To Deceive Is To Love (Romantic suspense) (4 page)

Suddenly his lips were upon hers, her body slammed up tight against his, the pleasure like a million nerve endings all tingling with anticipation of the further pleasure he could bring her. The tiger fell to the ground, as the world around them seemed to disappear. Finally they parted, Chantelle wishing desperately they were not out in the open with thousands of spectators milling around.

David stepped back while she straightened her top and ran a hand through her hair. She could feel his gaze upon her and found herself gliding her tongue over her bottom lip as if to still taste him. He looked as though he was mentally undressing her, his eyes lowering over her tanned legs and resting on her bare ankles before meeting her gaze head-on. Placing his arm about her shoulder, he led her from behind the tent.

From a discreet distance, Hendersson watched. Having witnessed the passionate display, he took a long draw on his cigarette. A self-satisfied smile slowly crept across his thin lips as he blew the smoke out in one long, thin trail.

Feeling him next to her, his hard thigh pressed up against hers, his arm still draped about her shoulders, was a heady experience. Physically she was right there with him, but emotionally she couldn’t afford to get involved. Something about him told her she would be the one ending up hurt and paying for it. She would think like a man for a change, enjoy the experience and forget about caring what his likes and dislikes were and what they had in common. No, it was pure lust that had consumed them both from the moment they had stepped from behind that marquee. Or in truth since she admitted that she wanted him at any cost.

He had led her through the crowd, his arm possessively around her waist, his stride urgent and purposeful. She had collected her stuff from the caravan, changed her top and deposited the tiger with a note pinned to it for the team to be aware that she wasn’t traveling back with them. Unfortunately, Danny saw her as she stepped down from the caravan and came charging over.

“What’s going on?” he questioned, noticing David standing there waiting.

“Nothing that concerns you, Danny.
I simply don’t fancy traveling back in the caravan or in that plane with you.”

Danny looked critically at her and then back at David. Shrugging his shoulders, he threw one last glance of disdain before marching off.

“He seems to take everything you do pretty much to heart,” David remarked.

Chantelle dismissed the harsh undertone in David’s voice, because she was too busy wrestling with her own morality, knowing full well where this was leading.

The taxi traveled for about ten minutes before arriving outside a quaint Tudor-style inn complete with beams and leaded-light windows.
A large blackboard outside advertised restaurant and bed and breakfast facilities.

“Well, this is the nearest place where the food is pretty good. I don’t know about the accommodations though,” the driver called over his shoulder to them.

“This will do fine. I might be calling on your services later though.” David handed over the fare. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks, and I hope you’re in luck, well you know what I mean. Anyway, have a good night.” The taxi sped off up the road.

Chantelle laughed. “What do you think he meant by that comment - I hope you’re in luck?”
 

“I have no idea. It
depends
what he thinks we’re after, good food or something else?” David gently lifted her chin with his fingers, forcing her to look into his eyes.

“I’m not that hungry.” She smiled, wondering if she had lost her mind. Sure, she enjoyed risks, but up to now her virtue was pretty much intact. That was about to change.

They stepped into the small reception area and approached the desk. Minutes later, a young woman dressed in a waitress uniform appeared, confirmed they did have several vacancies and handed him over the key while he signed the visitors’ book.

“Do you have any luggage, sir?”

“No, it’s an unexpected stop,” David coolly replied.

Chantelle felt the sudden urge to giggle and her hand came up to cover her mouth. Avoiding eye contact, she couldn’t imagine what the woman must be thinking. Here she was dressed in shorts and T-shirt, bare-legged with sandals and hardly a trace of makeup on, booking into a hotel room at four in the afternoon with a man and no luggage between them. At least David looked decent enough in stone-colored chinos and a black T-shirt.

“Will you be dining in the restaurant?” The receptionist glanced once again at Chantelle.

“Do we need to dress for dinner?” David smiled and threw Chantelle a wink.

Giving an embarrassed smile in return, the receptionist obviously tried to sound sincere when she said, “No of course not, but if you prefer, the bar has excellent meals at a fraction of the cost.”

“Great, we’ll eat there.” David reached out for Chantelle’s hand.

She allowed him to lead her up the winding stairs, along narrow corridors with low-beamed ceilings, the place seemingly centuries old. Up more stairs until they reached the top floor, their room part of the actual attic space.

“Luckily, we are young and fit.” He let out a small sigh and jokingly clutched his heart.

“Well, I’m young and hopefully you are fit.” Chantelle laughed back.

Opening the door, he stepped aside and allowed her to walk in first, warning her to duck as the doorframe was shoulder height. The room was surprisingly big, magnolia walls with dark oak beams running across them, the ceiling at first higher than the doorframe, then narrowing as the eaves came down. The most striking feature was the dark oak four-poster bed with satin burgundy swags hanging from it that matched the quilted bedspread and curtains.

“My goodness, what did you say, we were honeymooners?” It was like a Regency love nest with the ornate dressing table, full-length mirror and a hefty wardrobe complete with realistic woodworm marks. The only modern aspect to the room was the en-suite bathroom.

“It was the only room they had left.” His gaze met hers and an unnerving silence followed. Neither seemed to know what to say or do next.

“Are you regretting this; do you want to leave?” His query hung in the air like a giant question mark.

“Are you?” Her usual confidence had abandoned her. Instead, she found herself wringing her hands together as she stared down at her feet. Worse still, she began to chew her bottom lip, a nervous habit she hated but couldn’t stop herself from doing.

“I asked first. Chantelle, look at me. We’ve come here because there is no denying we’re attracted to each other. We are also both mature enough to realize we’re not talking about love here. There are no strings attached and you’re free to walk out that door any time you like.”

“You make it sound so easy,” she murmured.

“Easy to stay or go?”
He stepped forward, his hand reaching out to stroke her cheek with the back of his fingers. His deep blue eyes caressed her with their intimacy as he moved closer, every inch draining her resolve to flee from him before it was too late.

“Chantelle,” he whispered as he kissed her earlobe, and then traced a pattern down her slender neck.

Curving her neck away from him, the sensation increased as his mouth rose over her chin to lay claim to her lips. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her body leaving the floor as he lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the bed. His lips never left hers as he gently lowered her onto the soft bedspread. Straightening up, he stripped off his T-shirt and kicked off his shoes.

Chantelle
lay there and watched
,
her gaze locked on his powerful torso, to the fine line of springy dark hairs rising from his navel and spreading out across taut muscle. As if drawn to it, her fingers reached out touching the swarthy skin as he lowered his body down beside her. Gently he kissed her again becoming more urgent as his hand slipped under her T-shirt. He drew away to pull the shirt completely away from the confines of her shorts and off over her head. Her bra was next to follow, his index thumb and finger expertly tracing the outline of her rose-colored nipple. Then his lips were sucking first on one swollen bead, then the other, his tongue deliciously teasing her, causing soft moans as she writhed beneath him.

Her hands moved over the smoothness of his back, feeling every inch of muscle flexing beneath her touch. Gradually, he positioned himself so that he was straddling her, his lips breaking away as he leaned back, taking his weight on his knees. His fingers went down to the clasp on her shorts and began to pull them down over her hips, his gaze lazily running over the full length of her, a lustful glint sending quivers through her body. She felt an attack of shyness at being so exposed with the sun still coming through the window, the rays burning a path across her face and shoulders, causing her to turn her face toward the pillow.

“Chantelle,” he murmured huskily. “Don’t turn away from me.”

Slowly she brought her gaze back to him, watching as he freed himself from his chinos and threw them on the floor. Removing the last of his garments along with hers, he lay back down next to her, drawing her into his arms. His warm kisses sent traces of fire through her body as their fingers explored every inch of each other and her body arched up against his.

She could feel his breath quickening, his voice a breathless whisper in her ear. “Don’t move. I hate the damn things, but better to play it safe.”

He might as well have shouted, for it was like having a bucket of water thrown over her. Her whole body tensed up with the implication of his words. She felt so naïve not to have even given it a thought up until now. David obviously had, his expertise revealing itself as he gently maneuvered his position.

It made her go numb within. Being protected against pregnancy wasn’t the main concern here; there was a far greater danger and David wasn’t taking any chances. It made her feel cheap.

They knew nothing about each other. For all she knew, he could have half a dozen women he bedded regularly. She was merely another notch on his manhood. He certainly had all the right seduction techniques, the silent I’m-a-no-strings macho type, this room and condoms at the ready.

“Chantelle, are you okay?” He stopped caressing her and leaned on one elbow, frowning down at her.

“I’m sorry, this is a mistake.” She forced the words out, unsure of his reaction. He had every right to be angry. She had led him on. They were at the point of having sex and now, unaccountable it must seem to him, she had changed her mind.

A dark shadow did come over his features. The warmth in his eyes vanished as if he now saw her in a different light, but he said nothing. In one swift movement, he swung his body off her and stood up, placing his back to her.

It was then that she noticed his shoulder, having only felt the uneven texture beneath her fingers. The four-inch scar stood out against the bronze hue of his shoulder blade; the thin white line was pitted with fading stitch marks on either side of it, revealing how recent it was. She wanted to know how he had come by such an ugly scar in what was otherwise a perfect body. Strangely, she felt it was connected to violence and maybe wise not to ask. Still the question left her lips.

“Chantelle, we know so little about each other and maybe
it’s
best we keep it that way,” he said coldly, impassively. He didn’t even turn around, just strolled into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Chantelle pulled the covers up around her, wanting to cry but refusing to succumb. Why couldn’t she have simply given herself to him and lived for the moment, like her mother had tried to instill in her, instead of acting like some virginal tease? He was the first man to come along who was capable of arousing such feelings and she had ruined it without ever discovering if he lived up to the promise. Perhaps that was what scared her, the release of her passion and with it, a part of herself she couldn’t merely switch on and off, not like David. She had seen it in his eyes, such intimacy and desire turning to coldness and indifference.

***

Stepping out of the bathroom after a long shower, David picked up his clothing, which lay scattered about the room. At the same time, he picked up Chantelle’s shorts and T-shirt and placed them on a chair. Rubbing a towel over his hair and combing it back, he finished dressing. The whole time, Chantelle remained entirely hidden beneath the covers, a mass of russet hair pushed up against the pillow.

“I’m going down to the bar for a bite to eat; do you want to join me?” He let out a disgruntled sigh at her silence and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

The bar area was empty except for one bored young girl whose expression suddenly changed as she accepted his order with a wide smile. She took the money and noted, “You must have needed that. Usually it’s a whisky chaser, not the other way around.”

He didn’t return her smile. Feeling that he could do without cheeky remarks, he took himself off to an alcove with his pint, already regretting the whisky coursing through his veins. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was still early, not yet six. What the hell was he going to do for the rest of the evening - get drunk? That wasn’t the answer; he knew what he wanted and it wasn’t at the bottom of a bottle.