body, seeking the moments needed to draw breath, get himself back in hand, so that he could make this into the experience it should be for both of them.
But she wasn’t making it easy for him. In the same seconds that her mouth opened under his, inviting his intimate invasion, her hands started wandering, visiting all the most sensitive parts of his body, sparking off explosive reactions wherever they touched. He was kneeling astride her, his legs on either side of hers on the bed, the mattress giving under their joint weight. His chances of staying in controlwere reduced from low to impossible in between one breath and another, and when she fell back amongst the tangled bedclothes, still clutching at him, he had no choice but to go with her.
As they rolled together, twisting, turning so that he ended up as the one on his back, Sarah on top, he felt her hands move to his waist, tugging and pulling at the buckle of his belt.
‘Sarah!’
Her name was pushed from him on a breath that combined laughter and protest, a tiny sense of desperation creeping in at the thought of how things had got so hot so fast.
He should be thinking—trying to think! This wasn’t what he had planned on—or was it?
What had he planned on? He didn’t know—couldn’t remember—frankly, didn’t care.
With a smothered half laugh, half groan of surrender, he gave up the attempt at using his mind and flung his arms open wide, stretching them out on the bed so that she could have free access to what was left of his clothing.
And froze as his left hand made contact with something cold and hard and metallic.
‘What the hell…?’
It was partly hidden under the pillow, just a small section of chain sticking out across the sheet, and as he pulled on it he twisted his head to one side to see what it was.
A chain.
A thick, heavy-linked gold chain, with a circular St Christopher medal hanging from it.
A very masculine gold chain.
The sort of chain he could well imagine Jason the rat wearing.
And as he moved his head again he caught the heavy, musky aroma of some overly potent aftershave that wasstill clinging to the pillow covers. He recognised that scent immediately. It had been thick on the air downstairs—when Jason had come close as he walked past and out the door.
From being close to white heat, his blood cooled immediately, freezing in his veins. All trace of desire left him in a rush, to be replaced by a volatile mixture of cold fury, bitter betrayal and sheer blind frustration. Nausea grabbed at his stomach, making it twist violently.
‘Damon?’
Sarah had noticed the change—how could she not? Her hands had stilled at his waist, the belt buckle lying open, and she lifted cloudily questioning eyes to his face.
‘What?’
He didn’t speak, couldn’t speak. He could only lift his hand, the chain and medallion dangling from his fingers.
All colour leached from Sarah’s face, leaving her ashen, tinged with a ghastly cast of green. The next moment she recoiled violently, almost throwing herself off the bed, scrambling inelegantly in her haste to get away.
Damon wasn’t far behind her.
He felt sick. Sick, disgusted and damn well used . Twisting his long, lean body, he jackknifed off the other side of the bed to stand, blind black fury stamped on his face, glaring at her across the room.
‘Whose is this?’
He didn’t need to ask, of course. Didn’t need his already certain suspicions confirming. But he had to ask—to say something, no matter what.
Sarah wouldn’t meet his eyes. If he felt sick then she looked even worse.
‘You—you know…’
‘Answer me!’
Sarah couldn’t find the strength to say a single thing. Bitterly conscious of her half-undressed state, the way that her hair was ruffled and tangled, the dishevelled conditionof her skirt, she grabbed at the lilac towelling robe that lay over a chair and clutched it tight against her, gaining some morsel of strength at least from its
But she wasn’t making it easy for him. In the same seconds that her mouth opened under his, inviting his intimate invasion, her hands started wandering, visiting all the most sensitive parts of his body, sparking off explosive reactions wherever they touched. He was kneeling astride her, his legs on either side of hers on the bed, the mattress giving under their joint weight. His chances of staying in controlwere reduced from low to impossible in between one breath and another, and when she fell back amongst the tangled bedclothes, still clutching at him, he had no choice but to go with her.
As they rolled together, twisting, turning so that he ended up as the one on his back, Sarah on top, he felt her hands move to his waist, tugging and pulling at the buckle of his belt.
‘Sarah!’
Her name was pushed from him on a breath that combined laughter and protest, a tiny sense of desperation creeping in at the thought of how things had got so hot so fast.
He should be thinking—trying to think! This wasn’t what he had planned on—or was it?
What had he planned on? He didn’t know—couldn’t remember—frankly, didn’t care.
With a smothered half laugh, half groan of surrender, he gave up the attempt at using his mind and flung his arms open wide, stretching them out on the bed so that she could have free access to what was left of his clothing.
And froze as his left hand made contact with something cold and hard and metallic.
‘What the hell…?’
It was partly hidden under the pillow, just a small section of chain sticking out across the sheet, and as he pulled on it he twisted his head to one side to see what it was.
A chain.
A thick, heavy-linked gold chain, with a circular St Christopher medal hanging from it.
A very masculine gold chain.
The sort of chain he could well imagine Jason the rat wearing.
And as he moved his head again he caught the heavy, musky aroma of some overly potent aftershave that wasstill clinging to the pillow covers. He recognised that scent immediately. It had been thick on the air downstairs—when Jason had come close as he walked past and out the door.
From being close to white heat, his blood cooled immediately, freezing in his veins. All trace of desire left him in a rush, to be replaced by a volatile mixture of cold fury, bitter betrayal and sheer blind frustration. Nausea grabbed at his stomach, making it twist violently.
‘Damon?’
Sarah had noticed the change—how could she not? Her hands had stilled at his waist, the belt buckle lying open, and she lifted cloudily questioning eyes to his face.
‘What?’
He didn’t speak, couldn’t speak. He could only lift his hand, the chain and medallion dangling from his fingers.
All colour leached from Sarah’s face, leaving her ashen, tinged with a ghastly cast of green. The next moment she recoiled violently, almost throwing herself off the bed, scrambling inelegantly in her haste to get away.
Damon wasn’t far behind her.
He felt sick. Sick, disgusted and damn well used . Twisting his long, lean body, he jackknifed off the other side of the bed to stand, blind black fury stamped on his face, glaring at her across the room.
‘Whose is this?’
He didn’t need to ask, of course. Didn’t need his already certain suspicions confirming. But he had to ask—to say something, no matter what.
Sarah wouldn’t meet his eyes. If he felt sick then she looked even worse.
‘You—you know…’
‘Answer me!’
Sarah couldn’t find the strength to say a single thing. Bitterly conscious of her half-undressed state, the way that her hair was ruffled and tangled, the dishevelled conditionof her skirt, she grabbed at the lilac towelling robe that lay over a chair and clutched it tight against her, gaining some morsel of strength at least from its
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