A Secret Rebellion

She looked at him quickly and then away. ‘I—yes,’ she replied, shedding her raincoat on to a chintz-covered sofa, and stepping into the tiny kitchen, which opened off the living-room. She switched on a track of spotlights. ‘So—what would you like to eat? I’ve got steak, chicken, frozen pizza? Or I could scramble us some eggs.’

Alex propped his hip against the fixture. ‘Frozen pizza sounds good to me,’ he declared, choosing the one that required the least preparation. He had noticed the microwave oven standing at one end of the Formica-topped counter, and he had prepared himself enough frozen meals to know it was a simple matter to defrost and cook the pizza. ‘How about you?’

‘Mmm. That sounds good to me, too,’ she agreed, bending to take the box from the freezer. ‘Er—it’s cheese and tomato. Is that all right?’

‘Whatever.’ Alex turned away from the sight of her neatly rounded buttocks, and the way her skirt rode halfway up her thighs as she bent over. It exposed the fact that she wasn’t wearing tights at all, but black stockings, and the unexpected glimpse of her inner thigh, soft, and smooth, and creamy white, was more disturbing than he wanted it to be. ‘So—–’ he endeavoured to school his racing pulse ‘—what do you do for a living?’

She put the pizza into the microwave before replying, and then came to the end of the counter, and propped her elbows on it. ‘What do you think I do?’

‘I don’t know.’ Alex turned, raking back his dark hair with a slightly impatient hand. He shrugged. ‘Something glamorous, I suppose. Modelling, perhaps.’

She laughed. ‘As in artist’s?’

‘As in fashion,’ amended Alex shortly, not appreciating her humour. ‘I assumed you had a job where looks played a part.’

‘Is that a compliment?’

Alex’s mouth compressed. ‘If you want it to be.’

She hesitated. ‘All right. So I’m—involved in fashion. But not as a model. I—buy clothes.’

‘A fashion buyer?’

‘Mmm.’ She seemed content with that description. ‘Now can I offer you a drink?’

Alex thought about saying no, because he was driving, and then thought better of it. He had only had one glass of that appalling punch at the party, and right now he could use something stronger. Preferably whisky, he thought grimly. At this moment, he was feeling at a decided disadvantage.

‘What have you got?’ he asked, and she turned away to take a bottle of Scotch out of one of the cupboards.

‘Only this, I’m afraid,’ she said, not realising how relieved Alex was feeling. It was much later when he conceived the thought that Chivas Regal was hardly the expected thing to find in a single woman’s apartment.

He took it straight, with ice, and after she had settled him on the sofa she returned to the kitchen. She hardly touched her own drink, he noticed. But that was hardly surprising, considering she had practically drowned the Scotch with water.

‘Do you work in London?’

Her question caught him unawares, and Alex took refuge in his drink before replying. ‘Partly,’ he admitted, at last, realising he didn’t have to lie about his whereabouts. London was pretty big, after all.

‘Partly?’ She left the salad she had been mixing, and came to the end of the counter again. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Oh …’ Alex floundered, realising that instead of concentrating on an answer he was looking at her breasts. She had unusually full breasts, and they had been thrown into prominence by the position of the spotlights. They were probably the reason she wasn’t a model, he reflected. Although she was slim, her breasts and hips were much too generously rounded. ‘I mean—I travel, too. Quite a lot,’ he appended, deciding the whisky was responsible for the thickness of his tongue. ‘You know what travelling salesmen are like—here today and there tomorrow.’

Much to his dismay, she picked up the bottle of Scotch, and came to refill his glass. ‘Really,’ she said, bending over him, and he was intensely aware that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Not that she really needed one, he conceded, imagining how she would look without the confining fabric of her dress. Which begged the thought of whether she was wearing any underwear at all, and he cradled his glass between his hands in case he was tempted to find out.

The trouble was, he had the distinct suspicion that she wouldn’t object if he did so. God, what kind of woman was she? She looked so innocent, but she was acting like a—a—–

The actual word he wanted to use escaped him. Besides, if he was completely honest with himself he would admit that apart from bringing him here she’d done nothing to incite his sexuality. Except inflame his senses, he thought impatiently. Good God, every move she made set his nerves on edge.

‘So what do you sell?’ she asked, and he breathed a little easier, as she moved back into the kitchen.

But the question still needed answering, and, taking another mouthful of Scotch, he conceived the perfect answer. ‘Oil,’ he replied, feeling pleased with himself. ‘Um—olive oil.’ That was better. ‘We import it from Greece.’ He grinned suddenly, enjoying his own joke. ‘Barrels and barrels of it.’

‘Gosh.’

She sounded really interested, and just for a moment he felt a heel. But, dammit, he didn’t know her from Adam—or Eve; he grimaced. And after this evening there was every chance that he’d never see her again.

The apartment was getting warm now, and looking round he decided it wasn’t as ugly as he had at first thought. The lamps cast a mellow shadow over the worn patches in the carpet, and even the picture of the oriental lady over the fireplace had taken on a hazy luminescence.

Taking off his jacket, he laid it over the back of the sofa, and lounged a little lower on the cushions. It was really rather pleasant, he thought, sitting here, talking to a beautiful woman, smelling the scent of the pizza sizzling in the oven. He relaxed, savouring the flavour of the whisky. He didn’t know why he had been apprehensive.

And, almost inevitably, it seemed, his eyes were drawn back to Elizabeth. He liked watching her. He liked the way she moved. And he liked the way the light reflected off her hair. She looked both innocent and knowing, and he was growing less and less immune to her undoubted sensuality.

He swallowed more of the Chivas, and lifted his foot to rest his ankle across his knee. Think of something else, he ordered himself, resisting the urge to look at her again, but the awareness of her nearness was causing his blood to thicken. It throbbed in his head, with an urgency that brought an actual physical ache, but the core of that ache was centred somewhere else entirely.

‘Have some more whisky,’ she murmured, and he realised she had left the kitchen and was standing beside the couch. Her hand was outstretched, on the point of pouring more of the potent spirit into his glass, and only his swift withdrawal prevented her from achieving her objective.

‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’ he demanded harshly, as his brain struggled to come to terms with what was happening. What did she want of him? Why had she brought him here?

She smiled then, setting the whisky aside, and sitting down on the couch beside him. As she did so, she allowed her body to slide against him, and Alex felt the jolt of that contact firing every nerve he possessed.

‘Would you mind if I were?’ she asked, and it took Alex a moment to comprehend what she was talking about.

‘That depends why you’re doing it,’ he said, his eyes drawn to the moistness of her lower lip. ‘I can’t believe it’s because you want my body. A woman like you—you wouldn’t have to get a man drunk to—–’ He broke off, his lips twisting. ‘But you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?’

‘Do I?’ Her tongue appeared again. ‘Tell me. I like it when you talk dirty.’

Alex grimaced. ‘Lady, I’m not talking dirty, believe me.’

‘Thinking dirty, then,’ she amended, pressing one long finger against her lips. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking. I want to know. You do like me, don’t you?’

Alex swallowed. ‘You’re crazy!’

‘Why?’ She removed her finger from her lips and drew it down his dark-skinned cheek. ‘Because I want to know what you really think about me?’ Her eyes were wide and innocent. ‘Do you want to kiss me?’

Alex’s head felt as if it was about to explode. And not just his head, he admitted grimly. The zip of his jeans felt as if it was in danger of disintegrating, as the smouldering heat in his body spread down into the cradle of his sex.

‘That’s beside the point,’ he said stiffly, struggling to combat his rising passion. God, if she didn’t move away soon, he’d very likely lose the battle, and, aroused as he was, could he be relied on to do the right thing?

‘Is it?’ she persisted, leaning towards him, so that those glorious breasts were pressed against his arm. ‘I think that means you do. So why don’t you?’

Alex caught his breath. ‘I think I heard the microwave switch off,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t you think you ought to take a look at the pizza?’

‘I’d rather look at you,’ she responded, sliding her soft hand along his cheek. ‘Mmm, that’s rough. I bet you need to shave at least twice a day.’

‘Elizabeth—–’

‘Liz.’

‘Liz, then—–’ Her other hand was on his thigh now, cupped over the muscles that stretched above his knee. ‘Let’s not rush things, shall we?’

Her eyes darkened. ‘You don’t like me?’

He stifled an oath. ‘Of course I like you—–’

‘Well, then …’ She looked at him with those deep indigo eyes. ‘So long as we understand one another.’ One finger performed a circular movement against his leg. ‘I think we should have another drink.’

‘No.’ Alex managed to get the word out with an effort. He had drunk far too much whisky as it was. Looking down at her hand, for instance, he knew he should remove it. The trouble was his brain couldn’t formulate the message.

‘I saw you looking at me, you know,’ she murmured, and for a moment his mind was a blank. ‘At the party,’ she added, offering him illumination. ‘I saw you the minute I arrived. You’re quite—noticeable. Big—and dark—and sexy.’

Alex tried for a laugh. ‘Who? Me? With this ugly mug? I think you’ve got the wrong guy.’

‘No, I haven’t.’ She gazed at him intently. ‘You’re not ugly and you know it. I bet you’ve known a lot of women, haven’t you?’

Alex drew an uneven breath. ‘Not as many as you think.’

She frowned. ‘Are you married?’

Not any more. ‘No.’

‘That’s good.’ She seemed to breathe a little more easily, and he wondered why it mattered to her. If she was what he thought she was, whether he was married or not shouldn’t be an issue. ‘Can I kiss you?’

Alex felt like a youth on his first date. For God’s sake, he was too old for this, he thought, so what was he doing here? Whatever she wanted, he would be very unwise to linger. He wasn’t the kind of man who carried protection around as a matter of course.

Her perfume assaulted his senses as her tongue brushed his parted lips. It was a potent mix of some expensive fragrance, combined with the warm, womanly smell of her body. It was a long time since he had been aroused by the mere scent of a woman, but he felt his senses swimming as she rubbed herself against him.

‘Nice,’ she breathed, against his mouth, and Alex knew his actions were slipping out of control. Her hand against his thigh was a constant torment, and, thrusting the whisky glass on the floor, he grasped her shoulders.

Afterwards he couldn’t remember what he had intended to do. He thought perhaps he had tried to push her away, but all he had succeeded in doing was dragging her closer. With his senses running riot, he ground his lips against hers, delivering hard, hungry kisses to her moist, willing mouth.

And her mouth was so amazingly desirable. Hot, and urgent, and deliciously receptive, her lips parting easily to accommodate his possession. He had never kissed anyone who responded so completely, and he thought he might burn in the fire of her touch.

He heard the tremulous little moan she gave as his tongue plunged into her mouth, but it was hardly a protest. With one hand clinging to the back of his neck, and the other trapped between his legs, she was totally aware of what she was doing. It was Alex who had the distinct impression he was being manipulated, but the thunder of his blood made him deaf to any warning.

His hands moved over her back, confirming his belief that she wasn’t wearing a bra. They also found the tab of the zip that ran from the high neck at the back of the dress to her hips. With an effort, he controlled the urge to tear the dress off her, and allowed his fingers to gently part the teeth.

She shivered when his hands invaded the opened back of the dress and, just for a moment, he sensed a certain unwillingness to continue. But, dammit, it was too late for her to be having second thoughts now, he decided grimly. She had asked for this, and she couldn’t blame him for taking her at her word.

Her spine was straight and slender, the skin smooth and soft as silk. When he allowed his fingers to follow its line, she arched automatically against him. And when his exploration found the lacy edge of her panties she sucked in her breath with a gulp.

So, she was wearing underwear, he acknowledged, in some distant corner of his mind, far removed from the immediacy of what he was doing. Not totally shameless, then, and perhaps a little inexperienced. But she didn’t try to stop him, when he inserted his finger and found the tender cleft that quivered beneath.

However, these thoughts only registered at a subconscious level. The actual recklessness of what he was doing, and the realisation that he might be risking life and limb just to get laid, couldn’t seem to penetrate the swirling fog of his passion. Her mouth, her skin, the tantalising delights of her body still to be uncovered, seemed far more important than some possible threat of infection. Whether it was the whisky or not, he was at the mercy of his own needs, and when she took his hand, and got up from the couch, he followed her instinctively.

She didn’t turn a lamp on in the bedroom, but the light from the living-room provided a shadowy illumination. And, when she peeled the black dress down her body, taking her panties with it, exposing herself in only black stockings and suspenders, the luminous quality of her skin was all the light he needed.

He wanted to worship her body. She was so beautiful, so exquisite, that anything less seemed a crime. But when she came to him, and began unbuckling his belt, he knew he had to have her. With or without her participation, he desperately needed to bury himself in her body.

He tore off his shirt and jeans with hands he knew were trembling. God, he chided himself, he was like a callow youth, frantic for his first initiation. What was wrong with him, for pity’s sake? It wasn’t as if he’d never wanted a woman before. But not as much as he wanted this one, a small voice warned him, as she backed up on to the bed, coiling one long leg under her and drawing up her other knee. Every move she made excited him, and his eyes were drawn to the glimpse of blonde curls, just visible behind her updrawn thigh. God, he thought unsteadily, she was good. She knew exactly how to tantalise his senses.

But it was her breasts he caressed first, as he came down on the bed beside her. They were just as glorious as he had imagined, and she let him weigh them in his hands, before carrying the swollen nipples to his lips. He suckled greedily, feeling the ache of his arousal hard against her thigh. Soon, very soon, he promised himself with feeling, aware that he was fast approaching the point of no return.

But he noticed, almost in passing, that she kept her eyes fixed on him, and what he was doing to her body. She never once looked down at his manhood, rearing beside her hip. And he wanted her to. He knew a sudden urgent need for her to do so. He wanted her to touch him, as he was touching her.

It was almost his undoing. When he took her hand, and brought it down to his throbbing heated flesh, he shuddered helplessly. The headlong rush of excitement he felt when her slim cool fingers curled about him was beyond belief. He knew, if he weren’t careful, he’d spill himself into her hands.

‘It’s so big,’ he heard her whisper, and even though his mind was spinning out of his grasp he couldn’t prevent the hoarse laugh that escaped his throat. But not for long, he thought, with grim humour, aware of his own limitations. He couldn’t wait to feel the heat when her tight sheath closed about him.

He tipped her back against the pillows, and buried his face between her breasts. Then, trailing kisses from her throat to her navel, he found the lace-trimmed edge of her suspenders. He propped himself on one elbow, and thought how deliciously sinful she looked wearing only her stockings. To hell with it, he thought, pressing his face to the hollow planes of her stomach. He’d dispose of them later, after he’d eased his aching flesh.

He stroked his hand along the outside of her thigh, and then probed the parting of her legs. Only they weren’t apart, he discovered; they were clamped tightly together; and when he eased his hand between the muscles jerked uncontrollably.

So, not so experienced at all, he realised, feeling the tangible flexing of the flesh. But more appealing than any blatant invitation. And it didn’t take long for him to persuade her to let him have his way.

She was ready for him. However nervous she might outwardly appear, her body was prepared for his invasion. When he probed the moist curls and found the tender nub of her femininity, she jerked helplessly against his fingers, and when he removed his hand, and rubbed himself against her, her breath came quick and fast against his chest.

Alex couldn’t wait any longer. He was not a man who normally satisfied himself at the expense of his partner, but right now he was too aroused to hold back. Nudging her legs apart with one hairy thigh, he positioned himself between them, bringing her hand down to guide him into her moist responsive core.

Her breathing was practically non-existent when she reached for him, and her judgement was little better as she struggled to do what he wanted. In the end, Alex brushed her hand aside and found his own destiny, thrusting himself into her with a gentle, yet forceful motion.

She was tight, so tight it hurt, but it was too late to recognise what he should have recognised sooner. Besides, as soon as he felt her taut muscles close about him, his body convulsed. She was so beautiful, so desirable, and he groaned as his long-awaited release burst from him.

‘You should have told me,’ he muttered, when he was able to talk again, but although he had expected to find tears on her cheeks she looked remarkably composed when he drew back to look down at her.

‘Does it matter?’ she asked, looking up at him, her eyes shadowy in the subdued light, and in the aftermath of such a soul-shattering experience Alex was inclined to be philosophical. Given his quite amazing desire for her, he doubted he could have drawn back anyway, and even lying here, supposedly relaxed, he was still heavily aware of her perfection.

‘That depends,’ he said now, as he had said earlier in the evening, smoothing her cheeks with his thumbs, ‘what you expect of me.’

She smiled then. ‘Just your body,’ she assured him, with staggering confidence. ‘Now, may I get up? I ought to see to the pizza.’

‘Not yet.’

Alex’s lips twisted, as he felt himself growing hard again. Even after the discovery that she had been a virgin—or, perhaps, because of it—he found he had a definite proprietorial interest in her body, and even though her eyes were vaguely anxious now he was loath to let her go.

‘You—can’t,’ she protested, but the awareness she suddenly exhibited, proved that she knew he could.

‘Let’s see, shall we?’ he breathed, his thumb invading her parted lips. ‘Just for the fun of it …’

CHAPTER ONE

SO, SHE was pregnant.

Beth came out of the private clinic, and stood for several minutes on the pavement, letting the warm breeze of the May morning fan her hot temples. Then, after taking a deep breath, she tucked her bag beneath her arm, and started along the quiet street to where she had left her car.

It was curious. She had thought she would feel different somehow. Not triumphant, exactly, but certainly content that her plan had proved fruitful. It was what she had wanted, what she had aimed for. So why did she suddenly feel so hollow?

She needed something to eat, she decided. She’d noticed a distinct increase in her appetite lately, and, although she didn’t believe the old maxim that she was eating for two, she had found that smaller and more frequent intakes of food helped to keep the nausea at bay.

The small Renault was airless, and she wound down all the windows before inserting her key in the ignition. The car had been standing in the sun for over an hour, and the seat was warm beneath the short skirt of her formal suit.

Before starting the engine, she tipped the rear-view mirror towards her, and examined her face rather critically. She didn’t look any different, she thought, but that was hardly surprising. Nothing momentous had happened that morning. The event which had changed her life had occurred more than eight weeks ago, in another time and another place. That was when she might have expected to see some radical alteration in her appearance. That morning, when she had fled from the London apartment, leaving Alex Thorpe still asleep, and totally unaware of the deception she had practised on him.

There was a certain guilty awareness in her eyes now, eyes that in sunlight were more violet than indigo. But, for heaven’s sake, she had taken nothing from him. It was he who had done the taking, and if he had left something in return then that was only fair, wasn’t it?

She expelled a breath, and turned the mirror away from her flushed features. The fact that the becoming blush of colour added a delicate definition to her high cheekbones meant nothing to her. She was used to the unique quality of her beauty, and in her opinion it was not an advantage. Her experiences had convinced her that a beautiful woman was just a pawn in a man’s world, rarely taken seriously, and often abused. Beauty had killed both her mother and her sister, and she had no intention of falling into the same trap.

But that didn’t mean she didn’t want to fulfil herself as a woman. Just because she despised men, and all they stood for, she was not above using one to create her own destiny. She wanted a home, and a family, and after seven years of working to attain her ends she was now within sight of achieving them. So, why was she feeling so uncertain? She didn’t regret what she had done, did she?

Turning the key, she fired the ignition, and after checking her mirror pulled out into the desultory traffic of Victoria Road. It was too late to go back to the university before lunch, and instead of driving into the city she headed west, towards Sullem Banks, and the river.

It was one of her favourite places, in the little north country town. Here the River Swan was flanked by long sloping stretches of turf, and it was possible to drive down and park on the river bank. When Beth first came to live in Sullem Cross, she had used to come here to escape the confines of her lonely bedsitter, and even now that she had a comfortable home of her own she still came here when she wanted to think.

But today her growling stomach drove her to seek some form of sustenance before she reached the Banks. A baker’s, which served take-away sandwiches and polystyrene cups filled with coffee or tea, provided the necessary nourishment, and after finding a suitable spot Beth opened the pack of cheese and tomato toasties.

Munching on the sandwich, she watched a family of ducks making their way along the river bank. It was a popular haunt for families, and the ducks were no doubt hoping to attract a scattering of breadcrumbs, and, although Beth could have eaten both sandwiches and more besides, she yielded to the temptation to offer them a share. Besides, it was delightful to watch the ducklings scrambling over one another in their haste to reach a particular crumb, and her lips tilted at their obvious rivalry.