Wild and Wanton (10 page)

She expected him to argue with her. Something had been started on the dance floor; and every moment of the way home had brought with it the deeper conviction that it was something he intended to pursue.

‘There'll be other evenings.' The softly growled words emanated from a point deep in his throat.

It was just as she'd thought. ‘No, there won't be, Mr. Farraday.'

‘What's the matter with Nick?'

The influence of the wine hadn't worn off; otherwise, despite everything, she didn't think she would have dared speak her mind. ‘Not a
thing,
on the face of it. He's got everything going for him. Looks; position. Don't ask me how, but he also manages to earn the slavish adoration of other males. I don't mean anything by that, because it's obvious that he's a well squared away heterosexual male. But . . .'

‘Don't stop now. It's just getting interesting.'

‘The fact is, I think you're just too good to be true.' She expected him to be furious with her. Surely he wasn't going to let her get away with that?

‘You really have got it in for me, haven't you?'

The blandness of his tone goaded her to utter further indiscretions. ‘You might be able to fool others, but not me. I can't see the halo for the horns.'

‘And there I was thinking they were neatly tucked out of sight. You see me as a devil, do you? If you choose to think badly of me, that's all right by me. I don't like halos. They take too much living up to. My true colors are much more comfortable, not to mention more satisfying. They allow my satanic urges to take over.'

‘Are you trying to frighten me? I'm not that easily scared.'

‘The very thought! I'm merely pointing out that, in common with most people, I tend to react in much the same manner as I'm treated.'

Looking
down at the hand that had reached out to trap her wrist, she was appalled at her own foolishness. She wasn't sure exactly what she had invited, yet her body stiffened in apprehension. Why had she let fly at him like that? How could she have been so stupid? She tried to pull her hand free.

‘I'm sorry; that was wrong of me. I shouldn't have . . .'

‘No, you shouldn't, but you did. And an apology isn't going to save you.'

She had been wrong in thinking she hadn't angered him. She felt his fury in the hand that left her wrist to hold her chin, and in the punishing way his descending mouth drove her head back. The kiss he forced on her might have been motivated by anger, but in no way could it have been called cruel. In spite of the force he brought to bear, there was something about it that was achingly tender, and if she hadn't had such a strong reason for not wanting to get involved with Nick Farraday, she would have enjoyed it.

His hand left her face to trail down her throat and encompass her breast. Something inside of her was eating away the bitterness and making her want to respond emotionally as well as physically. His gentle touch sent a warmth rushing through her; the pulsating feeling made her breast firm and stimulated the tip into a hard rosy bud that wanted more than this light touch. She tried to feel ashamed
of
the lack of control she had over her own body, but the emotion was too feeble and was washed away by the flood of exultant joy she felt at knowing that such pleasure could be attained.

Her will to escape was completely sapped, and Nick now took advantage of that fact. Since she wasn't making any attempt to free herself, his hand pursued the buttons on her dress. She moaned breathlessly as strong fingers teased under her bra to find the eager, thrusting tip of her breast and delighted it until the ecstasy of feeling was almost too much for her to bear. A string of husky ‘no's' rose from her throat, but they were too weak to have much effect and dissolved into nothingness as she surrendered her lips to a kiss that explored her mouth, sending a shower of sparks into her soul. His hand continued to play over her breast with infinite gentleness, bringing her a deep satisfaction. Yet with it came the feeling that it was only a temporary satiation, and that it was meant to make her want more.

It was as she had known it would be: She was irrevocably lost in sensuous delight. She didn't attempt to pull herself out of the spin and was slightly bemused when she realized that the delicious caressing had stopped, that Nick was rebuttoning her dress and putting her away from him.

Suddenly reality came crashing back. ‘How
dare
you!' she said in a desperate struggle to maintain face. ‘That was unforgivable.'

‘Was it?' he queried with amused cynicism. ‘Making love to you? Or stopping while one of us still had some control?'

‘I wasn't that far gone.'

‘Weren't you?'

‘No. And it's horrible of you to suggest that I was.'

‘Yes, I agree. Most ungallant. I'm sorry about saying that, but not for the other. I responded to a challenge. You would have despised me if I hadn't.' His chiding tone was threaded with exasperation. ‘You're like a little girl with a bag of goodies that for some reason best known to yourself you feel you mustn't eat. You wanted me to make love to you. You goaded me to do it, and you enjoyed what I did and wouldn't have objected if I'd gone further. But something won't let you admit that. Get yourself sorted out, Lindsay. I find you very lovely and desirable. You've found your way under my skin in a way that no other woman ever has before. And I'm more than willing to participate in whatever fantasy you choose, but only on equal terms. I won't be made a scapegoat for your conscience. Now, I think you'd better go while I'm still reasonably calm about things and in a position to let you.'

‘Nick,' she began.

‘Old Nick,' he said, a demonic grin curving his mouth in a way that struck her as being
wickedly
attractive. ‘Too old to play games.'

Lindsay wanted to stay and argue. Bag of goodies, indeed! She wanted to accuse him of talking a load of rubbish. But there was a protesting streak of honesty in her that told her perhaps he wasn't. And besides, telling her to go while he was able to let her was something else to mull over. Was his control ever in danger of snapping? No! He had been deliberate, saying what he had in a way that insinuated it was straining even his iron will to do so. She licked her suddenly dry lips. He had to be teasing her. But she wasn't brave enough to contest him in case he wasn't!

She swallowed the flippant remark that came to her lips, bid him a hasty goodnight, and got out while the going was good. Once outside, she moved quickly, as if the devil really were at her heels, and didn't slow down until she reached her own door.

It was a warm night, but even if that were not the case, she still would have tossed sleeplessly in her bed, bathed in perspiration. The heat she generated came from within; it was her own thwarted desire crying out in anguish. The light weight of her nightgown tormented her flesh with the memory of another touch. Under the delicate cotton material her breasts were swollen, the nipples hard and thrusting as if still held in that large embracing hand. Her mouth burned as if the hard sweet pressure of his was still upon it.
Foolishly
her lips parted as if to welcome the moist sensuality of his invading tongue. She pressed her face into her pillow, not looking for a substitute, but trying to block out the intensity of feeling, reviling herself for being in such a state, for allowing her emotions to become so hopelessly embroiled with a man so unworthy. The shame in her heart was bad enough. But even worse, because it added to her degradation, was the actual physical ache of deprivation. Her flowering emotions had been nipped in the bud, and it hurt. She had cheated her own body, and in consequence it was punishing her. Nick was right in what he'd said: She had wanted him to make love to her. Not one particle of her mind or body was allowed to escape the torment. Her brain was too active, her limbs too restless, to relax. While low in her stomach . . . it was difficult to define . . . her emotions had contracted into a tight knot, lodging themselves as an aching void that wouldn't know any peace until . . .

Chapter Five

‘It's good to see you, Lindsay. I was saying to myself only this morning that I could use some company, and here you are! I must have wished you here,' Cathy said, her exuberant
welcome
drawing Lindsay warmly into the house. Phil had described the house as small and cramped, but Cathy and four-year-old Stephanie looked lost in it.

‘I should come more often. It's disgraceful of me.' In truth, Lindsay had thought that a weekly visit, with phone calls in between, was sufficient to show affectionate concern, but not so much that she would wear out her welcome.

‘You're a very busy lady, and it's unfair of me to expect more. It's just that when you're not working, time hangs so heavily.'

Frowning at the querulous note in her sister-in-law's voice, Lindsay said, ‘There's a remedy for that. Why don't you get a job?'

‘What do I need a job for? I haven't got masses of cash to throw away like some, but I have enough to make ends meet.'

‘I mean for personal fulfillment.'

‘Oh, of course.' A sly little grin came to Cathy's lips as she played her trump card. ‘Don't you think I'd love to go out to work, meet people, be in the midst of things again? But there's Stephanie to consider; she's so little. If Phil were alive, it would be different. It's not true what they say. Children don't forget quickly; at least, Stephanie doesn't. It's two years now, and she still misses her father. If I farmed her out on someone so that I could get a job, what would that do to her? Poor little thing, she's insecure enough as it is.'

Lindsay
didn't altogether agree with Cathy on this issue. She privately thought that Stephanie wasn't as sensitive as Cathy believed. Perhaps she did miss having a father. But all Phil was to Stephanie was a photograph in a silver frame; she had been two when he died. What could a child that age remember?

Since Phil's death, Cathy had sunk into herself, brushing off the friends she and Phil had known. She claimed that being with them brought back too many painful memories. So why didn't she go out and make new friends? A job would provide a likely source.

Cathy and Stephanie were too wrapped up in one another, too possessive and, yes, even a little selfish. Stephanie was fast turning into a spoiled child. Lindsay knew that it wouldn't help matters any to bribe her way into the child's affection. But it was natural to want to bring her a little gift at each visit. Still, there was something unattractive about the way Stephanie snatched Lindsay's purse from her, opening it without first asking permission, to extract the candy she fully expected to be there. Once time had been pressing and the candy store had already closed when Lindsay got there, a circumstance the child received with shrieks and sobs. Instead of chastising the child, Cathy had turned on Lindsay and given her a lecture on the dangers of letting a child down. Something about it destroying faith. Whether this was true or not, Lindsay knew
what
was happening to a once-sweet little girl. Stephanie was an extremely pretty child, with pale golden hair that curled gracefully round her face and neck. She had plump rosy cheeks and dimples, but the corners of her mouth too often turned down if something didn't suit her. Lindsay thought that Stephanie sulked out of boredom; the child's brain needed feeding as well as her stomach. It was frustrating to know this and not be able to do much about it.

At the moment Stephanie was enthralled with a jigsaw puzzle that Lindsay had brought for her, allowing the two grown-ups to chat over their coffee and cake. But it wasn't until later, when Stephanie was tucked up in bed and safely out of earshot, that Lindsay asked, ‘Do you ever see much of Greg Hammond these days?' She tried to inject the right note of casualness into her voice. She hadn't yet told Cathy about her meeting with Nick Farraday, and she was hoping this would provide her with a gentle opening.

‘Not a lot.'

‘I'm sorry about that. I'm also sorry if I'm speaking out of turn, but both you and Stephanie need someone. I thought Greg Hammond was taking an interest in you, and that something might come of it.'

‘If you must know, he took me out for a meal about, oh, six weeks back, and we had a blazing row. He might be all right if he didn't have such an inflated opinion of his boss. I
don't
hold with a man who paints one man black to make another, his precious Nick Farraday, look purer than pure. Greg told a lot of lies about Phil.'

‘What kind of lies?'

‘I wasn't in the mood to hear him out. Phil didn't do what he said. I know it. It was all the more unjust with Phil not being here to defend himself.'

There was infinite truth in that. Sighing, Lindsay said, ‘I should tell you that I've met Greg Hammond and . . .well . . . I liked him.'

‘Oh? Where did you meet him?'

‘At Nick Farraday's,' Lindsay said bravely.

‘You
are
moving in high circles.'

‘It was a working assignment. He invited six models into his home to look them over and, hopefully, select one to promote a new product he's putting on the market.'

‘I see. I didn't think you played nanny to your models.'

‘I don't. I went out of curiosity. I wanted to see what manner of man Phil had worked for. And then Nick Farraday had this silly notion that I would be right for the promotion.'

Lindsay kept her voice deliberately light, but she was being modest. What had seemed nonsensical at the onset was indeed beginning to look extremely probable. The test she had taken had proved favorable enough for a test commercial to be shot. The other five models had all rallied round to wish her well and tell
her
that she would be a fool to throw away the chance of a lifetime. She had been touched by the absence of jealousy, especially since she had been half afraid that they would want to scratch her eyes out. She had been bowled over by their genuineness in wishing her luck, had remarked about this to Ami, and then had spent ten minutes or so blushing while the other woman told her of her popularity and went on to assuage her fears that she wouldn't be any good. Lindsay's lack of experience was dismissed by Ami out of hand.