When she didn’t reply his free hand moved lazily up her body, her muscles tensing in mingled delight and alarm, as it hovered just beneath her breast. Surely he could hear the pounding of her heart? Surely he must know what he was doing to her?
‘What am I expected to do?’ he continued mockingly. ‘This?’ His fingers curled round her breast, his thumb probing its softness. ‘Or this?’ Her heart seemed to lodge somewhere in her throat as he unfastened several of the small buttons and slid his hand inside her dress, the hand that had been imprisoning her wrist releasing it to transfer it to his shoulder, propelling her against him as his tongue sought and found the puckered flesh of her nipple. A whimpered moan burst past her lips. Race released her, pushing her away.
‘It hurts like hell to want someone so badly, doesn’t it, Heather?’ he demanded with soft savagery that told her how much she had underestimated his original anger. ‘It tears you up inside to know you’re reduced to that wanting. Well, you know what you have to do, I’m not going to make it easy for you.’
‘But you want me….’ She was barely aware of saying the words, her brain clouded by alcohol and desire.
‘Sure I do, enough to be badly tempted to take all that you’re offering me so temptingly right now. But I’ve got to live with myself afterwards. I’ve already shown you that I want you, now it’s your turn to show me.’
‘I can’t….’
She withdrew from him shakily, shivering slightly, knowing she couldn’t do what he demanded.
‘Damn you, you can,’ he muttered savagely, ‘and you will!’ Her wrist was grasped again and she was pulled down against him, overbalancing on to his lap, one hard arm trapping her there, while his lips explored the delicate shaping of her ear, teasing it with his tongue, deliberately arousing her with delicate kisses that gave so much but no more and which left her aching for more. His fingers deftly unfastened the buttons of her dress, pushing it back off her shoulders until her body was exposed to the waist, his lips continuing to tease tiny kisses against her face, refusing to touch her mouth, a violent hunger raging through her as he continued to torment her.
The silk of his shirt felt damp against her breasts and suddenly was an intolerable barrier between their bodies. Barely aware of what she was doing, Heather tore at the small buttons, pressing her mouth feverishly against the taut skin of Race’s throat when the last one gave way and she was free to wrap her arms round his neck, her breasts surging against his body, aching for the arousing rasp of his body hair against them, small whimpers of pleasure escaping her lips as they explored the smooth contours of his skin, her fingers tensing on the hard muscles of his back, willing him to respond, to share her need and fuel it. Couldn’t he see that she was telling him without words how much she needed him? Wasn’t it enough that her body betrayed her with every single action without her tongue following suit?
Angry now, she wanted to torment him as he was tormenting her, she wanted to hear him groan her name against her skin, to feel the tension in his body she knew was in hers, to push him beyond the boundaries of his self-control, as he had pushed her. Her fingertips explored the breadth of his back, her lips moving against his throat. He had stopped kissing her and the knowledge acted like a goad. How could he remain so aloof? She would make him respond.
Suddenly heedless of the consequences, her fingers explored the line of hair arrowing down towards his waistband, feeling the solid compacting of muscles, sensing by instinct alone that he was not as indifferent to her as he pretended. Her palm smoothed lightly across his chest, registering an unmistakable and unexpected response, and heat flooded through her body as she remembered her feverish response when his tongue touched her body. She bent her head, tracing a line of kisses along his collar bone and then down, deliberately exploring the unfamiliar shape of the male nipple beneath her tongue, feeling the sudden satisfying clench of his muscles, hearing his hoarsely muttered, ‘For God’s sake, Heather, tell me you want me, and stop tormenting us both!’
His susceptibility made it easy for her to murmur the words against his skin between kisses, feeling his involuntary response to the touch of her lips, knowing the initiative was being taken from her, when their positions were reversed and he was the one to torment the aching tips of her breasts until she was murmuring incoherent little pleas which he seemed to have no difficulty in correctly translating as his teeth tugged satisfyingly on the swollen flesh, and she arched blindly towards him, her body gilded rose-gold by the firelight as she offered herself completely to him and he held her away, studying her satisfaction and hunger blended in the hot scrutiny of his eyes as they surveyed her response to his lovemaking.
‘I’m not going to rush this,’ he murmured thickly as he watched her. ‘I’ve waited too damned long for it.’
He touched her hair, cascading down on to her shoulders, and pulled off her dress, surveying the delicate bones of her ankles, his glance moving upwards over her thighs in the pure silk stockings. She lay motionless beneath his gaze, tensing only when his fingers travelled up her thigh and pushed aside the barrier of her French knickers, the kiss he placed there burning against her skin. Her stockings were removed, her body trembling beneath the assault of his hands and lips as they caressed the skin they exposed. On Race’s face was a look of total concentration; of intensity that told her the extent of his desire. When she lay naked in his arms she felt him expel his breath, her tremulous inclination to hide herself from him prevented as he held her arms at her side and studied her raptly. ‘Undress me, Heather,’ he commanded unsteadily, ‘touch me… kiss me….’
He lifted her hands to his body, waiting in tense expectation as she struggled to obey him, trying to ignore the movement of his fingers against the inside of her thigh, sending spirals of pleasure higher and higher inside her until at last he was free of his clothes, and she was free to explore and adore the hard shape of his body, which despite its maleness was as vulnerable to the pangs of desire as hers. She wriggled away from him, from the disturbing contact of his hand against her thigh, stroking her fingers over the lean flatness of his stomach, following the line of dark hair with her tongue, her hands copying the stroke of his along his thighs, until he shuddered and reached for her, imprisoning her against him, caressing her body until he reached the soft, female core of her, making her suck in her breath on a whimper of pleasure that brought a smile to his eyes and an instant physical response from his body as he pulled her tautly into the cradle of his hips, moving urgently against her as her body took brief satisfaction from the contact that somehow wasn’t enough.
His lips explored her throat, the small murmured sounds of pleasure he made every time she responded to him finding an echoing response in her. Her hands locked behind his head as he moved languorously down her body, breathing in its warm scents, his lips taking pleasure in the fullness of her breasts.
She cried out in protest as he moved away from her, forbidding her the pleasure of touching him, the warm pressure of his lips against her inner thigh making her want to tense in protest and yet at the same time reluctant to display her naïveté until it was too late to stop his sensuous invasion, his tongue continuing its spiralling investigation of her thigh, moving higher and higher, until she cried out in protest.
His voice hoarse and tight almost unrecognisable, Heather heard him mutter, dragging the breath into his lungs, ‘Yes, yes, my gypsy girl, tell me what you want… just tell me, Heather,’ his tongue continuing its probing until she was gasping his name, writhing in shame tinged pleasure, unable to stop herself from reaching for him, drawing him against her, pressing fevered kisses against his moist skin, her teeth nipping and biting until he covered her mouth with the heat of his, slowly looking at her as she looked back with passion-drugged eyes.
Kneeling astride her, he guided her hands to his body, his voice thick and slurred, his hands on her increasing her own excitement, her body twisting and threshing sensually against them as he held her poised on the threshold of a p
leasure she could only anticipitate, making her wait as he moved slowly into her, his hoarse, ‘No!’ as she tried to move stilling the convulsive restlessness of her body as it tried to match the fierce rhythm of his; his fingers biting into her arms, until he muttered thickly against her throat, ‘Now, Heather… please, now!’ releasing her arms to hold her against him, silencing her with the fierce demand of his mouth. Her body matched him in the elemental, wild storm, that rocked them both, pain dimly felt and soon forgotten as pleasure exploded inside her in convulsive waves and Race cried out her name in primaeval possession, his arms enfolding her as passion subsided and she floated tranquilly back down to earth.
She couldn’t remember ever having felt so relaxed, so good about herself, her body bathed in a tired but completely pleasurable sense of satisfaction. She turned her head to look at Race and froze as she saw the expression of bitter disbelief in his eyes.
‘That was your first time, wasn’t it?’
Whatever she had expected from him it wasn’t this. What she had expected—and yes, she might as well admit it—was for him to exhibit a certain sense of pleasure in being her first, indeed her only lover. But instead he seemed bitterly angry, as angry as though she had knowingly deprived him of something.
‘Does it matter?’ She tried to say the words lightly, but instead they merely sounded huskily pleading.
‘Does it matter?’ She felt him withdraw from her. ‘Of course it damned well does,’ he said roughly. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘When?’ Heather asked acidly, her euphoria quickly dissipating in the coldness of his manner towards her. She badly wanted to cry, but she wasn’t going to. How could he be so hard as to question her like this, after what they had just shared? Only, of course, it wasn’t anything special to him. No more and possibly much less than he had enjoyed with countless other women.
‘It’s hardly the sort of gambit with which one can open a conversation, is it?’ she said bitterly. ‘Oh, by the way, I’m a virgin?’
‘There were other occasions.’
‘Like when you were accusing me of being a tease? Or when you were talking about all my other men? When?’
‘When you realised I was treating you as a woman with considerable sexual experience,’ Race said brutally, watching her flinch. ‘God, you surely don’t think I would have….’
‘Made love to me?’ Heather implemented, her chin up as she surveyed him militantly. Wasn’t he going to leave her with anything? ‘I thought that was the whole object of the exercise!’
‘It was,’ he assured her grimly, ‘but there are ways… and that wasn’t the way I would have chosen to… to initiate a virgin.’ He swung round so that he had his back to her, and she wondered what he was really thinking. Had he found her so disappointing? She ought to be feeling shame and despair right now, but all she could feel was anger, anger against Race because he was rejecting the most precious gift she had had to give him.
‘Why have you never made love with anyone before?’
How dared he ask her that question? was Heather’s initial response, followed by the knowledge that she was in very deep water.
‘Perhaps no one’s asked me,’ she began flippantly, her voice fading as she saw the determined look in his eyes. She swallowed and held hard to her courage. ‘Perhaps simply because no one’s ever aroused me in the way that you do. In fact, I’ve always taken care that they never got the chance.’
‘And now you’re blaming propinquity. Well, perhaps you’re right,’ he muttered, ‘and what’s done is done, but it’s just as well that we should be able to leave here soon.’
At least he hadn’t guessed her secret, Heather thought tiredly. This wasn’t how she had visualised the evening ending at all. If she was honest she would have to admit that she had envisaged spending it wrapped in Race’s arms, sleeping against the warmth of his body, wakening with him in the morning and experiencing again the pleasure of his lovemaking.
Her last thought, as she eventually hovered between sleeping and waking, wrapped up in front of the fire in her solitary sleeping-bag, was that she had never had her champagne after all. But then she scarcely had anything to celebrate. Race had made it brutally clear that he no longer wanted her. Obviously virgins were not a breed he found at all desirable, and she only hoped the thaw would come soon enough for her to leave the cottage with her pride still intact and her love still her own personal secret.
Only now could she admit to herself that she had gambled on securing more than Race’s desire, that she had hoped their lovemaking might set alight a love within him that could match her own. Well, she should have known better. She had gambled and lost, and perhaps it would teach her what was obviously a well needed lesson. Hadn’t she learned years ago that no man could love her? She would have been wise to bear that lesson in mind tonight.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘HEATHER, I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.’
‘I’m sure you didn’t,’ Heather agreed dryly, as her cousin opened the flat door a little wider. ‘But as I am here, how about letting me in?’
‘Of course. Oh, you poor thing!’ Jennifer exclaimed. ‘You look exhausted! When did you leave Scotland? Did….’
‘This morning, and yes, I did see Race,’ Heather agreed dryly, her composure abandoning her for a moment as she exclaimed huskily, ‘Oh, Jen, how could you?’
‘I know, I’m sorry,’ Jennifer apologised as she helped her in, taking her case. ‘Mum’s already torn a strip off me. Oh, I told her all about it after you’d gone. How I was sure you were in love with Race and that he wasn’t exactly indifferent to you. Mum said you’d be furious with me, and rightly, but he was so persuasive.’ This last comment ended on a wail, and Heather had to fight down the memory of exactly how persuasive Race Williams could be when it suited him.
‘What happened between you?’ Jennifer begged. ‘You were supposed to stay up there for two months. When you didn’t come straight back I thought I must have done the right thing and that all you needed was some time alone together to sort out your differences.’
‘We were snowed in together, otherwise I’d have come straight back,’ Heather told her coolly, anxious for there to be no more mistakes or misunderstandings. When Race eventually returned to London, she didn’t want to be embarrassed by Jennifer constantly trying to throw the two of them together….
‘So it didn’t work, then?’
‘There was nothing to work,’ Heather stressed. ‘Jen, Race wanted me sexually, but he doesn’t love me, and….’
‘And you love him,’ Jen supplied softly. ‘Oh God, Heather, I’m so sorry. Has he come back with you?’
Heather shook her head. ‘No. He had work to do, and I decided, that is….’ She bit her lip guiltily, not wanting to think about that final morning they had shared. The situation had grown intolerable after Race had rejected her and she had welcomed the thaw which had come two days later. Race had gone to the MacNeils to borrow their Range-Rover and had driven her into the village to her car. They had parted without words, without any acknowledgement of what had happened between them, Heather too proud to refer to it and Race still too angry. She hadn’t allowed herself the luxury of tears on the journey back, and now her eyes felt gritty with them, her throat aching.
‘Oh, Heather, I can’t tell you how sorry I am,’ Jennifer said remorsefully, and Heather knew her cousin wasn’t merely referring to having tricked her. ‘I haven’t dared ring Mum since,’ she admitted, ‘you know what she’s like when she gets mad. She’s ten times more protective of you than she is of me. Do you know what she said to me? She said you were too vulnerable and that sometimes she was frightened for you.’
The salt taste of tears stung the back of Heather’s throat. Her aunt knew her better than she had thought; had she known all these years how much of an outsider she had still felt, how much in some strange way she had felt excluded by her parents’ death, as though they had gone somewhere together where she could no
t follow and wasn’t welcome?
Banishing the thought, Heather went into the kitchen and filled the kettle. She had felt quite nauseous on the drive home, probably because she hadn’t stopped for anything to eat, but she simply couldn’t have faced it. It had been strange, driving south and seeing the snow give way to winter green fields and bare trees. What was Race doing now? Driving into Fort William to find a woman more experienced than she was herself? He had laughed bitterly when she had told him she was leaving, telling her brutally that he was glad. She ought to hate him, but she didn’t, she couldn’t even raise the energy to hate herself. All she felt was a vast, unending emptiness.
She phoned her agent when she had been home for two days to tell him of her decision to give up modelling entirely. He had been stunned and then disbelieving, until she had made it clear that she wasn’t going to change her mind.
‘But what are you going to do?’ Jennifer asked her one evening as they sat eating their supper and watching television. Jennifer had been out with Terry, and her face had the soft, vulnerable look of a woman in love.
‘Who knows? Fate will show me the way,’ Heather said humorously, never dreaming how prophetic her words were to prove. Since her return to London she had felt listless and spent, unable to do anything more than simply exist.
When the phone rang one afternoon and she answered it to hear her aunt, she wondered wryly if Jennifer’s machinations had been behind the phone call. She knew how guilty Jennifer felt about her part in throwing her into Race’s company, and sensed that her cousin was trying her best to make amends.