Merger By Matrimony (12 page)

‘Of course,' he said, briefly turning to look at her from across the room, ‘it hasn't helped that you've instigated the revolution by telling her that she was a poor, downtrodden female who needed to get in touch with herself and start making a stand for women's rights.'

‘I did no such thing!' Destiny protested uncomfortably.

‘Well—' he shrugged ‘—she's been quoting you from dawn till dusk. Oh,
Destiny this,
and
Destiny that
and
Destiny the other.
'

‘That's not fair,' Destiny said hesitantly, wondering what exactly these quotes were.

‘No, it's not, is it?' he countered, strolling over to where she was sitting and looming over her like an
avenging angel. ‘Because, stuck out in the middle of nowhere, you haven't exactly got the experience to be a guru on all things sexual, have you?'

‘I never claimed I was!' Destiny said, rising to the occasion. It took a mammoth effort to stare him down, and in all events she didn't manage it, finally lowering her eyes to his knees, which were altogether less alarming than other, less innocent, parts of him.

‘Do you know—' he dropped his voice, which was even more alarming than when it was directed at her with all its implicit menace ‘—that for someone with little or no experience, you do a pretty damned good job of being a siren?'

‘Me? A siren?' She laughed, but what emerged was more along the lines of a hysterical choke. ‘You're joking, aren't you? Where do you think I've learnt these amazing skills of being a siren? Do you think I practise daily in front of the howler monkeys in the jungle?' She laughed derisively, thinking of her sheltered, protected background which had left all these loopholes she was now falling headlong into.

‘You,' he accused, walking towards her so that she coiled back into the chair. He reached out and dropped his hands to either side. ‘So philosophical when it comes to giving advice. I bet you and Steph had a good old heart-to-heart while I wasn't here, while I was in that pub burying myself in a few draughts of whisky, man's most reliable friend…'

‘I thought you said you were on your way to London…?'

‘I was. But the journey ended prematurely at the village pub. Funny how these things happen.'

They happen, Destiny thought, because—whether you admit it or not—the break-up was traumatic for you. A
man like him would need a submissive woman, a woman who was willing to bend like a sapling to his powerful personality, and the minute that Stephanie began showing signs of rebellion he had reacted with his typical overwhelming intensity. Perhaps the truth of the story was that Stephanie had ended their relationship and pride would not let him try to win her back, so, in her relief, Stephanie had misread his signals for feelings of shared relief that it was over. It all seemed so horrendously convoluted, but wasn't Destiny fast discovering that nothing here was what it seemed? People dressed, spoke and behaved in a manner designed to create a certain type of impression, and honesty was something that remained locked away for a rainy day.

‘So you've been drinking,' she accused coolly, and he gave a bark of humourless laughter.

‘A glass or two of whisky. Is that allowed under the circumstances?'

‘You probably need to go to bed,' Destiny said. Her body was beginning to ache from the unnatural angle in which she was sitting, pressed back against the chair in an attempt to ward off the sheer force of his masculinity.

‘Is that an offer?'

‘No, it's not!' But the suggestion stirred something in her that sent her already accelerated heart into overdrive. Bed? With Callum Ross? Naked bodies coated in perspiration, writhing in passion on rumpled sheets. The image was strong enough to almost make her squeak with terror. ‘Look, why don't I make you some coffee?' In other words, Please let me get out of here and away from you so that I can pull myself together.

‘You think that's what I need?'

‘It might…sober you up…'

‘I'm not drunk.'

‘No, maybe not, but…'

‘Oh, why not?' He pushed himself back and stood up, fists balled in his pockets, watching her.

‘Black?'

‘Whatever.' He shrugged and she escaped out of the room, and, after a moment of brief orientation in the hall to make sure that she headed in the right direction and didn't amble off to some remote corner of the house by mistake, made for the kitchen.

She didn't hear him enter. In fact, she was only aware of his presence when she turned around with the cup of coffee in her hand to find him standing there behind her. In her shock she took two steps backwards, bumping into the counter, and there was a second's delay between the coffee spilling and the sudden burning pain on her hand, where most of it had gone. This time her yelp had nothing to do with him but with her hand.

She dashed the cup on the counter and half ran to the sink, pushing the plug in and filling it with cold water; then she plunged her hand in, gritting her teeth.

‘This is your fault!' she wailed. ‘If you hadn't sneaked up on me like that, none of this would have happened.' Through the water she could see the raised red smudge where the coffee had touched. It would come up in a nasty blister and hurt for a bit, but it wasn't serious. When she looked at him, though, his face was deathly pale.

‘I'm sorry,' he said roughly. ‘Do you need to see a doctor?'

‘Don't be ridiculous. It's a burn, not a broken hand.'

‘God. Abe must have had some kind of first-aid supplies in this bloody mausoleum.' He began pulling open cupboard doors which were either empty, or else yielded stores of pristine, unused china.

‘I'll be fine.'

He swung back to her, raking his hand through his hair. ‘There's no need to play the martyr, Destiny.'

‘I'm not playing the martyr. Look, why don't you go and sit down? Or make yourself another cup of coffee.'

‘You're right. It
was
my fault.' He stood next to her and they both watched her splayed fingers under the water. ‘How does it feel now? Is that helping? Should I get a dishcloth and soak it in some water? I've got a first-aid kit in my car. No, forget that, the car's at the pub. We can't even get out of this damned place to get you to a hospital!' he groaned, and Destiny sighed deeply.

‘It's a coffee burn, for heaven's sake. Surely you must have dealt with this type of thing before?'

‘Not really, no.'

‘You've never burnt yourself before?'

‘Not that I can remember. My mother always taught me to be careful around hot things.' His anger had dissipated, which was good, she thought, although the humour creeping into his voice was almost as dangerous.

She whipped her hand out of the water and said, in a soothing voice, ‘There, it feels much better now.'

‘Wait there.' He fetched a dry cloth and gently dabbed the water off, while her heart seemed to do a funny kind of somersault and end up somewhere in her throat. ‘You'd better come and sit down.'

‘You're overreacting!' Destiny protested fruitlessly, as he led her very slowly back into the sitting room, holding her wrapped hand as though it was made of breakable crystal.

‘Now, sit.'

She obediently sat on the sofa and, alarmingly, he sat next to her, so that the sofa depressed under his weight and her body slid an infinitesimal amount closer to his,
so that they were lightly touching. He gently rested her hand on his leg and removed the cloth.

‘Looks much better,' she said weakly.

‘Looks bloody awful.'

‘You need to feast your eyes on something truly awful, and you'd agree with me that the hand looks fine.'

‘Something…like what?'

‘Something…like a human missing a bit because of an overhungry croc? Or something…like a person with a hand infected with snake toxin.'

‘I don't know how you do it.' Her hand was still on his leg and she looked at him, her mouth half-open, acutely conscious of the feel of his hard thigh under her fingers, even though he seemed blissfully unaware of it.

‘Do what?' she asked, shutting her mouth.

‘Live the life that you do.' Their eyes met. To her, they seemed to fuse and she felt a wave of giddiness steal over her.

‘You make it sound as though I'm some kind of latter-day heroine,' she said a little breathlessly, ‘and I'm not.'

‘Do you ever long for escape?'

‘Don't we all?' She wished that the lighting wasn't quite so dim, but there was no overhead light. The room was lit by a series of lamps, only two of which were actually turned on.

‘How's the hand?'

‘Barely feel a thing,' she answered truthfully. She dutifully stared at it, and he lightly traced a pattern along her fingers.

‘Will you miss this evil city of ours, then? Or are you itching to get back to your country? God, I make it sound as if you're not English, but of course you are. In fact, you even speak better English than most people over here do.'

She laughed nervously. Her hand had developed a will of its own and was enjoying itself on his thigh. ‘That's only because my parents were so adamant about speaking it at home. I never really picked up an accent or slang from anyone else. Can you imagine if you spoke English only to your parents?'

‘Oh, I can imagine a lot of things—' he paused ‘—but not that. You still haven't answered me.
Are
you itching to get back to Panama?'

‘Is this your way of asking me whether I've made my mind up about the house as yet?' She withdrew her hand from its compromising position and cradled it on her own lap with her other hand.

‘No, it's not!' he shot back at her. ‘Damn the house. It's the last thing on my mind at the moment.'

Destiny looked at him warily. ‘And what is the
first
thing on your mind?'

For a few seconds he didn't answer. He just looked at her until she could feel every drop of colour leave her face and then rush back in a tidal wave, turning her crimson.

‘This is,' he muttered. He put his hand at the back of her neck and pulled her towards him, then his mouth met hers.

Or, rather, his mouth assaulted hers. His lips were hungry and his tongue pushed into the moistness of her mouth. His hand pulled her towards him, fingers buried in her thick hair and, after a split second of confusion, during which she made a feeble attempt to break away, Destiny surrendered to all the powerful, primal feelings suddenly released inside her.

From her near-frozen state of virginal innocence, this awakening was explosive. Had she been conducting her entire life in a state of slumber? she wondered. She coiled
her arms around his neck, moaning in surprise and pleasure when his mouth left hers to trail wetly along the slim column of her neck.

She knew all about the birds and the bees. Before her mother had died, she had sat Destiny down and told her. And, of course, she had studied enough medical journals to be fully acquainted with the act of mating and reproduction. But what she was experiencing now bore no resemblance to all those clinical explanations she had read about in her youth, and it bore even less resemblance to what she had felt with Henri, during their occasional amateurish gropings.

A wild animal had taken over her body. She writhed and groaned and
wanted.
They slipped backwards onto the huge sofa and she closed her eyes as he pushed up her baggy shirt, pulling it over her head while she obligingly extended her arms to accommodate him. She had never been inhibited about her body and the removal of her shirt felt wonderful, allowed her more movement.

‘You're beautiful,' he rasped huskily, and she half-opened her eyes and smiled.

‘Don't talk,' she whispered and those two words sent a shiver of crazy adrenaline rushing around his body like a fever. He could feel her breathing heavily beneath him. Her breathing was an aphrodisiac. In fact, he had never felt so consumed by lust in his life before. Every experience he'd ever had with any woman now seemed like minor dress rehearsals for this one big, overwhelming experience.

Just restraining his urge to rip off the bra that barely contained her breasts was both painful and wildly intoxicating. He kissed and nibbled the thrusting swell, guiding his tongue into her cleavage and enjoying her abandoned response to his touch.

Love and lust was a heady mixture. He could feel her innocence under his fingers, innocence without the coyness which most women possessed in generous measure. She wanted him and she wasn't hardened enough to try and dissemble. He unclasped the front opening of her bra and moaned in anticipation of the pleasure he would get pulling it aside, freeing those large breasts from their imprisonment. God, he wanted to slow down—but he couldn't. His body wasn't behaving sensibly enough for any such thing.

He was only just beginning to realise how long he had wanted this woman. It felt like for ever.

He slowly pushed aside her bra and his breathing thickened as he feasted his eyes on her breasts. She didn't want talking—oh, no—and nor did he, but if he'd been inclined he could have spent at least an hour expounding on what he was looking at. Firm, big breasts with big, swollen brown nipples, each topped with protruding buds that seemed to be begging for his lips.

This he would not rush, even though his throbbing, stiff manhood, pushing against his zipped trousers, was making its demands very clear.

He bent his head to one breast and flicked his tongue over the protruding bud. This woman's body, like her company, was worth savouring. He wanted to taste every inch of her, and then he wanted to repeat the process all over again.

Her hands moved to his head, urging him to do more than just lick, and he pushed her breasts up with his hands, suckling avidly on the nipples, turned on by the sheen of his saliva on them.