say? Play by your rules?'
Cally demanded bitterly. 'Oh, I'm sure.' 'I was thinking more,'
Nick said slowly, 'of that day by the river. And please don't
pretend you've forgotten." Her instinctive denial died on her
lips. She tensed. 'What of it?'
'It would be good,' he said, 'if we could forget the rest and
recapture that time—that place.' He made a slight movement,
adjusting his position, and she felt him touch her shoulder,
quietly and softly, his fingers cool as drops of water against
the sudden bum of her naked skin.
A fist seemed to clench in her chest as reluctantly, painfully,
she found herself remembering...
Reliving in too-vivid detail the nearby whisper of running
water, the scent of the grass, and the glow of the sun against
her closed eyelids. And Nick's mouth on hers, gentling her
lips apart, bringing her to trembling life with the delicate play
of his tongue against hers and the slow, beguiling drift of his
fingers on her body.
While, deep within her, she'd felt the first bewildering,
tormenting ache of desire—overwhelming and irresistible.
It might have been yesterday. It could be now...
Now! The word seemed to sting her brain, sending her crash-
ing back to sanity. Oh, God, she groaned silently, what was
she thinking of?
Gasping in shock, she jerked away from him. 'Don't—don't
touch me. I—I can't bear it."
There was a silence, then he spoke, his voice soft and jeering.
'What are you hoping, my sweet? That you'll offend me so
deeply I'll toss you back to your good Samaritan at Gunners
Wharf and crawl away, wounded, into the undergrowth?' He
shook his head. 'You'll have to try harder than that, darling.
And I think it's time to give some thought to the actual terms
of our agreement," he added with a touch of grimness.
'Because, under the circumstances, a little touching is going to
be inevitable."
Her mouth was dry. 'But not yet. Not so soon—please.'
'A pleasure deferred, then,' Nick drawled mockingly.
She winced. 'How can you possibly say that?'
'Easily,' he said. 'Because I intend to enjoy every inch of
you—and every moment of our lime together.' He paused.
'You, of course, must do as you please." He reached out an
arm and flicked on the lamp at his side of the bed, bathing the
room in pink light.
Cally stiffened. 'What are you doing?'
He said quietly, 'If I'm not allowed to touch, I may at least
look.' He took the edge of the covers and tossed them back.
Cally made an unavailing grab for their protection, then lay
like a stone, staring into space, her lower lip caught in her
teeth, bitterly aware that the delicate layer of chiffon was no
barrier at all against his cool, lingering scrutiny of her body.
At last, she said in a small, stifled voice, 'Have you finished?’
He gave a brief, harsh laugh. 'Don't be naive, darling. We both
know I haven't even begun yet.'
He turned away from her, onto his side, extinguishing the
light and leaving her to draw the covers back into place. She
lay beside him, imprisoned by silence and his proximity, not
daring to move.
Even when his quiet, steady breathing told her that he was
asleep, Cally could not relax. How could he be so casual—so
unfazed, she asked herself, when he was behaving so
abominably?
He'd meant everything he said, she thought, fear tightening
her throat. They had a bargain, and—sooner or later— she
would be made to keep her side of it.
How many women did he want in his life at any given time?
she wondered, almost hysterically. And what kind of man
made time for his mistress just before he was due to depart on
honeymoon with his brand-new bride?
The cynicism of that terrified her.
But even if she confronted him about it—accused him, told
him openly that was why she'd left, why she could not bring
herself to live with him as his wife-would it make any real
difference? He'd simply shrug it off, without guilt or remorse.
A deal that had not paid off.
Or, even worse, he
Cally demanded bitterly. 'Oh, I'm sure.' 'I was thinking more,'
Nick said slowly, 'of that day by the river. And please don't
pretend you've forgotten." Her instinctive denial died on her
lips. She tensed. 'What of it?'
'It would be good,' he said, 'if we could forget the rest and
recapture that time—that place.' He made a slight movement,
adjusting his position, and she felt him touch her shoulder,
quietly and softly, his fingers cool as drops of water against
the sudden bum of her naked skin.
A fist seemed to clench in her chest as reluctantly, painfully,
she found herself remembering...
Reliving in too-vivid detail the nearby whisper of running
water, the scent of the grass, and the glow of the sun against
her closed eyelids. And Nick's mouth on hers, gentling her
lips apart, bringing her to trembling life with the delicate play
of his tongue against hers and the slow, beguiling drift of his
fingers on her body.
While, deep within her, she'd felt the first bewildering,
tormenting ache of desire—overwhelming and irresistible.
It might have been yesterday. It could be now...
Now! The word seemed to sting her brain, sending her crash-
ing back to sanity. Oh, God, she groaned silently, what was
she thinking of?
Gasping in shock, she jerked away from him. 'Don't—don't
touch me. I—I can't bear it."
There was a silence, then he spoke, his voice soft and jeering.
'What are you hoping, my sweet? That you'll offend me so
deeply I'll toss you back to your good Samaritan at Gunners
Wharf and crawl away, wounded, into the undergrowth?' He
shook his head. 'You'll have to try harder than that, darling.
And I think it's time to give some thought to the actual terms
of our agreement," he added with a touch of grimness.
'Because, under the circumstances, a little touching is going to
be inevitable."
Her mouth was dry. 'But not yet. Not so soon—please.'
'A pleasure deferred, then,' Nick drawled mockingly.
She winced. 'How can you possibly say that?'
'Easily,' he said. 'Because I intend to enjoy every inch of
you—and every moment of our lime together.' He paused.
'You, of course, must do as you please." He reached out an
arm and flicked on the lamp at his side of the bed, bathing the
room in pink light.
Cally stiffened. 'What are you doing?'
He said quietly, 'If I'm not allowed to touch, I may at least
look.' He took the edge of the covers and tossed them back.
Cally made an unavailing grab for their protection, then lay
like a stone, staring into space, her lower lip caught in her
teeth, bitterly aware that the delicate layer of chiffon was no
barrier at all against his cool, lingering scrutiny of her body.
At last, she said in a small, stifled voice, 'Have you finished?’
He gave a brief, harsh laugh. 'Don't be naive, darling. We both
know I haven't even begun yet.'
He turned away from her, onto his side, extinguishing the
light and leaving her to draw the covers back into place. She
lay beside him, imprisoned by silence and his proximity, not
daring to move.
Even when his quiet, steady breathing told her that he was
asleep, Cally could not relax. How could he be so casual—so
unfazed, she asked herself, when he was behaving so
abominably?
He'd meant everything he said, she thought, fear tightening
her throat. They had a bargain, and—sooner or later— she
would be made to keep her side of it.
How many women did he want in his life at any given time?
she wondered, almost hysterically. And what kind of man
made time for his mistress just before he was due to depart on
honeymoon with his brand-new bride?
The cynicism of that terrified her.
But even if she confronted him about it—accused him, told
him openly that was why she'd left, why she could not bring
herself to live with him as his wife-would it make any real
difference? He'd simply shrug it off, without guilt or remorse.
A deal that had not paid off.
Or, even worse, he
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