Lynne Graham - Dangerous Passions

‘I—didn’t know you knew Dr Fellowes,’ she murmured, feeling obliged to make some recompense, but loath to thank him outright, and Ben shrugged.

‘You don’t know much about me at all,’ he responded, and his tone was as cool as hers now. ‘Is it important?’

Jaime sighed. ‘Not—not intrinsically, no.’ She paused, and the disturbing memory of what her mother—and Tom—had said reared its ugly head again. ‘Are—are you a patient of his?’

Ben slowed at a junction, and scanned the road ahead. ‘I think that comes under the heading of a personal question,’ he replied shortly. ‘Are you?’

‘Am I what?’

‘A patient of Fellowes’.’

Jaime was confused. ‘What has that got to do with anything?’

‘Exactly.’ Ben accelerated along Gloucester Road. ‘Whether or not I’m a patient of John Fellowes has nothing to do with you.’

Jaime held up her head. ‘I—I—was—–’

‘Curious?’

‘No.’ Jaime was indignant. ‘I was—concerned.’

‘Oh, come on.’ Ben cast her a sardonic sideways glance. ‘I think I’ve got the picture of what you think of me, and “concerned” doesn’t come into it.’

‘That’s not true.’ Jaime spoke rashly, and then struggled to justify her words. ‘I mean—naturally, I’m concerned if—if you’re ill—–’

‘Because you have Tom to consider, right?’ Ben sounded bitter. ‘You don’t want him associating with me if I’m incubating some awful unsociable disease—–’

‘I never thought of that!’ Jaime gazed at him defensively. ‘I—I wouldn’t dream of stopping him associating with you, because I might think you—you—–’

‘Had Aids?’ he supplied grimly, and Jaime felt as if someone had sucked all the air from her body.

‘If—if that’s what’s wrong with you,’ she got out unsteadily, ‘I—I know you wouldn’t do anything to harm your own son.’

Ben’s lips twitched. ‘Isn’t it rich!’ he grated savagely. ‘I have to threaten to be dying before you’ll admit that Tom’s my son!’

Jaime’s throat constricted. ‘You’re—you’re not dying,’ she protested, realising how devastated she would feel if he were. ‘There—there are experiments going on, treatments you can have…’

‘If I had Aids,’ agreed Ben flatly, bringing the Sierra to a halt, and Jaime saw with some astonishment that they had stopped outside her house. She hadn’t been aware of anything for the last few minutes.

‘ If you had Aids?’ she ventured blankly, and Ben gazed at her with a scornful expression.

‘Yes,’ he said evenly. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I managed to avoid contracting any real life-threatening infections while I was in Africa. You’ll have to save your dubious sympathies for some other poor sod, hmm?’

‘You— pig !’

All the pent-up emotions of the evening exploded in a sudden surge of violence, and Jaime’s hand connected heavily with his cheek. She knew it must have hurt him. Her own fingers stung quite painfully, and she was half prepared to admit she hadn’t intended to hit him quite so hard. But, before she had a chance to make any kind of apology, Ben’s hand circled the back of her neck, and he yanked her towards him.

‘If that’s the way you want to play it,’ he muttered, before his mouth met hers, and although she tried to resist him he was much, much stronger than she was.

Besides, the line between anger and desire was a fine one. Anger was passion, and the whole evening had been one of suppressed emotion, of one sort or another. When Ben took hold of her, when his hard fingers dug into her nape, and his angry mouth found hers, instinct took over. She wanted to sustain her feelings, she wanted to despise him for allowing her to even think he might be dying; but those same emotions got in the way.

His mouth on hers was so insistent, savage at first, and then achingly persuasive. His tongue against her lips was hot and wet and persistent, and, although she held out for a few moments, he eventually coaxed her lips to part.

‘We—we can’t,’ she gasped, when his tongue plunged into her mouth and she felt his hand gripping her thigh below the short skirt of her suit. ‘Ben, someone might see us!’

His lips dragged across her cheek. ‘You mean Tom, don’t you?’ he exclaimed harshly against her ear. His teeth dug painfully into her earlobe. ‘Why don’t you admit it?’

‘I—all right,’ she stammered, covering the hand that was sliding insistently along her thigh with both of hers. ‘I mean Tom. I—won’t do this to him.’

‘Do what?’ Ben lifted his head to look down at her, and in the muted light from the streetlamps his expression was vaguely menacing. ‘Tell him the truth for once?’ he taunted scathingly. ‘Admit that you were once human enough to need a normal sexual relationship with a man?’

‘With a married man,’ Jaime reminded him tensely, and Ben made a sound of impatience.

‘A man who cared about you just as much as you cared about him,’ he retorted roughly. He looked down at her paltry attempt to stay his hand, and deliberately proved how useless that was. ‘Don’t try to stop me, Jaime,’ he muttered, moving his hand beneath the hem of her skirt. ‘You wouldn’t succeed, and we both know why.’

‘No.’ Jaime twisted her head from side to side. ‘Ben— please !’

‘I will,’ he promised unsteadily, and any further protest she might have uttered was stifled by the hungry pressure of his mouth.

Jaime’s head swam. She tried to tell herself it was the celibate life she had been leading that was making her so vulnerable to his demands, but it wasn’t that simple. The truth was, Ben was the only man who had ever made her feel this way, and when he cupped her face between his hands, and pressed her back into the seat, she clutched his neck with trembling fingers.

Ben’s kiss lengthened and deepened. His tongue possessed her, filling her mouth with its hot, wet invasion. She felt weak, and breathless, dizzy with the need to keep some hold over a situation that was rapidly moving out of control. His jacket was open, and the warm male smell of his body filled her senses. His heart was hammering, matching hers for speed, and when her arms slid round his neck, and her breasts pushed against his chest, he uttered an anguished groan.

‘Oh, God!’

The shuddering breath Ben gave, as he hauled himself back from her, was an indication of the effort it had taken. Slumping in his seat, he raked back his hair with hands that were shaking rather badly, pulling at his collar that suddenly seemed too tight.

Jaime’s reactions were slower. Ben’s withdrawal had been so sudden that she half expected to find Tom peering at them through the misted windows. But they were still alone. The rain had kept most people indoors, and the condensation on the car windows still gave them a flimsy kind of privacy. Which meant it had been his decision to put an end to the embrace, and humiliation washed over her, hot and shameful.

As she struggled up in her seat, Ben’s sardonic, ‘I rest my case,’ was the final straw. But, when she would have thrust open her door and scrambled out, his hand caught her wrist. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, and, although it would have been easier to tell him to go to hell, Jaime was tired of running away from her problems.

‘Just—stay away from me in future,’ she said, gritting her teeth. ‘Don’t imagine— this —gives you any leverage where I’m concerned. All right. Tom’s your son. I’ve admitted it. But that affair was over long ago. And it’s not just the drink-driving laws that have changed since you went away. Women have changed; I’ve changed. We’re not ashamed of our sexuality any more. We can meet men on equal terms. And just because I might fancy going to bed with you doesn’t mean I feel some—some lifelong commitment!’