Maid of Dishonor Page 14

  Because she’d discovered a long time ago that sex with Carter Price was never inconsequential.

  * * *

  Carter whispered an expletive as the door clicked closed, and threw down the napkin clutched in his fist.

  Cute, Price. Real cute.

  After three days of keeping his cool, of keeping his distance, of letting her have the time she needed to get over her misguided professional ethics, and being real careful not to show his frustration—and parading around on that damn pool terrace every morning like a prize stud—he’d had his moment and he’d screwed it up. Because he’d pushed. And he never pushed...

  Mercy, had he actually used the word inconsequential? No wonder she’d heard the word anonymous instead.

  He might as well have hoisted her onto the table, flipped up her skirts and torn off her panties again for all the finesse he’d used.

  He crossed to the drinks cabinet, pushed aside the imported single malt whiskey he usually favoured to clasp the bottle of his father’s locally distilled liquor that lurked at the back. He downed a generous slug, then flinched as it shot down his throat like a burning bullet and exploded in his stomach.

  He thumped a fist to his chest, to restart his heart, and let out a harsh cough.

  Gina Carrington might be the most sexually liberated woman he’d ever met, but she was still a woman. Which meant she deserved to be wooed, not bullied, into his bed.

  Carter, honey, have you ever thought your desires might be a little unnatural? Delfina tells me her Jim doesn’t expect her to do her marital duty more than once a month and yet you are pestering me every other night.

  The long-forgotten memory of his young wife’s barbed enquiry pierced through his frustration—bringing with it the crushing echo of guilt and humiliation. He shoved the bottle back into the cabinet, raked not-quite-steady fingers through his hair.

  Where the hell had that come from? He wasn’t that green kid any more, trying and failing to satisfy a woman whose needs had never matched his own. Women enjoyed his company now, in bed as well as out of it. And his marriage to Missy hadn’t failed ultimately because of their sexual problems, but for a whole host of other reasons.

  When he was sixteen and they’d first started dating, Missy Wainwright’s sweet, peaceful, non-confrontational company had been his sanctuary from a home where his father’s bullying, overbearing presence and his mother’s rigid insistence that keeping up appearances was all that mattered had made him feel sullen and tense and disillusioned.

  But after his father’s death, and that incendiary one-night encounter with Gina Carrington—a woman who couldn’t be sweet and peaceful even if you gagged her—he’d begun to see that Missy’s sweetness stemmed from a lack of intelligent conversation, and her refusal to argue about anything openly was actually more passive-aggressive than peaceful and non-confrontational.

  Missy had said she’d forgiven him, when he’d returned to Savannah and confessed the sin he’d committed with Gina. But the knowledge had been there festering between them, the wounded expression she wore every time they had a disagreement reminding him without words that he was the one in the wrong—he was the one who couldn’t be trusted. And the fact that he’d never been able to forget Gina—and how much he’d enjoyed sinning with her—only increased his guilt.

  During the increasingly bitter, barren years of his marriage, he’d got a little fixated on the exquisite pleasure of that one night. The surge of excitement, of exhilaration when Gina kissed him and caressed him with such fervour in places Missy had barely been willing to touch—and made love to him with a fierce, untamed determination that told him she wanted him, that she accepted him despite his faults.

  Missy’s deflating words, the wounded look she’d wielded so effectively, faded as two searingly erotic visions of Gina took their place and merged into one. Not quite two weeks ago riding him to climax—and a decade before that as she impaled herself on his thrusting erection for the first time: her unguarded expression full of the same wild hunger he’d glimpsed from behind the pool house curtain that morning.

  His heart kicked so hard he could hear it above the ticks of his mother’s antique carriage clock on the mantel. The heavy weight of his erection strained for release against the confinement of his suit pants.

  Maybe it was time he stopped kidding himself that his desire to have Gina again had nothing whatsoever to do with that night a decade ago. Was that why he’d screwed up this seduction so royally? Because a part of him was still desperate to prove his desires weren’t unnatural and they never had been? Because he needed to recapture that addictive feeling of euphoria, that heady feeling of connection they’d shared under a maple tree in the campus grounds and on her narrow bed in Reese’s house—and just under two week ago in the cool lines of a New York hotel room.

  Gina Carrington still had some weird hold over him. Or rather, she had some weird hold over his body. Probably because she’d been his first. A hold he intended to break over the next ten days. So he could sever for ever his ties to that green, needy boy.

  But to do that he had to get Gina to play ball.

  So instead of standing here, drinking his old man’s bootleg liquor and beating himself up about her decision to leave, what he needed to do was get her to stay.

  Yeah, Gina was a woman but she wasn’t like any other woman he’d ever met.

  You couldn’t reason with Gina, or cajole her, or control her.... The only way to get what you wanted was to take it, and give her what she wanted in return.

  He walked to the door of the dining room, headed down the corridor to the back of the house, purpose in every stride.

  To hell with sense and caution and business scruples.

  Raindrops splattered his face as he strode through the darkened gardens towards the pool house. The ominous grumble of distant thunder had a grim smile lifting his lips—and seemed mighty fortuitous in the circumstances.

  Given that he was about to fight fire with fire... A monsoon might come in handy to ensure they didn’t both get burned.

  Then he walked silently through the gate that led to the pool patio and his erection hit critical mass. A dark figure stood at the far end of the pool beneath the overhanging branches of the willow tree. Her arms stretched skyward, beckoning the rain forth to drench the thin silk of her blouse and reveal the lacy bra beneath.

  Seemed he wasn’t the only one who needed relief from the heat.

  She twirled under the deluge, the sinuous movement effortlessly sensuous, artlessly sexy—and demonstrating the extent of the need she’d tried so hard to hide.

  She was magnificent—and for the next ten days, he was going to make sure she was all his.

  He stepped forward as the heavens opened and the rain soaked through his shirt and trousers in seconds. The ripple of lightning glimmered off the water and lit her face as her gaze darted to his.

  She dropped her arms. Shock and desire made a devastating combination on her face as she stood completely still, observing him, then swept the damp hair over her shoulders—the bold, provocative move part instinct, part invitation but mostly challenge. The dark outline of her nipples jutted through her transparent clothing as the rain continued to pound down.

  ‘I told you we’re not going to do this,’ she shouted above the clap of thunder. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow.’

  He could see her staggered breathing, but she didn’t retreat when he reached her, or shrink away when he gathered a fistful of her wet hair, and drew her head back. Water slicked down her face and made her eyelashes glitter above the defiant glare.

  ‘You’re not going anywhere,’ he yelled back. ‘We need to finish this once and for all.’

  She shuddered and braced her palms against his chest, but instead of pushing him away her fingers gripped, her gaze full of the sexual knowledge that had always infl
amed his senses. ‘And how exactly do you propose we do that?’

  He wrapped his arm round her waist, yanked her towards him, grinding the painful erection against the soft, yielding flesh of her belly. ‘The only way we know how.’

  Then he slanted his mouth across hers—and plundered.

  ELEVEN

  We need to finish this once and for all.

  Carter’s ultimatum echoed through Gina’s mind as she plunged her fingers into his hair, and their tongues tangled.

  This wasn’t the fun, teasing, flirtatious exploration of their New York encounter. This was raw, basic, elemental need. She had thought she could resist him. She’d been wrong.

  As her fingers clutched the short curls at his nape and the rain pummelled them both, the fire consumed her. Sense and reason deserted her. Why couldn’t they do this? He was right. They were consenting adults, they both enjoyed sex, especially with each other, and no one need ever know.

  And how was she ever going to be able to rely on her new leaf with this burning hunger for him lurking in the background?

  Wide palms gripped her hips and ground her against the thick ridge in his trousers. He lifted his head, water dripping off his brows, and shouted above the rain. ‘Let’s take this inside before we drown.’

  Grasping her hand, he jogged to the pool house and dragged her inside. Wet clothes stuck to hot, damp skin as they battled together to get naked as fast as possible.

  He tore her blouse, she ripped his shirt, but after a furious battle they touched flesh. She shivered as he hauled her close and they feasted on each other. Her back bumped against the closed door as he lifted her, positioning her to take him. Then he reared back and swore softly, letting her go.

  ‘Damn it!’ He grappled for his discarded trousers, retrieved the foil package, and sheathed himself.

  ‘Good thinking, Batman.’ She kissed him, framing his face with shaking hands. ‘Now hurry up.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He boosted her into his arms, thumping her back against the door, and took her in one solid thrust.

  The shocking fullness turned to exquisite pain, mind-blowing pleasure. He withdrew, thrust back—the movements harsh, rough, and lacking his usual finesse, but so perfect, so right. Tears stung her eyes as she rode the glorious wave to completion.

  He shuddered and with an incomprehensible grunt followed her over seconds later.

  They stood together, his fingers digging into her thighs, her legs hooked around his waist, his erection still huge inside her. The patter of slowing rain hitting the door masked the jagged pants of their breathing. He dropped his forehead to hers, and whispered, ‘I think I just died and went to heaven.’ She tightened her arms around his neck as he buried his face in her wet hair, the sudden urge to stay for ever in the semi-consciousness of afterglow overwhelming. She didn’t want to worry about consequences. About right, or wrong. Sense or insanity. She just wanted to feel him inside her.

  Easing out of her, he let her down gently. A single tear slipped over her lid—the moment of connection, of acceptance, gone. She shook off the sentimental thought and scrubbed away the tear with an impatient fist.

  Don’t get mushy, you ninny. This is sex. Great sex. You don’t want more.

  Holding his head, she lifted his face, and grinned.

  ‘Isn’t that sacrilegious?’

  ‘What?’ he asked, clearly a little dazed.

  ‘Mentioning heaven after what we just did?’

  ‘The hell you say.’

  He grinned back at her. ‘Which is exactly why you love me.’

  She forced a smile, the casual use of the L word a shock. And not a pleasant one. ‘That would be your ego talking,’ she replied dryly.

  She stepped out of his arms—needing distance. But a muscled arm banded round her waist, halting her retreat. ‘Hey, we’re not through here.’

  He nuzzled her neck and sensation raced down her spine, the thick ridge of renewed arousal nestling between her buttocks.

  ‘My ego wants to try out the bed.’

  ‘Oh, it does, does it?’ She turned, and draped her arms over his shoulders, locking her knees against the foolish fragility—then glanced down, pointedly. ‘I must say, your ego has remarkable powers of recuperation.’

  He tucked a finger under her chin, and raised her face. ‘Only where you’re concerned.’

  ‘Good to know.’ She forced flippancy into her voice.

  Just great sex. Remember.

  Taking her hand, he crossed to the bed and in one smooth move swung her into his arms and then dumped her into the centre of the mattress. Laughter bubbled in her chest, forcing out the vulnerability. This could never be more for her, or for him, than a quick fling. So why stress about it? She didn’t do ties, or commitments, because she hated regrets. And she had far too many of them already. Especially where Carter Price was concerned.

  Lying down next to her, he combed his fingers through her hair and traced his thumb across her cheekbone. ‘Damn, Gina, but you’re irresistible.’

  Her heart squeezed at the gleam of admiration in those pure blue eyes. She held his wrist and lifted his hand away from her face. ‘So are you. Which would probably explain why, despite my best intentions, this keeps happening.’

  He toyed with a damp curl that hung over her shoulder, tantalisingly close to her breast, a slow smile forming. ‘I’m hoping that means this isn’t another one-off.’ He lifted the curl to his lips and kissed it, the tenderness of the gesture causing the blood to thunder in her ears. ‘And you’re not still planning to run out on me tomorrow.’

  ‘I think we both just proved neither of us are that good at denial.’

  He dropped the curl, the smile widening. ‘So is this a thing, or a fling?’

  The mocking question eased the squeeze on her heart. ‘A fling. But that’s all it is. My flight back’s in just over a week’s time and that’s when this will have to end.’

  The broad smile didn’t falter. ‘Works for me.’ His hand skimmed down her neck and cupped her breast, his thumb circling the rigid nipple. ‘But no more dumb stuff about work.’ His eyes met hers, the expression more determined than playful. ‘What we do in bed together—and anywhere else we choose—hasn’t got a damn thing to do with your commission. You got that?’

  She stretched, trying to focus on the conversation while his absent caress sent sensation into her sex. ‘Yes, boss.’

  His eyebrows shot up and she laughed. Grabbing her wrists, he yanked her arms above her head and held her captive for a quick hard kiss. ‘Damn, but I want you again, you little tease.’

  ‘What’s stopping you, Rhett?’ She rubbed her leg against his, enjoying the feel of the soft hairs, the muscled flanks and the sight of his eyes dilating to black.

  ‘Lord, give me strength,’ he murmured, trapping her legs with one hard thigh. ‘We’re gonna have to take a rain check.’ He glanced out of the window at the dying storm. ‘Literally. I need more condoms. A lot more.’ His gaze roamed over her. ‘I’m thinking a whole box wouldn’t go amiss.’

  ‘Not a problem, sugar. Like all smart, responsible, twenty-first-century women, I keep an emergency supply in my toiletry bag.’ She reared up to kiss him on the nose, feeling ridiculously perky, and carefree and relieved. There was no need to read more into this fling than there actually was—they had a history, but one he need never know about, and one she had come to terms with a long time ago. ‘I’ll go get them.’

  ‘Nuh-uh.’ He snagged her round the waist as she launched off the bed. ‘Right now I’m a big fan of female emancipation, but I’m still the guy. I’ll get them.’

  She laughed, the command delivered in a wry monotone that was both stupidly macho and surprisingly cute. ‘My hero,’ she purred, the endorphins shooting round her body overriding the last of her caution. She
lounged against the pillows and watched him march into the bathroom, gloriously naked. A man on a mission.

  She admired the tight buns as his bare butt disappeared from view and sent up her own silent prayer of thanks. They had just over a week to finally finish this. To satisfy the sexual hunger that had always burned so brightly, so insistently between them. And this time there could be no harm done—because she wasn’t that wild, reckless, vulnerable girl any more, but a smart, sorted career woman who...

  ‘What the Sam Hell...?’

  The startled oath had her shooting upright—the smug contentment faltering as she recalled exactly what else she kept in her toiletry bag.

  Carter emerged from the bathroom with a fistful of condoms in one hand, and the long column of moulded plastic held delicately between the thumb and forefinger of his other hand—as if it were an unexploded bomb. He cleared his throat dramatically and held it up for inspection. ‘Well, now. What do you have here, Miss Gina?’

  She flopped back on the pillows, and stared at the ceiling fan, struggling to quell the blush blossoming across her chest. ‘You found Justin.’

  ‘You gave it a name?’ The question came out on a choke of outrage.

  She inched up on her elbows, the blush subsiding as her lips quirked. ‘Well, of course I did. I don’t want to be getting it on with a stranger.’ What was there to be embarrassed about? If a smart, responsible, twenty-first-century woman was single and intended to stay that way, a vibrator was essential equipment.

  He made a sound in his throat as if he were choking. ‘I think I just died and went to hell! What did you call it, again?’

  She covered her mouth to suppress the unladylike snort of amusement. ‘Justin.’

  ‘Hell, I thought so.’ He peered at it. ‘Not only did you give it a name, you gave it a sissy name.’

  The snort popped out, tinged with mock outrage. ‘Justin is not a sissy name. I happened to have a major crush on Justin Timberlake once upon a time. So it seemed appropriate.’

  ‘Sugar, I don’t know what kind of guys you’ve been dating. But nothing about this tool is appropriate. It isn’t even anatomically correct. No guy’s got that much heft this side of an elephant.’