A Dangerous Game (27 page)

"Do you like it this way?"

She groaned in affirmation, surprised at how turned on this man made

her feel.
 
Again he with drew, and again she was turned over.
 
By now

her body was sheened with sweat, and she felt as exhausted as if she

had run a marathon.
 
He slid his hands roughly under her buttocks, his

fingers kneading her flesh, as he pulled her towards him.
 
Through

half-closed eyes she could see his face.
 
He was smiling, and his black

hair was dishevelled.

"Can Draven keep it up this long?"
 
His voice was savagely

triumphant.

"Do you want to come, Jacey?"
 
His mouth was close to her ear.

"Ask me nicely.
 
Beg me.
 
You're exhausted, aren't you?
 
I'll make you

come, but you've got to beg."
 
He entered her once more, with a strong

thrust.

"Otherwise I can keep going for a very long time."

"I told you once," she panted.

"I don't beg."

She heard him laugh, and tried to contract her muscles and pull him

deeper, forcing him into an orgasm against his will.
 
He frustrated her

by shortening his thrusts, making them shallow and fast.
 
They battled

for supremacy for a little longer, until Jacey suddenly felt an

overwhelming desire for relief, even if it meant admitting defeat.

"Yes," she groaned.

"Yes, please, now."

His rhythm, changed to accommodate hers rather than fight it, and she

felt him search between her legs again with his long, expert fingers.

Then the sudden intensity of her own orgasm blinded her to everything

else.

As her sensations subsided she realised that he had climaxed with

her.

She had a strong suspicion that he had probably been nearer to reaching

the end of his undoubtedly impressive staying power than he wanted her

to believe.
 
But after all, she felt so happily exhausted and fulfilled

that she did not care which of them had won.

He helped her to a chair, and tidied himself up.
 
She lay back and

closed her eyes.
 
She heard him open the wine cabinet, heard the clink

of bottles and then felt him put a glass in her hand.
 
She sipped the

wine with her eyes still closed and sighed.
 
This really was the best

kind of exhaustion, she thought.
 
How lovely it would be to be lifted

into a wide bed, with fresh, white sheets, and fall asleep.

"The car will be round for you in five minutes," Nicolas said.

"Put your dress back on."

The abrupt order brought her sharply back to the present.
 
She opened

her eyes.

"So that's it?"
 
she said.

He smiled at her cynically.

"What else is there, Jacey?
 
I told you not to expect any romantics.

This isn't that kind of relationship.
 
You wanted sex, and so did I.

Didn't you enjoy it?"

"Yes."

He poured himself a glass of wine while she struggled into her dress,

the silk clinging to her damp skin.

"My women always do," he said.

"Not another exciting invitation?"
 
Ingrid perched on Jacey's desk as

she opened her morning mail.

"Another boring invitation," Jacey corrected her.

"It's amazing what having sex with the right man will do for your

social life," Ingrid observed.

"Please hurry up and finish with Nicolas Schlemann, and give him to

me."

Jacey laughed.

"I don't think Nicolas would approve of being handed over as a

present," she said lightly.
 
To her surprise she found it impossible

not to like ingrid Gustaffsen.
 
The Swede had already had brief flings

with some of the patients in La Primavera, both male and female.
 
She

was also a very good doctor, and Jacey was trying to persuade her to

spend some time at El Inviemo.

"If I gave him good sex, Nicolas would approve.
 
And I always give good

sex."
 
Ingrid crossed her long legs.

"What does he like?
 
Tell me, please.
 
If it's something I have never

done before, I'll go away and learn about it."

"From what you've been telling me," Jacey said, 'there isn't anything

you haven't done before."

"Oh, you're so flattering."
 
Ingrid laughed.

"But I know it's only because you want me to go with you to that funny

little native hospital.
 
It's guilt, you know?
 
You slap on a few

dressings to sublimate your guilt about the money you're earning here."

She stretched, and exhaled contentedly.

"Certainly, this is a sinecure.
 
So many opportunities to fill up the

piggy bank.
 
Do you know how much Senora Ittapaz gave me to go down on

her?
 
I won't tell you, because you'll be envious, and wish you'd got

there first."

"I wouldn't," Jacey said, opening another envelope.

"Poor woman," Ingrid sighed.

"She is so bored, so frustrated.
 
Her husband wanted her to walk around

the house wearing only high-heeled shoes and stockings, and she

refused.
 
So now he doesn't touch her, and pays whores to do it

instead.
 
Personally, I would have obliged him.

This is a warm country, after all, and I like to walk around naked

anyway, so what the hell?
 
The Senora wants me to visit her when she

goes home, and maybe I will.
 
Senor Ittapaz is hardly ever there.
 
He

has a plantation or something, somewhere or other, and he spends most

of his time there."
 
She giggled suddenly.

"Perhaps he gets all his staff to walk about naked?
 
Or maybe only the

pretty ones?"

"A plantation worked by underpaid Indians," Jacey said.

Ingrid shrugged.

"It's an unfair world.
 
You can't change it overnight.

It's too big, too complicated."

"If everyone thought like that, there wouldn't be any changes at all,"

Jacey said.

"But you're not a politician," Ingrid said.

"Your job is to make people well."
 
She watched Jacey toss another

invitation card into the wastepaper bin.

"And maybe enjoy yourself a little," she added.

"Surely you can accept just one party invitation?"
 
She paused.

"And invite me to come with you?"

Jacey laughed.

"OK," she said.
 
She waved an embossed card at ingrid.

"This one.
 
A polo match.
 
A nice, healthy afternoon in the open

air."

"Well, that sounds great."
 
Ingrid obviously approved.

"Lots of rich, young men in very tight, white trousers.
 
Will Nicolas

be there?"

"In tight white trousers?"
 
Jacey grinned.

"Maybe."

"So you'll introduce me?"
 
ingrid hinted.

"Maybe," Jacey said.

Jacey didn't even know where the polo ground was, but Ingrid had found

out all the necessary details,

and had arranged a car.
 
She was slightly miffed when Jacey insisted on

using Paulo as chauffeur.

"His car is an old wreck," she said.

"It isn't," Jacey said.

"It's clean, and Paulo needs the money."

"You are a one-woman charity," Ingrid grumbled.

"No doubt he will expect a large tip as well."

Paulo seemed politely pleased to see Jacey again, but she sensed this

was simply a business facade.
 
Clearly he had heard about her

association with Nicolas and, as she expected, it had altered their

original relationship.
 
Paulo was wary now.
 
Despite working at El

Inviemo, she had placed herself in the enemy camp.
 
But not for long,

she thought; in a few weeks' time, everything will change.
 
I won't be

Nicolas Schlemann's woman.
 
I'll be his nemesis.
 
And I'll be looking

to you, dear Paulo, to help me get revenge!

When they reached the polo club Jacey was amused to see Ingrid hang

back and slip Paulo a handful of money.

"I doubt if Paulo expected quite that big a tip," she murmured, when

Ingrid caught up with her again.

"I was just ensuring that he will be here to take you home," Ingrid

said.

"To take us home, you mean?"
 
Jacey said.

"I intend to go home with someone exciting," Ingrid proclaimed.

"I

hope to get off with a nice polo player."

Given that ambition Jacey wondered why Ingrid had not dressed in a more

feminine fashion.
 
She was wearing a pale linen suit, tailored in a

rather severe style, and a matching, wide-brimmed trilby hat.

Combined with her long-legged, angular frame, it looked decidedly

masculine.
 
Jacey had chosen a summer dress in a subtly printed, silky

material, with a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt that clung to her

hips and legs when the wind stirred.
 
Her hair was loose, and she wore

a simple, brimmed straw hat to protect her head from the sun.

She had been rather worried that her outfit would look too casual, but