Outsider (12 page)

main road, and heading north again.

Indeed, rather to her surprise, they were back at the stables before she knew

it. As he switched off the engine, Natalie said stiltedly, 'Thank you. That

was—very nice.'

'It was indeed,' he said gravely. 'But it's not over yet. Come round the yard

with me, and make sure everything's closed up for the night, then we'll have

a nightcap.'

Natalie hesitated, every instinct warning her to refuse, but the thought of

letting herself into the solitary darkness of the house wasn't particularly

appealing, so she accompanied him silently as he went from box to box,

checking their fastenings.

When he'd completed his rounds, she said rather breathlessly, 'I think I'd

better go straight home—if you don't mind...'

'One last drink,' he suggested. 'Then I'll walk you back to the house.'

She bit her lip. 'Well, just one.'

She stood in the russet-coloured sitting-room, feeling absurdly

self-conscious, listening to the chink of glasses, and the smothered pop of a

cork.

She gasped. 'You said—a drink,' she protested. 'Not more champagne!'

'It is a drink.' Eliot handed her the fizzing glass. 'It's not obligatory to finish

the whole bottle, unless you want to.' He touched his glass to hers. 'Cheers.'

Then he moved away to where the hi-fi was housed.

There was music in the air—not classics this time, but a woman's voice,

husky and sensuous, and unfamiliar to Natalie.

'Who—who is that?' She sat primly down on one of the sofas, smoothing her

skirt over her knees, relieved that Eliot had made no attempt to sit beside

her.

'Carly Simon,' he said. 'Your musical education has been sadly neglected.'

She took a sip of her champagne. She thought, I could really get addicted to

this stuff. Aloud she said, 'We didn't even have a record player in the house

until Dad and Beattie were married. She says he's a Philistine, and proud of

it.'

'And Tony wasn't interested either.'

She shook her head. 'Dad and he thought exactly alike—on a number of

things.' She leaned back against the soft cushions, feeling relaxation spread

through her like champagne bubbles. There was no fire in the grate tonight,

but the heating was on, and the room was warm. It was strange, but she felt

more comfortable in the flat now than she'd ever done when she lived there.

She drank some more wine, closing her eyes and absorbing the music,

letting that flow through her too, until she began to feel as if she was

floating.

Eliot said softly, 'Come and dance with me.'

Her lashes lifted slowly. He was standing in front of her, smiling faintly as

he looked down at her. He had discarded his jacket and tie, and unbuttoned

his waistcoat. Her eyes widened as she saw he was still holding his glass.

'Aren't you going to put that down?'.

He shook his head. 'It's only drinking and driving that's illegal. Drinking and

dancing is fun. Try it.' He took her unresisting hand and drew her gently to

her feet. 'You do dance?' His voice was teasing.

'I used to.' A lifetime ago, she thought, when I was someone else entirely.

When I dreamed that love led to marriage, and happiness ever after.

It wasn't something, she discovered, that you forgot. The slow, sultry rhythm

of the music captured her, and she began to move, shyly at first, but then

with more confidence, humming the melody under her breath. Eliot matched

her step for step, every sway of the hips, every turn of the body.

She held out her glass, and he refilled it, and she began to giggle.

'This is so silly.'

'And why not? Life's a pretty serious business most of the time.'

'That is true.' She drank some wine, tipping her head back ecstatically. 'Oh,

that is so true.'

Eliot took her hand, and sent her spinning gently away from Him, then drew

her back again.

'Now that was clever,' she said solemnly.

'We're a gifted pair.' He ran a finger down her suede sleeve. 'Aren't you hot

in this thing?'

'Terribly, but I have this problem with a glass.'

He took it from her fingers. 'Consider it solved.'

The buttons on her jacket were usually stubborn, but tonight they seemed to

slide open. She wriggled her arms out of the sleeves, and dropped the jacket

on to the sofa.
'Voila!'

He bowed slightly and handed back her glass, and they went on dancing. He

made her spin round again, his hand on her waist, and she laughed, then

sighed as the mood of the music changed and slowed.

Somehow, she'd finished the rest of the champagne, and Eliot took the

empty glass from her and put it down, with his own. They stood facing each

other, barely moving, then he reached forward, taking both her hands in his

for a moment, then sliding his fingers up her silk-clad arms to her shoulders,

and up again, stroking the side of her throat, and the sensitive area beneath

her ears. Then his hands moved again, and Natalie realised he was taking the

pins out of her hair. She felt the soft weight of it descend on the nape of her

neck, and shook her head to free it properly.

'Mm,' he murmured in soft approval.

He clasped her waist lightly with both hands, drawing her forward a little so

that their bodies were almost touching, but not quite. His fingers were warm

and very strong through the silk that veiled her skin. His eyes were half

closed as he looked at her, and she realised for the first time how long his

lashes were. He seemed to be waiting for something—for her to touch him

of her own volition, some instinct told her. And she needed to touch him

because there was a warm, wild current running through her veins, and

turning her legs to water. She put up her hands and clung to his shoulders,

her eyes widening as she experienced their hard muscularity for the first

time.He bent his head, and she felt his lips gently touching her hair, then her

forehead., brushing the soft concealing tendrils aside.

She was enclosed in a bubble of warmth and sensation, as his mouth trailed

tantalisingly over her closed eyelids, and along her cheekbones, caressing

the tip of her nose, the curve of her cheek, the point of her chin, but not her

lips—never her lips, and it was killing her. She wanted to be kissed—needed

it more than she needed air to breathe. Her hands clasped his neck, fingers

locking as she drew him down to her.

There was no space between them any more. She was pressed against him,

absorbing the hurry of his heartbeat, the sudden irregularity in his building

through every pore, every nerve-ending in her own skin.

'Kiss me.' Had he said it, or was it her own potent unspoken longing she

heard?

His tongue stroked her lips, parting them, then his mouth was on hers,

moving softly at first, then more deeply, fuelling the strange aching need

inside her in a sensual commingling of moist, urgent fire. She drank thirstily

from that fire, answering it with her own.

When Eliot lifted his head, she moaned in disappointment.

'Oh, God,' he said hoarsely. 'My sweet...'

He poured a rain of tiny, burning kisses on her upturned face, and her throat,

while his hands moved with bewildering swiftness, releasing the buttons on

her cuffs, then up to the shadowy vee at her throat, and down between the

small, high breasts, uncovering her. She felt the shiver of silk on her skin as

he pushed the shirt from her shoulders. The zip on her skirt rasped

downwards, and she clung to him as he guided her out of the imprisoning

fabric.

He went down on one knee to take off her long boots, ridding her almost

casually of her tights as well. When he got to his feet again, she swayed

towards him, the tips of her lace-covered breasts grazing the wall of his

chest.

His hand twisted in her hair, tipping back her head, and he kissed her mouth

again with a passion and a hunger that demanded appeasement. Her head

was spinning, the race of her blood sounding like thunder in her ears. His

fingers slid down her spine to find the small metal clasp which fastened her

bra. He drew the straps down her arms, freeing her breasts from the

concealing lace, covering the tumescent peaks with his hands, his fingers

teasing the nipples into an agony of pleasure.

Was it the same for him? she wondered as her own hands found their way

inside his shirt to begin a first, tentative exploration.

He kissed her as she caressed him, letting her know through the silent

command of his mouth that he wanted more—much more from her.

Trembling, she pulled and tore at his clothing, discovering him, adoring him

with her hands, drawing a throaty groan of pleasure from him. He kissed her

breasts, circling the hot, engorged peaks with his tongue, his hands stroking

down her body, removing her underskirt and briefs as if he was brushing

aside some gossamer cobweb.

He sank down on to the softness of the carpet, drawing her with him, his

mouth locked hard to hers, his hand parting her thighs, the long fingers

gentle, almost teasing as he caressed her, then, suddenly, not gentle at all.

She cried out as he entered her, pierced, transfixed by a pleasure so intense

she thought she would die.

But she was alive, gloriously, superbly, shatteringly alive. Reborn, Natalie

fell, entwined with him, into some nameless, endless void of delight.

NATALIE woke slowly in a room filled with sunlight, aware as she uncoiled

herself of an incredible sense of well-being.

She hoped drowsily that it had nothing to do with the wildly erotic dreams

which had assailed her during the night.

God knows what part of my subconscious they were dredged up from, she

thought, half amused, half guilty, as she stretched languidly, and opened her

eyes—to find it wasn't the autumn sun flooding between her own familiar

curtains that gave that golden glow.

Not her room, she thought, dry-mouthed, her body freezing into swift

rigidity. And, oh God, not her bed either.

Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, she turned her head.

Eliot had pushed the covers away during the night, and Natalie had an

uninterrupted view of his tanned shoulders, and the long, naked length of his

back. Every atom of air in her body seemed to be compressed into one stifled

gasp of horrified disbelief.

No dream, she realised, as a burning blush of shame consumed her whole

body. It had been all too real. She'd let Eliot Lang pour champagne down her

as if it was going out of fashion, and then she—she'd...

She pressed a clenched fist against her mouth. Memory was intruding now,

reminding her remorselessly of everything that had happened the previous

night.

And all she wanted to do was crawl away somewhere and die, before Eliot

woke and saw her. Before he started remembering too...

He'd been drinking as well, she thought feverishly. If she—quietly slipped

away, and later, when they inevitably encountered each other, she was her

usual cool self, • maybe—just maybe he'd think he'd been dreaming too. At

least she could try.

She began to move with the utmost caution, edging her way gingerly to the

edge of the bed, knowing even as she did so that it was all futile. That she

should have made her escape hours before.

Because Eliot was awake. She watched him stir, stretch and turn, one arm

already seeking her, lazily scooping her back across the bed to the warm

curve of his body, as he smiled down into her outraged eyes.

'Good morning,' he said softly, and his hand lifted to cup her breast in a

gesture of total familiarity. 'I don't think I remember a day which promised

as much.'

Natalie said hoarsely, 'Let go of me. Let go of me now!'

The straight brows drew together as he studied her flushed face.

'Now why should I do any such thing?'

'Because I've got to go.' She tried to push away the caressing hand. 'I've got

to get out of here now.'

'It's Sunday,' he reminded her. 'The horses don't go out to exercise today.

We've hours before anyone starts wondering where we are.' He bent and

kissed the bare curve of her shoulder, grimacing slightly as his stubble-

roughened chin left a faint mark on her skin. 'I'll make a deal with you,

darling. I'll shave, and you make some coffee, and we'll come back to bed

and discuss our plans for the rest of the day.'

Natalie tried unavailingly to struggle free of his imprisoning arm. She said

raggedly, 'You think I'd stay here with you—you utter bastard? You took

advantage of me last night...'

He lifted himself on an elbow and stared down at her, brows lifting, the

intimately teasing smile dying out of his eyes. He said slowly, 'There's a

sweet old-fashioned expression.' He paused. 'Any advantage that was taken