Long-Distance Marriage. Sharon Kendrick
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kiss him back. Hard.
‘Cameron,’ she moaned against his mouth. ‘Oh, Cameron—’
But he kissed her into silence, his fingers delving into her wetness until she could bear it no longer and she found herself unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers with a brutal haste which rivalled his treatment of her panties.
She heard him give a low moan as he pushed her hand away to finish freeing himself and then he moved above her and ground into her, as hard as she’d ever felt him, and she almost fainted with the sheer physical pleasure of it.
Some corner of her mind wanted to keep something back, to show him that she still had some element of control, but she was aroused to such a fever pitch that she came almost immediately, and she heard him give a soft laugh of triumph, as he felt her flesh convulse around him, before uttering his own helpless sigh of release.
They lay on the carpet, both labouring for breath, and shame chilled her as surely as if she’d had a bucket of icy water thrown all over her. Because, now that her traitorous body had been satisfied, her dignity and pride had returned—and how! ‘Get off me—you brute!’ She tried to push him off her.
But he was having none of it. He rose lithely to his feet and quickly zipped up his trousers, then bent and scooped her up into his arms and stared down at her.
She didn’t want to look him full in the face, but Cameron could be so mesmerising sometimes that it was impossible to resist him. It was difficult for Alessandra to read his expression, though certainly some of the harshness of earlier had disappeared. Nevertheless, it was still impossible to tell what he was thinking.
Even when he had first told her that he loved her she had found his expression unreadable. Even then. He was the kind of man who always held something back and it both frustrated and fascinated her. He was like an absorbing puzzle that was impossible to solve. It had been one of the things which had attracted her to him in the first place and, conversely, what had always made her the tiniest bit wary of him.
He was heading towards the bedroom and she began to drum angrily on his chest. ‘Put me down!’ she demanded, and punched her fists against the fine silk of his shirt.
‘No.’
‘I’ll shout for the police!’
‘It’s a little late in the day for that, wouldn’t you say?’ he observed, somewhat bitterly.
‘No, it damn well isn’t!’ she retorted hotly.
‘Shout away, then,’ he said calmly, but there was an odd note to his voice. ‘And cry what? Assault?’
She heard the slight shudder of self-disgust which distorted his voice and, being scrupulously fair, she shook her head so that her hair moved against him in a dark, silken cloud. ‘I wouldn’t do that, Cameron,’ she said quietly. ‘Because it would be a lie. That was no assault.’
‘Enticement, then.’ He lowered her onto the bed and leaned over her, his eyes suddenly tender. ‘I’m sorry, darling.’
She forced herself not to melt immediately under the impact of that soft stare, rolled away from him to the edge of the bed, and kicked her high heels off across the bedroom carpet, not caring where they landed. She sat up and began to unclip her black stockings from the silky suspender belt and peel them down over her long legs. ‘It’s all very well saying sorry afterwards!’ she told him crossly. ‘You behaved outrageously!’ She forced herself to give him a baleful glare.
‘I agree,’ he said gravely.
He was trying to look contrite, and there was something so little-boyish about his expression that Alessandra had the greatest difficulty not standing up and flinging her arms around his neck. But something made her continue with her indignation. ‘Is that all you can say?’ she demanded.
He began to unbutton his silk shirt. ‘What do you want me to say?’ He shrugged lightly. ‘I’ve already said I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, and that makes it all right, does it? One word and I’m supposed to forget all about it?’
‘That rather depends on you,’ he told her calmly, his eyes looking more grey than blue in the soft light from the lamp. ‘You can make a big issue out of it if you wish. We could carry on the argument for weeks—if that’s what you really want.’ He finished unbuttoning the shirt to reveal his lightly tanned, muscle-packed chest, and, for the first time since they’d met, Alessandra failed to swoon at the sight of him, she was so mad.
‘Me?’ she spluttered, with indignation. ‘Make a big issue out of it?’
‘Uh-huh.’ Now the trousers had come off, revealing the silken boxer shorts he always wore, which clung to his hard buttocks and always made her realise just how powerfully muscled those long, hair-roughened legs of his were.
She tried, unsuccessfully, to unzip the back of her dress.
‘Here,’ he said smoothly. ‘Let me.’
He always helped her undress and it would have been foolish not to let him, but he slid the zip down with such practised ease that for the first time in her life she almost exploded with rage. ‘I suppose you could unzip a woman’s dress and undo her bra at the same time—even if you were blindfolded!’ she accused hotly.
He stood there and gave her that lazy, mocking smile of his. ‘Is that an invitation?’ he queried softly. ‘Do you want me to try?’
Most men, thought Alessandra resentfully, would have looked ridiculous wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts if they still had their socks on. So how come her sexy husband still managed to look good enough to eat?
‘No, I don’t want you to try!’ she raged on. ‘You’ve had more practice at it than almost any man in the world, I should imagine!’
‘Darling—’
‘Don’t you “darling” me!’
His face was suddenly serious. ‘The only practice I’ve had in the last three years—and that has been considerable—has been undressing you, my love.’
Alessandra frowned suspiciously. ‘But you’ve only known me eight months—’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘And married for six of them.’
‘B-but...’ she stuttered, the implication of what he’d just told her hitting her with all the force of a sledgehammer. It was something that she had never dared ask him in the brief courtship before their wedding. She had assumed that up until the time he’d met her he had been sleeping with one of the many women who used to leave long and frankly embarrassing messages on his answering machine.
Why, one of them—a famous cover girl—had actually turned up at his office and begged him not to go through with the marriage, within full earshot of his secretary, who had rather indiscreetly told Alessandra about it afterwards. And you didn’t get that kind of devotion from that kind of stunner if you weren’t physically involved with them, surely?
‘But that means that you were... that you didn’t...’ She fumbled around, searching for a delicate way to say it, but failed. ‘For two whole years?’ she yelled eventually.
‘I think what you’re trying to say—’ he began teasingly.
‘Don’t you dare patronise me!’
He shook his dark head. ‘I wouldn’t dream of patronising you. I was putting into words what you seemed reluctant to—merely confirming that I was celibate for two years before I met you.’
She threw him a look as she slithered out of her black silk dress. She hurled the wretched outfit against the wall and quickly wrapped her towelling robe around her. ‘I don’t believe you!’
He shrugged, a humourless kind of smile curving his mouth as he turned to drop his shorts and socks into the washing basket, so that he stood before her proudly and unashamedly naked. ‘That, of course, is your