The Married Mistress (13 page)

‘Well, unfortunately I did—and, for my sins, we’re both stuck with each other.’

Suddenly, shockingly, the harsh mask of cold fury split,
cracked, peeled away, and Sarah stared in total disbelief as he actually threw back his head and laughed.

But there was no warmth, no real amusement in his laughter. Instead it was so cold, so brutal, so hatefully cynical that it made her blood turn to ice in her veins.

‘What a pity that we’re locked away up here, out of the public eye. Otherwise, my sweet wife, this would have been the perfect opportunity for us to announce that break-up that we’re both so eager for. More so now than ever before. But as, unfortunately for us both, we don’t have the audience we need, I’m afraid that we’re still stuck together.’

Roughly he rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes in a gesture that seemed to combine tiredness and frustration—but might just have been simply angry.

‘I’m going to sleep,’ he announced in a voice that made it plain he was not to be argued with. ‘In the bed. And that point is not up for debate.’

Sarah didn’t dare to argue. Instead she simply stayed where she was, sitting stiffly silent in the chair. With Damon in this mood, she knew she was risking being torn to pieces, verbally at least, if she so much as breathed in the wrong way or raised the slightest protest.

But that didn’t mean she was happy about it.

When Damon stomped off into the bathroom and she heard the shower being switched on she allowed herself to relax enough to start thinking.

She could take the couch she had offered him earlier, but swift consideration showed her that in this at least Damon had been right. Stiffly elegant it might be, comfortable to sleep on it was not. And it was too small even for her slighter frame to have a chance of finding any comfort on it.

So it had to be the bed. Which, as Damon had already stated, was plenty big enough. If they could just keep to
their respective sides, then there was no need at all for them even to touch.

‘Of course!’

Inspiration struck suddenly, getting her to her feet in a rush. Hurrying through to the bedroom, she picked up three of the fat, fluffy pillows and laid them end to end down the centre of the bed as a soft, downy barricade separating left from right and—hopefully—preventing either herself or Damon from drifting across into the other’s territory.

‘There!’

She surveyed her handiwork with a degree of satisfaction and nodded approval. The barrier was probably more effective as a symbol than an actual deterrent, but at least it was there. And knowing that made her feel a whole lot better.

She had just finished when the bathroom door opened and Damon stalked out, making her heart skip several beats in reaction to just the sight of him.

He was naked apart from a towel knotted around his hips, the brilliant white material throwing the deep bronze of his skin into sharp relief. His black hair was still damp from the shower, and springing into the beginnings of curls, while on his lush black eyelashes tiny diamonds of water drops still sparkled.

As he surveyed the makeshift barrier she had created through narrowed eyes, his beautiful mouth quirked up sharply at one corner into something that might have been amusement. Or it might simply have been a response of total scorn.

‘I get the message,
agape mou
.’ He drawled the words laced with dark cynicism. ‘But really you had no need. Believe me, you have never been safer from my unwanted attentions than you are tonight.’

Then, totally unselfconscious, he discarded the towel and slid in between the crisp linen sheets.

‘Goodnight, wife!’ he said, laying his head on the pillow and closing his eyes.

Sarah fled into the bathroom, where she spent an unduly long time washing and preparing for bed. Her tactics worked. By the time she emerged again Damon was sound asleep, his long body relaxed, his breathing deep and slow.

She fully expected to be unable to match him. Her nerves were strung so tightly after the events of the evening that she truly believed that she would be unable to relax and that sleep would be a long time coming.

She couldn’t have been more wrong. From the moment that she curled up on her side of the bed, feeling the security of the pillow barrier snug against her back, a great wave of tiredness rolled over her, washing away her tension and sweeping her into an easy doze. From there it was just the space of a couple of seconds before she drifted into a deep, relaxed sleep that provided the oblivion she needed—at least for a time.

It was only later, in the early hours of the morning, that something unexpectedly startled her into wakefulness.

S
ARAH
was dreaming.

Someone was trying to suffocate her. There was something big and soft and squashy pressed up against her nose and mouth so that she was finding it desperately difficult to breathe. She was struggling hard, so hard; clutching at it and trying to push it away.

But then suddenly she had a good grip on the thing. She could lift it, letting in precious air…

With a final effort she pushed it away completely, picking it up and throwing it right away from her.

But still she felt lost and afraid. She whimpered in her sleep, twisting and turning, until a gentle hand reached out and touched her arm gently.

‘Sarah…’ a voice said, soft and low.

And, responding purely on instinct, she stilled for a second, then rolled closer, coming into the comfort, the protective warmth of a strong pair of arms. Contentedly she nestled closer, her taut body relaxing, her breath coming easily again. And the arms encircled her and held her close. With a small sigh she drifted into peace again.

Damon had been woken by Sarah’s thrashing about. She was crying in her sleep and seemed to be in the grip of a particularly bad nightmare. Suddenly she grabbed at one of the pillows she had placed as a barrier between them, picking it up and flinging it with all her might down to the bottom of the bed, where it slid softly onto the floor.

‘Hey,’ he said quietly. ‘Sarah—relax. It’s just a dream.’

Still with her eyes closed, she turned to him as if seeking comfort. And then, and even Damon couldn’t have said
whether it was to his delight or his horror, she suddenly moved towards him like a small, frightened creature seeking sanctuary. In her sleep, she totally ignored what was left of the pillow barrier. In fact she simply rolled right over it and into Damon’s arms.

Reacting purely on instinct, he folded his arms tight around her slender body and drew her hard up against his own.

And instantly knew that he had made a terrible mistake.

‘Theos!’
he muttered, the sound raw and rough, low down in his throat. What
had
he done now?

Oh, why ask the question?

He knew what he’d done. He’d only acted on his most basic instincts, the instincts that had been clamouring for release from the moment he had first seen Sarah getting out of her car outside the London house a few days ago.

His overwhelming urge in that moment had been to grab her, hold her tight, kiss her until they were both senseless with need and longing. But of course he had had to resist the temptation, subdue the fierce, hungry need that simply being in the same space as Sarah whipped up in him.

The same fierce, hungry need that was eating away at him right now.

‘Sarah?’

Her name was just a whisper. He didn’t want to startle her, but he wanted her to wake, to realise where she was. Because if he did, then surely she would move immediately. She would want to break free from his arms, to move back over that ridiculous barrier and safely into the other side of the bed.

And he would be spared the torment of lying here next to her, with his body on fire.

But wasn’t the truth that he didn’t want to be spared?

Oh, hell!

Damon closed his eyes against the enticement of the
thought, then swiftly opened them again because being unable to see only made matters worse. It left him far more sensitive to everything about the position he was in, so that he was totally unable to think of anything else but the feel of Sarah’s soft form, curled up against his. The creamy silk nightdress she wore was long and modest, falling down to her ankles when she was standing. But in her sleep the fine silk had ridden up over her thighs and the long, slender legs were tangled intimately with his.

The nightdress was sleeveless, leaving her arms bare, and the delicate scent of her body, a tantalising mixture of clean, feminine skin and some flowery scented soap that she had used in the bathroom, drifted up to his nostrils, making him want to groan aloud with the delight of it. If he moved slightly, he could bury his face in the silk of her hair, feel the fine strands catching against the roughness of a night’s growth of beard on his chin, and against his neck the sweet warmth of her breath was like a caress, gentle as the brush of a butterfly wing.

Sarah,
please
wake up!

Sarah! Please
don’t
wake up!

Please don’t wake up! Please stay…

His thoughts froze as she stirred, murmuring faintly. He heard her draw in a long, deep breath and then his heart stilled in shock as he felt the warm touch of her lips pressing a kiss against the corded muscles in his neck.

He tried to swallow hard but could find no moisture to ease the raw, painful dryness that made his throat ache.

Think about her and Jason. Sarah and Jason.
It had worked once before. It had killed his desire stone-dead…

But it had no effect this time. She had told him that she and Jason had never been lovers and he believed her, damn it! He
believed
her.

Sarah stirred again and his mind went into shock as he felt her hands begin to move over his body. Still asleep,
still with her eyes closed, she was exploring his torso with tentative, feather-light caresses, drifting her fingertips over the lines of muscle and bone, the width of shoulder, the ridges of his ribcage.

And all he could do was lie there and let it happen. If he moved now, if he reacted too sharply, he could startle her awake. And heaven alone knew what she would think if she woke to find herself right on the other side of her ridiculous barrier and with him holding both hands captive in his.

And with his body so heatedly excited.

Because he was aroused. Hotly, fiercely, brutally aroused. He was so hard that he hurt, not just with the ache of wanting, but also with the knowledge that if Sarah did wake up then she would immediately pull away. That after the confrontation they had had earlier that evening she would reject him totally, without a second’s thought.

‘Damon…’

Sarah had murmured in her sleep, and the sound of his name on her lips, here in the private, warm darkness of a bed as he had heard it so many times in the first glorious days of their marriage, clawed at something in his soul, leaving it raw and bleeding.

Dear God, but he
wanted
her so badly.

‘Damon…’

Her hands had started wandering again, drifting down, over the indentation of his narrow waist, his hips…

Damon’s breath hissed in sharply between his teeth in a sound of intolerable torment, of restraint perilously close to breaking as the soft fingers closed over the heat and hardness of his erection.

‘Sarah!’
he choked, unable to take any more.

The sound of his voice broke into the golden, blissful dream world in which Sarah had found herself.

She was dreaming about the early days of her marriage,
remembering how it had been when she was free to touch Damon each and any time she wanted. When she could let her hands rove over the warm satin of his skin, trace the corded lines of muscles, marvel at the hardness of bone. She had always loved to caress him, could never have enough of the feel of him.

And she didn’t want to wake. Because even in her sleep she knew that this was a dream. Because now she could no longer touch Damon. He wouldn’t allow her to come close to him, would brutally repulse any advances if she tried to make them. She had to stand back and look, and see the beauty of his lean, hard body, the wonderful rich colour of his skin, the beauty of those stunning black eyes—but she couldn’t touch.

Never, ever touch again.

And so she wanted to stay safely cocooned in sleep, lingering in the dream world where reality had no place. Here she could not only look and see, but she could also caress to her heart’s content.

‘Damon…’ she sighed.

‘Sarah!’

The hoarse, husky-voiced cry jolted her awake, bringing her eyes open in a rush. For a second she couldn’t see because of the shadows in the room, but then she blinked hard and found that she was staring up into the deep, dark, intent black eyes that she had just seen in her dreams.

But this time they were real. And so was the hard, warm body she was crushed up against. The strong, supportive shoulder on which her head lay. The heavy, thudding beat of his heart directly under her pillowed cheek.

The scent of his skin was in her nostrils, and her hand…

‘Oh, dear God!’ she muttered as she became aware of just exactly where her hand was lying.

And Damon said nothing but continued to look deep into
her face, as if searching her inner being for some vital, needed answer that only she could give him.

‘I…’ she tried, but her voice failed her, her throat drying painfully, the single syllable coming out on a fractured croak.

And she seemed to have lost any control over her body. Her hand refused to obey her, and even though her mind screamed at it to
move, move now
, it still lingered, paralysed in the most intimate caress imaginable, refusing to let go.

‘Damon…’

She knew what had happened to her, though she could hardly believe it. In her sleep she had done what she would never, ever have done while awake. She had discarded the silly barrier she had set up and moved instinctively into his arms. And by doing so she had betrayed her deepest yearnings.

If only he would speak!

If only he would say something—preferably come out with one of his characteristic cynically sarcastic comments—then it would shatter the dream-like trance in which she still found herself held captive. It would drive away the last clinging threads of sleep and fantasy and wake her completely to reality.

But Damon said nothing. Instead, he lay there silently, holding her eyes with his own.

‘Damon…’ she tried again, with no more effect than before.

But then he moved. With a sense of shock and a terrible emptiness in the pit of her stomach, she felt his mouth drift over the tumbled auburn strands of her hair in the softest kiss imaginable. His mouth trailed down over her forehead, the tip of her nose, heartbreakingly briefly on her mouth.

And then he sighed, deep and raw.

‘Yes or no?’ he said, so softly yet with deadly intent.

His hands traced the slim lines of her throat, the fine bones of her shoulders, ran down her arms. Then he caught hold of both her hands and, lifting them to his mouth, he pressed warm, lingering kisses into each palm, then folded her fingers carefully over them.

‘Yes or no?’

And Sarah knew that there was only one answer she could give him.

The empty space inside her had suddenly filled with a thousand fluttering butterflies, all desperately beating their wings against her ribs. And the warmth of those kisses was spreading through her body, heating her blood, making her pulse race, and the innermost core of her being throb with a hungry need.

Even if this was all he ever offered her, all he could give, she couldn’t deny herself any more. She wanted him, needed him so desperately that there was no way she could say no, or turn away. All that was feminine in her was reaching out, responding to his very potent masculinity. She couldn’t say no—it would kill her to do so.

‘Yes…’ she whispered, her voice cracking on the word. ‘Damon—yes.’

She heard his rough sigh, the breath drawn in sharply and released in a rush, and then his mouth touched hers again. But this time the gentleness had gone. In its place was a beguiling, enticing sensuality, one that teased her lips open, had her mouth softening willingly, and seemed to draw her soul out of her body, rising to meet his.

‘Damon…’ she sighed against his lips.

And at the same time that his kisses made her head swim on a warm current of delight, his hands moved softly but surely over her body. Their heat and hardness smoothed the silk down her slender frame, stroking it against her skin until she didn’t know where she ended and the fine material began. But when he reached the spot where the nightdress
was pushed up, crumpled around her thighs, he paused, letting his fingers rest on the exposed flesh just for a moment before he began to trace slow, erotic patterns on her naked skin.

‘Damon!’

Sarah’s breath knotted in her throat so that she could only choke out his name, no other words forming in her thoughts.

‘Damon, Damon, Damon…’

It was a litany of need, of yearning, of impatience, but he ignored the note of urging, allowing himself only a faint smile against her mouth, before he let his lips follow the same, teasing path that his hands had traced.

Sarah shifted restlessly on the bed, the hunger growing deep inside her, as he kissed his way along her jaw, down her throat, onto the soft skin at the top of her arms exposed by the sleeveless nightdress.

Beneath the creamy silk, her yearning nipples peaked, pushing against the delicate covering, and Sarah’s heart kicked in raw shock as the wicked mouth closed over one hardened tip. With his tongue he encircled the straining bud, moistening the soft fabric until the pink of her skin showed through. Then, taking her nipple into his mouth, he suckled hard through the silk, sending wild electrical currents shafting through every nerve in her body, creating a pleasure so sharp, so primitive that it was dangerously close to pain.

‘Oh, my…’

Sarah arched up from the mattress, pressing herself even closer to him, so that he could increase the pressure; take more of her into his tormenting mouth. She felt the faint graze of his teeth, blunted slightly by the delicate barrier, and gave a choking cry of delight that would not be held back.

Her nightdress seemed too hot, too restrictive. It came
between her and the heated satin touch of Damon’s skin on hers, and her fingers scrabbled impatiently at the garment, struggling to rid herself of its clinging folds.

Damon understood at once, sensing her urgent need, and with one swift movement he pulled the nightdress up and off her restless form, replacing its soft covering with the warmth and hardness of his own body.

‘Yes!’