Dangerous Passions. Lynne Graham
bulge of his arousal beneath the silk boxer shorts he still wore. He looked so big, so powerful, so dominant, as he loomed over her, that Jaime quivered. But then he bent his head to trace the line of her lips with his tongue, and her resistance simply faded away.
‘Touch me,’ he said, against her mouth, drawing her cold hands to his body. He insinuated her fingers into the waistband of his boxer shorts, and pushed himself against her, and Jaime’s anxieties fled in a wave of shocked excitement.
He was hot and velvety to her touch, and he growled low in his throat when the pad of her thumb removed the pearl of moisture that glistened on his skin. His manhood throbbed with the needs she was arousing in him, and when he nudged her legs apart she guided him to her waiting source.
And it was like the first time for her. Philip had never entered her body so smoothly, so gently, pushing into her so fully that she was half afraid she would never be able to accommodate him. But she gave herself to Ben, allowing him to dictate what she could or could not do, and the sensuous thrust of his body became a mindless race for oblivion.
Jaime had never experienced anything like it. When she married Philip, she had been a virgin, and his treatment of her had left her convinced she would never be able to sustain a normal relationship with any man. But it wasn’t true. Ben was proving it. As the pace of his movements quickened, and the pulsing strength of his manhood throbbed inside her, feelings that were totally new to her began to spread to every fibre of her being.
And, instead of remaining a passive participant in his lovemaking, she found herself reaching for him, clutching his shoulders, wrapping her legs around him, as if she would never let him go. She couldn’t get close enough to him, and her fears now were that Ben would leave her as empty and devastated as Philip had always done.
Her breathing became heavy and laboured, an indication of the effort she was trying so desperately to hide, and, as if sensing this, Ben lifted his head to look down at her.
‘Take it easy,’ he said, smoothing the damp hair back from her forehead with a slightly unsteady hand. ‘You’ll make it,’ he added. ‘I’ll see to that.’
‘Will I?’
Jaime found her lips were dry, but when she tried to moisten them Ben took her tongue between his teeth. ‘Believe it,’ he said, sliding his hand down between their bodies to touch the pulsing nub of her femininity. ‘Believe it,’ he repeated, as she trembled beneath his stroking fingers. ‘Oh, God, you’re so ready. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it, too.’
Jaime’s breathing felt suspended. Ben’s probing fingers had banished her fears and brought her to the very brink of fulfilment. But, when he took his hand away again, she almost cried out with frustration. Dear God, what was he doing? she fretted wildly. Didn’t he understand how she was feeling?
And then, she realised that he did. When he moved again, almost withdrawing from her body completely, before burying himself in her again, awareness gripped her. Now, when he moved, she moved with him, arching her back towards each thrust until wave after wave of unadulterated pleasure washed over her. It swept her up, and carried her higher and higher until the delight was so great that she was sure she couldn’t bear any more.
Ben would have withdrawn from her then, but she wouldn’t let him, she remembered unwillingly. He must have known, better than she did, the risks they were taking. But perhaps he had believed she was still taking some form of contraception, as she had all the time she was living with Philip. Whatever, seconds after she had achieved her climax, Ben had shuddered uncontrollably in her arms. He had spilled his seed inside her, and she could still feel its heat in her loins…
SO, THERE had been faults on both sides, she conceded now, sliding weary fingers through her hair. Ben had never intended their lovemaking to go as far as it had, and she had believed—foolishly, as it turned out—that he was making some kind of commitment. It hadn’t been so.
Oh, he hadn’t said as much that night. On the contrary, he had let her phone her parents and make up a story about their having dinner at some remote country hotel, and the car breaking down. And they had spent the rest of the night together.
Later, her mother had told her she hadn’t believed her, but at the time her parents, like Ben, had thought she was old enough—and sensible enough—to take care of herself. Jaime shook her head. How wrong they had been!
It was weeks before she saw Ben again, weeks when she went through the whole gamut of emotions from dreamy contentment to disbelieving desperation. At first, she thought something must have happened to him, and she anxiously scanned every newspaper she could lay her hands on, in case she missed some small snippet of information about his whereabouts. But there was nothing to indicate why he hadn’t contacted her again, and as the weeks passed, and the signs her body was giving her became unmistakable, disillusion set in.
Yet, even then, she had been prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. When he appeared at the pub one lunchtime in early February, just as he used to do in the past, she had been pathetically eager to see him. But over lunch at the Crown he had dashed any lingering hopes she might have been nurturing. He had apologised—apologised—for what had happened at Christmas. It should never have happened, he said. He was a married man. As if she didn’t know that! And he had no intention of leaving his wife.
Jaime told her parents the truth a few days later. She hadn’t expected any sympathy, and she got none. She had behaved like a fool, for the second time in her life, and they had little patience with her. At first, her mother was outraged that she wasn’t going to tell Ben that she was expecting a baby. He ought to know, she said. It was his child. The Russells could afford an extra mouth to feed. The Fenners couldn’t. He should be made to pay for his pleasure.
It wasn’t until Jaime explained her fears—that if Philip learned about the pregnancy, he might try to stop the divorce—that both her parents agreed she should go away to have the baby. A fictional lover was invented, someone Jaime had known before her marriage to Philip, and who might reasonably have come back on the scene now that she and her husband were separated. The story was helped along by the fact that Jaime went to stay with her father’s sister in Newcastle. The Fenners let it be known that the young man in question came from there, and the gossips soon put it about that that was why Philip Russell was divorcing her. It was assumed that Jaime was the guilty party, and it was easier to allow her own name to be blackened than to defend something that was indefensible.
The only paradox was that Jaime never once thought of getting rid of the baby. However desperately she might deny it, she had wanted her baby, and she had been prepared to do anything to keep it. Even to the extent of keeping his identity a secret from any of the Russells. Tom was hers. He was her child. And when she learned that Ben had gone to live in South Africa, she had been sure she was safe from discovery…
Heaving a sigh, she propped her aching head in her hands. What time was it? she wondered. Heavens, it was late. Tom should be home by now. And she had to pull herself together before he saw her. It wouldn’t do for him to get the wrong impression. Like imagining she was distressed because the man who had mercilessly abused her was dead, she acknowledged bitterly. God, leaving Philip was the one sensible thing she had done in her life. No way was she going to let Tom believe otherwise.
But he might not see it that way, she realised uneasily. After the way he had reacted to Ben’s appearance, the news that the man he believed was his father was dead was bound to come as something of a shock. It was possible that he had hoped that by associating with Ben he might get to meet him, too. She groaned. Was she never to be free of her youthful mistakes?
She shook her head. Ben should have told her the truth, right from the beginning, she thought, shifting at least part of the blame on to him. He had deliberately kept it from her for his own needs. He had known that without that lever she would never have allowed him to get near Tom.
She was pushing