Читать книгу Diamonds are for Deception: The Carlotta Diamond / The Texan's Diamond Bride / From Dirt to Diamonds - Julia James - Страница 9

FEELING awkward and exposed, but grateful for the heat the logs were already throwing out, she stood on the pegged rug in front of the fire and began to struggle out of her clothes. She had just reached her undies when she heard him coming back, and paused.

‘Are you decent,’ he enquired from the doorway, ‘or shall I cover my eyes?’ Without waiting for an answer, he walked in.

The sight of her made him catch his breath.

She was standing in front of the hearth, her slender figure outlined by the flickering fireglow, her long dark hair hanging round her shoulders in dripping rats’ tails. Made transparent by the water, the dainty bra and briefs she was wearing clung to her like a second skin, hiding nothing.

Only too aware that her nipples, already firmed by the cold, were growing even more prominent under his appreciative male gaze, Charlotte felt herself start to blush.

Handing her one of the towels he was carrying, he remarked teasingly, ‘Well at least you’re getting some colour back.’

Blushing even harder, she clutched the towel to her chest and waited for him to go.

Draping a second towel over the rocker, he went on conversationally, ‘I’m afraid Ben has a duvet these days, which means there are no blankets, so I hope you can manage with this?’

This was a lumberjack-style shirt.

‘I’m sure it’ll do fine,’ she said hurriedly.

‘Then I’ll leave you to it.’

As soon as the door had clicked shut behind him she finished taking off her clothes. Then, fastening a towel turban-fashion round her head, she dried herself and pulled on the thick flannel shirt, doing up the buttons right to the neck.

It was a reasonable fit across the shoulders, and she realised its owner must be quite a small man. Still, it came a respectable length down her thighs and would be adequate so long as she moved with care.

When she had finished drying her hair, well aware that left to its own devices it would turn into a riot of tangled curls, she fished in her bag for a comb and combed it through.

At one side of the hearth was a tall three-legged wooden stool, and she draped her wet clothes over it before taking a seat in the rocking-chair and stretching her bare feet towards the flames.

Now she had a moment to think, she found herself dreading the coming night. Being stranded in an isolated cottage alone with Simon Farringdon was the worst possible thing that could have happened.

Though no doubt Sojo wouldn’t have thought so. ‘I’ll leave the rest to you and propinquity…’ The other girl’s voice seemed to echo in her head.

Shivering, though this time not from cold, Charlotte read herself the Riot Act. It was nobody’s fault that they were stranded here, and as nothing could be done about it before morning, it was no use getting panicky. All she had to do was keep her cool and everything would be all right.

Though he was a red-blooded male, and it was clear from the earlier incident in the car that he was sexually attracted to her, she was quite convinced that he wasn’t the kind of man who would try to force himself on her.

But then he wouldn’t need to.

She tried to refute the sobering thought, but was unable to. Better to face it and plan a strategy.

No matter how much he attracted her she wasn’t the type who could make the first move, so she should be relatively safe from her own impulses.

But suppose he turned up the heat?

Well, if he showed any sign of it she would just have to freeze him off, keep her defences intact and give no hint that she was vulnerable…

‘Hot chocolate?’

Charlotte hadn’t heard him coming, and she jumped.

‘Sorry if I startled you.’ He was wearing a wry expression and a short navy-blue towelling robe that showed five inches of wrist, strained across his wide shoulders, gaped at the chest and was only kept decent by a belt tied tightly around his lean waist.

Seeing her eyes widen, he explained, ‘Unfortunately Ben is barely five feet seven and built like a jockey, so this is the only thing I can get into.’

It looked so ludicrous that she gave a little choke of laughter.

‘You might well laugh,’ he said grimly.

‘I’m sorry.’ The apology was spoiled by another irrepressible chuckle.

His face relaxed into a grin, and a moment later his low, attractive laugh joined hers.

She was pleasantly surprised. Most of the men she knew hated to be laughed at, and certainly wouldn’t have been able to laugh at themselves.

Holding out one of the mugs he was carrying, Simon suggested, ‘Perhaps you’d like to take yours? If I bend over or make any sudden move, I will almost certainly offend your maidenly modesty.’

Feeling the colour rise in her cheeks, she accepted the steaming mug, and, heeding the timely warning, stared resolutely into the leaping flames.

The chocolate was good and hot and relaxing, and she rocked gently as she sipped, while Simon drank his leaning decorously against the stone mantel.

‘Warm enough?’ he asked.

‘Yes, thank you.’

Stifling a yawn, she glanced up at him. His hair, towelled back to its normal corn-colour, was attractively rumpled and the beginnings of a golden stubble adorned his jaw.

Fighting back a mad urge to rub her cheek against it and put her lips to the strong column of his throat, she stared fixedly at his broad chest.

As he flexed shoulders that must have been uncomfortably restricted his robe gaped even more, and, fascinated, she watched the ripple of muscles beneath the smooth, tanned skin.

Suddenly becoming aware that he was watching her watching him, she dragged her gaze away with an effort and looked back into the fire.

There was silence, apart from the sound of the wind and the rain beating against the windows, and the contented ticking of an old-fashioned carriage clock.

A log settled and broke and a small piece of burning wood fell into the hearth close to where he was standing.

As her eyes were drawn to the glowing ember, she saw that his bare feet were well-shaped with neatly clipped nails, his legs firm and straight with a light fuzz of golden hair.

Becoming aware that the robe barely reached his knees, and the front edges were parting company, she looked hastily away once more and, face burning, gulped the last of her hot chocolate.

He turned what might have been a laugh into a cough, before enquiring solicitously, ‘I hope it was to your liking?’

Determinedly ignoring any possible double entendre, she answered, ‘Yes, it was fine, thank you.’

‘It proved to be a choice between that and black coffee, and I thought coffee might keep you awake.’

He collected the empty mugs, and, taking her wet clothes from the stool, added, ‘Now the heater’s lit, if I spread these over the airing rack in the bathroom they’ll dry much faster.’

The warmth of the fire was soporific and in spite of everything she was practically asleep by the time he returned carrying clean sheets and pillowslips and a maroon and cream duvet.

Forcing open eyes that felt as if they were full of sand, she looked up blearily, smothering a yawn.

‘Tired?’

‘Yes,’ she admitted. It had been a long, emotionally draining day.

‘As soon as I’ve made up the bed I suggest we both get some sleep.’

For the first time the full reality of the situation struck her, and she froze.

Then after a moment, relaxing somewhat, she recalled that when Simon had described the cottage he’d said two-up, two-down, so presumably there were two bedrooms.

But would there be another bed?

As though reading her thoughts, he said, ‘I’m afraid there’s only the one bed, so unless you want to share it…?’

‘I don’t!’ Her voice had risen in alarm.

‘In that case I’ll take the couch.’

Her feeling of relief was elbowed aside by guilt. ‘But you said there were no blankets.’

‘Don’t worry, I can manage with a coat. And at least there are plenty of pillows. Ben must sleep propped up.’

Sounding quite sanguine, he added, ‘The bathroom is just along the passage, the first door on the left. There should be some warm water by now, but I very much doubt if there’s enough for a shower.’

She got to her feet and, very conscious of his gaze on her bare legs, made her way along the lamplit passage to a small bathroom, where the white porcelain fittings, though antiquated, were gleaming and spotlessly clean.

A gas lamp over the sink bathed the place in yellow light and threw out a halo of warmth, and the boiler, with its little row of blue and gold flames, popped and gurgled cheerfully. The only real snag was a cold draught coming under the door.

Seeing her stockings and undies hung tidily over a slatted airing-rack alongside Simon’s silk boxer shorts gave her a strange feeling. It was almost as if they were an old married couple.

Soap, towels, a face-flannel, a tube of toothpaste and a bottle of shower gel had been laid out ready on a green painted shelf.

Bearing in mind Simon’s warning, she washed at the sink rather than risking a shower, and in the absence of a brush used a finger to clean her teeth as best she could.

When she returned to the living-room the bed was made up, and Simon was putting more logs on the fire.

‘Finished?’ he asked.

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Then the bed’s all yours. I’ll go and wash before I turn out the lights.’

The big bed looked more than inviting and she climbed in with a sigh, plumped up a couple of pillows and closed her eyes.

However, her sojourn in the bathroom had turned her feet into blocks of ice, and, as she knew that the settee would be much too short for him and was bound to be terribly uncomfortable, a combination of cold feet and guilt prevented her from sleeping.

But it would be madness to share the bed with him, and she knew instinctively that he was too much of a gentleman to let her take the settee…

She was still wide awake, thoughts buzzing round in her brain like bees, when he returned wearing nothing but a towel knotted around his lean hips. He was carrying a couple of coats over his arm and a blue rubber hot-water bottle.

He turned towards the bed, and in a sudden panic she feigned slumber.

‘Asleep?’ he asked softly.

Though her eyes were closed, she was aware that he was standing looking down at her.

She felt the bedclothes being moved gently aside and then the warmth as the hot-water bottle was slid in beside her feet.

After a second or two she heard the brush of his bare soles on the floorboards as he walked away, and released the breath she’d been unconsciously holding.

Peeping through her lashes, she watched him douse the oil lamps, then take off the towel and stretch. With the fireglow gilding his naked limbs, he looked like Apollo, and she caught her breath audibly.

She saw his teeth gleam in a smile, before he said conversationally, ‘Next time you’re pretending to be asleep, remember to breathe.’

When she said nothing, he pursued, ‘Why aren’t you asleep? Is there some problem?’

‘My feet were cold,’ she said in a small voice.

‘Hopefully that’s been taken care of.’

‘And I felt mean about you sleeping on the couch,’ she added in a rush.

A moment later he was sitting on the edge of the bed looking down at her.

Her hair, a riot of dark, silky curls, was spread over the white pillow. The fireglow touched her face, casting shadows, gleaming in her eyes, hollowing her cheeks.

‘That could be remedied, if it’s bothering you. Though it has to be your decision.’

She swallowed hard. He was much too close, much too naked, much too male.

‘W-well I—I…’ She stammered to a halt, averting her eyes.

‘It’s quite simple,’ he said patiently. ‘Do you want me to share your bed or not?’

When, hot all over, she continued to hesitate, he went on, ‘As you could see if you were incautious enough to look, you have a powerful effect on me, so if the answer’s yes, I’m afraid I can’t promise to treat you like a sister.’

Common sense spoke for her. ‘Then the answer’s no!’

‘Very well,’ he said equably, ‘I’ll settle for the couch and a goodnight kiss.’

Her normally soft, husky voice high and shrill, she cried, ‘No! No, I don’t want to kiss you.’

‘Then I’ll kiss you.’

He placed his hands one each side of her head, palms down, trapping her hair beneath them, and bent to touch his lips to hers.

That lightest of caresses had the same effect as a lit match dropped into a keg of gunpowder.

As, without conscious volition, her mouth opened beneath his, he began to kiss her with a fierce, burning hunger that swept her up and carried her along willy-nilly.

In the past, on the few occasions she had been seriously tempted to sleep with a man, she had thought and considered and weighed up any possible consequences, and invariably caution had won the day.

But now, caution didn’t get a look-in. Conscious only of an overwhelming desire, a need to belong to this man, she wound her arms round his neck and returned his kiss, responding to his passion with complete abandonment.

He slid in beside her, his fingers urgent as he unbuttoned her shirt and found the soft curves of her breasts, teasing the firm nipples, making her stomach clench, sending shock waves running through her.

When his mouth took the place of his fingers, her whole body convulsed in a grinding ache of longing.

She felt the hard maleness of him against the electric sensitivity of her skin, and, her throat dry and burning, she pulled him down, opening to him, welcoming his weight.

There was an explosion of ecstasy at his first strong thrust, then their bodies bucked in unison, and behind her closed eyelids the world splintered into a million fragments of black and gold.

He groaned once, softly, just as the first joyous waves of release began to shudder through her.

Both of them were breathing as if they’d run a race as, blind and deaf, she lay beneath him, his fair head heavy on her breast.

When he finally lifted himself away and gathered her close, exhausted by the day and the emotional storm she had just lived through, she was asleep within seconds.

She surfaced slowly, luxuriously, her body sleek and satisfied, her mind drifting, no thoughts of past, present or future disturbing its tranquillity.

Gradually emerging from the dreamlike trance, she realised that last night’s storm had died away and sunlight was filtering round the curtains. The fire in the old black range had settled into whitish ash, and, despite the brightness, the air was cool.

But she was glowingly warm, lying cradled in the crook of an arm, her head pillowed comfortably at the juncture between chest and shoulder.

Simon’s arm… Simon’s chest… She could hear his quiet, even breathing, feel the beat of his heart beneath her cheek.

A cautious peep upward showed her his face intriguingly inverted, the firm chin covered in morning stubble, the thick, dark gold lashes fanning onto his hard cheeks.

Memories came flooding in, memories of his hands and mouth touching her breasts, his weight pinning her down, memories of hunger and need, of surrender, and undreamtof delight.

But it had been more than mere surrender. A great deal more. She had met and matched his passion with a passion of her own.

Recalling how recklessly, how wantonly, she had behaved, she waited to feel both shame and regret.

She felt neither, only a sense of amazement that she had lived for so many years without knowing such ecstasy existed.

Giving herself so completely to a man she scarcely knew, a man who cared not a jot for her, had been foolish in the extreme. But it had also been a new and wonderful, life-enriching experience, and she couldn’t regret it.

Perhaps in the following days she would come to regret it, especially when Simon treated her like any other casual one-night stand.

But possibly he wouldn’t just brush her off? She knew now that he could be kind and caring, so maybe he would let her down lightly? Pretend she had been just a little bit special?

But did she want that sort of pretence?

No, of course she didn’t. She had always preferred honesty, even if it hurt.

And it would hurt. She knew that without a shadow of a doubt. But it wasn’t as if she had fallen in love with him, she told herself hastily. It was simply that he was the only man she had ever wanted enough to make her throw caution to the wind.

She had never got into the modern way of regarding sex as merely sex, divorced from love, or sometimes even liking, just a natural appetite that could be indulged with as little soul-searching as possible.

If she could start thinking that way…

But she couldn’t, any more than she could alter the nature she had been born with. The most she could do was refuse to flay herself for what had happened, to accept with gratitude the new dimension it had given her life.

Simon had promised her nothing. She had expected nothing from him. It should be relatively easy to regard last night as a one-off and walk away.

So why did it feel like the end of the world?

Perhaps because it had come and gone so quickly. She hadn’t had time to grasp that moment of delight and fulfilment, to hug it to her, to savour it.

So what did she want? she asked herself crossly. The kind of affair that would drag on for a few weeks while Simon decided how to end it?

No, she didn’t want that. It would be less painful in the long run to keep her chin high and pretend she didn’t care. To give thanks that, if not totally unscathed, she had enough pride left to enable her to hide it.

And if all she would have left were some fleeting memories, she was still lucky. Though there might have been no love involved, at least she had known true rapture…

Unconsciously she sighed.

‘Why the sigh?’ Simon asked.

Glancing up, she saw the blue gleam of his eyes between half-closed lids. He looked so virile and sexy that her heart began to race uncomfortably.

Afraid he would feel it, she hastily eased herself free and, pulling the shirt together over her bare breasts, sat up.

‘Not regretting it, I hope?’ he pursued, pushing back the pillows and following suit.

Unwilling to let him know just how much it had meant to her, she answered as coolly as possible, ‘Why should I be?’

‘I thought in the cold light of morning you might be having second thoughts.’

‘If I were, it would be too late.’

‘Are you?’

Looking anywhere but at him, she answered, ‘No.’

‘I’m rather pleased about that. I must admit I haven’t been quite so impetuous since the days of my youth. Nor as careless… But I presume you are protected?’ he added.

The casual question shook her rigid.

‘P-protected?’ she stammered.

‘As in contraception?’

She could scarcely believe that she had given no thought to such an important issue. Yet, swept away by passion, she hadn’t.

And now it might be too late.

Looking at her half-averted face, he added blandly, ‘I’ve always been led to believe that modern women didn’t take any chances.’

They probably didn’t, she thought miserably, but she could hardly be described as a modern woman in that sense.

‘So you’re not?’ he pressed.

‘No,’ she admitted in a small voice.

There was a pause, as though he was considering what she’d told him, then he said, ‘Oh, well, at least we don’t need to worry too much about it.’

Ruffled by his insouciance, she said stiffly, ‘You may not need to.’

‘Don’t you like children?’ Simon asked.

‘Of course I do, but—’

‘Then there’s no real problem,’ he stated.

‘I’m glad you think so.’

‘We can get married—’

‘What?’

‘We can get married,’ he repeated patiently.

‘Married!’

‘As there’s a possibility you may be pregnant…’

‘It’s only a possibility.’

‘I’d sooner we got married at once rather than waiting to be certain.’

‘B-but we’ve only just met,’ she stammered. ‘We don’t really know each other.’

‘Both those things can soon be remedied. Do you have any other quibbles?’

‘We come from totally different backgrounds,’ she protested.

‘Does that matter?’

‘It might well.’

‘I don’t happen to think so. Once we’re married—’

‘I can’t marry you,’ she gasped.

‘Why not?’

‘Because I can’t,’ she insisted raggedly.

A razor-sharp edge to his voice, he asked, ‘Are you in love with someone else?’

‘No.’

‘Sure about that?’

‘Quite sure. If I’d been in love with someone else, last night would never have happened.’

He nodded as if satisfied.

‘And, as I was as much to blame as you, there’s no need to…’ She hesitated and stopped, biting her bottom lip.

‘Go all Victorian and propose?’ he suggested.

‘Exactly.’

Tongue-in-cheek, he said, ‘Perhaps I feel that it’s my duty as, at the very least, I’ve compromised you.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t joke about it.’

‘Very well, I’ll be serious. Hand on my heart, I’d like you to marry me.’

When she began to shake her head, his voice quizzical, he asked, ‘Do I take it you can’t stand the sight of me?’

‘No, it’s not that at all.’

‘But you really don’t want to be my wife?’ he pressed.

She did want to be his wife. Shaken by the knowledge, which came clear and sharp and certain, she hesitated.

His eyes on her expressive face, he persisted, ‘So what’s the problem?’

Pulling herself together, she informed him, ‘I couldn’t marry a man who doesn’t love me, who only suggested marriage because I might be pregnant.’

‘But I didn’t only suggest marriage because you might be pregnant. If you had been protected I would still have asked you to marry me.’

‘You must have an over-developed sense of chivalry,’ she said, her voice tart.

He raised a level brow. ‘How do you work that out?’

‘I take it it’s because I’m a guest in your house. Presumably you don’t propose to all the women you go to bed with?’

‘Neither do I rush them into it.’

‘As I allowed myself to be rushed into it, the responsibility’s mine. You don’t have to marry me,’ Charlotte snapped.

‘I happen to want to,’ he said quietly.

‘Why?’

Reaching out a hand, he took her chin and turned her face towards his. ‘Would you believe it if I told you that when we met for the first time my heart stood still?’

Hurt and angered by his mockery, she said tightly, ‘No, I wouldn’t.’

‘Pity, as it happens to be the truth.’

When, hardly able to believe her ears, she simply stared at him, he went on softly, ‘I thought you were the most exquisite creature I’d ever set eyes on, and I wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted any other woman. Happy now?’

Suddenly she was. Ecstatically happy. ‘Yes.’

‘Then you’ll marry me?’

‘What will your grandfather say?’

‘Don’t worry, he’ll be pleased. He took an instant liking to you.’

‘I’m glad… I like him.’

‘Good. But you still haven’t answered my question. Will you marry me?’

She should have said she needed a clear head, time to think. Instead, under his spell, she found herself agreeing, ‘Yes, I’ll marry you.’

His little smile was that of a conqueror as he tilted her face up to his and kissed her.

The stubble of his beard rasped her lips and, her stomach clenching, she opened her mouth to his searching tongue.

While he deepened the kiss, forcing her head back against the pillows, his hands found the rounded curves of her breasts and the pink nipples firmed under his touch.

With a stifled gasp she ran her fingers into his thick blond hair, holding him to her, while desire rose inside her. It flowed from the centre of her being like red-hot lava, swamping everything but her need for him.

Slipping the shirt from her shoulders, he tossed it aside and eased her onto her back, kissing her closed eyelids, her cheekbones, her throat, while one hand slid down over her ribcage and stomach to the silky skin of her inner thighs.

She was shivering, but it had nothing to do with the cool air of the room, as she abandoned herself to his experienced fingers. When his mouth took the place of his fingers she had to bite her lip to stop herself crying out.

His lovemaking was infinitely skilled and gentle, coaxing the maximum sensation from her body while he kept her just on the brink.

Finally, unable to stand any more, she begged huskily, ‘Please, oh, please…’ and felt his weight with gratitude.

This time, showing a steely control over his own body and hers, he moved with maddening slowness. Drawing shuddering thrills from her, he withdrew to the very tip before pressing back again, creating a slow spiralling need that built into a white-hot molten core of tension.

Only when her body instinctively began to urge his did he move faster, driving deeper, until the tension exploded like a volcano. She cried out at the intense pleasure, and heard his low, answering groan.

When their heart-rate and breathing returned to normal he lifted himself away, and, gathering her up, brushed her damp, tangled hair away from her cheeks and kissed her.

Totally at peace and engulfed by a kind of languid sweetness, she fell asleep in his arms, her face against his throat.

When Charlotte awoke for the second time she was alone in the bed. Logs flamed and crackled in the grate and a welcome smell of coffee was drifting in from the scullery.

She was about to get out and pull on the shirt before fetching her clothes, when the door opened and Simon came in carrying a large wooden tray. He was fully dressed, his blond hair, still a little damp from the shower, parted on the left and tidily combed. ‘Hungry?’ he asked.

‘Starving.’

‘The best I can manage is black coffee followed by tinned sausages and baked beans. Not very exciting, I’m sorry to say, but as we’ve expended so much energy,’ he added wickedly, ‘I thought we’d better go for it.’

Trying hard not to blush, she said composedly, ‘It smells wonderful.’

‘As it’s still none too warm out here, I suggest you have yours in bed.’

With a feeling of being cherished and cared for, she pushed herself upright and leaned back against the pillows.

Balancing the tray dexterously on one hand, he removed the candlestick and matches from the bedside table before setting it down.

She noticed that the stubble had gone from his jaw, to be replaced by a slight rawness and a drying trickle of blood. Feeling a sudden rush of tenderness, she said, ‘You’ve cut yourself.’

‘It’s just a nick.’ Wryly, he added, ‘I’m out of practice with the kind of cutthroat razor Ben has. The only time I’ve used one of those was at college, and then I did it for a bet.’

‘I’m surprised you bothered shaving.’ She spoke the thought aloud.

‘I wouldn’t have done, but bristles play havoc with a delicate skin like yours—the bits I can see are still pink from last time—and I was overcome by a strong desire to kiss you all over.’

Before she could protest he drew back the duvet and, taking her hips, pulled her flat on her back. Then, growling softly, he nuzzled his face against her breasts, alternately nibbling and sucking.

While she laughed and squirmed helplessly, he worked his way down her ribcage to her slender waist. His mouth was hovering over her navel when she gasped, ‘Stop…’

‘I’ve scarcely started. I haven’t even got to the really interesting bits.’

‘Please stop.’

‘You mean you don’t like it?’

‘I mean I’m hungry, and the beans and sausages will be getting cold.’

He straightened with a sigh and helped her sit up. ‘What a very practical woman. I can see that in future I’m going to have to feed you before I indulge my lascivious cravings.’

Reaching for the shirt, he put it carefully around her shoulders. ‘Coffee first?’

‘Please.’

When their mugs were empty, he spread a clean tea towel over the duvet and put a heaped plate and a knife and fork in front of her. ‘Tuck in.’

Then, sitting down companionably on the edge of the bed, he reached for his own plate and began to eat with a healthy appetite.

Watching him, Charlotte saw that, without looking anything but entirely masculine, he ate with a kind of neat precision.

Unlike some big men, all his movements were easy and graceful, and whatever he was doing he seemed to have complete control over his own body. The thought brought vivid memories of his earlier lovemaking, and made her breath come faster and her pulses race.

Leashing his own needs, he had been ardent, tender, skilful and wonderfully generous. She had never, in her wildest fantasies, imagined having such a lover.

She wanted to pinch herself to make sure that all that had happened since they’d come to Owl Cottage hadn’t been just a dream.

For instance, had she really agreed to marry a man she had known for barely two days?

Incredibly, she had.

What on earth had made her do it?

She was head over heels in love, it was as simple as that. Somewhere she had read that you first fell in love with your eyes, then your emotions, then your mind. But she hadn’t done it in stages, and she hadn’t called it love.

Instead she had labelled this bolt from the blue physical attraction, only now realising it was love. A fierce, all-consuming love that had lit a torch and sent her up in flames…