CHAPTER THREE

      THEY danced, once…twice…on the surface, neither of them in a hurry to precipitate what they both knew would be the culmination of the evening, but beneath it… Every time his body brushed hers in the movement of the dance Sarah was conscious of heightening excitement…of intense hunger, of an ache that tightened to a refined form of torture, and she knew that he felt it, too.

      She had long ago forgotten about Ralph and Jane, and when the grandfather clock in one of the ante-rooms finally struck twelve she looked questioningly at her partner.

      ‘Yes,’ he murmured softly. ‘I think it’s time we left…I have a cottage a few miles away.’

      The prosaic words held a question, and Sarah nodded her head and whispered shakily, ‘Take me there.’

      She saw the smile curl his mouth and the rather whimsical expression in his eyes. ‘Just like that? You’re very trusting. We don’t even know one another’s names…’

      Without knowing why she did it, Sarah reached up and pressed her fingers to his mouth. It felt hot against her skin, his lips parting to moistly caress her fingertips. Rivulets of sensation spread through her body, like darts of lightning.

      ‘Tonight’s a fairytale night,’ she told him softly. ‘A gift from a fairy godmother…let’s keep it like that.’

      She didn’t want to talk to him…she didn’t want him to take on a more real form for her than the one he already had. Already some part of her knew that she must preserve something of herself from him for her own safety. It was easier like this…easier to pretend that this was all part of a dream, a fantasy come to life. Instinct told her that she could trust him, that he was no sadist, no violent psychopath who would do her any physical harm. The pull of her senses towards him was so strong that she dared not let there be anything more than that between them.

      He was a lover sent to her as a gift by fate, or so her champagne-bemused brain told her, and she didn’t want to analyse the situation any further than that.

      It never even occurred to her to tell Ralph and Jane that she was leaving. She had no wrap with her, and it was the simplest thing in the world to let him lead her downstairs and out into the night; for them to stop beside a sleek Porsche sports car, which he unlocked and then carefully tucked her into.

      She felt too dreamily hazy even to fasten her seat-belt, letting him do it for her, breathing in the male scent of his skin. He took off the periwig he had been wearing as part of his costume and tossed it into the back of the car before starting the engine. His hair, thick and black, lay close to his skull, making her ache to touch it; to feel its softness beneath her fingertips. She closed her eyes as he set the car in motion.

      His cottage was a middle one in a short row of what had once been estate workers’ homes, down by the river. The headlights from the Porsche as he swung it to a halt picked out the stone façade with its white-painted trellis on which a clematis was just beginning to put out new spring tendrils of green.

      As he switched off the engine silence enveloped them. This was the moment when she ought to be having second thoughts Sarah realised, but instead she was wrapped in a blanket of euphoria, a feeling of such intense happiness spreading through her that she herself could hardly believe it was real. She seemed to have been freed of all moral and mental restraints; free to follow her emotions and her desires in a way that was totally unfamiliar.

      It was only as he helped her out of the car that her companion said rawly, ‘Do you realise that we haven’t even exchanged first names yet?’

      Sarah smiled at him. She felt no fear; no hesitation, only an intense sense of rightness.

      ‘Is that a gentlemanly way of telling me that you’re having second thoughts?’

      They were standing under the small porch by the front door and he turned her towards him, his hands cupping her face so tightly that she could feel the faint callouses on his fingers imprinting against her face.

      ‘No way,’ he told her huskily. ‘I wanted you the moment I set eyes on you.’

      ‘Even without knowing my name?’

      It was the first time Sarah had ever played such a teasing flirtations game and the look that darkened his eyes was as heady to her senses as the earlier champagne had been.

      ‘What’s in a name?’ He muttered it against her skin, caressing her jawline with his lips, smoothing a stray ringlet behind her ear. ‘I only know that from the first moment I saw you, I knew I wanted you in my arms…in my bed,’ he told her fiercely, adding on a lighter note, ‘What is your name?’

      ‘Sarah,’ she told him promptly, not vouchsafing her surname; it didn’t seem necessary.

      ‘Mine’s Joss,’ he responded, smothering her response with the fierce, heated pressure of his mouth.

      His kiss obliterated the last remnants of her other saner self. She clung to him, welcoming the taut contraction of his muscles as she slid her hands beneath his jacket and clutched his shoulders. Her own body seemed to be a boneless, fluid entity incomplete without the hard strength of his against it. Her lips parted readily to welcome the heat of his tongue. His hand stroked up from her waist, moulding her breast, caressing her convulsively, and immediately she ached to be rid of the barriers of her clothes. She wanted his hands on her body…his skin, his mouth… against her own.

      When his mouth abruptly left hers, she felt bereft; almost abandoned. Her lungs ached from the cold night air and she was shivering.

      Joss was as affected as she was herself, fighting to control his own ragged breathing. His voice was deep and raw as he muttered, ‘For God’s sake, what are you doing to me? You’ve got me in such a state I could almost take you right here. We’d better go inside while I’m still capable of doing anything that doesn’t involve having you in my arms.’

      He turned away from her to unlock the door, and then preceded her inside to switch on a light.

      Sarah followed him, blinking in the light which illuminated the tiny sitting room. She noticed rather absently that the small room had been attractively renovated, and that it was pleasantly furnished, but her mind was not on the décor. A flight of open stairs led up from the sitting room and involuntarily her eyes followed it.

      She managed to drag her attention away, feeling the colour crawl up over her skin as she saw that Joss was watching her, the same hungry burning need she could feel eating away at her, openly displayed in his eyes. She felt oddly light-headed, and moved automatically towards him.

      He held out his hands, not to take hold of her, but to hold her off. For a moment rejection and pain sliced through her.

      ‘Don’t look at me like