Garden of Lies(45)

He released her, crossed the room to the door and turned the key in the lock. The ominous clink of iron-on-iron rang like a distant thunder in the small space. When he paced back toward her, yanking at the knot of his black tie, the dark promise in his eyes sent a delicious shiver of anticipation through her.

By the time he reached her the strip of silk dangled around his neck. He stood still, not touching her. She knew that he was waiting for some sign.

Fingers trembling, she reached up and undid the first button of his shirt.

That was all he needed. He clamped his hands around her waist, lifted her up off the ground and sat her on the edge of her desk. Before she realized his intention, he pushed the skirts of the dressing gown up over her knees and moved between her legs.

“Slater.”

She did not say anything else. Torn between shock and a rush of feverish excitement, she could not find any more words.

He anchored her with one hand wrapped around the back of her neck and kissed her again. She arched into the embrace, tightening her legs around his thighs. She savored the exotic drug that was his scent, a mix of sweat, soap and the unique essence that was Slater. No other man had ever clouded her senses in such a way.

And then he was undoing the fastenings at the front of the dressing gown. The layers of velvet and lace fell apart at his touch as though made of clouds and mist. There was no corset or camisole to bar his way. When his palm covered her breast she closed her eyes and turned her head into his shoulder to suppress a small cry.

“Half of London wonders why I have not shown any interest in forming a liaison with a woman,” Slater said. His thumb and forefinger tightened gently around one nipple. “I have asked myself the same question from time to time. But now I have the answer.”

She looked up at him through half-closed eyes and kissed his throat.

“What is the answer?” she asked, astonished by the sultry sound of her own voice.

He moved his hand from her breast to her knee. Deliberately he eased his palm up under the skirts of the gown, along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh and found the hot, wet place between her legs. She took a sharp breath, shivering in response to the intimacy.

“I was waiting for you,” he said. “I just didn’t know it until I met you.”

“Slater.”

This time she said his name in an aching whisper because she could barely speak at all now.

She slipped her hand inside his partially open shirt and flattened her palm on his chest. She could feel the hard, sleek muscle beneath his warm skin.

He stroked her, drawing forth a response that took her by storm. His touch had a shattering effect on her senses. An unfamiliar tension built inside her. When he tugged on the sensitive bud at the top of her sex, her nails turned into small claws on his chest.

He slipped two fingers gently inside her. She caught her breath, instinctively tightening herself against the sensual invasion. The clenching action only served to ratchet up the tension.

In the early days of her marriage, before she had discovered the weaknesses in Jeremy’s character, she had enjoyed his kisses and thought herself content with the physical side of marriage. Jeremy had been nothing if not charming and he had accounted himself an expert lover. But even at the dawn of their relationship when she had still been in the giddy, hopeful phase of love, she had never experienced the level of excitement that gripped her now.

Perhaps it was the result of having very nearly perished in the fire. Perhaps the doctors were correct—maybe widowhood took a toll on a woman’s nerves. Whatever the reason, her reaction to Slater stunned her.

“I cannot take any more of this torment,” he said against her throat. “I need to be inside you. I need it more than I have ever needed anything in my life.”

He opened the front of his trousers, freeing his heavy erection. She was shocked anew when she looked down and saw the size of the man.

But before she could decide what to do next, he pushed her knees wider apart, gripped her hips with both hands and thrust hard and deep into her wet heat.

Instinctively she clenched herself around him but he withdrew and plunged back into her, again and again until she was breathless and desperate.

Without warning the coiled tension that had tightened her lower body was released in a series of deep waves.

She was not sure what was happening. She tumbled helplessly over a seemingly endless waterfall. She clutched Slater’s shoulders and hung on for dear life.

Slater gave a muffled roar. He thrust deep one last time. But instead of pouring himself into her, he pulled free. In the next instant his climax ripped through him. She felt the hot stream spill across her bare thigh, heard his ragged breathing and sensed the shuddering tremors that pounded through him.

When it was over he braced himself with both hands on the desk on either side of her body and leaned over her, his eyes tightly closed. Perspiration gleamed on his forehead and dampened his chest.

“Ursula,” he said. “Ursula.”

An eerie hush descended on the study. Ursula knew that when reality returned, nothing would ever be the same—not for her.





TWENTY-THREE




Rosemont lurched awkwardly along the fog-and-night-darkened street, a heavy suitcase in each hand.

He was no fool, he thought. He had known from the start of the affair that there were risks—only to be expected in a situation where there was a great deal of money and some very ruthless people involved. He had made preparations for precisely the sort of emergency that had struck today.