Читать книгу To Claim His Mistress - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

YOU don’t have to do this, Cat told herself as she ran the cold water tap over her wrists in an effort to calm her juddering pulses. You could simply call up the manager and tell him that a member of his staff is annoying you—something you should have done hours ago. He’ll then be removed, and probably fired. Following that, you proceed on your way.

Always supposing Liam decided to go quietly, she amended unwillingly, which was by no means certain. After all, she had agreed to have dinner with him, and she could hardly deny that without telling a downright lie. And lying—even childish fibs—had always made her thoroughly uncomfortable.

And if, as well, it meant him getting the sack…

I don’t want him on my conscience, she thought with an inward grimace. Just out of my life.

But then she didn’t want him smiling at her across the dinner table either. Her stomach gave an odd little lurch at the idea. And exactly what colour were his eyes, anyway—grey or green? And how did he manage that trick of laughing with them when the rest of his face was completely straight?

Don’t even go there, she advised herself tersely, as she retrieved the compressed powder from her cosmetic purse and attempted to tone down the flaring colour in her cheeks.

Maybe the best idea was just to have dinner with him. To treat him with faintly amused indifference, as a passing irritation to be dealt with and then discarded. A matter of no importance. Three courses and no coffee before she made her excuses and finally headed back to London. Alone.

She certainly didn’t want him to think he had got to her in any way, so she would have to play it cool.

She ran a comb through her hair, straightened her skirt, then walked with pretended composure to the door.

She paused, drawing a deep breath. Let the game begin, she instructed herself silently, then turned the handle.

Liam was leaning against the wall opposite, but he straightened instantly when he saw her, a lightning glance sweeping her from head to toe.

‘There’s really no need to be nervous,’ he mentioned softly as he fell into step beside her. ‘After all, everyone has to eat.’

‘I’m not nervous,’ Cat snapped. ‘Simply annoyed at your—unwarranted persistence.’

His slow grin was unperturbed. ‘Oh, you were out of sorts long before I showed up. You’ve had a trying day. What you need is some rest and recreation.’

She stared straight ahead of her. ‘I already had that planned—at home.’

‘Where, of course, you live alone.’

‘Yes,’ she acknowledged curtly. ‘If it’s any concern of yours.’

‘Naturally I’m interested,’ he drawled. ‘Or I wouldn’t be here now.’

Fool, she castigated herself silently. You should have claimed you lived with a boyfriend—or shared a house with three other girls. The last thing you need is to sound vulnerable—or available.

But the truth was she didn’t seem able to think straight. Merely walking down this wide staircase beside him was taking a strange kind of toll on her. He wasn’t touching her—there was actual space between them—but all the same she was trembling inside, her senses tuned to a kind of scared anticipation she had never experienced before.

And just when she needed to be most in control, Cat thought, biting her lip.

They were clearly expected in the dining room, where the head waiter conducted them to a corner table in an alcove without a flicker of surprise. And even, she realised, puzzled, with a modicum of deference.

They must consider he can pay the bill, and that’s what matters, she thought with a mental shrug as menus were brought, napkins spread, the inevitable candles lit and aperitifs offered. Which she swiftly declined, asking for mineral water only.

‘Very circumspect.’ Liam’s lips twisted as he ordered a whisky for himself.

‘I’m driving,’ she said. ‘Or had you forgotten?’

‘Not at all. But I still think it’s a pity you changed your mind about staying the night,’ he added meditatively.

Why does that not surprise me? Cat thought, sheltering behind her menu.

‘Is that what’s known as a dignified silence?’ her infuriating companion enquired, after a pause.

‘On the contrary,’ she returned. ‘I was merely trying to choose between the melon and the chilled cucumber soup.’

‘And have you reached a decision?’

‘The soup,’ she said. ‘And grilled Dover sole, please. Off the bone.’

‘Make that two.’ Liam turned to the hovering waiter. ‘But I’ll start with the goat’s cheese tartlet.’ He picked up the wine list and indicated his choice.

‘Not steak?’ Cat asked when they were alone, raising her brows in faint mockery. ‘I had you down as a red meat man.’

Liam took a reflective sip of his whisky. ‘Any other assumptions about me that you’d like to share?’

‘Well…’ Cat considered. ‘You’re certainly a risk-taker.’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘Based on what?’

She shrugged. ‘Pestering a female guest to spend the evening with you. I’m sure that isn’t part of your job description.’ She tried another steely glance. ‘How did you know I wouldn’t make a formal complaint about you to the management?’

‘Because you’re Cat,’ he said softly. ‘And all cats are curious.’

‘That’s it?’ she queried scornfully. ‘You staked your future here on some old saying?’

He grinned at her. ‘Not just one. How about “Faint heart ne’er won a lady fair”?’

‘You have not,’ she said, ‘won me.’

His grin widened into provocation. ‘Perhaps I haven’t been trying.’

It was an open challenge, and she knew it. She’d had plenty of time to absorb her surroundings and realise that theirs was the most secluded table in the restaurant, practically screened from the rest of the diners. The candlelight, too, seemed to enclose them in this private microcosm. And although she could hear the murmur of voices and the chink of glassware and cutlery from the rest of the room, Cat still felt cut off. Isolated. With him.

She said coolly, ‘You have an inflated idea of your own charm.’

‘I’m sure your powers of resistance are equal to it.’ Liam paused as the wine waiter arrived at the table with an ice bucket and a bottle of white burgundy. He tasted it, then nodded, and the waiter turned to Cat, filling her glass before she had a chance to refuse.

As the man departed Liam lifted his glass. ‘A toast,’ he said quietly, his eyes meeting hers. Lingering enigmatically. ‘To the promise of the evening.’

Cat felt her skin warming involuntarily under his gaze. She bit her lip, raising her own glass in turn with open reluctance. It was certainly not the toast of her choice, she thought broodingly.

She hadn’t planned to drink any alcohol, either, but had to concede that it was a wonderful wine, filling her senses with its cool, seductive fragrance.

Under other circumstances, she thought, with something approaching regret, this could indeed have been an evening to remember. As it was…

She lifted her chin. ‘Not just a risk-taker,’ she commented with faint derision chilling her voice. ‘But an optimist, too.’

‘Everyone is allowed to have their dreams.’ He was still watching her. ‘What do you dream about, Cat?’

‘Oh, I never remember,’ she said untruthfully. ‘Anyway, I think I’m too busy to dream.’

‘Really?’ His brows lifted. ‘So, what keeps you so occupied?’

Studiedly, she put down her glass. Gave him a brief, composed smile. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘No more personal details.’

‘Won’t that tend to make conversation tricky?’

‘Not my problem.’ She shrugged. ‘After all, I didn’t choose to be here tonight. Which means I reserve the right to protect my privacy. No other options available.’

‘But hardly the ideal way to start a relationship.’

‘We’re having dinner,’ she said. ‘Nothing more than that.’

He was leaning back in his chair, his face half hidden in the shadows beyond the candlelight. ‘To you, perhaps,’ he said. ‘But not to me. It will take a damned sight more than a meal to satisfy me tonight.’

She bit back a gasp. She said huskily, ‘How—dare you? Are you mad?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m a risk-taker—and an optimist. You said so yourself.’ She could hear the sensuous huskiness in his voice. Could feel the smoky intensity of his gaze on the roundness of her breasts under the clinging top as acutely as if he’d touched them naked, cupping the warm swell of them in his hands.

She felt suddenly breathless, the pounding of her heart like a trip-hammer, as she found herself imagining how his touch would be…

Oh, God, she thought, retreating from the brink. This cannot be happening. Pull yourself together.

Now, if ever, was the time to tell him with flinty emphasis that he’d finally overstepped the mark, pick up her bag and leave—even if it meant leaving the hotel a blank cheque for her bill.

Only, she realised, dismayed, the first course was arriving and their table was surrounded. Bread was being offered, butter pats placed within reach, and glasses were being topped up. An exit was no longer a simple option—if her legs would even carry her so far.

Instead, as if she’d been programmed, she found herself picking up her spoon and addressing her soup. Its cool, delicate flavour was just what she needed to ease the dryness in her throat. And maybe food would stop the trembling inside her—if anything could…

‘Good?’ Liam asked casually, host to guest rather than predator to prey, and she nodded jerkily.

‘Wonderful,’ she managed. ‘The food critics seem to be absolutely right.’

‘I’ll make sure I tell the chef.’

‘Yes, please do.’ Cat reached for the nearest glass, intending to drink some water, only to find she’d taken another gulp of wine.

But if she confined herself to one glassful only there’d be no real harm done, she assured herself hastily. Perhaps it would even calm her a little—help her to relax and endure the remainder of the meal.

Because that was what it was going to be—an endurance test. And she had to be the winner. There could be no other result.

So perhaps it was time she tried to recover a measure of control over the situation.

She took another deliberate sip of wine, then smiled at him with direct charm. ‘What a good idea this was,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

‘My God,’ he said mockingly. ‘And I thought you were all set to sprinkle hemlock on my salad.’

It was an effort, but Cat retained the smile. ‘On the contrary. I’m always excited to try out new restaurants.’

‘I was sure you would be,’ he said gravely. ‘Although eating in can be fun, too.’

‘Possibly,’ she said. ‘In the right company.’

His mouth slanted in wry acknowledgement. ‘Do you like cooking?’

‘That’s another personal detail,’ she said. ‘Therefore taboo.’

He considered this for a moment. ‘Don’t you find the maintenance of your defensive shield a little wearing?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Then may I find it tedious on your behalf?’

The swift bubble of laughter escaped her before she knew it.

She tried to regain lost ground by glancing at her watch. ‘Well, tedium won’t last for much longer. I have to be on the road within the hour.’

His hand reached across the table and took hers, keeping it in a light clasp, his thumb stroking the slender bare fingers.

He said quietly, ‘Don’t go. Stay here tonight.’

In an instant the whole atmosphere had changed—become electric. Cat felt her throat tighten as she heard the deafening throb of her own blood. Felt the heat begin to build inside her.

She shook her head, not trusting her voice, her entire body awakening to his light, sensuous touch. It shocked her to know how much she’d wanted to say yes—to abandon herself to whatever the night might bring. She was bewildered and almost frightened by this strange turmoil in her senses.

She looked down almost wonderingly at the hand still holding hers, and stiffened slightly, a faint crease appearing between her brows. His fingers, she saw, were long and lean, and very strong for all their gentleness.

But, she realised, they were also smooth, and without calluses, and his nails were immaculately clean and neatly trimmed.

She said shakily, pulling her hand from his grasp, ‘You’re not a gardener at all, are you? Or any other kind of manual worker?’

His voice was quiet. ‘I never said I was.’

‘No, but you let me think so.’ Cat paused, vexed, as the waiters returned to clear the plates and serve the next course. She drank some wine, the stem of her glass gripped tensely, as she watched them bone the fish and place the fillets on to plates. A bowl of tossed green salad was set on the table, with a dish of tartar sauce, and a platter of tiny sauté potatoes was offered.

All of which gave her a chance to think—to regroup and regain her composure. But also prompted her to start wondering about him all over again.

She’d already noted, of course, that his change of clothes was expensive, but there were few other clues. He wore a watch on a plain black leather strap, and no rings, which could mean anything or nothing.

When they were alone again, and had begun to eat, she said, striving for lightness, ‘It seems I really must stop jumping to conclusions.’ She paused. ‘So, if you’re not the gardener, what’s your real connection with this place?’

Liam tutted reprovingly. ‘You’re breaking your own rule, sweetheart. The embargo on personal details works both ways.’

Cat stared expressionlessly down at her plate. Caught, she told herself, without humour, in my own trap. Why didn’t I see that coming?

Because he’s knocked you sideways, said a small mocking voice in her head. And you’re not thinking properly. He’s awoken all your senses except common sense.

She forced a smile. ‘Maybe I should rethink my position.’

‘On the contrary.’ His answering grin was totally relaxed. ‘I’m starting to enjoy this enforced anonymity.’ He began to count off on his fingers. ‘No searching for common ground. No discovery of mutual friends or wincing over tastes in books and music. No mobile phone numbers or e-mail addresses.’ He paused, adding softly, ‘No past and no future. Simply—the pleasure of the present.’

Which is exactly what I spent most of the afternoon telling myself I wanted, Cat thought startled. So I can hardly complain now that it’s here.

She said crisply, ‘Pleasure is something of an exaggeration.’

‘Ah,’ Liam said gently. ‘But the night is still young.’ His eyes met hers, then moved down slowly to absorb the quiver of her parted lips.

She drank some more wine, her mind whirling again. There’d been hunger in his gaze, and purpose too, and her body had warmed under the overt suggestion.

Oh, God, she thought, what am I getting into? Am I actually contemplating making love with someone I didn’t know existed when I woke up this morning? Am I seriously that crazy?

Because it was one thing to declare her own sexual independence in the mid-afternoon under a blazing June sun, and quite another to go from theory to reality by plunging into intimacy with a stranger in the warm shadows of the night.

That would be a huge—maybe an irrevocable step for her. And she wasn’t sure whether she had the courage—or the sheer bravado—to take it.

She lifted her chin. ‘Why, yes,’ she said lightly. ‘And there could even be chocolate for dessert.’

‘I can guarantee it,’ he said. He paused. ‘And after dessert?’

Cat tensed. ‘What do you mean?’ She tried not to sound breathless, but wasn’t convinced she’d succeeded.

‘I thought—coffee,’ he said. ‘And armagnac, perhaps? After all, I suspect you’re already over the driving limit.’

She looked at her empty wine glass—at the upturned bottle in the ice bucket. So much, she thought, for good intentions.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I—I suppose I am.’ She swallowed. ‘Well—that sounds—good.’

The chocolate torte, when it came, was good too—sublimely rich and totally delicious—and she ate every crumb, her concentration on the food masking the fact that her mind was churning.

There were things about him she really needed to know, she told herself as the coffee and brandies arrived. And first and foremost among those was his marital status. After all, he already knew she was single. She wanted the same assurance about him.

He might be sending her body wild, but there was no room in her life or ethos for other women’s bored husbands.

And there was no way of finding out except by direct questioning, which, as she’d already seen, would get her nowhere.

‘I’d give a year’s pay,’ he said quietly, ‘to know what you were thinking.’

She glanced up, smiling wryly. ‘I imagine that could be quite a sacrifice.’

Liam took a sip of brandy. ‘Another fishing expedition?’

‘Not at all.’ She gave him a composed look. ‘I was thinking that we’ve both absorbed a certain amount of information about each other already. For instance I know that you like uncomplicated food—beautifully cooked—and that you like to play games,’ she added.

‘That,’ he said, ‘seems to be something we share.’ He paused. ‘And I know, of course, that you’re not a big fan of weddings. Tell me—was bloodshed actually avoided at today’s affair?’

‘Fortunately, yes.’ If you discount the internal bleeding, Cat thought, wincing. ‘But it was still fairly grisly,’ she added lightly.

‘Was that why you decided to change your clothes? A kind of ritual cleansing?’

She shrugged evasively, lifting a nervous hand to the neckline of her top. She said, ‘I needed something more comfortable to travel in, that’s all.’

‘Yet you haven’t been comfortable at all.’ His voice was gentle. ‘You’re still very much on edge—aren’t you?’

Cat bit her lip. She knew that he was right—that she’d been restless throughout the meal, her fingers pushing back her hair from her face, playing with the gold bracelet of her watch, or constantly raising her napkin to her lips.

He, on the other hand, the cause of her unease, seemed supremely relaxed, long legs stretched out in front of him, while she sat with her feet tucked primly back under her chair, making sure there was no contact.

‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘It’s been a hell of a day, but I—I didn’t realise it had affected me that much.’

‘Treat it as a learning curve.’ His long fingers were playing casually with the stem of his glass. She watched their movement from under her lashes, as if mesmerised, just as she’d covertly studied his every gesture, each turn of his body throughout the meal. Intensely aware of him, she realised, all the time. Unable to break free. Drawn ever more deeply into his web with every second that passed.

He gave her a faint smile. ‘Decide here and now that your own wedding day will be completely different. Totally angst-free.’

Cat poured herself some more coffee, thankful that she could keep the cafetière steady. ‘Actually, I’ve been far more decisive than that.’ She sent him a cool smile. ‘Because I’m planning not to have a wedding at all—ever.’

There was a silence. Liam looked at her, his brows lifted. ‘Isn’t that a little radical?’

She shrugged again. ‘I have it filed under “necessity”. As far as I’m concerned, the whole concept is outdated—and totally surplus to my requirements.’ She paused. ‘You disagree?’

‘I can’t say I’ve ever given it a great deal of thought.’ He leaned back in his chair, his face meditative. ‘And I’ve certainly never been tempted to try it,’ he added. ‘If that’s what you wanted to know in some convoluted way.’

He allowed that to sink in before continuing, ‘And isn’t this conversation straying back into the forbidden zone?’

‘Perhaps.’ Cat met his gaze squarely—full eye contact. ‘So, having yielded a point, do I get to know what you’re thinking too?’

There was a silence, then he said quietly, ‘Are you sure that you want to? You might not like the answer.’

‘It’s seems only fair,’ she said. ‘So I’ll take the risk.’

‘Then I have to confess that I’m indulging all the basic male fantasies.’ His eyes went to her mouth, then travelled down to the swell of her breasts. His tone was clipped, his mouth unsmiling. ‘I’m remembering that moment this afternoon when I held you, and felt you tremble against me. I’m imagining what it would be like to have you in my arms again, and to kiss you—and how you’d look without your clothes.’

She felt as if all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. She was shaking again, but not from shock—or fear. Her heartbeat quickened almost painfully.

From some great distance she heard herself say quietly, huskily, ‘How strange, because I’m wondering much the same about you.’

Liam pushed back his chair and rose. He came round the table to her, taking her hand, pulling her to her feet.

He said softly, ‘So why waste any more time? Why don’t we simply go upstairs—and satisfy our mutual curiosity?’

He looked deeply into her eyes. ‘Well?’ he asked, and she nodded mutely in reply.

Still holding her hand, Liam strode through the restaurant, threading his way between the tables.

Cat tried to hang back. She said breathlessly, ‘But we can’t just leave. There’s the bill to pay…’

‘They’ll know how to find me,’ he said. ‘When they need to.’

They climbed the stairs together, side by side. When they reached the door of her room Cat said, ‘Will you give me a few minutes?’

He framed her face in his hands, looking down at her, his mouth wry. ‘Having second thoughts, Cat? Planning to run away again—or lock your door against me?’

She shook her head. ‘None of those, I—I promise. I just—need a little time to myself.’

‘Maybe we both do.’ He released her, his hand stroking the hair back from her face. ‘But don’t keep me waiting too long.’ And strode away.

The room, she discovered, had been made ready for the night—curtains drawn, bed turned down, the lamp lit on the night table and her nightgown fanned across the coverlet.

The hotel staff must have known all along that she would stay, Cat thought, biting her lip. Just as she had known it herself, of course, in spite of her denials.

She undressed without haste and put on her nightgown, adjusting the narrow straps on her shoulders. She brushed her hair, and sprayed her pulse-points with her favourite scent.

Then she turned off the lamp and drew back the curtains, opening the window a little so that the cool fragrance of the night drifted into the room along with the moonlight.

As she turned back into the room she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. In her filmy gown, with its low-cut bodice and straight skirt, she looked like a slender ghost. But the swift hammer of her pulses and the heat invading her body told her that she was all too mortal.

His knock at the door was quiet.

‘Come in.’ Her voice was equally subdued, even shaking a little.

He had changed too, she saw. He was barefoot, and she knew that his dark blue silk dressing gown was his only covering.

He stood watching her for a long moment, the open hunger in his gaze mixed with a kind of wonder that made the breath catch in her throat.

He said huskily, ‘You are almost—too beautiful. Do you know that? So lovely that you scare me.’

She shook her head, colour sweeping into her face. She felt shy, suddenly, and incredibly vulnerable in the face of his passion.

She tried to smile. ‘I’m frightened too—a little.’

He came slowly across to her, resting his hands lightly on her bare shoulders, his thumbs stroking the delicate hollows of her collarbone.

He said, ‘But I’m not the first? I can’t be.’

‘No.’ Cat, for one strange moment, found herself wishing desperately that her answer could have been different. That she could have told him she was still a virgin—that there had been no other man in her life and that the night ahead with him would be her true initiation.

She said, ‘Liam…’

‘Shh,’ he whispered. ‘The past doesn’t matter. Just the pleasure of the present—remember?’

He bent his head and found her mouth with his. Her lips parted willingly, eagerly under the questing pressure, meeting the sensuous invasion of his tongue with her own ardent warmth.

His fingers slid down her arms to her waist, then moved to the base of her spine, his hands hard as he drew her against him and the heated passion of his arousal, and Cat sighed brokenly as she felt her body respond to his desire with its own surge of liquid fire.

When the long kiss finally ended, she was trembling like a leaf caught in the wind, her breathing shallow and driven, astonished at the depth of emotion he had engendered in her.

She took one small step backwards, away from him, staring at him with enormous eyes as slowly she hooked her fingers under the thin shoulder-straps and pulled them away and down, releasing herself from her nightgown.

As it slipped to the floor the delicate fabric seemed to shiver against her fervid flesh, grazing the hardening peaks of her expectant breasts, lingering for the length of an indrawn breath over her hips, until she faced him, naked, her body an exquisite challenge.

Her voice was a husky wisp, half lost in the depth of the silence between them. ‘Now it’s your turn.’

Liam made a small harsh sound in his throat. He untied the belt of his robe and shrugged it away, then lifted her in his arms and carried her to the waiting bed.

He lay beside her, his lips on her mouth, her throat, as he caressed her breasts with gentle, awed fingertips. She arched towards him, yielding and sinuous, her hands beginning an exploration of their own, stroking his muscular shoulders, then moving slowly down his spine to the flat male buttocks.

He had, she thought, a wonderful body—lean, tanned and smooth-skinned, apart from a shadowing of body hair on his chest. Cat buried her face in his shoulder, absorbing the scent of his skin, marvelling how familiar and precious his nakedness seemed.

Only a few hours ago they’d been strangers, she thought wonderingly. Now, in this moonlit bed, they were becoming lovers, intimate and enthralled.

He muttered hoarsely, ‘Hold me,’ and she obeyed, her fingers encircling the taut velvet hardness of him, paying delicate tribute to his potent masculine strength.

Sighing with pleasure, Liam lowered his mouth to her breasts, his tongue adoring the engorged nipples until she moaned aloud with the pain and glory of it, aching for his possession, and felt him smile against her skin as he whispered, ‘Wait, my love.’

He moved slightly, turning away from her, and she murmured his name in disappointment and appeal, only to realise he was simply taking care of her by using protection.

He came back to her, framing her face with his hands, kissing her deeply and sensually. Then his fingers were parting her thighs, exploring the sweet, scalding heat of her, his touch light, but almost agonisingly precise. Now gossamer, now fire.

And at the moment when the sheer agony of her need was threatening to overwhelm her Liam slid his hands under her hips, raising her slightly to receive him in one powerful thrust.

She responded instantly, fiercely, her hands gripping his shoulders, her legs lifting to enfold him and draw him even closer.

He moved rhythmically and without hurry, sinking his body deeply into hers. Taking her with him quite inexorably, it seemed, to some distant place. Somewhere she had glimpsed so many times, but arrived at so rarely.

This time, she told herself. This time…

She heard his breathing change, the pace of his movements quicken, and knew that, for him, the moment was there. But that once again it had passed, leaving her behind. So when his body shuddered its way into the ultimate rapture, and he flung back his head, calling her name, she cried out too, her panting voice rapturous.

She pulled him down to her, clasping him as he groaned out his release, her mouth seeking his with unassuaged hunger. When it was over for him he lay very still, eyes closed, his body slick with sweat.

At first she thought he was going to sleep, and that was something she was also accustomed to. But to her surprise he moved, lifting himself away from her. Clearly he did not plan to sleep in her arms, and the realisation gave her an odd pang.

For a few long moments there was only silence, and Cat lay motionless, not wanting to disturb him.

Then she felt him stir, and the next moment his hand reached out, gently but firmly taking her chin and turning her to face him. He was lying, propped up on one elbow, apparently replete and relaxed. He was smiling faintly, but his eyes were narrowed slightly as he regarded her.

‘So,’ he said quietly, ‘how was it for you?’

‘Wonderful,’ she said, and smiled back into his eyes. ‘Surely you don’t need to ask?’

He said slowly, ‘If it was that great, why didn’t you come?’

She swallowed. ‘But I did…’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not a fool, Cat, and I know you were pretending. You were with me almost to the last moment—I could feel it—and then I lost you somehow. You seemed to—drift away.’

There was a silence, then Cat released herself from his clasp, biting her lip. ‘I—I’m sorry.’

‘You have nothing to apologise for.’ His tone was dry. ‘Obviously I should have taken more time—been more considerate.’

She didn’t look at him. ‘I don’t think that would have made much difference. It just—doesn’t happen for me very often.’

‘Yet you wanted me,’ he said gently. ‘You weren’t faking that.’

‘I can’t explain it,’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘It’s as if I reach—and reach—but there’s nothing there.’

‘And is it like that every time?’

To which the answer was, Pretty much, Cat thought. But she had no intention of saying it.

‘I don’t think that’s up for discussion,’ she said. ‘After all, we agreed—no past, no future, just the pleasure of the present.’ She paused. ‘Or are you some kind of psychotherapist, wanting to delve into my subconscious? Because I’m not buying.’

‘No,’ Liam said, a sudden harshness in his voice. ‘I’m the man who’s just failed to satisfy you. But at least I can do something about that.’

He pulled her to him, stifling with his mouth any protest she might have planned. But at the first touch of his lips Cat was beyond resistance, her surrender absolute.

His hands were travelling slowly down her pliant body, lingering, arousing. Making every sense, every nerve-ending quiver in this new awakening. And where his hands touched his mouth followed, feathering kisses on her vulnerable flesh.

His tongue teased her breasts, turning the rosy peaks to tingling hardness, and she closed her eyes, sighing, conscious of nothing but the piercing delight of the sensations he was evoking.

When he raised his head, she heard herself say thickly, ‘Don’t stop—you can’t stop…’

‘I’ve only just begun.’ There was a shadow of laughter in his answering whisper.

His lips travelled on down, over the flat plane of her stomach, caressing the tiny whorls of her navel, the hollows of her hipbones. His hands were stroking her thighs, and her body slackened in anticipation of the contact she yearned for, but which, tantalisingly, he did not seem to be offering.

‘Please.’ Her voice did not seem to belong to her. ‘Oh—please.’

Then she cried out as his mouth reached the joining of her thighs and found the molten, aching sweetness within. For one shocked, bewildered moment she tried to push him away, scared of this depth of intimacy, but he captured her wrists with one hand and held her helpless.

His tongue was a flame, gentle but intense, as it began to explore her most secret being, seeking her small hidden bud and coaxing it to exquisite life. He made it flicker against her, then stroke her with delicate finesse, before circling on her with voluptuous control. And without mercy.

Cat was breathless, small sounds coming from her throat as her head twisted on the pillow. There were tiny golden stars dancing behind her eyelids, and she could hear the blood roaring through her veins like the echo of a remorseless tide beating on the shore.

Everything else—each sense, each nerve, each atom of emotion—was focused, concentrated on this passionate agony of sensation he was creating for her. Nothing else existed but this lesson in her own sensuality that she was being taught by a master. She wasn’t even aware of the moment when he released her wrists.

Her inner heat was raging like a furnace. She realised in some outreach of her mind that she had reached the brink and was being held there endlessly, her body a silent scream for release.

When it came, it was like a quiet pulse beating deeply and insistently within her, gathering power and strength, rising to some undreamed-of height. Until he took her across the edge, and her body imploded into rapture, shuddering violently as each tremor tore through her.

And his name on her lips was a thanksgiving.