Two Faced Woman. Lucy Gordon
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to be a tease, you’ll be sorry.”
There was something merciless about him that almost made Debbie afraid. His hand held hers in a light grip, yet through it she could feel sinews of steel and a strength that owed as much to nerves as to muscle. For the first time she wondered if she was wise to arouse passions she had no intention of satisfying. But there was no turning back now. She’d given her word to a client and she wasn’t a quitter. When it came to putting him off, she’d just have to rely on the self-defense techniques she’d learned on the force.
“Why do you talk so much?” she purred. “There are so many more interesting ways of spending our time.”
He released her hand. “Just as long as we understand each other.”
Button by button his shirt came undone. His chest was smooth and lean, positively inviting her to run her fingers over it. She accepted the invitation, and received a shock of pleasure at the feel of his firm flesh. “Why don’t you take your shirt right off?” she murmured.
“Why don’t you do it for me?” he asked with a grin.
She tossed the shirt aside. At once she felt his arm snake around her waist, drawing her close so that her almost-naked body was pressed against his bare chest. “Do you read your stars?” he asked.
“I—well, no—” she managed to answer. To her dismay and annoyance she sounded confused, but that was nothing to how she felt. The feel of being held close to him was disturbingly thrilling.
“You should,” he assured her. “I read mine every day. This morning they said I was going to have a wonderful surprise. And they were right.” He put his other hand beneath her neck, holding her while he dropped his head to brush his lips against the line of her jaw. Debbie set her teeth, trying not to gasp out loud. His mouth had touched her only lightly, but that was enough to send sparks of fire glittering through her. While she tried to fight her reaction he did it again, letting his lips linger this time before trailing them slowly down her neck. The sensation was so poignantly pleasurable that she clutched her hair. Her mind was telling her to end this now but her body was urging her to throw back her head in abandon.
It was all wrong, she told herself frantically. Everything she knew about this man was bad, but that seemed to have faded to the back of her consciousness. The front was occupied by the frenzy of pleasure that was making its way inexorably through her.
Fighting to collect her wits, she began to work on the fastening of his trousers. She needed him as nearly naked as possible, then George could get his pictures and she could bring this to an end. But she didn’t want it to end. As she cast his trousers away she yielded to the temptation to run her hands over his flanks, enjoying the discovery of their lean tautness and the sense of power ready to spring. There was power in his arms, too, as they drew her down onto the bed and pressed her back against the pillows, propping himself on elbows to look down at her. “You’re a very beautiful woman,” he said.
Suddenly she couldn’t speak. His closeness and the sensations coursing through her had caused a constriction in her throat. If he discovered that, he’d know she was losing control and that would be fatal. So instead she smiled at him, slowly, enticingly. She didn’t know it but that smile was full of the mad pleasure that was pounding in her veins. Her chest rose and fell with the rhythm of desire that had begun to beat insistently through her. He looked down at her breasts, softly moving against him, barely covered by the tiny bra. He slid his fingers inside and gave the flimsy item a quick jerk that destroyed it. He tossed the pieces into a corner and enveloped one breast in a shapely hand, letting the ball of his thumb rasp across the nipple.
Debbie gasped at the poignant sensation, and flung her hands out. But instead of pushing him away she found she was clinging on to him, running her fingers through his springy hair. She just managed to suppress a groan. Nothing in her life had felt as good as that. He repeated the action more slowly, and although she choked back the gasp of pleasure, she couldn’t control her body, which had developed a life of its own. It arched instinctively against him, reveling in the contact of their skin and the soft friction as she moved against him. Her arms wound around him of their own accord, pulling him closer. He paused a moment to look searchingly into her face. Then, with tantalizing slowness, he lowered his head and laid his mouth on hers.
It was as though a flaming torch had touched her mouth. In the very first moment she knew that this was more than a kiss. It was a baptism of fire, and she was ready, eager for it. One tiny part of her mind, that was still professional, found time to hope that George was getting all this. The next moment all common sense was engulfed in the flames of excitement that were consuming her. His lips were hard, determined, seeking, intruding, commanding and enticing all at the same time.
His hands were at work all over her body, touching, teasing, thrilling. They were like no other man’s hands had ever been, possessing the skill of the devil, knowing how to drive a woman to madness. She’d meant to half seduce him, keep everything under control and bring matters coolly to a conclusion when it suited her. But all that was slipping away now. She had no control left, only the yearning for this to go on, never stopping until it reached the perfect conclusion.
Her blood thrummed in her veins as she thought of that conclusion. Some distant corner of her brain, where sanity still lived, shouted a desperate warning. This was a bad character, a criminal—apart from that, he was a total stranger to her and she had no right to be naked in his arms. But her body knew better. Her flesh sang and told her that this was the man she’d been made for, and he’d been too long finding her. It was monstrous, crazy— and inevitable.
His face was before her eyes, and now she saw that the look of cool cynicism was gone and he was as thunderstruck as she. He, too, was caught up in something that made a mockery of calculation, and which could have only one appointed end.
Then a shudder went through him and he seemed to control himself by sheer force. “Well?” he rasped. A pulse was twitching near his jaw and his whole body seemed to be made of steel. Debbie could feel him fighting to master his own desire while he eyed her narrowly.
“Well?” she gasped.
“Are you ready to go through with it?”
She looked at him wildly. Was she ready? Was she crazy? This was a man whose control over himself was awesome, terrifying. Could she match it, or would she yield to the wild thrumming in her blood, the craving need in her loins to feel him there?
“Answer me,” he said in a voice that was almost a snarl.
She drew a long, shaky breath. “I—”
But before she could say more there was a crash from inside the wardrobe. Debbie turned wild eyes toward it and saw the door swing open, revealing George sitting on the wardrobe floor, tangled up in the legs of his tripod. The man also looked at him sharply, uttered a profanity, and began to rise. Quick as a flash Debbie tightened her arms about him. For a few mad moments they struggled, he trying to get free, she restraining him, while George frantically grabbed his gear and headed for the door. At last the man’s greater strength prevailed, but Debbie had delayed him just long enough to give George a head start. As the door slammed behind the terrified photographer the man raced across the floor in pursuit, but Debbie launched herself after him and brought him down with a flying rugby tackle. Her advantage lasted only a moment. With a swiveling movement of his entire body he managed to get on top of her, seizing her wrists and holding them above her head. For a long moment they gazed at each other, breathless, angry, infuriated by their own desire.
“It’s too late,” Debbie said, gasping. “You won’t catch him now.”
“You made very sure of that,” he said grimly. “And you’re going to be sorry that you did.”
“I don’t think so. I think it’s you that’s going to be sorry. How would you like those pictures to go to your wife?”
“I don’t have a wife.”
“Don’t try to fool me. I know you’re married and you live off her. But the game’s up, Mr. Speke—”
“What