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He said her name quietly and huskily. Then his mouth closed on her uncovered nipple, laving it with the tip of his tongue, before suckling it gently and voluptuously to an aching glory of need, as his hand moved downwards to push away the folds of her skirt and stroke the silken warmth of her parted thighs.
But it was not enough. She wanted to feel the arousal of his touch on her bare flesh—to relive the wonder of that first devastating awakening, and arched towards him, silently inviting him to free her from the confines of tights and briefs.
She heard him sigh softly, felt the arm that held her tighten its clasp to the brink of pain. Then he moved, lowering her slowly and with infinite care to the softness of the fur rug in front of the fireplace and following her down.
The only sound in the room was the hiss of the smouldering logs a few feet away and their own urgent breathing as they undressed each other between kisses, clumsy in their haste.
Their clothing gone, Andre’s mouth left hers and began to trace a slow, lingering path down her body, exploring with minute and exquisite detail every slender curve and plane, making her shiver with delight and an anticipation she hardly understood and almost feared.
Only to feel him pause, his head lifting as he stared towards the door.
And the next second she heard it too—the faint sound of footsteps crossing the hall combined with a man’s tuneless whistling and, at the same moment, in the distance, Barney’s vociferous barking.
Andre said on a groan, ‘Ah, Dieu.’ He sat up, reaching for his clothes and dragging them on, then got to his feet, pushing his shirt back into his pants and raking his dishevelled hair with his fingers.
He looked down at her, his mouth twisting ruefully.
‘Gaston,’ he said. ‘Doing his rounds before he locks up. I had—forgotten. I will delay him in the kitchen while you cover yourself.’
When he had gone, she lay still for a moment, her dazed brain coming to terms with what had happened.
And what might have happened if Gaston had started with the salon, finding them naked and enthralled in the welter of their discarded clothing.
She gave a little inarticulate cry and sat up, pulling on her skirt and top with frantic shaking hands and thrusting her feet back into her shoes, listening to the distant murmur of voices and dreading their approach. Knowing that even if she was now marginally decent, she could not risk being caught there.
Her underclothing scrunched into a tight ball in her hand, she tiptoed from the salon, making for the main staircase, and the sanctuary of her bedroom.
Although what kind of a sanctuary was it when her door was unlocked and Andre had the key?
She sank down on the edge of the bed and covered her face with her hands.
What had happened to her? she asked herself in despair. In a matter of days, how had she gone from a relatively blameless existence to one which had her stumbling from one disaster to the next? And all of it entirely her own fault—especially tonight.
Because only Gaston’s pursuance of some nightly routine had saved her from yet more abject folly, and that was the bitter truth she had to face.
Only now it must stop.
After a moment’s hesitation, she fetched the chair from the dressing table, and wedged it securely under the door handle.
At least she hoped it was secure. It was something she’d read about in an old-fashioned thriller, which was no guarantee it would be proof against a strong and determined man.
Or, for that matter, a weak and stupid female...
She took off her shoes, turned off the light and got under the covers, still in her skirt and top. Listening—waiting in the darkness.
And eventually she heard it—the soft knock on the door and his voice saying her name.
She realised that he was waiting for her to invite him in—to enter her room, her bed, her body.
To complete what that strange storm of emotion had brought in its wake.
She lifted her hands, clamping them fiercely over her mouth so that no sound could escape. Not a word, a sigh or even an indrawn breath. So that he would think she was asleep, instead of lying there trying to conquer the burning, trembling ache of her unfulfilled flesh.
Knowing that her memories of his lovemaking were already a torment, hardly to be endured, and for the sake of her sanity she could risk no more.
Waiting until the heavy silence told her at last that he had gone.
CHAPTER TEN
I HAD TOO MUCH to drink last night.
Ginny rehearsed the words in her head over and over again as she prepared reluctantly to go down to breakfast the following morning.
That was the story she was going to use, treating the whole thing lightly as an error of judgement, embarrassing but not fatal, and she would stick to it like glue, no matter how Andre might respond.
