Sharon Kendrick - Casualty Of Passion

‘So are you,’ she whispered, and she heard him give a low laugh as his hand moved to the belt of his trousers.

Kelly felt shy at her first sight of his arousal, almost dazed and daunted by her ability to do that to him, but her shyness evaporated as he slid her tiny bikini pants down over her thighs, then, naked, pulled her down on to the bed with him and began to kiss her over and over again.

It felt so good. It felt so right. She was drowning in delight, each touch and each kiss making the pleasure escalate until she could hardly bear it any more, almost going out of her mind when his hand moved over the flatness of her belly, to teasingly stroke tiny provocative circles there. She began to move restlessly, and he gave another low laugh as his hand slid down between her thighs to tantalise her even further so that she made an instinctive little pleading sound at the back of her throat.

‘Do you want me?’ he whispered huskily.

‘Oh, yes,’ she shuddered ecstatically as he stroked her skilfully.

‘Really want me?’

‘Yes!’ Oh, God, yes—more than she had ever wanted anything in her entire life.

He moved to lie on top of her. She was ready for him, gloriously and deliriously ready for him; ripe and hot and moist. She pressed her lips to his shoulders, eager for him to fill her, thrilling as he gently parted her legs, when a stark and elemental fear pierced through the mists of her desire with frightening clarity, as the dreaded phrase of her childhood came back to mock at her.

‘That girl’s in trouble.’

In trouble ...

Kelly remembered Jo Grant at school, only fifteen, but now prematurely aged as she pushed the pram up the hill every morning.

‘Randall,’ she whispered urgently.

He lifted his head from her breast, his voice thick with passion. ‘What?’

‘You won’t—’

‘Oh, I most certainly will, my darling,’ he murmured.

‘—make me pregnant, will you?’

The silence which filled the room was brittle, electric. She felt him tense, heard him stifle some profanity, before he rolled off her, and, with his back to her, the broad set of his shoulders forbidding and stiff with some kind of unbearable tension, began to pull his clothes on.

Kelly was filled with hurt and confusion. She had meant ... had meant ... that they should ...

‘Randall?’ she whispered tentatively, and when he turned, in the act of wincing as he struggled to zip up his trousers, she almost recoiled from the look of frustration on his face, which quickly gave way to one of bored disdain.

‘You certainly pick your moments,’ he drawled cuttingly. ‘Couldn’t you have said something earlier?’

‘Well, what about you?’ Outraged and indignant, she sat up, her hair tumbling to conceal her breasts, and she saw a nerve begin to work in his cheek. ‘You didn’t seem inclined to discuss it either. Don’t you think that you have some responsibility too?’ she demanded.

‘That’s just the trouble, Kelly,’ he said, in a bitter, flat and angry voice. ‘I wasn’t doing any thinking at all.’

And without another word he slammed his way out of the room, leaving Kelly to spend the most miserable night of her life.

The next morning she had risen early, hoping to get away before anyone else was up, and yet trying to suppress the foolish and humiliating little hope that he would still want to see her. She quickly packed her few belongings into the suitcase and went silently down the stairs.

Mary was placing a pile of newspapers on a tray, and looked up, her eyes hardening with disapproval when she saw Kelly.

‘Will you be wanting breakfast, miss?’ she asked grudgingly.

Kelly shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I—I’d like to get away just as soon as possible. Will you please—’ she swallowed. She must be courteous; she still had her pride ‘—thank Randall for his hospitality?’

‘Yes, miss. Though I don’t know when I shall be seeing him next.’

‘I’m sorry? But he’ll be down for breakfast before he goes back, surely?’

‘Oh, no , miss.’

Kelly’s heart started thundering with the implication behind the cook’s triumphant statement.

‘Just that Lord Rousay’s already gone back to London. Left here at dawn, he did. Driving that car of his as though the devil himself was chasing him.’

‘Oh, I see,’ said Kelly, in a small, empty little voice, as the fairy-tale disintegrated.

And she had never set eyes on him again.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.