Sharon Kendrik - Casualty Of Passion

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.

CHAPTER THREE

UNTIL now.

Kelly stared at Randall, her features schooled into the coolly indifferent look she had perfected over the years because that passionate and impetuous creature who had offered herself so willingly to Randall Seton had gone forever.

‘You’ve gone very pale—you look as though you could use a drink,’ he observed. ‘Let me buy you one.’

Kelly almost exploded with rage. Did he imagine—did he have the termerity to imagine—that he could simply walk into her life nine years on and calmly ask her for a drink, and that she, panting eagerly, would accept? ‘No, thank you,’ she answered, her voice iced with pure frost.

He was blocking her path. ‘Kelly—this is crazy. We need to talk.’

She frowned, looking perplexed. ‘Do we? I can’t think why.’

‘Because we go back a long way. Don’t we?’ He smiled, so sure of its effect, so sure that the grin which creased his handsome features would have her eating out of his hand.

‘Hardly,’ she murmured. ‘We were little more than acquaintances a long time ago. Let me see—it must be eight years, surely—or was it seven? I can hardly remember.’

‘Nine,’ he gritted, and then a wry and reluctant look of amusement spread over his features. ‘OK, Kelly—you’ve made your point with stunning effect, but I still want to talk to you, and I don’t particularly want to do it in this draughty corridor. Not when I can think of so many more attractive venues.’

‘I’m sure you can,’ she bit out crisply. ‘But the fact remains that I really can’t be bothered talking to you. I’ve had a busy day and I’m very tired. What I want is a bath and an early night. Now have you got that, Randall—or would you like me to spell it out in words of one syllable for you?’

He carried his assurance like a badge, and Kelly realised with a gleeful feeling that he was finding it very difficult to cope with her refusal. She would lay a bet that he had never had to cope with rejection in his charmed life. A look of frustration crossed over his face, to be quickly replaced by one of narrow-eyed perception, and Kelly wondered whether she had gone just a bit overboard on her hostility towards him.

Because he wasn’t stupid. Far from it. He could probably put two and two together and come up with another theory of relativity. If she carried on sniping quite so vehemently, might he not guess that he had broken her heart, hurt her so much that she had vowed never to let a man get so close to her again?

She sighed. Indifference was a far better shield to hide behind than anger. Anger symbolised emotion, and she had buried emotion a long time ago. She glanced down at the slim gold watch on her wrist.

‘Sorry.’ She stifled a yawn, and gave him a polite little smile. ‘I’m just very tired, that’s all.’

‘Then you need a drink,’ he said firmly. ‘Where would you like to go? There’s a bar in the mess, isn’t there?’

Kelly bit her lip. That was the last thing she wanted, to be seen with him in the doctors’ mess. Hospitals were a hot-bed of gossip, and word would be bound to get back to Warren if she was seen out with the hospital’s newest and most eligible bachelor.

‘Yes, there is,’ she answered grudgingly. But since the alternative would be to offer him a drink in her room, and she certainly was not going to do that, there seemed to be nothing to do except give in gracefully. ‘OK,’ she shrugged. ‘But just a quick drink.’

He knew the way to the mess. They walked in silence along the echoing floors, and Kelly was reminded of just how tall he was, and how striking, since every nurse they passed looked him up and down with blatant appreciation.