The Wedding Party Collection. Кейт Хьюит
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“Anyone,” she vowed.
“Much more?”
“Much, much more,” she affirmed, her arms tightening fiercely.
He gave a hissing sigh and sank into her.
Rebecca cried out.
She told herself he cared for her. He wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t. Not like this. He wouldn’t be so determined that it should be…more…than ever before if it meant nothing to him.
This was something he’d never felt before. She had to believe that. Otherwise…
He started to move. She shuddered, opened herself wider, forcing the junction of her thighs close to him, trying to become one with him.
He lowered his torso, the contact sensitising her breasts until she almost cried out again. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, wildly conscious of the heat rising deep within in her.
The pressure where their bodies joined was growing…growing…the heat rising higher. She could bear it no more. She ground herself against him, heard him gasp, felt his shudders.
“I can’t hold back,” he panted.
“Come,” she whispered. “Come with me. Stay with me. Always.” He opened his eyes. She read confusion. She moved, slow and sinuous, and the confusion vanished. There was passion and heat in the blue depths…and something deep and unfathomable.
And then all rational thought vanished and the shivers seized her. She fell through layers of sensation, felt his body freeze, then release into pulsing convulsions as he came deep within her.
Afterward they dozed for a while. When Rebecca woke, the red digital numbers on Damon’s bedside clock revealed that it was after midnight.
“T.J.” She leaped from the pile of scattered bedclothes.
Damon caught her hand. “He’s still sleeping, I checked. Stay.”
The heat in his eyes, the hoarseness in his voice told her what he intended.
“I can’t.” She looked away. And she felt herself weakening, but guilt ate at her.
“Rebecca, I want you.” His admission caused her to melt. She turned to him. No words were necessary. Before she’d lain down, he fell on her. This time their loving was wild, uncontrolled. There were no barriers between them. No past. No future. Only the present.
Yet she knew that soon a new day would dawn. Tomorrow…tomorrow they would talk. She could delay no longer, she had to tell him the truth.
When the first pale strands of daylight slid into the room Rebecca rose and pulled on her clothes. Damon slept, his breathing deep and rhythmic. Standing beside him, she resisted the urge to kiss the shadowed groove under his jaw and touch the smooth curve of his shoulder. Instead she picked her pendant off his bedstand and, leaving her feet bare, padded to the door, sandals in hand, and quietly shut the door behind her.
Once in her room, she crossed to the adjacent dressing room. The dawn cast a soft pink glow across the walls. T.J. had tossed the bedclothes off and lay on his stomach, his face turned to the door. She bent and brushed a kiss on his brow, whispered “I love you,” then pulled the blankets up to cover him.
She didn’t go to bed immediately but stood at the open window of her room staring at the rosy streaks lightening the darkness, the pendant clutched in her hand. Something in Damon’s eyes had told her that he didn’t care for the pendant. She would not wear it again. It was time to say goodbye to Aaron, to think about the future.
And Damon.
Last night had been the most tender, the most passionate, the most incredible experience of her life.
She’d gone wild in Damon’s arms. She feared she’d revealed too much. How would he react when he next saw her? Oh, God. How was she going to tell him what she knew she had to? He was going to hate her. After last night, she didn’t know how she could go back to that half-life where he despised her.
She turned from the window. Carefully she placed the pendant in the jewel box on her dressing table and closed the lid. The rasp of the hasp sounded so final. Rebecca placed a kiss of her fingertips and let them linger for a moment on the carved lid.
After a brief sojourn to the bathroom, Rebecca donned her nightgown, aware of her body aching in unaccustomed places. A pleasurable ache. Her thoughts shifted to Damon. She could barely believe what had taken place between them.
The passion. The frenzy.
Yet there had been gentleness, too. She slipped between the Egyptian cotton sheets and let herself remember. The first time his touch had been so careful, tender even. So far removed from how he’d treated her in the past. Whether that tenderness would still be there after they talked, she was too scared to even think about.
Tomorrow would come soon enough.
Seven
The sound of screaming woke Rebecca.
Shrill, childish screams followed by a chilling silence. The door to T.J.’s room stood wide-open and her bedroom door was ajar onto the corridor. She leaped up, the thick mists of sleep falling rapidly away.
“T.J.?”
There was no answer. Fear galvanised her into action. She hurtled into his room. Trains lay scattered across the carpet. Thomas…Henry…Gordon. A wild glance took in T.J.’s favourites. But no T.J.
Terror released a wave of adrenaline, her knees turning to liquid. Rebecca burst out into the corridor, uncaring that she still wore nightclothes.
“T.J.!” Rebecca was yelling now, her voice hoarse with shock. She rushed down the stairs. At the bottom she paused. The large double-height lobby led to the solid carved front door and beyond that lay the road. To the right lay Soula’s rooms, and in the opposite direction another corridor led to the entertainment rooms and the kitchen.
She heard shouts. An adult this time. Coming from outside. It sounded like…Johnny. A swift glance at her watch showed her that it was a little before seven.
She started to run.
A large male form brushed past her. A blur of flesh wearing only a pair of boxers and moving at breakneck speed.
Damon.
Then he was gone, tearing into the lounge as if all the hounds of hell were after him.
Rebecca had a brief recollection of billowing curtains, of the open ranch sliders, and a sick, swirling sense of horror filled her.
“Please, no. Oh, God. T.J.” She burst out onto the deck in time to see Damon disappear under the water, heard the resounding splash. Her shell-shocked gaze swept the deck, the pool.
Where was T.J.?
Johnny was also in the water. Incongruous in his sodden black blazer and limp tie, his thinning hair plastered to his scalp, his eyes worried.
So where was T.J.?
Someone was screaming, an unending, unearthly howl of grief. Johnny held up a hand, beckoning urgently. Only then did Rebecca realise it was her—she was screaming. Wailing. The scream died abruptly. She scurried to the water’s edge.
“Wait,” Johnny shouted. “Don’t jump in. Call the ambulance. Call Dr. Campbell—his number is on the handset. The boss will get the youngster out.”
Shaking with reaction, she ran blindly back to the lobby, snatched up the cordless phone and dialled 111 with fumbling fingers. “Hurry, hurry,” she prayed, and dry sobs of relief racked her when the operator came on the line.
Rebecca gave the details and the location in a blur. Her fingers shook as she punched out the next number. Dr. Campbell’s receptionist promised