Читать книгу Past Passion - Пенни Джордан, PENNY JORDAN - Страница 7

NICOLA opened her eyes and stared anxiously around the unfamiliar bedroom.

It was decorated in shades of grey and white, with a plain Roman blind at the window. The bed she was in was large, the bedding white and crisp, the duvet grey and white striped. She knew immediately that this was not a woman’s bedroom, and panic shot through her; she struggled to sit up and then gasped in fresh shock as she realised that all she was wearing was her briefs.

She had no idea where she was or why. The last thing she could remember was being at Jonathon’s father’s birthday party. She had been dancing with someone... Someone. Her body stiffened, frantic stabs of enlightening memory piercing the grey fog that covered the previous evening’s events.

She remembered drinking the champagne cocktails, seeing Jonathon with Susie... seeing him—

She groaned out loud and then shuddered. What on earth had she done? What had he, the strange man she had left the party with, done?

She shuddered again. She wasn’t that naïve. There could have been only one reason she was here in his bed this morning. The facts were self-evident.

There was a terrible wrench of nausea in the pit of her stomach, an ache in her head that made her feel as though someone had kicked it; and yet surprisingly there was nothing else—no unfamiliar aches, no real awareness that last night she had crossed the final frontier that separated the child from the woman...no memories of the man who had been her lover, other than those she had of the events preceding their departure from the party.

As she sat tensely in the middle of the large bed, trying to overcome both her physical nausea and her mental and emotional self-disgust, the bedroom door suddenly opened.

In the daylight he seemed even larger than she remembered. He had obviously just had a shower, because his hair was slicked back and still wet, his skin still showing faint traces of moisture. He had a towel wrapped around his hips. His body was hard and muscular, a shockingly masculine dark arrowing of hair bisecting his torso.

He was, she saw, carrying a mug of something hot, but as soon as he approached the bed she instinctively shrank back from him, clutching at the bedclothes and watching him with terrified eyes.

‘So you’re awake... Just as well since I have to leave in half an hour. I’ll drop you off on my way to the airport. I’ve brought you some tea. If you want any aspirin, there are some in the bathroom cabinet.’

He was so matter of fact, so casual... She could feel her own face starting to burn as he sat down on the edge of the bed and it depressed beneath his weight.

She could smell the sharp lemon freshness of his soap, see the smooth sheen of his jaw where he had just shaved. His skin looked firm and tanned, the sight of his body making her tremble and then shudder as she tried not to think about last night, about how he must have—

‘If you want to be sick...’

She shook her head, biting her bottom lip in an agony of self-mortification. He was so obviously used to this sort of thing, while she...

There was a mirror on the wall opposite the bed. She caught sight of their reflections in it. No wonder he had thought she might be going to be sick, her face looked so pale, an unpleasant shade of greeny-white. She frowned, suddenly realising something, her fingers touching her bare face.

As though he realised what she was thinking, he told her drily, ‘I washed it off.’

She went from white to red and shuddered, all too conscious of everything else he must have done while she had been too drunk to be aware of it.

Revulsion rose up inside her, not just for herself but for him as well.

How could he...how could any man make love to a woman while she virtually had no awareness of what was going on? But then, men weren’t like women...men were different, dangerous, and if she was honest with herself she had encouraged him to think—to believe...

She had started to tremble. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him reaching towards her. Immediately she arched her back to avoid him, her eyes betraying her feelings.

Matt frowned. Surely the little idiot didn’t actually think he had...? He wasn’t sure whether to give her a good telling off or burst out laughing. Did she really honestly think...? He remembered how small she had felt when he’d carried her in from the car...how trustingly she had snuggled up against him. How vulnerable she had felt when he stripped off that appalling dress and then her tights, before washing her face clean of her make-up and tucking her up in his spare room. He had, in fact, treated her as matter-of-factly as though she had been one of his sisters, and now she was looking at him as though he was a potential rapist.