Nicola Cornick Collection Page 6

  The suit jacket slid from her shoulders to the ground and he felt her shiver and drew her closer. The pink gown was smooth and silky beneath his hands, but it was not what he wanted to feel. He wanted her, her nakedness beneath him, her bare skin against his own. He wanted to uncover all the curves outlined by the dress, to trace them and learn them and give her exquisite pleasure.

  ‘I want to make love to you.’

  He said the words against her mouth and she drew back with a little gasp. He sensed it was purely instinctive and it was not the reaction of a sophisticated woman. He felt a tremble rack her body and then she had stepped back, out of his arms.

  ‘Jack, I …’

  ‘You want me too.’ He knew it was true and he was arrogant enough to want to make her admit it.

  ‘Yes—’ she did not hesitate, but her tone held him at arm’s length ‘—I do. But we cannot, Jack. Have you forgotten Connie, and your cousin, and that about three hours ago you threatened to destroy my business?’

  He had forgotten, forgotten everything in the blazing heat of holding her and kissing her and wanting her. He thought about it for a split second and discounted it all. He reached for her again, not bothering to reply, seeking to persuade her through the touch of his hands and his mouth on her trembling, quiescent body.

  He kissed her until he felt all the strength leave her body, felt her knees tremble and threaten to give way and felt the sweet taste of surrender in her mouth. She would be his now. He knew it. The flare of triumph the thought evoked in him almost pushed him over the edge. He swung her up into his arms and strode towards the door of the club. Her head was against his shoulder. Her hair brushed his cheek.

  ‘The service stairs,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t let anyone see …’

  Briefly, Jack considered walking straight through the hall of the club with Sally clasped in his arms and carrying her up the main staircase to her bedroom. He rejected the thought with reluctance. He didn’t give a damn on his own behalf, but he supposed that she did have a certain professional reputation to maintain and he respected that. When they reached the terrace doors he put her down gently, steering her into the corridor and straight through the plain doors that led down to her office and the kitchens and up to bedchambers above. In the light he could see that Sally’s face was bemused and blank with passion, her lips parted, her breath coming quickly with the strength of her desire. Even so, he did not want to give her a single moment to reconsider what they were doing. He waited for a turn in the stair, a dark corner, and then he pulled her into his arms, pressing her back against the banisters with the pressure of his body against hers, for another soul-searing kiss. She made a noise of surprise and pleasure deep in her throat and his erection swelled in response. He held her trapped against the wall with his hips and kissed her long and deep until they were both gasping for breath.

  Taking him by surprise, she caught his hand and ran up the remaining steps with him, pulling him through the door on to the landing and along the corridor to her room.

  Jack turned the key in the lock behind him and stood looking at her. Only one lamp was burning and in its light she looked glorious—her breasts rising and falling with her panting breath, her hair tumbling free of the bandeau, her lips soft and stung from his kisses.

  Jack did not move. Like a true rake he had planned not to give her the chance to change her mind, to seduce her ruthlessly. But now he hesitated.

  ‘Are you sure,’ he said slowly, ‘that you want to do this?’

  Her beautiful eyes opened very wide and for a second he felt an absolute dread that she was going to refuse him. Why it should matter so much to him he had no idea; all he knew was that it did. And then she smiled and the relief slammed through him.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I am sure.’

  Sally had never been so sure of anything in her life. She knew it was foolhardy, out of character, probably downright irresponsible to make love with Jack Kestrel, but she did not care. She felt utterly reckless.

  She had told Jack a little of her circumstances over dinner, but nothing of her feelings: her confusion and distress over Jonathan’s repudiation of her, the fear and pain she had felt when he had so cruelly vented his frustrations on her, the absolute belief that she was plain, unattractive, unlovable as a person, not just because she was not beautiful on the outside, but also because there was something inherently wrong with her. She had been so sheltered when she had married, moving straight from her father’s comfortable home to a similar house provided by her husband. She had been a conventional product of her class and upbringing. And then it had all gone horribly, disastrously wrong. Two terrible tragedies had rocked her life. Her father had died and her marriage had proved tobe a sham.

  For five years she had worked to put that disaster behind her, accepting that it was Connie who was the pretty one and she was the one with the intelligence if not the looks. And then Jack Kestrel had walked into the Blue Parrot and his desire for her had been like rain falling on parched ground and she had decided that, no matter how rash and impulsive it was, she was going to find out at last what physical love was all about.

  Except that she had assumed that Jack would take charge, and now he was hesitating and his delay was making her nervous. Grabbing her courage in both hands, she walked straight up to him.

  ‘You will have to unfasten my gown,’ she said. ‘I am sorry, but I cannot manage it without a maid.’

  Jack smiled then, a smile that made her toes curl and her stomach hollow with longing. He turned her around and started to unbutton the Poiret dress, bending his lips to the curve of her neck, kissing the skin that he uncovered, the flick of his tongue over her making the goose pimples rise all over her body. The gown fell to the floor with an expensive slither and Sally stepped out of it. She kicked off her shoes, her toes in their silk stockings sinking into the thick carpet. Standing there, armoured in her corset, she suddenly felt the same conviction that had always plagued her. She looked ugly and unattractive, Jack would change his mind, make an excuse, leave her. The thought made her feel suddenly sick and cold and she crossed her arms for comfort.

  Jack turned her back to face him and their eyes met, and Sally’s heart skittered with nervousness and excitement at the look on his face, for he was looking at her as though she was the most exquisite thing he had ever seen. His hand was on one of her shoulders, warm on her bare skin, and now he slid it down to her wrist and held her gently.

  ‘Sally Bowes,’ he said, ‘you are the most beautiful girl.’

  Shock and disbelief held her still, staring at him. He took a step towards her and pulled the end of her bandeau so that her hair tumbled down about her shoulders. The pins fell silently on to the soft carpet, but he ignored them, tangling a hand in her hair, bringing her lips to his to kiss her again. The world spun, tilted, and Sally would have fallen with the sheer sensual demand of his mouth on hers, but he scooped her up in his arms and tossed her into the middle of her big double bed.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I just don’t have the patience for this.’

  She looked at him, uncomprehending. Surely he was not simply going to stop? There was a danger that, if he did, she might just kill him out of sheer frustration. She felt the mattress shift as he moved away, and she struggled to sit up. She heard the click as he took Matty’s sewing scissors from the table and saw the lamplight glint on the silver. Her throat dried as she realised his intention. These were proper, big dressmaker’s scissors, not some harmless toy.

  ‘But … They’re sharp!’

  He put a hand on her bare shoulder, pushing her back down to lie on the yielding bedcovers.

  ‘Keep still, then.’ The words were laced with wickedness. ‘I’m sorry about the corset,’ he said again. ‘I’ll buy you a new one.’

  He placed the scissors on the neckline of her chemise, between her breasts. She felt the cold kiss of the metal against her skin and shuddered with nervousness and hungry desire. Her nipples chafed again
st the cotton, waiting for the cut that would free her breasts from constraint. The heat pooled low in her belly. She wanted to squirm but the fear held her still.

  The first snap of the scissor blades made her shiver uncontrollably. He cut downwards, straight, his hand steady. The material eased. Her breasts felt full, straining for his touch, but his concentration did not waver. When the tip of the blade touched her belly button he stopped for a moment and Sally shifted, fisting her hands into the bedcovers.

  ‘Don’t stop, damn you,’ she said, and heard him laugh.

  The cutting continued. She watched his face, intent and dark in the faint lamplight, watched the flash of the scissors and the pale exposure of her skin as the material of her corset and chemise and bloomers parted. The blade slid over the curve of her belly and paused at her pubic bone and she caught her breath on a sound that was part-sob, part-moan and moved her hands to cover herself. Jack laid the scissors down and forced her wrists back to her side, then took the remaining cloth in both hands and ripped it straight down the middle, pushing it aside to expose her body to the light and to his gaze.

  Air touched her bare skin, hardening her nipples to tight peaks, caressing the tight, secret place between her thighs that ached for fulfilment. Driven beyond frustration, Sally kicked off her stockings, then rolled over and grabbed Jack’s shirt, pulling him violently down to her. Something tore. She felt his skin, warm and hard and a little rough against the palms of her hands. His mouth was on hers, bold, possessive. His hand went to her breast, his lips and tongue following to nip and lick and taste her there. Sally writhed on the bed, arching under him. He tossed the shreds of her underwear aside, shrugged out of his own clothes and straddled her hips, pinning her down.

  She was so utterly lost and adrift in a world of unfamiliar sensation that when the moment came she had forgotten that there was something she had not told him. He was not being careful because he did not know he had to. He took her with one, hard thrust and she felt the resistance from her body, felt him push past it so that he was buried deep inside her and then, when his mind caught up with his body, she felt him go very still.

  It hurt. It hurt quite a lot, enough to pull her out of the deliciously warm and sensuous world she had been wrapped up in. She winced and he shifted slightly and that was painful too. She felt anxious, disappointed, and unsure how her pleasure could have melted away so quickly. He raised one hand and pushed the tumbled hair back from her face and his fingers were gentle against her cheek.

  ‘Sally?’

  Sally closed her eyes for a moment of pure mortification. All those wonderful, mindlessly exciting sensations had died completely now, leaving her feeling nothing other than embarrassment and extreme discomfort. How could she still be entwined in such an intimate embrace with this man—a man who was a virtual stranger—and feel nothing but awkwardness?

  ‘Must we talk about this now?’ she said beseechingly.

  A smile touched the corner of his mouth. ‘No,’ he said, ‘we don’t need to talk now.’

  ‘Good.’ She tried to move away from him, intending to get up and find her clothes—any clothes—anything with which to cover herself, but he followed her movement, still keeping himself inside her. It made her nerves prickle with an echo of the excitement that had possessed her so recently. Despite herself, she shivered.

  ‘Jack—’ she said.

  ‘You didn’t want to talk.’ He shifted her more closely beneath him, sliding deeper into her. To her shock, her body responded, rocking against him. He made a sound of satisfaction in his throat and bent his head to her breasts, sucking her nipples, sliding within her with slow, deliberate strokes, his skin slick against hers until she started to feel heat pooling low inside her again and her body twitched and shook with a need that was a shocking, dazzling, exquisitely unbearable revelation to her. He was so high and hard within her, the demand of his body on hers was absolute, and she felt overwhelmed with the sensation and she screamed aloud and felt her mind reel and shatter into tiny pieces. She felt Jack shudder and collapse beside her and she lay still, breathing hard, in awe and astonishment.

  Jack rolled over and turned up the lamp. His face was dark, the expression hard, and her heart missed a beat.

  ‘And now,’ he said politely, ‘we talk.’

  Jack propped himself on one elbow and looked at Sally Bowes. On the floor beside the bed were the scraps of her underclothes that he had cut from her body. The scissors glittered on the side table. The sheets were tangled and Sally was tumbled amongst them, her hair about her shoulders, her skin flushed with latent arousal. The expression in her eyes was bemused and heavy with satiation. She looked like a fallen angel.

  She also looked very, very desirable. Jack felt his body stir and ruthlessly clamped down on the urge to make love to her again. So much for his misguided belief that once he had had her the fever would be gone from his blood. It burned all the hotter now, now that he had tasted how delicious she was, now that he wanted more.

  Now that he knew she was his alone.

  He felt a huge, primal surge of masculine satisfaction, something that he had never experienced before. It was disconcerting to discover that he could feel this way. It hinted at emotions he did not wish to explore.

  ‘So,’ he said, when she seemed disinclined to start the conversation, ‘you were a virgin.’

  He looked at her. She was avoiding his eyes, fidgeting with the covers, looking both tempting and defiant. Something like indignation stirred in him. ‘You,’ he said, ‘are a widow, damn near a divorcée, you’re the owner of the most sophisticated club in London …’ He stopped. ‘How the hell,’ he finished slowly, ‘did that happen?’

  She smiled ruefully. ‘It … didn’t happen.’

  ‘No,’ Jack said. ‘I appreciate that now.’

  Sally looked down. She had wound the sheet about herself so that it wrapped her lovely, voluptuous body up in a column of white. He wanted to unwind it again, take her again.

  ‘Jonathan was unable to consummate our marriage,’ she said, after a moment.

  ‘Clearly.’

  ‘He … did not find me attractive.’ She looked defensive, blushing. ‘I thought that there was something wrong with me.’

  ‘So you thought to use me to prove that there was not?’ The words came out more harshly than Jack had intended. He saw her flinch and cursed himself.

  ‘I thought,’ she corrected him, ‘that it was extraordinary that you seemed to want me.’

  It did not seem extraordinary to him. Resisting her was his only difficulty. Her husband had evidently been a fool. Unless …

  ‘Did he prefer the company of men?’ he asked.

  Sally shook her head. ‘I do not think so. I think he preferred street women. He said that he had no difficulties with them, but that I was too …’ she hesitated, her tone flat ‘… too dull to interest him. He tried to make love to me, but it was no good. After we had tried—and failed—several times, he never came to my bed again. It was mortifying. I thought that it was my fault.’

  Jack made an involuntary move towards her, then let his hand fall. He wanted to reassure her, to prove to her—again—that he found her incredibly attractive, but they needed to finish the conversation first.

  ‘Listen to me,’ he said. He caught her hand. The sheet slipped a little. She made a grab for it, but he held her still.

  ‘It must be apparent to you now,’ he said, ‘that you are an exceptionally attractive woman. Your husband’s lack of interest in you was in no way your fault.’

  She bit her lip. ‘Thank you.’ She sounded as polite as though he had handed her a plate at a tea party. Jack wanted, suddenly and violently, to kiss her.

  ‘And there was never anyone else?’ he said.

  She shook her head slowly.

  ‘So why me?’ Jack said. ‘Why now?’

  She looked at him with those beautiful hazel eyes and hesitated.

  ‘Sally?’ he prompted.

  ‘Pe
rhaps I should not say it,’ she said, ‘but it was because I wanted to.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘Maybe it is immodest in me to admit it …’

  Jack gave her a look. ‘A little late for that now.’

  She smiled a little. ‘Yes.’ She looked at him very directly. ‘I wanted to find out what it was like. And …’ suddenly she blushed very vividly ‘… I wanted to find out with you.’

  ‘You could have warned me,’ Jack said mildly. ‘It would have been nicer.’ He smiled. ‘Nicer for you.’

  She evaded his gaze. ‘It wasn’t exactly bad for me, Jack.’ She traced a pattern on the sheet with her fingers. ‘Would it have made a difference to you, had you known? Would you have refused me?’

  Jack thought about it. He remembered the absolute, driving need that he had felt to possess her, the sweetness of her surrender, the desire he had, even now, to slake his hunger for her again. He shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he said. He put a hand out and caught hold of the sheet that wrapped her up. ‘But then, I am a rake.’

  Her eyes widened. He realised she was shocked.

  ‘I thought—’ She cleared her throat. ‘I thought that you would leave now.’

  He laughed and tugged suddenly on the end of the sheet. It unfurled, leaving her naked to the waist.

  ‘What a lot you have to learn, my sweet,’ he said.

  Chapter Four

  Sally woke up as the morning sun crept across the floor of the bedroom and touched her face with its warmth. She opened her eyes slowly. She could tell that it was very early, for the light still had its dawn pallor. Out in the street she could hear the rumble of carriage wheels and the scrape and crash of the vendors setting up their stalls, but behind that noise were the calls of the birds in the garden at the back of the house and the splash of water in the fountain. It sounded peaceful.