THE VIRGIN'S SEDUCTION Page 11

  Eve's face flamed, but when she would have got to her feet Jake's hand on her knee prevented her. 'I'm sorry,' he said ruefully. 'I shouldn't have said that. Will you forgive me?'

  He could feel her knee trembling beneath his hand, and he cursed himself for a fool. He'd already guessed that at some time some man had hurt her badly, and if he wanted to see her again he had to stop crowding her.

  'Look,' he said, resisting the urge to slide his hand further up her thigh, 'can't we put the past behind us and

  start again?'

  Eve's lips parted. 'There's nothing to start again, Mr Romero!' she exclaimed, and Jake thought he could willingly drown in the limpid beauty of her eyes. 'I think you're getting me mixed up with Cassandra.'

  'No, I'm not.' Jake disliked the sound of that woman's name on her lips. 'I've thought of little else but you ever since I left here.'

  Eve tensed. 'You're joking, right?'

  'It's the truth.'

  'Oh, right.' She was sceptical. 'So I'm supposed to believe that all the time you were making love to Cassandra you were really thinking of me? How sick is that?'

  'I haven't had sex with Cassandra,' he snapped, resenting her sarcasm. He made an impatient gesture. 'What

  kind of a creep do you think I am?'

  'I don't have an opinion, Mr Romero,' she replied primly, irritating him anew with her refusal to use his given name. 'I hardly know you.'

  "We could remedy that.' Despite his intention to move slowly, Jake allowed his fingers to stroke the inner curve of her knee. A nerve jumped against his hand and he felt the immediate quiver of apprehension that rippled over her at his touch. 'I want to.'

  'Well, I don't,' said Eve, but her mouth was dry and she knew it wasn't quite the truth. His nearness was having a totally unprecedented effect on her senses, and although she wanted to dislodge his hand from her knee, curiosity—and an undeniable temptation—kept her from doing it.

  'Don't you?' He leant closer and she felt his tongue stroke her ear. 'Are you sure about that?'

  'Jake!' His name was a cry of protest, but when she turned her head to avoid his tongue she found his face

  only inches from hers. And something shifted deep inside her—something that kept her staring at him when she knew she shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be as close as this to any man, and particularly not this man.

  His eyes were dark, and dilated to such an extent that she could hardly see any whiteness at all. And, although she was sure he must have shaved that morning, already there was a shadow of stubble on his jawline.

  He had such a beautiful face, she thought, which was a crazy thought to have about someone who was so essentially male. But his was a hard beauty, his eyes deep, his mouth thin yet so sinfully sensual that any woman would be entranced.

  A fine tremor ran though her which must have communicated itself to him, because he lifted his hand and

  allowed his knuckles to graze her cheek.

  The tremor became an earthquake, and Eve felt her resistance ebbing as the shaking in her shoulders spread to the rest of her body. Her breathing was shallow, yet she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She was transfixed.

  Yet how could that be when inside she felt as if a series of electrical explosions was tearing her apart?

  His thumb moved to brush roughly across her lips and her tongue went instinctively to meet it. He tasted as good as he looked, she thought, and, as if sensing her submission, he pressed harder, causing her lips to part. And, God forgive her, she curled her tongue around him and sucked his thumb into her mouth.

  She heard the catch of his breathing, the quickening of the pulse that beat against her tongue. He was watching her with a heavy-lidded intensity that even she knew was different than before, and the feelings inside her expanded to consume every part of her being.

  She needed to touch him, and her hands rose almost jerkily to grasp the soft fabric of his sweater, as if by

  holding on to him she could control this madness inside.

  Beneath the wool, the heat of his skin rose to meet her clutching fingers, and she desperately wanted to burrow beneath his sweater and press herself against the hard flesh of his body.

  'God, I want you,' he said, his voice hoarse and unsteady, and Eve could only gaze up at him, unconsciously

  inviting him to go on. His hand settled at the back of her neck, under the soft mane of her hair, his touch warm and heavy, angling her head to his. His kiss when it came was different, too, hard and deliberate, taking as well as giving, as if he was afraid she was going to run out on him again before it was over.

  But she didn't. She couldn't. The fire of that kiss had burned away any resistance, igniting a path clear down to her groin so that her legs fell helplessly apart.

  She didn't realise that Storm Dancer had finished feeding and was now standing watching them with soft, uncritical eyes. She was barely conscious of anything but Jake's needs, Jake's heat, the hungry pressure of his tongue forcing its way into her mouth.

  He kissed her many times, over and over, until she was weak and clinging to him. He urged her back against the straw bales behind her and her breasts ached with the pressure he was putting on them, but she didn't care. He'd wedged one thigh between hers, so that there was no way she could avoid feeling his arousal. His shaft throbbed against her leg and she shuddered with the awareness of how big he was, how hard and male and virile—and dangerously out of control.

  'Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do this?' he demanded thickly, releasing her mouth only to

  nip her earlobe, to bite the yielding flesh of her throat. 'I knew you'd be beautiful and you are.'

  'I'm—not —beautiful,' she protested unsteadily, but he wasn't listening to her. He'd parted the heavy cardigan to expose the thin vest that was all she was wearing underneath.

  He seemed entranced by the swollen globes of her breasts and, pushing the vest aside, his cold hands sought and released the catch of her bra.

  Eve's head swam when her breasts spilled into his hands. His thumbs had found the sensitised peaks that had surged against his palms, and she ached now with needs of her own. There was a tingling in her stomach and a throbbing wetness between her legs that she'd definitely never felt before. She felt alive and desirable, and, clutching his face with both hands, she brought his mouth back to hers.

  'Easy, baby,' he murmured against her lips, and Eve trembled. How could she take it easy when it was all so

  new, so exciting, so different from anything she'd ever experienced before? His tongue was making sensuous forays into her mouth, aping what he wanted to do to her body, and for the first time she faced the possibility of a man's lovemaking without fear or disgust.

  'We've got all night,' he whispered, easing her back until she was practically lying on the bales, his hand sliding down to cup her mound through the tight cotton of her jeans. 'No one's going to interrupt us."

  No one, mused Eve dizzily. No one—not even Cassie.

  Cassie...

  Eve's throat constricted. The thought was a chilling one. It reminded her of who Jake was, how she had met

  him. Dear God, what was she thinking, allowing this to happen? Was she so bemused by her own discovered sexuality that she was prepared to make love to a man who, by his own admission, was still seeing the other woman?

  A man who, by every law of decency, was forbidden to her?

  He had bent his head and was about to take one engorged nipple into his mouth when Eve uttered a strangled denial. 'No,' she said, a very real panic giving her voice the edge of hysteria. 'No. No, you can't. You don't understand.'

  Wriggling out from under him, she hurriedly pulled the folds of her cardigan together and faced him

  with wide, agonised eyes. 'We can't do this. I can't do this. It wouldn't be right.'

  Jake stared at her. Despite the fact that he was very obviously aroused, and his expression mirrored the frustration he was feeling, his voice was unnaturally quiet when he
said, 'This is about Cassandra, isn't it? You think that because Cassandra introduced us—'

  'No. No, it's not that.'

  Eve moved her head frantically from side to side, but Jake's patience wasn't infinite. 'What, then?' he asked,

  his voice hardening a little. 'I've told you I'm not interested in Cassandra. Okay, so I know she's a relative of

  yours, but that can't be helped. She'll get over it.'

  'No! No, she won't.'

  The panic was rising in Eve's voice now, and Jake seemed to realise there was more than simple anxiety

  about a distant cousin going on here. 'What, then?' he said again, controlling his temper with an obvious effort.

  Why do we need to concern ourselves with what she thinks? She's not your keeper, is she?'

  'She's my mother,' said Eve, her chest heaving with emotion. 'Now do you see why I can't have anything

  more to do with you? She's my mother!

  '

  CHAPTER TEN

  JAKE drove back to London in the foulest of moods. He left without seeing Eve again, driving through the night, arriving back at his hotel in the early hours of the morning.

  He knew he'd have some kind of penalty to pay for bringing the rental car back to London, but financial concerns weren't of much interest to him in his present state of mind. He was angry—and gutted. He couldn't believe he'd been crazy enough to fall for Cassandra's daughter.

  Cassandra's daughter, for God's sake! No wonder there was no love lost between the two of them.

  Or between Cassandra and her mother, he appended, remembering the conversation he'd had with the old lady before he left. For pity's sake, what kind of monster had he been dealing with? What kind of woman abandoned her kid without even telling her own mother that she'd had a child?

  He'd got the story from the old lady, of course. Eve hadn't told him anything. After delivering her bombshell, she hadn't hung around to answer any questions. Even though he'd insisted that she couldn't say something like that without making some form of explanation, she'd refused to offer any excuses for her behaviour.

  Like why she hadn't told him she was Cassandra's daughter before now. Oh, he wasn't a fool. Not a complete one, he hoped. It was obvious Cassandra had never acknowledged her daughter, and for some reason Eve was prepared to go along with that; to the extent that she'd let him think she was only there through Mrs Robertson's good graces.

  Mrs Robertson! Jake ground his teeth together.

  Dammit, the woman Eve called Ellie was her grandmother!

  Whose idea had it been to hide their relationship? Surely not the old lady's? Without her intervention, Eve— But he refused to think about that now. Not when there was nothing he could do about it. But as soon as it was light he intended to go and see Cassandra, and have her version of the story. There was no way he could put this to bed without hearing the truth from her.

  The words he'd used mocked him. How the hell was he going to 'put this to bed', whatever Cassandra said?

  His feelings for Eve weren't going to go away that easily, if at all. No matter how often he reminded himself that she'd deceived him just as much as her mother had, he couldn't get her out of his mind.

  He wanted her. No. More than that. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to take her in his arms and finish

  what they'd started a few hours ago—in the stables, of all places. And the knowledge that she'd spurned him was tearing him apart.

  Yet he mustn't forget she was Cassandra's daughter.

  And how could any daughter of that woman ever be anything but trouble? If he had any sense he'd be grateful he'd found out in time, before he'd done something irrevocable.

  Like making love to her, for example. He had the feeling that if he'd ever possessed her body, if he'd ever

  found his release with her, there would have been no way for him to escape his demons.

  He felt raw, he thought bitterly. Raw and frustrated.

  Desperate to make someone else suffer as he was suffering now. It was a new experience for him, and one he had no intention of allowing to happen again.

  It was still barely three o'clock in the morning, and despite the adrenalin in his system that had enabled him

  to drive almost three hundred miles without even a break he was exhausted. He had to remember he'd hardly slept the night before, and although the time change between here and San Felipe had given him a little breathing space, his own limitations were catching up with him.

  He needed to rest, and, stripping off his clothes, he crawled into bed without even taking a shower. He wanted nothing to refresh him, nothing to get his mind working again. But although he closed his eyes he remained wide awake.

  The image of Eve's face as he'd last seen her drifted between him and the nirvana he sought. He could still

  taste her on his tongue, still smell her womanly fragrance on his hands, still feel her hands reaching for him, her mouth opening for his hungry invasion...

  God! He groaned, rolling over and burying his hot face in the pillow. No matter who she was, no matter how she'd treated him, he still wanted her. The hard-on he had just wasn't going to go away, and he knew if he was ever going to get any sleep he would have to do something about it himself.

  It didn't work. Not immediately, anyway. He just felt cold, and disgusted with himself for letting it happen. But eventually sleep overwhelmed him, and when he opened his eyes again it was daylight.

  He ordered coffee and toast from Room Service, and then took a shower in the time it took for his breakfast to be delivered.

  With several doses of caffeine and a couple of slices of toast filling the empty space inside him, he felt a little better. After dressing, he went downstairs and arranged with the concierge for the Ford to be delivered to wherever the rental company wanted, and then left the hotel.

  It was still only a little after nine o'clock, and he'd expected Cassandra would be at the studios. However,

  after ringing her number and ascertaining she was still at her apartment, he summoned a taxi and gave the man her address.

  He hadn't spoken to her. He'd hung up as soon as he'd heard her voice. He wanted to see her face when he confronted her with her duplicity; he wanted to be there when she tried to explain why she'd sold her own daughter to strangers as soon as she was born.

  Cassandra lived in Notting Hill. She occupied half the top floor of a converted Victorian terrace house, and although Jake had never been into the place, he'd delivered

  her home a couple of times so he knew where it was. His initial ring on the bell that served her apartment

  elicited no response. But, as luck would have it, one of the other tenants emerged as he was standing there, and he managed to save the door from closing and slip inside.

  Postboxes in the hall gave him the number of her apartment, and Jake climbed swiftly to the second floor. He hoped she hadn't gone out in the time it had taken him to get here. Traffic in London was always hectic, whatever the time of day, and this morning was no exception.

  Cassandra opened the door at his third ring. She'd obviously just got out of bed, and Jake recognised the familiar red kimono she'd wrapped about her naked body.

  He knew she'd be able to tell from his expression that this wasn't a social call, but he was surprised when she glanced guiltily over her shoulder before edging the door almost closed again.

  'Jake!' she exclaimed in a low voice. 'What are you doing here?'

  Almost the same words her daughter had used the evening before, thought Jake cynically. Well, it served him right for not warning her he was coming. Particularly as it seemed she wasn't alone.

  'We need to talk,' he said flatly. 'Can I come in?'

  Once again there was that nervous peep over her shoulder.

  'We can't talk now,' she said, looking back at him.

  'Darling, I didn't get to bed until after two, and I'm beat.

  There was a party at the studios, you see, and—'

  'I'm not i
nterested in where you've been or who you've been with,' said Jake, pressing one hand against the panels and propelling the door open. 'We're going to talk, Cassandra—or should I say Cassie! That is what your daughter calls you, isn't it?'

  Cassandra's mouth fell open, and for a moment she did nothing to stop his advance into the apartment. But then she seemed to come to her senses and made a futile attempt to obstruct him. 'You can't come in here now,' she said. 'I—I'm not alone.'

  'Do I look like I care?' Jake moved her aside with the minimum amount of effort and glanced round what was probably the main room of the apartment. Running from the front to the back of the building, it appeared to be half-kitchen, half-living-cum-dining-area. And, typical of Cassandra, it was grossly untidy, with articles of clothing and magazines strewn haphazardly across the floor.

  'You have no right to force your way in here,' she exclaimed, bending to pick up what looked like a man's

  shirt and stuffing it behind one of the cushions on the sofa.

  'This isn't funny, Jake. I don't barge into your hotel suite without an invitation, and you should do the same.'

  'Oh, I've been invited here many times,' said Jake carelessly.

  'So let's pretend I'm just taking you up on it.'

  'Let's not.' Cassandra cast another nervous glance towards what could only be the door into her bedroom. 'I

  don't want you here.'

  'Too bad, because you've got me.' Flinging himself onto the sofa, he linked his hands behind his head and

  crossed his feet at the ankles. 'Now, isn't this cosy?'

  Cassandra seethed. 'What do you want, Jake?'

  'Ah, that's better.' He was complacent. 'So, why don't you sit down and I'll tell you?'

  She took a deep breath. 'I don't want to sit down.'

  Another glance at the bedroom. 'I don't have time to sit.

  I have to be at the studios in an hour.'

  'That should be enough time.' Jake regarded her through his dark lashes. 'So, tell me about your daughter.'

  Cassandra swallowed. 'I don't have a daughter.'

  'Liar.'

  Cassandra scowled at him. 'I don't know where you've got this preposterous story from, but—'