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Insecurity made her say it, even as he impatiently tugged the T-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. ‘I expect you do this kind of thing all the time? Make love on planes?’
His hand stopped from where it had been just about to undo her bra and his eyes darkened with an emotion which went deeper than desire. ‘Don’t ask,’ he said. ‘And don’t project, because if you can’t enjoy this for what it is, then it isn’t going to happen. Understand?’
And suddenly she couldn’t bear not to do it. Who cared how many women had come before her, or how many would inevitably follow? Why couldn’t she just live in the moment and take what he was offering? And what he was offering was sex. Amazing and beautiful sex for the second time in her life. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Yes.’
He didn’t say anything more, just reached down to unfasten the button of her jeans before sliding the zip down and dipping his hand beneath the elasticated edge of her panties. His middle fing
er tangled luxuriously in the soft fuzz of hair there, before beginning to stroke rhythmically at her slick, wet flesh and she couldn’t stop the small yelp of pleasure she gave.
‘No!’ Frustratingly, his fingers stilled. ‘I choose my staff for their discretion, but I have no desire to provide a floorshow by having you moan out loud when I make you come,’ he ground out. ‘So either you enjoy this in silence or we’re both going to have a very frustrating journey ahead of us.’
His clipped words were so outrageous that Sophie was tempted to tell him to forget the whole idea, but the sensation of his fingers against her aroused flesh was much more tempting and suddenly the last of her pride shrivelled beneath the heat of her desire. Did he sense her capitulation? Was that why, with a sensual dexterity which dazed her in every which way, he laid her down on the floor of the aircraft and tugged her panties and jeans down to her ankles. She waited for him to tug them off but he shook his head and answered her unspoken question.
‘No. The jeans stay. You’ll be able to spread your legs for me, but only so far. It’ll make you feel...wicked, which is exactly how I’m feeling right now.’ He unzipped himself and pulled his trousers down, his erection springing free as he lowered himself down to position himself between her restricted legs. ‘You need to try dirty sex—’
‘D-dirty sex?’
‘Mmm.’ He stroked on a condom. ‘Surreptitious, partially clothed and very...’ he thrust into her suddenly ‘...urgent.’
He powered deep inside her and Sophie gripped onto his broad shoulders as her body began to accommodate his stroke. He was still almost fully clothed, she thought, yet somehow that only added to her mounting excitement. Some of what she was experiencing was the same as last night—that blood-racing exhilaration and rapid acceleration of pleasure—but some of it was radically different. And he was right. The fact that her jeans were restricting her movements only added to the excitement of what was happening. She was his prisoner, she thought weakly. His willing prisoner.
She lifted her face, her lips seeking his, eager for a kiss which would blot out the urgent cries which wanted to bubble up from her throat. But there were other reasons for wanting to kiss him. She liked the way his lips made her feel. Because even if it was nothing but an illusion, they made her feel cosseted. But it was too late for kisses because suddenly her body began to spasm and just as suddenly he began to buck inside her with a ragged groan of his own, as he made those last few, final thrusts.
She waited for him to say something which might imply an ending of the undoubted hostilities which were still shimmering between them. Something to acknowledge that what had just happened had been beyond fantastic. Again. He’d told her she didn’t have the experience to know that the sex was amazing, but she could just about work out for herself that it was.
‘Better go and freshen up,’ he suggested softly, giving her bare bottom a light tap. ‘And then I’ll ring for some coffee.
Her heart contracted with disappointment at his careless reaction but she made sure she didn’t show it, silently picking up her rucksack and carrying it to one of the bathrooms at the far end of the cabin. She emerged some time later, with her hair neatly brushed and a clean T-shirt tucked into her jeans, but the cursory gaze he flicked over her wasn’t particularly warm.
‘You’re going to need something to wear for the ceremony,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got anything suitable in your rucksack?’
‘Not a thing, I’m afraid.’ She forced a smile, wishing he would at least acknowledge the intimacy they’d just shared, instead of staring at her so coolly. ‘I left all my silks and satins behind at the palace.’
Rafe nodded as he reached for the phone. ‘In that case I’ll contact one of my assistants and arrange to have some suitable clothes brought to the aircraft when we land.’ He paused. ‘And in the meantime, perhaps you could find something to amuse yourself with for the rest of the flight. Something which doesn’t involve looking at me alluringly with those big blue eyes and asking personal questions. Because I have work to do and you’re distracting me, Sophie.’
CHAPTER SIX
THEY ARRIVED AT just past midnight when huge white flakes were tumbling from the night sky as if someone were having a celestial pillow fight. Rafe’s limousine negotiated the final bend of the narrow road and it began to inch its way up the long drive towards his brother’s Cotswold mansion.
Sophie peered out of the window at the night-time English countryside, thinking that if circumstances were different she might have enjoyed the snowy beauty of rural England—especially in contrast to the beating heat of Australia. But for now she was just grateful for the fact that the big house was shrouded in darkness—the faint, fairy-lighted glow gleaming behind the glass over the front door indicating that everyone had gone to bed. Thank heavens. She wasn’t sure if she could face a reception committee and wondered if Rafe had arranged that deliberately by insisting they stop at a small pub for dinner on the way here. Perhaps he’d been delaying the inevitable meeting with his family because he didn’t know how to introduce her. It meant she’d eaten her first ever meal in a British pub, enjoying the shepherd’s pie the landlord had recommended though less keen on the warm beer Rafe had insisted she try.
In the back of the car were a large selection of clothes which he’d ordered to be delivered to the plane when they touched down in England—and she was now wearing some of them. Gone were the cheap jeans and T-shirt and in their place was an exquisite cashmere dress, which clung to every curve of her body, along with a pair of beautiful leather boots. They were the kind of clothes she was used to wearing, but along with her sudden change of image came that familiar sense of being on show again. She stared straight ahead, realising how much she had enjoyed her uncomplicated life of anonymity and realising it was about to come to an abrupt end.
‘You okay?’ Rafe questioned as the car slid to a halt in front of the house.
‘Not really. I feel as nervous as hell,’ she said truthfully.
‘You?’ In the shadowy light, his eyes narrowed. ‘But you must have met hundreds of new people over the years.’
Probably thousands, she thought—but never like this. Meeting somebody’s family on equal terms was something she’d never had to do before. Mostly people knew who she was and had prepared accordingly and everyone was always on their best behaviour when a princess was around. She stared out of the window again and it seemed that the sleeping house had been nothing but an illusion, because the moment their car swished to a snowy halt the front door opened and a woman appeared in the doorway as if she’d been listening out for them. Her greying hair matched a dress which was clearly a uniform and Sophie saw immediately what the glow behind the front door had been—a giant Christmas tree, dominating a vast and imposing wood-panelled hall.
Rafe smiled as the woman in the uniform stepped forward.
‘Sophie, I’d like you to meet Bernadette, our housekeeper,’ he said, ‘who has been with different factions of this family for many years. And if she wasn’t the soul of discretion, she could earn a living writing about the exploits of the infamous Carter family, couldn’t you, Bernadette?’
‘Sure, and who would want to read anything about you lot?’ answered Bernadette, her accent warm and Irish. ‘And aren’t you forgetting your manners? Who’s this beautiful young lady?’
Rafe introduced her simply as ‘Sophie’ and Bernadette seemed content with that. And at least Sophie was able to chat easily to the housekeeper. Six months ago and her observations would have been stiff and formal, but working at Poonbarra meant she could now identify with the housekeeper in a way which would have been unthinkable before. She had learnt how to mix with ordinary folk, she realised—and for that she must be grateful.
