Claiming His Shock Heir

‘He sees making love to me as a means of punishing me for preferring Geoff.’ Philippa said unevenly.

‘Umm. He might have convinced himself and you that that is his motivation, but it doesn’t convince me. Give him a chance, Philippa, please,’ she begged huskily. ‘That’s all I’m asking from you. Just lower your barriers enough to give him an opportunity to lower his own.’

Let down her barriers. If she did that she was openly inviting trouble, Philippa told herself and yet as she prepared for their dinner date she found herself unable to repress the tiny quivers of excitement rushing through her veins. She hadn’t felt like this since.… Since the summer she and Scott fell in love. Familiar appetite-suppressing nerve tremors seized her stomach, her heart thumping so heavily she could almost believe she could hear it. The pink dress swirled seductively round her body, her eyes shining with an excitement she was finding it difficult to conceal. What on earth was the matter with her? Surely she was far too sensible to believe as Eve did that all that was needed for Scott and herself to live happily ever after was the right Opportunity—the sort of opportunity Eve believed she had created by forcing this dinner date on them?

She was ready ahead of time and deliberately forced herself to wait in her bedroom until her watch showed seven-thirty.

Scott was waiting for her downstairs looking rather aloof and unbelievably handsome in his evening clothes. He didn’t say a word as he led her to the Ferrari, courteously opening her door for her, his only words as he slid in beside her his cool, ‘I see you wore the dress.’

‘It’s the only suitable one I have.’

She just caught the faint gleam in his eyes as he put the car in gear and then they were drawing away from the house, encased in a heavy silence that frayed her nerve endings and left her bereft of the ability to make the normal social chit-chat.

Scott took her to a restaurant in York itself, parking the car outside and then taking her arm as he pushed open the door. The decor was elegantly plain but Philippa caught her breath as she saw the tables, their pink and white colour scheme complimenting her dress, stifling the sudden shaft of disappointment that speared her as she wondered if this was why Scott had suggested she wear it. What had she expected? That he had made the request because he had liked her in it?

Surprisingly, once they were sitting down Philippa found herself relaxing a little and it was only when they had finished their first course that she realised that Scott had been deliberately drawing her out, encouraging her to talk, subtly steering the conversation so that it never flagged, stimulating all her appetites, she recognised, shivering a little as she saw the danger of allowing herself to succumb to the lure of encouraging the smile curving his mouth to deepen as she described some of Sir Nigel’s more outrageous exploits. Just for a moment she had forgotten all that lay between them and instead had given in to the heady pleasure of stretching her intellect to match his, remembering how it had once been between them, and how their conversation had ranged to cover every conceivable topic, their views sometimes clashing, sometimes matching, and all the time steadily building inside her was a hunger and a need that couldn’t be satisfied simply with hearing him talk and seeing him smile. She wanted it all, she acknowledged numbly; she wanted his companionship; his conversation; the compatability they had once known both physically and mentally. She wanted his love.

‘Something wrong?’

She stared at him, not realising she had replaced her wine glass after barely touching it to her lips.

‘No.… No… nothing’s wrong.’

‘So, what will you do when you leave Garston?’

Pain seared her, scorching her skin like a living flame.

‘I… I don’t know.…’ Quickly she lowered her eyelids, not wanting him to see the weakness she knew she was on the edge of betraying. Was it only days ago that she had yearned to escape from him? And yet now here she was wanting with equal if not greater fervour for him to demand that she stay.

It was late when they left the restaurant. Scott had barely touched his wine, but Philippa had finished hers. That was probably the reason she felt so muzzy, she admitted as she fastened her seat belt. She wasn’t used to drinking so much, but she had to admit it had a numbing, indeed almost a pleasurably anaesthetising effect upon her senses, deadening the pain which had been with her all evening.

‘We’re back.’

Scott’s voice jolted her into awareness, and she flushed darkly lifting her head from his shoulder. She remembered an overwhelming urge to close her eyes, but it was galling to think that in giving in to it she had turned to Scott.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ she apologised as she struggled to sit up. She saw him shrug as he reached across her to open her door. The male scent of him reached out to envelop her making her shiver with reaction. ‘Yes, you seem to be making a habit of it, don’t you? I’ll walk you up to your room. Just to make sure you don’t fall asleep again on the way.’

The house was in darkness, completely silent, and she blinked when Scott reached for a switch illuminating the hall. ‘Come on.’ His fingers curled round her arm as he led her to the stairs. Ignoring the inner voice that warned her that it would be wiser to disengage herself Philippa gave in to enjoying the touch of his hand against her skin, no matter how impersonal it might be. Outside her room he stopped, opening the door. Later Philippa wasn’t sure why she had suddenly felt so faint, or swayed so instinctively towards him. Common sense told her that it was too much wine and too little food, but a deeper less easily brushed aside instinct said something else. Whatever the cause, Scott moved swiftly, supporting her weight as he pushed open the door, and half carried her inside.

Closing it behind them he studied her in the soft glow of the lamp he switched on.

‘It’s nothing,’ Philippa murmured weakly. ‘Too much wine I’m afraid. It tends to undermine one’s sense of balance.’

‘Along with other things,’ Scott agreed softly. ‘This…’ he touched the soft folds of her dress, ‘is an extremely provocative garment and one I’m no more immune to than any other male. I want you, Philippa,’ he whispered huskily, ‘and I’m not even going to ask myself whether my desire stems from seeing you in this, or consuming little more than half a glass of wine. Tonight I’m not going to give myself any excuses. I want you.…’

‘I want you too.’ The words sounded thick and unfamiliar on her tongue, and for a second she couldn’t believe she had said them. Scott seemed unable to believe it too. He simply stood and stared at her, and suddenly it became imperative that she make at least some attempt to wipe out the past, to show him, if she couldn’t tell him that he was the only lover she would ever want and ever had wanted. She moved slightly towards him, watching the small muscle pulsing in his jaw.

‘Philippa!’ Her name sounded harsh, almost desperate as his arms locked round her. She could feel the fierce thudding of his heart matching the impulsive rhythm of her own, and all the promises she had made to herself were forgotten as she lifted her face to meet his kiss.

There was hunger and need, and yes, anger too, in the harsh pressure of his mouth on hers, but there was also, elusively and willpower-under-mindingly, a bitter sweet trace of the lover she had once known, and it seduced her away from all her intentions of withdrawing from him; of telling him that she wanted him to leave.

‘Philippa. There’ve been so many times when I’ve wanted you like this.’

If she hadn’t known better she could have sworn that it was anguish that thickened his voice, slurring the words until they were a sensual purr against her skin, but it wasn’t her love that Scott wanted, and yet even knowing that it was impossible for her to reject him. Something more powerful than common sense and pride stirred inside her, some blind overwhelming emotion that was a combination of love, and regret, mixed with a helpless compassion for the agony he must have endured believing that she hadn’t loved him.

Her hands touched his hair, caressing the nape of his neck, the physical sensation of his skin beneath her fingers so unexpectedly arousing that what was left of her resistance seem

ed to evaporate in the heat of her need.