Gemini Heat (27 page)

Deana . . . That was another thing.

When Delia had looked in before work, she'd found her sister sleeping as deeply as she had done. Deeper in fact, almost death-like. She'd been worried at first, but when she'd studied her slumbering sibling more closely, she'd realised her sister was smiling sweetly into her pillow, her face as pacific as a cherub's.

Deana had looked as fit and happy as she, Delia, felt; so there was nothing left to do but leave her to it and wonder. Wonder what Jake de Guile had done to create such contentment . . .

Was he as good as all that, Deana love? thought Delia now, sitting at her desk and doing far more daydreaming than was usual. She wondered what wild sexual scene had required that kinky corset. And whether Deana had got into trouble for wearing knickers with it?

We'd better have a long talk, love, she told the absent Deana whilst sipping her coffee. And as soon as possible. Something pretty special had happened last night and she needed to know about it. Before 'Dee' met Jake again.

Which could be tonight . . .

Delia's stomach started quivering as her imagination revved into overdrive. It was so weird. She'd only just ditched Russell, and she now seemed to be involved with Peter, but she still couldn't stop wanting Jake. He made her body heat up, her blood pound and her hormones go crazy. And against all her previous inclinations, she loved it.

Jake was dangerous. He was a manipulator and a deviant. Yet there was something so utterly and sensually compelling about him that even the thought of him roused her.

She wallowed in her longing. Drooled like a pervert about mental pictures of his sleek brown body and the cool dark smoothness of his slender, muscular limbs. Her own sex rippled as she imagined the entry of his; the thick, unyielding push of his cock and the touch of his sensitive fingers on her most special places as he screwed her to mind-blowing bliss . . .

Dear Lord, had she got it bad!

When the inter-office post arrived, she was still fantasising and felt irritated at having to break off. She normally relished her office tasks, and loved her job. But today she had no interest in either.

At the bottom of the pile of letters and memos was a fax, and she was just preparing to fling it blithely in her pending tray when the signature pulled her up sharp and set her heart and her whole body pounding . . .

To Delia Ferraro,
the fascimile read.
After reviewing your file, I find there are matters we must urgently discuss. I'll be working at home today and would be grateful if you could call around at your earliest convenience.
There was no endearment and no salutation, simply the crisp, angular signature.
Jackson K. de Guile.

What kind of silly bugger game are you playing now, Jake? fumed Delia in the lift, willing it to speed up in its downward crawl - and not stop at every single floor as it appeared to be doing.

By the time she was in the foyer, she'd moderated her fury. She could hardly hit the roof with Jake for game-playing, could she? Not considering what she and Deana were up to . . .

And that's a game that's probably over, she thought resignedly when she saw Fargo waiting by the kerb with the limousine. He was holding open the rear passenger door, while the engine thrummed softly but powerfully in readiness.

She was sallying forth to meet her nemesis without a briefing of any kind, and without the slightest knowledge of what had happened to Deana last night. She could almost feel the Game start to crumble . . .

If the roles had been reversed, Deana might well have been able to bluff her way through, but Delia knew
she
couldn't.

She was the oh-so-conventional one who'd been playing life far too straight for far too long. She'd already reached the limits of her meagre Thespian talents, and there was nothing left to do but own up the minute she arrived.

Elf greeted her warmly at the dark blue door, although there was no hint in her exquisite Japanese courtesy of the simmering caresses they'd shared.

'Jake's in the Jacuzzi,' she said as Delia followed her along the hall and up the stairs. 'He'd like you to join him there.'

So much for reviewing her file.

At the top of the stairs they turned in the opposite direction to the one they'd taken on Delia's last visit. With a lovely smile and a gracious gesture, Elf ushered Delia ahead of her and into a bathroom that was even larger and more luxurious than the palace of ablutions she had visited last time. This one was a sumptuous, high-ceilinged, blue decorated chamber with a bubbling Jacuzzi at its centre - a large vat of fast-churning azure-tinted water that was currently occupied by Jake.

'That's all for now, Elf,' he said, dismissing his servant, 'I think Dee and I can fend for ourselves for the moment.'

Elf bowed slightly in the traditional style and with another of her beautiful, inscrutable smiles, backed out of the bathroom and left them.

'I see no files,' Delia said boldly, debating whether to come right out with her confession now or see if she could play for some time.

'Just kidding,' he said easily, popping up out of the pool a little way and revealing his muscular, water-sheened chest. His hair was loose again, hanging in a thick, dead-straight sheet to his shoulders, with odd strands plastered wetly to his face. 'Why not hop in with me?' he suggested, flicking his fingers up out of the roiling water. 'It's very relaxing, and you look a bit edgy.' He narrowed his long slanted eyes. 'I wouldn't have expected you to be hung up today, Dee. A session with Vida usually irons out the knots completely . . . You ought to be on top of the world. I certainly am.'

Delia stared at him, at a loss. She remembered the soft little smile on the face of her sleeping sister . . . and considered Vida Mistry's reputation. Oh God, what on earth had happened?

'I'm OK,' she said non-committally. 'I feel fine actually. Just things at work. Little snags. It's nothing really.'

'Just tell me what's happening and it's dealt with,' Jake said crisply, reminding Delia that this was her boss she was trying to flannel with imaginary workplace niggles.

'Thank you, Jake, but I can deal with it. It's my job,' she answered coolly, shifting from one court-shoed foot to the other, unable to stop looking at the vague brownish shape of his body as he floated serenely in the water.

'I'm sure you can,' he answered softly, his voice suddenly husky and cajoling. 'Now get your clothes off, woman, and get your lovely little body in this water!'

Her defiance crumbled. The water looked tempting and so did Jake. With an unselfconscious coquetry that was unknown in the Delia of a week ago, she began to slowly undress - peeling off each garment with a sense of mounting excitement.

She wasn't surprised that he watched her closely, but she was when he shot up from the water without warning while she still wore her white bra and pants. She froze with an atavistic fear when he grabbed her by the bottom, then pressed his dripping wet face against her midriff. His long-fingered hands were tight on her cotton-covered buttocks, his grip possessive and hungry.

For several moments he kissed and licked her as his fingertips kneaded and pummelled. His touch had a distinct assessing quality, as if he were feeling for some difference or change. He was handling her like a female animal he was planning to purchase. It was insultingly rude and demeaning, but to her horror, unbearably arousing.

With a small helpless cry, she wafted her hips toward him and grabbed for his silky-skinned shoulders.

'Yes!'

Jake's voice was strangely triumphant and his hands on her body were strong. With no further ado, he hauled her down into the water to sit on the shelved seat beside him, ignoring all her protests about the wringing wet state of her underwear and the imminent destruction of her hairstyle. Moving her and turning her to suit him, he brought his mouth down hard on hers, his tongue pushing lewdly for an entrance. The kiss was savage and mock-copulatory and as he stretched her whole mouth and jaw with the force of it, she felt his hands sliding deftly over the back of her head, removing the strategically placed hairpins and letting her long hair fall loose about her shoulders.

'That's better,' he murmured against her lips, fluffing at the sodden-ended waves and fanning them out with his fingers. That done, he plunged his hands back into the water, twisted her hips on the seat, then groped crudely at her body through her undies.

The way he handled her felt strangely adolescent. He was squeezing her breasts like a pair of plums, pinching her nipples until she squirmed and protested. When she bounced and tried to kick him, he swooped his hands down her body and took hold of her buttocks again.

'Does this hurt?' he hissed, his fingers gouging deep into the flesh of her bottom.

'Yes,' she whispered truthfully, wondering why on earth he was being so rough and gross with her, and wondering even harder why she'd suddenly started to enjoy it.

'How much?' he demanded, pushing and gripping so hard that her knickers went right in her crease.

Within seconds he was rubbing her intimately, one hand spread out across her bottom-cheeks for purchase, while the other played tunes on her sex through the thin cotton stuff of her panties. He was poking into both her orifices now, prodding at her swollen labia, flicking wickedly at her sensitive clitoris. It was so casual and vulgar it was gorgeous, and Delia's flesh started spasming and jumping.

'Oh . . . Ooh . . . Please,' she burbled. He was treating her badly, rummaging grotesquely at the most sacred part of her body, yet she was right on the edge of an orgasm.

'Do you want to come?' His voice dripped menace as surely as his hair dripped warm scented water, and without warning he pulled away his hands and let her bottom settle down on the seat. He laughed when she whimpered her loss.

Of her own volition, Delia moved towards him through the churning blue bubble, her body seeking out what it craved. He drew back, still laughing, and it suddenly dawned on her that this could well be the beginning of the end. Retribution-time. Game over.

While they'd been kissing and touching and close, she'd completely forgotten her deception. But now it all came back to her in a clear, adrenalin-fired rush. Bravely, she lifted her eyes to face his anger, but found
his
eyes were unreadable. Great deep unfathomable pools of hooded blue mystery . . . undivinable voids that spoke to her only of sex.

Unpredictable, delectable, infuriating sex.

Sex - the essence of everything that
was
Jake de Guile. It was his primary mode of communication; whether you were friend or foe, employee or lover. She had a strong suspicion that somehow, even the acquisition of his billions had been based on it. Quite how, in fine detail, she couldn't begin to imagine; but her gut, and her most intimate female instincts were completely and unequivocably sure of it.

But this ephemeral knowledge didn't solve any physical problems, and as she swayed in the water, her body was itchy and tingling with frustration.

'If you want to come, make it happen,' Jake suggested, reading her perfectly. As he spoke he slid down in the water and settled with the agitated surface just fretting at the line of his chin.

'I'm not sure I can,' she replied making her voice as small as possible, hoping he might not hear her in the watery hubbub of the pool. Oh God, if only she knew what Deana had done last night! Whether she'd done what Jake had just asked for . . .

Delia was accustomed to masturbating on her own and enjoyed it. She was secretly proud that she could pleasure herself so efficiently - but the act was strictly between herself and her fingers. No outsiders; no observers. And certainly no Jackson de Guile, Mr Sharp-eyes Incarnate, who she was now sure had sussed her duality . . .

'Now don't be defeatist, sweet Dee,' he chided, his eyes sparkling mischievously. 'It's easy. Shall I show you how?' He looked down into the slightly tinted water, and as Delia followed his eyeline, she saw the slender line of his hand meet the substantial, but bubble-distorted blur at his groin. 'The topography's different, of course. But the basic principle is more or less the same.'

It was an entrancingly sensual concept. Her lover -or should she say one of her lovers - was offering her lessons in practical self-pleasure. She didn't really need tuition, and she'd seen this phenomenon before . . . but the sight of Jake stroking himself had been so beautiful and stirring that only a fool or a terminal prude would not want to see it again.

'I . . . Perhaps I will then,' she murmured, looking down into the water. She could just make out the long dark bar of his penis, erect and gently waving in the turbulence. Her own genitalia were hidden still, veiled by the thin sodden cloth of her pants. She slid her hands through the rollicking bubbles and started to reach round behind her.

'No! Don't! I've changed my mind.'

She glanced at him sharply. What was he playing at now? And if he knew about the Game why didn'the say so instead of teasing and taunting? He might've 'changed his mind', but her body hadn't. She could feel her sweat glands kicking into action, her nipples getting hard as small pebbles, and her sex running slippery and wet as her own fluids joined those around her. Her sex wanted somebody's touch now - be it hers or his - and to stop at the very beginning would set frustration in cruel, grinding motion. But maybe that was just what he wanted?