Dangerous Sanctuary Page 17

  They left the hall through an arched doorway, and entered a panelled corridor, with a beautifully restored wooden staircase mounting to their left. As Tom had described in such eager detail, several rooms opened from the corridor, and through open doorways Jaime glimpsed other rooms, leading one from another. She had a swift impression of lovingly polished wood and leather, tall cabinets and squashy sofas, acres of exotically woven carpets, and rich velvet drapes in jewel-bright colours.

  Then Ben opened a leather-studded door to their right, and Jaime found herself in the library. But it was obvious it wasn't just a reading-room. A huge square desk was set beneath the long leaded windows, and the rather incongruous sight of a computer completed her belief that this was probably where Ben did most of his work. It also reminded her of the fact that this was the first time she had visited some place that actually belonged to him. In the past, he had always come to see her—first at the pub, and then, latterly, at the house in Dorset Road. Still, he could hardly have invited her to his home when Maura was alive, she reflected tensely, and with that thought came the reminder of why she was here.

  Ben propelled her into the room, and then closed the door and leaned back against it. 'Sit down.'

  Jaime held up her head. 'I'd rather not.'

  'Oh, for God's sake, can't we stop this childishness? All right. Perhaps I shouldn't have implied that you're not indispensable to Haines, but, for pity's sake, does it matter? In the present circumstances, does anything matter?'

  Jaime drew an uneven breath. 'I rather thought that was why I was here.'

  Ben's mouth compressed. 'All right. So that's another point to you. Now, can we talk about Tom?'

  Jaime bent her head. 'You hurt him.'

  'I didn't hurt him.' Ben was indignant. 'I didn't know my mother was going to turn up like that.'

  'But you left her alone with him,' accused Jaime, looking at him again. 'You let her tear me to shreds—'

  'No—'

  'Yes!'

  The knock at the door came as something of a relief to both of them, and Ben wearily moved aside to let Curtis into the room. The houseman set the tray containing a bone china jug of coffee, two cups, cream and sugar on a low table, near a screened fireplace. Then, straightening, he asked if Mrs Russell would be staying to lunch.

  Jaime was about to say no, when Ben beat her to it. 'I think not,' he said, his lips pulled into an ironic line. 'But no calls, Curtis. Not unless you think it's urgent. And—thanks.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  Curtis allowed Jaime a slight lifting of his lips before withdrawing from the room. After he had closed the door again, Ben gestured towards the hearth, and the two dark green velvet sofas that faced one another across the coffee-table.

  'Truce? At least while we drink our coffee?'

  Jaime hesitated. 'I ought to be going.'

  Ben sighed. 'But you're not.'

  'Do you intend to keep me here by force?'

  'Don't talk rubbish!' Ben was supporting himself now, with the back of one of the sofas, and, realising he needed to sit down probably more than she did, Jaime gave in. But she took the sofa opposite, perching on the edge of the cushions, as if, by not relaxing, she could keep some control of the situation.

  'OK.' Without waiting for her to take charge of the tray, Ben slumped into his seat, and poured the coffee himself. He added cream but no sugar to Jaime's, and then pushed the cup towards her. 'When can I see Tom?'

  'How did you know I take cream but no sugar?' countered Jaime, without answering him, and Ben ran a frustrated hand over his hair.

  'It's the way you had it at Maggie's,' he answered, making no attempt to touch the coffee he had poured for himself. 'Jaime, when can I see Tom? I can't wait until next weekend. I have to talk to him.'

  'Well, he doesn't want to talk to you,' retorted Jaime, sipping from her own cup. She held it between her hands so that it wouldn't clatter in its saucer. But her eyes darted away from his, and the look of stunned disbelief she saw there.

  'What do you mean, he doesn't want to talk to me?' Ben was bewildered. 'Did he say that?'

  'Of course.' Jaime was indignant now. 'I haven't stopped you from seeing him before, have I?'

  'Moot point,' said Ben flatly, resting his forearms along his spread legs, and gazing down at the rug at his feet. 'I don't believe it.'

  'What don't you believe?' Jaime put down her cup. 'I'm not lying—'

  'I'm not saying you are.' Ben's eyes when he looked at her now were dull and heavy-lidded. 'I just don't believe the relationship Tom and I have built up over the past few weeks can be destroyed by my mother's malice.'

  Jaime shrugged. 'I'm sorry.'

  'So what did he say?'

  Jaime lifted her shoulders. Despite their lustreless appearance, Ben's eyes were still disturbingly intent. 'I—what about?' she asked evasively. 'I've told you. Tom doesn't want to see—any of you again.'

  'Which means he doesn't want to see his grandmother again,' declared Ben tersely. 'Don't worry. He won't.'

  'No.' Jaime was quick to disabuse him. 'That's not what he meant. I don't think he wants to come here again.'

  'Did he say that?'

  'Not in so many words, perhaps,' admitted Jaime honestly. 'But you must know how he was feeling when he left here yesterday afternoon. For heaven's sake, he wouldn't even let you bring him home!'

  Ben sagged back against the cushions. He closed his eyes, and Jaime's heart turned over. He looked awful. More drawn than he had looked when he came to the office, and in spite of herself she couldn't deny the surge of concern that swept over her. Whatever else, she had loved him—once. Tom was his son, and some bonds were impossible to break.

  'Ben?' she ventured anxiously, and when he didn't answer her she left her seat. She circled the table, and bent over him, briefly brushing her hand against his temple. His skin was hot, yet both damp and feverish. It was obvious he was still suffering the effects of some infection, and she wished there was something she could do to alleviate his pain.

  And then, as she was withdrawing her hand, his eyes opened. His action startled her, as much because she had half believed he was unaware of her nearness as by the sudden clarity of his vision. She had thought he was too drained, both physically and emotionally, to care whether or not she touched him. But he lifted his hand and captured her wrist with forceful fingers.

  'What the hell do you think you're doing?'

  Jaime gulped. 'Well, I wasn't about to strangle you, if that's what you're afraid of,' she retorted, taking refuge in sarcasm, but he didn't let her go.

  'Do you care about me, Jaime?' he asked wonderingly, startling her afresh, and she was still searching for an answer when he pulled her hand against his mouth. His lips brushed her knuckles with delicate sensuality, and then he turned her palm against his tongue.

  Jaime's knees shook. 'I—of course I'd care about anyone in your condition—' she began, trying to draw her hand away.

  'That's not what I asked,' Ben interrupted, looking up at her through the thick veil of his lashes. 'I asked if you cared about me.' He took the tip of her forefinger between his teeth. 'There is a subtle difference.'

  'Not—not to me.' Jaime could feel a feathering of perspiration on her back and beneath her breasts. 'Ben, this isn't getting us anywhere.'

  'I disagree.' His pallor was giving way to a hectic flush of colour, investing him with an unnatural look of health. 'You do care, don't you?' His lips twisted. 'Don't deny it.'

  'Ben—'

  'It's hell, isn't it?' he muttered, and before she realised what he intended to do he had jerked her down on top of him.

  He sucked in his breath as her weight almost knocked the air out of him. But it was only a momentary weakness. As she struggled to find her feet, he took advantage of her flailing legs to roll her over on to her back, then the solid length of his body provided more than an adequate restraint. His chest crushed her breasts. The buckle of his belt dug into her waist. And his legs meshed with hers, se
nding her skirt riding up her thighs.

  But it was the nearness of his mouth that troubled her most. Hot breath fanned her cheek, and the roughness of his jaw scraped her chin. He was breathing as fast as she was, faster, as he levered himself above her, capturing her face between his hands, and lowering his lips to hers.

  His kiss was fierce, demanding, burning with a hunger she tried to tell herself was fuelled by his frustration over Tom. But, as always when he touched her, coherent thought became a problem. Her mind swam. Images of the past—of Maura, and of Tom—became just a hazy memory. When he moved against her, when the thrusting urgency of his arousal became a palpable pressure on her stomach, she could no longer rationalise his need away. He wanted her! Not her sympathy, but her body, and, crazy as it was, she couldn't find the strength to stop him.

  'God—Jaime,' he gasped, releasing her mouth to find the pulse that raced below her ear. His tongue probed the fluttering beat, dewing it as he tasted her skin, drawing a laboured breath.

  Her breathing became quick and shallow. Beside her, on the sofa, her hands opened and closed convulsively. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to slide her hand between them, and feel the throbbing heat that swelled against her. A little moan escaped her, as his fingers probed the chaste neckline of her blouse to caress her quivering flesh, and when he tugged the buttons from their holes she could resist no longer.

  'Don't stop me,' he muttered, as she lifted her hands, but Jaime didn't even want to try. His mouth had covered hers again, and his tongue was sliding between her lips, making any kind of resistance impossible.

  Besides, Jaime didn't want to resist. Ben's shirt was open at the neck, and her hands were already exploring the smooth skin of his shoulders. Touching him, caressing him, feeling the instinctive response of his flesh as he thrust himself against her, Jaime was beyond thinking of anything but him. She had forgotten where she was. She had forgotten that Ben had servants who could appear at any time. Even when he pushed her skirt above her hips, and hooked his fingers into the waistband of her bikini pants, she didn't object. And when his hand closed possessively over the cluster of blonde curls at the junction of her legs she arched helplessly against him.

  'Do you like that?' he demanded unsteadily, lifting his head to look down at her, and she nodded helplessly. 'So sweet,' he muttered, transferring his gaze to where his fingers rubbed against a tingling nub of flesh. 'I want to feel you—against me,' he added hoarsely. 'Oh, God, Jaime, I love you. And I want you. Now. This minute. Help me!'

  And she did. Even though the fact that they were still practically fully dressed ought to have deterred her, it didn't. She wanted to feel his turgid flesh against her and in her just as much as he did, and she couldn't wait any longer either.

  Ben unfastened his belt with unsteady fingers, while Jaime dealt with his zip. Then, supporting himself on one hand, he thrust his jeans and the black silk boxer shorts he wore beneath down to his knees. But it wasn't far enough and, with a groan, he kicked them down to his ankles. Then, parting her legs, he eased himself into her, and Jaime's flesh closed about him in fervent anticipation.

  'Oh, God! Ben…'

  Jaime's world tilted at the infinite delight of having him inside her, expanding her, swelling her, filling her, sending all her senses reeling. His hands curled about her buttocks, lifting her even closer, and her legs coiled eagerly about his hips.

  It was a reckless loving, Jaime realised afterwards. Neither of them had taken any precautions against the possible consequences of their actions, but just then such details seemed of little significance. All that was important was the fact that by some miracle they were together again, and the urgent needs of mind and body far surpassed any rational thought.

  For Jaime, it was as if time had slipped and she was a girl again, experiencing her first real taste of sensuality at Ben's hands. She had never forgotten the gentleness he had showed her then, or the eager passion that had flowered from those first moments of sweetness. She had wanted him then, and she wanted him now, and she would face the whys and wherefores of that situation later. Right now, all that mattered was that he wanted her, too, and when his parted lips sought hers again she thrust her tongue into his mouth.

  The crescendo was building, slowly at first, but ever more rapidly, as Ben withdrew, only to bury himself even more deeply inside her. He was sweating, they were both sweating, the moist heat of their bodies welding them together in an urgent cocoon of passion.

  Ben wasn't being gentle with her now. Gentleness had given way to raw male need, but Jaime gloried in it. She wasn't afraid of Ben. She had never been afraid of Ben. Whatever he asked, she gave, willingly. She submerged herself in his needs, his hungers, and in so doing found her own salvation.

  She became as demanding as he was, touching him as he was touching her, doing things she knew instinctively would please him. With eyes open, and blazing with the emotions he had ignited, she thrust herself against him, making little sounds of pleasure as he opened her shirt and caressed her breasts.

  She felt as if she was on fire. Her body had become some unfamiliar, mindless entity that she could no longer control. She gave it into his keeping, with no thought for tomorrow, trusting him implicitly, abandoned to whatever fate had in store.

  And the climax came, as wild and untrammelled as their loving. Ben reared above her, watching her as she reached the final peak of understanding, looking down at the place where their bodies were joined with eyes dark with his own unguarded passion. Then he too threw back his head in anguish, shuddering to his own release, before slumping heavily on top of her.

  It was several minutes before Jaime became aware of ordinary things again. And then it was the steady ticking of the clock on the marble mantelshelf that brought an unwilling return of sanity. Its measured beat was an echo of the dull throbbing in her chest which was so much slower now that her brain was functioning again. Of course, that awareness alone brought a slight oscillation in her heart's rhythm, but she forced down her panic, and set about trying to extricate herself from her position.

  It wasn't easy. Ben was still wrapped around her, and the sticky aftermath of sex made any kind of withdrawal a problem. But the voices inside her head wouldn't let her just lie there and enjoy it. No matter that minutes before she had wanted to get under his skin. Right now, the loudest voices were those of scorn and accusation, and the images she could see behind her eyes made instant movement a necessity.

  Dear God, she thought, pressing the heels of her hands against his shoulders, what if Curtis should open the door and find them like this? Of course, it was possible that he was not unused to finding his employer in positions that could at best be called compromising, but she was not that kind of woman. She didn't care if Ben made love on his sofa every day of the week; she didn't.

  Of course, that wasn't true either. She did care, badly, but that was something she would have to deal with in some other place at some other time. It was not something she intended to share with Ben. Not when she had just made the second big mistake of her life.

  'Relax,' he mumbled now, as she tried to wriggle away from him, and tears stung the backs of her eyes at the realisation that Ben probably thought he had the upper hand now.

  'I—want to get up,' she said, aware of how impossible that was going to be without his co-operation. 'Please.' The polite request almost choked her. 'Someone might come in.'

  'That didn't seem to bother you before,' remarked Ben drily, the faint abrasion of his beard making her wince. Her jaw felt sore, and she pressed her lips together at this further proof of his possession of her.

  ' Nevertheless—'

  'OK.' With a groan of submission, Ben rolled over on to his back, and Jaime took the opportunity to scramble hastily to her feet.

  But the ignominy of having to repair her clothing in front of him brought a flush of colour to her face, and she turned her back as she refastened her bra and cobbled together the buttons of her blouse.

  'Don't f
orget these,' murmured Ben mockingly, and she turned to find a lazy scrap of cotton dangling from his finger. It was her bikini pants, and she snatched them out of his hand. But she didn't put them on. Not then. She thrust them into her pocket, and Ben raised his eyebrows in teasing disbelief.

  'Why don't you cover yourself?' she exclaimed hotly, embarrassed beyond bearing by his cool appraisal, and, with a sigh, Ben levered himself up on his elbows.

  'I suppose I should,' he observed lazily, but he didn't make any move to do so, and Jaime's eyes were irresistibly drawn to the male beauty of his body.

  'Oh, for goodness' sake!' she floundered, turning away. 'You're impossible!'

  'Don't you mean incredible?' he teased huskily, but she only hunched her shoulders, hardly aware of him making himself decent, until his hands descended on her shoulders and he turned her to face him. 'There. Will that do?'

  He had pulled up his pants, but his belt and his shirt still hung loose on his lean body. In spite of herself, Jaime was helplessly aware of him, and or the musky smell of their lovemaking that pervaded the air. But she had to steel herself against any more mistakes, and when she turned her head away and her eyes alighted on the clock she didn't have to pretend her dismay.

  'It's nearly twelve o'clock!' she cried, staring at the hands of the brass carriage clock as if transfixed. 'Good God, Felix will be furious!'

  'To hell with Felix!' said Ben harshly. 'You and me—we're more important than Felix Haines!'

  'Don't you mean—you and Tom?' demanded Jaime scornfully. 'Don't think I don't understand what all this was about. If you couldn't get to Tom one way, you thought you could get to him another. I'm not a fool!'

  Ben's hands dropped to his sides, and he stepped back, his face a stunned mask. 'You don't believe that!'

  'Don't I?' Jaime didn't know what she believed any more. 'All I know is, you brought me here for some purpose—'