allow double beds into hermitages, Cass? I wouldn't go on any other terms. Being cut off from the world might have some attraction if you were with me.
'Please.' Her voice shook. 'Please—don't say such things. You must know I hate them…'
'I know,' he said. 'And I wonder why.' He paused and his voice gentled. 'Don't fight all the time, Cassie. Relax a little. Come and sit with me—finish the wine—watch some television, if that's what you want. You look tired, and stopping three lively kids from throwing themselves to the bears isn't my idea of a quiet time either, although I wouldn't have missed it.' He reached out a hand. 'Sit with me, Cass. Please.'
Inexplicably she was moving towards him. Felt her hand taken gently, herself led back into the living room, where the sofa unshrouded from its dust sheet waited in front of the glowing welcome of the fire. She sank down on to its cushions, looking almost with bewilderment at the wine glass he put into her hand. A faint alarm bell sounded in her head.
'I don't want any more to drink,' she began, and he put a silencing finger on her lips.
'You're fighting again, and tonight we've declared a truce,' he said softly. 'And I'm not filling you full of booze so that I can seduce you. It's not my style. I don't want our first time together blurred by alcohol, or anything else.'
She tried to summon the energy to tell him there would never be a first time for them, but all that emerged from her lips was a little sigh. She sipped her wine, and watched the steady flames of the gas fire, and felt almost imperceptibly, the tension seeping out of her.
She stole a sideways look at him, sitting at the other end of the sofa, very casual, very relaxed, the leather jerkin he'd been wearing discarded now, the sleeves of his shirt unbuttoned, and the cuffs turned back over tanned forearms. The neck of his shirt was undone too, revealing a brown muscular chest, faintly shadowed with hair.
Only the wealthy could afford a year-round tan, Cass thought idly, and, guiltily, caught herself wondering whether it extended to the whole of his body. There was no future in that kind of speculation, she thought, and was thankful he could have no idea what she'd been thinking.
Then she realised he was watching her too, and suddenly the long silence between them was loaded, but, in some strange way, with anticipation, not alarm.
He leaned towards her, taking the glass from her hand, and setting it down, before he drew her into his arms, so that she lay across him, cradled on his thighs. Then he began to kiss her, brushing her mouth with his in endless tiny caresses, that aroused but did not satisfy. His fingers slid through her hair touching her sensitive scalp with little stroking movements, then finding the vulnerable nape of her neck, and cupping it softly in the warmth of his hand as his mouth lingered on hers, letting the kiss deepen sweetly and enticingly. He was tormenting her again, she recognised dimly, tantalising her into opening her mouth, and offering him of her own free will the deeper intimacy he sought.
His other hand was at her waist, tracing its slenderness through the thick enveloping material of the brown dress, moving slowly and unhurriedly across the lower reaches of her rib cage, then down across the smooth flatness of her abdomen, and back to her waist. A gently exploring ellipse of a movement which never reached the surge of her small breasts, their nipples tautening in impatient desire against the constricting lace cups of her bra, or the sudden fierce tremulousness of her thighs.
Oh God, she'd never wanted anything in her life as much as she wanted his hands on her in desire. And he knew it. And that was why he was keeping her waiting this age, this lifetime, this eternity.
He was waiting for her surrender, and she gave it suddenly, urgently, her hands clinging to his shoulders, her mouth parting in swift intense demand. His response was immediate, and fiercely,
'Please.' Her voice shook. 'Please—don't say such things. You must know I hate them…'
'I know,' he said. 'And I wonder why.' He paused and his voice gentled. 'Don't fight all the time, Cassie. Relax a little. Come and sit with me—finish the wine—watch some television, if that's what you want. You look tired, and stopping three lively kids from throwing themselves to the bears isn't my idea of a quiet time either, although I wouldn't have missed it.' He reached out a hand. 'Sit with me, Cass. Please.'
Inexplicably she was moving towards him. Felt her hand taken gently, herself led back into the living room, where the sofa unshrouded from its dust sheet waited in front of the glowing welcome of the fire. She sank down on to its cushions, looking almost with bewilderment at the wine glass he put into her hand. A faint alarm bell sounded in her head.
'I don't want any more to drink,' she began, and he put a silencing finger on her lips.
'You're fighting again, and tonight we've declared a truce,' he said softly. 'And I'm not filling you full of booze so that I can seduce you. It's not my style. I don't want our first time together blurred by alcohol, or anything else.'
She tried to summon the energy to tell him there would never be a first time for them, but all that emerged from her lips was a little sigh. She sipped her wine, and watched the steady flames of the gas fire, and felt almost imperceptibly, the tension seeping out of her.
She stole a sideways look at him, sitting at the other end of the sofa, very casual, very relaxed, the leather jerkin he'd been wearing discarded now, the sleeves of his shirt unbuttoned, and the cuffs turned back over tanned forearms. The neck of his shirt was undone too, revealing a brown muscular chest, faintly shadowed with hair.
Only the wealthy could afford a year-round tan, Cass thought idly, and, guiltily, caught herself wondering whether it extended to the whole of his body. There was no future in that kind of speculation, she thought, and was thankful he could have no idea what she'd been thinking.
Then she realised he was watching her too, and suddenly the long silence between them was loaded, but, in some strange way, with anticipation, not alarm.
He leaned towards her, taking the glass from her hand, and setting it down, before he drew her into his arms, so that she lay across him, cradled on his thighs. Then he began to kiss her, brushing her mouth with his in endless tiny caresses, that aroused but did not satisfy. His fingers slid through her hair touching her sensitive scalp with little stroking movements, then finding the vulnerable nape of her neck, and cupping it softly in the warmth of his hand as his mouth lingered on hers, letting the kiss deepen sweetly and enticingly. He was tormenting her again, she recognised dimly, tantalising her into opening her mouth, and offering him of her own free will the deeper intimacy he sought.
His other hand was at her waist, tracing its slenderness through the thick enveloping material of the brown dress, moving slowly and unhurriedly across the lower reaches of her rib cage, then down across the smooth flatness of her abdomen, and back to her waist. A gently exploring ellipse of a movement which never reached the surge of her small breasts, their nipples tautening in impatient desire against the constricting lace cups of her bra, or the sudden fierce tremulousness of her thighs.
Oh God, she'd never wanted anything in her life as much as she wanted his hands on her in desire. And he knew it. And that was why he was keeping her waiting this age, this lifetime, this eternity.
He was waiting for her surrender, and she gave it suddenly, urgently, her hands clinging to his shoulders, her mouth parting in swift intense demand. His response was immediate, and fiercely,
Similar Books
