Mary Lyons - The Playboy's Baby

Carefully clasping her in his arms as if she was a cherished object, precious beyond compare, he gently kissed her mouth before tenderly trailing his lips down to the scented hollow at the base of her throat. She could feel his breath on her skin, his hands slowly moving down over the warm curves of her body, each lingering caress, each sensual and intimate touch generating tremors of deep pleasure, leaving her aching with the intensity of her need for his possession.

‘My darling!’ he whispered thickly. ‘Right from the first moment I saw you this afternoon—standing so nervously across the room—I suddenly knew just what a fool I’d been. It was totally devastating. Like...like being hit by a ten-ton truck!’

‘A truck...?’ she echoed, so bemused by the thrilling, velvety touch of his fingers on her quivering flesh that she was having difficulty in concentrating on what he was saying.

‘I suddenly realised just what a stupid idiot I’d been. We were always so great together. Both mentally and physically. Two halves of one whole. But it couldn’t work then, all those years ago...you were so very young...with the whole world in front of you.’

‘Oh, Matt...’

‘I’m absolutely crazy about you, Sam,’ he whispered huskily. ‘I always was, of course. But now...now we can handle it. We can make it work. In fact, I’ll make damn sure it does—because I’m not prepared to let you go again,’ he vowed, before giving a low groan of pleasure as he buried his face between the deep valley of her breasts.

As his hoarsely whispered words seemed to hang in the air of the quiet, still room, Samantha could almost physically feel the burden of uncertainty and doubt rolling away, like a great stone from her shoulders, her qualms and hesitant fears dissolving at the deeply sincere note in his voice, and in the direct heat of her own need and desire.

As his hands and mouth moved enticingly over her body, she was filled with wonder and amazement at just how familiar...just how right it all seemed, and how equally right Matt had been when he’d said how perfectly their bodies appeared to fit together.

His flesh was sweet and moist and firm as a summer apple. While his groans of delight, and the shudders that rippled through his body in the wake of her own, softly tender touch, as she caressed the oh, so familiar taut muscles and smooth, tanned skin, only served to increase her own pleasure and excitement.

She suddenly realised that making love with Matt again, after so many years, was like returning home from a long voyage, and rediscovering a familiar and intimate joy. And she could only marvel, silently, at why she hadn’t always known that it would be so.

In sharp contrast to their earlier, frantic coming together—when they’d been like two people dying of thirst in the desert, who suddenly discovered a lush green oasis—Matt was now slowly savouring her swollen breasts and aching nipples, his fingers and mouth exploring each intimate and private part of her quivering body. As her flesh opened to him like a flower unfolding in the sun, it seemed to her that he moved in love as he did everything else in life, smoothly and easily, clearly tempering the strong, pulsating thrusts of his possession to fit her own rhythm and pleasure, until she became lost to all sense of reality. Her whole existence seemed concentrated on the powerful, exquisite friction; an ever-increasing sense of wild exultation rapidly built up inside her, before the whole world appeared suddenly to explode and disintegrate about them, in shattered fragments of light and power.

When Samantha next opened her eyes, it was to discover bright sunshine flooding through the gauzy bedroom curtains, and Matt’s dark head on the pillow beside her.

Careful not to disturb his sleeping form, she eased herself carefully out of bed, before padding silently across the room towards the bathroom. As she had hoped, there was a large white towelling robe hanging on the back of the door. It dwarfed her slim body, of course, but after slipping it on and brushing her teeth with the aid of a brand-new toothbrush, which she’d found in the bathroom cabinet, Samantha decided that she now felt able to face the day.

Locating the kitchen proved to be a more difficult operation. It really was a huge apartment Quite apart from the awful, over-decorated main sitting room, there seemed to be at least two other bedroom suites, and a large study-cum-library.

Luckily, it looked as if his ex-girlfriend, the mad interior designer, had managed to get at least one room right. Standing just inside the door, she gazed around at the walls lined with books, their polished leather bindings in brown, red and green adding a warm glow to the severely masculine lines of a huge mahogany desk, covered in green leather chased in gold, with its matching green leather swivel chair set on a dark grey carpet.

It was clearly a room devoted to quiet, peaceful contemplation, either reading in one of the large, comfortable leather chairs beside the grey marble fireplace, or working at the desk. In fact, it could have been an eighteenth-century gentleman’s refuge, were it not for the black telephone, fax and modern laptop computer neatly positioned on the desk.

Feeling slightly ashamed of giving another quick glance around the room—well. Matt might have had a photo of his ex-girlfriend still lying around—Samantha firmly pulled herself together, and continued her search for the kitchen.

When she finally tracked it down, she was relieved to note that the large room was a purely functional one.

So, OK, the very modern decor—which mainly consisted of glass, and a mass of stainless steel over light oak-coloured floorboards—wasn’t everyone’s taste. But, since she had no problem with the cool Scandinavian style, she felt perfectly at home. And she was absolutely crazy about the enormous fridge, deeply envious of a piece of equipment which seemed designed to do just about everything except whistle a tune.

In fact, having poured herself some orange juice, she was just experimenting with its ice-making machine, when she nearly jumped out of her skin to hear Matt’s voice just behind her.

‘Good morning, darling. I was just wondering what had happened to my dressing gown,’ he murmured, laughing as she gave a shriek, spilling half the ice cubes on to the floor as she spun around to face him.

‘For heaven’s sake!’ she gasped, quickly bending down to clear up the mess around his bare feet.

‘Now... that’s what I like to see. A woman who knows her place. Which, in this case, appears to be on her knees in the kitchen, before her lord and master. Keep up the good work, Sam!’

‘Dream on—O Mighty One!’ she retorted with a snort of derisory laughter, gathering up the last ice cubes and rising to her feet.

‘Ah, well...bang goes one of my favourite fantasies,’ he drawled with a sardonic grin. ‘So, I guess it’s back to the real world, hmm?’

‘Damn right!’ she muttered nervously, evading his eyes as she walked over to the trash can.

She might have pinched his towelling robe, but she did wish he could have found something else to wear, other than that very short towel, wrapped so tightly about his slim hips. Because just at this moment it was desperately important that she keep her wits about her.

While exploring his enormous apartment,, she hadn’t been able to prevent her mind from see-sawing back and forth, trying to sort out a mass of confused emotions.

Matt had proved to be a warm and generous lover—as well as firmly declaring his deep feelings for her. But she wasn’t a starry-eyed young girl any more. And she knew that, while it was easy enough to make promises, and whisper sweet nothings during the height of passion, that same passion had a way of cooling right down to vanishing point in the cold light of day.