A Kiss To Remember Page 9

  He replaced the coffee-cup in the saucer with a small sigh. ‘Yes, you can,’ he told her firmly, though in a discreetly low voice. ‘You can do anything you want, Angie; have anything you want. You’re with me today as my woman, and I am a very rich man. Indulge me, my darling. Let me pamper you and spoil you. It will give me great pleasure to dress you—almost as much as it will give me to undress you this evening.’ This last remark was made with a not so discreet glance at the shadowed valley between her breasts.

  Angie blushed fiercely as her head jerked up and their eyes met. ‘You...you shouldn’t say things like that,’ she said, shaken by his calling her his darling, and very shaken by the images his other words had catapulted into her mind. A wicked heat started firing her blood and flushing her skin. Desire quickly became a throbbing pulse in her veins.

  His smile was vaguely triumphant. ‘Perhaps not,’ he drawled. ‘But I simply couldn’t resist. I’ve never been with a female before who would react as you just did. It’s enchanting. But then you are enchanting, sweet Angie. In every way...’

  ‘I... I asked you not to call me that,’ she said, trying to sound stern, but failing miserably.

  ‘But why, when it suits you?’

  He smiled, and she couldn’t help it. She smiled back. ‘You’re a wicked man, Lance Sterling.’

  ‘Well, you can’t have everything, darling. Rich and good just don’t go together.’

  A fact which she’d already realised. Angie wondered if he was paving the way to turning her into his mistress. Perhaps he was already corrupting her, getting her used to things she could never afford but which he could continue to give to her provided she continued to give him what she would give him tonight.

  ‘I’m not going to become your mistress, Lance,’ she said, hoping that saying the words out loud would prevent the reality happening.

  He seemed taken aback. ‘Is that what you think this is?’ And he waved down her expensively clad body with his free hand.

  ‘Would I be wrong?’ she challenged.

  ‘You would,’ he said sharply, but did not elaborate.

  Angie’s surprise quickly turned to bewilderment. ‘Then, what is it?’

  ‘It’s fun, Angie.’ He smiled an engaging though enigmatic smile. ‘What you said you wanted today.’

  ‘Fun,’ she repeated blankly, till the penny suddenly dropped. Yes, of course! How silly of her! Nothing so serious and semi-permanent as making her his mistress.

  Tonight, for all Lance’s softly seductive words, was really just a one-night stand, dressed up to look like something else. His arrogant claim that he would spoil her for any other man was just that. An arrogant claim. It contained no promise of tomorrows. It contained nothing but the promise of a night she would never forget.

  But oh, dear heaven, how she was looking forward to that night. Even now, as she gazed down at the handsome man draped elegantly over the chair before her, she wanted to beg him to stop this fiasco, to take her back to that honeymoon suite immediately. She did not want to waste another moment of her short time with him being dressed up like some Barbie doll, or eating a stupid lunch she had no stomach for.

  ‘What if I told you I’m not finding this much fun?’ she choked out. ‘What if I told you that I’d much rather we... That I’d prefer to... That I want you to...to...’ Her voice trailed away as she simply could not confess the desire now running rampant through her. But she must have still conveyed the shameful truth to him by her flushed cheeks and glittering eyes, by the way her lips stayed softly apart to allow the shallow panting caused by her rapidly beating heart to escape.

  He stared up at her over the rim of the cup, holding her captive with his eyes and thrilling her with the sudden passion which blazed away in their brilliant blue depths. It was as though her bumbling confession had stripped away the cavalier facade he’d been wearing all day, and suddenly she saw what making love to her meant to him. She was both incredibly moved and incredibly turned on.

  ‘Lance,’ she breathed shakily, everything around him going out of focus, as it had the previous evening.

  ‘Yes,’ he rasped back. ‘I know.’ The cup clattered back into the saucer once more, and he seemed to have to drag his eyes away from her before rising slowly to his feet. ‘The lady will take the outfit she has on,’ he told the hovering saleslady in a brusquely commanding voice. ‘She won’t be changing back into her other clothes. Wrap her orange dress up with the black one. Here’s my credit card.’

  When he turned back to Angie she was actually trembling. A mixture of nerves and excitement had taken hold of her, making her feel sick with anticipation of what was to come. There was something incredibly thrilling about the unknown. Yet also something incredibly frightening.

  When she flashed Lance a torn look, he took her arm within a steadying grip and steered her over to the sales desk. Five minutes later he was bundling her into a taxi for the short ride back to his hotel.

  He seemed to know not to speak to her during this brief journey, or in the hotel lobby, or even on the lift ride which carried them up to the honeymoon suite. Angie was grateful for his silence, aware that she was incapable of making sensible conversation at that moment.

  The lift doors opened, and before she knew it she was standing at a heavy wooden door while Lance inserted the key into its brass lock. For the first time her mind turned to what the honeymoon suite might look like. She wasn’t sure what to expect after the decor downstairs, but it wasn’t what met her eyes when Lance pushed open the door and ushered her inside.

  Everything was white or cream or gold. White walls and furniture, cream carpet and curtains, gold lamps and cushions. There was quite a bit of glass too. All the table-tops were glass. One whole wall was glass, with a splendid view of the harbour bridge and surrounds. A huge crystal and gold chandelier hung from the ornately plastered and very high ceiling.

  ‘Oh!’ she gasped on entering, all carnal desire momentarily pushed to one side. ‘What a lovely room!’

  It was more than just a lovely room. It was a honeymoon suite to exceed all honeymoon suites. Gracious. Spacious. And touchingly romantic. Angie moved in somewhat of a daze through the large sitting-area into the dream of a bedroom. She stared at the huge white four-poster bed, with its flouncy lace valance, the pearly satin quilted spread and the multitude of small lacy cushions propped up against the four satin-covered pillows. Truly a bed fit for a bride on her wedding-night.

  ‘You like it?’ Lance said softly, coming up from behind her and curving his hands over her shoulders.

  ‘It... it’s exquisite,’ she managed to get out in a strangled tone. Oh, God, she wasn’t ready for this. She’d thought she was but she wasn’t. She was petrified. Almost literally! She felt like a frozen piece of wood. Or a statue.

  ‘Try to relax,’ Lance suggested softly, and bent to kiss her on the neck.

  Angie stiffened even further. ‘I... I need to use the bathroom.’

  Lance’s lips left her constricted throat and she practically fled into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

  For a long moment she leant against the door, her eyes shut, her heart thudding. When at last she opened her eyes it was to take in the largest bathroom Angie had ever seen. And the most opulent. Great expanses of creamy gold-veined marble, with three vanity bowls, an enormous shower, a sunken spa bath, plus a matching toilet and bidet.

  She shook her head at the gold taps which were in the shape of cupids, the water being shot out of their arrows. She was also stunned by all the other provisions. Every conceivable complimentary item was supplied, from ‘his and her’ hairdryers, to toiletries, toothbrushes and tissues. A telephone hung on the wall next to the toilet. The towels and robes were plush and white, small satin cupids embroidered on various corners and pockets.

  This was not a honeymoon suite for any old Darby and Joan from Woop-Woop, Angie conceded. This was a honeymoon suite for a multimillionaire. One night here would cost a mint.

  A ne
w burst of nerves really did necessitate a brief using of the toilet and bidet, after which Angie got a grip on herself and returned to the living-area. There, she was amazed to find Lance in the process of filling two crystal flutes from a bottle of champagne. An elaborate silver ice-bucket was resting on a side-table, along with a huge platter of assorted fruits, cheeses and crackers. None of these things had been there, Angie was fairly certain, when they’d come in.

  Or had she just not seen them? Had she been so full of blind passion when she’d first walked in that she’d been oblivious to such minor details? It was possible. She’d been ready for anything back then. Now, the time delay, plus a resurgence of nerves, was dampening her desires, making her worry that she might make a fool of herself.

  Lance had had so many beautiful women—all undoubtedly more experienced than herself. His wife had been absolutely gorgeous—a young Elizabeth Taylor, with black hair, creamy skin and wide violet eyes. Helen’s ultimately proving to be a slut did not lessen the fact that she must have known everything there was to know about pleasing a man in the bedroom. Lance would not have married her if he hadn’t been very satisfied in that regard.

  ‘All this came while you were in the bathroom,’ he said, looking up and holding one of the flutes out to her. ‘Compliments of the hotel.’

  ‘Oh.’ Angie was relieved that she hadn’t been so besotted that she’d failed to see something so obvious. She also remembered what Vanessa had said about having a couple of drinks to relax before the big event, and came forward to take the proffered glass.

  Lance smiled as he clinked her glass with his. ‘To my beautiful bride,’ he toasted, and everything inside her contracted anew, her own glass freezing in mid-air.

  ‘Don’t,’ she whispered, her eyes dropping away to the floor lest he see the sudden tears pricking behind the lids.

  ‘Don’t, what?’ he asked, a dark puzzlement in his voice.

  ‘Don’t make fun of me... of this...’

  He swore, and her blurred gaze flew up to meet his stormy one. But once he’d witnessed her very real distress, he groaned. ‘You think I would do that? There is no fun in this moment, Angie, only a very deep regret that I have waited this long. I should have done this years ago,’ he murmured, curling his free hand round her neck and gently caressing it. His eyes moved from hers to her trembling mouth, then back down to where her breasts were rising and falling in a raggedly syncopated rhythm.

  ‘God, but you are incredibly beautiful,’ he said thickly, putting his own glass down and taking hers from her oddly frozen fingers. Odd, because the rest of her was quivering madly. ‘I don’t deserve you,’ he said. ‘But that’s irrelevant at this vital stage. I must drink of this cup...’ And he took a sip of the champagne. ‘And so must you...’

  He held the glass to her lips till they parted, then tipped a little of the champagne inside, watching her through narrowed eyes as she swallowed, then as her tongue darted forward to lick up an escaping droplet.

  ‘More,’ he commanded huskily, and pressed the glass back to her lips, his hands shaking slightly. The crystal rim tinkled against her teeth, and her hands fluttered up to enclose his, both of them trembling as she helped him to tip more of the sparkling liquid into her mouth.

  Angie had never experienced anything as blisteringly sensual as the feel of the champagne filling her mouth and throat, before she was forced to gulp it down. After the first swallow Lance filled her mouth anew, the action repeated till not one but both glasses were empty and Angie’s senses were spinning. The champagne had hit her empty stomach with a quite savage force, fizzing into her bloodstream with incredible speed. She began to tingle all over, swaying on her high heels. Lance put the second glass back down, then scooped her up into his arms.

  ‘My hero,’ she said, then shuddered with a type of surrender.

  He didn’t say a word, simply carried her into the bedroom and laid her down on the snow-white quilt. She closed her eyes when he sat beside her on the bed and started undressing her. Her head—and the room—had begun to spin slightly. Not that she felt sick at all. She felt glorious, and very, very accommodating.

  When he told her to sit up, she sat up. When he told her to lift her bottom, she lifted her bottom. When he told her to lie back down, she lay back down.

  It was only when she was down to her strapless bra and panties, and he appeared to have abandoned her, that her eyes flew open. But it seemed he’d only stopped to begin taking off his own clothes. His jacket and tie had been already discarded; his shirt was hanging open to the waist.

  Their eyes locked—Angie’s blinking, his guarded. ‘You feeling OK?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she admitted, aware the room was not entirely steady.

  ‘You’ll be fine in a minute or two. You drank that champagne too quickly.’

  ‘You made me,’ she accused.

  ‘Yeah, right, Angie. Just as I made you come here.’ He smiled a wry smile, then stripped off the shirt, giving her an unimpeded view of the same beautiful bare chest which had fascinated her all those years ago.

  Her mouth went dry as she contemplated its glorious contours, from the width of his shoulders to his well-defined chest muscles and the washboard flatness of his stomach. The thought that shortly she would be able to run her hands at will over his body sent little tremors running through her. Her nipples peaked hard inside her bra, poking at the cream satin which confined them.

  Lance’s gaze zeroed in on them as though they had red lights built in. Seemingly entranced, he sat down next to her, his right hand reaching out to take possession of the closest peak between his thumb and forefinger. Angie’s eyes widened as he rolled the nipple left and right. Such an action might have been painful if she’d been naked, but the nipple’s satin covering softened the feeling to an exquisitely sharp sensation. When he squeezed gently, Angie betrayed her pleasure with a deeply sensual moan.

  His right hand moved over to her other breast while his left took over with the already sensitised peak, and Angie sucked in a strangled breath at the doubled delight. When he slipped his thumbs under the bra to rub across her naked nipples her back arched away from the bed, her lips gasping apart.

  He bent to cover those lips with his, sending his tongue between them, stunning her with his wildly urgent thrusting. Till then, he’d seemed so controlled, but now, suddenly, his own desire was off the leash.

  Angie’s body leapt with an answering savagery of her own. Her hands reached up to clasp tightly around his neck, keeping his lips hard upon hers, keeping that devouring tongue deep within her mouth. She thrilled to his moan of raw response, to the way he roughly rid her of her bra while he kissed her, his hands wonderfully brutal on her bare breasts. She didn’t want him to be gentle with her. She wanted him wild!

  When he finally tore his gasping mouth from hers, she groaned her disappointment. But she wasn’t disappointed for long. His lips swept down her throat to her aching breasts, where he punished the already aching tips with broad sweeps of his tongue, giving each nipple a brief but barbaric suckling before abandoning them to move further down her body.

  His mouth traced a feverish though tantalising path as he peeled her panties down her legs, kissing and licking her skin as he went but deliberately avoiding that molten area between her thighs.

  But, despite his teasing, Angie knew what was coming, memories of the night before in the car making her stomach tighten in anticipation, a fierce heat racing through her veins as she recalled how it had felt when his mouth had made love to her down there. She would never forget the delicious screaming of each nerve-ending as he’d sucked on her most sensitive spot. She wanted to experience that screaming again. She longed for the wildly tormenting tension, the electrifyingly sharp sensations, the utterly addictive torture.

  Tossing her panties aside at long last, he began working his way back up her legs, but this time with his hands only. To begin with, Angie felt slightly disappointed—she wanted his mouth—but by the
time he reached the soft flesh of her inner thighs her heart was beating like a threshing machine. With a merciless and devastating expertise, he explored the moist valley between her thighs, teasing and tormenting her till her legs fell wider and wider apart, wanting more... asking for more...aching for more. Her eyes grew heavy with desire, the lids fluttering half closed on a low moan.

  When his touch finally probed at her virgin entrance, her buttocks instinctively clenched tightly together. They lifted slightly from the bed, pressing herself with wanton abandon against his fingertips, inviting a deeper penetration. He obliged and she accepted him avidly, without hesitation, without discomfort.

  Where she’d resisted last night, clamping her muscles in rejection, now she flowered open, wallowing in the less painful and much less threatening penetration. In fact, she could not get enough. When his mouth unexpectedly joined in, his tongue homing in on the swollen apex of her desire, everything quickly spiralled out of control and over the edge. Spasm after spasm racked her body, making her cry out, making her head thrash from side to side on the pillow.

  It was the most intense, most incredible experience she had ever lived through, but it was over much too quickly. Her eyes flew open on a groan of dismay when his mouth and hands immediately abandoned her, leaving her lying there, awash with a mixture of ambivalent feelings. As much as her orgasm had been glorious, it was not really what she’d wanted. She’d wanted him joined to her, deep inside her, climaxing with her.

  When Lance went to stand up, she sat bolt-upright and clutched at his arm, the desire to be as one with him still incredibly strong. There was an emptiness within her body and her soul that only he could fill.

  ‘Don’t leave me,’ she cried.

  He returned to kiss her trembling mouth and laid her back against the pillows. ‘My sweet Angie,’ he murmured. ‘I’m not leaving you. I’m just going to undress.’

  ‘Oh... oh, all right, then. But don’t be long.’