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And then, to her utter horror—and his—the lift gave a slight lurch and they heard a distant mechanical thrumming.
They stilled as they listened—every nerve-ending straining for the sound that neither wanted to hear. The lift stayed unmoving.
Oh, thank God, thought Jennifer.
‘You want me?’ he demanded starkly.
Against his neck she nodded her heavy head mutely.
Matteo acted decisively. Ripping apart her delicate panties so that they fluttered redundantly to the floor, he plunged deep inside her and then effortlessly lifted her up so that she could wrap her legs around his back.
He began to move, slowly at first, wanting to prolong it—to make this heaven last until the end of time and then a little longer still. He made a broken little cry as he thrust in and out of her, knowing that he had never been this hard before, feeling her tremble uncontrollably in his arms. He felt the thrust of her hips towards him in unspoken plea, a gesture he knew of old. And Matteo cupped her buttocks and plunged deeper still, hearing her throaty moan of satisfaction.
And then the lights began to flicker, catching fragments of their movements like an old
black and white movie. He moved faster still as the lift began to whirr into life.
Jennifer felt herself beginning to come. ‘Matteo, no!’ she gasped, but she knew in her heart that it was too late. Sensation caught her up and carried her away and she heard his oh-so-familiar groan as he went with her, felt the helpless shuddering of this big man in her arms.
Mixed in with intense relief and pleasure was confusion and anger as Matteo orgasmed inside her—aware that he had just put both their reputations on the line in a way which was scarcely believable. The flickering lights righted themselves just as he withdrew from her, and all he could see was her horrified face. ‘Jenny—’
‘What have we done?’ she whispered.
His mouth twisted. Surely it was a little late in the day for regrets? ‘You want a biology lesson?’
Her eyes were huge sapphire saucers. ‘You seduced me!’ she accused hoarsely.
He almost laughed out loud at her temerity. ‘I seduced you?’ he repeated incredulously. ‘You may have always had a problem differentiating between truth and fiction, but that really is taking it a little far, Jenny!’
She wanted to hit him again. And she wanted him to make love to her again. Oh, what was she thinking? That hadn’t even gone close to ‘making love’. What had just happened had been a quick wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am.
All it had been about was swift gratification and intense pleasure. On a physical level it had been wonderful—on an emotional one completely empty. She turned her head away, not wanting him to see the shame and self-contempt in her eyes.
‘Now what do we do?’ she questioned shakily.
So she couldn’t bear to look at him now? Was that it? She hadn’t been so damned picky when she was grinding her hips against him! ‘There’s no time for an in-depth analysis,’ he grated, as he heard an echoing shout in French from the bottom of the lift shaft and bent to pick up her discarded panties. ‘I think we’re about to be rescued.’
The blood was pounding at her temples and in her groin, and she closed her eyes in despair. Rescued? Dear God, no.
Despite his anger and misgivings, Matteo knew that he had to take charge—because otherwise this would develop from a regrettable one-off into a drama which could have lasting repercussions. Quickly he adjusted his clothing and raked his gaze over her, a nerve beginning to work at his temple as he saw that the front of her silk dress was dark with the stain of love-juice.
‘Damn!’ he exploded softly, as he stuffed her tattered panties into his jacket pocket.
She followed the direction of his gaze and blushed a deep scarlet. Oh, how could they have? But she saw the detached look on his face and took her lead from it. She would take it in her stride—as he was so obviously doing. Maybe he does this kind of thing all the time these days? she thought bitterly. ‘So, now what do I do?’
‘Here. Put my jacket on,’ he instructed tersely. He helped her wriggle into it and buttoned it up for her as if she were a child.
Frantically she smoothed down what she could of her hair and wiped a finger under each eye, wondering if her mascara had smudged.
For a moment their eyes met, and Jennifer swallowed, wondering whether she would meet contempt or triumph in his. For what man could not be forgiven for feeling either or both those emotions when a wife who was supposed to hate him had just let him have frantic sex with her?
But there was nothing.
Not a clue, not a glimmer of what might be going on inside his head. He was as enigmatic as she had ever seen him—no, more so—and it was like looking into the eyes of a complete stranger.
Her own senses were clouded and confused, and she was having real problems telling fantasy apart from reality. Sex did funny things to you—it transported you back to another place and another time. It must have done. For why else would she have to stop herself from running her fingertips lovingly over the shadowed rasp of his jaw and following the movement with a series of tender little butterfly kisses? The way she’d used to.
Was that because women were made weak and vulnerable by the act of love in a way men never were? Women’s bodies and minds were conditioned to mate with one partner—while men were programmed to spill their seed all over the place.
