The Mistress's Child (16 page)

Tricia peered down at the fabric and pointed a perfect fingernail at several of the colours. 'We could pick out one of these shades,' she suggested and turned her head. 'What do you think, Phil?'

Phil?

Phil?

Lisi wanted to scream and to demand what right she had to call him by a nickname that she had never heard used before, but there was absolutely no point at all. Tricia could call him anything she liked, and probably did—in bed at night when he was making mad, passionate love to her.

'I like the...I like the yellow.' She swallowed.

'Mmm!' Tricia smiled. 'Perfect! Sunny and positive— and with all that glorious light flooding in—' She waved an expansive arm at the window. 'The room will look irresistible!' She shot a look at Philip, and her eyes glimmered. 'We could do it in the same colour as your London dining room, in fact—or would you rather something different down here?'

'Something a touch brighter, perhaps?' he murmured as Lisi turned abruptly away.

So Tricia had decorated his other home, too, had she? That was a pretty big compliment to pay a woman, no matter that she was being paid for her skills. To be selected to choose paints and fabrics for a man as discerning as Philip must mean that he rated her very highly indeed.

Lisi walked over to the window and looked out, the way she had done countless times before, as a child. She used to sit on the ledge for hours and watch the change as each new season came upon the garden, though she could never remember a scene so bare and unforgiving as the one which lay outside today.

'Shall we tackle the main bedroom today?' Tricia was asking.

Philip was watching Lisi and saw the way that her body had stiffened and some pernicious devil made him want to take Tricia up on her offer, but he decided against it.

'Not today, thanks, Trish,' he said casually. I have a few things I need to discuss with Lisi.'

'Oh. Okay. Well, call me later, if you like, and we'll sort out what needs doing. Nice to have met you, Lisi!'

Lisi turned around, wishing that her features would stop feeling as if they were made out of stone. 'Nice to have met you, too,' she managed.

There was silence in the room while Tricia gathered up her samples and put them all in a soft leather case, then she stood on tiptoe and kissed first Philip's right cheek, and then his left.

'See ya!' She smiled. 'I'll let myself out.'

'I'll call you,' he promised.

Lisi studied the floorboards with intense interest and not a word was spoken as they heard Tricia running down the stairs and the front door slamming behind her.

'Lisi?' he questioned softly.

She lifted her eyes to find herself imprisoned in a cool green gaze and her cheeks flooded with heat as she gave into the unwelcome but inevitable.

I want him, she thought suddenly, and the tip of her tongue flicked out to lick at the sudden unbearable dryness of her lips. I always have and I always will—and I can't bear the thought of anyone else having him. If he still wants me—if-—then who on earth am I benefitting by turning him down? He is tied to me through Tim, she told herself with a fierce, primitive feeling of possession—and he will always be tied to me.

Now what was she playing at? he wondered. Why was she giving him that flushed and glittering look as though she wanted him to go and take her in his arms—especially as she had made so clear on Christmas night that physical closeness was the very last thing on her mind. Damn her! he thought, feeling his body immediately reacting to what looked like an unmistakable invitation in her eyes.

She didn't break the stare, just carried on looking at him, feeling her body begin to flower with need as his eyes dark-

ened and then narrowed in a slowly dawning comprehension.

'Lisi?' he said again, only now his voice had thickened to honey. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?'

She wasn't going to play games; there was no time for games, and even if there were—wouldn't games be totally inappropriate between a couple who had been through what they had been through?

She moistened her lips again and saw the dull flush of awareness arrow up the carved cheekbones. 'Is Tricia just your designer?' she asked.

Her question told him everything. She was jealous. Jealous! He felt the heady flood of triumph as he realised that now he had her exactly where he wanted her.

'And if she is?'

The instant denial she had been preying for had not materialised, but his ambiguous question did nothing but fuel the fire which was slowly building inside her.

'Yes, or no?'

"What's it to you, Lisi? Don't you like me having women friends?'

'No!' The word shot out all by itself before she could stop it.

He could see the tension building in her—he would build it and build it until it all came rushing out and she would be unable to stop it. His question was silky. 'Why not?'

Damn him! Was he going to make her beg? She wanted him, yes, but she would never, ever beg. Her breathing was so shallow and erratic that she could barely get the words out. 'You know why not.'

Oh, yes, he knew. He could tell just by looking at her. She shouldn't be able to appear so damned sexy—not in that dull, chain-store suit with her hair scraped right back off her face. Some men might have been turned on by Tricia's blonde, pampered perfection—but he wanted this

complex, beguiling woman who could not disguise the hunger in her eyes.

'Come here,' he ordered softly.

Pride forgotten, she went to him, staring up at him with wide eyes, praying for him to take the next step and to pull her into his arms. But he did not touch her. Not straight away. His eyes were mocking her and enchanting her, his lips curved into a predatory smile.

'What do you want, Lisi? Tell me.'

Peace of mind, that was what she wanted—and she suspected that she would never get it with Philip Caprice in her life, in whatever capacity. She tipped her head to one side and wondered whether she could break him.

'Don't you know?' she responded shakily.

Something snapped inside him as he realised that he had wasted enough time. Tease her too much and she might just turn on her high heels and walk right out of here and he might never get another opportunity to discover whether she was as dynamic as he remembered, or whether time had distorted the memory and made it into something it wasn't.

He reached to her hair and removed the restraining clip and her hair tumbled free. 'Beautiful,' he murmured unsteadily as he pulled her into his arms and bent his head and she could feel his hot breath on her face.

'Are you jealous, Lisi?' he taunted. 'Jealous of Tricia?'

Jealous of every woman who might end up in his arms, like this. 'Yes,' she whispered.

His laugh was a low sound of victory as he bent his mouth to hers, teasing it open with the elusive flicker of his tongue, and Lisi closed her eyes and gave into it, snaking her hands up to the broad shoulders as he levered her up close to him.

He could feel her breasts pushing against him—their fullness growing by the second—and something primal ex-

ploded inside him in a ferment of desire so blisteringly hot that he shuddered in its power, scarcely aware of his actions as he began to feverishly unbutton her suit jacket.

She knew exactly what he was doing, and that she ought to stop him, that they shouldn't be doing this now, here, but the moment his hand cupped at her breast Lisi knew she was lost.

'Philip,' she cried.

Through the mists of wanting, her broken little cry penetrated. 'What?'

She shook her head. 'Philip, Philip, Philip,' she said, over and over again, and his name tasted as delicious as the warm lips which were plundering hers so expertly, so that she felt as if she were drowning in sheer forbidden pleasure.

He pushed the jacket from her shoulders and it fell to the floor, and then he unbuttoned her white blouse and sucked in a shivering breath as he looked down at her breasts. Rich, ripe breasts, covered by some washed-out looking bra which had clearly seen better days. But none of that mattered, not when each tight little bud was so clearly defined.

With a small moan he reached his hand round her back and undipped the bra in a fluid gesture until it dropped redundantly to join the jacket, and her breasts were free.

She jerked her head back with a moan as she felt the first hot lick of his tongue teasing each nipple into near-painful awareness. He was unbuttoning her skirt now and sliding the zip down and she wanted him to, couldn't wait for him to touch her where she so squirmingly needed to be touched. The room was cool, but all she could feel was the heat of his hands and his mouth as they trailed paths of delight over the skin he was swiftly uncovering.

She was down to her panties and tights now, and Philip pulled impatiently at his belt, silently groaning at the nee-

essary delay of getting free from this damned clothing. Her fingers were scrabbling at his sweater and he momentarily moved away from her so that he could haul it over his head, and pulled her back again so that her breasts nudged so enchantingly against his bare chest.

She was clumsily jerking at the zip now and he shook his head, stilling her hand and moving it away while he dealt with it, because he was so aroused that it needed a man's hand to protect his straining hardness.

Shoes and socks and boxers were kicked and pulled off and he unceremoniously hoicked her tights and panties off before tossing them disdainfully into the corner. 'I'm going to buy you stockings,' he promised unsteadily. 'From now on you will wear nothing but stockings!'

She neither knew nor cared what he was intending to do, apart from what lay in the immediate future.

'Are you still on the pill?' he was demanding.

She shook her head. 'Not any more.'

He grabbed his trousers and pulled a pack of condoms out, thanking some merciful hand which had guided him to buy some. 'I'd like you to slide this on for me, Lisi,' he whispered as he ripped open the foil. 'Come on. Put it on for me.'

She glanced down, and swallowed. She couldn't, not this first time—it was too daunting, too intimate. 'You do it,' she whispered back.

She felt him sliding the condom on, then heard him swear softly, and when she opened her eyes to see what was the matter he was glowering down at the bare floorboards with a look of disgust on his face.

'There's no bloody bed in the house yet!' he groaned, and swiftly picked her up to carry her to the other side of the room, out of view of the window.

'Wh-what are you doing?' She gasped as he leaned her

back against the wall and lifted her up, positioning her legs around his naked waist.

'What do you think I'm doing?' he ground out. His fingers moved down to find her slick and ready and he uttered silent thanks because he felt as if he would go insane unless he...he...

'Oh, Philip,' she sobbed as his great strength thrust into her, and she thought that nothing could ever feel this good, or this right. 'Philip,' she said again, on a long-drawn-out shudder.

Her pleasure only intensified his. He had never had to fight to maintain control quite so much as he moved inside her, watching her face as it bloomed, feeling her hot tightness encasing him in a moist, exquisite sheath.

He sought to distract himself with words rather than sensation. 'Tell me how it feels,' he urged throatily.

How to describe paradise in a sentence? she despaired \ with another helpless moan as he cupped her buttocks and thrust into her even deeper.

'Tell me!' he commanded.

'It's...it's...'

'It's what, Lisi?' he prompted, his voice a silken caress.

It's Philip, the father of my child, she thought as the unbelievable waves of orgasm crept unexpectedly upon her, sweeping her up in their swell, rocking her until she was left shuddering and weak, her tears spilling down like rain onto his shoulder.

 Her tears confused him, acted as a temporary deterrent to his own fulfilment. For a second he almost wanted to lift her head and dry her tears away, demand that she tell him what had made her cry like that, but his own orgasm was too strong to be denied. Even as he began to frame the question he felt himself caught in its inexorable path, and he drove into her, pulled her closer still until his seed spilled out, and he was rocked with the force of it all.

Seconds—minutes?—later, he kissed the top of her head and felt her shiver.

'You're cold,' he observed. 'Better get dressed.'

So that was it. Wild and passionate sex up against the wall and all he could talk about was the temperature of the room.

Reminding herself that she had wanted it as much—if not more—than him, Lisi nodded and snuggled against his chest for one last precious moment of physical closeness, listening to the muffled thunder of his heart as it began to slow.

He could have stayed like this all day. Still inside her, with her naked body locked so indulgently around his and her hair spilling all over him—making everything black where it touched. He felt himself begin to stir again and knew that, if one of them did not begin to make an effort to get dressed, he would grow inside her to fill her again, and want to make love with the same sweet abandon as before.

'You acted like you really needed that,' he observed in a whisper.

She lifted her eyes to his and suddenly thought—tell him. Why not? 'It's...it's been a long time,' she admitted.

'How long?' he demanded, though his body tensed as it prepared itself for the stab of jealousy.

'Since that night with you,' she answered slowly and heard him suck in a disbelieving breath.

His eyes narrowed, 'Honestly?'

'There's no reason for me to lie, Philip.'

'I'm flattered,' he murmured.

Ridiculously disappointed by his reaction, she let her feet slide slowly to the ground. I have to get back to work,' she said.

He thought how matter-of-fact she sounded—still, if that was the way she wanted to play it, it was fine by him. At

least there were to be no hypocritical words of love and affection, which neither of them would mean. 'There's hot water,' he offered. 'If you want to take a shower?'