Mistress of Deception

It would be the sort of gallant thing Alan might do, she'd reasoned, considering his over-active sense of responsibility towards those under his care. He was very protective of all the females in his family, including his mother and that wayward sister of his. Maybe he'd believed that, at eighteen, Ebony was too young for him, far too young to embark on the kind of relationship he might want and need; certainly far too young for marriage.

That possibility had tormented her for the rest of the party, sparking a resolve to confront Alan later that night. She'd long given up any hope of getting the man out of her system, so, if there was a chance that some twisted scruple was keeping them apart, then she'd aimed to try to unravel it. Who knew? Maybe her turning twenty-one had already heralded a change in his attitude towards her. Maybe he was now beginning to think of her as a grown woman, an adult, not the child who'd come into his home as a young and innocent fifteen-year-old.

This train of thought had excited her. Why hadn't she reasoned this all out before? Of course that was it! His sexual response three years ago had made him feel guilty. But there was no longer any need for guilt. Couldn't he see that? She couldn't wait to talk to him alone, to tell him that time had not

changed what she felt for him, but that time had changed the status quo between them. He was no longer her guardian in any way. He was simply a man, as she was a woman.

But when she had turned round from seeing the last guest leave shortly after one-thirty, it had been to find Alan saying an abrupt goodnight and striding off to bed. Frustrated at having her wishes thwarted, Ebony had wandered around the house for ages, helping clean up, afterwards sitting alone in the kitchen, finishing off one of the half-empty bottles of champagne, thinking it might help her sleep.

No such luck. It had fizzed through her veins, sparking further restlessness. Having swallowed the last drop of wine, she had walked out on to the back patio and down the steps to the next terrace where she had stood and stared, first out across the darkened harbour waters, then down at the heated pool.

A swim will tire me out, she'd decided, make me sleep

Positive she was alone, Ebony had slipped the tiny straps of her black crepe party dress off her shoulders, shimmying till it had slid down over her hips and pooled on to the pebble-effect concrete. Stepping out of the circle, she had kicked off her shoes then peeled off her panties and tights.

The night air might have felt cool on her naked flesh, if her blood hadn't been so heated by the wine. She had balanced for a few moments on the edge of the pool before flicking her long sweep of hair back over her shoulders and diving into the water.

If she had known for a second that Alan had been sitting in the shadows of the pool-house, she would never have dreamt of being so provocative as to go skinny-dipping in front of him. She certainly wouldn't have floated up and down the pool on her back, idly splashing water over her breasts and stomach.

She'd really believed herself alone when she had climbed out of the water, and stood there, wringing her hair dry. Her shock when he had materialised out of the darkness had been very real. But he hadn't allowed her any opportunity to speak, or explain. He had simply swept her hard against him, uncaring if his clothes were ruined, uncaring of anything but his ruthless intention to reduce her to a trembling mass of unconditional surrender.

It hadn't been difficult. She'd been half aroused already from the way he'd looked at her earlier in the night. That, combined with her long-suppressed love

just dying for expression, had made her a ready victim for his lust.

The trouble was she hadn't interpreted his actions as lust at the time. She'd mistakenly believed that he had finally realised his own love for her, had at last given in to an extremely powerful and very natural need to make love to her.

Ebony groaned silently at the memory of her very rapid capitulation.

How could she have been so naive not to have seen there was nothing loving in the way he had kissed her and touched her? His hands had been quite rough on her flesh, demanding no quarter.

But by the time he'd pulled her over down on top of him on one of the deck-chairs, she'd been beside herself with passion and emotion. Alan loved her and desired her and needed her. There had been no question of not doing what he had clearly so desperately wanted.