Читать книгу Dangerous Passions - Линн Грэхем, Lynne Graham - Страница 15

BEN’S car was the Ford Sierra, and he insisted on fetching it to the door so that Jaime could just run down the steps and get inside. It was still raining, and drops of moisture sparkled on Ben’s hair as he leaned across the passenger seat to open the door for her.

‘I’ll ring you next week,’ Maggie called, as Jaime got into the car, and she stood at the door, waving, as Ben swung the vehicle round in a half-circle and down the waterlogged drive.

It really was a filthy night. The rain was coming down in sheets, and the wipers had to work overtime to keep the windscreen clean. But it also narrowed Jaime’s world to the heated confines of the car, and she couldn’t help but be aware of Ben’s lean frame only inches from her own.

Not that Ben was showing any interest in her. His attention was focused on the road ahead, and she was annoyed with herself for allowing his presence to disconcert her in any way. He was giving her a lift home, that was all. And judging by the slickness of the road she ought to be grateful she was not having to put her safety in the hands of some untried driver.

Nevertheless, she was aware of him. Her eyes were drawn to the hands handling the wheel so expertly, and the narrow wrists that emerged from the sleeves of his jacket. Was his skin warm? she wondered, her tongue lingering at the corner of her mouth. How was he adapting to this much cooler temperature, after so many years spent in a tropical climate? That was one thing he hadn’t spoken about; that, and his wife.

She tore her eyes away, and tried to concentrate on the night outside. They were crossing the town now, and, as Dr Fellowes had said, there were plenty of people waiting for taxis. It probably would have been next to impossible to get one of them to come out to Maggie’s house during the next hour or so, and her reluctance to accept this ride seemed extremely churlish in retrospect.

‘I—didn’t know you knew Dr Fellowes,’ she murmured, feeling obliged to make some recompense, but loath to thank him outright, and Ben shrugged.

‘You don’t know much about me at all,’ he responded, and his tone was as cool as hers now. ‘Is it important?’

Jaime sighed. ‘Not—not intrinsically, no.’ She paused, and the disturbing memory of what her mother—and Tom—had said reared its ugly head again. ‘Are—are you a patient of his?’

Ben slowed at a junction, and scanned the road ahead. ‘I think that comes under the heading of a personal question,’ he replied shortly. ‘Are you?’

‘Am I what?’

‘A patient of Fellowes’.’

Jaime was confused. ‘What has that got to do with anything?’

‘Exactly.’ Ben accelerated along Gloucester Road. ‘Whether or not I’m a patient of John Fellowes has nothing to do with you.’

Jaime held up her head. ‘I—I—was—–’

‘Curious?’

‘No.’ Jaime was indignant. ‘I was—concerned.’

‘Oh, come on.’ Ben cast her a sardonic sideways glance. ‘I think I’ve got the picture of what you think of me, and “concerned” doesn’t come into it.’

‘That’s not true.’ Jaime spoke rashly, and then struggled to justify her words. ‘I mean—naturally, I’m concerned if—if you’re ill—–’

‘Because you have Tom to consider, right?’ Ben sounded bitter. ‘You don’t want him associating with me if I’m incubating some awful unsociable disease—–’

‘I never thought of that!’ Jaime gazed at him defensively. ‘I—I wouldn’t dream of stopping him associating with you, because I might think you—you—–’

‘Had Aids?’ he supplied grimly, and Jaime felt as if someone had sucked all the air from her body.

‘If—if that’s what’s wrong with you,’ she got out unsteadily, ‘I—I know you wouldn’t do anything to harm your own son.’

Ben’s lips twitched. ‘Isn’t it rich!’ he grated savagely. ‘I have to threaten to be dying before you’ll admit that Tom’s my son!’

Jaime’s throat constricted. ‘You’re—you’re not dying,’ she protested, realising how devastated she would feel if he were. ‘There—there are experiments going on, treatments you can have…’

‘If I had Aids,’ agreed Ben flatly, bringing the Sierra to a halt, and Jaime saw with some astonishment that they had stopped outside her house. She hadn’t been aware of anything for the last few minutes.

‘If you had Aids?’ she ventured blankly, and Ben gazed at her with a scornful expression.

‘Yes,’ he said evenly. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I managed to avoid contracting any real life-threatening infections while I was in Africa. You’ll have to save your dubious sympathies for some other poor sod, hmm?’

‘You—pig!’

All the pent-up emotions of the evening exploded in a sudden surge of violence, and Jaime’s hand connected heavily with his cheek. She knew it must have hurt him. Her own fingers stung quite painfully, and she was half prepared to admit she hadn’t intended to hit him quite so hard. But, before she had a chance to make any kind of apology, Ben’s hand circled the back of her neck, and he yanked her towards him.

‘If that’s the way you want to play it,’ he muttered, before his mouth met hers, and although she tried to resist him he was much, much stronger than she was.

Besides, the line between anger and desire was a fine one. Anger was passion, and the whole evening had been one of suppressed emotion, of one sort or another. When Ben took hold of her, when his hard fingers dug into her nape, and his angry mouth found hers, instinct took over. She wanted to sustain her feelings, she wanted to despise him for allowing her to even think he might be dying; but those same emotions got in the way.

His mouth on hers was so insistent, savage at first, and then achingly persuasive. His tongue against her lips was hot and wet and persistent, and, although she held out for a few moments, he eventually coaxed her lips to part.

‘We—we can’t,’ she gasped, when his tongue plunged into her mouth and she felt his hand gripping her thigh below the short skirt of her suit. ‘Ben, someone might see us!’

His lips dragged across her cheek. ‘You mean Tom, don’t you?’ he exclaimed harshly against her ear. His teeth dug painfully into her earlobe. ‘Why don’t you admit it?’

‘I—all right,’ she stammered, covering the hand that was sliding insistently along her thigh with both of hers. ‘I mean Tom. I—won’t do this to him.’

‘Do what?’ Ben lifted his head to look down at her, and in the muted light from the streetlamps his expression was vaguely menacing. ‘Tell him the truth for once?’ he taunted scathingly. ‘Admit that you were once human enough to need a normal sexual relationship with a man?’

‘With a married man,’ Jaime reminded him tensely, and Ben made a sound of impatience.

‘A man who cared about you just as much as you cared about him,’ he retorted roughly. He looked down at her paltry attempt to stay his hand, and deliberately proved how useless that was. ‘Don’t try to stop me, Jaime,’ he muttered, moving his hand beneath the hem of her skirt. ‘You wouldn’t succeed, and we both know why.’

‘No.’ Jaime twisted her head from side to side. ‘Ben—please!’

‘I will,’ he promised unsteadily, and any further protest she might have uttered was stifled by the hungry pressure of his mouth.

Jaime’s head swam. She tried to tell herself it was the celibate life she had been leading that was making her so vulnerable to his demands, but it wasn’t that simple. The truth was, Ben was the only man who had ever made her feel this way, and when he cupped her face between his hands, and pressed her back into the seat, she clutched his neck with trembling fingers.

Ben’s kiss lengthened and deepened. His tongue possessed her, filling her mouth with its hot, wet invasion. She felt weak, and breathless, dizzy with the need to keep some hold over a situation that was rapidly moving out of control. His jacket was open, and the warm male smell of his body filled her senses. His heart was hammering, matching hers for speed, and when her arms slid round his neck, and her breasts pushed against his chest, he uttered an anguished groan.

‘Oh, God!’

The shuddering breath Ben gave, as he hauled himself back from her, was an indication of the effort it had taken. Slumping in his seat, he raked back his hair with hands that were shaking rather badly, pulling at his collar that suddenly seemed too tight.

Jaime’s reactions were slower. Ben’s withdrawal had been so sudden that she half expected to find Tom peering at them through the misted windows. But they were still alone. The rain had kept most people indoors, and the condensation on the car windows still gave them a flimsy kind of privacy. Which meant it had been his decision to put an end to the embrace, and humiliation washed over her, hot and shameful.

As she struggled up in her seat, Ben’s sardonic, ‘I rest my case,’ was the final straw. But, when she would have thrust open her door and scrambled out, his hand caught her wrist. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, and, although it would have been easier to tell him to go to hell, Jaime was tired of running away from her problems.

‘Just—stay away from me in future,’ she said, gritting her teeth. ‘Don’t imagine—this—gives you any leverage where I’m concerned. All right. Tom’s your son. I’ve admitted it. But that affair was over long ago. And it’s not just the drink-driving laws that have changed since you went away. Women have changed; I’ve changed. We’re not ashamed of our sexuality any more. We can meet men on equal terms. And just because I might fancy going to bed with you doesn’t mean I feel some—some lifelong commitment!’

‘That’s what you think, is it?’

In the streetlights, Ben’s face was hard, and she felt a quiver of apprehension. As she had spoken, the weary lines of remorse he had shown earlier had given way to a harsh cynicism, and she was uncomfortably aware of the weakness of her argument.

But she had to be resolute. ‘Yes. It’s what I think,’ she lied bravely, wincing as his thumbnail scored her wrist. ‘I—I won’t stop Tom from seeing you, but leave me out of it.’

‘And—Phil?’

‘Phil?’ Jaime swallowed. ‘What about Philip?’

‘Indeed.’ Ben’s lips twisted. ‘What about Philip?’

Jaime’s lips compressed for a moment. ‘You’re threatening to tell him, is that it?’ she demanded, feeling the hot tears of desperation behind her lids. Was he to leave her no measure of self-respect at all? ‘Well—I can’t stop you, can I?’ She dashed her hand across her eyes. ‘If that’s what turns you on, I suppose—–’

‘Phil’s dead!’ Ben’s bitter announcement cut into her words, and with a gesture of contempt he thrust her wrist back into her lap. ‘That’s what I came to tell you, that night you were out and Tom let me in.’ He made a sound of derision. ‘You might say—subsequent events—got in the way.’

Jaime didn’t remember getting out of the car and walking into the house. She did remember hearing the sound of the Sierra’s engine as it roared away into the night, but that was after she had closed the door and was leaning numbly against it.

Philip was dead! she told herself weakly. The man who had had such a destructive influence on her life was gone! He couldn’t hurt her any more.

Pushing herself away from the door, she walked rather shakily along the hall and into the kitchen. She needed a drink, she thought, putting her bag down on the table and riffling through the cupboards for the bottle of brandy she usually only used at Christmas. She needed something to fill the empty space inside her, and a strong glass of cognac seemed the appropriate choice.

But even after she had swallowed a mouthful of the fiery liquid, she still felt hollow, and, sitting down at the kitchen table, she tried to remember exactly what Ben had said. The trouble was, it had been pitiably little, and only now did she realise that she hadn’t even asked for any of the details. She didn’t know how he had died, or when. She didn’t even know where he had been living. But Ben knew. Ben had known all along. And he had chosen to keep that information from her.

She gulped another mouthful of the brandy, coughing as it burned her throat. So far the spirit had had no beneficial effects on her whatsoever, and she wondered why people spoke so highly of its remedial qualities. All it was doing for her was making her feel sick.

But not sick enough to ignore the fact that Ben had deliberately kept the news of Philip’s death from her. More than that, he had used her acknowledged fear of his brother for his own ends. He had known she would do anything to keep Tom’s identity a secret, and because of that he had been able to insinuate himself into their lives.

God, he was despicable, she thought bitterly. He knew, better than anyone, what Philip’s death would mean to her, and he had continued to hold the spectre of that painful relationship over her. Were all the Russells tarred with the same brush? Did they all enjoy exacting punishment of one sort of another?

But no. She refused to believe that. After all, Tom was a Russell, and he wasn’t a monster. Until Ben had come on the scene, he had never gone against her wishes, and even now his conscience was giving him a hard time.

And Ben…

With a weary sigh, she propped her head in her hands. She didn’t really believe Ben was like Philip. Oh, she would never forgive him for keeping Philip’s death from her, but she couldn’t forget that without Ben’s help she might have suffered even more.

Looking back, she realised that Ben was the only person who could have helped. Philip’s parents—their parents—were indifferent to the kind of life Jaime was leading. They had not wanted her to marry their son, and as far as they were concerned she didn’t exist. Philip still saw his parents, but she never did. That was why she was so astonished when Ben came to the apartment.

It was Christmas Eve, and she and Philip had been married for almost six months. Because they were living in London, Jaime seldom saw her own family either. Which was just as well, in the circumstances. She knew her father could never have ignored his daughter’s misery.

She had been pathetically grateful to see Ben, she remembered. It was so long since she had seen a really friendly face. Philip was out. He had often been out, though she didn’t often go with him. Not that Jaime minded that. She was so ashamed of how she looked most of the time that going out at all had become a trial.

So, when Ben rang from the lobby downstairs and asked if he could come up, Jaime was delighted. Dismissing Philip’s dour-faced housekeeper, she had answered the door herself, and it wasn’t until she had let him in, and had seen him looking at her so strangely, that she realised she had forgotten to put on her make-up.

She almost always wore make-up these days. It was the only way she could bear to look at her face. She had become adept at hiding bruises beneath a dusky eyeshadow or a bronze blusher, and although her eyes were hollow they just gave her a haunted look. Or so she had believed.

But looking at Ben, she had seen the stunned realisation in his eyes. And even then her first reaction had been to dismiss it. She had fallen, she said, getting out of the shower. She was such a clumsy creature; Philip was losing patience with her.

It hadn’t worked, and although at the time she had been terrified of what Philip might do Ben had refused to take no for an answer. After coaxing at least part of the truth from her, he had insisted she go and pack some clothes, and before driving her to her parents’ home in Kingsmere he had taken her to see a friend of his in Harley Street. She remembered that she had still been protesting when he’d ushered her into the elegant waiting-room, though her will to resist any kind of pressure had been crucified in the months she had lived as Philip’s wife.

His friend, a woman doctor, had made her take off all her clothes, and Jaime had stood in an agony of embarrassment as every mark on her body was questioned and noted. There had been no point in lying. She had too many bruises, many of them in places where the marks of other bruises were still visible. But it was humiliating nevertheless, and she was horrified when the woman produced an instamatic camera, and told her she was going to make a permanent record of what she had seen.

‘If I don’t, and the bruises fade, what proof will you have?’ she asked practically. ‘Believe me, whether we use them or not, they are necessary.’

And, because Ben had endorsed what the doctor had said, Jaime had gone through with it. She had put all her faith in him at the time, and it had not been misplaced. She never knew what he said to Philip, or whether her ex-husband was ever shown the photographs the doctor had taken. All she knew was that the threat Philip had represented had been removed, and she was eternally grateful to Ben for his support.

In the months that followed she saw Ben several times. Oh, she had probably enjoyed those occasions more than he did, she reminded herself painfully, but then, she hadn’t been thinking too sensibly in those days. In her eyes he could do no wrong, and even her mother’s warnings—about his relationship to Philip, and the fact that he was a married man—had fallen on deaf ears.

Looking back, she had to admit that Ben’s reasons for visiting her had usually had a legitimate purpose. He had acted as Philip’s intermediary, and it was through him that she had learned that Philip had agreed to stay away from her. She wanted a divorce, but that would have to wait until the required amount of time had passed, and for the present she was content to trust in Ben’s protection.

His protection!

Jaime shivered. If only she had known then what she knew now, she thought ruefully. She had exchanged one kind of bondage for another. But that wasn’t fair. Tom had never been a burden. And although she hated Ben, he had not been entirely to blame.

She remembered it had been almost exactly a year after she and Philip had parted when her friendship with Ben had been destroyed, forever. It was odd, she thought, how Christmas had played such an unhappy role in her life. It was at Christmas that she had met Philip, and Christmas when they had parted. So it was probably only fitting that that particular time of year should have provided such a disastrous end to her association with his brother.

But, at the time, she had had no inkling of the part he was to play in determining her future. In the year since he had ‘rescued’ her from Philip she had come to know him quite well—or so she had thought—and the anxiety she had first felt, when he appeared on her doorstep, had long since given way to a happy anticipation. Although she had other friends, he was the only person with whom she could be completely herself, and because he knew everything about her relationship with Philip she didn’t have to pretend with him.

In retrospect, she supposed she had been foolish. After one devastating experience she should have been aware of the dangers she was courting. Ben was married, and although he seldom spoke of his wife he had never given any inclination that he was unhappy with his lot.

None the less, Jaime had begun to look forward to his visits with increasing excitement. He usually arrived at lunchtime, and because the pub was such a busy place he invariably took her out for a meal. It gave them an opportunity to speak privately, and if what he had to say only took up a small part of the time it never seemed to matter.

He told her about his work, and the people he worked with, and Jaime confided her own hopes and aspirations in the secretarial course she was taking. But Ben had always had a gift for narration, and Jaime always sat, entranced, while he described the places he had visited, and the events he had reported upon.

She never thought their relationship was moving beyond that of casual acquaintances. It didn’t occur to her how strange it was that she and Ben should find such pleasure in each other’s company. That the pretexts he used to promote each meeting were becoming ever more flimsy simply didn’t register. Nor did the increasing frequency of those visits arouse any fears.

Then, just a few days before Christmas, Ben arrived in the afternoon. He said he had no especial reason for visiting her—except that he had brought her a small present—but he had been in the neighbourhood, and he wondered if she would join him for dinner.

Innocent enough, Jaime thought now, remembering her feelings then. She must have been crazy, she mused. It had never even occurred to her to refuse.

Of course, her parents hadn’t been keen. Even though Ben had proved himself such a good friend over the past year, they were still suspicious of anyone called Russell. But Jaime refused to listen to their advice. Ben had asked her out to dinner, and all she could think of was what she was going to wear.

She supposed she must have been half in love with Ben even then. There seemed no other explanation for the way she had behaved. Or perhaps she had just been desperate for affection, she reflected bitterly. Certainly she had made it easy for him.

She didn’t think of it before Ben came to collect her, but when he told her he was staying at the Crown Hotel she realised that, for once, he wasn’t driving home after visiting her. She remembered wondering if his wife knew where he was this evening, and then dismissing the thought as being unworthy of consideration. In all honesty, she hadn’t cared what his wife thought, which probably made what happened after a fitting punishment. But, at the time, she had been blind to anything but the delight of being with Ben.

Because it was Christmas week everywhere was busy, and after a noisy meal in town Ben suggested they go back to his hotel for a nightcap. In her more charitable moments, Jaime had to admit that the idea of having it in his suite had been as much her idea as his. But the bar at the Crown had been hectic, and the knowledge that Ben had a perfectly good sitting-room upstairs seemed too attractive to ignore.

Jaime had never been upstairs in the Crown before, and she was impressed with Ben’s suite, which had a sitting-room, dressing-room, bedroom, and bathroom. While they waited for a waiter to bring their drinks, she asked if she could use the bathroom, and Ben gave her a teasing grin before saying, ‘Be my guest.’

When she came out again, she could hear Ben talking to the waiter in the sitting-room, and, on impulse, she went through the doorway that led into his bedroom. She told herself she was curious to see how the room was decorated, but it wasn’t really that. It was the first time she had been in a man’s bedroom since her break-up with Philip, and she was anxious to know how she would react to it. The fact that it was also the room where Ben was going to sleep tonight intrigued her, and when she saw a maroon silk dressing-gown lying on the end of the huge four-poster bed she couldn’t resist running her fingers over the fine fabric.

‘Did you find what you were looking for?’

Ben’s voice from behind her brought her round with a start. She hadn’t heard the waiter leave, but evidently he had, because Ben was now standing in the bedroom doorway.

Jaime’s face suffused with colour. ‘I—yes,’ she said, her nail catching on the cloth as she withdrew her hand. ‘Um—I’m sorry. I was just—looking around.’

‘That’s all right.’

Ben propped his shoulder against the door-frame. He was looking at her with his intense green eyes, and Jaime felt a frisson of fear slide along her spine. She should never have looked in here, she thought, never stepped inside. Now Ben was between her and freedom, and it wasn’t easy not to panic.

Her palms were damp, and she tried to dry them out on the seat of the slim velvet trousers she was wearing. She had thought the soft trousers, worn with a full-sleeved satin blouse, both in a subtle shade of violet, were an attractive combination. But now she felt as exposed as if they’d suddenly become transparent.

‘Do you realise this is the first time we’ve been alone together?’ Ben remarked, when she said nothing, and she wondered how he could be unaware of her feelings. ‘Apart from the car, of course,’ he went on. ‘But that’s not quite the same.’

Jaime swallowed. ‘So?’

The word came out high, and squeaky, and Ben’s eyes darkened. ‘So—nothing,’ he said flatly. ‘What’s wrong?’

Jaime shook her head. ‘What could be wrong?’ she parried. ‘Did—er—did the waiter bring our drinks?’

Ben stared at her. ‘Yes. He brought them,’ he answered. And then, roughly, ‘For God’s sake! Why are you looking at me like that? What do you think I’m planning to do? Rape you?’

Jaime held up her head. ‘It has been done,’ she got out unsteadily, and Ben uttered an angry oath.

‘Not by me!’ he exclaimed, and then, just when she thought he was going to leave her in disgust, he pushed himself away from the door and came towards her. ‘I’m not Philip,’ he said harshly, halting right in front of her. He cupped her quivering chin with one hand, and turned her face up to his. ‘I’d never hurt you, Jaime. Surely you know that. For God’s sake, I care about you too much for that.’

‘Oh, Ben…’

Jaime could hardly bear to look at him. She felt sick and ashamed for doubting him. He wasn’t Philip. He was nothing like Philip. And, although she had no real proof, she instinctively knew she could trust him.

Acting purely on impulse, she turned her head, and pressed her lips against his palm. His skin tasted warm, and salty, and essentially male, and, although she tried to prevent it, an errant tear trembled on her lashes.

‘Hey…’ Ben’s voice was a little uneven now, and although he drew his hand away his thumb brushed abrasively across her lips. ‘Don’t cry!’ he protested. ‘Do you want people to think I’m a louse?’

Jaime lifted her hand to touch his face. ‘They wouldn’t think that,’ she assured him huskily. ‘I’m sorry. I guess I’m not much of a woman, am I?’

Ben captured her hand in his, and she knew his instincts were to thrust it back at her. But her words caused a spasm of frustration to cross his lean features, and almost against his will he pressed her open hand against his cheek.

‘Don’t say that,’ he told her gruffly. ‘Don’t let one bad experience ruin your life. You’re a warm, loving, beautiful woman. And I wouldn’t be human if I wasn’t aware of it!’

Jaime’s tongue trembled against her upper lip. ‘And are you?’ she whispered. ‘Aware of it—of me, I mean? You’re not just saying it.’

Ben groaned. ‘No, I’m not just saying it,’ he declared, on an uneven breath. ‘For God’s sake, Jaime, don’t do this to me—to us! We’re friends. Don’t—spoil it.’

Jaime’s eyes showed her hurt. Drawing her hand away, she balled her fist, and pressed it into her palm. Of course, she thought unsteadily, Ben was married. He wasn’t really interested in her. He was just being kind. And she wasn’t making it easy for him.

‘I—I should be going,’ she said, looking anywhere but into his dark, defeated face. ‘Heavens—–’ she glanced at her watch—the plain gold watch her parents had given her on her eighteenth birthday, and not the jewelled Rolex Philip had insisted on her wearing, and which she had left behind in London ‘—it’s half-past ten! I wonder if the doorman can get me a taxi?’

‘Jaime!’

The way Ben said her name should have warned her. But it didn’t. She was so intent on extricating herself from what had become an humiliating situation that the idea that Ben might actually mean what he said didn’t occur to her. She thought he was just being nice. She thought he was trying to save her embarrassment. But, in fact, she couldn’t have been more wrong.

‘Jaime,’ he said again, as she would have gone past him, stepping into her path with sober intent. ‘Jaime, don’t go.’

‘What?’ Her nervous gaze flickered over his face and away again. ‘Don’t be silly. I’ve got to. It’s late and—and I—–’

But, as she spoke, his hand had taken hold of her arm, sliding from the narrow bones of her forearm to the quivering muscles of her biceps. And he had bent his head to press his lips against her shoulder, his tongue moistening the flesh through the folds of satin.

‘Ben…’

Her use of his name was less certain, and as he continued to hold her against him all her limbs grew shaky. What did he want of her? she wondered raggedly, and memories of the way Philip had used her returned to flood her mind with terror. Philip had been gentle once, she remembered. In those early days it had pleased him to pretend that this time he wouldn’t hurt her, but she had very soon learned that his words were just more lies. Later on, he hadn’t even pretended. He had known he was just wasting his time, and she shuddered at the thought of what he had done to her.

And, as if her trembling limbs had communicated her fear to Ben, he lifted his head. ‘I’m not hurting you, am I?’ he asked, and the anguish in his face made her swiftly shake her head.

‘No.’

‘But you’re still afraid of me, aren’t you?’

Jaime caught her breath. ‘Not—not really—–’

‘Oh, Jaime!’ His hand slid over her shoulder to mould the nape of her neck. ‘Jaime, you have no idea how much I want you!’

And then his mouth was on hers, and all her anxious fancies disappeared beneath the searching pressure of his lips. With infinite tenderness he brought his other hand to her waist, drawing her fully against him. Then, with his thumb brushing the underside of her breast, he coaxed her lips to part.

Jaime’s head was swimming, and his touch made all her limbs tingle. It wasn’t like when Philip kissed her, even though, in the beginning, he had pretended to be gentle. With Philip, she had always been aware of his impatience and, afterwards, she had been amazed he had been able to fool her for so long. No wonder he had never attempted to get her to go to bed with him before they were married. She had thought he had too much respect for her. How dreadfully wrong she had been.

Ben’s passion was different. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. The kisses he bestowed upon her lips were warmly possessive, but she welcomed them; his tongue, sliding between her teeth, was like hot velvet in her mouth. There was no pain, no subjugation; he wasn’t trying to punish her—he was simply showing her how it should be.

And his tenderness destroyed any lingering doubts she might have had. Instead of pushing him away, she found herself winding her arms around his neck, and pressing herself eagerly against him. She was a normal human being after all, she thought, revelling in the realisation that Philip had not destroyed her ability to respond to her emotions. For so long she had believed she would never be able to let a man touch her without feeling the intense revulsion Philip had inspired. But suddenly she was free, and the feeling was intoxicating.

Of course, looking back, she supposed she had been at least half to blame for what happened. She had known Ben was married just as well as he did, and if she had had some crazy notion that he might leave his wife for her he had never said as much.

But maybe they had both been too caught up in the events of the moment to consider the rights and wrongs of what was happening. Ben had made his protest earlier on, but she hadn’t listened to him. And if she still maintained that he was the stronger, that he should have been in control, perhaps she was being a little naïve. How could she have known how it would be between them? Who could have foretold the fire they would ignite?

They stood there, swaying in the doorway, while Ben covered her face with kisses. He kissed the high arch of her cheekbones, and the gentle curve of her chin. He teased her nose, and explored the silky contours of her ear, and closed her eyes with the feather-light brush of his tongue. But Jaime liked it best when his mouth returned to hers. Their lips fused together, and the plunging motion of his tongue aroused a trembling need inside her.

Her limbs were weak, and between her legs she could feel a dampness that was as disturbing as it was unfamiliar. She was filled with an aching longing to be even closer to him, and for the first time she realised the power of her own body.

‘God, Jaime…’

Ben’s voice was hoarse, and she remembered feeling enchanted that she could do this to him. She had never felt this way before, and when he moved her back against the door, and pressed his body against hers, she had no fear of the heavy thrust of his erection.

Even when he took her hand, and pushed it down between them, she felt no sense of panic. Ben’s body didn’t frighten her. She wasn’t afraid of anything he might do to her. On the contrary, she wanted to please him, and her touch was firm and caressing.

And Ben was not proof against such blatant encouragement. His own hands slid up beneath the hem of her blouse, finding the fullness of her breasts confined by her cotton bra. He took the firm mounds into his hands, bending his head to caress their hard peaks through the layers of clothes that covered them. His tongue wet the material, so that when Jaime looked down she could see her nipple clearly outlined beneath. It caused a queer sensation in the pit of her stomach that was at once a pleasure and a pain. But it wasn’t like any pain she had experienced before, and she realised she was shaking.

‘You’re beautiful!’ Ben’s husky words sounded more erotic than anything she had ever heard before. Holding her eyes with his, his fingers disposed of the buttons of her blouse, and exposed the bra beneath. ‘I want to look at you,’ he said. ‘I want to look at all of you.’ He released the strap of the bra. ‘Will you let me?’

Jaime couldn’t have refused, even if she’d wanted to. Her mind had ceased to function, beyond obeying the wild dictates of her body. She felt dazed, light-headed, totally absorbed with what Ben was doing to her. The world, and everything outside this room, had ceased to exist. Time wasn’t important. All that she wanted was here, before her. All she needed was within her grasp.

Her blouse fell to the floor, followed swiftly by her bra, but she was hardly aware of it. Ben was touching her breasts, sucking her nipples, grinding his hips against hers. She knew what he wanted, because it was what she wanted, too. The miracle had happened: she was alive, she was responsive, and she was in love.

She hardly remembered how they got to the bed. She did recall the coolness of the coverlet against her back, and the feeling of wantonness she had experienced when Ben peeled the velvet trousers from her legs. She also remembered how he had pressed his face against the damp triangle of curls that protected her womanhood, and how she had opened her legs in shuddering abandon…

Jaime shivered as the memories swept over her. She might hate Ben for leaving her alone when she needed him most, but she couldn’t deny that he had made her feel like a woman again. Those months with Philip had taken their toll in more ways than one. Because Philip had shown so little respect for her—and she had let him—she had also lost respect for herself. She had begun to believe his estimate of her, and she had never known what it was like to share the pleasures of making love. Ben had given her that, if nothing else.

Not that such thoughts had occupied her, as Ben tore off his own clothes. His jacket and tie were flung carelessly on to the floor, and several buttons from his shirt went skittering across the room. He undressed quickly, economically, as if he was afraid she might change her mind.

And the thought did occur to her, when he shoved off his trousers, and exposed the aggressive bulge of his arousal beneath the silk boxer shorts he still wore. He looked so big, so powerful, so dominant, as he loomed over her, that Jaime quivered. But then he bent his head to trace the line of her lips with his tongue, and her resistance simply faded away.

‘Touch me,’ he said, against her mouth, drawing her cold hands to his body. He insinuated her fingers into the waistband of his boxer shorts, and pushed himself against her, and Jaime’s anxieties fled in a wave of shocked excitement.

He was hot and velvety to her touch, and he growled low in his throat when the pad of her thumb removed the pearl of moisture that glistened on his skin. His manhood throbbed with the needs she was arousing in him, and when he nudged her legs apart she guided him to her waiting source.

And it was like the first time for her. Philip had never entered her body so smoothly, so gently, pushing into her so fully that she was half afraid she would never be able to accommodate him. But she gave herself to Ben, allowing him to dictate what she could or could not do, and the sensuous thrust of his body became a mindless race for oblivion.

Jaime had never experienced anything like it. When she married Philip, she had been a virgin, and his treatment of her had left her convinced she would never be able to sustain a normal relationship with any man. But it wasn’t true. Ben was proving it. As the pace of his movements quickened, and the pulsing strength of his manhood throbbed inside her, feelings that were totally new to her began to spread to every fibre of her being.

And, instead of remaining a passive participant in his lovemaking, she found herself reaching for him, clutching his shoulders, wrapping her legs around him, as if she would never let him go. She couldn’t get close enough to him, and her fears now were that Ben would leave her as empty and devastated as Philip had always done.

Her breathing became heavy and laboured, an indication of the effort she was trying so desperately to hide, and, as if sensing this, Ben lifted his head to look down at her.

‘Take it easy,’ he said, smoothing the damp hair back from her forehead with a slightly unsteady hand. ‘You’ll make it,’ he added. ‘I’ll see to that.’

‘Will I?’

Jaime found her lips were dry, but when she tried to moisten them Ben took her tongue between his teeth. ‘Believe it,’ he said, sliding his hand down between their bodies to touch the pulsing nub of her femininity. ‘Believe it,’ he repeated, as she trembled beneath his stroking fingers. ‘Oh, God, you’re so ready. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it, too.’

Jaime’s breathing felt suspended. Ben’s probing fingers had banished her fears and brought her to the very brink of fulfilment. But, when he took his hand away again, she almost cried out with frustration. Dear God, what was he doing? she fretted wildly. Didn’t he understand how she was feeling?

And then, she realised that he did. When he moved again, almost withdrawing from her body completely, before burying himself in her again, awareness gripped her. Now, when he moved, she moved with him, arching her back towards each thrust until wave after wave of unadulterated pleasure washed over her. It swept her up, and carried her higher and higher until the delight was so great that she was sure she couldn’t bear any more.

Ben would have withdrawn from her then, but she wouldn’t let him, she remembered unwillingly. He must have known, better than she did, the risks they were taking. But perhaps he had believed she was still taking some form of contraception, as she had all the time she was living with Philip. Whatever, seconds after she had achieved her climax, Ben had shuddered uncontrollably in her arms. He had spilled his seed inside her, and she could still feel its heat in her loins…