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WHILE HER BATH was running, she searched through her dressing table for the slim package she had hidden there so long ago. It was at the very back of the bottom drawer, and she retrieved it, removing its tissue-paper wrappings with gentle hands, and shaking out the contents.
It was the summer dressing gown that her mother had given her before she left for university, white lawn embroidered with tiny golden flowers and dark green leaves. Such a pretty thing and never worn.
Or not until now...
She held it against her as she looked in the mirror. Wondered what he would think when he saw her.
Wondered too, as she turned away, what her mother’s reaction would be if she knew what she was planning? Shock? Certainly—and disappointment too.
Yet suppose you’d fallen in love with the wrong man, and knew that any relationship would be totally one-sided and doomed to heartbreak. What then? she thought, sliding down into the warm water. Would you tell me to walk away, and forget him?
Because I would say—I can’t. That I need at least one precious memory to go with me wherever the future takes me.
And nothing else can be allowed to matter.
Him alone...
She dried herself, and put on the robe, tying the sash tightly round her slender waist. She loosened her hair and brushed it until it shone. Then she took one last look in the mirror at the pale girl, staring back at her, her lips parted and eyes bright with nerves, because she would have to rely on instinct rather than experience in the hours ahead of her.
The girl she no longer wished to be, she thought, her bare feet making no sound on the stairs as she descended to the hall.
He wasn’t watching television. The room was in darkness, but as she pushed the door wider, the lamp by his sofa came on, and he sat up, the quilt falling away from his body as he stared at her.
He said sharply, ‘What’s the matter? Did you hear someone? Something?’
‘No.’
‘Then why are you here?’
Upstairs it had all seemed so simple. He might not love her, but he wanted her. His kisses had told her that, even if he hadn’t kissed her for quite some time.
She said huskily, ‘I can’t sleep. I don’t like being alone.’ She searched the dark face, the narrowed tawny eyes for some response, and swallowed. ‘Jago—I—I want you to be with me—please.’
She stared down at the carpet and waited in a silence that seemed to stretch into for ever.
And when he eventually spoke, his voice was light, almost amused.
‘In that case, sweetheart, take off that pretty piece of nonsense you’re wearing and come here.’
Her head jerked up in disbelief. He was leaning back against his pillow, arms folded across his bare chest. The faint smile curling the corners of his mouth said nothing of desire. Even the uttered endearment had been casual, almost mocking.
She said, ‘I don’t understand...’
‘It’s quite simple,’ Jago drawled. ‘It seems we’re about to have an intimate encounter which I want to begin with the pleasure of seeing you naked. Therefore...’ His hand moved in a gesture of explicit and sensual command.
But this isn’t how it’s meant to be. The words shivered through her brain. It can’t be...
She’d imagined he would come to her, take her in his arms. That she would bury her face rapturously in the satin of his skin, breathing the scent of him, the taste of him before offering her mouth to his kiss, and her body for his undressing.
That she would welcome with eagerness the exploration of his eyes—his hands—his mouth—her own shyness and uncertainty lost in the glory of their unstinted mutuality.
Something, she realised, her throat tightening painfully, that did not exist outside her imagination.
And, at the same time, she knew that she could never do as he required. Could not just strip—and have him look at her as if judging whether or not she warranted his time and attention.
Told herself that if she mattered to him at all, he would never ask such a thing of her.
‘Having second thoughts?’ His harsh query held a jeering note. ‘How very wise. Because, understand this, Octavia. I’m not your comfort blanket, nor your consolation prize.’
He added, ‘And whatever you may choose to believe, I’m here tonight only to ride shotgun, not to exploit the situation by using you for a few hours of casual sex.
‘And if you were thinking straight, you’d be grateful to me, because that’s not how it ought to be when it’s your first time with a man. It should actually mean something.’
