Williams Cathy His convenient mistress

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'She wasn't a stranger,' Sara said, hearing the misery in her voice with distaste. Self-pity was an indulgence which she had
always viewed with contempt, except in the very early hours of the morning, when the rest of the world was asleep and she could
allow her mind to drift over its past and build castles that were never going to be.
'You could have got another job, something less demanding. Moved out of London, worked somewhere in one of the
counties.'
'You don't understand,' Sara muttered, tugging her face out of his controlling grip so that she didn't have to look into those
disturbing, piercing navy blue eyes.
She knew why he was doing this, sitting on this sofa, encouraging her to spill out her life history. He wanted to sleep with
her and was prepared to help her over this little stumbling block simply as a means to an end. What confused her was her own
temptation to yield. She had spent too long on her own, she thought feverishly, too long warding off the rest of the world. She had
confided in Phillip and look where that had got her.
'So you keep telling me. Well, then, why don't you enlighten me?'
He watched the fractional tilt of her head and the stubborn compression of her mouth and thought that if he had any sense
at all he would leave her to her zealously protected thoughts and walk right out of the kitchen door. He wasn't interested in playing
lengthy games with the opposite sex.
'Scared, Sara?' he murmured softly. She didn't answer, just continued to stare unblinkingly in front of her. 'What did that
bastard do to you?' he enquired and it was the gentleness in his voice that did it for her.
HIS CONVINIENT MISTRESS
21
CATHY WILLIAMS
HARLEQUIN PRESENTS 2479
She felt the prick of tears behind her lids and was mortified when one oozed out of the corner of her eye.
'Sorry,' she mumbled, rubbing her fist against her eye and taking several deep breaths. He silently handed her a crisp white
handkerchief and she dabbed her eyes without looking at him and then clenched the handkerchief in her hand. 'I bet you hate women
who cry.'
He flushed darkly when she slid her eyes sideways to catch the expression of discomfort on his face.
'Thought so.'
'I don't hate women who cry, per se,' James said, wondering how he had suddenly happened to find himself on the back
legs.
'You just hate it when they cry because they want more from you than you're prepared to give.'
'We weren't talking about me,' he rasped uncomfortably and Sara impulsively reached out and stroked the side of his cheek.
It was the first time she had glimpsed any loss of that phenomenal self-control and he suddenly looked like a boy, caught having to
confess to something he didn't want to.
James caught her hand in his and nipped her soft palm, looking into her face as he did so. 'Witch,' he murmured, 'don't
think you can change the subject whenever you want to. I'm not through talking to you quite yet.' He trailed his tongue lightly against
the soft underside of her wrist and she gasped at the burst of pleasure that the simple touch invoked.
Phillip had been her first and only lover but his lovemaking had been targeted towards his own satisfaction, something she
had only seen in retrospect and with the advantage of hindsight when the limitations of his personality had become stunningly
obvious. She had had no points of comparison but instinctively she knew that James was not cut from the same cloth. At least not as
far as the sexual game was concerned.
She was breathing quickly as he trailed a leisurely path with his mouth along her arm, finally pulling her towards him so
that he could assault her mouth in a kiss that was lingering and coaxing but ultimately promised total possession. Every pore in her
body was screaming out for satisfaction.
' I& I thought you wanted& to talk. '
'Later. Now& shall we go somewhere more comfortable?' He paused to murmur against her mouth and Sara nodded
drowsily at him.
'Upstairs. My bedroom. It's the first door on the left.' She found that she could barely utter the words coherently.
Before she could put her trembling legs to the test, he had reached out and scooped her up, carrying her through the sitting
room as though she weighed less than a feather, then up the stairs and along the landing until he could nudge open the door to her
bedroom with his foot.
'Please, no lights,' Sara begged, when he made to turn on the overhead light.
'I'll compromise,' he drawled by way of response, and promptly switched on the little lamp on the table by the side of the
king-sized bed, so that the room was bathed in a very soft glow. 'I want to see you, my darling. I want to see your face when I touch
you and I want you to see me.'
He watched her cheeks turn pink and marvelled how a woman who had obviously held her own in the demanding, cut-
throat world of trading could be rendered as shy as a kitten when it came to her own sexuality.
He had laid her on the bed and he looked at her as she stared at him with fascination, her red hair dramatic against the pale
cream bed linen.
Deliberately he removed his clothes, item by item. First his shirt, then his shoes, his socks and his trousers, never letting his
eyes leave her face. Her breath was coming in short little gasps. Did she know how much of a turn-on it was for him to be watched the
way she was watching him now? he wondered. What was going on in her head? She didn't want to be attracted to him, had fought
against it tooth and nail, but she was. So how valuable was his conquest? One part of her was his, but he was slowly discovering that
capturing that one part was not going to be enough. It helped that she wasn't harbouring any nostalgic feelings about her ex, but he still
wanted more than her physical capitulation.
He was thickly and impressively aroused when he stripped off his boxer shorts and he smiled with indolent amusement as
her mouth parted at the sight of him. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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