He's My Husband! - Lindsay Armstrong [25]
‘I’m sure they can,’ she said, but distractedly.
He looked amused. ‘And they can make him desire a perfect stranger quite spontaneously. You were going to say?’ he asked as she opened her mouth.
But no words came out, because Nicola found herself suddenly mesmerised by this fantasy he’d created, and she could visualise in her mind’s eye a scenario that had her, a complete stranger, crossing Brett’s path and catching the attention of this tall, clever man just as he’d outlined.
She blinked and swallowed. ‘Go... on.’
‘And if,’ he said slowly, ‘I had anything going for you at all, Nicola, the spontaneity might well be mutual. Like this.’
She met this kiss in a completely different frame of mind—oh, where did all that hostility go? she was to wonder later. But it was like kissing a stranger, hesitantly at first, drawn uncertainly by the threads of his fantasy but finding it too powerful to resist, then with growing confidence and growing awareness.
An awareness that coursed through her and brought her a sense of wonder, because his body was hard and honed against hers, yet the feel of it was so right and it made her melt against him, slender, soft and quivering with arousal.
But at other times, when they parted to breathe—she at least raggedly—and she saw him watching her narrowly and intently, it made her stare back, and there was a sudden charge of electricity between them, as if she was saying challengingly, I’m not in this alone, am I?
Each time, although only with a gesture, he demonstrated that she wasn’t. That was how she discovered that quite ordinary parts of her body became unique with his lips or his fingers on them-the curves of her shoulders, the soft inner sides of her elbows, the hollows at the base of her throat.
And he made her skin feel satin-smooth as he ran his hand down her arm. And she felt both fragile, when he circled her wrist with his fingers and his hand looked big and strong and brown while hers was small and slender, and yet, as he carried her palm to his lips, conscious of a power of her own...
The power to withhold a little, so that he held her closer and tested her ability to remain withdrawn, as he caressed her hips then moved his hands up under her arms and slid them round to cup her breasts. She gave in, but with a little glint of humour in her eyes as she surrendered her mouth to him again.
But in the end he had the ultimate power. After he’d kissed her deeply, and she’d said his name with both wonder and desire, he straightened, held her briefly, and put her away from him.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she murmured breathlessly, and leant against the doorframe for support.
‘No more games, Nicola,’ he said very quietly.
‘Games?’ she murmured, and, with a desperate effort not to show her hurt, straightened, touched her mouth, which felt swollen and bruised, and added ruefully, ‘I thought we generated quite a bit of emotion as well, but there you go!’
‘You did start this,’ he reminded her. ‘For a variety of reasons, but emotion wasn’t mentioned amongst them.’
‘So I did! Well, is this what that old saying about playing with matches is all about? Never mind, I’ve learnt my lesson. I think I’ll go to bed—goodnight, Brett.’
He didn’t answer, but advanced on her and scooped her up into his arms.
‘What are you doing?’ she protested.
He carried her over the doorstep.
‘Brett! Put me down.’ She twisted urgently and struggled, to no avail. ‘Brett, I don’t want—don’t do this.’
‘You don’t want to go to bed with me?’ he queried. ‘Forgive me for saying so, Nicola, but you could have fooled me.’
She stared up into his eyes, and her own were panic-stricken. He watched her for a moment, cynically, then turned into the kitchen and deposited her unceremoniously on the island counter.
‘Stay put,’ he ordered. ‘You’ve been naughty enough for one night.’
Nicola gasped. ‘I...I’m speechless.’
‘Good. Try to stay that way.’ And he walked through to the dining room.
Nicola looked around. As usual, Ellen had left the kitchen spotless. The slate floors gleamed,