‘Don’t be angry with me,’ she pleaded. ‘He was angry, that other man... I hate it when you’re in a rage; it reminds me.’
‘Everything about me reminds you, doesn’t it? How do you think I feel about that? When you look at me sometimes your eyes cloud over and I see you shiver and I know what you’re thinking about, and I feel like hunting for that bastard and killing him!’
Her eyes flew open and she looked at him in the mirror, sea-blue gaze startled, wide, searching.
Patrick stared back into them. ‘Antonia, do you want to be maimed all your life? Sooner or later you’re going to have to admit you’re a woman, and you need love, and there’s nothing wrong or shameful in needing it; it’s the most natural thing in the world.’ He put his cheek against her own, rubbing his skin on hers, rocking her gently like a child, his arms around her. ‘I need it, too. We all do. Human beings need love like plants need rain. You had a bad experience, but if you’re ever going to be a whole, natural woman you’re going to have to put it all behind you and risk loving again.’
Antonia stared fixedly, saw them both in the mirror, intimately entwined, so close they might have been one, her body pulled back tightly against Patrick’s. Her fine, semi-transparent black silk slip hid very little. She was shocked to realise how much of her body was visible to him. She would have closed her eyes again, but Patrick’s gaze magnetised her; he refused to let her look away a second time. Holding her gaze, he deliberately began to explore her body. His lips lightly moved against her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder, the mothy kisses making her quiver with pleasure; meanwhile his hands were busy, too, one pulling down the straps of her slip, and then her bra, leaving her breasts naked, softly caressing the firm, pale flesh, the hardened pink nipple. She helplessly watched, trembling, breathing hoarsely, and Patrick watched her face while his hands were wandering, read her reactions.
‘There’s nothing terrifying about this, is there?’ he whispered, her earlobe softly held between his teeth, his words breathed warmly into her ear. ‘It isn’t scaring you; I’m not hurting you. You like it. Don’t pretend you don’t. You want me to touch you.’
She couldn’t find the breath to deny it, even if she had wanted to; she was having difficulty breathing at all.
‘You want me to touch you,’ he repeated huskily. ‘Like this...’ And he ran a hand tenderly down the feminine curve of her body, following her hipline, the warmth of his palm through the thin silk giving her intense pleasure.
‘And like this...’ he muttered as his hand found the hem of her slip, pushed the deep lace upwards, and slid underneath, stroking her warm, smooth inner thighs.
He had gone too far. She went rigid. ‘No! Don’t; don’t—’
‘Don’t panic, Antonia; don’t start fighting again. It’s OK to admit what you want, how you feel,’ he softly said, and tears sprang into her eyes. She was so hot that she was burning up; she was violently shuddering, because she had stopped him too late. He knew now that she wanted him; he had found out her secret, discovered the moistness and heat which betrayed her, and was softly arousing it, his fingertip rhythmic, tormenting.
‘Oh, no,’ she moaned, closing her eyes, stricken and shamed.
He kissed her neck. ‘Yes,’ he whispered, while his hands went on torturing her with a pleasure that was driving her out of her mind.
Her heart was beating raggedly; she was barely able to breathe, wanting him so much that it was more than she could bear, and yet at the same time still afraid, the shadowy third who was always with them making it impossible for her to give way to her feelings.
‘I can’t!’ she cried out, and Patrick made an angry noise, spun her round to face him, looked down at her, and caught her face between his hands.
‘You don’t still confuse me with him? What can I do to prove that I’d never hurt a woman that way? I’ve never in my life had to force a woman to give me what I wanted—’
Antonia gave a sharp little gasp of pain and he stopped talking, and looked down at her, his blue eyes narrowing, searching.
‘Was that jealousy, Antonia?’ he huskily asked.
She couldn’t meet his eyes.
He tipped her head back, a finger underneath her chin, made her look at him, his smile crooked, triumphant. ‘There’s no need to be jealous; I’d never confuse you with anybody else, darling,’ he whispered, making her stomach turn over with tenderness.
Nobody had ever called her darling in that way before. The word made her melt. Patrick bent to kiss her and she instinctively moved to meet his mouth, her lips parting hungrily. In a wild rush of passion she flung her arms around him and moved closer, her hands restlessly touching his nape, his hair, the firm, muscled power of his back.
Patrick groaned, and lifted her bodily off the floor, her feet in mid-air; then suddenly she felt herself falling, weightless, confused. She landed on the bed with Patrick on top of her, and stiffened, her body arched to resist him, a cry of panic in her throat.
‘Don’t be scared, darling,’ he said quickly. ‘Don’t tense up again; there’s nothing to be frightened of; it’s me... Look at me, darling...’
She looked at him, wildly, met his blue eyes in confusion and flickering uncertainty, then a long sigh broke out of her. ‘Patrick...’
He smiled at her, his blue eyes passionate. ‘Yes, it’s Patrick, and you don’t need to be scared any more. You’re not going to get hurt; you know you can trust me,’ he said, and kissed her, his mouth warm, reassuring. Antonia kissed him back, beginning to enjoy the weight of his body, the closeness. She wound her arms around him and moved restlessly, her heart beating very fast.
Patrick kicked his shoes off, still kissing her, began tearing his clothes off too, and she feverishly helped, unbuttoning his waistcoat, then his shirt, pulling them both off, her breathing thick and impeded.
She wasn’t frightened any more. She was driven by other feelings, other needs. She was finally touching him the way she had always wanted to, from the moment she first had seen him. Desire had flowered so instantly, so hotly, when she looked at him that what happened a short time later had been like a hard frost on new buds, blackening and freezing them. She had thought her desire killed. She had never believed she would feel this way again, but this was an entirely new spring for her. Desire was exploding inside her; her body was bursting into flower as he touched and caressed her.
Naked above her, Patrick muttered, ‘I won’t hurt you, darling,’ but she wasn’t listening to what he said. She was obsessed with a need to stroke his smooth, tanned skin, finger the muscular power of his broad shoulders, deep chest. His body was so different from her own. The hard male force of it fascinated her; she kissed him passionately, mouth open, her tongue tasting the salt of his skin, moving down the rough hair-line on his body.
It wasn’t until Patrick parted her thighs and moved between them that she woke up from her own drive for pleasure, and threw a startled, anxious look upwards, stiffening.
The panic came back in a rush and she arched; her muscles flexed, resisting, a scream of fear choking in her throat.