Wild and Wanton (17 page)

‘I'll pretend that you didn't say that,' he gritted. ‘You don't need me to tell you how disappointed I am in you.'

No, she didn't. It was no more than she expected. She was disappointed in herself, but no way was she going to hang her head in shame. She was big enough to admit that she was wrong, but she wasn't going to admit it to him, not while he was bullying.

Her eyes were bright and defiant as she said, ‘For me the party has just ended. I'll say goodnight.'

‘Get your coat. I'll see you home.'

‘Thanks, but I won't trouble you. I'd rather someone else took me. Anybody but you. Better still, I'll call a cab.'

She wanted to put some distance between them to think things out, and perhaps even shed the tears lurking behind her eyes, which she couldn't do with Nick Farraday looking on.

His expression was as obdurate as hers; the words that were like bullets shot out of a mouth that barely opened to inform her, ‘I don't shelve my responsibilities.'

‘You're not responsible for me,' she contested.

He gave her a scathing look. ‘There's enough dissent between us without getting into an argument about that. My interest in you has been reported in the press. That makes you
extremely
vulnerable, and you will remain so until the issue has been decided one way or the other.'

‘You mean about the Allure promotion?'

His shrug could have meant anything. He didn't speak for several seconds, as though weighing something in his mind. Then he said, ‘We might decide that the few ripples the leak caused are too minor to bother about, in which case the promotion will go ahead. If the alternative decision is reached, the whole thing will be dropped. And I don't give a damn that you have a contract. I'd advise you to read the fine print before considering suing.'

‘We really do have a high opinion of each other, don't we, Nick?' she asked with heavy sarcasm. ‘Or perhaps you know better, and it's your way of getting back at me by suggesting I'd demand payment for work I hadn't done? Now I'm disappointed in you.'

‘So that makes us even,' he mocked. ‘And I'm still taking you home.'

She clenched her teeth tightly. ‘I still don't know why you feel responsible for me.'

‘Someday I might tell you. Now, get your coat.'

She balked at being bossed like that, but nevertheless she did as she was told. It wasn't until she was in his car, his hands on the steering wheel and his concentration on the road, that she muttered rebelliously, ‘Someday you're going to meet someone who isn't going
to
stand for your dictatorial ways, and then you'll get your comeuppance.'

‘I'll let you into a secret; I already have.'

‘Someone besides Luisa,' she retorted.

He made no answer, but then, she hadn't expected one. Neither of them made any attempt at conversation for the rest of the journey.

‘You don't have to see me to my door,' she said in a decisive voice that she hoped he would heed. Wasn't the trick to sound positive?

‘I don't have to, but I'm going to. Not only that, I'm going to see you safely inside. And then . . .'

‘And then?' she asked in a voice that scraped rawly up from her throat.

‘You have no cause for alarm. I'm not going to make violent love to you, no matter how much that would please me. Why are you looking so startled?'

‘I've every right to look startled. That's not the sort of thing one says.'

‘You mean about it pleasing me to make violent love to you? In other words, the thought is permissible, but the airing of it isn't?'

‘One isn't always in control of one's thoughts,' Lindsay admitted rashly, without quite realizing what she was admitting to.

‘Do you have those kinds of thoughts?'

‘Of course not! And if I do,' she said in
contradiction,
‘I don't have them where you're concerned.'

She was so disturbed by the turn of the conversation, and by her own confusion, she didn't utter another word until they were outside her door. She didn't like his being there one tiny bit, but the situation seemed to be out of her control. She hurt inside. True or not, Greg Hammond's revelation had shaken her more than she cared to admit. She wanted to be alone, yet she didn't know how to bar Nick from entering her apartment.

She made a feeble attempt to slip in first. ‘Good night, Nick.'

The door she was determinedly closing on him was thrust open, and she found herself having to back away from it. In terms of sheer physical strength she was decidedly no match for him, although as their eyes locked, something in his seemed to cringe even as they remained steadily on hers, as if he were regretting being the cause of her fury and defiance.

‘I've told you that I'm not going to do anything you wouldn't want me to do,' he spat out in a grim voice.

Was that the crux of the matter? Was it not he at all, but what she wanted him to do, that was frightening her? Everything about him hypnotized her senses. She was held in thrall by his warmth and masculinity, and betrayed by the earthy primitiveness of her own
unbidden
thoughts. Her tongue was relatively easy to tame, but it was getting increasingly difficult to control her wild imagination. There was a febrile desire in her that was appealing to him to overcome her feeble qualms and her equally feeble excuses and take her even if lust was all he felt for her.

‘Greg should be keelhauled for telling you.' Although Nick's eyes were still grim, his tone was noticeably softer. ‘After all, Phil was your brother. And any truth that causes suffering should be put under padlock. I feel kind of helpless, Lindsay.'

‘You?'

‘If you'd fallen and grazed your knees, I could bathe them for you and smear on a dab of soothing antiseptic.' The thought of having her knees bathed and balmed, as if she were a little girl, brought a smile to her lips. ‘But I don't know what to do about a bruised heart.'

‘I'll be fine, really I will,' Lindsay said, thinking how absurd it was for her to be comforting him.

‘Even though I denied having a guilty conscience, that isn't strictly true. I do feel guilty for not showing Phil more tolerance. I didn't understand the forces that could grip a man and make him take something that doesn't rightfully belong to him.'

‘Thank you for saying that, Nick. But if Phil did what you say, what Greg told me, then he was wrong.' Why was she saying if? There was
no
if about it. She knew that if Nick said so, Phil had done these things. ‘Something that's been stolen might give fleeting pleasure, but it doesn't bring lasting happiness. Everything worthwhile in this life has got to be earned.'

A troubled look came to Nick's face, but if Lindsay saw it, she wasn't conscious of it; she was too self-involved to bother about any thoughts of his. She knew that she was going to have to earn Nick's forgiveness for thinking what she had about him, and she was going to have to rise above filial devotion to Phil. Why was Nick looking at her in such a strange way? Couldn't he see how desperately she wanted him to put his arms round her and make love to her? But she was forgetting—you didn't get things because you wanted them; you had to earn them. It might take time for him to come to regard her with affection again. But . . . what if it never happened? Having to wait until he came round was bad enough, but to wait in vain forever would be unbearable.

What impulse now drove her she would never know. She took a step forward, stood on tiptoe, and wound her fingers round his neck, bringing herself where she wanted to be, where she felt she belonged—in the circle of his arms.

For a moment his arms formed a protective wing hovering about her; then they closed down, folding her to him. Her soft, desirable lips parted in readiness, delighting his eyes
with
their moist invitation before he claimed them, taking hungrily of what was so readily given. As the kiss deepened, his tongue intimately foraged the sensuous warmth of her mouth, turning it into a cavern of mutual delight. A wild sweetness exploded between them as her tongue dared to flick briefly against his.

The boldness of her tongue activated her fingers. She tugged at his tie, loosening it and casting it aside so that she could deal with the buttons on his shirt, easing them from their slots. After seeking under his shirt, she slid her hands over his muscled chest, losing her fingertips in the coarse growth of hair.

He in turn assisted her to slide her dress from her shoulders and down over the tautened plane of her stomach and the delicately jutting bones of her hips. As the dress fell his eyes reveled in the lace and satin that covered her creamy breasts. The brilliant blue density of his eyes glazed over as he unfastened the clasp of her bra and filled his hands with her breasts. His fingers exulted in the silky texture of her skin as they moved over the luxurious curves, enticing them to peak for the brush of his lips. The caress was gentle at first, a tingling, teasing warmth of feeling; then a searing fire inflamed her senses as the pressure increased. She wasn't merely receptive—she craved the touch of his hands and tongue.

As
his tongue snaked over and round her excited nipple, she clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders; she wished in wild abandonment that they were sinking into his flesh, not having to penetrate through the restraining material of his jacket. She didn't want any restraints between them. She wanted to be everything to him.

As one delight ended, another began. The rosy, aureoled points of her breasts were crushed against the hard wall of his chest as his mouth returned to hers. Their breath mingled, and passion took over, inducing him to even greater boldness, sweeping her into a richer lushness of feeling. She was drowning in pure velvet sensuality.

They were hovering on the very borderline of control. Lindsay closed her eyes, weak and dizzy, wondering why he didn't take her.

‘What you do to me,' Nick groaned. ‘This is . . .'

‘. . . ecstasy,' she finished for him.

‘No . . . wrong! It's all wrong! God only knows how desperately I need it! But I can't take it. I have to deny myself. I'm not interested in fleeting pleasure. You might hate me for this now, but you'll be glad about it afterward. That's a promise.'

‘You're not . . . going, are you?' she asked, dumb-struck.

He seemed to be doing a lot of gulping. His grin was anguished. ‘I don't want to, and
believe
me, this is a first for me, but I've got to do the right thing.' He turned on his heel, stuffing his tie into his pocket and fastening his shirt as he went.

Helplessly she watched him go, berating herself for being such a fool. Her blindness to his needs had ruined everything between them. Once she had begun to think rationally, why hadn't she told Nick that she believed him, that she had been shocked by her brother's deception? She hadn't been thinking coherently. If she'd been in her right senses she would have known that Nick wasn't capable of what she had been accusing him of. He was too honorable to have used her brother, or any man, as a scapegoat to cover his own misdeeds. Nick had been so sickened by her evaluation of him that even though he had responded to her physically, he wasn't able to bring himself to make love to her. He had fought the primitive force of his desire in order to be at peace with his own conscience. She had disgusted him; he would never want to see her again.

Chapter Eight

Lindsay woke to the insistent ringing of the telephone. Could it be Nick calling to give her one more chance? She almost tripped over her
own
feet in her haste to answer the call.

The keenness of her disappointment upon not hearing Nick's voice was obvious in the flatness of her greeting. ‘Oh, hello, Cathy.'

‘You don't sound very chirpy,' her sister-in-law informed her.

‘I didn't sleep very well,' Lindsay admitted. ‘I feel somewhat fragile this morning.'

‘You sound it. I thought champagne wasn't supposed to give you a hangover, or were you mixing your drinks?' A sharper note entered Cathy's voice. ‘Or couldn't you sleep because of a guilty conscience over the way you set me up?'

‘What do you mean?' Lindsay asked cautiously.

‘You didn't tell me that Greg Hammond would be at the party. That was sneaky. You know he's not one of my favorite people.'

‘I'm not the only one who's been secretive. There are things you haven't told me about Phil.'

‘Whom have you been talking to?'

‘I got it out of Greg Hammond. I was tired of being in the dark about Phil. You could have warned me, Cathy. I walked straight into it; it was like hitting a brick wall.'

‘Perhaps I didn't tell you because I knew you'd believe their version.'

‘Is there another version, Cathy?' Lindsay asked wearily. ‘The thing that puzzles me is why Phil acted the way they say he did. I don't
know,
but I'm getting a strong feeling that more than envy and avarice pushed him to pass himself off as Nick Farraday.' She waited hopefully, but the pause lengthened until it became apparent that Cathy wasn't going to enlighten her. On this subject Cathy was no help to her, sticking resolutely to firmly-held convictions. Sighing, Lindsay said, ‘Honestly, I didn't see it as a set-up last night. And I had the wrong impression about you and Greg Hammond. But from what I saw, you didn't have much difficulty in avoiding him, not with Jim Bourne monopolizing you.'

‘All right, so I'm not as angry with you as I could have been.'

‘So you didn't phone to blast my eardrums?'

‘I couldn't let it pass without saying something; but no, not really. I'm going shopping this morning for clothes. That old complaint, I've nothing to wear, is the absolute truth. I've neglected myself terribly. I was wondering if you'd like to come with me, perhaps offer some frank opinions.'