Читать книгу Mistresses: Passionate Revenge - Шантель Шоу, Trish Morey - Страница 19

WHAT had he been thinking? Cleo was hopeless. A blow-up doll would have made a more convincing mistress. And the look Constantine had given him when they’d been offloaded back on shore had spoken volumes. Andreas wasn’t holding out for good news in that department any time soon. The ‘I told you so’ look Petra had thrown his way as they’d disembarked hadn’t helped.

The car slowly wound its way up the cliff-face road, the lights of Con’s yacht heading once more for the sea, the music and laughter drifting upwards on the breeze, rubbing salt into his wounds, while alongside him Cleo sat hunched and looking despondently out of her window.

Damn it, was it too much to ask to get something for his million dollars?

Carrying her shoes in one hand, Cleo made straight for the bathroom where she spent at least five times the recommended daily time with her toothbrush and at least that again holding a cold towel to her red and swollen eyes. Andreas had thankfully kept silent all the way home, although she’d known that simmering silence would erupt at some stage, especially after the pleasure boat had had to make a special trip back to the wharf to drop them off.

So be it. She knew she was already a disappointment to him. And now she’d probably blown a million-Euro business deal. But she’d warned him she wasn’t the right woman for the job. Maybe now he might listen. Maybe now he would let her go. If he didn’t throw her out first.

She sniffed, close to tears again. Did it matter? Either way, she was going.

He was sitting on the bed, flinging off first one shoe and then the other when she emerged. Following them with his silk socks. Without following her progress across the room, he spoke. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you get seasick?’

She stopped, just short of pulling open the wardrobe door. So the volcano was about to erupt? She was surprised he’d kept quiet this long. ‘Maybe I didn’t know.’

This time he did look up, disbelief plain on his features. ‘How could anyone not know?’

‘I’ve never been on a boat before. There’s not a big call for boats where I come from.’

He answered with nothing more than a grunt. ‘It could have been worse,’ she offered, trying to sound light but having to bite down on her lip to counter the prick of tears.

‘Do you think? Do you really think it could have been worse?’

‘Sure. I could have thrown up all over the both of you.’

‘You might just as well have, for all the good taking you tonight is going to do me.’

She closed her eyes and swayed against the door, liquid spilling from her eyes, and the sound of his clothes hitting the floor piece by piece like a series of exclamation marks. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’ She took a deep breath and reached in, hauling out her pack from the depths of the wardrobe. ‘It won’t happen again. There’s no way it will happen again.’

Andreas seemed to come from nowhere, his arms forcing her around even as she clung onto the pack. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

She couldn’t bring herself to look at his face. But it was no compensation that her eyes were met by the wall of his naked chest, a naked chest she’d never see the likes of again after tonight. ‘I can’t do this, Andreas,’ she said as her mind set about imprinting every square centimetre of his perfect skinscape on her memory while he slipped the pack from her hands. ‘I’m going home.’

‘You can’t go. We have a contract!’

‘I can’t do this. I’m sorry, I’m hopeless in this role, and you know it.’

‘No! That’s not true.’ He didn’t know where the words came from. Hadn’t he thought the very same thing himself tonight? But he had no answer for that mystery. All he knew was that he couldn’t let her go, couldn’t let her walk out of his life. Not like this. Not when he knew the sunshine of her smile. Not when he knew he was the one who had taken it away from her.

She tried to shrug away, even as his thumbs stroked her collarbone. ‘You don’t have to try to be nice to me. I know you’re angry and you have a right to be. I told you I wasn’t the right person for this job. I’m a cleaner. A cleaner who jumps every time you touch her. A cleaner who’s just discovered she gets seasick. Not exactly an asset to you.’

‘Not every time.’

She blinked up at him, frowning. ‘What?’

‘You don’t jump every time. You’re not jumping now. And I’m touching you. And I’d like to go on touching you.’

Her blue eyes widened. ‘Andreas?’

And he answered her question the only way he knew how. With a kiss that he hoped would tell her he wanted her to stay. That he didn’t want her to leave. He drew her closer against him, until the silk of her golden gown pressed warm and slippery and seductive against his skin. He managed to prise his lips away from hers long enough to say the words. ‘I want to make love to you, Cleo.’

She was gasping for breath, and no doubt searching for reason. ‘The contract…’ she uttered.

‘This is nothing to do with the contract. This is between you and me. Make love with me, Cleo.’

Did he mean that? Her thought processes were blurred, her senses packed to overload. What he could do to her skin with the touch of one thumbnail. What he could do to her breasts with just the brush of one fingertip. What he could do with one whispered request…

‘Make love with me.’

He wasn’t playing fair. Sex as a by-product of their arrangement—it should be clinical and dispassionate, surely. And then she could be rational and sensible in her rebuttal. But this assault was like a drug, winding logic into sensual knots, feeding into those parts of her that longed for more of what Andreas could provide.

His hands slid down her arms, captured her breasts and forced the air from her lungs. ‘Make love with me.’ And the only answer she could find was to lift her hands behind her neck and unclip her halter top, so that the fabric slid down over the hands that now supported her breasts.

He growled then, and swept her into his arms, carrying her like a prize and laying her down on the bed, peeling down the silk until her breasts lay exposed to his gaze. She watched him watching her, her hands around his neck, his dark eyes heavy with longing, and never had she wanted anything more.

And then she felt nothing beyond the ecstasy of his hot mouth on her breast, his tongue hungrily circling her nipple.

‘Andreas,’ she implored, not knowing why or what she wanted. He growled a laughing response and she almost cried out in despair when he withdrew and cold air replaced where he’d been, only for his mouth to claim the other. His hands scooped her sides, moulding to her flesh, drinking it in as his lips drew her breast deeper into the furnace of his mouth.

Somewhere in some vague recess of her mind, she was aware of his hand at her back, and the downward buzz of a zipper, but it was the sensation of the silken gown sliding down her body that took precedence and the feel of his hot mouth at her belly.

Some time, she couldn’t remember when, she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and tangled her fingers in his hair. It was thick and silky, the waves curling around her fingers possessively.

And then there was nothing between them but underwear, nothing that could disguise his need or hide her want.

Oh, God!

The panic welled up even as his hand scooped down her body, from shoulder, over breast, to stomach, to there, where she forgot about panic and ached instead with something that felt like desperation. His fingers slipped under the lace, scooping low, driving her crazy with his feather-light touch.

And then so gently, so tenderly he parted her and her back arched from the bed. She could feel what he could, her slickness, the moistness that let his fingertips glide against her tender flesh like satin over silk, while his thumb circled a tight bud of nerves that combined agony with ecstasy, the pressure building and building until they screamed for release.

His lips found her nipple and it was Cleo who screamed, Cleo whose world fractured and split apart in a blinding explosion of colour and sensation that left her shattered and gasping in his hands.

She was more responsive than he’d imagined and now he wanted her more than ever! He dispensed with his underwear and reached for protection in almost the same movement. The scrap of lace hit the floor in the next as he kissed his way up her still-shuddering body, positioning himself over her. He’d known he would enjoy her body. She was lush and curvy and her breasts filled his hands better than he could have hoped.

His erection bucked, eager now, and more than ready. Still, he took a moment to lap at one rose-coloured nipple, to nuzzle at her neck before brushing the hair from her turned-away face and pressing his lips to her cheek, only to taste salt.

He took her chin in his hand and pulled it around to face him. Tracks stained her cheeks, moisture clung to the lashes of her closed eyelids and her lips were firmly pressed together. ‘You’re crying? Did I hurt you?’

Reluctantly her blue eyes opened to him. Awash with tears, they looked the colour of the sea as she slowly shook her head, swiping at her eyes with one hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ she sniffed, ‘but that’s never happened to me before. I didn’t know…’

Never happened? Confusion clouded his mind for a moment, clearing just as quickly as a wave of fury rolled over him. He sat up. ‘You are a virgin!’ Vlaka! He was such a fool. He left the bed and strode across to a wardrobe, plucking out a robe that he lashed around himself, giving the tie a savage tug. No wonder she had been so coy, so sensitive to his touch. No wonder she had been so bad an actress! She had been touched by nobody!

He rounded on the bed, to where the girl now sat huddled over her knees, scrabbling for her golden gown in an effort to cover her nakedness. A virgin! That was the last thing he needed. ‘You told me you had slept with men before! You told me you were not a virgin. What the hell are you doing here?’

She dropped her head onto her knees as a fresh flood of tears spilled from his eyes, only magnifying his fury.

‘What kind of woman are you? Were you so hungry for money that you would risk that which is most precious to you?’

‘No,’ she cried, raising her tear-stained face up at him, ‘because I’d already thrown that away for nothing!’

She sniffed again and swiped the back of one hand across her cheeks, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing, the gown bunched ineffectually around her. ‘I’m not a virgin, if that makes you feel any better. So you don’t have to worry about deflowering me. Somebody else got there first.’

He supposed he should have been relieved. He watched her flight for the bathroom while he stood there wondering why all of a sudden that thought was somehow so very unappealing.

‘You made out like you’d had sex plenty of times.’

She didn’t even turn around. ‘So sue me.’

‘But you’ve never even had an orgasm.’

This time she did, glaring over her shoulder at him. ‘I don’t recall seeing that condition in the fine print.’

He consumed the distance between them in a handful of purposeful strides, catching her by the arm just short of the bathroom door and swinging her around to face him.

‘So why not? How many times have you had sex? How many men?’

She looked down at his hand on her arm, before turning her face slowly up to his. The tracks of her tears had messed up whatever had been left of her make-up. There were dark smudges under her blue eyes and her hair was still tangled and messy from thrashing her head around when she’d climaxed. When she’d climaxed for the very first time.

He’d given her that. Despite the tears and smudges and tangled hair he saw only that. He felt the thrum of blood return, the heaviness building once again in his groin.

‘How many?’

‘One.’

And he felt himself frown. ‘One man?’

Her eyes looked sad and pained at the same time, before she blinked and turned her head away and he knew.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

She flinched and tried to pull away and he couldn’t blame her. He’d growled out the words so harshly that even to his own ears his question had sounded more like an accusation. But damn it, she was supposed to be pretending to be his mistress. ‘You should have told me, instead of making out you’d had sex plenty of times.’

Her head snapped around, her blue eyes blazing. ‘You think it’s easy to admit to someone you barely know that you’ve had sex only once and it was so lousy anyway you really wish you hadn’t bothered? Especially when sex isn’t part of the deal.’ She gave an exaggerated shrug to accompany a wide-eyed look of innocence. ‘And you so understanding. Heck, why didn’t I tell you?’

He wanted to shake her. He wanted to tell her she’d been wrong ever thinking she could pull this off, that she should have admitted the truth when he’d first put his proposition to her, and maybe he would do both of those things, but first of all there was a raw pain in her liquid eyes that made him want to tear somebody else limb from limb first.

‘Who was he?’

‘It doesn’t matter. He was just some guy. It was just for a laugh.’

But her eyes told him differently.

He cupped her neck in one hand and drew her head to his shoulder. For a moment she stayed stiff but the strumming of his fingers on her skin soon soothed away her resistance. ‘But it was no good. At least, not for you.’

She gave what he suspected was meant to be a laugh, but came out more like a hiccup. ‘It was awful. It hurt and it was over in no time but I thought…’

He drew her closer into a hug. What kind of man was so uncaring of an innocent? ‘You thought what?’

She shrugged and tried to lift her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Her voice was flat and lifeless but her body was warm and pliant against his, as if she’d forgotten to be afraid. His fingers stroked her neck, tracing the bones of her spine up into her hair and then down again.

Her scent surrounded him, the smell of her hair, the remnants of her fragrance and the warm scent of her earlier arousal. She had come apart in his arms. His and nobody else’s and the knowledge made him hard. She was almost a virgin and she needed to know it could be better. He kissed her hair and breathed deep.

‘He was a fool. He did not deserve the gift he’d been given.’

She raised her face and blinked up at him. ‘I thought you would be mad with me. Were mad with me. And you’d have every right. I’m sorry. I know I should never have agreed to do this.’

He listened to her words and nodded on a sigh. ‘You’re right. You clearly do not have the experience necessary for the job.’ And he felt her stiffen in his arms and try to pull away.

‘But perhaps that is something we could remedy together.’

It felt as if her heart had skipped a beat. Or maybe it had just stopped altogether. But no, she was still standing and there was her heartbeat, pounding louder than ever in her ears.

She looked up at him, afraid she’d misconstrued what he meant, afraid in case she hadn’t.

Afraid.

And he took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers.

‘I promise you your second time will be better.’

She was in his arms in the next moment, bundled still with the golden dress tangled around her and feeling strangely disjointed and other-worldly.

‘Andreas,’ she whispered as he placed her like a treasured prize in the centre of the bed. ‘What if I can’t? I mean—’ She felt the heat flood to her face. ‘You’re so…big.’

And he smiled as he unwrapped her from the coverlet, uncovering her bit by bit until she lay naked on the bed before him. ‘I will not hurt you,’ he said, and his dark eyes held a promise as intense as their desire so that even when he untied his own robe and revealed the full extent of his arousal she believed him.

Time became irrelevant in the minutes following. Colours blurred and merged with her feelings into a sensual overload. And nothing mattered but the sensations Andreas conjured up inside her as he worked his brand of slow magic upon her body.

No part of her escaped his attention. Nowhere was ignored by his clever fingers or his heated mouth or the hot flick of his tongue.

Until she was burning with a need that she’d never known.

Burning for completion.

‘Did he do this to you?’ Andreas asked as he parted her thighs and dipped his head lower. And she tossed her head from side to side, the sensations inside her robbing her of the power of speech.

‘Did he make you feel this way?’ He wanted to know as he pressed his hot mouth to her very core, almost tipping her over the edge.

‘Did he make you call his name?’ he demanded.

Her cry was torn from her, his name on her tongue as he sent her once again over the edge. ‘Did he?’ he demanded, raining hot kisses on her eyes and on her mouth. Hot kisses that tasted of him and of her.

‘No’ she breathed when finally she could talk once more, her head still spinning, her body humming. ‘No.’

‘Then he was not a man. He gave you nothing and so what he took from you was nothing.’

She shuddered under him, though whether from the intensity of his message or from the obsidian gaze meeting hers, she couldn’t tell. Nor could she think as she felt the nudge of him against her.

She gasped and felt a moment of panic but his eyes stayed her.

‘You are ready,’ he told her. ‘Trust me.’

Strangely she did. And this time there was no stab of pain, no discomfort. This time she felt her muscles slowly stretching as he eased his way inside, until he filled her completely, all the time his dark eyes not leaving hers.

He kissed her then, a slow, deep kiss that spoke of possession as he started to move inside her. She gasped into his mouth as he slowly withdrew. She gasped again when he returned, awakening nerve endings she’d never known she possessed, inviting their participation in this sensual dance.

Every part of her felt alive. Every part of her awake to his slow seduction, welcoming him as he increased the pace and the rhythm. And still his eyes didn’t leave her face.

She clung to him, inside and out, feeling it building again, that relentless ever-increasing tension as he took her higher and still higher with each deep thrust until there was nowhere left to climb, nowhere left to go.

And then her world exploded, shattering into tiny fragments as he pushed her over the edge. And this time she wasn’t alone. This time he came with her.

Clearly the man had been a fool. Andreas lay there listening to the sound of her deep even breathing as the moonlight spilled through the long window and over her creamy skin, giving it a pearl-like sheen. He’d always made a point of not bedding virgins. He didn’t want to build false hopes. He didn’t want attachments based on first times. He didn’t want attachments full stop.

So whoever had clumsily relieved Cleo of her virginity had handed him a gift. She was unbelievably responsive, her delight in an unfamiliar act refreshing and light years away from that of the women he normally associated with, who tended to go mechanically through the motions with a brisk, businesslike efficiency. Not that there was anything wrong with that; it was no different from the way he himself operated. But now that he had been handed this prize, it would be refreshing to spend a few weeks having sex with someone who wasn’t quite so practised, someone for whom the art of love-making would be more of a novelty.

Far from being the disaster he’d been contemplating earlier tonight, his four-week plan had been inspired, now that she’d clearly dispensed with that no-sex clause. A few weeks with Cleo in his bed would suit him perfectly and then she’d depart back to wherever she’d come from and meanwhile Petra would have well and truly got the message.

He sighed, congratulating himself as he relaxed back into the bed, the scent of a woman’s hair on his pillow, the scent of their love-making in his bed.

A few easy-to-take weeks with Cleo, and life would be back to normal.