“I knew you’d taste like the sweetest honey.”
His words called to her mind from afar and a sliver of reason returned. She pushed against his chest and he let her go. Gasping for breath, they stared at each other for several seconds, before he turned and headed for the door.
“I think I proved my point, don’t you? Rest up. You’ll need your strength.”
The door slammed and Samantha sank into the nearest chair. Blood still roared in her ears and the need in her womanhood begged for attention. She dropped her head in her palms, gasping and allowing the shame to wash over her.
How could she encourage the man when all she wanted was to get rid of him? How could she show so little restraint? She, who prided herself on never losing control, sorely lacked it when Brent so much as breathed on her.
She toed off her trainers and pulled her feet under her, hugging her knees. He was so wrong in so many ways. Maybe she needed to remind herself why she should never allow him near her again. Even though her heart argued that it might not be such a bad idea.
“That’s easy,” she said, ignoring the emptiness of the room.
Firstly, she didn’t date married men. Ever.
Secondly, the ethics committee would have an easy job disbarring her the moment it learnt she’d dated the opposing party. The number of ethical rules she’d broken by allowing him into her home without his attorney present, was staggering.
Thirdly, the man was too young. She’d frowned at women trying to regain their youth by dating younger men. Her self-confidence didn’t need a boost. In fact, she suspected it would undermine her ability to trust her own choices in the future if she gave in to this unholy attraction she felt toward him.
Fourthly, the man lived a life in the spotlight. With his wealth and status as a national rugby player, he would never have a moment of peace during a relationship. She refused to live in a fishbowl.
Knowing why she shouldn’t give in to the attraction didn’t help her formulate a plan to keep out of the man’s way. And she had to. Tonight he’d proved just how easy he could seduce her.
She’d just have to avoid him. If it meant she had to take her car to work, she was willing to do it.
Satisfied she’d made the correct decision, she brewed herself a cup of coffee, popped a slice of toast into the toaster and picked up the newspaper. There was nothing like reading about murder and mayhem to nip her horny thoughts in the bud.
Chapter Five
After another sleepless night, Samantha arrived at work determined to put Brent out of her mind. Sighing, she opened Amber’s file. Rob had returned the signed settlement agreement and filed a motion to apply for a court date. She made a note to her partner about the divorce being uncontested and requested him to attend should the date fall within her eight week leave period. After instructing her secretary to diarize the matter on a weekly basis, she dropped the file on the finalized pile. Proud of herself for managing to concentrate on work while her whole body ached for his touch, the day flew by.
When the partners chased her out of the office at one o’clock, Samantha wandered the streets searching for a travel agency. At first she was angry with her partners for forcing her to take some of her accumulated leave even through she’d offered to forfeit both the days and the money. According to them, no person could work for eight years without a single day’s leave. Now the leave was heaven-sent.
Brent’s relentless pursuit flattered and excited her and it would be all too easy to give into temptation. Putting some distance between Brent and herself would allow them both to cool down. If she disappeared, he couldn’t seduce her.
She found a travel agency a few blocks farther, went inside and picked up some of the brochures. Two hours later, she hung her head. Unless she robbed a bank, she couldn’t afford the luxury holidays these people offered. She thanked the travel agent and promised to consider the options. She’d have to make her own plans which didn’t involve taking out a second mortgage on the house.
* * * *
By Saturday afternoon, she’d scrubbed the flat from top to bottom, tried reading a novel and walked by the television three times. She’d picked up the remote and dropped it without switching the set on. The fourth time she relented with a sigh and switched the set on.
Contrary to her past viewing history, she flicked through the sport channels until she reached the one broadcasting the rugby match between South Africa and England at the Loftus stadium. Brent wasn’t playing. Disgusted with herself for checking, she was at the point of switching the set off when the announcer commented on the injury the star lock had suffered earlier in the game. She watched in horror as two equally huge men buried Brent’s frame under them. When they stood, Brent remained on the grass, hugging his thigh.
Her mouth dried when emergency personnel loaded him on a stretcher and carried him off the field. She flicked the switch turning off the set.
“I don’t care,” she whispered as she paced the room.
Right, and that’s why you’re wearing out the carpet and constantly staring at the clock.
By seven o’clock, she was frantic with worry and turned the television on again.
The newscaster droned on and on until she thought he would never get to the sport section. Relief flooded her when she learned that Brent’s injury wasn’t life-threatening and he had only pulled a muscle in his thigh. As a result of the injury, Brent wouldn’t be able to play rugby for at least six weeks.
Samantha, you’re pathetic. You accuse the man of being the scum of the earth and then you bite your nails waiting to find out how seriously he’s been hurt.
She flicked the television off again, donned her tracksuit and trainers and ran out the door. After running several blocks at breakneck speed her emotions calmed enough for her to appreciate the stupidity of her actions.
Worrying over a man she’d probably never see again was pointless. In time, the memory of their kiss would fade and she would thank herself for the disaster averted. She slowed her pace and headed home.
On her return, a white SUV was parked in front of the gate, blocking the entrance to the property. Damn it, she’d told the students numerous times not to obstruct the driveway. If there was an emergency, she didn’t want to struggle to first track down the owner of the offending car. She squeezed through the small opening between the bodywork and the gate and made a mental note to stick a flyer on the notice board.
As she unlocked the door to her flat, a large frame disengaged itself from the shadows and Samantha’s heart leaped to her throat. Before she could manage to get her lungs working, Brent’s hand clamped over her arm.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She ignored the warmth spreading from his touch to the rest of her body.
“You scared the daylights out of me.” She flung open the door and switched on the light. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in the hospital or something?”
“No, but thanks for worrying.”
“I didn’t.”
She closed the door behind him and dropped the keys on a small table next to the door. With her back to him, she could
almost
manage to talk to him without making a fool of herself.
“Sure you didn’t.”
Then he was behind her with his hands resting on her shoulders, massaging the now tense muscles. When he slid his hands down her arms, she fought for breath.
“I missed you,” he said before lowering his lips to the spot where her shoulder and neck met.
This is so wrong
, her mind screamed.
Push him away. Just do something.
She remained motionless in his embrace, her body utterly feminine against his strong one. She exhaled on a shudder.
“Why are you doing this?”
He turned her to face him. “I need you.”
“You don’t
know
me. We’ve practically just met. How can you possibly think I’m what you need?”
His shoulders slumped. “I know because I can’t seem to concentrate on anything else but holding you in my arms again. So, for now, you are exactly what I need.”
Initially, her body stiffened at his hint of temporariness, but then she relaxed. He was right,
for now
was all they had—could have. Why the thought made her want to cry, she refused to ponder.
He nibbled on the lobe of her ear while his hands skimmed up her sides until he cupped her heavy breasts. She rested her head against his shoulder. The tender squeezing of her soft flesh had her pushing her breasts into his hands. Her body ached to be touched, stroked, licked and fucked.
What was she thinking? Had she lost her mind? She should send him away not lean into him.
Her nipples pebbled even more as he gently rolled them between his thumbs and forefingers before pinching them hard, shooting bundles of sensation through her body. She lost her train of thought. In the volcano between her legs, tiny eruptions caused liquid heat to overflow and drip onto her thong. She gyrated her hips in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure building there. The evidence of his arousal rubbing against the small of her back sent shivers of anticipation skittering through her veins.
Brett stroked her tummy, skimming his palms over her hips.
Get down there
, she wanted to scream at him. Instead, she closed her eyes and allowed the sensations to build.
“I need to touch you,” he said before his mouth continued the exploration of the sensitive skin on her neck.
“Hmm.”
His hand slipped beneath the waistband of her tracksuit pants and delved under the tiny scrap of lace. Involuntary, she opened her legs wider. When his finger found the bundle of nerves, stroking it lightly, the electrical circuits in her legs shorted out.
“Oh my,” she managed on a shaky breath.
He hiked her up to rest her backside on his thighs. Then his fingers found her clitoris and Samantha flung her arm around his neck to hold on. Somewhere during the past few minutes, her legs had become inoperative.
Oh, this is so good.
The sensation of falling barely registered before her legs hit the floor. Sprawled beneath her, Brett struggled for breath and she realized with horror her elbow jutted into his stomach. Forcing her lethargic limbs to move, she rolled off him and rose to her knees.
“Are you all right?”
Humor flickered in his eyes and he roared with laughter. Samantha stared at the transformation of his face. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief and the skin beside his eyes crinkled.
“I’m fine.” He leaned on his elbow, still chuckling. “I must admit though, this is the first time I dropped a date.”
Her lips edged up at the corners. It had to have looked like a scene from a slapstick comedy when they’d tumbled to the ground—all arms and legs and with his hand still lodged in her pants.
She stood and watched as he struggled to stand up, clutching at his bandaged thigh. Mortified, she pushed him onto the nearest couch.
“Now you’ve hurt your leg again.”
“I don’t think so, but it refused to carry our weight—hence the awkward tumbling.”
Free from his touch, her mind started working and she wobbled to a chair opposite him.
“I can’t do this.”
“We nearly did. Wasn’t it good?”
And there lay the problem. It was so good she could get addicted to his touch like a junkie craving his next fix. Become dependent on the sexual pleasure he brought her every time he stroked her hair and explored her body.
She nodded. “You know it was.”
Jumping up from the chair, she walked to the window. She needed space between them for her mind to function properly. Turning to face him again, she crossed her arms in front of her.
“Don’t you understand this could ruin my career? Everything I’ve built up over the past fifteen years could go up in flames.”
“Why? Because you’re involved with a younger man?”
“No, because you’re my client’s husband.”
“Not anymore.”
“Until the divorce is finalized, the semantics won’t matter to the ethics board.”
“It is.”
What had she missed? “It is…what?”
“A judge granted the divorce Friday afternoon on special request by my attorney. I’m due to be in England for the next three months, so he convinced a judge it would be in the interests of justice to grant the order now.”
“On a Friday afternoon?”
He grinned and her heart skidded to a stop only to start again painfully. No man had the right to be so gorgeous.
“This one didn’t mind. He’s crazy about rugby and it was easy to convince him I wouldn’t be in top form if I still had this divorce hanging over me.”
The differences between them became more apparent. None of her acquaintances had the kind of influence to convince a judge to convene a full court on a Friday afternoon. Divorce cases rated low on the scale of importance to the High Court.
“Amber is still my client.”
“So withdraw from her case. Someone else from your office attended the divorce.” He frowned. “Why weren’t you there?”
“I’m on leave since Friday morning.”
“For how long?”
“Eight weeks.”
“Have you decided where to go?”
Samantha shook her head. “I’m taking it one day at a time.” She sighed. “Do you want some coffee?”
“Yes, please, but don’t change the subject.”
She watched him from the open-plan kitchen. “I’m not changing the subject. I’m no good with holidays. I haven’t taken one in the eight years I’ve been with the firm, so I’m still adjusting to not going in to work every day.”
The kettle boiled and she filled their cups. “What about your injury? Are you still going to England?”
He nodded and tucked his foot onto the injured leg. “Yes, after I’ve been declared fit. Should be in about six weeks.”
She placed his coffee on the side table and walked over to the window. London, Paris, India, Australia…all the places he took for granted were as alien to her as the surface of the moon. She hadn’t even traveled her own country and here he talked about visiting England like it was just another normal day to him.
“Come with me.”
The coffee spilled over the edge of her cup and scorched her hand. “Excuse me?”