Линда Ховард – Sarah's Child (страница 4)

Her senses reeled; it was so like the few forbidden dreams she’d had that she forgot where they were, forgot everything but the man who leaned over her, his mouth hot and tasting of passion. Her digging nails telegraphed her response to him, her body warming and arching to his, seeking the intoxicating heaviness of his weight.

There was no sense of time or location, nothing but the spiraling physical need that had flamed between them, unexpected and out of control. She felt his hands on her body, touching her breasts, dipping down beneath her skirt to rub her thighs and stroke intimately between them, wringing a wordless cry of need from her lips. No word of protest surfaced in her mind. She let him do as he wanted, mindless of everything but the delight his knowledgeable hands were bringing to her. He knew women, and his expertise made her wild. She offered her slim body for his delectation with no conscious thought of anything except how sweetly, hotly satisfying it was to be in his arms, to know his kisses and his caresses.

He surged to his feet, lifting her in his arms, her slight weight no trouble at all for his powerful muscles. In a few swift steps he was at the bed, lowering her onto it, coming down to join her with a low growl on his lips as he pulled her under him, spreading her legs with his and settling himself against her in a movement as natural and as basic as breathing.

Sarah clung to him, dizzy with the need he was arousing in her, her mouth tender and fervent under his. She’d loved him for so long, and at the moment she felt as if all of her wishes on falling stars were coming true. She was willing to let him do anything with her, and she knew what he wanted. She could feel the virile hardness of his body as he pressed against her. The layers of clothing between them were too much, unbearable barriers that kept their fevered flesh apart.

Then suddenly heaven ended. He stiffened on top of her, then rolled away and sat up on the edge of the bed, bending over to drop his head in his hands. “Damn you,” he said thickly, his voice full of disgust. “You’re supposed to be her friend, but you’re rolling with her husband, in her bed.”

Dazed, Sarah sat up and straightened her clothing, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She heard the accusation in his voice and found that she couldn’t get angry with him; she understood how guilty he was feeling, and how emotionally vulnerable he was after the emotional storm he’d just experienced. “I was her best friend,” she said shakily.

“You’re not acting like it!”

She slid off the bed, standing on wobbly legs. “We’re both upset,” she said to his bent head, and her voice was wobbly too. “We both went a little out of control. I loved Diane like a sister, and I miss her too.” She began to retreat, unable to stand there any longer, feeling as if she’d borne all she could for one night, and her tongue was out of control, babbling without her choosing the words she’d say. “There’s no need to feel guilty about it; there wasn’t anything really sexual about it. It was just that we were both so upset—”

He shot off the bed, his face wrathful. “Nothing sexual, hell! I was between your legs! Another minute, and we’d have been having sex! What would you have called it then? Would we have been `comforting’ each other? My God, you wouldn’t know sex if it bit you on the leg! You’re too much of an iceberg to know anything about men, or what they want!”

Sarah spun around, her face white, her green eyes stricken. Her generous mouth trembled. “I don’t deserve that,” she whispered, and bolted for the door, flying down the stairs before he realized that she was leaving. With a roar, he started after her.

“Sarah!” he yelled furiously, reaching the front door just as she turned the ignition key and started her little red fireball of a car, jerking it into gear and reversing out of the drive with the squeal of rubber on pavement. He stood in the doorway, watching the red glow of the taillights until they disappeared around the corner; then he slammed the door shut and cursed violently for several minutes. He noticed that she’d left the jacket to her suit, and he picked it up. Damn! How could he have said that to her? She was right; she hadn’t deserved it. He’d lashed out at her because of his own guilt, not just over what had happened that night, but over the years he’d spent looking at her and wanting to take her to bed, even though she was Diane’s best friend.

Rome stared at the linen jacket in his hands, and his mouth tightened. Didn’t Sarah realize what a challenge she was to men? She was so cool and pale and distant, so complete unto herself. She was devoted to her career, and she made it pretty plain that she didn’t need a man for anything beyond casual companionship. It had been rumored for years that she’d been the mistress of the chairman of the board, but Diane hadn’t thought so, and he trusted Diane’s judgment. Instead Diane thought that Sarah must have had a love affair that had gone sour, but as she’d said more than once, Sarah was deep and kept a lot of things to herself.

He remembered the first time he’d wanted Sarah; it had been at his own wedding. He’d been impatient to leave with Diane, and then he’d seen Sarah, standing a little alone as she so often seemed to be, her white-blonde hair twisted up on top of her head, her pale face wearing a polite mask. Was she never hot or mussed, he had wondered. Never fidgety? He’d thought of how she’d look if he’d had her in bed with him, that pale hair tangled by the wildness of their passion, her mouth red and swollen from his kisses, her slim body dewy with perspiration. His own body had suddenly become taut, swollen with need, and he’d had to turn away to disguise his condition. How he’d resented her, because even at his wedding to Diane, he’d been lusting after Sarah.

The years hadn’t changed the situation. She was always aloof, cool to him, and she never stayed around if he came home while she was visiting Diane. He loved Diane and was faithful to her, totally satisfied with her in bed, but there always remained, in the back of his mind, the knowledge that he wanted Sarah. If she’d given him the come-on, would he have remained faithful to Diane? He wanted to think so, but he couldn’t be certain; look what had happened the first time he’d kissed Sarah! He’d been ready to take her right then, on the floor, but he’d had a moment’s concern for her soft skin and he’d lifted her to the bed, a break in his concentration that had eventually stopped him. But she hadn’t been cool and reserved in his arms; she’d been warm and responsive, and her legs had parted for him without hesitation. Her cheeks had been flushed, and a few fine tendrils of hair had escaped their confinement to curl enticingly around her temples.

That was how he wanted her: with that neat, aloof image of hers shattered. He’d come home early from a trip once, and she’d been in the pool with Diane and the boys. She’d been laughing and frolicking like a child herself, her long hair loosened for once and floating around her like a fairy cloud. He’d changed into his own swimsuit and gone out to join them, and as soon as he’d appeared, Sarah had stopped laughing. She’d been very casual about it, but she’d made her excuses to Diane, hauling herself out of the water, and swiftly dried off before pulling on a ragged pair of denim shorts that only accentuated her long lovely legs. The sight of her in a pale yellow bikini had so aroused him that he’d had to take a fast dive into the water, and when he surfaced, she was already walking swiftly away.

A man couldn’t have asked for a better wife than Diane, or a more loving one. But as much as he loved her, as much as he still ached for her, he still wanted Sarah. It wasn’t a question of love at all; the finer emotions didn’t enter into it. His attraction to her was purely physical. He’d lashed out at her because, with her, sex would be more of a betrayal than it had been with those other nameless, faceless women. They’d been only bodies, without personality. But he knew Sarah, and he couldn’t wipe her identity out of his mind. He wanted sex with her; he wanted to watch her when she went wild beneath him, he wanted to hear her call his name during the throes of passion. And she was Diane’s best friend.

Hours later Sarah curled numbly in bed, her tears finally exhausted, but she couldn’t sleep. She felt battered, her insides torn apart with hurt. When the phone rang, she was tempted to ignore it, because no matter who it was, she didn’t feel like talking to them. But any call at two o’clock in the morning could be an emergency, and finally she reached over to lift the receiver. When she said hello, she winced at the sound of her own voice, which was still thick with the tears she’d shed.

“Sarah, I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she interrupted, the sound of that deep voice shredding the fragile control she’d gained over her emotions, and she began to weep again. The soft sobs were evident in her voice despite her efforts to hide them. “I may not know anything about men, but you don’t know anything about me! I don’t want to talk to you anymore, do you hear?”