His own clothes disappeared by degrees, she didn’t even notice until the manoeuvre was over and she was being overwhelmed by the fully naked male. He made love to her breasts, so acutely receptive that she stretched into a lithe, sensual arch, toes and fingers curling in drowning pleasure that earned her yet another deep kiss to her mouth. And he was trembling, she liked that. Her restless hands crowded each muscular flex and quiver until, ‘Touch me,’ he groaned and she did, closing her fingers around smooth silk on steel and felt him throb and thicken then lost touch with her breathing when his long fingers tested the wetness between her thighs.
Bright rainbows of colour began to dance on her senses, and he answered them with a thick, hoarse growl. His heart was pounding, hers was pounding, as he eased his weight between her spread thighs then made that smooth drive into her, and she opened her eyes to look at his harsh look of hungry passion etched on his face.
‘I don’t want to love you this badly,’ she confided on a sad little whisper.
He lost control. She’d never known him do it so thoroughly before so the difference between smooth, slick, sophisticated lover and a man lost in the wild, throbbing beat of his desire was startling. All she could do was hang on for dear life as he drove the two of them to the edge then over it in a wild, hot charge that threw him into a paroxysm of gasps and shudders that just seemed to go on and on.
Afterwards, exhausted, she thought she might have actually lost consciousness. She certainly didn’t remember another thing until she awoke much later to find herself alone in the bed with the cringe-making knowledge that once again she had allowed him to whittle away at what bit of pride she had left by letting him make love to her.
And not only make love—which was bad enough—but she’d also let him twist her into such knots by getting her to confess her crimes to him while he got away without confessing a thing about his mistress and his son!
His son. The tears began to sting. Throwing herself onto her back, she stared fiercely at the ceiling in an effort to stem the threatening flood. How could she let him do this to her? How could she go on letting him do this to her? She had to get away from him, she knew that now, because she couldn’t fight this sexual empowerment he had over her and each time she gave in to it she lost a bit more of herself.
She brought an arm up with the intention of covering her stupid watery eyes—but as she moved the backs of her fingers touched something and, turning, she saw a folded slip of paper lying on the empty pillow beside her head. With her heart lodged in her aching throat, she lifted the piece of paper up then lay there just staring at it.
She was afraid to read it. Really scared because he had never done anything like this before and all she could think was it had to have something to do with Vanessa and that little boy.
Mouth—fingers trembling, she made herself open it out.
‘I love you’, it said. That was all, nothing fancy, no hearts and flowers, or trumpeting fanfares, just those three words scrawled in bold black pen.
She curled into a tight ball beneath the duvet and cried her eyes out with the note pressed against her breasts.
Getting showered and dressed was an effort. She throbbed and ached and trembled too much to be efficient at anything. Back in the jeans and the cream top and her hair brushed, she pushed open the bedroom door with the intention of going to the kitchen and making herself a fortifying drink before she had to face him again—but it wasn’t to be.
One of the doors through to his office had been left spread wide open and the first thing to hit her was the sound of Xander’s voice tearing into someone in cut-throat Italian. As her feet drew her unwillingly towards that open door the next thing to hit her was Xander himself wearing one of his dark business suits and looking as razor-sharp as the sound of his voice.
The sun had come out since she’d last seen him standing behind his desk like this, and sunrays were playing across his jet silk hair and the deep bronze sheen of his skin. Angry as he was, he looked magnificent, all-powerful, all-masculine, all hard, dark lines of lean musculature. Animal, sexual, so utterly magnetic that her breathing feathered in her chest and brought her feet to a halt as a wave of helpless, hopeless love swept through her on a shimmering wave of anguished defeat.
Why him? she asked herself painfully. Why did I have to fall for a man like him? Why did he have to leave a note on her pillow spelling out words he had never once said to her face? Guilt? Remorse? Damage control? She couldn’t believe those words. How could she believe them when Vanessa and that poor little boy stood in the way?
She went to turn, needing to slip out of sight before he saw her because she just wasn’t ready to face him, but as she went to move another voice spoke angrily and her heart sank.
She’d thought he was talking on the telephone. He was always on the telephone! Maybe she uttered the strained little laugh she could feel clogging up her throat because Xander’s dark head whipped round.
‘Nell …’ the hard, husky rasp of his voice scored a shudder right down her spine as still she tried to escape from this.
‘No, don’t go …’ He was already striding round the desk while she hovered reluctantly, several feet into the sitting room. The sound of his swift footsteps sounded in her head then his hand caught her arm just above her elbow. He tried to turn her but when she dug in her heels he stepped around her and reached for her other arm, holding her still in front of him. She could feel his tension, the hot simmer of his anger as his harsh breath scoured the top of her head.
‘Look at me,’ he husked.
But there was no way she was going to look at him. She stared at the knot in his silk tie instead.
His fingers flexed then beg
an to slide upwards, they reached her shoulders and used them to tug her closer, then moved on to bury themselves in her hair at the defensive curve of her nape. It only took the light stroke of his thumbs beneath her chin to have it lifting.
Once again her breathing feathered as she found herself flickering a dancing glance over his face. Tension packed it, strain, the simmering anger glinting in his eyes. As she fluttered her eyes downwards again she was suddenly caught by the difference in his mouth. Held tight though it was, the fuller bottom lip still protruded more than it should. It looked darker—swollen; a hot tug deep inside her abdomen reminded her how urgently she’d sucked and bitten that swollen bottom lip—clung to it in the wild throes of—
A tense hiss of air left his throat. ‘I know what you’re thinking but I don’t want you to think,’ he said fiercely. ‘I want you to stay calm and for both our sakes trust me, agape mou. I can explain myself—’
‘With little notes left on pillows?’ It was out before she could stop it.
‘Little notes left on pillows can be read and reread,’ he pointed out. ‘If I said those words out loud they would be swallowed up by too many conflicts rattling around in your head right now.’
Well, he was oh, so right about that. ‘I can’t do this any more,’ she told his shirt front. ‘You play games with me, Xander. You make me feel like your stooge.’
‘You are not the stooge around here, cara. I am—someone else’s stooge. But it is going to stop.’ It sounded more like a threat than a promise. ‘All I need from you is your patience. I can explain this.’