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‘Tell me exactly what Neville said,’ he demanded at last.
Slowly, almost hesitantly at first, her voice still betraying the shock his accusation had given her, she did so, conscious that all the time he was watching her, almost broodingly. Thinking what?
She longed to cry out to him to believe her but pride prevented her. Something extremely precious and fragile had been shattered by his harsh words and she wasn’t sure if it could ever be replaced, and then suddenly his expression changed, his voice faintly husky as he muttered,
‘Lucy, for God’s sake, don’t look at me like that. I apologise for what I said to you. Please try to understand; seeing the two of you together, listening to him talking to you, took me back twelve years. I was jealous,’ he told her simply, the words half muffled as his lips moved against her hair. ‘So jealous that I didn’t stop to think beyond what I’d heard. So jealous, in’ fact, that I drove away again and took solace in the village pub—at least until I saw Neville’s car drive past the window.
‘Say you forgive me?’ He was kissing her now, fever-hungry kisses that burned into her face and throat.
Reluctantly she pushed him away.
‘I came here to have dinner,’ she reminded him.
‘I don’t want dinner—I just want you.’
The controlled man of the previous evening was gone, she realised as she looked into his eyes, spears of mingled fear and joy shafting through her body as she realised what he meant.
‘I want you Lucy,’ he reinforced, murmuring the words against her mouth. ‘Now.’
Caution warred with desire. She remembered the glass of whisky he had hurled against the fireplace. How many had there been before that? Was his desire fuelled by love or something darker? And most important of all, did he really believe what she had told him? He had accepted her explanation readily enough—too readily perhaps in view of his earlier almost frenzied rage.
‘Don’t you want me?’
His voice whispered tormentingly against her ear, making her shiver with delight. Of course she wanted him. His hand cupped her face, lifting it so that he could look into her eyes.
‘You know I do.’ Her voice shook slightly.
‘Then come with me now.’
Taking her hand he led her slowly out of the room and towards the stairs. They climbed them side by side in silence, all the time her heart thudding heavily against her breastbone. Last night she had tormented her fevered brain with the erotic imaginings of this moment, never dreaming that when it came she would feel more frightened than aroused.
At the top of the stairs Saul stopped to look at her, his eyes dark and shuttered. What did he see when he looked at her? What was he really thinking behind that shuttered exterior? She reached out towards him, suddenly nervous and uncertain, her fingers brushing his arm. The sombreness in his eyes shattered, melting in the heat that sprang to life within them, his arms came round her, lifting her, his mouth hot as it touched her throat.
‘Forget about this afternoon,’ he muttered thickly against her skin as he carried her into his bedroom. ‘Forget everything but how you feel about me and how I feel about you.’
He lowered her on to the bed, the mattress depressing slightly beneath her weight. He was using the room which had belonged to her parents, but no ghosts intruded on them as Saul slowly removed her clothes and then, without taking his eyes from her, his own.
The movement of his hands against her skin was music translated into feelings. Her mouth parted eagerly to the gently insistent pressure of his, her arms locking round him as gentleness gave way to passion.
His hand cupped her breast, his lips trailing most, tender kisses down towards it, delicately caressing the deeply pink tip until he felt her tense beneath him as she fought to subdue the fierce clamour of need within her that demanded more, much more from him than mere tenderness.
As though he knew how his delicacy was tormenting her his mouth opened over the hardened centre of her breast, his tongue arousingly abrasive as it stroked her sensitive skin. The tiny cries of pleasure she could no longer hold inside her chest seemed to fuel his passion as his mouth moved with fierce need from one aroused nipple to the other and then to the moist valley in between, trailing a line of hungry kisses from her breastbone down to where the delicate swell of her womanhood was covered in fine, silky hairs.
There he stopped, registering the shudder rippling through her, the thumb of the hand he had curled possessively round her thigh softly stroking against her skin as he raised his head to look into her eyes.
She wanted to tell him that he was rushing into intimacy too fast but the soft movement of his thumb against her flesh was sending conflicting signals to her brain, overwhelming shyness and shock, making her breathe with odd, jerky little movements that mirrored the hurriedly uneven rise and fall of his chest.
