Читать книгу Carole Mortimer Romance Collection - Кэрол Мортимер, Carole Mortimer - Страница 11

THE two men were eyeing each other up and down like two stags after the same doe, Lyon’s face set in arrogantly forbidding lines as he looked at the other man with narrowed grey eyes, James frowning across at him with open dislike.

It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Farcical, in fact. But it was happening right in front of Silke’s eyes.

‘Silke?’ Her mother sounded puzzled by her sudden silence. ‘Are you still there, darling?’

‘No,’ she answered dully, still watching the two men. ‘And I have a feeling I won’t be for some time,’ she added heavily. ‘Can you call back tomorrow?’

‘No, darling, I can’t,’ her mother protested. ‘I—Lyon isn’t there again, is he?’ she added disbelievingly as the idea obviously occurred to her—and she wondered what on earth he was doing at Silke’s flat.

‘Afraid so,’ Silke answered drily. ‘Just get back to me when you can. And good luck,’ she added before putting the receiver down. No doubt her mother would be deeply puzzled by Lyon’s presence here, but there was no way at this moment that Silke could even try to explain it!

The two men were dressed similarly, in dark suits and white shirts, but Lyon’s suit was obviously of a superior cut, his shirt silk. And that was the only similarity between the two men, Silke realised as she looked across the room at them, one being so blond, the other so dark, Lyon ten years older than the other man—and having all the assurance those years brought along with them. James had visibly started to wilt as the other man continued to look at him coldly.

‘No one has the wrong night,’ Silke said smoothly as she moved to join them near the door. ‘James was just leaving.’ She looked at him challengingly, having little sympathy for his discomfort in the face of the other man’s arrogance; he had no right to come here at all, and it was his own fault if he wasn’t exactly welcomed!

Impatient anger darkened the blue of his eyes at Silke’s obvious dismissal—reminding her all too vividly of that temper she had forgotten during the year James was out of her life, a temper she had overlooked altogether whenever she allowed herself to think of him the last year. But she remembered it all too well now, also her attempts in the past to appease that temper James had inherited from his Scottish ancestors. Well, not any more!

‘Weren’t you?’ she prompted as she held the door open pointedly.

The Cameron temper flashed again briefly in those expressive blue eyes before he quickly brought it back under control. He gave a distant nod. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ he told her evenly, not even sparing Lyon a second glance as he strode out of the flat.

Silke’s hand was shaking slightly as she closed the door behind him. My God, she had just effectively thrown James out of her flat. And her life? But he wasn’t in her life, she reminded herself forcefully; he was a married man, and of no interest to her whatsoever.

‘James?’ Lyon repeated softly, drawing her attention to him, his head tilted as he looked down at her with questioning grey eyes.

‘You’re early,’ Silke accused impatiently, having no intention of satisfying his curiosity where James was concerned.

He shook his head. ‘I arrived here at exactly seven-thirty,’ he drawled derisively.

Silke looked down at the slender watch on her wrist; it was now seven thirty-five—where had the time gone?

‘You really should learn to rotate your men in a more effective way,’ Lyon added tauntingly at her obvious surprise at the time. ‘Preferably choosing different evenings for seeing them!’

Silke’s cheeks were flushed at his open mockery. ‘James is not one of “my men”!’

‘Meaning I am?’ Lyon’s brows were raised enquiringly.

‘Of course not,’ she snapped impatiently. ‘I just meant that James was not expected here this evening at all.’ If ever!

‘James...’ Lyon repeated softly again, thoughtfully. ‘Would that be James Cameron?’ he bit out with a forcefulness that had been totally belied by his earlier mildness.

Throwing her into a false sense of security! How did he know James’s surname? She was sure she hadn’t—of course, that damned report he had on her mother; it had told him of her engagement to James. And the subsequent breaking of that engagement, she was sure. Oh, God...! Her humiliation had been bad enough at the time; she certainly didn’t need to be reminded of it by Lyon Buchanan, of all people.

Her head went back in a defiant gesture she couldn’t quite control. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and finish getting ready.’ She was still standing here in her dress and underwear and nothing else! God, no wonder he had thought— But he had no right to think anything; she wasn’t answerable to Lyon for her actions—no matter what they might be!

‘No, I won’t excuse you,’ Lyon told her firmly as he reached out and grasped her wrist in a grip that was steely. ‘You didn’t answer my question. Was that James Cameron, your ex-fiancé?’

So he did know exactly who James was! ‘And if it was?’ Her cheeks were flushed with anger, her eyes flashing deeply green as she looked up into his coldly compelling face.

‘He’s a married man,’ Lyon bit out harshly.

‘Yes.’ She still looked up at him defiantly. Why should she feel so defensive? She had done nothing wrong, and even if she had it was none of Lyon’s business.

Lyon’s eyes were icy as his gaze raked over her. ‘And that doesn’t bother you?’

‘Why should it?’ she returned dismissively. Because it did no longer bother her that James was married to someone else. For months after they had broken up she had tortured herself with thoughts of James as someone else’s husband, but tonight she had realised it simply didn’t matter any more, that she had stopped loving him a long time ago. If tonight had done nothing else, it had proved that to her.

Lyon’s grip tightened about her wrist as he pulled her up against his chest. ‘You were going to marry him once, and he married someone else,’ he cruelly reminded her.

‘We all make mistakes,’ she dismissed again. ‘Lyon, let me go!’ Her pulse was starting to race, her body to tremble, at his close proximity.

He shook his head. ‘I had started to believe I may have made a mistake about you,’ he grated. ‘But I guess not!’ His head lowered, and that cruel twist of a mouth savagely claimed hers.

It was too much, all too much. First the worry of her mother and Henry, then her earlier confrontation with Lyon, James’s unexpected visit here, and now this. It was just too much!

Lyon’s mouth was moving against hers with a determination that owed nothing to passion and everything to a contempt for her he wasn’t even trying to hide, his arms like steel bands as he moulded her body against the hardness of his, his hands running expertly up and down the curve of her spine.

Silke stood limply in his arms, offering no resistance but certainly none of the response she had known with him before either. How could she respond to what was no more than coldly clinical, a lesson in dominance that Lyon had every intention of winning? Only she wasn’t playing; she felt numb from the angry onslaught.

Finally Lyon seemed to realise she was like a rag-doll in his arms, and he raised his head to look down at her, his eyes blazing with an emotion it was difficult to define, his mouth taut with anger. ‘What is it?’ he rasped harshly, his arms still holding her firmly against him. ‘Has Cameron had all the response you’re going to give this evening?’

She wanted to snap back, to be as angry as he obviously was, but the fight had gone out of her, all her defences crashing, even anger, as she realised, looking up into Lyon’s harshly attractive face, that she was falling in love with him. With a man who had shown her nothing but anger and contempt since the moment they first met. It wasn’t just stupid, it was insane; she was insane. But a part of her yearned to know the real Lyon, the child in Lyon that had been brought up by a man who had lost the woman he loved, the young man who had grown cynical because his wealth meant more to the women he met than the man himself, this older man who obviously saw women as people to be used as he himself had been used in the past. Oh, yes, Henry had talked to her about Lyon’s childhood and his learned cynicism, but she wanted Lyon to talk to her about it, to tell her of all his pain, to... She was insane; Lyon would never talk to her of those things—because to him she was just another one of those women. Didn’t what had happened just now more than prove that?

Something of her emotions must have shown in her face, and Lyon’s expression was suddenly wary. ‘Silke?’ He frowned darkly.

‘Oh, Lyon...!’ She could have wept, for him, for herself. She was falling in love with a man who wasn’t capable of feeling love for anyone, let alone the daughter of the woman he considered a gold-digger.

‘Tears, Silke?’ His frown deepened as he looked down at her searchingly. ‘For Cameron?’

She hadn’t realised there were tears, but now she was aware of them, warm against her cheeks. For whom? Herself? Lyon? Both, probably. God, what a mess!

‘Answer me, Silke!’ Lyon gripped the tops of her arms now, shaking her slightly. ‘You still love him, is that it?’

‘No,’ she answered without hesitation, knowing that she didn’t. How could she possibly love James when Lyon overshadowed him in every way? She had known that when she’d looked at the two men together earlier. Thank God she had never married James; and she had never thought she would ever say that!

‘Then what is it?’ He frowned. ‘Did I hurt you?’ He touched her lips with gentle fingertips, lips that were slightly swollen from his earlier kisses. ‘God, I did,’ he groaned in realisation of the damage his savagery had done. ‘I never meant to hurt you, Silke.’ He shook his head.

He was going to hurt her in a way he didn’t even realise, couldn’t be allowed to realise. ‘It doesn’t matter, Lyon,’ she told him huskily, shaken by the gentleness of his touch against her mouth. God, don’t let him be gentle now, not when she was already feeling so vulnerable towards him.

His expression darkened. ‘Of course it damn well—’ He broke off, drawing in a ragged breath, both hands cupping each side of her face now as he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb-tips. ‘I’ve never made a woman cry before,’ he said gruffly.

Not to his knowledge, perhaps, but Silke was sure that not all the women that had entered and then left his life had done so with their heart intact. She couldn’t be the only one who had wanted to know, and love, the man behind the cynical mask.

It was madness. This was Lyon Buchanan, the man totally opposed to her mother marrying his uncle, a man who had only contempt for her too, and not only as ‘Satin’s’ daughter. But as she looked up at him all she could see was Lyon, the man she was falling in love with. The man she so wanted to kiss her again, but this time not with anger...

‘Never,’ he repeated huskily, a perplexed look on his face.

Silke was powerless to move as his head lowered, his mouth claiming hers, not roughly this time, but with the same gentleness as his fingertips had touched only seconds earlier. And Silke was lost...

The kiss of searching gentleness went on and on, never-ending to Silke, her hands first clinging to the broadness of his shoulders, and then moving caressingly across his back before becoming entangled in the curling thickness of the hair at his nape. Lyon groaned deep in his throat at the intimacy as Silke’s fingertips brushed against the sensitive skin there as she held him to her.

His mouth instantly became more demanding, the tip of his tongue moving lightly against her inner lip. Silke’s mouth tingled from the caress, pressing more closely against him as that tongue invaded her mouth, invaded her, engaging in a duel with hers, a duel only one of them could win. And as Lyon lightly cupped one of her breasts with his hand Silke knew which one of them it was going to be...

His thumb moved lightly over the fabric of her dress, finding the nipple that pouted there, sensations warming the whole of her body as he began a rhythmic caress that made her ache with need.

And still his mouth possessed hers, his tongue telling her of his own need, the hardness of his thighs pressed against her, the muscles rippling across his back as her hands moved beneath his jacket to caress him through the silk of his shirt.

His mouth was against her neck now, kissing the pulsing column down to the sensitive hollow at the base of her throat, his breath hot against her burning flesh. And still he continued to caress her breast. Silke arched against him, totally lost to all reason, all sense but Lyon’s touch and the feel of his hands against her body.

‘God, I want you!’ he suddenly groaned raggedly. ‘I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything in my life before!’ He raised his head to look down at her with eyes dark with passion. ‘Silke...?’

She knew what he was asking—and he didn’t need to; her own need of him must be so obvious to him! But they were who they were, and—

‘No,’ he bit out firmly as he saw the hesitation in her eyes. ‘We knew this would happen from the moment we first met. We both knew it.’

Had she? She had been very aware of him then, but as a man filled with anger, not—

‘Silke...!’ he groaned again, his mouth nibbling at hers now, barely touching, asking, cajoling, tempting...!

She couldn’t think any more, didn’t want to, only wanted this man, and the pleasure his caresses and kisses promised, wanted that with a hunger she hadn’t known existed within her.

‘Yes, Lyon,’ she breathed against his mouth. ‘God, yes!’

He swung her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing at all—which to him she probably didn’t!—carrying her through the open doorway of her bedroom, laying her tenderly down on the bed, removing her clothes with the gentleness she had found so surprising in him after his initial savagery, until Silke lay naked before him, unashamedly so, the creamy softness of her body smooth and unblemished, breasts pert, her stomach slenderly lovely, hips curved and inviting.

‘You are beautiful,’ Lyon murmured raggedly. ‘Absolutely lovely!’

She knelt on the bed, revelling in the pleasure of helping him undress. She had known his body had to be as beautiful as those hands she found so fascinating, and was not disappointed when he stood unclothed beside her, dark hair covering that muscled chest on its path down to his thighs, not an ounce of superfluous flesh anywhere, his stomach taut, his need of her evident in his nakedness.

Nothing mattered to either of them now but pleasuring each other. And Lyon gave Silke pleasure as she had never known before, time after time, until she quivered with her need for his full possession, so desperately wanted him inside her, where she knew instinctively he belonged.

‘Touch me, Silke,’ he encouraged achingly. ‘Help me. Guide me.’

He felt like velvet, and as he shuddered beneath her touch she knew they both wanted that velvet hardness inside her, sheathed inside her silky warmth, giving them both even more pleasure, pleasure undreamt of. And so she did as he asked, guiding him, groaning her protest as he would have stopped at the barrier that suddenly halted his progress.

‘Silke?’ He looked down at her with stunned disbelief.

‘Don’t go, Lyon,’ she pleaded as he would have pulled away from her.

He shook his head. ‘But you’re a—’

‘Not any more.’ She took the initiative, arching up against him, looking up into his eyes as he breached that barrier, knowing only a brief moment of pain, and then that overwhelming pleasure returned as Lyon joined totally with her.

‘You—oh, God...!’ He ceased even trying to remain controlled as their bodies moved instinctively together in total harmony, bending his head so that his lips could claim a pouting breast.

And at the first touch of his mouth against her hardened nipple Silke felt the shudderings of an ecstasy she had never known before, wave after wave of pleasure taking her away from any reality but Lyon and their mutual lovemaking. Because Lyon was just as out of control as she was, tried desperately to be gentle still, but finally gave in to the primitive urge that was even stronger than he was, his mouth claiming hers even as he moved rhythmically inside her. And Silke knew that earth-shattering ecstasy once more before Lyon groaned his own pleasure, filling her, engulfing her.

* * *

Silke had often wondered how she would feel after making love for the first time. And now she knew. Awkward. Embarrassed. Apprehensive... Maybe if it hadn’t been Lyon who had made love to her she wouldn’t have felt any of those things, certainly not the latter. But it was Lyon, a man she really hadn’t known for very long, a man whom she loved but who didn’t love her. A man who had been shocked by her virginity...

She had loved James, but, as they had always known they were going to marry, the question of their becoming lovers before that marriage hadn’t really arisen. She had often asked herself, after James had gone off and married someone else, whether their lack of a physical relationship might have contributed to his going. Maybe it had. Although she doubted she would have known the ecstasy with him that she had just experienced. Lyon had known exactly how to make love to her to give her the ultimate in pleasure. And she hated the women who had given him that knowledge.

He lay on his back on the bed beside her, not touching her, not looking at her, staring up at the ceiling. Silke watched him beneath lowered lashes, wondering what he was thinking, but as usual his expression gave away none of his thoughts.

What happened now? How was she supposed to get through the next few minutes with any of her dignity intact? Or maybe she wasn’t. This should never have happened—

‘This should never have happened,’ Lyon harshly echoed her thoughts even as he swung his legs off the bed to stand up and begin pulling on his clothes—clothes that had been strewn about the room in their haste to feel flesh against flesh. ‘You should have told me,’ he added accusingly once he had his trousers on and was tucking his shirt into the waistband with savage movements. ‘This makes absolutely no difference to my dislike of your mother marrying my uncle, you know,’ he told her coldly. ‘I still—’

‘Don’t!’ she warned harshly, all awkwardness and embarrassment gone. As for apprehension...! ‘Get out of here, Lyon,’ she instructed coldly, getting up herself to pull on her grey silky robe to firmly tie the belt about her waist. ‘And don’t come back!’ Her eyes flashed a warning at him not even to mention her mother and Henry again in connection with what had just happened.

He was fully dressed now, looking at her with narrowed steely grey eyes—looking nothing at all like the passionate, consumed man who had just made love to her! Maybe that was something else she had learnt today—you didn’t have to be in love with the person you went to bed with. Because although she might have realised she was in love with Lyon, he certainly wasn’t in love with her! How naïve she had been all these years to believe you actually had to love the person you made love with. But then it obviously hadn’t been making love for Lyon but something much more ugly...

‘I asked you to go,’ she told him in a controlled voice. She just wanted to be alone, to try to salvage something from this situation. Starting with her pride.

‘I still can’t believe—’ He gave a perplexed shake of his head. ‘Silke, you and Cameron—’

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she snapped dismissively. ‘My relationship with James is nothing to do with you.’

‘But you were going to marry the man.’ Lyon frowned.

She looked at him challengingly. ‘Yes?’

His frown deepened, and Silke could only imagine how she must look, her hair a blonde tangle about her face, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly swollen from the passion of their kisses. Just the thought of it made her face fill with heated colour and she could no longer meet his gaze.

‘Never mind,’ Lyon rasped harshly. ‘Obviously, whatever happened—or didn’t happen—between you in the past, Cameron has decided to renew the relationship!’

Silke’s eyes widened. She had no idea why James had contacted her after all this time, but she certainly didn’t believe it was for the reason Lyon did; James was married, and he had to know her at least well enough, after all this time, to realise she would never become involved with him again while he was a married man. She would never become involved with him again anyway!

Especially now... She had just made love with Lyon Buchanan, of all people!

‘James can decide what he pleases; it really doesn’t affect me,’ Silke dismissed, walking to the bedroom door. ‘I believe you were leaving,’ she said again pointedly.

Lyon didn’t move, fully dressed now, his dark hair slightly ruffled. From her fingers running through its silky thickness, Silke realised with an inward lurch of her stomach.

‘We have to talk about what happened just now—’

‘We don’t have to talk about anything,’ she cut in forcefully, wishing he would just leave so that she could lick her wounds in private. And she did feel very emotionally bruised, still couldn’t quite believe what had happened between the two of them only minutes ago in this bedroom. She couldn’t even look at the bed, didn’t know how she was ever going to be able to sleep in it again without remembering Lyon being there. She didn’t know how she was ever going to be able to sleep again anyway! ‘We both know that—just now, was a mistake,’ she added awkwardly.

‘Maybe more of one than either of us realises. Yet,’ Lyon concluded grimly.

Silke looked at him with puzzled eyes. How could it be more of a mistake than it already was? What—oh, no! She paled as she realised Lyon was referring to the possible consequences of what had just happened between them. But she couldn’t be pregnant just from... Of course she could; she wasn’t that naïve that she didn’t know it only took the once to become pregnant. And because Lyon hadn’t realised how innocent she was it hadn’t entered his head—or hers!—to use contraception. Besides, she remembered with renewed embarrassment, she had taken matters out of his control and made that impossible for him.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. ‘You surely don’t think that I deliberately—’

‘Don’t be so damned stupid,’ he rasped harshly. ‘Neither of us planned what happened between us just now—that’s why we’re in the predicament we are!’ he added self-disgustedly.

Silke swallowed hard. ‘We probably aren’t in any predicament at all,’ she dismissed with more confidence than she felt. God, what if she were to be pregnant? What would they—she—do? Would Lyon expect her to...? It wouldn’t be any of his business, she decided firmly. It was her body, for goodness’ sake; she could do what she liked with it—and that included giving birth to Lyon’s child if she chose to do so. Just the thought of it made her stomach lurch!

‘”Probably” doesn’t do it, I’m afraid,’ he bit out coldly.

‘Well, for the moment it will have to, won’t it?’ Silke cut in heatedly. ‘I’m not about to stand here now and discuss something that’s probably not even a possibility.’ She felt far too vulnerable standing here in her bedroom wearing only her silky dressing-gown, especially as Lyon was fully dressed. ‘I suggest we just wait and see.’ She walked to the bedroom doorway, pointedly waiting for him to leave, breathing an inward sigh of relief when he at last left her bedroom. Even if it was only to come to an abrupt halt in her lounge!

‘I’ll wait here for you while you dress for dinner,’ he told her abruptly.

Silke gave a snort of disbelief. ‘You aren’t serious!’ She stared at him.

‘Would you rather I waited outside in my car?’

‘I would rather you just left; I have no intention of having dinner with you now!’ As if she could calmly sit across a table from him in a restaurant after what had just happened between them!

‘We still have things to talk about, Silke,’ he said grimly.

‘We’ve already discussed the possibility of my being pregnant—’

‘Not that,’ he dismissed impatiently. ‘That will become all too apparent in time. There’s still the problem of your mother and my uncle.’

Silke frowned, looking at him searchingly. ‘Is that the reason you invited me out to dinner?’ she said slowly.

He gave a curt nod. ‘The chances are they haven’t actually gone through with the wedding yet, and—’

‘I don’t believe you,’ she cut in forcefully, her hands clenched so tightly at her sides that her nails were digging into her palms. She had known there had to be a reason for his sudden invitation to dinner, but this! My God, did the man never give up? Obviously not. So much for his interest in seeing some of her jewellery designs in the right setting! ‘I hope they have, Lyon. I hope they’re already married and that there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it!’ She was so angry she could have hit him at that moment. ‘Get out, Lyon. Just get out,’ she added disgustedly.

‘You—’

‘Now, Lyon,’ she told him through gritted teeth, her eyes flashing warningly.

He looked at her broodingly for several long seconds, finally giving an angry snort. ‘You haven’t seen the last of me, Silke, even if my uncle comes to his senses and decides not to marry your mother after all—’

‘He’ll marry her,’ Silke said with defiant certainty.

He gave a dismissively disgusted shrug. ‘Then that will be his problem. But the two of us now have unfinished business, Silke, and—’

‘As far as you’re concerned it’s finished business, Lyon,’ she cut in vehemently.

He shook his head, his eyes glacial. ‘If there’s a child I’ll make it my business again, Silke.’ He strode purposefully to the door. ‘Count on it!’ he warned before leaving, closing the door forcefully behind him.

It sounded more like a threat than a promise!

And, knowing Lyon as she did, it probably was. Oh, God, please let there not be any repercussions from her stupidity.

The stupidity of loving Lyon Buchanan...