The Wedding Charade (14 page)

She must have drifted off to sleep for suddenly she heard the door of the bedroom open and Nic came in with a wry expression on his face. ‘I thought you might have bolted to the room down the hall by now,’ he said.

She sat up and hugged her knees and glared at him. ‘I was seriously thinking about it.’

His mouth slanted in a smile. ‘But here you are, waiting for me.’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m not waiting. I fell asleep.’

He moved closer to the bed, his hazel eyes dark as a shadowed swamp as they ran over her. ‘Move over,
cara.’

Jade’s eyes flared, along with her desire. It was like an exotic flower opening inside her, the soft petals unfurling against the walls of her femininity, tickling her, reminding her of what it would feel like to have him there, moving intimately inside her. ‘Since when am I supposed to take orders from you?’ she asked with an attempt at her usual brash bravado, which somehow this time didn’t quite make the grade.

Nic smiled and dropped his bathrobe. ‘If you don’t move I will have to move you and who knows what might happen then, hmm?’

Jade smoothed the crumpled sheets for something to do with her hands rather than putting them where she most wanted to put them. She didn’t want to appear desperate and clingy and needy, but, dear God, how good it was to look at him. He smelt divine: male musk and citrus rolled up in a delicious aroma that was like an irresistible drug. His body was already responding. She tried not to look but how could she not? She ached deep inside for his body to show her what she had been missing for all this time.

Nic cupped her cheek and trained his gaze on hers. ‘There you go again, giving me that look. For the last couple of hours downstairs I told myself I was going to take my time, let you feel your way with me a bit. But how am I supposed to resist you when you look at me like that?’

‘How am I looking at you?’ she asked, licking her lips, which were dryer than paper.

He groaned and joined her on the bed, his head
coming down as hers lifted up for his kiss. Their tongues met in a sexy duel, hot, moist and hungry. It went on and on, fuelling Jade’s need with each throbbing second. She felt her body ripen in awareness, the way her breasts ached and the way her feet arched in pleasure each time he deepened the kiss. Her belly was a deep, bottomless pool of longing, her limbs like jungle vines that wrapped around him to hold him to her. Her hips were beneath the blessed weight of his, the pressure of his erection an erotic reminder of what she had yet to experience with him.

He took his mouth off hers to work his way down to her breasts, taking his time, drawing out her pleasure until she could barely think. That first suckle of his mouth on her nipple made her back come right off the bed, and her arms tightened their hold on him. He flicked his tongue back and forth and then around and around until she was like molten wax, limbless and boneless, her head spinning with the impact of such new sensations.

‘You taste so divine,’ he said against the cup of her shoulder as he worked his way back up to her mouth. ‘Orange blossom and honeysuckle with a touch of vanilla.’

‘You taste good too,’ she said, surprised her voice could even function while her senses were in such overload. She stroked her tongue over his bottom lip, teasing him, waiting to see what he did.

His eyes became hooded as he gazed at her mouth, his tongue moving out over his lips to moisten them before he swooped down and covered hers. The pressure increased as his passion intensified, but Jade still felt as if he was holding back. She decided to take matters
into her own hands and sent them to work on his body: touching him, exploring him in exquisite detail. He groaned under her handiwork, his breathing becoming all the more ragged the more daring she became. It was liberating for her to touch him when and how she wanted, to feel the satin of his skin, to feel the steely length of him quivering in the circle of her fingers. She kissed her way down from his mouth, all the way down his chest, dipping the tip of her tongue into the shallow pool of his belly button, watching as the ridged muscles of his abdomen contracted in anticipation of the rest of the journey.

He put a hand on the back of her head, gently grasping a handful of her hair to stop her.

Jade felt a rush of feminine power she had never felt before. This time it wasn’t about privately sneering at the selfish lack of control some men had, it was about her effect on Nic and how he felt under her touch. He wasn’t the sort of man to lose control. He was a playboy who had had numerous lovers before, but for some reason with her he was having trouble keeping his head. She backed off and waitedfor him to regulate his breathing, watching him, enjoying every flicker of emotion that passed over his face.

He brushed her mouth with his and then touched down again, lingering this time in a kiss that went on and on. His hands slid down her body and she relished the feel of his palms and fingers on her naked flesh. She didn’t send her mind away; instead, she felt herself blooming under his touch. She moved against his pelvis, seeking his hardness, her body achingly empty, hot and moist and ready for him.

He touched her with his fingers, playing with her,
ramping up her need until she was writhing beneath him, breathlessly begging for him to take her to paradise as he had before.

‘Please, Nic, don’t make me wait any longer, please.’ He made a sound deep in his throat and reached across her for a condom. This time she took it from him and rolled it over him, watching as his body burgeoned with the need to explode. ‘You are making this so hard for me to slow down,’ he said against her mouth. ‘I want this to be special for you. I don’t want to rush you.’

She cupped his unshaven face with her hands, every nerve in her palm responding to his raspy maleness. ‘I want you, Nic, like I have never wanted anyone else. I feel like I have been waiting all of my life for this moment.’

‘Me too,’ he said, almost too low for her to hear as he nudged against her slick entrance.

Jade felt the shockwave of delight rush like a river through her. It felt so good to have him against her sensitive flesh; the feel of his strength against her softness was pure bliss. She pushed up with her hips and he surged into her, his attempt to check himself lost as her body gripped him tightly, taking him fully. He groaned again as he was catapulted into the vortex of passion that had already swept her away on its rapid tide. She felt the ripples of pleasure roll through her body from head to foot. Tension built and built, spiralling upwards as she climbed to the summit with him in fast pursuit. Suddenly she was crying out at the sheer magnitude of it as it smashed against her like a giant wave. She was tossed about, rolled over and over until she was a limbless, mindless rag doll, limp with satiation in his arms.

She was conscious enough to feel his orgasm fire like a bullet out of a barrel. She felt his flesh pucker in goose bumps where her hands slid along his back, his skin slick with perspiration, a sexy humid heat that she wanted to bask in for ever.

Jade had never felt comfortable with the after sex chit-chat routine. She had never quite worked out what the right thing to say was when it was over, so she usually said nothing. But this was different.

Way, way different.

She wanted to cuddle up close and feel Nic’s heart beating next to hers. She wanted to breathe in his scent, to commit it to memory for the time when he would no longer be in her life. She wanted to hold him within her until he grew hard again. When it came down to basics, she just didn’t want it to be over.

Not yet.

Not ever.

Nic moved away and pulled the condom off but Jade noticed he was frowning.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked and sat upright but then she felt what he was frowning about.

‘The condom didn’t do its job. There must have been a tear in it or something.’

Jade looked at him with wide eyes. ‘Oh … ‘

He raked a hand through his hair. ‘You’re on the Pill, right? You said you were on the Pill. It should be fine. I don’t have anything. I have regular checkups. I’m totally safe; are you?’

She didn’t speak. Her mind was running ahead with the image of a baby—a gorgeous dark-haired baby. She gave herself a mental shake. Having a baby with Nic would not make him love her nor would it be right in
a temporary marriage. And what sort of mother would she make, in any case? ‘Jade?’

She moved away so he wouldn’t see the longing in her eyes. ‘Of course I’m safe,’ she said, doing what she had to do with the tissues with as much dignity as the circumstances allowed. ‘I’ve been taking the Pill since I was sixteen.’

‘Fine, then,’ he said, sounding immensely relieved. ‘We could probably forgo condoms from now on if we both are exclusive.’

Jade kept her back turned to him.
Exclusive?
He was intending to sleep with only her for the next few months? Hope flared like a beacon in her chest but she quickly doused it.

‘Can I trust you on that?’ she said, finally turning to meet his gaze.

‘When I give my word, I mean it,’ he said. ‘You should know that about me, Jade.’

The air hummed with a singing wire of escalating want.

‘Come here,’ Nic said, sending a shiver of reaction to her toes and back.

Jade slowly turned around, the task of getting back into her bathrobe somehow losing its importance as she met his burning gaze. ‘You…you want me?’

His hands cupped her shoulders as she stepped towards him. ‘I have always wanted you, Jade,’ he said and brought his searing mouth down to hers.

For the next week, while they stayed at the villa, Nic took her on a sensual journey that was beyond exciting and exhilarating. He introduced her to the delights of
the flesh that made her tingle all over when she thought about all they experienced together. They had made love in the shower, in the moonlight, on the deck by the pool, in the gardens with the scent of roses heavy in the air. He had been gentle but passionate with her, urging her into new and even more exciting territory, not stopping until she was blissfully satisfied before he took his own pleasure. It had made her realise how different sex was in the context of a relationship, how it intensified every touch and stroke, or at least it did for her. She could only assume Nic was unaffected, other than physically. He enjoyed sex; he was, after all, a very physically fit man in the prime of his life. He had energy to burn and she willingly partnered him in marathon sessions that left her quivering and tingling for hours afterwards. It was difficult not to think of all the other women he had pleasured before her, but then she reminded herself that she was no plaster saint and, while her experience was nothing to be proud of, she often wondered if he thought of the men she had slept with and felt any stirring of jealousy.

One of the things that had most touched her during that week was Nic’s insistence on seeing some of her art work. He refused to take no for an answer, and so she found herself opening the door of the room she had commandeered on the top floor of the villa. She had unpacked the few materials she had brought with her and made a makeshift easel by using books propped up on a desk to make the most of the light. The watercolour she was working on was a scene from the villa gardens where a fountain was surrounded by clipped low-lying hedges, and in the background was the sparkling blue of the lake and the mountains beyond. It wasn’t her best
work and she felt uncomfortable showing him it half-done but he seemed totally entranced as he looked at it.

‘You did this?’ he said, turning from the painting to look at her.

Jade gave a self-conscious nod. ‘I know it’s not terribly professional. I haven’t been to art school or anything. I’m just an amateur, as I told you.’

‘May I?’ Nic asked as he pointed to the little stack of unframed paintings she had brought with her.

She felt her face heating with embarrassment and silently prayed he wouldn’t laugh at her paltry attempts to capture a favourite scene. ‘Go ahead,’ she said. ‘But they’re not worth anything. They’re not even worth framing.’

He went through the paintings one by one, looking in detail at each brush stroke and nuance of light and colour.

Jade stood, awkwardly shifting her weight from foot to foot, feeling like the times she had waited for her father’s verdict on yet another wretched school report.

‘Jade, these are amazing,’ Nic said, breaking through her thoughts. His eyes met hers. ‘You are so talented. Why haven’t you pursued this as a career? You have a gift. I’m not just saying it, you truly do. I have never seen such mastery of perspective and use of light and colour.’

Jade was stunned by his reaction. She had tried to be objective with her work but she always felt as if she could do better, that she was not good enough and never would be. She had no background in the arts; she hadn’t studied art history or worked with an established artist in a mentor programme, as so many others did. She hadn’t
read a single textbook on technique or style because she couldn’t. She had looked at the pictures, certainly, but that didn’t really count for much, in her opinion. She had acted out so much during her childhood, from frustration at not being able to understand what the teachers were trying to teach her, that her behaviour had been what everyone had focused on, each school she had attended failing to recognise that her disruptive behaviour was a symptom rather than the cause. As the years went on she had felt too ashamed to tell anyone of her inability to read past a few simple words. Her dependency on her father had never been a choice, for how could she expect anyone to employ her with no literacy skills?

Nic put the paintings to one side and placed his hands on shoulders. ‘Why are you hiding your talent away?’ he asked. ‘Why let everyone believe you are nothing but a time-wasting society heiress when you have this incredible gift? ‘

Jade twisted her mouth. ‘It’s nice of you to be so positive but I’m not exactly a gifted artist. I know nothing about art theory. I just do what I feel like at the time. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Mostly, it doesn’t.’

‘Cara,
you are being so hard on yourself,’ he said. ‘I just don’t understand. You, of all people. You’ve had the money to back you to go to the art school of your choice. You have the sort of networking opportunities most struggling artists would kill for and yet you have hidden all of this away as if it’s some dreadful, shameful secret. Why?’