Forbidden Love (29 page)

“Let go of me.” Outraged, Megan pushed at his hands, which refused to be dislodged. After a moment, Megan ceased trying to push them away and stood panting and glaring at him.

“Jealous, Megan?” He was watching her closely.

She laughed scornfully, her head tilting back so that she could meet his eyes. “Of you? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Ah, yes, of course, I forgot: Of course you wouldn’t give a damn about my lady friends. After all, it’s nothing to do with you. You’re in love with young Donald Winspear.”

“Yes,” Megan answered defiantly, praying he wouldn’t read the lie in her eyes. “Yes, I am.”

“You’re going to have to prove that to me,” he growled, and his hands slid from her shoulders to close around her neck as he covered her mouth with his. His kiss was both brutal and seductive, and Megan’s initial resistance soon faded away to nothingness under the hot tutelage of his mouth. Her arms crept up around his neck, clinging to him; her body pressed instinctively against the hard length of his. His arms were tight around her waist, and he bent her backward as his mouth devoured hers. When he drew back at last, she could only blink at him mistily as his eyes raked her face.

“Now tell me you love Winspear,” he grated.

From somewhere deep inside Megan found the strength to lie to him.

“I do.”

“Like hell you do.” He caught her close in his arms again, swooping down on her like some giant dark bird of prey. His kiss was devastating, his hands busy as they stroked from breasts to thighs. Megan felt their hard sureness burning through the layers of her clothes, and her knees went weak. She moaned against his mouth, struggling against the overwhelming tide of desire that threatened to sweep her along with it. Everything about him, from the feel of his rough hair under her fingers to the crush of his chest against her breasts to the steely strength of his arms as they held her and his legs as they pressed against hers excited her madly. She loved the smell of him, the taste of his mouth, the harsh sound of his breathing.
If he didn’t take her soon, she was afraid that she would be reduced to begging for his possession. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life, more than she had ever thought it possible to want anything. But at all costs, she couldn’t reveal to him the depths of what she felt for him. For their child’s sake, she had to convince him that it was Donald she loved, Donald she meant to marry. She had to convince Justin that her feelings for him were merely those of the flesh.

Megan arched against him, her head falling back, her body quivering under his hands and mouth. He pressed his lips to the softness of her breasts where they were bared by the décolletage of her chemise, then moved even lower so that he could capture the nipple between his teeth, sucking and biting it through the thin lawn until it was rigid in his mouth and Megan was moaning aloud with passion.

“You love me,” he murmured, lifting his head and fixing her with eyes that seemed to glow. Megan shook her head helplessly, feeling her treacherous body quivering from head to toe, her nails digging into the nape of his neck as he bent her back over his arm and her eyes hazy with the passion he was forcing her to feel.

“You love me, Megan. Admit it,” he whispered insistently, bending so close that she could feel his warm breath on her face.

“No,” Megan whimpered, closing her eyes to shut out the sight of that dark, handsome face that blotted out the world. “No.”

“You do.”

“No. I love Donald.”

He snarled as he snatched her up in his arms and carried her over to the bed. Megan clung to him, her breath came in shallow pants; she was afraid to open her eyes because of what she might read in his face. On no account must she weaken—but she wanted to. Oh, she wanted to.

Megan felt the softness of the mattress under her back, and then the hardness of his big body as he followed her down, trapping her with his weight. His hands had burrowed under her hair to rest on either side of her skull, and Megan could feel their strength as he pressed them against her. He was kissing her, his mouth hard and hot and hungry, and she was kissing him back with helpless longing. Her hands caressed his dark head, and her body responded to his stroking hands like a kitten wanting to be rubbed.

“If you don’t love me, then why are you shaking? Why does your body arch itself against mine, begging to be loved?” Megan struggled for breath, struggled for some control.

“You—you said yourself that you were a good kisser,” she responded bravely, surfacing briefly from the mists she was lost in. “You’re—good at other things, too.”

Justin leaned back to stare down into her face. His hard mouth twisted bitterly.

“So all you want from me is stud service, is it? Then by God, you little bitch, that’s all you’ll get.”

As he spoke his hands closed on the neck of her chemise and ripped it in two. Megan made no move to stop him as he stripped off the rest of her clothes, and she made no move to cover herself as he stared at her naked body with eyes that seemed to hate her as much as they wanted her. Shivers coursed over her skin as she lay waiting for him, watching as he shed his own clothes with lightning speed. Megan wanted him so much that she could not stop the way her legs immediately opened to receive him, urging him inside her even as he joined her on the bed. He took her with a quick hard thrust, and she cried out. The feel of him inside her was incredible; it was driving her out of her mind. He held himself still, propped on his elbows, watching her as she wriggled and squirmed beneath him. Megan saw the cruelty in that look, and shut her eyes. She couldn’t bear to look at him. But her traitorous body wouldn’t be still. When he still refused to give her what she craved for, she began to move against him, thrusting her hips up from the bed, twisting and turning in an effort to bring relief to her throbbing body. It wasn’t enough. She wanted the strength and power that he knew how to use so well.

“Oh, Justin, please,” she moaned at last, unable to hold back the words any longer. “Please love me, Justin.”

“You little bitch.” He ground out the words in a thick, barely audible voice, and as Megan flickered a dazed look up at him she saw beads of sweat on his brow and his broad, bronzed shoulders heaved
with the force of his breathing. Her nails dug into his shoulders, hurting him purposefully as she tried to urge him on. At last, with a vicious movement, he withdrew a little then plunged deep inside her again, then did it again and again and again until Megan thought she would go mad from pure bliss.

“Is this what you wanted?” he whispered tauntingly into her ear as he took her to heaven and back. “Is this what you were begging for, pretty baby?”

Megan heard the bitterness in the words, but she was too caught up in the pleasure he was giving her to more than register it vaguely. His body’s effect on her was the most wonderful thing she had ever known; she had never guessed that life even offered pleasure of this depth and intensity.

At the end he was moving like a precision machine, his groans mingling with her cries as she clawed and bit and enveloped him in her body.

“Oh, Justin,” she moaned as he thrust into her with all his strength, his arms tight around her, his chest hard and wet with perspiration against her breasts, his mouth swallowing the little sounds she made. Finally she dissolved in a sea of rapture. Feeling the convulsive shudders that racked her, Justin found his own bliss. He cried out her name, thrusting deep inside her one last time. Then he went rigid in her arms, shuddering himself, before he gradually went limp.

After a while he muttered harshly, “Do you still say you love Winspear?” Megan had been on the verge of sleep, but the question dragged her back to consciousness.
No! her heart cried, but her mouth stubbornly said, “Yes.”

He lifted himself away from her, staring down into her face with hatred in his eyes.

“By God, I’ll drive him out of your mind if it’s the last thing I ever do!” he muttered thickly. “If it takes me forever, I’ll do it.”

And he took her again. And again. And again. Until Megan didn’t know whether to plead with him to stop or to never stop. Until she ended up doing both, begging him in a voice that shook with the force of the sensations he was making her feel. But never, even at the very height of her passion, did she admit that she loved him, only him, never Donald. The baby inside of her was her talisman, and she clung to that like a drowning man to a raft.

Finally sheer exhaustion made him stop. They both fell asleep almost instantly, and didn’t awaken until light was pouring in through curtains which had been only partly drawn the night before.

Justin’s eyes were boring down into hers as Megan came slowly awake. She blinked at him, thinking groggily that this was the first time she had ever slept beside him all night to wake up with him in the morning, and thinking too that he looked more like a brig-and than ever so early in the morning. His lean jaw was obscured by a thick growth of bristly black beard, and his black hair stood up in little peaks all over his head. He was naked, as she was, and the soft black fur covering the hard muscles of his chest made her want
to rub her cheek against it. He was propped up on one elbow, looking at her, and the corded muscles of his upper arm held her eyes for a long moment. Then she looked up into his face, wanting to smile, and saw the golden eyes looking down at her with a queer, half-hurt, half-hungry expression that wrung her heart. Suddenly Megan knew that she had to tell him the truth, whatever the consequences. He had to know why she was so eager to marry Donald, to understand that it was love for their child rather than lack of love for him which was motivating her.

“Justin,” she said softly. “You have to take me back to London today. I have to marry Donald tomorrow.”

“You can forget that,” he said, his eyes hardening and narrowing at the same time.

“Justin, listen to me,” she said, shifting so that she was propped up against the pillows in a half-sitting position. Justin sat up beside her, his eyes never leaving her face. “I have something to tell you.”

“And that is?” His voice was cold, distant. His eyes were like glaciers as they moved over her face. Megan swallowed, then jumped in with both feet.

“I-I’m with child, Justin.”

CHAPTER
18

He was shocked, Megan watched anxiously as the blood slowly receded from his face, leaving it pasty white under its sun-bronzed tan. His eyes flickered as if from a blow, then stared at her as if he was not quite certain who she was.

“Justin?” she ventured timidly as the silence stretched between them. His eyes seemed to focus on her face, then suddenly sharpened.

“Are you sure?” he asked harshly. Megan nodded without speaking. His lips compressed until a thin white line formed at the corners of his mouth.

“Is it mine?”

Megan’s eyes flared at the question. Justin saw that angry flash and held up a hand as if to ward off whatever she might be getting ready to say.

“I withdraw the question. Of course it’s mine.”

Megan glared at him. How dare he question his child’s paternity? If he had not immediately taken it back, she would have tried to suffocate him with his own pillow.

The silence between them lengthened. She could
feel the tenseness in Justin’s big body as he leaned back against the pillows beside her. His lack of response made her feel nervous. What was he thinking? Was he pleased with her news, or was he wishing her and the baby at Jericho? Sneaking a quick look at him, her apprehension increased. He was frowning, his thick black brows were drawn together to form an unbroken line over his eyes. His hands as they rested on the flower-sprigged coverlet were balled into fists.

Finally Megan could bear the silence no longer.

“Justin?” she said again, her voice questioning as she put out a hand to tentatively touch his arm. He pulled it away as if her touch burned him, not looking at her as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up. Megan’s eyes ran distressfully over his tall muscular form as he walked away, his movements oddly jerky. His wide shoulders were held stiffly, and she could see the corded muscles of his back and buttocks and legs flex as he moved. Naked, he was a magnificent-looking male animal. As she watched him, Megan felt a wave of possessiveness that stunned her with its strength.

“Justin!” she called after him urgently as he pulled on his breeches and shirt with a single-minded economy of movement and headed for the door which opened out into the hall. He turned as she called his name, his eyes sweeping over her half-naked shape as she leaned toward him, still ensconced in his bed. His expression was remote, and its very remoteness frightened her.

“I’m going for a walk,” he said evenly, his hand on the doorknob. “Get dressed.”

And then he left the room, closing the door behind him with a whisper that was louder than a bang.

“Justin!” Megan cried, terror in her voice. She scrambled from the bed and ran to the door, her one thought being that she had to go after him to discover what had brought that terrible bleak look to his face. Her own nakedness stopped her. She could not possibly go running after him like this. Moving with frantic haste, she dressed, but donning the myriad garments that a lady wore before she was considered decent to go out in public took time. Her chemise was a casualty of the night, but she could not worry about that now. Hurriedly she stepped into her pantalets, and then her petticoat, before at last she pulled her dress over her head. But again the tiny hooks at the back defeated her. She struggled with them, and had just made up her mind that she would have to go downstairs with the back of her gown unfastened when the door opened. She looked up to see Justin slowly enter the room, close the door behind him and lean back against it. His eyes were cold as they looked at her. Megan abandoned her attempts to deal with the recalcitrant hooks and moved toward him. The coldness of his eyes stopped her while she was still some paces away.

“Justin,” she faltered, her eyes searching his in vain for some sign of softening. “Please talk to me.”