Читать книгу Sharon Kendrick Collection - Sharon Kendrick - Страница 37
ОглавлениеBY THE Friday of the party, Romy felt far more in control of her emotions.
OK, she reasoned as she drove through the massive gates of St Fiacre’s Hill, so she might witness Dominic ‘getting off’ with Triss Alexander. She might even stumble upon them kissing or—far worse—catch Dominic creeping stealthily out of her bedroom.
But so what?
It might hurt like hell—and Romy was determined to face the fact that it probably would—but at least she would be forced to confront it. And she would get over it
People did.
People had their hearts broken all the time and lived to face another day. People, moreover, who had shared far more than a passionate and illicit encounter in a broken-down lift!
As well as having a set of his housekeys sent over by courier, Dominic had faxed the guest list to her, and she had found it difficult to understand. Or rather she had been unable to work out just who was partnering whom.
Apart from the Baileys—both senior and junior—no one else seemed to be married. Or, if they were, then the women were all very liberated, since none of them had adopted their husband’s surnames.
The party consisted of Dominic, the Baileys senior, the Baileys junior, Lola Hennessy, Geraint Howell-Williams, Cormack Casey and Triss Alexander. Cormack Casey—the scriptwriter—was the only person she had heard of, apart from Triss, and the last person on the list was Romy herself.
So Dominic was including her in the guest list, was he? People often did. They seemed to find it socially more acceptable if the party planner was masquerading as a guest, rather than looking like the paid help! And Romy could more than hold her own in any company.
Perhaps she had been expecting Dominic to have her slaving away in the background, wearing an apron and a frilly hat and tripping around with a little tray, serving drinks!
Romy zoomed down the winding drive towards Dominic’s house, and when she finally drew up outside the warm, red-brick building she sat there quietly for a moment or two, just breathing in the delicious scents of his summer garden.
Had he lived here long? she wondered.
It was an awfully big house for a single man to own. Even a man who entertained lavishly—which Dominic clearly did not, judging by his conversation in the restaurant. Had he bought it as a prospective family home—and was that where Triss Alexander came in?
Romy watched her knuckles whitening as she clutched the steering wheel like a lifeline, and realised that it was actually painful to think of Dominic with another woman. And it was that pain which made her mind up for her.
Because perhaps she needed to see Dominic with another woman, if only to make her forget him once and for all.
Romy jumped out of the car and then had to remind herself to move slowly, the way they did in naturally hot countries.
The heatwave had shown no signs of abating, and it was a swelteringly hot day. She was wearing a white linen shift dress which came to halfway down her thighs, but even so she was still hot.
She tugged a straw hat down over her head and had just started inspecting the flowerbeds with a view to filling the house with flowers when she heard someone throatily call, “Hello!”
Romy looked up, her smile instinctively becoming fixed and forced.
A young woman whose height was almost as exceptional as her bone-structure was walking towards her. She was dressed for tennis in a simple white skirt and T-shirt—worn with the casual air of one who was used to designer gowns but who nevertheless could wear a dress made of sackcloth and still look like a million dollars!
Her short red-brown hair held the subtle brightness of autumn leaves, and she gave a wide smile as she sashayed elegantly across the lawn towards Romy, who suddenly felt like a rag-bag in spite of the white linen dress.
The woman held her hand out. ‘Hi! You must be Romy Salisbury, who creates such wonderful parties that people talk about them for months afterwards!’ she said. ‘I’m Triss Alexander.’
‘Yes, I know. Hello,’ said Romy woodenly. She had met more supermodels than most people, so why did she suddenly feel completely out of her depth? ‘I recognised you straight away, of course, but Dominic also mentioned that you were joining his house party.’
‘Did he?’ Triss asked absently as she bent down to sniff at the centre of a huge yellow rose whose petals were tinged with pink. ‘Mmm! What a wonderful scent—I love it!’ She straightened up again and gave Romy a quizzical smile. ‘So have you got everything organised?’
Was that a command? Romy wondered defensively.
What if—despite her clearing it with Dominic—what if Triss started getting all possessive, playing the heavy-handed-hostess role with a vengeance?
‘I think so,’ she answered, trying to summon up some of her normal enthusiasm. ‘I’ve spoken to Gilly, the caterer, on the phone, and I’m just about to go inside and see if there are any problems with the menus.’
‘Shouldn’t think so—I popped in at lunchtime and my nostrils were assailed by the most dee-licious smell!’ Triss smiled. ‘They were baking scones and chocolate cake like it was going out of fashion! I must say I haven’t had a proper English tea for ages.’
‘Really?’ said Romy, aware that her smile was iced with frost. Just who was this beautiful nymph who made so free with Dominic’s house? she found herself wondering.
‘The Baileys are arriving for dinner tonight, aren’t they?’ questioned Triss chattily. ‘Thank goodness I only have to travel from next door—I probably won’t be able to move after all that yummy food!’ She drew a slim hand across her forehead. ‘Especially in this heat! Much more of this sun and I think I’ll expire!’
She looked at Romy expectantly, but Romy felt curiously deflated, and in no mood for chatting.
Triss gave her a mildly perplexed look. ‘Yes, well...it’s been lovely meeting you, Romy. I’d better go now—I have a hungry baby at home to feed.’
Romy very nearly passed out with shock. A baby? Surely she and Dominic hadn’t had a child together? ‘A b-b-baby?’ she stammered, aware that her teeth were actually beginning to chatter.
Triss frowned. ‘Yes. Simon. He’s a poppet. Are you all right, Romy? You’ve gone awfully pale. Why don’t we go inside and I’ll fetch you something?’
’N-no!‘ said Romy, much too forcefully, but she was still reeling from the idea of Dominic being a father.
Triss looked startled. ‘Well, if you’re sure there isn’t anything you need me to do...’
‘I can’t think of anything just now,’ said Romy quickly. Inside she felt sick with the need to know whether or not Dominic was the father of Triss’s baby, and yet she couldn’t quite decide how to ask her without sounding rude.
She forced herself to flash her friendliest smile at the stunning model. ‘Although I haven’t really had a chance to discover whether Dominic has any particular likes and dislikes.’ She stared at Triss very hard. ‘Has he?’
Triss shrugged her narrow shoulders and jiggled her fingers expressively. ‘Haven’t a clue! You’ll have to ask him yourself, won’t you? When’s he back?’
Romy frowned. ‘You mean—you don’t know?’
Triss gave her a puzzled look, and then a slow smile of comprehension as the reason for the blonde girl’s jumpiness became clear to her at last. ‘Oh, I see!’ She chuckled in delight. ‘You think I’m involved with Dominic, right?’
Romy’s jaw had dropped so low that she seriously thought she might trip over it. She tried to look as if she didn’t care, and failed spectacularly. ‘He said you were lovely,’ she found herself blurting out. ‘And then—when you said about the baby...’
Triss burst out laughing, until she saw the other woman’s stricken face and remembered with chilling accuracy just how poisonous and far-reaching the webs of jealousy could be. And how it had almost ruined her own relationship with Cormack. Her wide mouth softened as she looked at Romy’s chalk-white face.
‘Well, I think he’s lovely, too. But I’m afraid there isn’t a man in the world who could hold a candle to Cormack Casey. He’s my man,’ she told her proudly. ‘We’re getting married next month!’
‘You’re engaged to Cormack Casey?’ Romy grinned, relief flooding through her veins like an instant pick-me-up. ‘You lucky thing! I saw Time and Tide and loved it!’
‘Wonderful, wasn’t it?’ Triss said complacently. ‘He’s just finished another script—in record time—which has come as a massive relief, actually. I think he was seriously worried that domestic bliss might cramp his creativity! But I rather think it’s had the opposite effect. I hate to sound smug,’ she added serenely, ‘but being in love seems to suit my wild Irish rover rather well!’
‘That’s good,’ said Romy, but it was very hard not to feel a little twinge of envy at the woman’s happiness.
Triss threw Romy a perceptive look. ‘Are you in love with Dominic Dashwood, by any chance?’
Romy’s dark brown eyes widened into such huge and horrified saucers that for a moment she looked very like a kitten. ‘In love?’ she squeaked. ‘With Dominic? Oh, no! Good heavens, no! I hate him!’
A pair of disbelieving hazel eyes were levelled at her. ‘Hmm. Hate, you say? Well, in my experience, Romy, a woman who hates a man does not have that kind of dreamy, preoccupied look which is so terribly attractive,’ said Triss frankly. ‘The kind of look which you have on your face right now.’
Romy shook her head fiercely. ‘I have no chance with Dominic. I never did have, not really. And even if I did—I blew it a long time ago.’
‘So why are you here?’ Triss challenged.
‘Because he offered me the job.’
‘Oh, come on, Romy.’ Triss smiled widely. ‘Even I’ve heard of you—and Cormack and I live a very quiet life together. Everyone has heard of you. Why, there was even some snippet in the gossip columns that you and a certain prince—’
‘And that was a lie!’ said Romy immediately.
‘Well, maybe it was—but it illustrates the point that you’re a woman attractive enough to have members of a royal family sniffing around you! So why take this job, if things are as awful between you and Dominic as you imply? It can’t just be for the money. Women in your field, and with your reputation, must turn down twice as many jobs as they accept. Maybe more, I’ll wager?’
Romy had been prepared to dislike Triss. She had been convinced that she was Dominic’s lover—either current or potential—but had quickly realised that this was not the case. And she might be incredibly beautiful, and have in Cormack Casey a partner who most women would die for, but she also had very kind and sympathetic eyes. And Romy felt as though she just might burst if she didn’t talk to someone soon.
‘I took the job to try and get him out of my system,’ she explained, the words falling out of her mouth in a torrent.
‘And do you need to?’ quizzed Triss gently. ‘Get him out of your system, I mean?’
‘Yes, I do—and please don’t ask me why, because I couldn’t possibly tell you. Not in a million years.’ Because, no matter how broad-minded Triss might be, she would be absolutely horrified if Romy even hinted about what had happened between her and Dominic five years earlier.
‘I won’t ask you,’ Triss assured her. ‘I won’t ever discuss it again—unless you want me to, of course. Your secret is safe with me. All I will say, though, is that exposing yourself to Dominic Dashwood’s charm non-stop for a whole weekend sounds more like a recipe for disaster than a cure for getting him out of your system! Isn’t there any chance that the two of you could perhaps...?’ Her voice tailed off wistfully.
‘No!’ said Romy, with a fervour which startled her, even more than it seemed to startle Triss. Because she was not going to give herself any false hopes where Dominic Dashwood was concerned—and because she was beginning to recognise that maybe she should not have come at all.
But it was far too late to back out now. And besides, a weekend was only two days. Two days during which she was going to concentrate obsessively on all his bad points! And by Sunday teatime she would be heading home to Kensington, secure in the knowledge that she need never see him again.
Romy smiled at Triss, and it was a proper smile this time, a smile that made her dark eyes narrow with humour. ‘I came here with an objective in mind,’ she told the other woman firmly. ‘And I’m going to jolly well make sure that I achieve that objective!’
‘I hope you get what you deserve.’ Triss smiled back warmly. ‘Though it may not be the same as your objective!’
Romy glanced down at her watch in alarm. ‘Heck! Look at the time! I’ve got things to do,’ she told Triss apologetically.
‘Of course you have!’ Triss bent and sniffed at the rose once more before straightening up. ‘You know, you really should smile like that more often, Romy—then I can’t see any man resisting you!’
‘It just happens to be unfortunate that Dominic isn’t any man!’ Romy shrugged, then laid her hand on Triss’s arm impulsively. ‘You won’t—say anything? Will you?’
‘But there’s nothing to say,’ said Triss, giving Romy a conspiratorial wink. ‘Is there? But no, I won’t. Not even to Cormack. Not yet. Men can be so obvious sometimes! And I’m afraid that Cormack has become one of those impossible converts. Now that he’s a father and a fiancé. he thinks that every man should join him in a similar state of domestic bliss! And God forbid that he should say so to Dominic Not yet, anyway!’ she added. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’
And, giving Romy her most dazzling smile, she made her way back across the garden towards her own house.
Romy fished around in her handbag for the house-keys Dominic had sent her. But as she reached the door it was pulled open by a woman of about fifty, dressed in a chic navy dress which was obviously a sophisticated kind of uniform.
And she looked far more welcoming than the last person who had opened this door for her, thought Romy ruefully as she remembered that dark, indifferent face.
‘You must be Ellen March,’ said Romy, smiling and holding her hand out immediately. ‘Dominic told me that you would be coming over to help. I’m Romy Salisbury.’
‘I know you are,’ said Ellen cheerfully. ‘I work in his executive dining room in London, but I agreed to help out this weekend. I’ve never seen Dominic so het up before, though. Is it terribly important, do you know?’
‘Apparently,’ replied Romy, not seeing the point in keeping anything from Ellen—if she was on firstname terms with him then they obviously had a close working relationship! ‘He wants to buy some property, but he needs to convince the vendors that he’s a good guy who will not exploit the land or the people.’
‘No problem for Dominic, then.’ Ellen smiled fondly. ‘He is a good guy. The best, in fact.’
‘Really?’ Romy’s rather disbelieving reply was automatic, because her thoughts were elsewhere. It was all terribly confusing, she thought.
Dominic seemed to inspire an awful lot of affection in the women he was not romantically involved with—like Triss and Ellen. So why, in that case, had he never married?
Ellen handed her an envelope. ‘Dominic left you this note, by the way—said I was to give it to you when you arrived. You’re to sleep in the blue room. I can show you up there now if you like.’
‘Thanks,’ said Romy as she hitched the strap of her bag over her shoulder and picked up her case. ‘I’ll quickly unpack, then see what needs doing.’
The blue room was bold and dramatic. Turquoise vied with cobalt walls for attention and should have clashed, but oddly enough did not. The large bed was covered by a throw-over which looked as though it contained the entire spectrum of blues, and the drapes were huge drifts of muslin coloured in a restful shade of pale hyacinth.
Going over to look out of the floor-to-ceiling balconied window, Romy was enchanted to see that even the flowers directly below her room were blue—delphiniums and cornflowers and deep blue, velvety pansies. Now that was colour co-ordination for you! she thought admiringly.
After Ellen had gone to make some tea, Romy sat down on the bed and ripped open Dominic’s letter. It began sardonically:
Please note that I have given you the best room in the house. Though you may, of course, disagree with me—as you and I seem fated to do, Romy—given that the room next door just happens to be mine!
But do not trouble your innocent little mind over this since there is no inter-connecting door, and even if there was I would not dream of doing anything as crass as trying to break into your bedroom late at night.
Unless, of course, you invite me to...
It was signed simply ‘Dominic’.
Romy disdainfully tore the note into tiny fragments once she had read this hateful piece of sarcasm, and let them flutter into the bin. Of all the arrogant, egotistical assumptions, she fumed as she began to unpack.
Did he really think he could just pick up where he had left off all those years ago? She pulled a face in the mirror. Because if he did—could she really blame him?
She hung her clothes up, then went back downstairs, where she introduced herself to Gilly, the caterer. Over a cup of tea, the two of them ate buttered scones and discussed the timing of the meals.
Next Romy found a basket and some secateurs and went out into the garden to pick some flowers to decorate the house. She was just snipping off one of the yellow and pink roses which Triss had admired so much when she heard the sound of footsteps and ice chinking in glasses, and some sixth sense told her that he was back.
She carefully smoothed her face into a neutral expression and turned round to see Dominic carrying a tempting-looking tray of drinks towards her.
Romy willed herself not to react, but it wasn’t easy, particularly as he was wearing black jeans which fitted much too snugly around his narrow hips. A white T-shirt emphasised the light tan which made his muscular arms such a flattering colour. If ever he was short of cash, he could, she realised despairingly, make a lucrative career out of being a male stripper!
‘Hello, Romy,’ he said softly, and his voice had all the sensual throb of a tenor saxophone. ‘Do you know it’s ninety in the shade? The hottest July since records began. So I’ve brought you a drink. It’s Pimm’s—’
‘I never drink in the middle of the afternoon,’ she told him primly. ‘And when did you get back?’
‘It’s very weak Pimm’s.’ He smiled, ignoring her question completely.
Putting the tray down on the grass, he poured her a glass brimming with mint and cucumber and lemon and ice and held it out towards her. It looked utterly irresistible.
Romy felt a tiny rivulet of sweat trickle its way slowly down the deep valley between her breasts.
‘And you do look hot,’ he murmured.
Romy took the glass he held out to her and gulped half the contents down gratefully.
His grey eyes glinted as he watched her. ‘And no wonder you never drink in the afternoon!’ he observed drily. ‘Because if you put it away at that speed you’ll be flat on your back in no time!’
Romy’s cheeks flamed furiously at the implication. He had almost had her flat on her back once before—and she had been as sober as a judge! ‘Are you trying to score cheap points?’ she demanded.
He shook his dark head. ‘Actually, no. I came out here to enjoy the day.’ He moved out of the direct sun to a spot where the clotted-cream and pink of the honeysuckle grew rampantly over a large arbour which provided a sweetly scented and shady sanctuary. He sank down onto the grass and patted a space beside him. ‘Come and sit down over here out of the sun.’
The Pimm’s and the blazing sunshine and the sight of that mocking, gorgeous face became all too much for her, and Romy didn’t so much join him on the lawn as half stumble towards him and slide down onto the grass beside him—and then wait in half-frozen terror as she realised that what she was most dreading and yet longing for him to do was to put his arms around her and kiss her.
But he merely sipped at his drink. ‘Like your room?’ he queried.
At least this reminder of his outrageous message renewed Romy’s determination to fight him every inch of the way. ‘The room is wonderful,’ she told him frostily. ‘Although the location leaves a lot to be desired. And as for your note—’
His eyes shimmered with soft grey light as he glanced at her over the rim of his Pimm’s glass. ‘You didn’t like it?’
‘I didn’t like your assumption that I would be inviting you to join me!’ She bristled indignantly. ‘In my bedroom!’
He surveyed her thoughtfully and was silent for a long, almost peaceful moment. ‘You know, Romy, sometimes you do have the most extraordinary knack of sounding like the most pure and unsullied woman...’
Romy only just stopped herself from taking a sip of her drink; she would have choked on it She put her glass down with an unsteady hand, and her eyes looked as dark as bitter chocolate as they sparked angry fire at him. ‘As opposed to a cheap little tart, you mean?’
‘Is that what you are, then?’ he questioned coolly.
She was about two seconds away from hurling the remainder of her Pimm’s at him. ‘More to the point,’ she accused him, ‘that’s what you think I am, isn’t it, Dominic?’
He didn’t reply immediately, just pushed a sprig of mint round and round his glass with his finger. One of its leaves was sticking up at right angles, and Romy thought it looked awfully like a miniature green shark swimming around in the Pimm’s.
‘You didn’t really give me much of an opportunity to form a particularly high opinion of you that day, did you?’ he said eventually. ‘When I started kissing you, I certainly didn’t expect the situation to get so completely out of hand in the way that it did.’
Romy felt the acrid taste of shame souring her mouth. She picked up her Pimm’s and drank some more. ‘And neither did I,’ she answered bitterly.
He asked the question which had haunted him ever since. ‘Did you...? Do you...?’
She met his gaze fearlessly, surprised at his sudden reluctance to speak. Dominic Dashwood stuck for words? Now that was a first! ‘Do I what, Dominic?’ she asked him crisply.
His mouth twisted into a cruel imitation of a smile. ‘Do you respond to all men quite so uninhibitedly?’
It was like a slap to the face. ‘You want to know how many millions of men have done what you did to me in the lift that day?’ she demanded flippantly, astonished and slightly alarmed by the unexpected whitening of his skin and the flickering of a frantic pulse at his temple.
‘Do you want it down to the nearest ten, Dominic?’ she taunted. ‘Or perhaps you think it’s closer to the nearest hundred?’
‘Don’t!’ he grated abrasively, his eyes darkening with disapproval. ‘Do you think it’s clever to talk that way?’
‘Why shouldn’t I? It’s what you think, isn’t it? You think I’m so hot for a man—any man—that I’ll just indiscriminately flaunt myself and allow anyone to do what they please, don’t you, Dominic?’
‘No,’ he answered simply. ‘In a way it might be easier if I did.’
She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Just that I’ve met women who have no respect for themselves, who allow men unlimited access to their bodies.’
Romy felt sick. Because he was describing her, wasn’t he?
He shook his head, as though he had read her thoughts. ‘But you weren’t like that, Romy—’
‘I was hardly Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, though, was I?’ she interrupted, swallowing down the sour taste of guilt.
‘That was the last thing you were,’ he agreed drily, a pulse beginning to beat once more at the base of his throat as he remembered with what delicious ease he had seduced her. ‘But there was such a sense of wonder in your actions, an uninhibited elation when I touched you, that it did bring me to ask myself whether all was as it seemed between you and Mark.’
Romy felt her voice threaten to crack with fear. ‘And wh-what do you mean by that?’
‘I wondered if perhaps Mark had decided to play the old-fashioned and conventional role of husband-to-be, and had been determined to wait until you were married before he took you to bed. And...’ He seemed to be having difficulty choosing his words.
‘And what?’ Romy prompted, shaking with nerves at his perception.
‘Prolonged frustration is no good to anyone, and has a curious way of erupting. Particularly if...’ Here he paused and frowned, as if the subject was too indelicate to pursue any further.
‘If...?’ she put in, even though she knew that he was about to insult her even more. She stared defiantly at that hard, lean face and had visions of raking her fingernails deep into his flesh, leaving her mark on him for ever...
‘Particularly if you were the more experienced partner in your relationship with Mark,’ he suggested. ‘Perhaps you told Mark that you were a virgin—’
‘But I wasn’t one, naturally?’ she quizzed acidly. ‘So I’m a liar too, am I, Dominic?’
He shrugged broad shoulders, and beneath the white T-shirt Romy could see the powerful rippling of honed muscle. ‘Why not? It isn’t the worst type of crime you can commit. Lots of women do pretend that they are virgins, even when they aren’t. Especially if they are marrying a man like Mark Ackroyd who happens to be a member of the Establishment,’ he continued. ‘You might have decided that it was in keeping with the type of old, aristocratic family you were marrying into to promote the old-fashioned virtue of virginity.’
‘Making me seem more highly prized, I suppose?’ she questioned sweetly.
‘If you like,’ he agreed calmly, either not seeing or just not taking any notice of the growing look of mutiny on her face. ‘You might then have found it exceptionally difficult to wait—especially if you had had a fairly active sex-life before meeting Mark.’
Romy couldn’t believe she was hearing this! But she wanted him to say it, and to say more—and worse than he had already said, too!
Because the more he talked to her as if she were some little slut, the more easy it would be to accept that nothing was ever going to happen between the two of them.
‘So what you’re actually saying,’ she mused slowly, ‘is that you can understand my behaviour a little more now. And that, basically, I happened to be a raving nymphomaniac who wasn’t getting enough sex because I was too busy pretending to be a virgin. Is that right?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake—’
‘And life was hell, Dominic!’ she declared dramatically, revelling in the shocked fury which was revealing itself all over his arrogant features. ‘Sheer hell! Until one day my passion got the better of me. I saw you in the lift and fancied you like mad. When the lift broke down it was as if all my prayers had been answered, and I thought, He’ll do.
‘I mean—’ she shrugged ‘—I asked myself, Why bother waiting for another whole day, when I’ll be legitimately married to Mark? I want this man right now, right here in this lift! And to hell with the lift being mended and members of the general public being able to see what we’re doing! And that’s when it happened.’
He looked furious—really, really angry. ‘Will you shut up?’ he snarled.
Romy’s brown eyes glittered. ‘But why?’
‘Because now you are talking like a tramp!’
‘But that’s what happened, isn’t it?’
He narrowed his eyes to stare at her so intently that Romy felt her soul almost stripped bare by that hard scrutiny. His grey eyes were hard and cold, like chips of stone. What she would have done to see those eyes warm and loving and responsive for once. She felt her heart lurch, and forced herself to remember that she was still so terribly vulnerable where he was concerned.
‘No,’ he said suddenly. ‘That isn’t what happened at all.’
‘Well, then, you’d better make your mind up, Dominic!’ said Romy impatiently. ‘Either I behaved appallingly because I was so hot for you, or...’
Something in his eyes made her words tail off.
‘I should have stopped,’ he said bitterly, but the silver magnetism of his stare still captured her.
Romy’s heart raced like a riderless horse, and some grim, nameless shadowing of his face prompted her to ask, ‘So why didn’t you?’
‘For the same reason that I want to kiss you right now,’ he uttered softly. ‘Because I couldn’t stop myself.’
‘Dominic,’ she said breathlessly as he took the glass from her bloodless fingers. ’D-don‘t—’
He laughed then—a laugh so cold and cynical that it chilled Romy to the bone.
A sensible girl would have taken to her heels and run—just as far away from him as it was possible to run.
A sensible girl would not have allowed him to capture her shoulders with two strong hands, would she? And then allowed him to move her very close to him, so that she could feel his breath heating her skin more intensely than the blazing July sunshine?
And a sensible girl would not have raised her mouth with such eagerness, just begging to be kissed.
She heard him groan her name as his mouth covered hers in a kiss which seemed to be half punishment, half pleasure.
And Romy could hold back no longer.
Because she had wanted him to do this again. Ever since she had roared up to his front door in her little black car, and had lifted her eyes to see him standing there, so elegant and so proud and so arrogantly desirable.
With a stifled moan of pleasure, she raised her hands to run them through the silky tangle of his black hair and kissed him with all the pent-up passion of a woman who had lived in a sexual wilderness for the past five years.
Her ardent response seemed to startle him, but only for a moment, and then he kissed her back. And how! Had he been holding back before? she wondered hazily as the wild, sensual promise of his mouth made her press her body even closer.
‘Dear God...Romy,’ he gasped, already sounding as if he was teetering on the very edge of control, and Romy found herself thrilling to that unsteady note in his voice. ‘What is it that you do to me?’
The same, I guess, as you do to me, she thought hazily as he pushed her down onto the grass and moved his hard, lean body distractedly against hers, awaking in her an instantaneous response as she felt the warm, wet rush of desire.
‘Dominic!’ she choked helplessly, but what was meant to be a protest came out more as a frantic plea, and this seemed to spur him on.
He started inciting her with movements which mimicked the act of love itself, and Romy found that her hips had become melded to his as her body seemed unable to do anything but follow his lead. She felt his potent arousal against her belly and was aware that her white dress had ridden all the way up her bare brown thighs, and she still didn’t care a bit
Even while he was kissing her Dominic’s fingers had begun to draw tiny little circles over the soft cushions of flesh behind her knees. Oh, but he was good at that! In fact, he was good at just about everything, thought Romy dreamily.
And only when he had tantalised her to the edge of endurance did he slowly allow his hand to drift upwards, taking for ever to tiptoe onto the exquisitely sensitive flesh of her inner thighs.
Romy’s head fell back, so that the kiss was broken, her breath coming in tiny, shallow gasps as she longed for what had happened last time to happen again. Her arms were stretched taut over her head as she lay in the classic pose of capitulation.
He leaned over her, imprisoning her two hands in one of his own, his face dark and unreadable as he continued with his sorcerous touch. But the hectic glittering of his eyes and the heated flare of colour along his high cheekbones made Romy aware that he was just as much in the throes of this wild and inconvenient passion as she was.
Her white linen dress had ridden up almost to her bottom and his dark head was resting on her breast, the tip of his tongue darting out to spear each iron-hard nipple through the coarse material, and he groaned aloud as he let her hands go.
Romy’s eyes closed helplessly as his fingers drifted down to stroke the top of her thighs, touching her everywhere except where they both knew she wanted to be touched.
And she suddenly knew that this was not fair. Not any more.
At nineteen she had really not known where all this was leading, but now she did; Dominic had seen to that. Last time it had all been such an appalling mess that she had not given a single thought to how Dominic must have been left feeling. He must have been left feeling high and dry.
Now Romy wanted to turn the tables, by doing to him what he had done so beautifully to her. But her desire to please him was much more than a desire to play fair...
Because she had enough insight into her character to realise that it was also a power-trip, and she wanted to experience power over this man. She wanted to see Dominic Dashwood writhing with helpless desire, and she wanted to call the shots this time!
With steely resolve she stopped his hand just before it reached the danger area. Romy might not have had very much practical experience of sex, but she knew quite well that there was a point of no return, and if he started stroking her there then she was rapidly going to reach it.
‘What is it?’ he whispered.
This,’ she whispered back. She pushed him back onto the grass and saw his bemused expression change to one of helpless comprehension.
‘Romy, sweetheart,’ he groaned as she began to unbuckle the belt of his jeans with sultry determination. ‘What if someone comes?’
Highly unlikely, Romy decided. And the honeysuckle was as thick as a wall around them. She shot him a narrow-eyed glance which she hoped masked her inexperience. ‘Wasn’t that the general idea?’ she murmured teasingly, trying not to look too startled by the rock-hard bulge in his jeans as she carefully slid the zip down over it.
He closed his eyes as her fingers unwittingly brushed him there, and she began to get a good idea of her supremacy over him at that moment. ‘Oh, God,’ he gasped. ‘Romy...’
She didn’t attempt to undress him completely; she was too afraid of doing the wrong thing. She just eased his jeans down as far as they would go and then freed him, taking the steely shaft of him in her hand and experimentally running her fingertips up and down the silken length, so that he almost leapt off the grass with pleasure, and a shudder raked its way down his body.
‘You’re very good at that,’ he moaned.
‘Good at what? That?’
‘God, yes!’ he groaned. ‘That!’
She tried a variation on her gentle stroking movements. ‘And that?’
‘Yes!’ he breathed raggedly.
She concentrated on everything she had ever read in every women’s magazine article on the subject, taking care to touch him slowly and thoroughly, with delicate fingers whose feather-light touches seemed to be driving him out of his mind.
Secretly she watched him as her fingers moved intimately over him. She saw which particular movement made his pleasure more acute, and as she did that to him all the more she heard his soft moans of delight.
Two flares of colour ran over his sculpted cheekbones and his dark hair was all mussed. And then, as if some sixth sense had warned him that he was being watched, his eyes suddenly snapped open to meet her gaze, rueful for only a second before that helpless look descended on them again.
He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice sounded almost unrecognizable, it was so slurred and heavy. ‘Stop it, Romy,’ he beseeched her on a ragged whisper. ‘Stop it right now, sweetheart, and we’ll go upstairs to bed before it’s too late.’
But she wanted it to be too late!
And, unfairly, she rather resented the way he seemed to expect her just to march straight upstairs and hop into bed with him!
But of course he expected it! Why wouldn’t he? Her behaviour towards him five years ago and again today would have led him to expect it. And in a way he was right. They should go up to bed.
Because, quite honestly, they were way beyond the age when they should be indulging in heavy petting in the middle of his garden.
But she didn’t want to go to bed with him. Or, rather, she did, but she wasn’t going to allow herself to. She had recognised earlier that she was far too vulnerable where Dominic was concerned to allow him to go all the way. He would have to make do with this instead.
She owed him this, after all. Then they would both be square.
Dominic realised just what she was doing at the same time as he realised that he was too far gone to be able to do anything to stop her.
No woman had done this to him before—he liked to be the master, the one who controlled.
That was his last befuddled thought as Romy, inspired by instinct now rather than book-learned knowledge, dipped her head to beneath his belly and took him between her lips.
And Dominic was lost, beautifully and helplessly lost, as his seed spilled into her mouth.
