Jessica Steele - The Feisty Fiancée

But, even while she knew that she was willing to go wherever he led, suddenly, when gently, sensitively his hand caressed down to her breast, and she felt his warmth as he teased the hard pink tip, and she became aware that his intimate touch was on the inside and not outside of her dress, some unwanted kind of hesitancy started to stir in her which she did not want to stir.

To defy it, she held onto him, and, when he raised his head again, she kissed him. And would deny him nothing when he lowered his head once more and kissed her naked breast, taking its aroused pink apex into his mouth, causing her to clutch him from the pure pleasure of it.

To say no was nowhere in her mind. How could she say no, when she didn't want to say no? Why should she say no? She loved him what else mattered?

But something did matter, and she hated that it did, be it her inner convictions grown over the years, or the knowledge that this love she bore for Thomson was so utterly one-sided; she was too emotionally involved to be able to sort out what.

All she knew just then was that, while she wanted to continue to be held by Thomson, while she was aching to continue to make love with him, she couldn't-something was holding her back.

She felt his hand on her thigh. `Thomson,' she cried, and she guessed he must have picked up that something in her cry that wasn't yes, yes, yes, because his hand stilled, moved from her thigh, and came up to her chin.

'Yancie?' he queried, propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at her.

'Oh, Thomson,' she lamented, `I know I'm giving you all the-er-f-full-speed-ahead's-signals, but…'

She had no need to go on; she knew that as soon as he began to straighten her shoulder straps-and that was before he took up, `But you're not sure.'

He didn't add anything, but sat up, moving her to sit up. And, once sitting beside him, while with most of her she wanted to lie down with him again, to feel again the warmth of his embrace, there was that part of her that still said no.

'I'm sorry,' she said, starting to feel absolutely dreadful, particularly as Thomson was taking this halt to the proceedings so extremely well. `I d-don't suppose this has ever happened to you before.'

He smiled then, and she felt as if her heart would burst with the love she had for him when he gently tapped her on the nose, and dryly commented, `With you, Yancie, I'm learning it's wise to expect the unexpected.' And, while finding herself in such strange territory she had no clue to what she should do next, he stood up and went and collected the blue sweater from the chair. `Come on,' he instructed. `If you go now you might manage to get in a couple of hours' sleep before you have to get up again.'

Yancie left the sofa, and obediently pulled the sweater down over her head. 'I'm sorry,' she repeated as Thomson went with her to the front door.

'You're all right to drive?' he questioned.

'Yes, fine,' she answered, and as he unlocked the car and handed her the key she found that, away from the sofa, away from the drawing room, the house, the cold night air had some small sobering effect. She looked up at him, some tiny portion of her equilibrium restored. `Goodnight, Mr Wakefield, sir,' she managed lightly, and as he looked down at her she promptly had her equilibrium shattered when he bent and saluted her mouth with his own.

Then abruptly he stood back. `Go home,' he ordered her sternly-and Yancie went.

YANCIE recalled Thomson's sternly voiced `Go home' many times in the days that followed. And the more she thought about it, the more she began to wonder, rather lovingly, it had to be admitted, if his sternness had stemmed from him being more affected by their lovemaking, by that final kiss, than he was showing; more affected than he wanted her to see?

It was wishful thinking, she decided, when all days merged into one and she didn't so much as get a glimpse of him. If Thomson had been anywhere at all affected-perhaps more than was normal when male biological urges were let off the leash for a little while-then he had a peculiar way of showing it. She knew darn well he was in business, and that from time to time he'd call for a driver. But did he ever call on her to drive him? Did he blazes!

Unhappily, Yancie was discovering the very hard fact that being in love was painful. Being in love left her open to all manner of hurts and imagined slights. She had tried to deny that she had fallen in love with the brute, but that denial hadn't taken long to come and trip her up. She had known for sure how she felt about him on Saturday night. He'd taken off his jacket and wrapped it around her-and she'd known. It was just there, her love for him. And it was no good hoping it would just as swiftly go away again, because it just wouldn't, and no amount of wishing would make it.

She had fallen in love with Thomson, and she could do nothing to change that fact. Though, having fallen in love, she instinctively knew that he was the only man she wanted to be with. She just knew she would feel tremendously outraged should any other man attempt to kiss her in the way that he had done.

This self-knowledge brought her enormous relief. Because not only had she discovered that she had all the same natural wanting emotions of any other woman in love; Yancie now knew that she no longer had any need to fear she was like her flighty, fickle-hearted mother, or either of her aunts. Yancie realised that she had feared needlessly in those years of guarding against being like her mother. She was nothing like her in that fast and loose respect. Yancie knew then that she was not in the least permissive, nor ever likely to be. While she had truly wanted Thomson, her wanting was all part of her being so totally heart and soul in love with him.

But, while she was truly in love with him, she would not fully give of herself easily, but only when the time was right. And the time hadn't been right last Saturday, she now realised. She started to cringe at her intimation that, because he'd turned up at the party, she'd had to leave early, thereby depriving herself of a goodnight kiss from her escort. Oh, how could she have invited Thomson to do the honours instead?

It was that invitation that had instigated their lovemaking, and from which had come her recent awareness of her love for him-and her need for the solace of his arms.

Yes, even then she'd felt starved of lovehis love. Her love for him had been growing in her all the while. But-and that was the crux of the matter-Thomson did not love her.

Making love with him would mean everything to her-but absolutely nothing to him.

But, throughout her present despond, Yancie found that life went on. She had delivered Douglas Clements to the airport on time. Matthew Grant, obviously having obtained her address from Greville, had sent her `Thank You' flowers, so presumably all was well again with him and his ex. Fennia's mother wasn't any more friendly to her daughter, and Astra was working as hard as ever.

Like somebody else I know, Yancie sighed, wondering how much more of what she saw as being ostracised by Thomson Wakefield she could take. She didn't know what else she could call it but ostracism, she mused unhappily when she went into work on Friday morning. He hadn't asked for her to drive him anywhere-she might just not exist so far as he was concerned.

Pride at that moment came to her aid. Well, bubbles to him. She didn't care. If he asked her to drive him now she jolly well wouldn't. Ralph had phoned only last night practically begging her to go home-Estelle had upset the housekeeper and the housekeeper had walked out. Ralph had said if she was still too upset to accept her allowance then he would pay her to do his housekeeping, but, whether she took over that role or not, he wanted her home. So there, Mr lordly Thomson Wakefield-I can easily get another job if I want to.