Just for a Night (8 page)

J
AMES
finally settled in the roomy back seat of the white stretch limousine. William and the Bentley had been given the night off, it seemed, to be replaced by this huge luxury vehicle with its plush red upholstery, black windows and equally opaque privacy screen, which was at that moment sliding into place.

When they were completely alone—unable to be heard or seen by the driver—James turned to look at her across the seductively lit cabin.

‘You look…stunning,' he said.

Marina's hair was up and she was wearing black again, the only outrageously expensive little black dress in her wardrobe, which had been a must to bring. Mostly because it did not crush. When she'd packed it, never in her wildest dreams had Marina thought she would wear it for a man.

But she was very definitely wearing it for James. It was cruel of her, she knew. For it could be a very provocative dress when worn with the minimum of underwear. And she was wearing it with
no
underwear other than a pair of sheer black Lycra pantyhose which had built-in panties.

The material was a silk crêpe and the style very simple. A basic sheath, it was severely cut in at the shoulder, with the front of the bodice gathered onto a
round collar which was covered with black jet beads. The collar did up at the back of her neck with a hook and eye. There was no zipper, just a slit down the middle of the back from neck to waist. Mostly this slit stayed demurely shut, but just occasionally it gaped apart as she walked—or climbed into cars—with the expanse of bare back displayed shouting the absence of any bra or other undergarment.

Not that any man with twenty-twenty vision needed to look at her
back
to know she was braless. Marina was by no means a busty girl, but she had nice B-cup breasts, which were high and firm, with perky nipples which announced their naked state under the thin black material with all the subtlety of Henry's dire warnings.

‘Thank you,' Marina said coolly. She leant back in the relative safety of her distant corner to survey James at her leisure. He was wearing a superb black dinner suit with a white dress shirt and a black bow tie. He looked magnificent. Dignified and handsome. A true lord in every way.

But, lord or no lord, he could not take his eyes off her. And Marina revelled in that fact.

I'm punishing him, she realised. For not loving me but for still wanting to take me to bed. I'm trying to make him suffer.

And he
is
suffering. I only have to look into his eyes to see it, to watch the way his fingers curl into tight balls when he's with me. And to see the dark rings under his eyes at breakfast every morning.

‘Henry tells me you rang home today,' he began, after the limousine had moved off.

‘Yes, that's right.'

She declined to say any more.

Shane had not even asked her how the transplant had gone, or how Rebecca was. All he'd wanted to know was when she'd be home and was she sure none of this was costing them any money. He'd never sounded more selfish or less loving. She'd also heard a girl laughing in the background who sounded awfully like Heather, the twenty-year-old who helped with the horses every weekend.

What had Heather been doing in the house, and on a weekday? she'd wondered for some minutes after hanging up.

The answers were not nice ones.

‘Did you tell him you weren't going to marry him?' James asked curtly.

‘No.'

‘Why not? I notice you've taken off his ring.'

‘I might change my mind back again,' she lied, and he shot her a look which made her want to laugh. He didn't want to marry her, but he didn't want her to marry anyone else. It would almost be funny if it wasn't so infuriating. ‘My views on love and marriage have changed somewhat since being over here,' she continued icily, giving in to the compulsion to punish him further. ‘I see no reason why us commoners can't operate on the same level as the upper classes. Marry with our heads and not our hearts. Shane will do very well by the
horse business I inherited from my mother. And there is the added bonus of his being a more than adequate lover. You have no idea how talented a rider he is, in every way.'

‘Don't,' James rasped. ‘For pity's sake, Marina.'

Her shame was instant, but pride demanded she didn't back down. ‘Don't what?'

‘Don't torture me so,' he groaned.

‘And what have you done to me these past two days?' she challenged. ‘Avoided me like poison, even when I ran into you at the hospital when I went to visit Rebecca with Henry. You didn't even come home for dinner last night. Then you make an appearance tonight to take me out, looking like Prince Charming on his white charger, trying to seduce me with extravagant compliments.'

‘They aren't compliments,' he said with a weary sigh. ‘They're true. You
are
stunning. And I only stayed away because I could not bear seeing you all the time—just as I could not bear
not
to do this tonight.'

‘What? Try to seduce me?'

He glared at her. ‘That's the pot calling the kettle black, isn't it? I could accuse
you
of trying to seduce
me
, dressed as you are. Still, I'll recognise your right to dress as you please if you will recognise my right to react to the end result as any red-blooded male would.'

She laughed. ‘What a pathetic excuse! Why don't you just say it, James? Spell it out. Tell me what you
had in mind for tonight
before
you saw how I was dressed.'

His eyes narrowed upon her. ‘I had nothing in mind,' he said tautly. ‘I had become quite resigned this past week to being the complete gentleman till the bitter end.'

She laughed. ‘Sure. That's why you ordered this little number.' And she waved her hand around the inside of the limousine. ‘Blind Freddie could see that this is just a boudoir on wheels! What's the catch, James? Have you got a standing order for one of these whenever you take a girl to the theatre, or wherever else you take them? The ones you want to impress, that is.'

‘I did not order this car,' he bit out frustratedly. ‘Henry did.'

‘Oh, sure.'

‘It was either this or a taxi. William put the Bentley in for servicing and it wasn't going to be ready in time. You're quite wrong about my intentions, Marina. Now stop it, will you? I can't bear any more tonight.'

For a moment Marina felt guilty. It had been a hell of a week for him. She knew how worried he'd been about Rebecca. It was to be thanked that the early signs were so good. Rebecca had looked marvellous this afternoon. She'd been chirpy and cheeky, a very good sign. And the doctor had said her early blood tests were more than hopeful.

But, Rebecca aside, they really did have to sort this out.

‘Well, if I'm wrong about your intentions, then tell me what's right,' she demanded to know. ‘Tell me what you feel for Tiffany. And what you feel for me,' she added, her voice breaking a little.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘Dear God, you won't give me any peace, will you?' He opened his eyes to turn his head and look at her again, his face full of frustration.

‘I am fond of Tiffany,' he stated brusquely. ‘
More
than fond. I have known her for years and we are well matched. The only reason I haven't slept with her is because she doesn't want to till we're married. She has been brought up in a very…old-fashioned…way. For reasons which are complex, I would feel duty-bound to marry her even if I didn't
want
to marry her!

‘I admit I've been having trouble with living a celibate existence,' he confessed, combing agitated fingers back through his perfectly groomed black hair. ‘But I vowed to myself I would remain faithful, come hell or high water! I just never dreamt that my hell or high water would come in the guise of a fiery, redheaded Australian girl whose spirit and beauty I have come not only to admire but to covet as I have never coveted before!'

He glared at her, as though this was all her fault. And she
was
beginning to feel very guilty over her dress.

‘I convinced myself I could endure till you left England,' he went on, blue eyes glittering with desire as they roved down her body, then up again. ‘And I
might have succeeded if I, too, had not received a phone call today. From Tiffany.'

Marina's heart gave a nervous little leap. ‘What…what did she say?'

‘She told me she wanted to wait a while before getting engaged. She said she was worried she was too young for marriage at this stage. She said she needed some time and space to think things over.'

Marina was astonished. The girl she'd seen at the hospital had clearly been besotted by James. What had happened in Italy to give her last-minute doubts?

‘And what did
you
say?' she asked James.

‘I said I understood, and that she was being very wise if she was at all unsure.'

It immediately crossed Marina's mind that James had not told Tiffany in return that
he
was having doubts. The way remained clear for him to marry the girl, if and when she got over these last-minute nerves.

‘How very…convenient for you,' she said, a bitter taste in her mouth.

James glowered over at her. ‘There is nothing at all convenient about any of this, Marina, especially what I feel for you.'

Before she could protest, he slid over the wide red seat and forcefully gathered her hands in his. ‘I have never really fallen in love in my life,' he confessed. ‘Not with a passion which has lasted anyway. I can't say what I feel for you is love. I only know that it is different, and infinitely distracting. Desire for you has dominated my every waking moment since the mo
ment we met. My sleep is similarly disturbed. I can think of nothing else but touching you, kissing you, making love to you.'

He lifted her hands and pressed her fingertips to his lips, kissing them feverishly. He turned over her right hand and snaked his tongue along its palm, then up the wrist, then along the soft, sensitive skin which led up to the elbow.

Marina's eyes were wide upon his dark head as it bent over her, his mouth working a shivery magic on her arm. She sucked in a shaky breath every time his hot, wet tongue trailed over a new and seemingly more sensitised spot.

She would never have believed an arm could possess such erotic zones. He was moving higher now, above her elbow, up to her shoulder and down around the deep armhole of her dress. Her breast seemed to swell as his mouth drew nearer, its nipple tightening. Oh, God!
Both
breasts were responding now. Her heart began to thud heavily and her lips parted to let the ragged breaths escape her panting lungs.

When his head lifted to look at her, her eyes felt glazed. He held them while he unhooked the collar on her dress and peeled it downwards, trapping her arms by her sides and baring her shamelessly aroused breasts to his sight.

At last, his eyes lowered to look straight at them.

‘God forgive me,' he muttered. But it didn't sound like a prayer. More an expression of ruthless resolve.

His head began to bend and she just sat there, with her back pressed hard against the seat and her breasts
thrust stiffly forward, her mind petrified but her flesh avidly awaiting his touch, and his tongue.

The first contact of his hands and lips on her naked flesh brought a rushing inward gasp of breath. She held it for several agonising seconds, disbelieving of the way it felt when he sucked on one breast while he caressed the other. Finally, she let the breath out in one long shuddering sigh of total surrender.

Nothing had prepared her for this, she realised dazedly. Not even Shane. For this was heaven and hell combined. Happiness, yet misery. Agony, and ecstasy. The sweetest pleasure, yet the most poignant pain.

For the man adoring her body, tormenting it,
enslaving
it, had just told her he probably didn't love her. Which was as good as saying he didn't. She would ultimately prove to be a passing passion, as all his other women had been passing passions. Only Tiffany had his heart. Tiffany, the innocent. Tiffany, the sweet. And it was Tiffany he would marry.

But it was
she
, Marina, he wanted to make love to right at this moment.

And she wanted him to. Oh, she wanted him to so much. There was an ache for him in her body and in her heart which was growing with each sweep of his tongue, with each touch of his hand.

She grew mindless with yearning, sliding slowly sidewards on the seat as he tongued her nipples into hard pebbles of exquisite torture. She moaned and writhed against the plush velvet seat, her restless legs screaming out for him to stroke them,
part
them. She ached to have him undress her further. She wanted to
be naked for him. She would have done anything he asked. Given him anything he wanted.

So she was shaken when he abruptly yanked her upright. His hands felt angry as he dragged her dress up over her throbbing breasts and hooked the collar in place. Her eyes searched his for a clue as to what was going on. Why had he stopped? Had he had second thoughts? Didn't he want her any more?

Tears were just a second away when he spoke.

‘Forgive me,' he said, poking a stray hair of hers back into place. ‘I know how you must be feeling. But we're only seconds away from the theatre.'

Marina stared at him.

How had he known that? Had he kept an eye on his watch? Or was he a practised hand at this scenario, knowing exactly how much lovemaking he had time for beforehand, leaving his victim all primed up for the second act,
after
they came out of the theatre?

‘Don't look at me like that,' he groaned. ‘I said I was sorry.' And he bent to kiss her on the mouth. His first. But it was a mere apologetic peck. Not a kiss racked with uncontrollable desire.
She
was the one shaking with uncontrollable desire. James was very much back in control—of himself and the situation.