by Ellen March
She rubbed her dripping hair and wiped her face, dropping the towel before turning to face him again. His features were contorted in what looked like pain.
“Look, I didn’t mean to shout at you, so we’ll leave it go. I’m just relieved to be alive.” She continued to study him, adding, “But can you stop waking me up? It’s getting to be a habit. I’m not a morning person. In fact, I just love sleeping. So next time, can we agree to leave me there?”
All Jago could do was stare. His brain refused to engage with sanity. He realized she didn’t have a clue that her makeshift gear was totally see-through. It was a sight he could gaze upon forever. Her body exemplified what he most wanted in a woman. Unfortunately her mouth and morals did not.
You could come in her mouth, though, a wicked voice whispered.
“Are you all right?” she asked, frowning with concern, until a sudden bout of coughing engulfed her once more. She leaned forward and Jago nearly choked at the display.
“Nothing a cold plunge won’t cure,” he rasped, diving into the pool before she could spot his erection.
* * *
Riley sat in the sun, lazily watching his bronze body carve expertly through the water, back and forth until she lost count of the number of times. She was content to be able to breathe. Never had she been so frightened. She had really thought she was going to die.
And the one clarifying thought that remained was that she didn’t want to die a virgin.
At last Jago finished his mammoth swim, and dripping, stepped from the pool, shaking his head. A veil of fine droplets flew through the air.
Her gaze travelled greedily over his body. She couldn’t believe a person could possess so many muscles. The ripples reminded her of a beach when the tide went out—hard, undulating sand, dipping and rising. Her lustful gaze scored over his chiselled features and the dark dusting of beard shadowing his chin. The curling hair on his chest petered temptingly into a thin line that trailed teasingly down below his naval.
He wasn’t model material—he was coarse around the edges and his nose was slightly crooked—but he was most certainly a man’s man. Rough and oh-so-definitely ready.
“Have you finished?” he asked, his green eyes twinkling.
Unabashed, Riley grinned. “For the moment.” She skimmed her tongue over her dry lips, unaware of how provocative she looked.
Jago sat down opposite her. “Do me a favour. Until you learn to swim, don’t go in the pool by yourself.” He kept his voice low and firm to get across how serious he was.
“Will you teach me then?”
“I haven’t got the time.” Jago didn’t want to get into that type of close contact. He was having major problems as it was.
“Oh, I see.” Dropping her head, she fiddled with the edge of the towel.
He saw the hurt cross her face and tried to explain. “Look, I’m a man and you’re a—”
“Woman?” she supplied, glancing up, wondering what the hell he was talking about. Even she could manage to work that out. But what did that have to do with swimming? Now she was really confused.
“Yes, but more than that. Basically I understand that men in general don’t do it for you and I’m, well ….” He was rushing the words out in a verbal stampede but stopped when he saw the merry expression on her face.
“She told you, then?” she screeched hysterically, collapsing back on the sun bed. “Oh, this is priceless.”
Frowning, he stared stonily at her. “Just what do you find so funny?” he rasped. He had saved her from drowning, he was horny as hell, and here she was, lying there wearing next to nothing and laughing her head off.
“I’m not a lesbian,” she gasped. Riley was trying to get her words together as the tears gushed down her face. She couldn’t look at him, just held her stomach, helpless with maniacal laughter.
Slowly he turned, seeing her in a totally different light. He’d only managed to keep his erection under control because he thought she preferred women. And now?
“So why did you tell her that?” he demanded, feeling himself harden, his gaze firmly on her humungous chest.
God, he was so much a tit man.
“She was being a nosy cow, wanting to know about my boyfriend,” giggled Riley, “so I fabricated a bit, told her I’d given up men since becoming a lesbian, and she believed me.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “Well, I actually had three choices.” She ticked them off her fingers. “Nunnery, lesbian, or leave London.”
“Excuse me? I still don’t understand.”
“Have you ever been dumped by text?” she demanded and sat forward.
He wished she’d stayed still. He stared down at her chest—her soft, white, silken breasts. He itched to hold them, caress them, suckle on her nipples and taste their sweetness, feel them pebble in his mouth.
“Well, have you?” she pushed. She wasn’t looking at him, or she couldn’t have missed his intense gaze.
“No, can’t say I have,” he muttered distractedly.
“Well, you’re lucky. He wanted it, I didn’t. So, end of relationship.”
Abruptly standing up, she marched up and down the side of the pool in a temper, her arms folded in front of her.
Jago wished she’d sit that sensational ass back down. Whichever way she walked he had an eyeful. It was either her backside or her bouncing tits. His focus dipped to the top of her legs, and the shadow at the vee blinked back. He couldn’t decide which he preferred the most.
“I mean, how could I do it? I saw my father’s Labradors at it, and my God, I thought, I’m not going through that.” Riley was hitting her stride. When her temper took over, the words came tumbling out.
Jago rubbed his eyes, unsure if he’d heard right. Just where the hell was she was coming from? One minute she was talking about sex, and the next of Labradors.
“They were stuck. Can you imagine that?” She turned to stare at him, her eyes begging him to understand. “For over half an hour, screaming, attached to each other.”
“Right,” said Jago, at a loss for words.
“Well, I decided right there and then I wasn’t going to go through that.” Finally she stared at him triumphantly. “Which is why I’m always dumped. And why I’m still a virgin,” she finished proudly.
Jago stared at her, stunned. Trying to work out how the hell she would ever conclude sex was like that. Where were her parents? “What about sex education, and friends? Didn’t you talk about it to them?”
She gave him a look reserved for the mentally deranged. “Of course, but I can’t get my head around it. The whole idea of sex. And what if that happens? What if you get stuck?”
Jago shook his head in despair, unable to believe that anyone could think making love was like two dogs mating.
The next piece he assimilated was the fact she was a virgin. And with that thought he was getting harder and harder. Holy Shit!
“You can’t be real. You expect me to believe that?” He brushed a hand through his hair distractedly. “You worked in a lap dance club.”
“Yes, worked there, but I didn’t have it off in the middle of the bloody dance floor.” She threw her hands up in the air in frustration.
“But a virgin?” he repeated hoarsely. They were like gold these days. Most of the girls he’d known had lost it before they left school.
“I don’t lie.”
“Didn’t your parents, um, explain the birds and the bees, so to speak?” he asked curiously.
“My mother died when we were young. Dad didn’t care. And anyway, I couldn’t exactly speak to him about sex, could I?” Her grin was smug. “Can you imagine me asking his advice? ‘Oh, by the way, Dad, this guy wants to get into my knickers. How do I go about it?’ ” She spared him a brief, contemptuous look. Moron. “He swore he’d look after us. But then he remarried, and the vows of ‘I do’ became ‘I bloody well don’t’ when it came to us. His young wife didn’t want anything to do with us.” For a moment she looked bereft, then shook herself. “
But there you go. Don’t suppose you can have everything.”
“Who’s the ‘us’?” He was curious to know more about her life.
“My twin, Rob.” She shrugged. “You’d hate him.” Her azure blue eyes pinned his. “You can’t cope with me as it is. God help if he ever came to visit.”
“I think I’d manage.” He discovered he was feeling empathy for her, gaining some understanding of the life she’d led.
“Anyway, back to my virginity.” She homed in on his crotch that seemed a whole lot bigger. “When I thought I was dying, I realized that I didn’t want to leave this life thinking sex was like a pair of Labradors. So I thought that maybe ….”
She was unable to finish the sentence.
Jago swallowed. “You thought what?” The words blew out on a soft whisper.
“Well, if you had five minutes spare? Then, you know, maybe we could do it?” she asked hesitantly. She wondered how the hell you could phrase I want ‘it’ without coming across as crude.
Jago stared at her, and all he could think was that he’d love to take her, to feel the sweet tightness of her, to be the first to taste and touch her.
But then her words came back: ‘five minutes to spare.’ Not exactly words of encouragement, he thought with a wave of fury.
When he made love it took a damn sight longer than that.
Shaking his head and inwardly cursing, he turned to her. “Sorry Riley, I can’t, but thank you for thinking of me.” He couldn’t believe he’d actually said the words. Idiot, dick head! Are you for real?
Riley felt as if she’d been slapped. A hazy film blurred her vision. Her ex had dumped her because she wouldn’t give it. And now, when she wanted it, her offer was thrown back in her face.
“Sorry, I just thought … oh, never mind.” She grasped her towel and hugged it around her body, needing the security, needing to stop the sudden chill that shuddered over her skin.
“Eve said she’d see you down some pub if you’re going out.” As she recalled the conversation, her voice broke. “I’m sure you’ll get what you really want there.”
She spun around, not wanting him to see that her face was awash with the tears. She raced inside, desperate for the sanctuary of her bedroom, where she could sniff and howl all she liked into her feather pillow.
* * *
Jago slammed his fist on the table in temper.
Christ, didn’t she know how much he wanted her? So why the guilt trip? He didn’t know what to do. But he didn’t want to see her upset, not at his cost anyway.
She’d said something about the pub. Normally he wouldn’t bother. But now it seemed the perfect opportunity.
Riley was just getting into the swing of sobbing loudly into her pillow when a sharp knock sounded at her door. A loud, insistent rapping that interfered with her crying session.
“Go away,” she screamed. Her face red and mottled, she lay spread-eagled on the bed, trying her best to suffocate against the pillow.
The door opened and Jago walked in. “You okay?” he asked.
“Do I sound it?” She continued to blubber, refusing to look at him.
He stood and stared longingly at her naked backside, wistfully imagining what he could do to it. And swallowed.
“Do you fancy coming to the pub with me?” Her abysmal wailing bled through every fractured nerve. He wished to God she’d shut the hell up. It was worse than her singing.
“Why?” She turned over and leaned on an elbow, peeping up at him. Her eyes were puffy and red.
“Why not?” Jago attempted to keep his eyes riveted to her face. If his gaze dropped, they wouldn’t be going anywhere. He’d take her without any further hesitation.
“Suppose Eve will be there.” She dragged in a loud sniff, trying to compose herself.
“So?”
“So, I’d better get dressed,” she said, drying her tears. “If you don’t mind leaving my room.”
Jago wondered where her hysterics had gone, or what he’d missed. But he didn’t care as long as she shut the hell up and came with him.
“See you in half an hour downstairs?” he asked, praying that she wasn’t the type to spend hours getting ready.
“Yeah, less than that, and don’t worry, I’ll drive.” She bounced off the bed, her state of apathy dissolved. A heady hum of excitement surrounding her. “You can have a pint then if you want. I don’t drink.”
“Don’t tell me … you tried it once,” he replied sarcastically.
“How did you know?” Her mouth dropped open. “But never mind. See you downstairs in five.”
Jago shook his head, unable to answer.
Chapter Eight
He slammed the door shut after the third attempt and glanced around sceptically at the inside of the car. There were items of every description scattered over the backseat and on the floor. Bottles of half-drunk water, empty crisp packets, half-nibbled chocolate bars. He was afraid to move, worried about what he’d uncover next.
“When was the last time you cleaned this?” he asked in amazement. The assortment of sweet packets littered it indiscriminately.
“I haven’t. Don’t do domestic. It’s a thankless chore.” She fished for her seatbelt and tugged at it, then flung an empty coke can that was in the way to one side. “If I cleaned this now, it would only get in the same mess. So it’s a waste of time, don’t you think?” At last pushing the metal clip into place, she adjusted the strap over her chest.
Jago shook his head in disgust. His life was orderly, structured, and controlled. He hated spontaneity and mess. He couldn’t understand how anyone lived like she did. He couldn’t even begin to contemplate what her home was like. If it was anything like her car, then God help her, he thought.
“Okay, you navigate and I’ll drive,” ordered Riley, slamming the Beetle into gear and not quite getting there. The gears ground painfully. She fiddled with the switches till she found the lights that glowed dim in the stark blackness. “I haven’t got much petrol, though, so look out for a garage.”
Jago closed his eyes, suddenly nervous.
“How long have you been driving?” he asked casually, then cringed at the painful grating of the gears. He was thankful there was no traffic on the road. Indicators obviously mean nothing to her, he thought as the car careered blindly round the bends.
“Oh, ages,” she lied smoothly.
Dropping the mirror, she attempted to check her hair in the darkened interior. The car momentarily veered off the road. “Oops.” She swung it back on track.
Jago swiped at the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead and prayed they’d get there in one piece. “Look, if you really need to check yourself in the mirror, let me know, and I’ll steer.”
Riley turned towards him, arching her brow in shock. “Are you real? That would be dangerous! You keep your hands to yourself and let me do the driving.”
“We’re nearly there, thank God,” whispered Jago, his knuckles white as he gripped the seat.
She spared a glance at him. “Something wrong?”
“Will you keep your eyes on the road?” he pleaded, swearing that he would drive on the way back. He couldn’t endure this blind panic again. He’d often wondered what it felt like to be scared and now he knew.
Driving through the small village, Jago prayed that she’d manage to negotiate the narrow road without hitting any parked cars. He shut his eyes as they skimmed past one. “Take your time,” he said. “It’s up here on the left.”
“I’m not going fast.” She checked the speedometer at the arrow pointing to zero and tapped at the glass. “Wonder what’s wrong with this?”
“Riley, look where you’re going!” he shouted, seeing his life flash before his eyes.
“You’re not a very good passenger, are you? Are you usually this nervous?” One hand on the wheel, she groped on the floor with the other.
“Not usually, no. What the hell are you doing now?” he asked, pointing to the pub. His hand was trembling. “Ta
ke a left there.”
“Trying to find my bag,” she said, and without indicating she swung over and coasted into the car park, slamming on the brakes. They stopped bang in the middle.
“Where shall I park?” She glanced worriedly around at the few spaces available, not sure if she could negotiate the narrow gaps.
Jago was thankful he’d put his seatbelt on or he’d have been smashed against the windscreen. If nothing else worked, the brakes did.
“Over there looks like a big enough gap for you,” he said, pointing to a space. “Reverse it in.”
Riley looked at him as if he’d asked her to start flying. She gave a snort. “Reverse? I can’t do that.”
“What do you mean you can’t reverse? You’d have had to do that in your test.” A horrible thought came to him when she didn’t answer. Instead she appeared to be engrossed in her nails.
“When did you sit your test?” he eventually asked.
“Which one?” she hedged, fiddling for her bag again—anything to avoid looking him in the face.
“How many times have you tried?” Jago unbuckled his seatbelt and twisted to look at her, watching her count on her fingers.
“Seven. Well, eight if you include the accident,” she said quietly, and gripped the door handle, ready to get out. She didn’t see a problem with leaving the car where it was.
“What accident?” he breathed. It was like watching a horror film—you wanted to hide but had to see it through to the end.
“The instructor had a heart attack,” she muttered, nibbling the bottom of her lip. She didn’t want to mention her own part in it; it wasn’t her fault her bra had popped open. She swore then she’d never wear a front-fastening bra again. Her boobs had spilled out like giant marshmallows, and his face had worn an expression of utter shock just before he clutched his chest.
“So how was that an accident? It wasn’t your fault.” He shook his head in confusion.
“No, it wasn’t, was it?” she agreed with a sudden smile. “So where shall I park? Can we just leave it here?”
“Jump out. I’ll do it.” He put his shoulder into the door, trying to open it. When it finally did, he almost fell out. He shot a glare at Riley, who stood with a hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle.
