wound her arms around his neck to bring him closer to her, and as if the feel of her softness was at last too much for his iron self-control to withstand, Rafe let her guide his length inside her. The hot hard shaft impaled her, filled her, drove her to a depth of feeling that was totally mindless in its abandon. And when he started to move, each thrust promoting a quivering response, the pleasure she felt was like a clamorous agony.

  Rafe’s breathing was laboured, his heart thudding against the wall of his chest in rhythm with his sweat-plastered body. He was thrusting more deeply, more fully, burying his length in her sweetness with increasing urgency. The powerful demand of his body was carrying her on to even greater fulfilment, and Helen, who had thought she couldn’t feel any more, found she could. When Rafe’s own release came, it evoked a storm of frenzied spasms that left her weak, and shaking, and emotionally shattered. She felt him collapse upon her, but even the crushing weight of his body had no significant effect upon her. She was adrift on a sea of sensual satiation, and her exhaustion was so complete she felt numb.

  She thought she must have lost consciousness for a while, because when she opened her eyes she found Rafe was already half-dressed, and there was the distinctive sound of Mrs Argyll’s slightly off-key singing somewhere close at hand. For a moment, she was too bemused to put any serious interpretation on the two perceptions, but then, in a flash of shuddering recall, the events of the past—what? minutes? hours?—sprang before her eyes in glorious Technicolor.

  She immediately closed her eyes again, but not before Rafe had seen her involuntary grimace, and tugging the sweater she had given him the night before over his head, he came back to the bed. Someone—himself obviously—had tossed the quilt across her, but his knee was hard in spite of it when he nudged her unguarded hip.

  ‘I know you don’t want to talk to me,’ he remarked drily, and she could hear a faint edge to his voice, ‘but I think that’s your daily making herself a cup of tea in the kitchen.’

  Helen’s eyes opened again, this time in horror at the careless revelation. Dear God! what was she thinking of? Of course, that was Mrs Argyll she could hear. And she could just imagine what she would think of her sober-minded employer if she should come in here and discover what had been going on.

  She sat up abruptly, and then groped for the quilt as it fell away from her tender breasts. ‘I—why—what time is it?’ she asked, putting up a hand to find the tumbled glory of her hair hanging in damp strands about her shoulders, and Rafe regarded her wryly for a moment before consulting the watch on his wrist.

  ‘Nearly ten,’ he informed her, and Helen could not prevent the gasp that escaped her.

  ‘Nearly ten!’

  ‘Well, you fell asleep before I went for my shower,’ revealed Rafe, running a probing hand over the roughening skin at his jawline. ‘You don’t have a razor, I suppose——’

  Helen stared at him. ‘You’ve had a shower!’

  ‘While you slept, as I said.’ Rafe shrugged, pushing his hands into the pockets of his trousers. ‘I heard the old lady in the kitchen when I came back into the bedroom.’

  Helen shook her head, and then put a slightly dazed hand to her temple. ‘I—don’t remember——’

  ‘Well, you were pretty exhausted,’ remarked Rafe, his expression intolerably smug. ‘Look, do you want me to go and speak to her? While you make yourself decent, that is.’

  Helen swallowed and looked down at the quilt. She didn’t honestly feel up to any of this. What she would have much preferred to do would be to go back to sleep again, but that, of course, was impossible. Besides, she knew she was just looking for reasons not to think about the consequences of what had happened. Remembering the wanton way she had behaved, she was sure Rafe could now be in no doubt as to how she felt about him. For all her brave talk of hatred and revenge, he had been right all along. He had hurt her; he had tormented her and insulted her, and he had finally assaulted her—but for all that, she still wanted him. That was what this was all about. She had no deep psychological block so far as other men were concerned. The reason for her detachment had been looking her in the face from the beginning. She wanted Rafe; no one else. She was in love with him. And although that admission might give her some relief, ultimately it could bring her nothing but despair.

  ‘Helen!’

  His inquiring use of her name brought her head up with a start and, as if taking pity on her obvious confusion, Rafe repeated his earlier question.

  ‘She’s got to know someone’s here,’ he finished flatly when Helen made a sound of protest. ‘My boots are in the kitchen, and God knows where you’ve hung my jacket.’

  Helen moistened her lips. ‘All—all right,’ she said, realising she did not have an alternative. ‘I—er—just leave everything here as it is. I’ll take my things back to my own room.’

  Rafe inclined his head. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Of course.’ But Helen’s face flamed as he looked at her and she had to defend herself. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

  Her instinctive aggression irritated him. She could see it in his eyes. ‘Indeed,’ he conceded. ‘Why not? I guess you’d say anything to avoid an honest answer!’

  ‘Don’t be so damnably arrogant!’ Helen trembled with emotion. Then, needing to reinforce her advantage, she added: ‘You think you’re so good at it, don’t you?’

  ‘Passably,’ he agreed, his eyes narrowing at the deliberate insult. ‘But that’s not what I meant and you know it.’

  ‘What did you mean then?’ She tossed back her hair and met his studied gaze. ‘Am I supposed to endorse your undoubted reputation?’

  Rafe’s face darkened. ‘You won’t admit it, will you?’

  ‘Admit what?’

  ‘That what we have is a basis!’

  She blinked. ‘A basis for what?’

  ‘Oh, grow up!’ he exclaimed angrily. ‘A basis for a marriage, of course. The marriage your grandmother wanted. An opportunity to provide the heir she so desperately hoped for!’

  Helen felt sick. ‘Is that why you——’

  ‘What do you think?’ he said, his face hard and harshly accusing. ‘Oh—forget it. I don’t care what you do any more. Marry your sexless earl and be done with it! I’ll get my things and get out of here. If you want to see me again, you’re going to have to make the effort. So far as I’m concerned, you can go to hell!’

  It was after lunch before Helen put in an appearance at the shop. Even then, she looked pale and drained, and she knew Melanie was not deceived by the generous coating of make-up she had applied.

  ‘Bad night?’ she inquired, noting the tightly-drawn lips and hollow eyes. ‘Could it have anything to do with that dishy male I sent round to your apartment yesterday afternoon? He said he was your cousin. He fitted your description.’

  ‘It—was my cousin,’ said Helen tensely, taking off her sheepskin jacket and draping it over a hook behind the office door. ‘He’d brought some things up from Castle Howarth. Some things I’d left behind.’

  Melanie’s tongue circled her lips. ‘That was kind of him,’ she murmured cautiously. ‘Wasn’t it?’

  Helen sighed. ‘What do you want to know, Melanie?’

  Her friend looked taken aback. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Yes, you do.�
�� Helen was in no mood to be tactful. ‘All right. You might as well know the worst. He spent the night. Now are you satisfied?’

  Melanie’s eyes were wide with a mixture of incredulity and indignation. ‘I don’t believe it!’

  ‘What don’t you believe?’

  Melanie shook her head. ‘He got to you, didn’t he? He really got to you. My God! And I used to think no one would ever——’

  ‘You thought I was frigid!’ said Helen wearily and Melanie spread her hands in a gesture of contrition.

  ‘No,’ she denied unhappily. ‘Not—frigid, exactly. But you and Adam—well, you have to admit, you are pretty cool about him, aren’t you?’

  Helen gazed at her friend for a few tense moments and then she sank down into the chair beside the desk. Resting her elbows on the scarred varnish, she propped her head in her hands, and Melanie quickly circled the desk to assure herself she wasn’t crying.

  ‘Helen, darling—I’m sorry.’ She put out her hand and squeezed the other girl’s shoulder. ‘Honestly, I didn’t mean to pry. But you look so—so drawn, and he did come here looking for you.’

  ‘I know.’ Helen hunched her shoulders. ‘You think we slept together, don’t you?’

  ‘And didn’t you?’

  ‘No. At least…’Helen had to confide in somebody and Melanie was the obvious choice. ‘We—oh, I went to his room this morning, and—and——’

  ‘… that was that,’ Melanie finished wryly. ‘Yes, I understand now. You feel guilty.’

  Helen sniffed. ‘If only that were all!’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Melanie flinched. ‘You’re not—pregnant or anything?’

  Helen looked up at her. ‘It would be a bit soon to know, wouldn’t it?’

  Melanie shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’ She hesitated. ‘But this might not have been the first time.’

  Helen gasped. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Melanie grimaced. ‘Maybe it has something to do with your attitude since you came back from your grandmother’s funeral. You must admit, before you went away you wouldn’t have agreed to Adam’s swanning off to Africa without you.’

  Helen straightened her spine. ‘I don’t see why not. My feelings about working after our marriage are not new!’

  ‘No, but——’ Melanie broke off and regarded her with rueful resignation. ‘Helen, that day I was asking you about—Rafe, isn’t it?—I got the distinct feeling you weren’t—keen.’

  Helen drew in her mouth. ‘I wasn’t.’

  ‘I don’t mean that.’ Melanie heaved a sigh. ‘Helen, what you were telling me was—hands off! Don’t touch! I got the message.’

  ‘That’s crazy!’ But Helen avoided her eyes. ‘If I gave you that impression, then forget it.’

  Melanie’s brows arched. ‘So you don’t care if I make a play for him?’

  ‘Why not?’ Helen was bitter. ‘Everybody else does!’

  ‘Ah!’ Melanie sounded as if she had struck gold. ‘You don’t like that.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with me, is it?’ Helen could feel the beginning of a headache in her temple. ‘Look, I don’t know what I want right now. Adam and me—well, you could be right. Perhaps I am having second thoughts about our relationship. But that doesn’t mean that—that Rafe and I are—getting together. Quite the reverse.’

  Melanie frowned. ‘But he is attracted to you. He must be.’

  ‘Must he?’

  ‘He drove up here to see you.’

  Helen was silent for a moment, and then she said flatly: ‘If you must know he drove up here to try and persuade me to—marry him.’

  ‘To marry him!’ Melanie was open-mouthed. ‘But you said——’

  ‘It’s what my grandmother wanted,’ explained Helen heavily. ‘You were right when you said that was the most convenient solution. My grandmother thought so, too. And—and because she was so—besotted with Rafe herself, she saw no reason why I shouldn’t fall for him, too.’

  ‘I see.’ Melanie absorbed what she had said with some incredulity. ‘And—I gather Rafe goes along with this.’

  ‘For my grandmother’s sake, yes.’

  Melanie snorted. ‘I find that hard to believe!’

  ‘You wouldn’t if you knew him.’

  Melanie shook her head. ‘But if you feel like this, why did you have sex with him?’

  ‘Would you believe, because I couldn’t help myself?’ Helen groaned. ‘Melanie, he makes me do things—feel things——’ She broke off on a groan. ‘He always did. That’s why I hated him so much!’

  ‘Wait a minute!’ Melanie was confused. ‘Are you saying this has been going on for some time?’

  Helen hesitated. And then, with an economy of words, she told her friend the whole unpalatable truth of what had happened that afternoon when she was fifteen, the afternoon when Rafe had changed her life so irrevocably. ‘That’s why I left Castle Howarth,’ she said, miserably, feeling the prick of tears behind her eyes. ‘That’s why I never went back after his foster-father died. I thought I never wanted to see him again. But I was wrong.’

  Melanie stared at her. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Do about it?’ Helen shrugged. ‘There’s nothing to do about it. I won’t marry him to fulfil the terms of my grandmother’s will. And, for Rafe, there is no other reason.’

  Melanie sank down weakly into the chair opposite. ‘So that’s why you look so—shattered.’

  ‘Partly.’ Helen forced a smile. ‘As a matter of fact, it does have its funny side. You should have seen Mrs Argyll’s face when I told her Rafe was my cousin. Up until then, she had been convinced I was taking advantage of Adam’s absence.’

  ‘And weren’t you?’ asked Melanie drily. ‘Love, what are you going to do about Adam? You can’t marry him now!’

  ‘Can’t I?’

  ‘Well, can you?’

  Helen shifted. ‘I don’t know. We were happy.’

  ‘Were being the operative word,’ inserted Melanie flatly. She hesitated a moment, and then said gently: ‘Are you sure you won’t change your mind? About Rafe, I mean? If you—if you care about him, isn’t it better to have him for at least part of the time? You would be his wife. And that means something, even today.’

  ‘No!’ Helen got up from her chair and took a deep breath. ‘You don’t understand. I couldn’t marry him, not knowing why he was doing it. Every time he touched me, every time he made love to me, I’d know it was only—only a physical thing. He doesn’t recognise anything else. He told me so himself.’

  Melanie considered. ‘You know, Helen, if you were to marry Adam feeling like this, wouldn’t you be doing the same?’ she asked softly.

  But Helen didn’t answer her. That was one question she needed notice of. ‘Well, anyway,’ she said, altering direction, ‘I don’t have to make a decision right now. It’s time I got down to some work. I feel as though I’ve been neglecting my responsibilities.’

  Melanie looked thoughtful. ‘You could be right,’ she remarked casually. And then, almost as an afterthought, she added: ‘And, it might be worth mentioning that if you were to marry your cousin, you’d still be faced with the problem of your job!’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ON SATURDAY morning, Helen discovered her fears about an unwanted pregnancy had been groundless. She awakened about seven with cramps in her stomach, and although she generally coped with the inconvenience without emotion, she found herself crying into her coffee. ‘Oh, damn!’ she swore frustratedly, reaching for a tissue and pressing it to her eyes. It was what she had hoped, wasn’t it? How could she be feeling so upset over the fact that she was not carrying Rafe’s baby?

  But the unpleasant truth was that she was, and she had to practically drag herself down to the shops later in the day to buy some food for the weekend. Through the week, Mrs Argyll shopped for her, but as the daily woman didn’t come in at weekends, Helen always made the effort to look after herself. She had enjoyed the outings in the past,
but today she was tense and nervous, and she arrived back at the apartment without half the things she had wanted.

  Sunday was another boring day. She spent the morning trying to erase the coffee stains from the bedroom carpet, and in the afternoon she did some ironing she would normally have left for Mrs Argyll. But she couldn’t settle to anything for long, and she eventually rang Melanie at tea-time and asked if she would like to come to supper.

  ‘Oh, love, at any other time, you know I’d adore it,’ her friend exclaimed, ruefully. ‘But as a matter of fact, I’ve got a date. One of Daddy’s constituency freaks, actually, but he’s really quite a pet. Anyway, maybe I’ll be able to put in a good word for Daddy, you never know.’

  Helen hid her disappointment. ‘Oh, well,’ she said with enforced brightness. ‘Have a lovely evening.’

  ‘I’m sure I will.’ Melanie paused, and then added anxiously: ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Helen was proud of her ability to lie so convincingly. ‘Honestly, I just thought you might be sitting at home, too, and we could have had a good bitch about things in general.’

  Melanie made a regretful sound. ‘I’d have liked that. Anyway,’ she added, ‘if my evening doesn’t work out, I may just take you up on your offer.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Helen said her goodbyes and rang off with every appearance of self-confidence, but after she had replaced the receiver, the wave of black depression she had been fighting all day swept over her. What was she going to do? she wondered desperately. It was all very well telling herself she didn’t have to make a decision yet, but sooner or later the crunch was going to come. Adam had been away over a week already. He was due to fly back to England next Friday. She had made no attempt to get in touch with him while he was away, and that was sure to have hurt him. But how could she get in touch with him when her mind was in such a turmoil?