Alien Wife. Anne Mather
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to oblige, something tells me that that’s not what you want …’
‘And if it was?’
She spoke breathily, and he took the unlighted cheroot out of his mouth to stare at her disbelievingly. ‘Abby, if it’s a film star you want to be, it’s Scott you should be talking to.’
‘It’s not.’
Unknowingly provocative, her tongue appeared to wet her upper lip, and with a muffled oath he dropped the cheroot on the floor, his hands sliding possessively over her shoulders, compelling her towards him. His mouth on hers moved back and forward insistently, warm and probing, and disruptively sensual. Did he know she had never been kissed before? she fretted anxiously. Did he realise all the knowledge she possessed came from books like his own?
‘Stop fighting me, Abby,’ he spoke against the corner of her mouth, and she moved her head confusedly.
‘I’m not fighting you,’ she protested, the words dying on a gulp when his hand slid beneath her sweater to grip her bare midriff.
‘Come on,’ he breathed, his tongue tracing the curve of her lips. ‘Open your mouth …’
‘Open—oh!’
Her puzzled objection was stifled by the pressure of his mouth, forcing her lips apart to admit the searching penetration of his. No amount of reading, however adult, could have prepared her for the sensations he was arousing inside her, sensations that left her weak and submissive, neither seeking nor repelling the demands he was making on her. She didn’t resist when his hand probed further beneath her sweater, cupping one rounded breast and stroking the nipple with his thumb, but Luke could feel the thrusting urgency of his own body and he could no longer ignore it. For long, lingering seconds, his mouth continued to possess hers, and then he pushed her away from him, shoving open his door violently and getting out, heedless of the falling rain.
The draught of cold air was sobering and Abby caught an incredulous breath, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks, scarcely daring to believe what had occurred. She fumbled her sweater down over the waistband of her jeans and in doing so her wrist accidentally brushed her breast, still tender from the pressure of his fingers. She licked lips gone suddenly dry, and twisted the driving mirror round so that she could examine her face. Her pupils were wide and dilated, her cheeks splashed with hectic colour, her mouth bruised and bare of any make-up. It had happened, it had really happened! Somehow—she didn’t quite know how she had done it—she had aroused Luke Jordan’s interest!
She took a deep breath. He had kissed her. And not in any casual way. He had held her and kissed her until her head swam with the memory of it. She swallowed hard. It hadn’t been so bad, after all. And she hadn’t frozen up on him as she had been afraid she might do. She had let him do what he wanted, and not tried to stop him.
Then she remembered. Luke was outside now, in the pouring rain. She adjusted the mirror and leaned across his seat and said softly: ‘Won’t you come in, Luke? You’re getting soaked to the skin!’
Luke looked down at her broodingly, his face wet, his hair plastered to his head and neck. Then, without comment, he got back inside the vehicle, reaching for his cheroots again and lighting one, still without speaking. His sweater steamed, and the odour of damp wool mingled with the scent of his tobacco. When he stretched out a hand to start the engine, however, she put restraining fingers on his sleeve.
‘I think you ought to take off this—this wet jumper,’ she murmured awkwardly.
‘Do you?’
His voice was cold and cynical as before, and Abby looked at him reluctantly. ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
‘You care about me?’ His lips twisted mockingly.
‘It’s not a question of caring,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s common sense. You’re wet through.’
‘Perhaps I don’t care,’ he remarked.
Abby made an exasperated sound. ‘Don’t say things like that! It’s stupid to risk pneumonia for the sake of a little forethought.’
Luke stared at her grimly for a few moments, and then jabbing his cheroot into the ashtray, he lifted his arms and hauled the sweater over his head. He wore nothing beneath it, and the tanned brown flesh rippled with goose-bumps. With his chest bare, he looked younger, more vulnerable, and Abby was not unaware of the sexual attraction he possessed.
‘Here,’ she said, reaching determinedly into the back of the car, ‘put on your jacket. It’s better than nothing.’
‘Thanks.’ He slid his arms into the sleeves of the battle jacket and fastened the studs. If he was still shivering, she could not see it, his features taut and unyielding in the grey light.
‘I think we ought to go back,’ she ventured, and he cast a scathing look in her direction.
‘You think!’ he echoed. ‘We’re going back, Abby. Whatever you think!’
She regarded him anxiously. ‘Why are you so angry?’
‘For God’s sake!’ He started the engine savagely. ‘After what you just did, how the hell do you expect me to be?’
‘What—what did I do?’
‘Oh, God!’ He swore as in trying to turn on the narrow road, his tyres spun uselessly over the rim of a ditch. ‘I don’t believe even you are that naïve!’
Abby’s lips trembled. ‘You—wanted to make love to me?’
He glared at her. ‘Yes,’ he said aggressively, nodding his head. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’
Abby’s tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. ‘I—well, I didn’t—stop you …’
‘No,’ he agreed grimly, grinding his gears as he sought to bring the wheels back on to the track. ‘You didn’t do that.’
‘Then why are you angry with me?’
‘Abby, if I were your uncle, I’d put you across my knee and administer the thrashing you so justly deserve!’
‘Why?’ She couldn’t understand his attitude. He had wanted to kiss her, to fondle her—and she had not objected. So where had she gone wrong? What would Ella have done that she had not? Had her inexperience, her lack of sophistication been so obvious after all? ‘I—I thought you liked—touching me,’ she whispered.
Luke succeeded in bringing the Lamborghini round in a half circle, as much by skidding dangerously on the slippery surface as by any expertise at driving, and then he turned to face her, his expression forbidding.
‘Abby, did no one ever tell you, you don’t go around letting strange men—take advantage of you?’
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