Sweet Bondage (11 page)

‘What
if the fascination doesn't last? What if the chemistry burns itself out like a meteorite?'

‘I don't know. It's a risk I would have to take.'

She heard him laugh and the laugh was the perfect partner to the cold and humorless smile on his lips, heard it and took an involuntary step back because she knew what it masked. She knew what he was thinking, knew it as surely as if he had placed his lips on hers to prove the point. Their chemistry was right. It took only a look to send shock waves down to her toes, but under no circumstances would she marry him.

He was playing with her, she realized wretchedly. He had put words in her mouth and now he was putting unnecessary fear in her heart because he was only looking, employing eye-play to make her admit to the attraction that leaped between them like a living flame. The fascination she felt for him was the devil's doing, poles apart from love, and would always remain so. She could never love him. Never. It would make nonsense of everything she had said.

She lowered her eyes, conceding victory to him.

Perhaps he didn't realize that, or didn't want to. That kiss on the quayside, administered to prevent her from crying out for help, had a lot to answer for. It had stirred
things
between them. If he had been looking for an excuse to repeat it she had given it to him by airing her views and he wasn't going to have it snatched back until he'd taken advantage of it.

His arms came out to her and she allowed herself to be pulled into them like someone in a trance. She went forward with a puppet's compulsion, but also with a puppet's jerkiness and non-involvement, showing neither resistance nor willingness. Even in her mesmerized state she knew that it was the expression on his face which held her aloof. His pupils were dilated, indicating arousal, but his eyes also showed scorn and bitter contempt. She didn't know which of them he hated more, and all because of his wrongful assumption that she belonged to his brother. Himself for desiring her, or her for being so wantonly free and not thrusting him off?

In a sense they were both putting things to the test. He was intent on making her eat her words and she was finding out if she could blank out the memory of Andy. She had read somewhere that the most common cause of coldness in a woman was an unhappy experience. Luckily for her things hadn't gone beyond horseplay, but her revulsion had outstripped the deed. She had wondered if she could be in a man's arms again and not feel a recurrence of that emotional upheaval.

It was a relief to feel stirrings within her, to
respond
in warmth, to acknowledge the pangs of sweetness running through her like melting honey and wallow in the joy of knowing that something wonderful hadn't been spoiled for her. She was grateful to Maxwell for taking this lurking fear from her and perhaps that was why she gave her lips to him so readily. Yet she did not lose herself so totally in that kiss as to be unaware of the danger she was inviting, the risk she was taking in permitting familiarity with a man while being in his care. She knew that Maxwell would not force her into anything, but that in no way wiped out the danger, because he would never have to force his attentions on a woman. The touch of his lips, so gentle on hers, was a powerful persuasion, ensuring his welcome.

She was divided by the emotions she felt and the ones she knew she ought to feel. She was a traitor to herself, a disgrace to her sex to enjoy the advances made by someone who thought so ill of her. The confusion of her thoughts was intensified by the fact that it was Glenda he hated, but not Glenda he held in his arms.

She wasn't in his arms under false colors. It wasn't anything in Glenda that was invading his senses and drawing him to her. He might have Glenda's name on his lips, but the lips that were tormenting him to frenzy were hers. It was Gemma Coleridge he was so strongly attracted to that he was losing track of reason.

‘What
is it about you?' he despaired huskily.

‘Maxwell.' His name was gentle on her breath and then his mouth swooped again, drawing her back into the dangerous excitement

Time, place, nothing mattered except desire. Desire burning on their lips and tingling along their nerve-ends, holding them enraptured in fascination's spell. There wasn't a thing she could do to hold aloof from it. One moment she was on relatively safe ground and the next she was hurtling into a vortex of passion. Their mouths, his firm and demanding, hers subservient to the sensuality of his, clung and parted and clung again. Passion without compassion as the bruising exploration claimed not only the obedience of her lips but compelled every part of her body to yield to him.

With a sigh of resignation her hands lifted to link submissively round his neck, an action which brought her body close to his. His splayed hand on the small of her back brought her closer still, and with that the awareness of his masculine response and the disturbing realization that it was not unpleasant to her.

A weakness attacked her limbs, making her his slave. Instead of raising barriers against him, which she ought to have done, she found herself rising on tiptoe to get nearer to him. His tongue trailed down her cheek. His free hand went to her neck, caressing its white
column
before moving down over her sweater. Her breasts firmed in tingling anticipation as his hand hovered and she knew the meaning of frustration in the endless moments before his fingers molded to her shape. Her thick, chunky sweater was an obstruction and she made no protest as he pushed it up out of the way to stroke the swell above the satin and lace cups of her bra. She didn't even offer to evade his hands when, having dealt with the fastening, he removed even the intrusion of that dainty covering. Her breath rose and fell with such alarming rapidity that she wondered if her heart could take it even as she delighted at the intimate abrasions of his firm but surprisingly gentle fingers.

When his head bent so that he could take the rosy tips of her breasts into his mouth, each in turn, she gasped aloud in shock. The warmth of his mouth was entrancing, hypnotic. Her nipples swelled as the blood coursed like fire through her veins and when he took one between his teeth and nipped gently she shuddered with unwilling arousal.

So caught up was she in the heady sensations running through her that she hardly noticed when his hand strayed to the waistband of her jeans, undid the snap, and slipped inside. The thin fabric of her panties was the only barrier between his caressing fingers and her soft, moist womanhood and she groaned as one finger dipped quickly
beneath
the elastic and teased her gently. With small, circular, tormenting motions he brought her tremblingly against him, assailed above and below by a dangerous excitement she could not combat Just when she thought she could stand no more he raised his head and his hand ceased its delicate play. She couldn't be sure but she thought she actually moaned in regret when his hand dropped away. It was such an anticlimax. She knew from the expressions crossing his face that she was not the only one in turmoil. Horror, pain, and contempt followed each other in rapid succession as his eyes held hers until, her cheeks glowing with embarrassment, feeling shame where none should exist, she tilted her chin at him in blazing fury. Yet even as his icy glance raked over her she knew that it was Glenda Channing his conscience had made him push away; his body wanted Gemma Coleridge back in his arms, her face pressed close to his heart's aroused, clamorous beat.

Why wouldn't he listen to her? She wasn't his brother's property and he had no cause to feel guilty or make her feel disloyal.

‘I'm my own woman,' she shrilled in anger. ‘No one, not your brother nor any other man, has a claim on me. I wear no rings on my fingers.' She waved them under his nose. ‘I've promised myself to no one; I'm as free as the air.'

‘Free?' he queried, his voice sneering but his
face
impassive. Only a working muscle in his cheek betrayed the strain of keeping up the front he was putting on. Having seen the explosion of his anger once, when she'd brought Barry's name into the conversation and he'd flown into a demented rage at the thought that she might have slept with him, she was sure that it was only a front, that fire and violence were locked none too securely beneath the ice. ‘I don't know about your being free,' he drawled sarcastically. ‘I do know that you're cheap.'

Anger rose in her, sending the blood rushing through her veins. She had a sudden urge to lash out at him, but as she couldn't match up to him physically she controlled her itching fingers and attacked him verbally. ‘I didn't make the first move, remember? Don't make me a scapegoat for your conscience, if that's what's troubling you. You were pretty quiet on the subject of brotherly loyalty a minute ago. It was convenient to forget a lot of things while you were having your fun.'

His mouth compressed in a way that had her biting her lip and bitterly regretting her outspokenness. She would have regretted making that passing reference to his brother in any case, even without fear of reprisal, because her anger wasn't really the malicious kind. She knew how desperately worried he was about his brother's condition and she didn't want to add to his burden.

‘I'm
sorry,' she said quickly. ‘That was hitting below the belt. It wasn't even true.'

‘On the contrary, it was a fair comment. I did forget a lot of things I should have remembered. I also made the first move. But that doesn't absolve you from all blame. You'd make a saint go off the straight and narrow, and I've never professed to be a saint. I'll admit that my judgment has taken a knock.'

‘That's magnanimous of you,' she scoffed.

His mouth tightened. ‘I was aware of how you charmed my brother half out of his mind. From the moment he first met you he talked of no one else and acted like a besotted boy. I would have been amused by it all if it hadn't been so pitiful. I thought he was showing a weakness of character, being unduly susceptible to allow himself to get into that state over a woman. Poor Ian, I see I've been hard on him. He didn't stand a chance. I completely underestimated you. I had no idea you were such a danger to mankind. I should have realized when Andy—your most recent conquest—took a tumble for you.'

‘I thought you were my most recent conquest,' she couldn't resist flinging at him, bridling at his sarcasm and arrogance.

His eyebrows rose derisively. ‘My apologies for touching you. I did enjoy the experience; you know how to please a man. But I can promise you that it won't happen again.'

How dare he be so insulting! ‘Thank you.
I'm
delighted to hear it.'

‘Have a care,' he warned. ‘My patience isn't unlimited and neither is the amount of rope I'm prepared to give you. As I was saying, there won't be a repeat. You can look as beguiling as you wish if it pleases you to keep in practice. I'm up to all your tricks. You can look at me from under your lashes and flaunt your luscious body at me, but I'm not buying.'

She did look up from under her lashes, she realized, but not in a coquettish way, as he was suggesting, but only when she was shy or unsure of her ground. As for the other accusation, she did not flaunt herself. ‘My body is not for sale.'

‘And I wouldn't have it as a gift.'

She was too emotionally overwrought to answer that outrage. Anger and tears vied for first place. The former had proved to be a useless weapon against him, making not the slightest dent in his composure, and she'd long since decided that the latter were unthinkable. She would not break down and weep in front of him no matter how much effort it took to control the weakness.

She didn't realize that she was looking at him from under her lashes again until her grabbed her by the arms in a demonstration of icy fury and commanded, ‘Don't do that. You don't have to prove anything. I've already admitted that your powers to attract a man are immense, but now that I've got your measure
they
won't work. I can put up a strong line of resistance.'

‘So you have nothing to worry about!' she retorted, thinking how unfair it all was. She dropped her eyelids so he wouldn't see the tears that were gathering in her eyes. ‘You're hurting me.' The hard fingers bruising her flesh were nothing to the inner pain, but her emotions were getting more and more difficult to hide and she would rather he thought she was wincing from physical hurt than mental torture.

He released his hold immediately, looking taken aback, as if he hadn't realized he was using violence on her. He made no apology; neither was there any intimation of it in his eyes. Just cold condemnation.

‘Don't look at me like that,' she said.

‘Like what?'

‘As if I've committed some deadly sin.'

‘That's only because I acted to prevent it.'

‘Prevent it?' she said, perplexed. ‘You mean because you had the willpower to stop just now? No matter how far that had gone it wouldn't have been a sin against your brother.'

‘Come off it, Glenda. You know that's not what I'm talking about. You know what I mean.'

‘I'm not Glenda, so I don't know what you mean.'

‘Aren't you being a little ridiculous in keeping up the subterfuge?'

‘It
isn't a subterfuge. I mean nothing to your brother and he means nothing to me.'

‘That's true, whatever else is false. I know he means nothing to you. You've not even troubled to ask about him. My God, but you're hard. A stone would have more feelings.'

‘I have feelings,' she declared passionately. ‘I'm sorry about your brother. I should have said something, I know that, and I'm sorry about that, too. But it wasn't through lack of compassion. I'd be saddened to hear of any stranger being dragged from the mangled wreckage of a car. And that's what your brother is to me—a stranger.'