Night Over Water - Ken Follett [152]
But I do know him, she thought; I know him quite well. I’ve traveled a long way with him and we’ve shared our troubles. I know he’s abrasive, arrogant and proud, but also passionate and loyal and strong. I like him despite his faults. I respect him. He’s terribly attractive, even in a brown striped nightshirt. And he held my hand when I was frightened. How nice it would be to have someone to hold my hand any time I was frightened.
As if he had read her mind, he took her hand again. This time he turned it up and kissed her palm. It made her skin tingle. After a few moments he drew her to him and kissed her mouth again.
“Don’t do this,” she breathed. “If we start again we won’t be able to stop.”
“I’m just afraid that if we stop now we may never start again,” he murmured, and his voice was thick with desire.
She sensed in him a formidable passion, only just kept under control, and that inflamed her more. She had had too many dates with weak, obliging men who wanted her to give them reassurance and security— men who gave up all too easily when she resisted their demands. Mervyn was going to be insistent, powerfully so. He wanted her, and he wanted her now. She longed to surrender.
She felt his hand on her leg beneath her negligee, his fingertips stroking the soft skin on the inside of her thigh. She closed her eyes and, almost involuntarily, parted her legs a fraction. It was all the invitation he needed. A moment later his hand found her sex, and she groaned. No one had done this to her since her husband, Sean. That thought suddenly overwhelmed her with sadness. Oh, Sean, I miss you, she thought; I never let myself admit how much I miss you. Her grief was sharper than at any time since the funeral. Tears squeezed between her closed lids and ran down her face. Mervyn kissed her and tasted the tears. “What is it?” he murmured.
She opened her eyes. Through a blur of tears she saw his face, handsome and troubled; and beyond that, her negligee pushed up around her waist, and his hand between her thighs. She took his wrist and moved his hand away gently but firmly. “Please don’t be angry,” she said.
“I won’t be angry,” he said softly. “Tell me.”
“No one has touched me there since Sean died, and it made me think of him.”
“Your husband.”
She nodded.
“How long ago?”
“Ten years.”
“It’s a long time.”
“I’m loyal.” She gave a watery smile. “Like you.”
He sighed. “You’re right. I’ve been married twice, and this is the first time I’ve come close to being unfaithful. I was thinking of Diana and that chap.”
“Are we fools?” she said.
“Maybe. We should stop thinking about the past, seize the moment, live for today.”
“Perhaps we should,” she said, and she kissed him again.
The plane bucked as if it had hit something. Their faces banged together and the lights flickered. The aircraft tossed and bumped violently. Nancy forgot all about kissing and clung to Mervyn for stability.
When the turbulence eased a little she saw that his lip was bleeding. “You bit me,” he said with a rueful grin.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m glad. I hope there’s a scar.”
She hugged him hard, feeling a surge of affection.
They lay together on the floor while the storm raged. In the next pause, Mervyn said: “Let’s try and make it to the bunk—we’ll be more comfortable than on this carpet.”
Nancy nodded. Getting up on her hands and knees, she crawled across the floor and scrambled up onto her bunk. Mervyn followed her and lay down beside her. He put his arms around her and she snuggled up to his nightshirt.
Each time the turbulence got worse, she held him hard, like a sailor tied to the mast. When it lessened she relaxed, and he stroked her soothingly.
At some point she fell asleep.
She was awakened by a knock at the door and a voice calling: “Steward!”
She opened her eyes and realized she was lying in Mervyn’s arms. “Oh, Jesus!” she said, panicking. She sat up and looked around frenziedly.
Mervyn put a restraining hand on her shoulder