Sally Wentworth - Tiger in His Lair Read online

  She broke free from him and turned away, only too painfully aware that he was right.

  'Look,' James said more softly, coming up behind her and putting his hands on her shoulders, 'what's the point in arguing over something as useless as the past. Sure, maybe we've both been around, so why don't we just…'

  'No!' She turned fiercely to face him. 'I'm not promiscuous! I don't—don't…'

  'Go with men,' he finished for her. Adding, to her surprise, 'Good, I'm glad to hear it. Now I know I really earned that kiss.'

  She looked at him uncertainly, not knowing how to take it. 'I told you before, I don't want to get involved.'

  He nodded. 'So I remember.' Taking her hand, he gently drew her towards him and put his arm round her. 'But then we hadn't done this properly before, had we?' And he kissed her again, slowly drawing her closer against him until their bodies were touching.

  Romily trembled, feeling the closeness of his hard, muscled body, remembering another man, another body, holding her close. But gradually as he kissed her memory faded, to be replaced by the heady, sensuous sensations of the present. James wasn't Richard. James was a different kind of lover entirely, willing to give as well as take, to arouse her senses with lingering kisses that made the warmth of need grow in the pit of her stomach and her breath catch in her throat. Putting his hand low on her waist, he moulded her body to his, curving her against him, holding her as a woman should be held when she's being kissed, so that she was aware that he wanted her. Almost against her will, her body moved against him, her lips telling their own message of desire.

  James's lips left hers to explore her neck and nuzzle at her earlobe. Her head tilted back as he kissed the long column of her throat, her nails digging into his shoulders as she clung to him, her eyes closed, her breath a moaning purr of pleasure and need.

  Lifting his head, James said, 'Romily.' And then more urgently, 'Romily, look at me!'

  Slowly she did so, to find his blue eyes smiling down at her.

  'My darling, I think that you're involved with me whether you like it or not.' His smile deepened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 'But something tells me that you do like it—just a little?'

  The way they were standing, with their bodies so close together, there could be little doubt of that, and it made Romily smile too. But then the smile faded and she lowered her head.

  'Oh, no, you don't!' James put his hand under her chin so that she had to look at him again. 'I don't want you ever to turn away from me again. Or to look sad. I hate it when you withdraw from me with that sad look on your face, and I know that you're remembering the past.' His hands tightened on her. 'It makes me want to kill the bastard that hurt you!'

  He spoke so fiercely that it startled her. Her eyes searched his face, still afraid to believe that he might care for her or want her for anything other than sex.

  'Who was he, darling? What did he do to you?' James demanded. 'Please tell me.'

  Romily didn't attempt to deny that he was right, but she said slowly, 'Why do you want to know?'

  'So that I can understand. So that I can help you to forget. To heal the wounds.'

  But that was going too far. She shook her head decisively. 'There's nothing to tell.'

  'Oh, but I'm certain there is.' Looking down at her earnestly, James said, 'You've trusted me so far, Romily. Won't you trust me completely?'

  But Romily was the kind of girl who kept her hurts to herself, even though they might fester more that way and take a very long time for the scars to fade. Pushing herself free from his hold, she said, 'You keep talking about trust all the time. So I let you kiss me; I'm sure it meant as little to you as it did to me. Kisses don't mean anything any more.'

  'You may be convincing yourself of that, but you're certainly not convincing me. They meant something to me. And I'm pretty certain they did to you too. But maybe you'd like another demonstration.' And he stepped purposefully towards her.

  'No!' She put up her hands to hold him off. 'All right, I—I admit they meant something. But I'm not ready to—to….’

  Immediately James put his arms round her and held her against him, his hand stroking her hair. 'It's all right—don't worry. We've got plenty of time.' He smiled at her. 'All the time in the world.'

  His words reassured her and she relaxed against him, enjoyed being held, feeling the strength of his arms around her and the strange sense of comfort and security it gave her. She felt him kiss her hair, but soon he sought her mouth again, this time awakening an immediate response if not an answering passion. They kissed for some time, but when James tried to lead her towards a settee, she resisted him, shaking her head and saying. 'I think I'd better go,' in an unsteady voice.

  But when he drove her back to Abbot's Craig, James insisted on kissing her goodnight. 'When can I see you again?' he murmured against her throat. 'Tomorrow?'

  'I can't make tomorrow night. I promised to help Gerald type out the fire regulations to put in the bedrooms.'

  'During the day, then. Come up to Maggie's. I'll meet you there.'

  'I'll try,' she agreed, feeling his breath, hot on her skin. 'But I can't promise.'

  'If you're not there tomorrow, I'll phone you.'

  'No, don't do that. I'll—I'll phone you.'

  He let her go at last and she ran up to her room, her thoughts and emotions in a confused whirl, but when she went to bed that night, Romily's last thoughts were to wonder who had knitted him his sweater, and who was the woman he shared his sumptuous bed with on those special occasions.

  James was waiting for her when she went to Maggie's the next day and walked back with her through the woods, kissing her as soon as they were out of sight, and this time making full use of the kissing-gate. His lips were avid with hunger, but if Romily felt any passion she didn't give way to it, responding but not enough to arouse him into uncontrollable emotion. She liked his kisses and was content to return them, feeling her way slowly into this new relationship that James was so eager for.

  On Saturday evening she managed to get away to go out with him again, although she felt rather guilty about it because Gerald and Carol were working flat out on all the last minute details before the first guests arrived on Tuesday. But she justified her actions to herself because she knew that once the hotel opened she would get very few more evenings off until it closed in October. She also felt that she had to point this out to Carol, who merely nodded rather wearily and said, 'Who is the boyfriend you've got in Inverness? You'll have to invite him out here so we can meet him.'

  'Yes. Maybe—maybe I'll do that,' Romily answered, and escaped to run through the windswept evening to where James was waiting for her at the top of the drive. He strode to meet her, enfolding her in his arms as he kissed her long and lingeringly. 'Your nose is cold,' she complained, to cover the flushed and breathless state he left her in.

  'Which proves that I'm a good healthy specimen. You ought to snap me up at once,' he told her as they got in the car.

  'But I'm not in the market for a dog,' she pointed out demurely, enjoying flirting with him.

  'Ah, but think how nice it would be to take me for walks every day. And you could even tuck me into bed every night.' he said suggestively.

  Her ripple of laughter set the tone for the evening. James took her to a dance in a hotel in Fort William and they laughed and drank and danced, James often flirting with her outrageously. She pretended to scold him, but for the first time in months she felt really carefree again, forgetting all about the past in this strange sort of excitement she was beginning to feel when she was with him. They danced till one and drove contentedly through the starlit night, listening to music on the cassette player during the long drive home.

  When they neared the top of the driveway to Abbot's Craig James slowed the car. 'Home—or back to the castle for a while?' he asked her.

  Romily hesitated, afraid that he would want to make love to her. Part of her wanted that; her body was fully awake now to the delight that cam
e when he kissed her and was more than ready for the fulfilment of that need, but her mind was still afraid of being hurt again, of being cast aside as soon as he'd grown tired of her.

  She hesitated too long; James turned the car down the driveway to take her home. 'Well, at least you didn't give me an outright no,' he said resignedly.

  'I'm—I'm sorry.'

  'Are you? Really?' He stopped the car as usual just outside the courtyard where no one could see them from the house.

  'Yes.'

  'Oh, my darling girl!' Catching hold of her, he kissed her with a fierce hunger that betrayed his burning need for her and the iron self-control he was having to exert. 'If you only knew how much I want you!'

  Romily was beginning to get the idea and her legs were a little shaky as she let herself into the house. But she felt good, and life was definitely worth living again.

  The first guests, a group of American tourists from New York, arrived on the following Tuesday and seemed to like the country-house atmosphere that Carol and Gerald had tried to create. There were teething troubles, of course, but on the whole things went quite smoothly, but it was more difficult for Romily to get away as other guests arrived to take the place of the first.

  Luckily they didn't serve lunches, so she did have a few hours off on the days when she didn't have to go shopping, usually with Gerald, into Inverness. On those days she would get through her work as quickly as she could, clearing up after breakfast and preparing what she had to for dinner, before hurrying to change and go out. She didn't go so often to Maggie's now, or if she did she left much earlier, pleading work as an excuse. Often she would just phone James and run through the woods to meet him, sometimes at the boathouse, sometimes at the castle. Once she heard Carol and Gerald talking about her and wondering where she went, and had to put a hand to her mouth to stop herself from laughing when Gerald asserted the opinion that she was meeting Ian MacPherson at Maggie's house.

  'But why doesn't she say so?' asked Carol.

  'Well, you know how shy Ian is; he probably won't let her for fear of it going all round the neighbourhood.'

  It rained a lot that spring and wasn't the kind of weather to go out on the boat, and neither James nor Romily wanted to spend their snatched hours together in Inverness among hundreds of other people, so they usually sat in James's room in the castle drinking coffee and talking, or down in the boathouse on the big settee. In some ways Romily liked the boathouse best because she felt more alone with him there. He had a married couple working for him at the castle and a couple of times one of them had knocked on the door while she was there, which tended to make James curse under his breath and be more circumspect when he kissed her. But at the boathouse there was nothing to stop him from kissing her for as long and as often as he wanted. They lay together on the big settee, listening to the rain beating against the wooden roof as James's knowing hands gradually explored her more and more.

  He murmured endearments against her mouth, told her in words and with his eyes that she was lovely. His hands unbuttoned her shirt, performing their own ritual to reveal her breasts to his gaze and the caresses of his hands and lips. Romily's breath gasped in her throat and her hands twisted in his hair as he took her in his mouth, sucking, gently biting, until her body writhed in mingled ecstasy and frustration. He was very experienced, able to raise her senses to fever pitch and hold her there until she gasped out his name in a frenzy of desire. But he didn't try to touch her anywhere else, although his lovemaking must have made James achingly frustrated too. And vaguely Romily knew that he wouldn't go further unless she encouraged him to, that she only had to say yes and he would love her completely.

  She could only guess at the discipline he had to exert over himself on their stolen afternoons, but was grateful for it. She was learning to love again and to lose her fear of being hurt, but she wasn't ready yet to commit herself completely. As James had said, they had all the time in the world.

  There was only one thing that marred her growing happiness. Several times James had asked her if she had told Carol and Gerald that she was seeing him, and now he was starting to grow insistent.

  'Does it matter so much?' she protested. 'Why do you want them to know?'

  'Because ours isn't some hole-and-corner affair. I want to be able to call for you at the house instead of letting you walk through the rain to meet me. We're both free, Romily. We have nothing to be afraid or ashamed of.'

  There was urgency in his voice and she wanted to please him, but there were undefined reasons that held her back. Possibly the basic reason was the deep fear of being made a fool of again, of having everyone know if James let her down as Richard had done. And perhaps the secrecy enhanced the excitement, added to her rising heartbeat when she knew that she was going to meet him. Or perhaps it was just a wish to keep him to herself. And there was always the fact that Carol didn't approve of him. But she only spoke of the latter, using it as her excuse.

  'To hell with what Carol thinks,' James said forcefully. 'It's how we feel that matters. Promise me you'll tell them.'

  Slowly Romily said, 'But what's the point? If it's nothing to do with them, why bother to tell them?'

  Putting his arm round her, he drew her closer. 'I want them to know. I want to know—what form their disapproval is going to take. So that we can overcome it.'

  Romily turned her head to look at him in surprise. 'But surely all they can do is to say they don't like it. They're hardly likely to kick me out or anything because of it. Anything like that would be archaic. And besides, they'd never be able to get another cook to replace me at such short notice,' she added practically.

  'So if all they're going to do is say they disapprove, why are you so reluctant to tell them?' James asked insistently.

  She wrinkled her nose. 'I don't know. Because it's not their business, I suppose. And because there's— there's nothing really to tell. Only that we're seeing each other.'

  'It's more than that and you know it. Don't you?' He bent his head to find her mouth. 'Don't you?' he insisted against her lips.

  'Yes,' she breathed, for the first time admitting in words what she had already begun to recognise in her heart.

  It was raining yet again. As Romily looked out of the window she wondered why on earth anyone ever bothered to visit the Scottish Highlands at all. And yet they did, from all over the world and in droves, if the number of guests they were getting at the hotel was anything to go by. Resignedly but eagerly, she pulled on Wellington boots and mac; James had had to go away on business and this was the first time they had been able to meet in over a week.

  'Going out?' asked Gerald in surprise as he came into the passage off the kitchen where she was sitting to pull on her boots. 'It's absolutely pouring outside'

  'Yes, I know. I'm—I'm going up to Maggie's. She's promised to teach me how to make another dish.' Which was a lie and made her feel a bit guilty, but she thought that Gerald was busy and not really interested.

  But he refuted her by saying, 'What are you going to make? We might be able to put it on the menu next week.'

  'Er—Cullen Skink.'

  'Good God, what's that? It sounds revolting.'

  'I don't really know yet.' She stood up.

  Gerald looked her over. 'You're not walking, are you? Why don't you take the car?'

  'It's—it's broken down,' she fabricated, unable to tell him that James would be waiting for her in the woods.

  'I'd run you up there, but my car's full of cases of wine I've just bought.'

  'It's all right, I don't mind walking. See you later.'

  Romily escaped into the garden, running down the gravel path between the dripping hedgerows, down through the kissing-gate to the lake and along its edge until she came to the pine trees. James was waiting for her in their shelter and gave her no time to speak, grabbing her up into his arms and kissing her with almost violent greed, making up for the whole week apart. He pushed the hood of her mac off her hair so that he could hold her
head in his hands, her mouth a willing prisoner under his. But then his impatient hands were at her belt, undoing it and pulling off her mac. She gasped as she realised what he was going to do, but didn't fight him as he dropped it on the ground and began to undo her blouse. That, too, he pulled off, but she had to protest when his fingers went to the catch on her bra.

  'James, you can't! Not here. Not in broad daylight.'

  But he ignored her. 'Why the hell do you bother to wear this?' he complained thickly. 'It's a pure waste of time.' His eyes went to her breasts, standing proud with the firmness of youth. 'And you most certainly don't need it.' He thrust her bra in his pocket out of the way and put his hands on her waist. 'God, I've missed you,' he said fiercely, his jaw hardening.

  A few drops of rain trickled down from the trees above them, but the rain was warm and not unpleasant. One landed on Romily's shoulder near her neck, and rolled slowly down, hovering on her collarbone for a second and then going on down the length of her breast. When it reached her nipple it hung suspended like a bright, shimmering jewel, a diamond that was reluctant to leave the beauty it enhanced. James gave a groaning sigh of wonder and bent his head to take the iridescent drop gently into his mouth, on to his tongue, and hold it there until it dissolved and became one with his own body's moisture.

  Romily gazed at him as he lifted his head, her eyes wide and staring, her mouth parted in deep, sensuous awareness. 'James.' She whispered his name and lifted her hands to begin slowly to take off his clothes. It was the first time she had ever done so; the first time that she had needed him as much as he wanted her. When he was stripped to the waist she raised her hands and slowly explored him, her fingers running lightly over his skin, touching his muscles and running through the mat of blond hairs on his chest. She had never done so of her own volition before, and the wonder of it was almost more than he could bear. His hands trembling, James pulled her slowly towards him so that they touched, their bodies quivering with anticipation and desire, his own nipples as hard and aroused as hers.