She glowered at him, never being at her best when men started ordering her around. ‘Maybe I will,’ she bit out. ‘If you start acting like some jerk.’
That sent him back in his heels. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I run my own race, Ben. I don’t like men telling me what to do and when to do it.’
‘Is that so?’
Ben stood up and strode over to her, taking her firmly by the shoulders and pulling her hard against him. She didn’t struggle, or protest. Just stared up at him with wide, dilated eyes. Ben could actually feel her galloping heartbeat. She thought she didn’t like to be ordered around, but he knew that a lot of strong-minded women liked their lovers to take charge.
It came to him that she’d probably never had a dominant lover before. What an exciting thought!
He could hardly wait for tomorrow night to come.
‘When the time is right, Jess,’ he said quietly, his eyes intense on hers, ‘you will like me telling you what to do. Trust me on this. But, for now, perhaps you should get going. Because if you stay I won’t be responsible for what might happen.’
Jess left the cottage in a fluster, her body cruelly turned on and her thoughts totally scattered.
Trust him, he’d said. To do what? Turn her into some kind of mindless sex slave?
At this moment she didn’t doubt he could do it. If she let him.
Did she want that to happen?
The answer to that question lay in her thudding heart and rock-hard nipples.
Suddenly, Jess was overwhelmed by a wave of desire so strong that she almost ran off the road. Giving herself a savage mental shake, she slowed down to a crawl, then turned shakily into Catherine’s driveway, proceeding very carefully up the cement road, grateful now that she had a job to do which would take her most of the evening; very grateful that she had no reason to go back to that seductive cottage till well after Ben had left with Andy for their night on the town. Thank heavens he wouldn’t get home till the small hours of the morning. By which time she would be sound asleep.
Jess had to laugh over that one. There would be no sleeping for her tonight.
But at least she could pretend she was asleep.
* * *
Things didn’t turn out quite like that, however. Jess finished the dress around nine-thirty, after which she refused all offers of wine, saying she was tired, then drove back to the cottage. In actual fact she’d only just remembered that she’d promised to give her mother a ring. This she did whilst she opened a bottle of the white wine resting in the door of the fridge. She poured herself a large glass, sipping it as she sat at the kitchen table, and gave her mother an edited version of what had happened, telling her the truth about the dramas over the wedding and how she’d fixed the dress tonight, plus the plan for her to be a substitute matron of honour the next day. Naturally, she didn’t mention anything about her being thought of as Ben’s girlfriend or that she was staying with him, alone, in this cottage. She admitted staying as a guest at the winery but that was all.
‘It sounds like it’s been a rather surprising trip so far,’ her mother said.
‘It certainly has,’ Jess agreed with considerable irony as she poured herself a second glass of wine.
‘You’ll have to ring me tomorrow night and tell me all about the wedding.’
Jess winced. She could hardly tell her mother why that wasn’t going to happen.
‘Mum, the wedding’s not till late in the afternoon. By the time the reception is over and I get to bed, it’s going to be very late and I’m going to be exhausted. I’ll call you on Sunday morning. But not too early, mind. I might sleep in.’ Jess was grateful that her mother couldn’t see inside her head at this moment, as the images in there were not fit for a caring mother’s consumption.
‘Oh, all right,’ her mother said. ‘But don’t forget to take some photos. I’d love to see what you looked like. What you all looked like, actually. Which reminds me. What does this Ben fellow look like? You said he was nice but I have a feeling he’s good-looking, am I right?’
‘Yes, he’s very good-looking,’ she admitted, struggling to keep her voice calm in the face of a looming panic attack over her sexual inadequacies. ‘And very tall.’
‘Tall, dark and handsome, eh?’
‘No, he’s actually fair-haired, with blue eyes.’
‘And how old, did you say?’
‘I don’t know. Early thirties, perhaps.’
‘And rich?’
‘Filthy rich, Mum. His father’s a billionaire.’
‘Goodness. And did you tell him that you lost your job at Fab Fashions because of him?’