by Penny Jordan
He rolled over on to his back, taking her with him, his tongue investigating the vulnerable hollow at the base of her throat. Her entire body seemed to be melting into his, and when his hands stroked down over her, cupping the rounded femininity of her bottom she moaned his name deep in her throat, completely possessed by the need for fulfilment that drove her on, timeless as life itself and just as enduring. Her fingers investigated the dark shadowing of his body hair following it downwards, her exploration forgotten when Lucas kissed her deeply, ravishing her senses, making her ache for the pleasure she knew instinctively he could give her.
She touched the waistband of his trousers, tentantively at first and then more surely as Lucas moaned his need to feel her touching him.
She had never undressed a man before and even with Lucas' help it seemed an aeon of time before his body was as naked as hers, gloriously and primitively masculine, making her pulses thud in an intensely feminine mixture of desire and fear, that had nothing really to do with her virginity everything to do with the fact that he was male and powerful and she was female and held first in thrall to that power . . .
Lindsay.' He muttered her name rawly; impatiently almost taking her hands and drawing them against his body. 'Touch me,' he urged her huskily. 'Can't you see how much I need to feel you doing that? Do you enjoy tormenting me?' he demanded when she made no move to caress him.
Lindsay only shook her head, her voice thick with awe as she murmured wonderingly, 'You're beautiful . . .'
Dimly she was aware of Lucas laughing, the sound strained and faintly self-derisive, but she was too intent on taking in the masculine perfection of him to pay too much attention. She had always known that Lucas was entirely and completely male, but knowing and seeing that perfection were two different things. Wonderingly she touched the ridged muscles of his throat with her fingers and then her lips, amazed to feel his body clench beneath her caress. Her tongue touched a tiny bead of sweat on his chest, savouring the slight saltiness of it, her fingers ruffling the dark arrowing of hair.
'Lindsay for God's sake .. . what are you trying to do to me?'
The compressed savagery of his demand captured her attention. His face was white with strain, his eyes almost black, the pupils enlarged, the bones of his face starkly revealed by the tension of his expression.
'Do you know what you're doing to me?' he demanded, winding his fingers into her hair and tilting her head back so that he could look at her.
Tiny pulses of pleasure burned along her skin and she was instantly and acutely aware of an upsurge of feeling; of need, and yet perversely she still shook her head, as though in ignorance of what he meant.
'Show me.' The husky provocation of her own whispered words half shocked her. She had never thought to see herself play the seductress and certainly not with Lucas.
A glance into his dark, absorbed face assured her that he felt no disgust or shock at her behaviour—quite the contrary, and her heart
leaped into her throat like a stranded fish as he took her in his arms rolling her on to her back trailing hungry kisses along her throat and down to the valley between her breasts.
Lindsay held her breath remembering the sensations the touch of his mouth against her breasts had aroused, but he ignored their soft fullness and instead moved down to her waist, his teeth nibbling gently at her tender skin.
Quicksilver spurts of pleasure burned her skin, and Lindsay moved wantonly in his arms, gasping a heated protest as his lips moved slowly over her stomach, his fingers drawing circles of delight against her thigh.
An intense urgency thrilled through her, her body arching wantonly against his, her breath dying in her throat as he touched her intimately, her flesh withdrawing shyly from the contact.
'No . . . No, Lindsay let me touch you,' Lucas demanded thickly, 'let me make love to you and show you what it can be.'
The hoarse rasp of his voice, familiar and yet unfamiliar soothed her fears, Lindsay let him part her thighs and move between them, her body welcoming the weight of his, her hips lifting instinctively to move rhythmically against his. He made a harsh sound of pleasure in his throat, and Lindsay felt him tremble against her as he muttered her name. She wanted the maleness of him inside her more than she had wanted anything before in her life. She ached and yearned for it, to the extent that nothing . . . nothing else mattered. She felt him draw in a sharp breath as her body invited his possession, and then with a sound that was almost a groan
of despair he moved against and then swiftly inside her.
Her world was filled with alien sensations . . . pain ... and something beyond it that urged her on; that encouraged the sure movement of Lucas' body within her own, a growing, aching sensation that gripped and possessed her making her cry out Lucas' name and cling desperately to him her only safe stronghold in the storm of passion that swept through her, leaving her drained and exalted; too exhausted to do more than lift her heavy lashes and look at him before exhaustion roared through her body and she fell deeply asleep.
CHAPTER NINE
WHEN Lindsay woke up she was alone. Late afternoon sunshine shone through her window. She moved under the protective cover of the bed clothes and winced as her muscles protested. A fine film of colour sprang up under her skin as she remembered what had occasioned those aches. Where was Lucas? As she struggled to sit up she saw a note propped up on her bedside table. It was from Lucas and said simply that he had been called out to the factory because of some crisis.
'When I come back we'll talk,' he had written at the end, and Lindsay felt suddenly chilled. No words of love or caring, but then what had she expected. Surely it must have been obvious even to her that Lucas was simply using her as a substitute for Gwen; as a means of ridding himself of his sexual frustration.
Unmercifully she lashed herself with bitter condemnation for her behaviour; for the fact that she must surely now have betrayed herself completely to Lucas, but nothing could make her entirely egret what had happened. They had been lovers, and Lucas had tenderly ... gloriously, initiated her into the mysteries of womanhood. But why? Not because he loved her as she loved
him; that much she was sure of. It was pointless remembering the husky need in his voice, or the in In . eyes when he touched her . . . when governed by desire as he had been, men were apt
to show all manner of emotions they were not really feeling. Lucas hadn't set out deliberately to deceive her ... He had never said he loved her, for instance. He had simply taken what she had so wantonly offered. By the time she had been awake for ten minutes, Lindsay had successfully convinced herself that Lucas had made love to her only because she had explicitly invited him to do so, and that all blame and responsibility for what had happened was hers and hers alone. Lucas had made love to her because, without saying so she had shown him that she loved him; had mutely begged him to do so, and no doubt during the 'talk' he intended to have with her; this would be ruthlessly pointed out to her. Lucas didn't wont | her around; she should have learned that years ago.
Somehow she got herself dressed and downstairs, and once there rather listlessly, she set about some preparations for the evening meal. She had no idea when Lucas would return, or even if he would want to eat with her when he did, but at least preparing some food for them both kept her hands occupied, even if it left her mind free.
She and Lucas had been lovers. Even now she found it hard to believe and yet she only close her eyes to bring back a storm of memories and sensations—sensations so strong that her body still shook with the aftermath of them. Lucas had been everything she had ever hoped for in a lover. Tender, strong, exciting . . . compeling her to give him a response that still had the power to stun her. But he did not love her; not as she loved him.
Tiredly placing the casserole in the oven,
Lindsay started to tidy up after herself. She had never felt less like eating . . . nor less able to face Lucas for the 'talk' his note mentioned. What was there for them to talk about? She already knew h
e did not love her; he surely must have guessed that she did love him. Lucas wasn't a fool—far from it. The fact that there had been no other men in her life must surely tell its own story. What would he do? Politely ask her to leave? Tell her the whole thing had been a mistake? Was she really strong enough to stay here and listen to him rationally explaining away what had happened between them until all that was left was the bitter after-taste of being forced to acknowledge that what for her had been the supreme moments of her life, for him had been merely a male reflex action and nothing more?
What alternative did she really have? She could leave; run away; refuse to talk with him. She could go now in fact, before he came back. They need never see one another again; that way at least her memories would remain intact. Recognising that she was on the verge of emotional, hysteria,
Lindsay tried to calm herself down. She was behaving like an adolescent not a woman. So Lucas had made love to her without loving her. It wasn't the end of the world. She had known he didn't love her before he even touched her. But as had not known she loved him, she reminded herself and now that he did know; could hardly avoid knowing, he must surely be anxious to get out of his life. If she had any pride she would go now before he was forced to spell it out for her. She would he saving them both embarrassment and awkwardness if she went.
She was just hesitating indecisively in the hallway when she heard the sound of Lucas' car. Now it was too late for her to run. He came in while she was still in the hall, looking tired and unbelievably filthy, his face, hands and shirt front black.
'There was a fire down at the warehouse,' he told her briefly before she could speak. 'Luckily no real damage was done and its under control now. I'm going up for a shower. Any chance of anything to eat?'
The casserole wouldn't be ready for quite some time, but she could make him an omelette Lindsay decided, nodding her head.
'Thanks.'
He didn't say anything else; made no reference to the 'talk' he wanted to have with her. In fact there was no difference in his attitude towards her at all, if she discounted the disturbing way in which his glance had lingered first on her mouth and then on her body. You're imagining things she told herself as she walked into the kitchen. Willi should Lucas look at you like a man dying of thirst looking on water? You're seeing what you want to see; distorting reality because you can't bear to face the truth.
Lucas was a long time coming back downstairs. The omelette mixture was ready to cook. She had brewed some fresh coffee, and buttered some fresh wholemeal bread, but there was no sign of the man she had made these preparations for. Feeling concerned Lindsay went upstairs rather hesitantly. Had Lucas changed his mind about wanting something to eat? He had looked tired enough to be close to exhaustion when he came in; he was
such a strong, determined man that it was easy to forget how recently he had been ill. Fresh fear feathered along her nerve endings, and when her knock on his door evoked no response, Lindsay turned the handle and walked in, coming to an abrupt and unsteady halt.
Lucas was sprawled out on his bed, lying on his side, his skin still damp from his shower, the towel he had been using damp and crumpled beneath him. The faint beginnings of a beard darkened his jaw and in sleep his lashes fanned darkly against his skin with an odd vulnerability. Should she wake him, or should she let him sleep? Undecided she the walked closer to the bed, her nerve endings jumping in quick alarm when, without warning his lashes swept up and he looked at her.
'Lindsay?'
It was too late to turn and run now, with his fingers curling round her wrist, tugging her towards him; her senses awash with the clean male scent of his body, and the irresistible attraction of his lean male frame. Beads of damp glistened against his skin. Impelled by some force she could neither understand nor deny Lindsay leaned forward, touching her tongue to the damp contour of his shoulder.
It was like setting alight a tinder-dry bonfire, the intensity of Lucas' response sending shivering waves pleasure shuddering through her, encouraging her to lap eagerly at the moistness of his skin.
The pressure of his fingers gripping her was almost painful, the hoarse sounds of pleasure he muted against her throat triggering off further shock waves of desire that threatened to engulf them both.
Hazily Lindsay was aware of Lucas undressing her, cupping and caressing her breasts, stroking away the layers of civilisation and restraint as he stroked away her clothes, inciting her to arch and writhe in feminine provocation, touching him as he was touching her, melting . . . aching . . . engulfed by the intensity of her response to him and wanting more, much more than the silken glide of his hands over her skin.
The shrill sound of the telephone pierced through their golden cloud of pleasure. Lucas curled her against his body with one hand whilst the other lifted the receiver. As she looked into his face Lindsay saw it grow darker and harder as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the line, and then he said grimly, handing her the receiver, 'It's for you.'
Hesitantly Lindsay took the receiver from him, the colour leaving her face as she heard Jeremy's hectoring, slurred voice. 'With your lover are you? I suppose I should have expected that. Couldn't wait to jump into bed with him could you, you bitch .. . but there's only one thing he wants from you Lindsay and that's your money
She dropped the receiver as though it burned. Jeremy's drunken insults filling the tense silence of the room as the invective continued to pour out of him on a damning tide. Shivering with reaction and shock Lindsay got to her feet, gathering up her clothes. Lucas made no attempt to stop her as she fled towards the door. Nor did he follow her into the sanctuary of her own room.
She knew quite well that Jeremy had been drunk and that his accusations of Lucas wanting her for her father's wealth were completely unfounded.
But why hadn't he come after her? Why hadn't he taken her back in his arms and comforted her? Because he was already regretting that she had ever been there . . . She had been the one to initiate their lovemaking ... It was true that concern and not lust had taken her to his room, but Lucas wasn't to know that. Waking up and finding her bending towards him like that he had interpreted her actions in a different way. He had thought she had come looking for him because she wanted to make love. She closed her eyes letting the hot bitter tears seep through them. Dear God, how he must despise her. What on earth was she to do. She woke up half-way through the night cold and cramped to realise that she must have fallen asleep curled up where she was. It seemed like hours before she was able to get back to sleep again and when morning finally came she was heavy eyed and tense.
She found evidence that Lucas had been up before her in the kitchen where he had propped a note up against the coffee pot simply saying rather tersely that he had gone out to the factory and would be back later. This time there was no mention of any 'talk'. Had what happened last night made him wary of coming into any sort of contact with her?
One thing was sure, she could not stay here any longer.
She wasn't hungry and after making herself a cup of coffee she wandered listlessly into the drawing room. When she had woken up properly she would put her cases in her car and drive back to London. Sighing faintly she lay back in her arm chair closing her eyes. They were so sore and
gritty. Well what did she expect after crying herself to sleep, Lindsay thought sardonically. The sound of the doorbell ringing jerked at her nerve endings. It was hardly likely to be Lucas, an inner voice scorned her; mocking her tension.
She got to her feet stiffly and walked toward the door. Callers were the last thing she felt capable of dealing with right now. She opened the door and stood blinking in the bright shaft of sunlight for several seconds shock pouring through her in an icy cold flood as she became aware of the identity of the woman standing there.
'My goodness someone didn't waste much time did they?' she drawled coolly.
'Gwen!'
Lucas' ex-wife was the last person Lindsay had expected to see.
'Ar
en't you going to invite me in?'
The faint American drawl in the other woman's voice was new, but the glossy, expensively packaged image she projected wasn't, and Lindsay could well remember how Gwnendolin had intimidated her as a teenager. Now she could just see the beginnings of a faint tracery of lines round her eyes; a faint hardening of her expression, but Gwen was still a very beautiful woman; and a very predatory one, Lindsay suspected.
'I haven't got all day Lindsay,' she said now. 'Frank is waiting for me in the village. I didn't think it was wise to bring him up here with me.'
'Lucas isn't here,' Lindsay told her dully standing to one side so that she could walk into the hall.
'Naturally not.' The pencilled eyebrows rose.
'You surely didn't think I'd be here if I thought he was?' Bitterness compressed her mouth for a second.
'You're not . . . You haven't come back to him then?' Lindsay asked dully.
'Come back to him.' Gwen laughed, a high sharp sound. 'My God that's rich. No I haven't. What I have come for is my jewellery. I didn't take it with me when I left. Unless you've any objections I'd like to go up to my room and get it.' Her room? Lindsay frowned. 'Look why don't you wait until Lucas comes back,' she suggested weakly, 'Then you could see him .. . talk to him ...'