Читать книгу The Platinum Collection - Эбби Грин, Maisey Yates - Страница 57

CHAPTER TWELVE

HARRY saw her eyes dilate with shock.

He didn’t care.

She’d invited him to take her without caring and his level of frustration with her was so high, turning away from following through on her invitation was beyond him. His hands lifted and cupped the breasts they’d wanted to cup in Mickey’s office days ago. He fanned her rock-hard nipples with his thumbs. The soft sheer fabric of the butterfly blouse gave a sensual sexiness to feeling her like this, causing a rush of hot blood to his loins.

He wanted her.

He’d been burning up for her all week.

Her eyes refocused on his, still slightly glazed but clearing as she sucked in a deep breath.

Yes, look at me! he thought savagely. Know it’s me and not Mickey!

He undid the button holding her blouse together and spread the edges apart, wanting to feel the naked lushness of her breasts against his chest. His arms slid around her waist, scooping her into firm contact with him. It felt good. It felt great.

‘Harry...’ It was a husky gasp.

He didn’t want to hear anything she had to say. His name on her lips shot a soaring wave of triumph through him—his name, not Mickey’s—and he was hell-bent on keeping it stamped on her consciousness. His mouth crashed onto hers, intent on a blitzkrieg invasion that would blast any possible thought of his brother from entering her head.

To his surprise her tongue started duelling with his and a wild elation burst through his brain when her hands clutched his head, not to tear them apart but to hold them together, her fingers kneading his scalp, her mouth working to meet and escalate the passion surging through him.

He pressed one hand into the sexy pit of her back, forcing her body into contact with his erection as he pulled the bikini string at her hip apart, changed hands to do the same with the other, whipped the scrap of fabric from between her legs. The lovely female curves of her naked bottom were sensual dynamite, igniting his need for her to the brink of explosion.

He tore his hands off them to sweep the blouse from her shoulders and pull it off her arms. It broke her hold on his head, broke the marauding madness of their kissing, but it had to be done. She was fully naked now, totally accessible to anything he wanted with her.

He bent and scooped her off her feet, holding her crushed to his chest as he strode from the deck, into the villa, up the steps to the mezzanine level. He tumbled her onto the king-size bed, snatched up the contraceptive sheath he’d laid ready on the bedside table, discarded his board shorts in double-quick time, pulled on the sheath and leapt onto the bed, rolling her straight into his embrace, not allowing any sense of separation to strike any doubts about what they were doing in her mind.

Their mouths locked again, driving passion to fever pitch. Her body was arching into his, explicitly needful. He barely controlled the urge to zero in to the ultimate intimacy with her. Only the bitter recollection of her one night insistence forced him to a different course of action. If this was all there was to be between them he’d satisfy every desire she’d ever stirred in him—eat her all up so he could spit her out afterwards, not be left fantasising over what he could have done.

He wrenched his mouth from hers, trailed hotly possessive kisses down her lovely long neck, tasted the tantalising hollow at the base of her throat, slid lower to feast on her sensational breasts, swirling his tongue around her provocative nipples, sucking on them, devouring them, taking his fill of her luscious femininity, revelling in the little moans vibrating from her throat, the twist of her fingers tangling with his hair.

He reached down to part the soft folds of her sex, his own fingers sliding, searching, finding the excited wetness that gave him easy entry to stroke the excitement to a much-higher level. She cried out, her body arching again, her need growing in intensity. He moved lower, determined on driving her crazy for him.

He spread the folds apart to expose the tight bud of her clitoris and licked it, slowly teasing at first, then faster, faster until she was writhing, screaming for him, begging, her legs encircling him, feet beating a drum of wild wanting. He surged up to take the ultimate plunge, but the savage need inside him demanded a last absolute surrender from her.

Her head was thrashing from side to side. He held it still. ‘Look at me!’ he commanded.

She blinked and looked but there was no real focus in her eyes.

‘Say my name!’

‘What?’ It was a gasp of confusion.

‘Say my name!’

‘Har...ry...’ It was a weak waver of sound.

‘Say it again!’

‘Harry, Harry, Harry...’ she cried hysterically. ‘Please...’

‘You want me?’

‘Ye-s-s-s.’ She beat at his shoulders with tightly clenched fists. ‘I’ll kill you if you don’t...’

He silenced her with a deep, thrusting kiss as he propelled his flesh into hers. When he lifted his head, the animal groan of satisfaction from her throat rang jubilant bells in his ears. She clutched his buttocks, trying to goad him into a fast rhythm, but he wanted the excitement to build and build, not explode all at once. He started slowly, revelling in her eagerness for him, the convulsive little spasms that told him she was totally engaged in feeling him—him, not Mickey.

He felt her creaming around him and couldn’t keep controlling the rampantly growing need of his own body. It overtook his mind, oblivious to everything but the physical scream to reach climax, releasing the fierce tension raging through every muscle of his body. It pumped from him in a glorious burst of ecstatic satisfaction, and with all tension draining away, he rolled onto his side, pulling her with him, wanting to hang on to the sense of intimate togetherness as long as he could.

She didn’t attempt any move away from him. Maybe she was drained of all energy, too. Whatever...she left her legs entwined with his, their bodies pressed close, her head tucked under his chin. He stroked her hair, enjoying the soft silky texture of it, thinking he still had the freedom to touch. He wondered how she was going to act for the rest of the night. Would Ellie emerge and see him for the man he was, or would Elizabeth stick to her guns?

He couldn’t call it.

He told himself he didn’t care.

At least he had the satisfaction of making her want him with every fibre of her being, if only for one night.

* * *

Elizabeth didn’t want to move. It felt unbelievably good, cuddled up with Harry, having her hair stroked. Her mind drifted to her childhood, sitting on her mother’s lap, head resting just like this while her hair was stroked lovingly. No one else had ever done it. She’d always been the one to comfort Lucy, not the other way around. It was weird, feeling comforted by Harry but...she didn’t want to move.

She liked being naked with him, too, the warm flesh contact, the sense of his male strength holding her safe. It was so nice and peaceful after the storm of incredible sensation. Having sex with Harry...her mind was still blown by it...just totally unimaginable before experiencing it. She’d never tipped so utterly out of control, never been taken to such peaks of exquisite pleasure-pain, and the sheer ecstasy of floating in the aftermath of one climax after another...well, that had certainly set the bar for how fantastic sex with the right man could be.

Though she hadn’t thought Harry was the right man in any other respect...or...might he be?

Maybe she had been a bit too quick to judge, misreading his character. Or maybe she was just being influenced by how right he was in bed for her. Most probably he was the best action man on that front for every woman he took to bed. Just because this had been special to her didn’t make it special to him. But she was still glad she’d had this with Harry.

‘Are you okay?’ he murmured caringly.

She sighed contentedly. ‘Very okay, thank you.’

‘Then let’s go take a shower. Once we’re done there we can get in the pool and cool off.’

She was hot and sticky. ‘Good idea,’ she said.

The shower was more than big enough for two and Elizabeth was in no hurry using it this time. She enjoyed soaping Harry’s great body, touching him intimately, letting him do the same to her.

‘Having fun?’

The wry note in his voice made her look up. There was no amusement twinkling in the vivid blue eyes. The mocking glint in them dried up the pleasure she had been feeling, sending a chill through her as she remembered her taunt about having a night of sexy fun, rejecting having any deeper involvement with him, virtually dismissing him as a person of no account in her life. He’d been so angry—shockingly angry. She’d forgotten that, her mind swamped by so much else.

Instinctively she reached up to touch his cheek in an apologetic appeal. ‘I was taking pleasure in you, Harry. I thought you were taking pleasure in me.’

For a moment his mouth took on an ironic twist. Then he bent his head and kissed her, a long sensual kiss that swallowed up any worry about him still being angry with her.

Finishing off in the infinity pool was another sensual pleasure, the water like cool silk caressing her skin. ‘Just stay there,’ Harry instructed as he heaved himself out. ‘I’ll light the torches to keep the insects away and bring out the oysters with some chilled wine.’

‘Oysters!’ She laughed. ‘I don’t think I need an aphrodisiac, Harry.’

He stopped. His shoulders squared and she saw his back muscles tense. He half turned to face her, a cutting look in his eyes that ripped through the amusement in hers. ‘I’m not into playboy tricks, Elizabeth. I simply remembered you liked them at your birthday lunch.’

That coldly spoken Elizabeth slapped her with the realisation that she was offending him every time she painted him as a playboy. Perhaps even insulting him. He’d told her straight out that the label was wrong in his eyes. Had she been doing him an injustice all this time? What hard evidence did she actually have that he used women lightly? None!

There was a sitting shelf at one end of the pool, and she settled on it, still enjoying the soft ripple of the water around her dangling legs as she thought back over the two years Harry had been dipping into her life while she’d been working for his brother. When he’d first walked into her office he’d emanated a megawatt attraction that had put her in such a tizzy physically she had instantly mistrusted and disliked his power to do that to her.

She’d reasoned that a man with so much personal magnetism was very likely to stray from any relationship since other women would always be eyeing him over, wanting a chance with him, especially when he was both wealthy and sexy. Determined not to go anywhere near that playing field, she had kept a rigid guard against his insidious assaults on her armour.

Now it felt as though she had prejudiced herself against a man who might well be worth knowing in a deeper sense than she had ever believed possible. Could he actually fulfil everything she had been looking for? His brother had definitely been more the type of character that appealed to her—solid, responsible—not dangerous like Harry. Yet Michael had not seen what he wanted in her. And was Harry really dangerous, or was that a false perception on her part?

She watched him emerge from the villa and stroll across the deck towards her, carrying a platter of oysters, a bottle of wine and two fresh glasses. He’d tucked a white towel around his waist. The sky had darkened and the flickering light of the torches he’d lit at the corners of the deck was not bright enough for her to see the expression in his eyes. Was he still angry with her?

‘Shall I get out?’ she asked.

‘Not if you don’t want to,’ he answered with a careless shrug. ‘I can serve you just as easily there.’

‘The water’s lovely.’

‘Then stay.’

He set the platter on the deck, sat on the edge of the pool and proceeded to open the bottle of wine and fill the glasses.

‘I do like oysters, Harry. Thank you for remembering,’ she said, hoping to erase the aphrodisiac remark.

He handed her the glass of white wine with a droll little smile. ‘I remembered your sister saying you loved chilli mud crab, too. I know a restaurant in Port Douglas that specialises in that dish so I had it cooked for you and it’s waiting in the microwave to be heated up when you want it.’

She stared at him, horribly shamed by his caring and generosity when she had treated him so meanly, using him as a distraction, even to going to bed with him in this villa because of Michael bringing Lucy here.

‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted out.

He frowned. ‘Sorry about what?’

‘My whole attitude towards you. It’s been uncaring and bitchy and...and soured by things that you weren’t even a part of. I haven’t been fair to you, Harry. I’ve never been fair to you and I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me because I don’t deserve it.’ Tears suddenly welled into her eyes and she quickly tried to smear them away with the back of her hand. ‘I’m sorry. I’m all messed up and I can’t help myself.’

‘It’s okay,’ he said soothingly. ‘Just take a few deep breaths and let it all go. Life is a bitch sometimes. The trick is to get past the bad bits. I’ve been trying to help you do that, Ellie.’

Ellie... The soft caring way her childhood name rolled off his tongue brought another spurt of tears to her eyes and screwed her up inside, stirring up the craven wish for someone to take care of her. She’d been taking care of herself and Lucy for so long, she needed someone to simply be there for her. But she couldn’t expect Harry to keep doing that. She didn’t know how far his kindness would stretch. What she could do was bask in it for a little while.

It took quite a few deep breaths to bring herself under control enough to manage a smile at him. ‘Thank you for helping me.’

‘You do deserve to have nice things done for you,’ he said seriously. ‘Everyone does. It makes the world a happier place. My mother taught me that. She was brilliant at it.’

She sipped the wine he had poured for her, remembering Sarah Pickard’s description of Yvette Finn—a sunny nature, radiating a joy in life that infected everyone around her. ‘Sarah said you’re like your mother,’ she remarked, starting to reappraise the man in a completely different light to how she had previously perceived him.

He gave a wry shake of his head. ‘A hard act to follow, but I try.’

‘Tell me about her,’ she said impulsively, wanting to understand where Harry was coming from.

He made an indecisive gesture. ‘Where to start?’

‘Start with how your father met her,’ she encouraged.

He laughed. ‘In hospital. He’d broken his leg and Mum was the only nurse who wouldn’t let him be grumpy.’

‘She was an ordinary common nurse?’ It surprised her, having imagined that Franklyn Finn would have married some beautiful accomplished socialite.

Harry shook his head. ‘I don’t think anyone would have said she was ordinary. All the patients loved her, my father included. He always considered himself extremely privileged that she learned to love him back. It took him quite some time to win her.’

‘She didn’t like him at first?’

‘It wasn’t that. She wasn’t sure about how she would fit into his life. Dad was a seriously driven guy. In the end, she made up a set of rules for how their marriage could work and he had to promise to keep to them.’

‘Did he?’

‘Never wavered from them. She was the light of his life and he was never going to let that light go out.’ He grimaced. ‘In a way, I guess it was a kind fate that they died together. They were so tied to each other.’

It must have been a wonderful marriage, Elizabeth thought, wishing she could have one like it. Her own mother hadn’t known much happiness in hers and the end of her life had certainly not been kind, though she and Lucy had done their best to ease the pain of it. ‘I always thought Lucy could have made a great nurse,’ she murmured, remembering how good she had been at cheering up their mother.

‘She could have become one if she’d wanted to,’ Harry remarked.

‘No’ slipped out before she could stop it.

‘Why not? She could have gone back to school....’

‘Lucy was never good at exams,’ she prevaricated. Her dyslexia made it impossible for her to pass them. She was smart enough to pick up anything as an apprentice and she had a great memory, but examinations that required reading and writing within a set time simply couldn’t be done. ‘I don’t think she had the head for study after Mum died,’ she added to put him off pursuing the point. ‘She was only seventeen and she took it hard, Harry.’

‘Understandable,’ he said sympathetically.

She sipped some more of the wine and eyed the platter of oysters. ‘I think I’m ready to eat now.’

He laughed. ‘Help yourself.’

‘I’ll get out first.’

* * *

Harry quickly rose to his feet, grabbing a towel to dry her off and wrap around her. She didn’t try to take it from him and didn’t protest his action when he finished up tucking it around her waist, leaving her breasts bare. ‘They’re too beautiful to cover up,’ he said with a smile.

‘I’m glad you think so,’ she said a little shyly.

Exhilaration zinged through Harry. She’d dropped all the barriers. There was no rejection in her eyes, no guard up against him. And it remained like that for the rest of the evening, no bitchy barbs slung at him, no hiding what she thought or felt about anything, no shutting him out.

She might not have forgotten all about Mickey but she had definitely put his brother aside and was actively taking pleasure in finding connections with him—connections beyond the purely physical. The sexual chemistry was still there, of course, simmering between them, heightened by their newly intimate knowledge of each other, but Harry was encouraged to believe this could actually be the beginning of a relationship that might become very special.

He wasn’t driven to carry her off to bed in a fury of frustration a second time. She happily walked with him and they both indulged in slow, sensual lovemaking—a sweet pleasuring of each other that was intensely satisfying to Harry. No way was this going to be a one-night stand. He wouldn’t accept that. Elizabeth Flippence had opened up to him and he liked it too much to let her slip away from him.

Tomorrow he would see if her attachment to Mickey had been broken.

He wanted it broken.

It had to be broken.