Читать книгу Nicola Cornick Collection: The Last Rake In London / Notorious / Desired - Nicola Cornick, Nicola Cornick - Страница 11

Damn the woman. How could she look so cool and unemotional when only ten minutes before he had been kissing her senseless? How dared she look so cool when he was burning up with the need to possess her?

Jack watched Sally as she walked slowly towards him. The waiter had installed him at the very best table in the dining room, up on a dais tucked away at the back of the room and surrounded by drooping green fronds of palm. Somewhere, out of sight, a string quartet was playing softly. It was a charming setting, relaxed but extremely stylish. The food smelled wonderful.

But Jack had lost his appetite for food and he did not feel remotely relaxed. Every nerve ending in his body seemed tense and alert, wound up intolerably, waiting. He watched as Sally smiled and paused to answer the greetings of the other diners. She looked regal, untouchable and very, very seductive in the bright fuchsia-pink silk gown. He had noticed it when she had first walked into the card room. Of course he had. Every man in the room had looked at her. The gown fell long and straight to her ankles and flaunted every single one of her curves. Jack felt his mouth go dry and his breathing constrict as he remembered caressing those curves through the slippery silk. Damn it, there was only one end he wanted to this evening, and it involved him stripping that provocative silk from Sally Bowes’s body and taking her to bed. He had never felt so impatient to have a woman in all his life.

Jack stood up as Sally approached the table and she gave him a very measured, very cool smile that acted like a complete aphrodisiac and sent his blood pressure soaring dangerously. He had only just got himself under control from the interlude in the corridor. His body was still in a state of semi-arousal.

‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting,’ Sally said, sounding as though she was not particularly sorry at all.

‘You were not very long,’ Jack said. ‘I do hope,’ he added, determined to shake her out of her apparent calm, ‘that you are quite recovered?’

A shade of colour touched her cheek. She avoided his eyes and made a business of unfolding her napkin. ‘I am very well, thank you,’ she said.

Good. Jack felt a flash of satisfaction to see that blush. She was not as cool as she pretended. He could feel the tension in her. It would take very little to stoke their mutual attraction back to the point it had been before—and beyond. He had every intention of doing precisely that later in the evening, but for now he was going to tread very carefully indeed to avoid frightening her away.

‘I have been admiring the club,’ he continued. ‘You own all this?’

A small, distracting dimple appeared at the side of her mouth when she smiled. ‘I own part of it,’ she said, ‘and the investors own the rest.’

Jack was surprised at her candour. ‘You’re mortgaged to the hilt?’

She shrugged and a shade of reserve came into her eyes and he wondered if she was remembering his earlier threat to ruin her business. She would not want to show any financial vulnerability to him.

‘I own the building,’ she said. ‘That is the important thing.’

Jack waved the waiter aside and filled her champagne glass himself. ‘And how did you come by it? It seems an unusual venue for a lady to own.’

‘My grandmother left it to me,’ Sally said. ‘It was a private house then, of course, but I had no money to maintain it, so I turned it into a business.’

She had, Jack thought, a tough financial head on her shoulders to have made a success of it.

‘Do you think your grandmother would have approved?’ he asked.

‘I doubt it.’ Sally laughed. ‘She was a very conventional Victorian lady, Mr Kestrel, and she disapproved of everything about me, from my liberal upbringing to my political persuasions.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘I belong to the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies, Mr Kestrel. My sister Petronella is a militant suffragist.’

‘Of course.’ Jack remembered the name of Petronella Bowes from the newspapers. ‘She was one of the women who chained themselves to the railings in Downing Street earlier this year.’

‘Yes.’ Sally ran her fingers reflectively up the side of her champagne glass. ‘Nell supports the cause vigorously. After her husband died her support turned more active. I think that it filled a void for her and she is very passionate in her beliefs.’ She looked at him. ‘Do you dislike political opinions in a woman, Mr Kestrel? Many men do.’

Jack smiled at her. ‘I believe I have sufficient self-confidence to deal with it, Miss Bowes.’

Sally gave a spontaneous peal of laughter. ‘Yes, I suppose it is only men who feel threatened by intelligent women who object to such matters.’

‘And as such their good opinion is not really worth a great deal,’ Jack said. He leaned forward. ‘Tell me, Miss Bowes, what do you look for in a man?’

He saw the bright light fade from her eyes. ‘Despite what happened just now,’ she said, ‘I would say that I do not look for a man at all, Mr Kestrel.’ Her voice was strained.

Jack touched the back of her hand lightly. ‘Because of your politics? But surely not all suffragists are opposed to the opposite sex?’

‘No.’ She withdrew her hand from beneath his. Her gaze, as it met his, was direct and very candid. ‘It is not because of my political persuasions, Mr Kestrel. I was married once and I am afraid that it did not encourage me to view affairs of the heart in any positive light.’

‘If that is so,’ Jack said, ‘how do you explain what happened between us?’

‘Oh …’ She shifted a little, shrugged. ‘That was … what would one call it? Chemistry? Physical attraction?’

‘Lust?’ Jack said helpfully.

‘Lust. Yes, I suppose so.’ Once again she ran her fingers thoughtfully down the stem of the wineglass and this time it was Jack who shifted on his seat.

‘I heard,’ Sally added, ‘that you, too, have little inclination towards romance, Mr Kestrel.’ She gave him a slight smile.

Jack raised his brows. ‘I see that someone has been talking about me,’ he said. He was not particularly surprised. Everyone in London seemed to be talking about him. He wondered what they might have said.

Sally smiled. ‘Surely you are accustomed to that—a man like you?’

‘A man like me?’ He looked a challenge. ‘What sort of man is that, Miss Bowes?’

She did not appear discomfited by his bluntness and took her time replying. ‘A man who is rich and powerful, and successful in business and with women, I suppose.’

Jack laughed. ‘You account me that?’

‘Are you not?’

The waiter brought asparagus for them at that moment, wrapped in damask napkins and served on a silver platter. It saved Jack the trouble of replying. He had no intention of raking over his past affairs with Sally Bowes. He was only interested in their mutual future. And he never spoke of his unhappy romantic past and his relationship with Merle. Not to anyone.

He found that he wanted to ask Sally about her marriage, but he sensed it was too soon and she would rebuff him. She was consciously keeping him at arm’s length. He did not intend to stay there for the whole evening. He might not believe in romance, but he definitely believed in physical attraction and the attraction he had for Sally was going to be satisfied.

He watched as she speared a stalk, dipped it in butter, and ate it with delicate relish.

‘I hope you do not mind that I ordered for both of us,’ she said, ‘as I know what is the very best from the kitchens.’

Jack tilted his head thoughtfully. ‘So do you also consider me a man who allows a woman to take charge?’

Their eyes met and locked. Sally licked butter thoughtfully from her fingers and Jack felt the lust spear through his entire body again. Perhaps, he thought ruefully, they should get back to talking about politics. Generally it was something of a passion killer, although with Sally Bowes it seemed that any topic of conversation could incite an almost ungovernable rush of desire in him. So far he had managed to keep it battened down, restrained, but it was the devil’s own job.

‘I doubt that you are a man to relinquish control in general,’ she said. ‘The way that you behaved earlier does not suggest a very … tractable nature.’

A mocking smile twisted Jack’s mouth. ‘I believe you understand me very well, Miss Bowes.’

‘I believe I do,’ Sally said composedly.

Her coolness, her frankness, her authority, sent Jack’s blood pressure rocketing further. The dining room seemed extremely hot.

‘And are you not going to ask what I think of you in return?’ he asked.

Once again the dimple showed in Sally’s cheek as she smiled. ‘No, I do not think so, Mr Kestrel. You see, I am confident enough to have no need for your approval. Nor your censure.’ Her tone changed. ‘Indeed, as I said, I get plenty of that elsewhere.’

Jack raised his brows. ‘Because of the politics?’

‘And many other things.’ Sally waved a careless hand. ‘A single woman running a club like this? And a widow to boot?’ She looked at him. ‘You may not be aware, Mr Kestrel, that I was on the point of divorcing my husband when he died suddenly. The police were called in to make sure that I had not murdered him to save myself the cost and disgrace of the divorce courts. I do not think one can get any more scandalous than that.’

‘Only if you had murdered him,’ Jack agreed smoothly. He was not shocked at her disclosures—he had seen far too much of the world to be shocked by most things—but he was curious as to what sort of man her husband had been. What had Sally Bowes looked for in a man, before her dreams of romance and marriage had turned sour and ended in death and disgrace? It was no wonder, he thought, that she was more careful of giving herself than most women in the glittering, amoral world of high society.

Sally gave a little snort of laughter. ‘I assure you I did not murder Jonathan. Not that the idea was not tempting at times. He died of influenza. It was a most virulent outbreak that year. I was sick, too, but I survived.’

‘What was he like?’ Jack asked.

The amusement fled Sally’s face and her lashes came down to veil her eyes. ‘He was weak and dissolute and he gave me grounds enough for divorce with his flagrant cruelty and his infidelity,’ she said. For a second Jack saw a bleak chill of loneliness reflected in her eyes and then she shrugged and picked up her champagne glass again. ‘Forgive me. I was forgetting that you have been abroad and so know nothing of my scandalous affairs.’ She looked up at him. ‘It was something of a cause célèbre at the time, as all divorces are, I fear.’

Jack could imagine that it might have been. Whether or not she was the injured party, divorce ruined a woman’s reputation and deprived her of her place in polite society. To have gone as far as the courts, even if her husband’s timely death had saved her the final disgrace of going through with the divorce action, would have been the end of Sally’s good reputation. It was no wonder that she had had to carve out a new role for herself here at the Blue Parrot and she had done it with great style.

‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘Sorry that you had to endure that.’

She shrugged lightly. ‘Fortunately I had my inheritance. It could have been worse. But you will understand now why the club is so important to me.’

There was a warning there, Jack thought. She had not forgotten his threat to take away from her everything she valued. She did not trust him. He doubted that she trusted anyone after everything she had experienced. She might have been as stunned as he by the physical attraction that had flared between them so violently, but it did not mean that she was entirely swept away. Once again the challenge she presented, the excitement of the chase, lit his blood.

‘What I told you about Connie was true,’ she said suddenly. Her eyes met his and his heart jolted at the impact of her look. ‘I knew nothing about her plan to blackmail your uncle.’

Jack nodded. ‘I know.’ He had a cynical soul, but he thought his instincts were sound and they told him Miss Sally Bowes was honest.

She nodded, and he saw a smile of relief touch her lips. ‘Thank you.’

The waiter took their plates and replaced them with dressed pheasant and tiny, sweet vegetables. Another bottle of champagne was delivered. Jack deliberately turned the conversation to Biarritz and Monte Carlo, to society and culture and the new Liberal government. At Sally’s prompting he spoke a little about the aviation business he had set up after leaving the army. He was very conscious of Sally sitting so close to him, of her smile and her low, smoky voice and the brush of her fingers against his sleeve. The temptation to lean across and kiss her was becoming overwhelming, but he contained his impatience. Soon …

The lights seemed dimmer now and the music had changed to the soft caress of the piano. The waiter brought cream gateau with curls of bitter chocolate and candied violets. The champagne bottle was empty.

And Jack waited and calculated and planned more carefully than he had ever plotted a seduction before.

‘Would you care for coffee, Mr Kestrel?’ Sally finished the last of her dessert and put down her spoon. There was a smudge of cream on her cheek. ‘Brandy? Cigars?’

‘No, thank you.’ By now Jack was conscious of nothing other than Sally and did not want to indulge in drinks or cigars. He reached forward and gently rubbed the cream away from her cheek. Her skin felt incredibly soft. He wanted to cup her cheek in his hand, explore the smoothness of her skin. The strength of the urge shocked him. His desire for her was coiled intolerably tightly within him, barely under his control. Fleetingly he wondered what on earth had happened to him. This was not how the game was usually played.

‘You had cream on your cheek,’ he said. His voice was a little hoarse.

‘Oh!’ For a second Sally looked adorably confused and vulnerable. She drew back, a wary look in her eyes, but he caught her hand and held it.

‘I would like you to show me the gardens,’ he said. ‘May we go outside?’

The tension spun out between them like gossamer. Sally caught her lip between her teeth.

‘Mr Kestrel, that really would not be a good idea at all.’

Jack thought it was the finest idea he had had in an age. To find a dark arbour, to hold her, to kiss her again …

‘I promise not to touch you unless you wish me to,’ he said, and knew he was lying.

He could see the uncertainty reflected in her eyes and sensed that she was torn. She knew as well as he what would happen when they were alone in the dark, and although she was tempted she was wary as well. He took her hand, rubbing his thumb gently over the back of it, and felt her tremble a little.

‘I hear your gardens are modelled on the Moulin Rouge,’ he said, ‘and that you planned the design yourself. I should like to see them.’

Sally laughed reluctantly and the tension between them eased a little. ‘We do not have the mock-elephant and the faux-Gothic castle, but they are very pretty.’

‘So show me …’

He held his breath and after a moment she nodded. Her expression was veiled. ‘Very well,’ she said.

They went out of the restaurant and down the red-carpeted corridor towards the big garden doors. Jack watched the sway of her body sheathed tightly within the pink column dress and felt his own body harden in response. He had never felt so powerful and possessive a desire for a woman in his entire life. The strength of his need drove him. If he could have her in his bed, just the once, it would surely cure this hunger that threatened his very self-control. They were both experienced sophisticates who could take their pleasures when and where they found them. She would know the rules as well as he—and be prepared to indulge their mutual passion. He forced his hands into his pockets and ruthlessly reined in the feelings that threatened to drive him to madness and prompted him to take her, here and now, against the wall.

Out in the garden the path wound its way between rose bushes decorated with paper lanterns that swung gently in the summer breeze. Even though the night was warm, Sally shivered.

‘You’re cold,’ Jack said. He slipped off his jacket and put it about her shoulders.

‘No, I—’ Sally clutched the lapels of the jacket close. In the shadowed darkness her eyes were very wide and dark. ‘I think that we should go back inside.’ She sounded hesitant, as though the strength of his desire had communicated itself to her and was making her nervous. ‘This was a mistake. Besides, Connie may have returned, and—’

‘Damn Connie.’ The abrupt reminder angered Jack and he spoke more roughly than he had intended. He put a hand on Sally’s arm. ‘I don’t want to talk about her. In fact, I don’t want to talk at all. Sally?’

In response she tilted her face enquiringly up to his, which was exactly what he wanted. Her breath feathered across his cheek in a gentle caress. He could smell her perfume, as light and fragrant as the summer flowers that surrounded them.

He bent his head and kissed her. As an exercise in calculated seduction it was practically perfect, a textbook example of rakish behaviour of which, under other circumstances, Jack might have been justifiably proud. What was completely unexpected was his reaction. He had thought that this time he would be prepared, in control, but as soon as his lips touched hers, all logical thought processes vanished, drowned out in an excitement and a need so violent that it almost floored him.

Sally caught her breath and for a moment she went rigid in his arms, then she relaxed and her lips parted beneath his. Jack caught her to him then in an embrace as possessive as it was demanding, wrapping his arms about her, absorbing the taste and touch of her, each kiss both intense and seductive. Her palms were pressed against his chest and she responded to him without resistance, without artifice. She tasted faintly of chocolate and sweet innocence and it was so intoxicating Jack almost lost the final shreds of his self-control and plundered her mouth without reservation. But he was an experienced man, not a boy; he held on to his restraint by a thread, forcing himself to take it slowly, exploring her with a thoroughness that was gentle, yet ruthlessly determined beneath. This time he knew he had to court her response, not demand it. This time he needed to get her to the point where neither of them wanted to stop.

The suit jacket slid from her shoulders to the ground and he felt her shiver and drew her closer. The pink gown was smooth and silky beneath his hands, but it was not what he wanted to feel. He wanted her, her nakedness beneath him, her bare skin against his own. He wanted to uncover all the curves outlined by the dress, to trace them and learn them and give her exquisite pleasure.

‘I want to make love to you.’

He said the words against her mouth and she drew back with a little gasp. He sensed it was purely instinctive and it was not the reaction of a sophisticated woman. He felt a tremble rack her body and then she had stepped back, out of his arms.

‘Jack, I …’

‘You want me too.’ He knew it was true and he was arrogant enough to want to make her admit it.

‘Yes—’ she did not hesitate, but her tone held him at arm’s length ‘—I do. But we cannot, Jack. Have you forgotten Connie, and your cousin, and that about three hours ago you threatened to destroy my business?’

He had forgotten, forgotten everything in the blazing heat of holding her and kissing her and wanting her. He thought about it for a split second and discounted it all. He reached for her again, not bothering to reply, seeking to persuade her through the touch of his hands and his mouth on her trembling, quiescent body.

He kissed her until he felt all the strength leave her body, felt her knees tremble and threaten to give way and felt the sweet taste of surrender in her mouth. She would be his now. He knew it. The flare of triumph the thought evoked in him almost pushed him over the edge. He swung her up into his arms and strode towards the door of the club. Her head was against his shoulder. Her hair brushed his cheek.

‘The service stairs,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t let anyone see …’

Briefly, Jack considered walking straight through the hall of the club with Sally clasped in his arms and carrying her up the main staircase to her bedroom. He rejected the thought with reluctance. He didn’t give a damn on his own behalf, but he supposed that she did have a certain professional reputation to maintain and he respected that. When they reached the terrace doors he put her down gently, steering her into the corridor and straight through the plain doors that led down to her office and the kitchens and up to bedchambers above. In the light he could see that Sally’s face was bemused and blank with passion, her lips parted, her breath coming quickly with the strength of her desire. Even so, he did not want to give her a single moment to reconsider what they were doing. He waited for a turn in the stair, a dark corner, and then he pulled her into his arms, pressing her back against the banisters with the pressure of his body against hers, for another soul-searing kiss. She made a noise of surprise and pleasure deep in her throat and his erection swelled in response. He held her trapped against the wall with his hips and kissed her long and deep until they were both gasping for breath.

Taking him by surprise, she caught his hand and ran up the remaining steps with him, pulling him through the door on to the landing and along the corridor to her room.

Jack turned the key in the lock behind him and stood looking at her. Only one lamp was burning and in its light she looked glorious—her breasts rising and falling with her panting breath, her hair tumbling free of the bandeau, her lips soft and stung from his kisses.

Jack did not move. Like a true rake he had planned not to give her the chance to change her mind, to seduce her ruthlessly. But now he hesitated.

‘Are you sure,’ he said slowly, ‘that you want to do this?’

Her beautiful eyes opened very wide and for a second he felt an absolute dread that she was going to refuse him. Why it should matter so much to him he had no idea; all he knew was that it did. And then she smiled and the relief slammed through him.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I am sure.’

Sally had never been so sure of anything in her life. She knew it was foolhardy, out of character, probably downright irresponsible to make love with Jack Kestrel, but she did not care. She felt utterly reckless.

She had told Jack a little of her circumstances over dinner, but nothing of her feelings: her confusion and distress over Jonathan’s repudiation of her, the fear and pain she had felt when he had so cruelly vented his frustrations on her, the absolute belief that she was plain, unattractive, unlovable as a person, not just because she was not beautiful on the outside, but also because there was something inherently wrong with her. She had been so sheltered when she had married, moving straight from her father’s comfortable home to a similar house provided by her husband. She had been a conventional product of her class and upbringing. And then it had all gone horribly, disastrously wrong. Two terrible tragedies had rocked her life. Her father had died and her marriage had proved tobe a sham.

For five years she had worked to put that disaster behind her, accepting that it was Connie who was the pretty one and she was the one with the intelligence if not the looks. And then Jack Kestrel had walked into the Blue Parrot and his desire for her had been like rain falling on parched ground and she had decided that, no matter how rash and impulsive it was, she was going to find out at last what physical love was all about.

Except that she had assumed that Jack would take charge, and now he was hesitating and his delay was making her nervous. Grabbing her courage in both hands, she walked straight up to him.

‘You will have to unfasten my gown,’ she said. ‘I am sorry, but I cannot manage it without a maid.’

Jack smiled then, a smile that made her toes curl and her stomach hollow with longing. He turned her around and started to unbutton the Poiret dress, bending his lips to the curve of her neck, kissing the skin that he uncovered, the flick of his tongue over her making the goose pimples rise all over her body. The gown fell to the floor with an expensive slither and Sally stepped out of it. She kicked off her shoes, her toes in their silk stockings sinking into the thick carpet. Standing there, armoured in her corset, she suddenly felt the same conviction that had always plagued her. She looked ugly and unattractive, Jack would change his mind, make an excuse, leave her. The thought made her feel suddenly sick and cold and she crossed her arms for comfort.

Jack turned her back to face him and their eyes met, and Sally’s heart skittered with nervousness and excitement at the look on his face, for he was looking at her as though she was the most exquisite thing he had ever seen. His hand was on one of her shoulders, warm on her bare skin, and now he slid it down to her wrist and held her gently.

‘Sally Bowes,’ he said, ‘you are the most beautiful girl.’

Shock and disbelief held her still, staring at him. He took a step towards her and pulled the end of her bandeau so that her hair tumbled down about her shoulders. The pins fell silently on to the soft carpet, but he ignored them, tangling a hand in her hair, bringing her lips to his to kiss her again. The world spun, tilted, and Sally would have fallen with the sheer sensual demand of his mouth on hers, but he scooped her up in his arms and tossed her into the middle of her big double bed.

‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I just don’t have the patience for this.’

She looked at him, uncomprehending. Surely he was not simply going to stop? There was a danger that, if he did, she might just kill him out of sheer frustration. She felt the mattress shift as he moved away, and she struggled to sit up. She heard the click as he took Matty’s sewing scissors from the table and saw the lamplight glint on the silver. Her throat dried as she realised his intention. These were proper, big dressmaker’s scissors, not some harmless toy.

‘But … They’re sharp!’

He put a hand on her bare shoulder, pushing her back down to lie on the yielding bedcovers.

‘Keep still, then.’ The words were laced with wickedness. ‘I’m sorry about the corset,’ he said again. ‘I’ll buy you a new one.’

He placed the scissors on the neckline of her chemise, between her breasts. She felt the cold kiss of the metal against her skin and shuddered with nervousness and hungry desire. Her nipples chafed against the cotton, waiting for the cut that would free her breasts from constraint. The heat pooled low in her belly. She wanted to squirm but the fear held her still.

The first snap of the scissor blades made her shiver uncontrollably. He cut downwards, straight, his hand steady. The material eased. Her breasts felt full, straining for his touch, but his concentration did not waver. When the tip of the blade touched her belly button he stopped for a moment and Sally shifted, fisting her hands into the bedcovers.

‘Don’t stop, damn you,’ she said, and heard him laugh.

The cutting continued. She watched his face, intent and dark in the faint lamplight, watched the flash of the scissors and the pale exposure of her skin as the material of her corset and chemise and bloomers parted. The blade slid over the curve of her belly and paused at her pubic bone and she caught her breath on a sound that was part-sob, part-moan and moved her hands to cover herself. Jack laid the scissors down and forced her wrists back to her side, then took the remaining cloth in both hands and ripped it straight down the middle, pushing it aside to expose her body to the light and to his gaze.

Air touched her bare skin, hardening her nipples to tight peaks, caressing the tight, secret place between her thighs that ached for fulfilment. Driven beyond frustration, Sally kicked off her stockings, then rolled over and grabbed Jack’s shirt, pulling him violently down to her. Something tore. She felt his skin, warm and hard and a little rough against the palms of her hands. His mouth was on hers, bold, possessive. His hand went to her breast, his lips and tongue following to nip and lick and taste her there. Sally writhed on the bed, arching under him. He tossed the shreds of her underwear aside, shrugged out of his own clothes and straddled her hips, pinning her down.

She was so utterly lost and adrift in a world of unfamiliar sensation that when the moment came she had forgotten that there was something she had not told him. He was not being careful because he did not know he had to. He took her with one, hard thrust and she felt the resistance from her body, felt him push past it so that he was buried deep inside her and then, when his mind caught up with his body, she felt him go very still.

It hurt. It hurt quite a lot, enough to pull her out of the deliciously warm and sensuous world she had been wrapped up in. She winced and he shifted slightly and that was painful too. She felt anxious, disappointed, and unsure how her pleasure could have melted away so quickly. He raised one hand and pushed the tumbled hair back from her face and his fingers were gentle against her cheek.

‘Sally?’

Sally closed her eyes for a moment of pure mortification. All those wonderful, mindlessly exciting sensations had died completely now, leaving her feeling nothing other than embarrassment and extreme discomfort. How could she still be entwined in such an intimate embrace with this man—a man who was a virtual stranger—and feel nothing but awkwardness?

‘Must we talk about this now?’ she said beseechingly.

A smile touched the corner of his mouth. ‘No,’ he said, ‘we don’t need to talk now.’

‘Good.’ She tried to move away from him, intending to get up and find her clothes—any clothes—anything with which to cover herself, but he followed her movement, still keeping himself inside her. It made her nerves prickle with an echo of the excitement that had possessed her so recently. Despite herself, she shivered.

‘Jack—’ she said.

‘You didn’t want to talk.’ He shifted her more closely beneath him, sliding deeper into her. To her shock, her body responded, rocking against him. He made a sound of satisfaction in his throat and bent his head to her breasts, sucking her nipples, sliding within her with slow, deliberate strokes, his skin slick against hers until she started to feel heat pooling low inside her again and her body twitched and shook with a need that was a shocking, dazzling, exquisitely unbearable revelation to her. He was so high and hard within her, the demand of his body on hers was absolute, and she felt overwhelmed with the sensation and she screamed aloud and felt her mind reel and shatter into tiny pieces. She felt Jack shudder and collapse beside her and she lay still, breathing hard, in awe and astonishment.

Jack rolled over and turned up the lamp. His face was dark, the expression hard, and her heart missed a beat.

‘And now,’ he said politely, ‘we talk.’

Jack propped himself on one elbow and looked at Sally Bowes. On the floor beside the bed were the scraps of her underclothes that he had cut from her body. The scissors glittered on the side table. The sheets were tangled and Sally was tumbled amongst them, her hair about her shoulders, her skin flushed with latent arousal. The expression in her eyes was bemused and heavy with satiation. She looked like a fallen angel.

She also looked very, very desirable. Jack felt his body stir and ruthlessly clamped down on the urge to make love to her again. So much for his misguided belief that once he had had her the fever would be gone from his blood. It burned all the hotter now, now that he had tasted how delicious she was, now that he wanted more.

Now that he knew she was his alone.

He felt a huge, primal surge of masculine satisfaction, something that he had never experienced before. It was disconcerting to discover that he could feel this way. It hinted at emotions he did not wish to explore.

‘So,’ he said, when she seemed disinclined to start the conversation, ‘you were a virgin.’

He looked at her. She was avoiding his eyes, fidgeting with the covers, looking both tempting and defiant. Something like indignation stirred in him. ‘You,’ he said, ‘are a widow, damn near a divorcée, you’re the owner of the most sophisticated club in London …’ He stopped. ‘How the hell,’ he finished slowly, ‘did that happen?’

She smiled ruefully. ‘It … didn’t happen.’

‘No,’ Jack said. ‘I appreciate that now.’

Sally looked down. She had wound the sheet about herself so that it wrapped her lovely, voluptuous body up in a column of white. He wanted to unwind it again, take her again.

‘Jonathan was unable to consummate our marriage,’ she said, after a moment.

‘Clearly.’

‘He … did not find me attractive.’ She looked defensive, blushing. ‘I thought that there was something wrong with me.’

‘So you thought to use me to prove that there was not?’ The words came out more harshly than Jack had intended. He saw her flinch and cursed himself.

‘I thought,’ she corrected him, ‘that it was extraordinary that you seemed to want me.’

It did not seem extraordinary to him. Resisting her was his only difficulty. Her husband had evidently been a fool. Unless …

‘Did he prefer the company of men?’ he asked.

Sally shook her head. ‘I do not think so. I think he preferred street women. He said that he had no difficulties with them, but that I was too …’ she hesitated, her tone flat ‘… too dull to interest him. He tried to make love to me, but it was no good. After we had tried—and failed—several times, he never came to my bed again. It was mortifying. I thought that it was my fault.’

Jack made an involuntary move towards her, then let his hand fall. He wanted to reassure her, to prove to her—again—that he found her incredibly attractive, but they needed to finish the conversation first.

‘Listen to me,’ he said. He caught her hand. The sheet slipped a little. She made a grab for it, but he held her still.

‘It must be apparent to you now,’ he said, ‘that you are an exceptionally attractive woman. Your husband’s lack of interest in you was in no way your fault.’

She bit her lip. ‘Thank you.’ She sounded as polite as though he had handed her a plate at a tea party. Jack wanted, suddenly and violently, to kiss her.

‘And there was never anyone else?’ he said.

She shook her head slowly.

‘So why me?’ Jack said. ‘Why now?’

She looked at him with those beautiful hazel eyes and hesitated.

‘Sally?’ he prompted.

‘Perhaps I should not say it,’ she said, ‘but it was because I wanted to.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘Maybe it is immodest in me to admit it …’

Jack gave her a look. ‘A little late for that now.’

She smiled a little. ‘Yes.’ She looked at him very directly. ‘I wanted to find out what it was like. And …’ suddenly she blushed very vividly ‘… I wanted to find out with you.’

‘You could have warned me,’ Jack said mildly. ‘It would have been nicer.’ He smiled. ‘Nicer for you.’

She evaded his gaze. ‘It wasn’t exactly bad for me, Jack.’ She traced a pattern on the sheet with her fingers. ‘Would it have made a difference to you, had you known? Would you have refused me?’

Jack thought about it. He remembered the absolute, driving need that he had felt to possess her, the sweetness of her surrender, the desire he had, even now, to slake his hunger for her again. He shook his head.

‘No,’ he said. He put a hand out and caught hold of the sheet that wrapped her up. ‘But then, I am a rake.’

Her eyes widened. He realised she was shocked.

‘I thought—’ She cleared her throat. ‘I thought that you would leave now.’

He laughed and tugged suddenly on the end of the sheet. It unfurled, leaving her naked to the waist.

‘What a lot you have to learn, my sweet,’ he said.