Wounds of Passion, Charlotte Lamb [english novels to improve english .TXT] 📗

to the firm buttocks, but she couldn’t now; she had spoilt everything.

‘Stop crying, Antonia! I can’t stand hearing you cry like that; you sound like a sad little girl. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gone on, but I thought you were ready; I was so sure you wanted it too.’

He moved and she knew he was leaving her; she couldn’t bear it. She clung stupidly, both arms round him and felt his body tense, felt the deep intake of his breath.

Roughly he muttered, ‘Make up your mind, Antonia. What do you think you’re doing to me? I’m only flesh and blood; I can’t play these on-off games without losing control sooner or later.’ He lifted his head and stared down at her tear-stained, flushed face. ‘It’s up to you; it always has been. You’ll have to say it. Do you want me or don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said hoarsely, her legs closing round him too, moving restlessly, invitingly, underneath him, and Patrick began to breathe thickly.

‘Well, just don’t change your mind again; I won’t be responsible if you do.’ He bent and lightly kissed her wet eyes, his mouth brushing across her long, damp lashes. ‘No more tears, though.’

She sighed. ‘If only I could forget that night ever happened!’

He was silent for a second, then he said softly, ‘Pretend it didn’t, if it helps—tell yourself that that other night was just a nightmare. Tonight is all that matters.’

The words echoed in her head—tonight is all that matters; this is all that matters—and she knew it was true, that the only thing in the world that mattered to her now was his body moving on her, inside her, a tormentingly slow, sensuous intimacy that only began to build in rhythm and power when at last she moved with him, excited past caring if it hurt, arching to meet the deep thrust of his body with a sensation that was way past pleasure, on the borders of ecstasy.

She cried out his name, sobbing it. ‘Oh, Patrick...Patrick...’ She was boneless, so weak that she was melting into him, surrendering herself to the hard, naked flesh which had become a part of her.

And then, as they moved together towards the climax of their pleasure, a voice called from downstairs. ‘Tonia! Where are you? Aren’t you dressed yet? Need any help?’

Flushed and breathing wildly, they both froze, their bodies still vibrating.

‘Alex!’ whispered Antonia, distraught.

Patrick gave a hoarse, frustrated groan. ‘I didn’t even lock the door!’ he muttered through his teeth.

A second later he was on his feet beside the bed. Shivering, Antonia watched his naked body move silently across the room to the door. He locked it, then began dressing in a tearing hurry. Antonia stumbled off the bed just as footsteps sounded on the stairs. A moment later, Alex tried the door, knocked on it, then shouted through it teasingly.

‘Tonia? Aren’t you ready? We’ve got a surprise waiting for you downstairs!’

Trying to keep her voice steady, she said, ‘Sorry, after my bath I had a short nap on my bed, and I haven’t got my dress on yet. I won’t take very long; I’ll be down in about ten minutes.’

‘Need any help? Shall I get Susan-Jane to come up and give you a hand?’

‘No, I’ll manage.’

‘OK. But hurry up; don’t forget your surprise is waiting!’ Alex laughed and went back downstairs at a run.

Patrick was already fully dressed; he was just tying his tie in front of the mirror; and Antonia couldn’t quite meet his eyes as he looked across the room at her.

‘How the hell am I going to get out of here without them knowing I was with you?’ he asked her.

‘I don’t know, and God knows what they’re all going to think; it’s going to be so embarrassing,’ she muttered, deeply flushed and feeling light-headed. ‘Alex is going to be shocked; I should never have...’ She broke off, ran into the bathroom and spent some time washing again, didn’t come out for some minutes, and when she did found the bedroom empty.

The door was still locked; Patrick hadn’t gone out that way, but the window was open. She went over there just in time to see him drop down on top of the wall. He swayed there, a tall, supple figure in black evening dress, his arms out, as he balanced, like a trapeze artist. He had obviously climbed from her balcony on to the next one, lowered himself from the edge of that, and let himself down that way. Antonia was glad she hadn’t been here watching him; her heart would have been in her mouth. It had been a stupid, reckless thing to do. Thank heaven he had landed safely.

She watched him jump down on the other side of the wall, and turned back into the room. There was a hot ache of frustration inside her; she was feverish and chill, the blood beating in her ears. Why had Alex and Susan-Jane come back at that moment? If they had come ten minutes later...five minutes later...

She mustn’t think about it. Very flushed, she began to get ready, stepping first into the light, floating black and silver feather dress.

It took her nearly a quarter of an hour in the end. She had to do her make-up and hair again, as well as dress, and her hands were very unsteady. When she was finally ready she paused to assess her reflection in the mirror, her mask firmly in place. The unfamiliar figure gazed back at her, mysterious, ethereal, a creature from another world, as Patrick had said. She didn’t recognise herself and it made her feel more confident, more at ease, as she went downstairs. Nobody would be able to read her feelings tonight; she was safe behind her mask.

The party was already under way; there were people in all the ground-floor rooms, and spilling out into the garden. As Antonia appeared heads turned; there was a silence, then a murmur of appreciation. People called out greetings, admiring remarks.

‘Magnifica, cara...’

‘Beautiful, darling...’

One of