She arched herself against him, a soft sound of happiness purring in her throat as she smoothed her hands down his back and licked exploratively at the satin hardness of his shoulder. The way he reacted, the way he tensed and told her roughly what she was doing to him, how she was making him feel, only incited her to go on stroking, kissing, licking, biting, until he groaned out loud and grabbed hold of her, kissing her throat, her shoulder, her arm and then her breast with such intensity that she went boneless and supine, her heart jerking almost painfully hard inside her while her body was filled with so much need, so much pleasure, so much sensation that she cried out to him that it was more than she could bear, that she wanted him, needed him, ached for him in so many ways that she was afraid she might die from the sheer glory of it.
She didn’t, though. Instead she discovered that she could make him tremble and cry out; that her touch could make him moan and beg for surcease in a hoarse, strained voice that her nerve-endings quivered to hear.
When he entered her, she welcomed the controlled, almost gentle thrust of his body with such wild abandon and eagerness that she overrode his control, destroying it completely, so that when he tensed, hesitated, and told her in a low rough voice that he must withdraw from her, she wound herself even more tightly around him, refusing to let him leave her, seducing him with the soft rhythmic movements of her body until he groaned out loud in haunted anguish, knowing that the compellingly rhythmic movements of her body were defeating his will-power, taking from him almost the satisfaction he had felt it necessary to deny them both.
When he couldn’t stand it any longer he moved within her so powerfully, so deeply that she cried out in shock at the intensity of her own pleasure, of her need to open her body so completely to him that he would penetrate its deepest, most sacred mysteries.
The fierce rigours of her climax were so unexpected, so unknown that she was completely unprepared for their almost violently physical effects, and for the draining weakness that engulfed her seconds later when she had felt the hot pulse of Ben’s release inside her, her body thrilling in her feminine power to incite it, even if the weakness that followed left her shivering and trembling caught between tears and laughter, experiencing both fulfillment and exhaustion, content to lie breathless and damp in Ben’s arms, while he smoothed her as he would have done a cat, his hand smoothing down over her back until the nervous trembling had left her body.
As she closed her eyes and felt herself drifting, floating on a delicious cloud into sleep, she whispered drowsily, ‘It wasn’t like my dreams at all. I never—’
‘You never what?’ Ben interrupted her.
She opened her eyes reluctantly; her head was resting on his shoulder and in the moonlight she could see a bead of sweat on his throat. She moved her head and absorbed it on to her tongue, gently savouring the hot male scent of him, enjoying the heat and taste of him before she closed her eyes again, moving luxuriously against him as she stretched her body next to his.
‘You never what?’ Ben repeated.
Too relaxed and happy to guard her words, she smiled. ‘I never knew it could be like that,’ she confessed softly.
Half asleep, later thinking that she must have imagined it, she heard him responding starkly, ‘No, neither did I.’
* * *
ONCE MORE BEFORE morning they made love, slowly and sweetly so that Miranda was achingly aware of the gently inexorable tide of her own desire, of her need to savour and cherish each moment of their being together, each touch, each caress, and put a special yearning tenderness into each movement of her hands against his flesh, each drift of her lips welcoming the intimacy her caresses made him cry out for, loving the knowledge that he wanted her, ached for her.
This time her climax was less earth-shattering: rounder, sweeter somehow, leaving her bathed in satisfaction and joy. In the dim light she saw that there were marks on his skin, inflicted by her nails and teeth when she had had to stifle the words of love she ached to give him.
Love-bites. She smiled sadly to herself. These were certainly that, given in place of the words, the vows, the love she knew she could not burden him with.
Whatever else happened she would never regret that she had had this time with him, she vowed as he drew her sleepily towards him, holding her, cradling her, surrounding her still with tenderness and care.
Only when she was sure he was properly asleep did she ease herself away from him, padding silently towards the door, clutching her clothes.
Downstairs and dressed, she took a small notepad from her bag and penned him a brief note.
It read simply, ‘Thank you for last night. Let’s hope that from now on we both have dreamless sleep, but it isn’t an experiment I feel it would be wise to repeat.’
As she folded it and left it prominently displayed on the table, she knew he would understand what she was saying. That she had no regrets about what they had done, but that it was something that wasn’t going to be repeated, not because she didn’t want to. Her mouth twisted wryly.
There were going to be many, many nights, years from now, when she would lie sleepless and aching, reliving this night, and wishing with all her might that he were there beside her; but it wasn’t just sex she wanted from him. She wanted it all: commitment, caring… permanence, children… and most of all she wanted his love.
She respected him for not tainting what they had with false words of love, with meaningless promises. He had praised her body, her responsiveness, her ability to arouse and delight him, lavishing the soft words on her, reaping her with the gift of his pleasure in all that they were sharing, allowing her the freedom, giving her the self-confidence to give her sensuality a free rein without holding anything back from him—anything, that was, other than those betraying words of love.
It was just growing light when she got into her car and drove away. She prayed that when he read her note he would respect her enough not to try to change her mind, not to diminish what they had shared.
* * *
IT PROVED even harder than she had envisaged.
When she got home she went upstairs to shower, pausing as she stood there, reluctant to wash the scent of him from her skin, her stomach muscles quivering with remembered pleasure as she saw the small bruise marks forming on her body. Her breasts swelled tormentingly, aching…
Angrily she stepped under the shower and turned on the cold water, gasping with shock as she stood beneath the icy spray.
She had been at work for an hour when Liz arrived.
‘Good heavens!’ she exclaimed as she walked in and saw her. ‘You’re an early bird.’
‘I’ve got quite a lot of paperwork to catch up on with Dad being away,’ Miranda responded, turning he
r back on her as she added with studied control, ‘Oh, and, by the way, should Ben Frobisher ring and ask for me, would you tell him that I’m either out or engaged?’
There was a small silence and then Liz replied gently, ‘If you’re sure that’s what you want.’
Her gentleness was almost too much for Miranda to bear. She tensed her body against her own vulnerability, and said in a hard voice, ‘Yes, that’s what I want.’
Liz didn’t say anything more, but Miranda could guess what she must be thinking. She too had been a guest at the wedding, and must have seen that Miranda and Ben had been paired off together… must have drawn her own conclusions from that, just as she was doing now from the instructions Miranda had given her. No doubt she would assume they had had a quarrel… a row… but she was discreet and kind and she would keep her thoughts to herself, which was just as well. In the run-up to the wedding, Miranda had received more than one sly comment about it being time she herself settled down, accompanied by unsubtle references to Ben. Well, the gossip would soon die down without anything to fuel it.
Halfway through the morning, Liz slipped out to buy some sandwiches. When she came back she was practically running, unable to hide her shock as she burst into the office.
‘Miranda, there’s been an accident!’ she announced breathlessly. ‘I heard about it in the sandwich shop. It’s Ben Frobisher.’
Ben. Miranda froze, getting out of her chair before saying, ‘Ben? What…?’
‘I’m not sure. Something about problems with the building contractor. No one seems to know exactly what happened… only that there was an accident… something about an internal wall collapsing. Miranda… where are you going?’ she protested as Miranda raced towards the door. ‘It’s no use going there,’ she called worriedly after her as Miranda flung the door open and ran across the square in the direction of the High Street, ignoring the surprised stares of the people who stopped to watch her.