Ryan's Revenge. Lee Wilkinson
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of her robe, following her collarbone, moving down to find and fondle the soft curve of her breast.
He seemed to be deliberately avoiding the tip and, desperate for his touch, her whole being was poised in an agony of waiting.
When, finally, his experienced fingers began to lightly tease the sensitive nipple, causing sensations so exquisite they were almost pain, her stomach clenched and a core of liquid heat began to form in her abdomen.
Now he was making her feel all that he wanted her to feel, and he took her little gasps and whimpers into his mouth like the conqueror he was.
Lost and mindless, she was hardly aware when his free hand undid the belt and eased the robe from her shoulders, allowing it to fall at her feet.
His mouth had moved away from hers to rove over the smooth flesh he had exposed, when, shockingly, the doorbell rang.
Ryan’s recovery was light years ahead of Virginia’s. Stooping, he gathered up the robe and, wrapping it around her, gently hustled her across the hall and into the kitchen.
Pulling on the robe with shaking hands, she belted it tightly and, sinking down in the nearest chair, groaned aloud.
So much for holding out against him.
Oh, dear Lord, what had she been thinking of? If it hadn’t been for the interruption, Ryan could have taken her right there on the hall carpet and she would have allowed it.
No, more than allowed it, welcomed it.
Oh, you fool! she berated herself. She had planned to freeze him off, to make it clear that she was no longer under his spell.
Instead her abject surrender must have boosted his confidence, made him even more certain that he could win…
Only he mustn’t. Much as she wanted him—and she did still want him, maybe she always would—she mustn’t let him win.
Through her tumult of mind she was aware of the front door opening and Ryan’s voice saying, ‘Thanks. How much do I owe you?’
By the time he came through to the kitchen carrying a brightly coloured cardboard box with a handle, she had gathered the remnants of her dignity around her like a tattered cloak.
Standing up, she faced him squarely. ‘I want you to leave, now, this minute.’
Unpacking the various foil containers onto the pine table, he said mildly, ‘I like Chinese food and, as you appear to have ordered enough for two, it would be a shame to waste it.’
Looking dazedly at the number of containers, she realised that her repeat of the order had caused confusion and had resulted in them delivering far too much food.
Watching her face, he asked ironically, ‘Was it a Freudian slip? Did you subconsciously want or expect me to be here?’
‘No, I certainly didn’t. If I wanted anyone here, it would be Charles.’
She could tell by the way Ryan’s mouth tightened that her answer had annoyed him, but all he said was, ‘Do you have any bowls and chopsticks?’
‘In the cupboard,’ she answered shortly. He might insist on staying, but that didn’t mean she was prepared to make him welcome.
Slipping out of his jacket, he hung it over the back of a chair before opening the cupboard door.
Along with the bowls was a small electric hotplate. Infuriatingly at home, he took it out and, having plugged it in, arranged the foil containers on it.
Loosening the lids, he suggested, ‘Why don’t you sit down and tell me what you’d like to start with?’
Still standing, she said curtly, ‘I don’t want anything to eat. I’ve lost my appetite.’
He raised dark level brows. ‘That’s a pity. Still if you’re quite sure you don’t want to eat, we could always start a precedent.’
Alarmed by the silky menace in his tone, the glint in his eye, she demanded, ‘What do you mean, start a precedent?’
‘Don’t you think it would be a nice change to be carried upstairs and made love to in bed?’
All the fight going out of her, she sat down abruptly.
White teeth gleamed as he laughed. ‘No? Oh, well…’ Taking a seat opposite, he queried, ‘So what’s it to be? The sesame prawn toast looks good.’ Leaning towards her, he offered her a piece.
His dark silk shirt was open at the neck, exposing the strong column of his throat. Remembering how she had sometimes buried her face against it when he’d made love to her, her mouth went dry.
Lifting her eyes, she met his ironic gaze, and felt the colour flood into her cheeks.
‘You look warm,’ he observed innocently. ‘Do you have any nice cool wine?’
Somehow she managed to say, ‘There’s a bottle open in the fridge.’
He found a couple of glasses and filled them with Chablis. Then, having helped them both to chicken and cashew nuts, he picked up his bamboo chopsticks and, sorting out one of the fat, gleaming cashews, reached across the table.
Without conscious volition, her mouth opened and he popped it in.
His action was like a blow to the solar plexus, winding her and making her heart thump erratically.
Eating their first meal together in New York’s Chinatown, she had mentioned that she only ordered that particular dish because she adored cashew nuts.
Loverlike, he had fed her the nuts from his own bowl. After that it had become a kind of tender ritual.
Except, of course, that it had only been play-acting. He might have wanted her, he undoubtedly had, but he had never loved her, had never felt any real tenderness for her. He had just wanted to use her.
But she had refused to be used, though it had broken her heart to leave him…
As though following her train of thought, Ryan said abruptly, ‘You still haven’t told me why you ran the way you did.’
‘You ought to know.’
‘If it was what I can only presume it was—’
‘Did you think I wouldn’t mind?’ she burst out. ‘Think I’d play along, let you use me and say nothing?’
He frowned. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. You’d better explain.’
Infuriated by his denial, she jumped to her feet. ‘I’ve no intention of explaining anything. I want you to go, and if you won’t go, then I will!’
As she turned away, he said quietly, ‘Sit down and finish your meal.’
Their glances met and clashed.
She wanted to disobey his order, to walk away, but she couldn’t leave, and she found herself subsiding into her chair.
After a moment, he asked softly, ‘Why didn’t you at least let me know you were safe?’
‘Why do you suppose?’
‘You didn’t think I might worry about you?’
‘I tried not to think of you at all.’
‘What about the rest of the family?’
When she said nothing, he went on, ‘They were all very upset and concerned that you’d gone without a word. Beth in particular…’
‘I’m sorry about that. I liked your stepmother.’ It was the truth. In fact, with one exception, she’d liked the whole family.
‘She had another heart attack,’ he added flatly.
Virginia caught her breath.
Seeing the apprehension on her face, Ryan said quickly, ‘A fairly mild one, thank