Mistress for a Night

‘Georgia.’ Raw emotion roughened his voice as he reached out, put his hands on her hips and pulled her towards him, resting hi

s head against the soft curve of her tummy. ‘I should have been there for you and I wasn’t. I won’t forgive myself for that.’

‘Don’t!’ she whispered brokenly. Talking about the trauma to him, the father of her lost child, had helped, taken away the pain. Threading her fingers through his soft dark hair, holding him closer, her hips swaying, moving against the side of his face, feeling the hard jut of his jaw, his slashing cheekbone press into her body, swaying because she simply couldn’t help it, because it was as natural, as right, as drawing breath, she said, ‘It’s over. It’s the past. We both let our emotions blind us to reality. Please—please, let’s start over.’

The musky scent of female arousal, the seductive, enticing, inviting movements of her fantastic body, the softness of her and the heat of her beneath the fine barrier of silk sent every rational and reasonable thought straight out of his head.

There was only need, the driving, burning savage need building inside him, until he could contain it no longer. Didn’t try.

Remorse, regret, and the urgency of desire were forces too powerful for him to fight. He turned his head into the softness of her, opened his mouth against the slippery scarlet silk and kissed her, and felt her gyrate for him. With a savage groan he slid his hands down the curve of her hips, moving them under her short, flirtatious skirt, cupped the flesh he’d known would be naked, brought his hands round and slipped to his knees. Lost and not regretting it. No room in his head for regrets. No room for anything but sweet Georgia and what she did to him.

With a tortured moan he pushed her skirt up to her waist, exulting in his dominion over her as she compliantly, instinctively, moved her small bare feet apart, her pelvis jutting forward, eager for him.

He shuddered as his mouth found the soft hair guarding her womanhood, felt the tips of her fingers convulse against his skull, and knew that this was what he’d wanted, dreamed of, ached for, ever since she’d come back into his life.

She was eager, she was sweet, she was moist, musky heaven. He suckled her womanhood and she was nectar, and she was his. He felt her body turn to boneless jelly beneath his supporting hands, heard her small, thick cries of pleasure and stood, sweeping her into his arms in one driven movement, and laid her down on the sofa, catching his breath as she looked at him with desire-drenched eyes, fumbling blindly for his zip.

Her fingers were shaking. He covered them with his own, helping her, and when her arms lifted to wind around his neck he went down to her, and into her, into the slick, welcoming heat of her, and heard her gasp of exultation, of wonder, heard it mingle with his own and felt his muscles grow tense with the effort of holding back, slowing down, making it as good for her as he knew it would be for him.

But her body writhed beneath him, her movements driven and wild, and his precarious control went, just went, and all that was left was the savage urge to fulfilment, and the long, shuddering cries of release that came together in the steamy air.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

GEORGIA stretched her deliciously sated body. Not easy on the sofa, her limbs tangled bonelessly with Jason’s, their bodies so close they could have been one. But the difficulty was sweeter than honey, more exciting than the most fiendish white-knuckle ride invented.

They must have slept for hours. ‘I’m hungry,’ she told him soporifically, then gasped as she felt his body’s immediate and deeply satisfying response to her languorous movement. ‘Ravenous,’ she added throatily.

He groaned thickly as his mouth sought the soft hollow at the base of her throat, savouring the honeyed warmth of her skin with tiny kisses that traced the valley between her breasts. ‘Me, too.’

Half drowsing in the aftermath of passion’s storm, drenched in the joy of loving him, the miracle of knowing that the barren years were behind them and that the future beckoned, promising joy, fecund with a love no longer blighted by past misconceptions, she’d felt ravenous for food.

But not now. Oh, no, not now. His love was all the sustenance she needed. She ran her fingers over his back, the hard muscle and bone beneath the satin skin, and this time their loving was slow, exquisitely, tormentingly slow, and afterwards, still joined together in the closest intimacy there is, Jason hoisted himself up on one elbow and gently pushed the damp hair away from her face, his mouth sensual, soft, his veiled eyes holding the hazed golden jewels of hers.

‘Are you OK?’ Concern, tenderness laced his voice, and she ran the tips of her fingers down his ribcage, angling forwards to feather down over the taut muscles of his stomach to where their bodies joined.

‘What do you think?’ Her smile was wicked. Unused muscles might feel sore, but that was a tiny price to pay for such happiness, such glorious peace. The lost years meant nothing now they had found each other again.

He didn’t answer her smile. ‘I meant about what happened, the baby. You must have felt betrayed. I know I did at that time—wrongly so, as it happens. It must have been so much worse for you.’ He placed a gentle kiss on the bridge of her nose. ‘I can’t tell you how much I admire your courage in finding the strength to put it all behind you, to go on. You must have put every scrap of your energy into getting where you are with the agency, becoming the woman you are today.’

‘I coped.’ She dismissed the years of total, grinding dedication to her work. They were meaningless. Loving him was the only thing of value. And there was no difference between the woman she was today and the eighteen-year-old who had conceived his child. She was still besotted, adoring. Probably more so. Definitely more so.

‘I’m fine now, truly. Everything’s sorted out and we know that neither of us was to blame for what happened.’ She trailed her fingers over the dark sockets of his eyelids, the sharp angle of his cheekbones, easing the shadows away, and sensed the relief her words and loving gesture had brought him. She saw his mouth soften into a smile as he took her hand and kissed the backs of her fingers.

‘I think we should get more comfortable. I gave up sleeping on sofas after my student days.’

Scooping her and their abandoned clothes into his arms he carried her to her bedroom, slid her slowly down the length of his body, dropped their clothes on the floor and opened the shutters to the golden promise of another brilliant dawn.

‘A shower, then I’ll fix our breakfast.’ His eyes gleamed at her. ‘I feel like spoiling you, so don’t go all feminist on me and ruin my fun!’

She had no intention of doing anything of the sort, and wound her arms around his neck as he carried her through to the en suite bathroom and under the shower where he lovingly soaped every inch of her body as the warm water cascaded over them.

‘If this is being spoiled, I’m fully in favour,’ she told him with a sybaritic sigh of sheer pleasure as he at last patted her dry with a fluffy towel, then pooled perfumed body oil into the palm of his hand.

‘This is only the beginning, I promise you. All you have to do is stand there and enjoy.’

‘Enjoy’ didn’t come anywhere near describing the exquisite torment as he massaged oil into every pore of her skin, each sensual stroke of his hands a seduction in itself, and by the time he was hunkering down, circling her ankles and slender calf muscles with slow, spiralling movements, she was almost fainting with the intensity of pleasure.

‘Jason—please—’ She gripped his wide shoulders to steady herself, her whole body quivering, heat flaming through her, scorching every cell until she thought she would explode in white-hot flames if he didn’t assuage the wild longing inside her.