The Deserving Mistress

‘You really don’t owe me any explanations, Jude,’ May cut in, standing up abruptly, deciding she really didn’t want to know what this man’s relationship was to her mother.

Because in spite of everything, his increasingly pressurised efforts to buy the farm by his sheer presence every time she turned around, his friendship with April, she was attracted to him herself.

Jude turned to look at her. ‘Don’t I, May?’ he said softly, standing up himself now.

May looked across at him with widely apprehensive eyes. Too much had already happened today; she simply couldn’t cope if Jude were to kiss her again.

Which, it seemed, he had every intention of doing!

She fitted so well against him as he took her in his arms, the curves of her body fitting perfectly into his, her mouth responding to the touch of his like a flower to the sun.

It was all so simple when Jude held her like this, kissed her like this; nothing else mattered. It was only—

She couldn’t think any more, could only feel, her arms moving up about his neck as the kissed deepened, became more demanding, Jude’s hands moving restlessly up and down her spine, quivers of warmth moving through her wherever he touched.

‘You’re so beautiful, May,’ Jude breathed huskily as his lips travelled the length of her creamy throat, his tongue seeking the hollows he found there, teeth gently biting her earlobe.

May shivered with desire, feeling engulfed by a warmth she had never known before, knowing that she wanted this man, wanted him as she had never wanted any other, that she longed for the hard nakedness of him against her own heated flesh.

How could she feel any other way with Jude kissing her like this, touching her like this, one of his hands moving to cup her breast now, the silk of the blouse she had changed into earlier no barrier to his caress as his thumb moved rhythmically against her hardened nipple?

He drew in a deeply controlling breath, his hands now moving up to frame the warmth of her face, his forehead resting on hers as he looked into her eyes. ‘I want to make love with you, May,’ he groaned huskily. ‘And I think you want to make love with me, too,’ he added softly.

She drew in a quivering breath, knowing it was what she wanted, too, wanted more than she had ever wanted anything in her life before, felt as if she might wilt and die if Jude didn’t make love to her. Now!

Which was ridiculous when they were in the kitchen, the only place for them to make love on the coldness of the flagstones beneath their feet…

‘But I don’t want any regrets, May,’ Jude continued gently, his thumbs lightly caressing her creamy cheeks, his silver gaze easily holding hers.

May couldn’t break that gaze, trapped in the emotions coursing through her, feeling on fire with need of him. She wanted him—how she wanted him.

‘Will it help if I assure you that there is nothing between April and myself?’ he prompted at her continued silence.

May stiffened as if he had struck her, suddenly cold as ice in Jude’s arms, her eyes wide with shock.

April!

April Robine!

The woman who had once been her mother.

Jude inwardly cursed himself as he saw the change come over May at the mere mention of the other woman, the way her eyes had widened, lost their dreamy arousal to focus sharply, her body suddenly stiff as a board even as she began to push him away from her.

She turned away. ‘I think you had better go,’ she choked, her face buried in her hands.

‘May—’

‘No, Jude!’ She moved sharply away from his reaching hands, turning fully to face him, green eyes dark with an emotion it was impossible to read. ‘I invited you here for dinner, Jude, not to—’

‘Don’t be any more insulting than you need to be, May,’ he cut in raspingly. ‘I kissed you. You responded.’ He gave an impatient shake of his head. ‘Don’t try and make it less—or more, than it was.’ He looked at her with narrowed eyes.

She gathered herself together with effort, standing tall, straightening her shoulders determinedly. ‘Yes, by all means, let’s be adult about this, Jude,’ she bit out. ‘After all, that’s what we both are, isn’t it?’ she dismissed with forced brightness.

He didn’t want to be adult about this, wanted to grasp her by the shoulders and give her a thorough shaking.

Which would achieve precisely what? he prompted self-derisively.

Not a hell of a lot, he acknowledged, but it might make him feel a temporary respite from the sheer frustration he felt at this whole situation.