Mr. Loverman. Mary Lyons
only of the tall, dark man who had dominated her dreams for so long. Drowning helplessly in the gleaming depths of his slate-grey eyes as they dined alone on the candlelit terrace of the hotel, of which they appeared to be the only guests, she allowed herself to be led, like a sleepwalker, to the door of his room overlooking the lagoon.
‘It’s not too late to change your mind, Laura, if you think this isn’t a good idea,’ he said softly.
She gave a bemused shake of her head. ‘No, I...er...I think I know what I’m doing...’ she murmured, totally caught up in the magic of the moment.
‘I’m glad someone has their feet on the ground, because I certainly haven’t,’ he muttered thickly under his breath, drawing her into his room and kicking the door closed behind them. ‘God knows, I’ve tried to be sensible—but I simply can’t seem to help myself.’
‘I don’t understand...’ she whispered helplessly as he drew her close to his tall, rangy figure.
‘Surely you must have guessed that I’ve been absolutely crazy about you for the past year?’ The thick, husky tone of his low voice seemed to echo in her ears. ‘I’ll never know how I’ve managed to keep my hands off you for so long...’ he breathed as his arms closed tightly about her slim frame, his mouth possessing her lips in a kiss of passionate intensity.
With her mind and body seized by a raging tide of sexual excitement and desire, she ardently welcomed the fierce, determined possession by his lips and body. Beside the clamouring demand of their mutual desire, all sense of caution or moral precepts seemed totally unimportant and unreal.
Throughout that long night, it seemed to Laura as if she’d become completely lost to all sense of time and place. She was only aware of a compulsive need to respond to the soft, long, sweeping caress of his fingers, purring and glowing with rapture as she unashamedly offered her nude body to his eyes and hands, her own senses delighting in the firm texture of his flesh and the hard muscles of the arms fiercely pulling her towards him.
Beneath the mastery of his touch, it seemed as though she had become a wanton creature, her nostrils savouring his musky, masculine scent, her lips tasting the salty fragrance of his skin, until overwhelming desire yet again claimed them both, a frenzied need not merely to be possessed, but to be totally consumed and fulfilled, the intensity of their lovemaking causing her to cry out loud with joy and overwhelming happiness.
Now, as she looked back on those two, brief days which they’d spent together, scarcely leaving the small cottage at their hotel—other than to wander hand in hand into the calm blue waters of the lagoon, or stroll along the fine, powdery white sand of deserted beaches—Laura found herself wondering if, in reality, it had all been a dream. With her being so madly in love with Jack, maybe her over-fertile imagination really had, somehow, conjured up that blissful, halcyon time of enchantment and rapture.
Because it was the only explanation which appeared to make any sense of what had happened less than twenty-four hours after her return to London. Even now, over three weeks later, she could still almost feel her skin crawling with the humiliation of Jack’s cool, ruthless rejection—a crushing blow from which she was finding it well-nigh impossible to recover.
Slipping on a bathrobe and winding a towel about her damp hair, she wandered disconsolately out of the bathroom, deciding to drown her sorrows in a cool drink. But, just as she was making her way to the kitchen, she heard a ring on the doorbell.
Grumbling under her breath at the repeated, loud buzz of the bell, Laura tightened the belt of her towelling gown and went to open the door.
‘What...what on earth are you doing here?’ she gasped, suddenly feeling quite sick as she gazed through the few inches of open door, which still had its chain firmly in place.
‘To see you, of course,’ Jack retorted, his lips tightening as the pale-faced girl continued to stare at him with shocked, glazed eyes. ‘Come on, Laura,’ he added with ill-concealed impatience. ‘Undo the chain and let me in.’
After a moment’s hesitation, she gave a helpless shrug and did as he asked, stepping back in silence and allowing him to walk past her into the apartment.
‘I still can’t think what you’re doing here,’ she muttered, finding her voice at last as she reluctantly followed him into the sitting room. ‘In fact, you’re just about the last person I expected to see.’
‘I’ve been in the United States for the past few weeks. In fact, I’ve come here straight from the airport,’ he said, brushing a tired hand through his thick, dark hair. ‘As I suspected when we were in Tahiti, it now looks as if the film’s financial problems have just about scuppered Mutiny on the Bounty.’
‘So, what else is new?’ she retorted caustically. ‘Anyone with half an eye could see that the film was going to be a Grade A flop.’
He shrugged. ‘Flop or not, I had to make sure that the financial backers honoured Craig’s contract. However, the time I spent in America wasn’t entirely wasted, because I’ve now decided to open an office in New York.’
‘Yes, well, I’m sure that’s all very interesting,’ she snapped, nervously tightening the belt of her robe and deeply resenting the way his tall figure, formally elegant in a dark suit, seemed to dominate even the large sitting room.
‘However, just in case you’ve forgotten,’ she continued grimly, ‘you sacked me some three weeks ago. So your current business plans have absolutely nothing to do with me. Right?’
‘Wrong,’ he retorted curtly, before giving an impatient sigh at the cold, stony expression on her face. ‘Relax—I haven’t come here to quarrel with you, Laura. So why don’t you come down off your high horse and give me a cup of coffee?’
‘A cup of coffee?’ she echoed blankly, completely astounded by the sheer nerve of the awful man. Did he really imagine that he could just casually swan back into her life, as if nothing had happened?
‘I’m feeling so jet-lagged that either coffee, tea or a stiff drink would be equally welcome,’ he explained with a weary shrug of his broad shoulders.
‘Quite frankly, Jack,’ she retorted grimly, ‘the only thing I feel like giving you is a very hard thump on the nose!’
He gave a short bark of wry laughter. ‘That’s what I love about you, darling—you’re all heart!’ he murmured, his lips curving into such a warm, infectious grin that her pulse seemed to miss a beat and she felt quite dizzy for a moment. ‘However, I would be grateful if you’d put that thump on hold for a while—because not only am I practically dying of thirst, but we obviously need to have a long talk.’
Five minutes later, and furious with herself for being so weak and feeble, Laura was swearing grimly under her breath as she removed two wineglasses from a kitchen cupboard, before moving over to explore the contents of the fridge.
What on earth was wrong with her? Why was she in here, meekly getting the beastly man his cold drink, when she should have given him a hefty kick in the shins and told him to get lost? Because she was spineless—that was why! she told herself glumly.
And what about all that good advice which she’d been giving herself over the past three weeks, and which now seemed to have been a complete waste of time? If all it took to reduce her stomach to rubble was a charming smile and a disturbing gleam in the slate-grey, heavy-lidded eyes of her ex-employer—currently making himself comfortable in her sitting room—it looked as if she was in deep, deep trouble.
On the other hand...tossing Jack out on his ear wasn’t really a viable course of action, she consoled herself miserably. For one thing, he was far taller and heavier than she was. And, if she was really honest, she didn’t entirely loathe the idea of what he’d referred to as ‘a long talk’. Especially as she intended to do all the talking! I’ll tell him his fortune, she promised herself grimly. By the time I’ve finished with that Casanova, he’ll definitely wish that he’d stayed celibate all his life!
‘I’m afraid the cupboard is rather bare