Читать книгу Modern Romance July 2015 Books 5-8 - Andie Brock, Louise Fuller - Страница 23
ОглавлениеSHE WALKED INTO the bedroom. Luka was lying on his side, his back to her and the sheet low on his hips.
She didn’t know if he was awake or asleep but she knew that she had to tell him between now and the morning that she had told her father they would marry. She headed into the en suite and started to undress then realised she had left her nightdress in the bedroom. Rather than going back in there, she undressed and wrapped herself in a towel then took off her make-up and brushed her teeth.
Luka was going to be furious, Sophie knew.
But, hell, he must surely understand the impossible situation her father had put her in. He was days away from dying—of course he wanted to go home one last time, of course he would want to see his daughter married to the man she supposedly loved.
Loved?
She didn’t love Luka, she abhorred him, Sophie told herself, but then she caught sight of her lying eyes in the mirror as she rinsed her mouth.
Her body loved him, she knew, because it hadn’t just been hard work and few hours to spare that had kept her from other men, it had been the utter lack of wanting them when she looked at them. She’d had a few kisses that had tasted of plastic compared to being devoured by the man on the other side of the bathroom door.
She stepped into the bedroom.
‘Luka...’ Her voice was perhaps a little too quiet for someone who was truly trying to wake another, but when he didn’t respond Sophie decided that she’d tell him in the morning, and she slipped out of her dress and panties.
‘What?’
He didn’t turn and Sophie reached for her nightdress as she spoke. ‘It will keep till morning.’
‘Tell me now.’ He turned then and he wished he hadn’t for despite the darkness he could see her naked body with arms raised as she pulled on her nightdress.
He should turn away quickly, yet he didn’t. Instead, in that brief moment everything he’d imagined was verified. He had been trying to ignore her, willing sleep to come before she slipped into bed beside him and now he had to endure another night fighting instinct.
Sophie met his eyes and denied the sexual tension between them. ‘My father...’ She kept her voice calm. ‘I couldn’t get out of it.’
‘Get out of what?’
‘He wants to go back to Bordo Del Cielo as soon as possible. He wants to visit my mother’s grave.’
‘I’ll arrange the flight, you can go with him. I’ll make up some excuse about work as the reason I cannot be there. I never want to go back.’
‘He wants us both to go with him, though,’ Sophie said. His eyes were fixed on hers and her skin prickled with heat as she continued. ‘I’ve said that we will marry this Sunday.’
He said nothing and she stood there awaiting his response.
‘Luka?’
‘Are you going to stand there all night or get into bed?’
Sophie took a tentative step forward, pulled back the sheet and slipped in.
Her heart was thumping. The tension in the room was almost unbearable—a mixture of fear at his response and a deep, thick arousal. She knew he was turned on, and so too was she; she could not catch her breath, though she tried to keep it even.
‘Did you hear what I said about us?’
‘I heard.’
‘You didn’t respond.’
‘I have already told you where I stand on that—I will never marry you.’
‘But I’ve told him that we shall.’
‘Then you’d better hope that he dies before the service is due to commence.’
‘Luka...’ Fury bolted her upright but he pulled her down and pinned her.
‘What?’ he demanded. ‘Say what you were going to.’
‘You can’t mean that.’
‘Oh, I mean it,’ he said. ‘I’ll go along with it, I’ll go back home with you and get involved with the preparations. I’ll say and do all the right things right up until the church but know this—I won’t be standing at the altar when you get there, Sophie. You’ll be jilted in front of the town.’
‘You hate me so much that you’d do that to me.’
‘I hate you as much as I want you.’
‘That doesn’t make sense,’ Sophie said, yet even as the words left her lips she had worked out what he meant. He hated her fiercely, judging by the erection now pressing into her thigh.
‘I’ll make it clearer, then,’ Luka said. ‘I hate you as much as you want me.’
‘But I don’t want you. I don’t want anyone,’ Sophie said. With every cell in her body she lied and she knew he knew it. ‘Will you marry me, Luka? I’m not asking for forever...’
‘You miss the very point.’
‘Luka, can we start again?’ Sophie drew in a breath. ‘Can we put the past behind us and start anew?’
‘Without examining it?’ Luka checked. ‘Without accusing?’
‘Yes.’
‘How very convenient, Sophie, because then you don’t have admit you were wrong. You get to wipe the slate clean for as long as it suits you.’
‘What does that mean?’
He got up and headed to the safe where her mother’s necklace was kept and opened it.
Just hand it to her, he told himself.
Simply give her the benefit of the doubt.
Hand it over to her and see what she says.
‘You want a clean slate?’ Luka checked.
‘Yes,’ Sophie said. ‘I won’t raise what was said in court.’
He stared at the cross and chain; he almost believed she could do it until Sophie spoke on.
‘I won’t bring up the other women.’
‘But. You. Just. Did!’ Luka shouted in exasperation, and took out the earring instead of the cross. She was nowhere ready for the truth. ‘You’re still the fourteen-year-old kid padding her bra.’
‘Meaning?’
‘You haven’t grown up, or rather you haven’t moved on.’
‘Still the peasant.’
‘One row,’ Luka shouted, ‘one cross word and you hurl the past back at me. So where’s the clean slate, Sophie?’
‘Keep it down,’ she said. ‘I don’t want my father to hear us row.’
‘He can’t,’ Luka said. ‘These walls are soundproof So row away, Sophie, say what you have to. Here...’ He tossed her a piece of gold.
Just not the right one.
‘My mother’s earring.’
‘I found it in my bedroom,’ Luka said. ‘Come on, Sophie, say what you have to.’
‘I don’t want to row.’
‘You want to make love?’ Luka checked.
She ran an eye over his naked body and when most might avert their eyes from an angry erection, Sophie frowned.
‘I don’t think it has love on its mind.’
Uh-oh!
Luka walked over and she refused to flinch as he shredded her flimsy nightdress.
‘You’ll have sex with me yet you won’t go through with the marriage?’ Sophie checked.
‘Yes,’ Luka said. ‘And if you knew my reputation you would know many of my girlfriends have complained about the same thing.’
‘Ah, but you don’t make love to them the way you do with me.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘I do know that,’ Sophie said, and looked right into his eyes. ‘Absolutely I do.’
‘That’s a very confident assumption for someone who’s only had sex twice.’
‘Once,’ Sophie corrected. ‘We only did it—’
She never got to finish. His mouth was hard on her hers and he kissed her then as he had wanted to on the dance floor.
He kissed her hard until she was kissing him back, her fingers knotting in his hair.
‘Remember, I don’t want charity,’ Luka said, as his thighs parted her legs.
He made her back down.
With his refusal to go further, he tested their patience to the edge.
‘It isn’t charity,’ Sophie said, as she guided him to her heat.
‘Some phobia.’
He exposed her lie and she didn’t care, as long as he took her now.
Yet he didn’t.
And neither did he leave her hanging on; instead, he knelt up.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Picking up where we left off.’
He lowered his face to her and confirmed her desire for she was wet and swollen and a moment away from coming to him.
She tried to scramble away from him, but he held her hips down; she wanted them face to face, not this intimate, raw exploration where there was no place to lie.
And, Sophie thought as he pressed his long tongue in over and over again, she was wrong to berate him for past lovers.
She should handwrite them all thank-you notes because his mouth was sucking on her clitoris now and his fingers were probing her along with his tongue, and she was sobbing as she came to him.
‘Luka...’
He was kneeling between her parted legs, pulling them apart when they ached to close in on the orgasm he had just delivered her.
‘What?’ Luka checked, as he nudged a little way in. ‘Do you want to me stop?’
He would.
The bastard would.
‘Or,’ Luka said, ‘I go deeper.’
She could hear the sound of them, feel the tease of him that had her beating below again.
‘Just come,’ Sophie said.
‘I told you, I loathe martyrs.’
He rested on his heels and pulled her hips down and carried on his cruel tease, there but not, in but not enough.
‘Or,’ Luka offered, ‘we could try something different...’
‘Like?’ Sophie asked, and he suppressed a smile.
He could feel her mounting tension, he was holding down her hips as they rose in his hands.
‘Something dangerous,’ Luka said, and she nodded her head, set now on a rigid neck.
And so he kissed her like the first time.
When they’d tasted sweet and new.
He toppled onto her as he fully entered her again, and he brushed her wet lips with his as she clawed at his back and then gave in.
They made love.
They might well regret it tomorrow, but that was for then.
Now he kissed her like he only ever would kiss her, and Sophie just drank it in.
She smiled and she pushed back his damp hair just to see him, just to feel it. She stopped fighting and started caressing and they rolled, made love to each other, nipped, sucked and tasted, and came.
And came again.
Guns were down.
Walls were gone.
She accepted his temporary truce as they made up for lost time.
