The Billionaire Affair (8 page)

‘She died an hour after you were born,' Dorothy supplied, shaking her head. ‘It was the talk of the area at the time, a terrible tragedy. You came three weeks early, at the beginning of November.

‘There'd been a surprise heavy snowstorm overnight. Appalling drifts—your dad couldn't get your mum out and no one could get through. You came quickly and your mum haemorrhaged badly, and by the time the emergency helicopter and paramedics arrived it was already too late—all this came out at the inquest.

‘When I got the job as housekeeper I saw how your dad treated you and it's my guess he bitterly resented the fact that you had lived and his wife had died.' She gave a heavy sigh. ‘You grew up to be the living image of her, but you weren't her.'

‘So he couldn't bear to have me around,' Caroline said huskily. ‘He blamed me.'

‘I thought the world of him. Well, you know that, but I wasn't afraid to let him know he was treating you wrong—even if he did tell me to mind my own damn business,' Dorothy conceded. ‘It wasn't your fault, you didn't ask to be born. I did tell him that, more than once. And later, he started to soften up a bit. But by then it was too late. You'd grown prickly and defiant. A terrible shame, really.' She got slowly to her feet. ‘I really should go now, but I'm glad we talked.'

‘I'll drive you.'

Even as Ben made the offer Caroline was conscious of his smouldering gaze; it burned her where it touched. When they'd been together all those years ago he had known she and her father didn't get along but had been unaware of how deep the rift was. She hadn't wanted to talk about her unhappy home life, only about the future they'd planned together.

‘No need,' Dorothy stated. ‘I came in my old rattle-trap.'

‘Then, I'll see you out.'

Caroline smothered a groan. Right now she didn't want Ben's sympathy or his company. She needed time to herself to come to terms with the mess she and her father had made of their relationship, to mourn that final interview when she had screamed at him, vowing she'd rather die than do what he wanted and marry Jeremy, telling him she didn't care if he carried out his threat to throw her out because she never wanted anything more to do with him.

Seventeen going on eighteen, her heart broken and bleeding because of her lover's betrayal, she'd been in no mood for conciliatory words, to soberly tell him that she could never marry the Curtis wealth because she didn't, and never would, love Jeremy Curtis. In too much pain herself to consider her father's possible hurt when she'd declared that she hated him and always had.

It was too late now to retract the bitter words, to tell him she forgave him for not having been able to love her as a father should have because, at last, she understood the reason for his resentment of her.

Her shoulders shook as she buried her head in her hands, her sobs overwhelming her. Only when she felt the light touch of Ben's hand on the top of her head did she make a determined but not too successful effort to pull herself together.

‘Don't,' he said softly as he cupped her elbows and pulled her to her feet, his arms holding her close. ‘Tonight you learned something you hadn't known before and naturally enough it's upset you. But your father treated you abominably, Caro. His memory doesn't deserve this amount of grief.'

He framed her tear-stained face with long-fingered hands, his thumbs stroking back tendrils of raven-dark hair. ‘He was a man obsessed by the memory of his one great love and I can understand that, but not his treatment of an innocent child. If the two of you were estranged for the last years of his life it wasn't your fault.'

Caroline shook her head mutely, her breath shaking in her lungs, her fingers clutching his shoulders convulsively, as if she could take strength from the warm solidity of muscle and bone. The compassion and caring in his beautiful eyes, in the tender set of that sensual mouth, made her tremble, taking her back through the years to the place she had been when he'd not only been her first and devastatingly exciting lover but her very best friend, a rock she could have clung to in any storm.

Her soft lips parting, she managed a shaky, ‘No.' Then, more steadily, she confessed sadly, ‘When I was little I wanted him to love me more than any
thing in the world. But I knew he didn't. Sometimes I saw him looking at me as if he hated me. I thought it was my fault, that there was something horrible about me.'

She shook her head, silencing him when he gave a growl of repudiation deep in his throat. ‘Dorothy was right on two counts. At one time he did try to build bridges, to take an interest when I was home for school holidays, asking about the friends I'd made, what books I was reading.'

She scooped in a shaky breath. ‘But it was too late. I was a defiant fifteen by then, used to being pushed away, ignored. I shrugged away any overture he tried to make, stuck my nose in the air and walked away, letting him know I didn't need him, didn't need anyone.' She gave a shaky sigh. ‘That was the end of any hope of any harmony in our spiky relationship. I bitterly regret it now.'

His body tensed against hers and there was the shadow of a catch in his voice as he told her, ‘That reaction would have been entirely natural, given the circumstances. You truly don't have to regret it. The only thing you should regret is the fact that his treatment of you made you wary of—or incapable of—committing to a permanent relationship. I understand that.'

He didn't understand at all, she thought wearily. She would have committed the rest of her life to Ben if things hadn't gone so badly wrong, if he hadn't deceived her. But right now she was too drained to
put him straight on that score, and her head fell forward, resting against the solid expanse of his chest.

All she wanted was the oblivion of sleep, to rid her tired brain of aching regrets, of the confusion of her heart and body wanting and needing this one man with something approaching ferocity and her brain telling her in no uncertain terms that he wasn't to be trusted.

So when he murmured, ‘You're emotionally drained, sweetheart. We'll talk again in the morning. Right now you need sleep,' she could only nod in thankful agreement and push away the admonitory voice in her brain that told her to object when he scooped her into his arms and carried her up to his room.

H
IS
bedroom. His bed. The covers still rumpled from this afternoon's wild love-making. Something electric quivered all the way through her.

Why had he brought her here instead of taking her to her own room? Silly question. He aimed to take advantage of her while she was stricken…

A low, self-denigrating moan escaped her as he slid her down the length of his body and set her on her feet. Who was she trying to fool? There was a fatal weakness in her where he was concerned, a deep craving that banished sanity and pride. And if he stayed this close to her one moment longer it would be she who would be taking advantage of him!

Wanton heat was already pooling between her thighs and something caught at the back of her throat as she raised the sultry heaviness of her lashes and let her glazed eyes roam the savagely handsome planes of his face, meeting the slightly frowning, brooding intensity of those gypsy dark eyes.

She shuddered convulsively as a wave of fierce longing flooded right through her. She needed to feel that sensually carved mouth on hers again, to take the thrusting masculine pride of his body into hers again—a need so desperate it ravaged her chaotic senses…

Her bones shaking, she reached out to him, but…

‘You're out on your feet, sweetheart,' Ben remarked softly, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders, holding her upright as she swayed involuntarily towards him. ‘Skip the shower tonight. You need sleep.'

The caring in his voice brought fresh tears to her eyes, mortifying her. She who never cried had shed enough to float a battleship over the past few hours.

Nothing to do with the trauma of at last learning just why her father had so bitterly resented her existence, nor the painful memories of that final interview—just Ben, his compassion. His caring for her well-being during their long-ago love affair had been one of the things that had made her love him so.

Yet that didn't gel with the way he'd washed his hands of any responsibility towards Maggie Pope and his baby daughter…

She muffled a sob as he began to undress her, peeling away her blouse then undoing the waistband of her linen trousers, the backs of his fingers grazing the soft, sensitised skin of her tummy.

Caroline gasped, her stomach muscles tightening as he slid the fabric down her hips. Did he know what he was doing—the effect he was having on her? How every nerve in her body leapt? How her heart was thundering wildly sending fire to every part of her in a raging torrent of need? How her breasts were swelling, the rosy peaks hard, aching for his mouth?

Risking a glance from under her lashes she saw that he didn't show even a casual interest in the twin
globes he released as he unclipped her bra, merely dropping the filmy garment to the floor before turning his attention to her briefs with a smooth efficiency that made her burn with frustration.

Was he totally unaware of how wildly aroused she was, of how much she needed him? Did he think he was being considerate, leaving her in this state?

She thought she heard the sharp tug of his breath as she held onto him for balance while she shakily stepped out of the briefs he'd slid down the length of her legs, her engorged breasts brushing against him. And then she was sure she had to have imagined it when he laid almost clinical hands on her shoulders, turning her round then briskly plumping up the pillows, holding back the lightweight duvet, telling her levelly, ‘In you get. I don't think you should be alone to brood tonight. So I'll be right beside you if you feel the need to talk, for someone to hold you. Just hold you, OK, Caro?'

A catch in her throat, she stumbled into the bed, felt the duvet settle upon her, heard him move away, heard the gush of the shower in the
en suite
, turned her face into the pillow and bit it. Hard.

 

It seemed hours before he joined her, the raging torment of wanting him so much it hurt making the sleep she needed impossible to come by.

He hadn't said a word when he'd finally exited the
en suite
. He'd simply walked across the room, switching off the light, closing the door to his private
suite of rooms quietly behind him, leaving her alone in this room for what must have been ages.

Now Caroline heard the rustle of his clothing as he undressed in the darkness, felt the mattress dip as he slid in beside her, taking care not to disturb her.

Disturb her? She was disturbed enough to be in a white-hot sexual frenzy!

He settled down, his back to her, an aching void away in the huge bed. And she commanded thickly because she couldn't help it, because she was driven, ‘Hold me, Ben. Please, hold me!'

She sensed him stiffen, the darkness around them tensing for one brief second before he turned and gathered her to him, folding his arms around her, tucking her head into the angle of his shoulder, his warm breath fanning her cheek as he murmured gently, ‘I'm here, sweetheart. You'd like to talk?'

He too was naked. Her skin ignited against his, her blood exploding in her veins. Talk? They had to, of course they did. About Maggie, his child, the money he'd taken from her father. But not now.

Now she wanted him. Just him. The utter perfection of their physical mating, the bad things forgotten, just for now. Tomorrow would be soon enough for this fantasy of love to end, to tell him that she could never marry a man she couldn't trust.

‘No!' she uttered hoarsely. ‘Make love to me. I need you.' And she pressed her tingling breasts against the hard wall of his chest, wrapping her legs around his, drawing one of his thighs between hers, melting with delirium as she felt his instant, leaping
response against the frantically quivering flesh of her abdomen. ‘Now, Ben! Now!'

She heard him take a sudden breath and knew the control he'd been keeping had been fractured when he turned her on her back and straddled her. Then, with tormenting slowness he ran his hands down the length of her writhing body until he found the warm, secret dampness at the juncture of her thighs.

Caroline moaned aloud, his skilful fingers driving her to the point of no return and when his mouth replaced them she arched and bucked and cried his name as waves of ecstasy convulsed her, over and over, until she reached out and caught his head between her hands and kissed him, her breath sobbing raggedly in her lungs.

His own breathing was raw as he pulled her down with him and kicked away the duvet. Linking his fingers with hers he said with sultry confidence, ‘That was for you. Now we do it my way, sweetheart. Slowly, very, very slowly…'

 

When Caroline woke she half expected to feel ashamed of her behaviour, but all she felt was a glorious wave of happiness and a sweet, drenching contentment.

She stirred and stretched lazily, voluptuously, and Ben's deep, honeyed voice said, ‘Just like a lithe little cat.'

Lifting her lashes her soft amethyst eyes located him. Standing above her, clad in a short terry robe, his hair damp from the shower, he looked utterly
gorgeous, the harsh, proud planes of his face curiously softened, his mouth a sultry, kissable curve.

Her heart wrenching over she hoisted herself back against the pillows as he put the two mugs of coffee he'd been carrying down on the bedside table then perched on the edge of the bed beside her.

‘Now, there's a sight a man would gladly kill for,' he remarked silkily, his black eyes roaming her nakedness with languorous attention to every detail. ‘Perfection against his pillows.'

His smile was so sexy it took her breath away, and she couldn't breathe at all when he dipped his dark head and lapped each tingling, pouting nipple then took her parted lips with an intimacy that blew her mind.

Her hands flew to his head, fingers tangling with the thick dark strands, as his tongue mimicked the staggering activities of the night, her body leaping with immediate, feverish response. But he drew away, his hands capturing hers, his eyes glinting wickedly beneath the lowered fan of his thick, spiky lashes.

‘I've a proposition to put to you.'

Caroline dragged in a much needed breath as her heart twisted sharply. A proposition, not a proposal, thank the lord. She did not, most definitely not, want to have to think about his proposal of the evening before.

She didn't want to think of anything at all. The focus of her world, just for these few precious mo
ments, was this man, the love for him that had burgeoned into strong, new life.

‘We make today a holiday. We don't talk or think about anything but the two of us, the way we are now. The past, the future, won't get a mention.'

She saw a brief flicker of uncertainty in his eyes and gave him a glorious smile, assuring him throatily, ‘That's absolutely fine by me!'

Couldn't be finer, in fact. Another magical twenty-four hours when reality didn't get a look in, when nothing bad marred the magic of letting herself drift with the flow of loving him.

‘Then—' the wicked confidence was back in his eyes now, in the smile that curved the beautifully sculpted mouth as he reached over and put one of the delicate china mugs in her hand ‘—coffee first, followed by a shower—and it will be my pleasure to help you—and we'll take it from there.'

 

The shower took longer than any shower she'd ever taken before, the touch of his long fingers on every part of her soap-slicked body a new and decidedly erotic experience, just begging her to do the same to him, to share with him the intense pleasure she was feeling. And when he eased her back against the marble tiled wall, parted her trembling thighs and thrust possessively into her waiting body she knew that heaven couldn't offer a sweeter experience than this.

‘I can't get enough of you.' His voice was still hoarse long after their mingled cries of rapture had
been swallowed by the hiss of the water. ‘It was always like this for us, remember?'

‘Don't.' She placed her hand over his mouth to silence him. The writhing tendrils of steam made his features blurred, out of focus. ‘We don't mention the past. We are simply what we are,' she reminded him, refusing to remember those long-gone good times because then she might have to remember the bad.

‘And we are spectacular.' He grinned, conceding her point, reaching up to turn off the shower head.

And that she had to agree with, Caroline thought as he helped her out of the stall and wrapped her in a fluffy towel that smelt of sunshine and flowers. Cuddling into the folds she watched him, with dreamy eyes towel himself dry, drinking in the pagan splendour of his male physique, making one more memory to add to all the others.

As if he'd seen the sudden wistfulness behind her eyes, he reached out to cup the side of her face with one gentle hand. ‘Mop yourself up and dress, sweetheart. I won't offer to do it for you because we wouldn't get breakfast before supper time if I did. Will toast and tea be enough, or shall I boil eggs?'

‘Just toast,' she said croaking around the sudden lump in her throat. Was it still the lingering remnant of steam or had her eyes misted with tears? She certainly felt like weeping all over again. Today was meant to be a stolen slice of paradise, wasn't it? No room for looking back, or forward, no room for regrets, for tears.

She moved away, plucked a fresh towel from one
of the heated rails and wrapped it around her dripping hair, rubbing vigorously. When she emphasised, ‘Tea and toast will be fine,' she sounded nicely cheerful.

Apparently satisfied, he walked through to the bedroom and she gave him ten minutes before she made her way to the room she'd been using. Passing the place where the mahogany linen press had once stood she had a sharp pang of conscience.

She really ought to get in touch with base, tell them she'd be returning in the morning. In view of the small amount of actual work she'd had to do here they'd wonder why it had taken her this long.

But she pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She'd phone first thing in the morning, before she set out. Today was hers. And Ben's. One more day out of a lifetime wasn't too much to ask, was it?

Tossing the things she'd worn the day before into her empty suitcase she slipped into clean silk undies and pondered what to wear as she stroked the brush through her damp hair. She didn't know what Ben's plans were but there was no one else in the house. The builders had removed the scaffolding yesterday morning, and the men currently at work making the golf course were on the opposite side of the estate.

Just the two of them, and whatever she put on wouldn't stay on for very long, she was sure of that. Her stomach wriggled at the thought, excited anticipation already building up inside her again. Just like the old times…

She brutally strangled the thought and picked up the faded, much washed jeans Linda had lent her.

They were indeed too wide and too short in the leg but she took the narrow leather belt from her own linen trousers and anchored the denim waist to her own much narrower one. Teamed with one of her own blouses, pale blue crêpe with short sleeves and a smooth V neckline, her bare feet pushed into her loafers, her hair a wild cloud falling to her shoulders, she looked nothing at all like the aloof, elegantly packaged career woman who had arrived here only a few short days ago.

The sudden rush of relief as she gazed at her haphazardly attired and comfortably unsophisticated reflection made her grin. She felt and looked more relaxed than she had done for years. Eschewing her usual, perfect make-up, she left the room, her feet on wings as she sped down to the kitchen.

 

Ben had gone ahead and boiled eggs anyway and the aroma of fresh coffee and warm toast made Caroline's mouth water. They were using the butcher's-block table beneath one of the sun-warmed windows and he'd produced honey and orange juice too.

‘I can't remember ever eating such a huge breakfast,' she confessed, as she accepted a second cup of coffee after they'd stacked the used crockery in the dishwasher, wondering if she should loosen the narrow leather belt by a couple of notches.