Читать книгу The Right Bride? - Сара Крейвен, Jessica Steele - Страница 15

HIS kiss was deep and yearning, as if he was seeking her soul through her lips, and Allie sank against him as a strange weakness invaded her body, her eyes closing and her hands clinging to his shoulders.

He raised his head at last, framing her face in his hands, looking down at her, gravely and searchingly.

‘You are shaking, mon amour,’ he told her quietly. ‘In truth, am I so terrifying?’

‘No—oh, no.’ The denial tumbled from her. ‘Oh, Remy, I’m such a fool, but I couldn’t bear it if you were—disappointed in me.’

He put a silencing finger on her lips. ‘I love you, Alys. And that is all that matters.’ His voice was very gentle. ‘Pleasing each other with our bodies is a joy we shall learn together.’

He slipped her damp jacket from her shoulders and let it drop, then lifted her into his arms and carried her across the room to the bed, throwing back the sapphire quilt before placing her with great care against the heaped pillows. Then, kicking off his shoes, he came to lie beside her.

She turned on her side to face him, her hand going shyly to brush a strand of thick dark hair back from his forehead, and he captured her fingers, brushing them softly with his mouth.

‘You are the dream of my life, Alys,’ he murmured, then began to kiss her, his lips touching her forehead, her eyes, her cheekbones and her pliant mouth in a series of brief, delicate caresses that seemed to give but then withdraw. Which tantalised but offered no immediate satisfaction.

Yet that was what she wanted, she realised, startled. What she’d craved ever since that first afternoon at Les Sables, when she’d first felt the touch of his hands on her bare skin.

She longed to be taken—to feel him inside her and know the heated steel of his arousal as he possessed her.

She moved closer, pressing herself against him, her lips finding the opening of his shirt, pushing the crisp cotton aside to caress the base of his throat before moving down to the warm hair-roughened skin of his chest.

Remy groaned softly. ‘Doucement, mon ange,’ he ordered, his voice faintly breathless. ‘I want to make this good for you, and for that I shall need every atom of control I possess.’

She looked up at him, running the tip of her tongue slowly round her lips. ‘Are you—really so sure of that, monsieur?’

‘Ask me again, chérie—later,’ he told her huskily, and recaptured her mouth with his.

His hand moved to her breast and stroked it gently, moulding its softness and cupping it in his palm, before allowing his fingers to trace her nipple with a delicate precision that made her gasp as he brought it to sharply delineated arousal against the clinging material of her top.

For a moment he looked down at her, surveying the exquisite havoc he had created, the vivid eyes darkening.

‘You are wearing too many clothes, mon amour.’ His voice was a whisper.

He slipped down the straps of her top, freeing her arms, then deftly tugged the little garment over her head and tossed it aside, baring her to the waist. For a brief, searing moment she was acutely aware of her body—almost ashamed of how slender it was—how slight the curves he’d just uncovered. And her hands went up to conceal them.

But he guessed her intention and blocked her, his fingers closing firmly round her wrists.

‘Don’t hide, Alys,’ he murmured. ‘Not when I have waited so long to see you like this. Show me, ma belle, how truly lovely you are.’

He bent his head, his mouth slowly adoring each swollen rosy peak in turn, the erotic brush of his tongue creating a new, aching excitement that was echoed deep inside. She sighed, her hips moving restlessly, as the sweet, languorous torment continued, her nipples throbbing with a pleasure that was almost akin to pain.

When he raised his head at last, she lay looking up at him, her eyes dazed, her ragged breath sobbing in her throat.

His hands stroked their way down her body to the waistband of her skirt. He undid the small metal button at the front, then the short zip, easing the fabric gently over her hips until she was completely free of it and it could also be discarded.

Leaving her with just the minimal modesty of a pair of tiny lace briefs.

Remy made a small sound in his throat, then gathered her to him so closely that his clothing grazed her skin, his mouth closing on hers in a new and fierce demand.

She responded almost wildly, her lips parting eagerly to receive the thrust of his tongue, her hands tangling in the thick dark hair to hold him to her.

And then his mouth began to move slowly downwards, caressing her throat, her shoulders, and the little valley between her breasts, while all the time his hands were stroking her with sensuous delight, lingering in the hollow of her hip, drifting across the faint concavity of her belly, seeking out the silken length of her thighs.

Touching, at last, the lace that was her only covering. Pushing it aside so that his fingers could reach the slick core of her. Moving on her gently, but with such exquisite precision that when he paused she moaned aloud, her body rearing against him.

‘Oui, mon amour.’ His voice was raw with hunger. ‘Yes—and yes.’

And then, at last, the lace too was gone, peeled deftly away, and she was naked in his arms, with no barrier left to his skilfully questing hands.

Or—dear God—his mouth…

For a moment, shock held her frozen. Then, ‘No—please—you can’t…’ Her voice was a small, shaken whimper of distress. She tried to push his head away from her slackened thighs, but Remy’s hands were closing round her wrists, anchoring them effortlessly to the bed so that this new invasion of her most intimate self could continue entirely unhampered.

And her desperate attempts to evade his caress were only making matters a thousand times worse.

With devastating purpose, his lips sought the hot moist petals of her womanhood, parting them so that his tongue could search out the tiny hidden bud within and tease it into delicious tumescent arousal.

And at each sensuous stroke she felt her writhing body succumbing to a languorous weakness, her physical consciousness shifting—spiralling helplessly to a plane whose existence she’d never guessed at before.

Until, at last, there came a moment when she no longer wanted to escape what he was doing to her, even if it had ever been possible.

She heard her breathing change, and the spiral of feeling became an irresistible force, carrying her upwards to some unknown peak of desire. A moan of agonised pleasure burst from her throat, and her body arched rapturously in sheer surrender to wave after wave of utterly voluptuous delight.

And as the storm subsided she lay panting, her sated body damp with sweat, aware that there were tears on her face. She tried to wipe them away with trembling hands, and Remy gathered her in his arms, whispering softly to her in his own language, words of reassurance, words of love, telling her how sweet she was, how clever and how beautiful, while she clung to him, her mouth quivering into a smile.

And when he eventually released her it was only so that he could more easily strip off his own clothing. Allie lay watching him through half-closed eyes as he swiftly undressed, her body shivering in renewed and unforeseen hunger when he turned back to her, naked and magnificently aroused.

It seemed impossible that her body could be capable of such desire so soon again, she thought as she opened her arms to him eagerly, taking him into her embrace and running her hands over his shoulders and back, glorying in the strength of bone and muscle—the texture of his skin. And yet she was burning up for him—melting with need.

‘Do I please you, ma belle?’ There was a smile in the huskiness of his voice as he lifted himself over her—above her. For answer, she clasped her fingers round his jutting hardness, letting her hand slowly travel its length in an appreciation that was as teasing as it was overt.

‘Sorcière,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘Witch.’ And he took her with one deep, lingering thrust. She cried out in bewildered joy at the potency—the completeness of their union as he filled her. Knowing that here, at last, was the ultimate in consummation.

For a moment, he paused. ‘There is no problem?’

‘None.’ He was so anxious for her, but it wasn’t necessary. Surely he could tell how much she wanted him? she thought, half-dizzy with this new sensation, her inner muscles clenching round him—holding him.

Remy began to move without haste, his lean hips driving powerfully as he carried her with him into the surging ebb and flow of passion, and she responded avidly, instinctively, matching the rhythmic motion he was creating, her hands digging into his shoulders as her legs lifted to enclose him. To lock round him.

At once she sensed a new urgency in him that he was clearly struggling to restrain, and she knew that he was still trying to be patient, to wait until she was ready to accompany him to their mutual release.

But I, she thought, want it now…

She smiled into his eyes, her lashes sweeping down onto desire-flushed cheeks, letting her hands follow a leisurely path down his back to the flat male buttocks and stroking them with her palms, while one finger traced a delicate, enticing pattern on the sensitive nerve-endings at the base of his spine.

She heard his involuntary gasp, felt the pace of his possession quicken suddenly—fiercely. Recognised with candid female triumph the almost remorseless increase in its intensity that she had coaxed from him.

Was aware of a stirring deep inside her in reply, as warm tendrils of sensation began to spread, to intensify in their turn, splintering what little was left of her control.

Then, a voice she hardly recognised as hers cried out in wild disbelief, as the frenzy of her senses sent her pulsating body into soaring and ecstatic climax.

And Remy followed her, her name wrenched with a groan from his straining throat as he reached the frantic culmination of his own pleasure, and she felt his exhausted weight slump across her, his head heavy on her breasts as he tried to calm the tortured rasp of his breathing.

And she was content to lie like that, holding him tightly, her lips caressing the strands of sweat-dampened hair on his forehead.

Because instinct seemed to be telling her that if ever there was a moment for confession, this was it. When he was in her arms, his sated, emptied body still joined to hers like this, surely he would forgive her anything—wouldn’t he?

‘Remy.’ His name was a breath from her lips. She put her cheek on his hair. ‘Darling—there’s something I have to say. Something I should have told you long ago—when we first met. Only I never knew—never guessed—we would love each other. That you would mean everything in the world to me.’

She swallowed. ‘Sweetheart—mon amour… I—I’m married. I have a husband in England. But I don’t love him, and I never did. So I’m going back to finish it, get a divorce.’

She ended on a little rush of words, and waited tautly for his response. Only there was none.

She was prepared for shock—certainly for anger and recriminations—but not—silence.

Or was he simply too stunned to speak?

She said questioningly, ‘Remy—darling…?’

He mumbled something drowsy in reply, burying his face more closely against her, his body totally relaxed, his breathing deep and steady.

My God, she thought with an inward groan, he’s asleep. Which means he hasn’t heard a single word I’ve said, even though it took every atom of courage I possess to say it.

She was tempted to wake him there and then—to repeat her stumbling confession. But he looked altogether too peaceful, all tension gone from the dark face. He was even smiling a little as he slept.

Well, Allie thought, sighing. I suppose it will keep a little longer at that. But I must tell him soon—very soon. And, on that resolve, she closed her own eyes and allowed herself to drift slowly away.

She awoke with a start, and lay for a moment totally disorientated, her heart thudding. Hugo, she thought. Oh, God, I was dreaming about Hugo.

Then she heard the rain still lashing the window and realised where she was, and why, and relief and joy flooded through her.

She turned her head slowly and looked at Remy, still fast asleep beside her. At some point he must have moved a little, lifted himself away from her, although his arm was still thrown possessively across her waist.

Did he know? she wondered with passionate tenderness. Did he have the least idea how she was feeling? Did he understand her starved body’s reaction to the miracle of physical delight he’d created for her?

For the first time in years she felt totally relaxed and at peace. Also happier than she had ever believed possible.

And when he woke she would tell him so, along with, she decided, a suitable reviver.

She slid carefully from under the protection of his arm and swung her feet to the floor. From the tangle of clothing beside the bed she retrieved Remy’s shirt and slipped it on, fastening a few discreet buttons on the way. She could detect the faint fragrance of the cologne he used, and she put the sleeve to her nose, sniffing luxuriously.

She pulled the coverlet over him, then padded quietly out of the room and downstairs to the kitchen, where she stood looking around her, getting her bearings.

He’d offered her coffee some lifetime ago, she told herself, so the makings had to be available.

She looked first in the refrigerator, finding milk, and mineral water too, and she uncapped one of the small bottles, drinking thirstily as she leant back against the work surface.

This would be an amazing kitchen to work in, she thought, imagining herself here with Remy, preparing a meal together.

She sighed, smiling. Well—perhaps—one of these days. But coffee would do to be going on with.

Inspection of the pale wood cupboards eventually yielded a pack of ground beans and a cafetière, so she filled the elegant stainless steel kettle and set it to boil, humming quietly to herself as she did so. She’d just located a set of earthenware beakers when she heard a sound behind her and turned quickly.

Solange was standing in the middle of the living room, staring at her, lips parted, eyes burning with anger and disbelief in her white face.

And Allie knew, of course, what the other girl must be seeing. The dishevelled hair, the half-buttoned shirt reaching only to mid-thigh, the shining eyes and swollen mouth. Everything about her, she realised with dismay, must be screaming Sex.

Oh, God, she thought. Why didn’t I get dressed properly?

‘Chienne.’ Solange’s voice shook. ‘Sale vache.’

For a moment, all Allie wanted to do was run. To get away from the fury and the ugly words. And from the French girl’s bitter disappointment, too—which, perhaps, was the worst thing of all. But she stood her ground, lifting her chin defiantly.

‘Please don’t call me names, mademoiselle,’ she said quietly. ‘I am neither a bitch nor a dirty cow. I have been making love with the man I love, and I have nothing to be ashamed of.’

Solange took a step closer, her hands balled into fists at her sides. ‘You don’t think so? But I tell you different. Because you do not belong here, you—espèce de raclure.’ Her tone was a hiss. ‘You are an outsider—not one of us—and Remy needs a woman beside him who can support him in his work. Someone who knows this community—who has its respect. Not a slut of an English girl who will soon be gone, back to her own filthy country.’

Allie was almost reeling under this onslaught, but she made herself stay ice-calm. And her voice reflected this. ‘I think Remy is free to make his own choices, Mademoiselle Geran.’

‘And what is this great choice? To degrade himself with a putaine like you? Well, he will soon regret that.’ The other woman drew a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Always—always I knew what you were. Knew that you could not wait to throw yourself into his bed.’

‘What exactly are you complaining about?’ Allie asked coldly. ‘That I have taken your place—or that you never received an invitation?’

Solange gasped, and her head went back as if Allie had struck her, the once pretty face twisted with rage and crimson with mottled blood. She lifted her hands, bunched into a semblance of claws, and her voice was thick. ‘Would he still want you, I wonder, if I scratched out your eyes?’

From the stairs, Remy said grimly, ‘An interesting point, Solange, but we will not put it to the test. And now I think you should go, before you make matters any worse.’

His feet were bare, concealing his approach, and he’d clearly dragged on his jeans simply for the sake of marginal decency, because they hung, only half-fastened, low on his hips.

Solange’s small red-tipped hands were suddenly uncurled. Extended in appeal.

‘Remy, chéri, I do not blame you for this. A man has—temptations.’ She tried, horribly, to laugh. ‘I—I understand this, and I can forgive—’

But he cut coldly across the stumbling words. ‘There is no need for forgiveness, Solange. Let me speak plainly. Local gossip may have paired us together, yet I have asked nothing from you, and promised nothing in return. This—understanding between us does not exist.’

She swallowed harshly. ‘Remy—mon coeur—how can you say that?’

‘Because it is true, and you know it.’ He paused. ‘And I would prefer you did not visit here again without an invitation.’

She stared at him wild-eyed, her mouth working soundlessly, then she whirled round and was gone, the big doors slamming behind her.

Remy leapt the last few stairs and came to Allie’s side, sliding his arms round her and drawing her protectively against him. She buried her face in his bare brown shoulder, her voice muffled. ‘That was—vile.’

‘I woke up and you were gone, which troubled me.’ His voice was uneven. ‘And then I heard talking, and thought that my father might have arrived, or Grandpapa, and that this could cause you embarrassment.’

‘I came down to make coffee,’ she said. ‘And she was suddenly—here. But why?’

‘It is entirely my fault,’ Remy said harshly. ‘She used to visit often, while the work was being done, in order to find fault with Gaston Levecq, and, I think, to persuade me to employ her cousin instead. Also to offer advice that I did not need. I should have realised—and stopped it when it first began.’

The kettle came cheerfully to the boil and switched itself off. Remy released her and went to fill the cafetière.

He said quietly, not looking at her, ‘Alys, tell me, je t’en prie, that she has not made you hate this house—or regret what has happened between us here.’

‘No.’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘No one—not even Solange—could ever do that.’

She saw the tension relax from his shoulders. He said softly, ‘Soit.’ And continued making the coffee.

He said, over his shoulder, ‘I am relieved that it was not Grandpapa who found you just now. Seeing you like that might have provoked une petite crise cardiaque.’

‘At least I’m wearing something,’ Allie returned with mock defensiveness. ‘And your shirt was the first thing I found on the floor,’ she added, not altogether truthfully.

‘Vraiment?’ The brilliant eyes were dancing with amusement. ‘Perhaps I should make you a present of it, chérie. I know it never looked so good on me.’

She said huskily, ‘Everything looks good on you, Remy.’ Adding silently, And off, too…

‘Ma bien-aimée.’ His voice was gentle. He was silent for a moment. ‘It was a bad moment for me, when I found you gone from our bed. I thought perhaps you were angry with me.’

‘Angry?’ She was startled. ‘How could I be?’

His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘Then—disappointed. Because I wished to make it perfect for you—our first time together—to take away all the bad memories. But it was over far too soon.’ He added with a faint groan, ‘And then I fell asleep.’ He shook his head. ‘My only excuse, mon ange, is that I wanted you so very much.’

She went to him, sliding her arms round his waist and smiling up into his eyes. ‘That sounds more like a very good reason than an excuse,’ she told him softly, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his mouth. She added teasingly, ‘And may I remind you that we both went to sleep?’

She wanted to assure him, too, that the bad memories were all gone. But how could she when there was still the appalling problem of her marriage to be dealt with? she thought, conscious of a nervous tightening in the pit of her stomach. She pressed herself more closely against him, letting the warmth of his body dispel the sudden chill inside her.

He put a finger under her chin, tilting her face up towards him. ‘Yet there is something, I think, that troubles you.’

She forced a smile. ‘The aftermath of Solange, I expect. She did call me some pretty foul names.’

There was a pause, then he said laconically, ‘D’accord. That must be it.’

I can fix everything, Allie told herself fiercely, as she drank the coffee he’d poured for her. Somehow, I’ll make Hugo see that it was all a terrible mistake, which needs to be put right. After all, he’s had time to think too. He must know that it can’t go on. All it needs is a little goodwill on both sides.

She was sharply aware that Remy was watching her thoughtfully, and lowered her lashes with deliberate demureness. ‘Has no one told you, monsieur, that it’s rude to stare?’

‘It would be a greater insult to ignore you, ma belle.’ His tone was dry. ‘And I stare for a purpose, you understand.’

‘Which is?’ She replaced the empty beaker on the counter top.

‘I am making a picture of you in my head, Alys, to carry with me always.’

‘Dressed like this?’ Laughing, she posed, hand on hip.

‘Pourquoi pas? But with a little adjustment, perhaps.’ He leaned across and undid two more buttons on the shirt, then gently pushed it from her shoulder, exposing one pink-tipped breast. ‘Mmm,’ he murmured in soft appreciation. ‘Perfection. If we have to be apart, I have only to remember how you look at this moment.’

Ludicrous to feel shy after the intimacies they’d shared, but her skin warmed just the same.

‘And what about me?’ she challenged with a touch of breathlessness. ‘May I have a picture to remember too?’

She reached for the zip on his jeans, but he captured her hands, laughing. ‘You may have any image you desire, mon amour—but in the bedroom, perhaps, in case more unwanted visitors arrive.’

He kissed her, his mouth hot and fierce on hers, and she laughed back and ran with him, aglow and willing, towards the stairs, and the waiting bed.

A long time later, she said drowsily, ‘I must go. Tante Madelon will be back by now, and wondering where I am.’

Remy trailed a lazy hand the length of her body. ‘I think she will know, chérie, don’t you?’

She moved pleasurably against the ingenious questing of his fingers. ‘Almost certainly, darling. But we don’t need to underline the fact.’

He rolled over suddenly, imprisoning her under his body. ‘I don’t want to let you go,’ he told her huskily. ‘I need you to stay here with me, mon coeur. To sleep in my arms tonight.’

‘How can I?’ Allie appealed ruefully. ‘Tante is obviously trying to be understanding, but she has her limits, especially as I’m her guest.’ She paused. ‘Besides, she’ll certainly expect us to be discreet.’

Remy sighed. ‘Tu as raison, ma mie. I am not thinking as I should—perhaps because I feel I am almost scared to let you out of my sight.’

She put up a hand, her fingers tender against the roughness of his chin, her voice teasing. ‘Haven’t you had enough of me, monsieur?’

He said quietly, ‘I have been waiting for you my whole life, Alys. I shall never have enough.’ He slid his hands under her flanks, raising her a little, so that, slowly and sweetly, he could enter once more her rapturously acceptant body.

Unlike the fierce, searing passion they’d shared earlier, when he’d taken her to some blind, mindless sphere where she’d thought she might die, this time it was a gentle almost meditative union, composed of sighs and murmurs, and subtle, exquisite pressures, so that the moment of climax rippled through her like a soft breeze across a lake. And her voice broke as she whispered his name.

Afterwards, Allie lay supine, her eyes closed, her body languid with fulfillment. But as she felt him leaving the bed, she lifted herself on to an elbow. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To take you back to Les Sables—after I have taken a shower.’

She smiled mischievously up at him. ‘You don’t want company?’

He gave her a wry look. ‘Oui, naturellement. But I am trying to learn to do without you, ma mie.’

She tutted reprovingly as she swung her legs to the floor and followed him into the bathroom. ‘That sounds like a very dull lesson. Now, I think, my darling, that you should make the most of me when I’m around,’ she added serenely as she joined him in the glass cubicle under the power spray. She poured some shower gel into her hands and began to lather his body, beginning with his shoulders, then moving downwards across his chest to his abdomen, and lower, her fingers working in small, enticing circles. ‘Don’t you agree?’

‘Dieu,’ he said hoarsely. ‘You are insatiable. You will kill me.’

She glanced down, and laughed softly. ‘Even though the evidence suggests otherwise, my love?’

‘But will the evidence be strong enough to prove your case, mon ange?’ He turned the shower full on, then reached for her, lifting her off the tiled floor, and locking her legs round his hips. ‘Eh bien, there is only one way to find out.’

She said tremulously, ‘Remy—oh, God—Remy…’

It was twilight when they eventually arrived at Les Sables, but there was no light in the house, and Tante’s car was missing from its usual parking place.

‘I seem to have beaten her to it,’ Allie said, as she opened the door. ‘Perhaps I can convince her that I spent the day here quietly on my own.’

‘I doubt it.’ Remy followed her in. ‘Madame is a woman who has loved. She will recognise the signs.’

‘And you,’ she said, ‘are altogether too pleased with yourself.’

He slid a hand under the fall of still-damp hair, and kissed the nape of her neck. ‘But I am pleased with you, also, chérie. Does that excuse me?’

The sound of the telephone made them both jump.

‘Is that Madame de Marchington—the great-niece of Madame Colville?’ an elderly-sounding male voice enquired when Allie picked up the receiver. ‘Ah, bon. I am Emil Blanchard. I regret to tell you that Madelon slipped on the wet pavement outside our house as she was leaving her car, and fell.’

‘She fell?’ Allie echoed, dismayed. ‘Oh, God, is she badly hurt?’

‘No, no. Our doctor made a thorough examination. But she is shocked, and bruised, of course, and it would not be wise for her to drive. So we have persuaded her to remain with us for a few days until she has recovered.’ He added with faint peevishness, ‘I have attempted to telephone you several times before, madame, but could get no answer.’

‘No, I’ve also been out—visiting friends. I’m sorry.’ Allie hesitated. ‘Thank you for telling me, and please give Tante Madelon my love. I hope she’s fine—very soon—and tell her that I’ll take good care of the house.’

‘Pauvre madame,’ Remy said soberly, when Allie outlined exactly what had happened. ‘Such accidents can be serious at her age, but fortunately she seems to have escaped lasting damage.’ He paused, his expression quizzical. ‘But this means, ma belle, that you will be alone in this isolated place. Will you feel safe?’

‘Oh, I’m sure I’ll be fine during the day,’ Allie assured him. She also paused. ‘But I might be nervous at night,’ she added pensively.

‘If you have problems with your nerves, ma belle,’ Remy said solemnly, ‘then you should always call a doctor.’

She said softly, ‘I think I just did.’ And walked happily into his arms.