A Passionate Affair Page 8

  There were few people about in the freezing conditions, but occasionally they encountered groups of students plodding along through the snow. Some of them were even having a snowball fight on the bridge, and Jay grinned goodhumouredly as a fast-moving missile narrowly missed his ear.

  ‘Were you at college here?’ Cassandra asked, feeling deliciously warm in spite of the cold air, but Jay shook his head.

  ‘No. I attended university in London,’ he told her easily. ‘But I worked for a time on the Cambridge Courier, and I lived in a room in Pensbury Street.’

  ‘I see,’ Cassandra nodded. ‘Did you live here long?’

  ‘About fifteen months,’ he responded, pausing on the bridge to look down into the icy waters. ‘Then I joined the Post, and moved back to London.’

  ‘Liz—–’ Cassandra hesitated, ‘Liz said you were a foreign correspondent.’

  ‘That’s right, I was.’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘I’ve been offered a job in television,’ he explained carelessly. ‘I’ve been considering whether to take it.’

  ‘In television?’ She was impressed.

  ‘I guess I’ve got tired of travelling,’ he declared, turning to rest his back against the stonework of the bridge. ‘Living out of suitcases can begin to pall. Maybe I’m getting too old.’

  Cassandra’s tongue appeared in unknowing provocation. ‘You’re not old.’

  ‘I’m thirty-four. Considerably older than you.’

  ‘I’m almost twenty-five,’ replied Cassandra at once. ‘Remember, I’ve been married.’

  ‘I don’t forget,’ he told her flatly, and they moved on.

  It was after ten when they got back to the hotel, and although they had talked of mostly impersonal subjects, Cassandra felt she knew quite a lot more about him. He had pointed out the room at the top of the old house in Pensbury Street where he used to live, and he had regaled her a little with the stories he had had to cover. He had an amusing turn of phrase, and Cassandra couldn’t remember when she had enjoyed herself so much.

  ‘Let’s have a drink before we go to bed,’ he suggested, as she unbuttoned her coat in the entrance, and she nodded agreeably before preceding him through to the bar.

  Like the rest of the public rooms in the hotel, the bar also had an open fireplace, where smouldering logs were crackling cheerfully. There was a long, crescent-shaped counter, set about with tall stools, and plenty of comfortable armchairs beside square wooden tables. There was music, too, but of a kind that did not intrude upon the guests, and the atmosphere was friendly, warm, and comfortable.

  ‘Let’s sit at the bar,’ Cassandra suggested, realising as she said so that she was unconsciously avoiding a closer intimacy. If Jay noticed, however, he didn’t say anything, and they perched on adjoining stools and ordered their drinks.

  ‘This is nice,’ said Cassandra later, sipping the wine she had chosen. ‘I’ve really enjoyed myself this evening.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ Jay regarded her between his thick lashes. ‘So have I.’

  ‘Have you?’ she pressed her lips together. ‘Even though this trip was practically forced on you? I know what you said earlier, but—well, I know Thea, and I know what she would say.’

  Jay shrugged. ‘I would have come anyway.’

  Cassandra’s eyes widened. ‘Why?’

  Jay sighed. ‘I thought we’d gone into all that.’

  ‘Well—–’ she chose her words with care. ‘I—I hope you won’t consider it’s been a—a wasted journey.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Cassandra glanced nervously about her, half afraid their conversation could be overheard, but there was no one near enough to listen. ‘I just mean—I don’t intend to—to go to bed with you.’

  There was silence for so long that she thought for a moment he was so angry he couldn’t speak. But when he did, it was with evident amusement, which upset her more.

  ‘You don’t pull your punches, do you?’ he remarked, swallowing the remainder of the Scotch in his glass. ‘Who taught you to be so candid? I can’t believe it was your late husband.’

  Cassandra’s face burned. ‘I just—didn’t want you to think—–’

  ‘— that you were easy?’

  ‘No.’ She felt even more embarrassed. ‘Jay, stop teasing me! You know what I mean. You—you were frank with me, so—–’

  ‘— so you thought you’d be frank too.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And do you think it’s that simple?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Jay took one of her hands between both of his and separated the fingers. ‘I mean do you really think that if I was determined enough to get you into bed, I couldn’t do it?’

  Cassandra gulped and pulled her hand away. ‘Don’t do that!’

  He shrugged. ‘Okay. Let’s go to bed.’

  She drew a deep breath. ‘Yes, let’s.’

  She was halfway along the corridor to her room when she realised he was following her. She had expected him to follow her upstairs; all the guestrooms were on the first and second floors of the hotel. But now she turned to him anxiously, her confusion evident in her face.

  ‘Where—where are you going?’

  ‘To my room,’ he informed her straight-faced. ‘You have no objections, do you?’

  ‘Your room is along here?’ Cassandra endeavoured to sound casual.

  ‘I’ll show you,’ he said, overtaking her and pulling out a key from his pocket.

  For one awful moment she thought he had a key to her room, but just as indignation rose into her throat, she realised he was opening the door next to hers. The doors were set in pairs, and his was the one beside her own.

  ‘Where else would the manager accommodate husband and wife than next door to one another?’ Jay enquired softly, and Cassandra’s sigh was rueful as she took the steps that separated them.

  ‘Goodnight, then,’ he said, and she nodded rather dully.

  ‘Goodnight,’ she answered, pulling out her own key, and by the time she had opened her door, his had closed.

  Her room looked less inviting now, and as she tossed her bag on to the bed and removed her coat, she knew a hopeless sense of frustration. The evening had been delightful, but the finale had been a fiasco, and she kicked off her boots impatiently as she spurned her prudish stupidity. It wasn’t as if she was a virgin, she thought, grinding her teeth together. What had she to lose, after all? She was letting the things Liz had said and some ridiculous fear she had—and which she didn’t understand—prevent her from behaving like the liberated woman she was supposed to be.

  Liberated! Her lips curled in distaste. She was not liberated. She was still the same overly-sensitive girl who had married Mike Roland with such high hopes for the future. God, she had been naïve, she thought with disgust. But she had quickly learned. Life was at best a compromise; at worst, it could be a living hell.

  She had discovered Mike’s inadequacies on their honeymoon. He had taken her to the South of France, and all her friends had envied her his youth and success. Mike had been an idol, a golden boy, a handsome heart-throb, with everything—or so they had believed.

  Cassandra supposed she had believed it, too. She had been feted, flattered, made to feel she was someone special. What girl of eighteen wouldn’t have responded to that kind of undiluted adulation? No one had expected her to refuse his offer of marriage, and she didn’t. She had given up her studies willingly, thrown everything aside for the thrill of becoming Mrs Mike Roland, a thrill which had lasted just as long as it took them to reach the hotel in St Tropez.

  She had sometimes wondered if Mike had ever made it with anyone, but she had never voiced her suspicions. So many girls had flocked around him making a mockery of her theory, and she had believed him when he said she was to blame. Even so, when the idea of divorce had occurred to her, Mike had refused to consider it. Indeed, he became most violent, most abusive, when she suggested leaving him, and she had been
too weak—too cowardly, she denigrated herself now—to strike out on her own.

  She sat down before the vanity unit and examined her drawn features without pleasure. She looked pale now that memory had robbed her cheeks of their warm colour. Resting her elbows on the shelf of the unit, she cupped her chin in her hands and gazed into eyes made shadowy by her thoughts. What was she doing here? she asked herself silently. Why wasn’t she next door, letting Jay Ravek make love to her? That was what she really wanted, wasn’t it? Proof that she was not the ice maiden Mike had always declared her to be.

  Getting up from the stool, she moved to the windows, drawing the curtain aside and looking out. It was a winter fairyland, a glittering ice-world, in which she was playing the leading role. How much longer was she going to fool herself? She wanted Jay Ravek, just as much as he had said he wanted her. But what could she do about it, when he was next door and she was here?

  Her nightgown was lying across the bed, a pretty thing of pale green chiffon, with a matching negligee which she had left at home. She grimaced. She had decided her warm navy candlewick was much more suitable for drifting about the landing at David and Val’s, and her lips took on an ironic slant at the sight of its plain serviceability. Hardly the stuff of which femmes fatales were made, she reflected ruefully, and thrusting such thoughts aside she went to wash and clean her teeth.

  She had rescued her book and was climbing into bed when there was a knock at her door. Immediately, her skin prickled, and the realisation that it could only be Jay beyond the panels filled her with sudden panic. He had come. She was being given a second chance. So why was she sitting here as if Armageddon had been announced?

  The knock came again, and this time it was accompanied by a soft voice saying: ‘Mrs Roland? I’m sorry to disturb you . . .’

  The voice was definitely female, and Cassandra’s blood subsided. Without stopping to put on her dressing gown, she went hastily to the door, concealing herself behind it as she released the catch.

  The woman waiting outside was evidently the housekeeper, and her homely face broke into an apologetic smile. ‘I’m so sorry to trouble you and your husband, Mrs Roland, but the manager asked me to tell you that there’s been a little breakdown in the plumbing system. The cold weather, you know.’ She gave a nervous little laugh. ‘He wonders if you’d mind not running any baths first thing in the morning. Until we’ve had a chance to have it fixed.’

  ‘Of course,’ Cassandra smiled. ‘We’re not used to such cold weather, are we?’

  ‘Well, not such extremes,’ agreed the housekeeper, sighing. ‘Well, thank you for your trouble, and goodnight.’

  It was not until Cassandra had closed the door again that she realised the housekeeper had mentioned Mr Roland. You and your husband, she had said. But why? Surely they knew they had separate rooms.

  As Cassandra considered this disturbing development, her eyes wandered round the room, and almost incredulously they alighted on a door which hitherto she had scarcely noticed. It was in the wall between the two rooms, and because she had not had reason to question its use, she had not paid it any heed. But now it occurred to her that the housekeeper probably thought this linking door was open, and that although she and Jay had separate bedrooms, they did communicate.

  Sighing, she caught her lower lip between her teeth. It was obvious she was going to have to let Jay know about the water supply. Heavens, he might even be running a bath at this minute, and that thought sent her across the room to the door to try the handle. Amazingly, it was unlocked, and holding her breath she opened it, only to find a second door beyond. Licking her dry lips, she tried the second door. It was unlocked, too, and her heart palpitated wildly as she turned the handle.

  The knocking at her own door was like the thunderous beating of her heart, and she let go of the handle of Jay’s door as if it had scalded her. Now what? she wondered, turning back into her bedroom, and almost without thinking she crossed the room to answer it.

  ‘Jay!’

  Her shock at finding him outside was mitigated somewhat by confusion. She had been about to enter his bedroom, but now here he was, not only at her door but still fully dressed, apart from his tie and jacket.

  ‘I—–’ He, too, seemed somewhat bemused at the sight of her, and belatedly she remembered her state of undress. It seemed he was fated to catch her at the most unexpected moments, and shaking her head helplessly, she stepped behind the door.

  ‘What do you want?’ she exclaimed, forgetting for a moment that she had been on her way to his room, and with a sigh of impatience he said: ‘Do you usually open the door in that condition without asking who’s outside?’

  ‘I thought you were the housekeeper,’ retorted Cassandra, shivering a little now. ‘I—did you know the doors between our two rooms are unlocked?’

  ‘I did know, as a matter of fact,’ he agreed, his mouth thinning slightly. ‘Look, all I came for was to tell you not to take a bath. They’re having some problem with the plumbing.’

  Cassandra gasped. ‘You know?’

  Jay frowned. ‘You do, too?’

  ‘How do you think I discovered the doors were open?’ she asked a little huskily. Then; ‘Aren’t you going to bed?’

  Jay glanced down at his shirt and trousers. ‘Eventually,’ he agreed, his eyes guarded. ‘Right now, I’m not tired.’

  Cassandra quivered. ‘Nor am I.’

  Jay regarded her for a long moment, then he said quietly: ‘Invite me in.’

  Cassandra caught her breath. ‘Do you want to come in?’

  For an answer, Jay stepped between the narrow opening and closed the door behind him. Then, as she wrapped her arms half protectively about herself, he said: ‘Did you really think I could sleep, knowing you were in the next room?’

  Cassandra’s breath escaped unsteadily. ‘I can’t offer you a drink, because—because I don’t have anything.’

  ‘I’m not thirsty,’ he assured her tautly.

  ‘I—I wonder if it’s started snowing again,’ she ventured, hesitating only a moment before gliding across the room to the window to draw a corner of the curtain aside. ‘I—no. No, it hasn’t.’

  She heard him cross the room behind her. She was sensitised to his every movement. But when his hands closed on her hips and drew her back against him, she trembled like a leaf.

  Beneath the gauzy folds of her nightgown, her skin gleamed like satin, her flesh soft and creamy, and utterly desirable. Jay would not have been human if he had not groaned a little as the roundness of her thighs yielded against his taut hips, and his hands slid around her to press her even closer.

  ‘Cass—–’ he breathed, his mouth warm against the side of her neck, and all the pent-up emotions she had been suppressing escaped on a shuddering sigh. Tilting her head back, she let her whole body rest against him, and his hands slid possessively across her flat stomach.

  His breath fanned her shoulder, the unsteady intake of his breathing unmistakable proof of the effect just holding her was having on him. Yet he seemed content to hold her like this, allowing her to feel his physical response to her nearness, and she knew a tremulous sense of anticipation in knowing she had this power over him.

  As if savouring every moment, his hands moved leisurely over her waist to her ribcage, and from there to the burgeoning fullness of her breasts. She could feel them, hard and swollen, their sharp peaks surging against his palm. Her body seemed poised on the brink of some unknown fulfilment, and although she had no real belief that she was capable of feeling more than this, that inner craving was back, begging assuagement.

  Jay’s hands grew harder, more possessive, and as if unable to delay any longer, he twisted her round in his arms and looked down at her. His eyes were dark and smouldering, his mouth undeniably sensual, and there was satisfaction in his gaze when he saw the bemused expression on her face.

  ‘We don’t need this,’ he murmured huskily, sliding the straps of her nightgown from her shoulders, and it fell in a pool
on the floor as he swung her off her feet. ‘Let’s go to bed,’ he added, bending his head to cover her mouth with his.

  The hotel sheets felt cold at her back, and lying there, waiting while Jay removed his clothes, she knew a returning sense of panic. Dear God, she thought, he was so big, so powerfully masculine. Her experiences with Mike had not prepared her for this.

  But when he came down beside her, and his warm body was close to hers, she felt her doubts dissolving again. The searching touch of his lips started a flame inside her, and instead of forcing himself upon her as Mike had used to do, he began to caress her, his hands seeking and finding the most intimate places of her body. At first she objected, her lips moving under his, voicing the protests her puritan upbringing led her to believe was right; but as his mouth continued to possess her, his kisses deepening and lengthening and robbing her of all resistance, she felt herself relaxing, allowing him to do with her as he willed.

  She could feel his skin against hers, the hair on his body that arrowed down to his navel and beyond that was so deliciously abrasive to her soft flesh. She could feel his strength and his hardness, and she arched against him eagerly, inviting that ultimate invasion.

  ‘Ah, Cass—–’ he said unsteadily, and the sudden shifting of his body caused a cool draught of air to touch her skin.

  ‘Don’t go,’ she begged, her hands at his nape, gripping the hair she found there, and his lips twisted sensually as he gave her reassurance.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion, and she shivered ecstatically when his teeth closed over one ripe nipple.

  ‘Jay—–’ she breathed, half in protest, but she didn’t try to stop him, and his mouth moved lower, over her midriff to circle the tender skin of her navel.

  ‘Jay,’ she choked, when his mouth slid even lower, but the aching sensation he evoked sent the blood pulsing through her veins.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he murmured, against her trembling flesh. ‘Beautiful—and unawakened.’ He moved over her. ‘Your skin tastes like honey, and I want to taste every inch of you—–’