Chasing Summer. Abigail Gordon

won’t say no to me ever again,’ he rasped, his eyes glittering with triumph. His mouth descended once more, his hands hard and exciting on her body, sweeping Salome along with his rapidly renewed passion.

      His words were prophetic, at least where the next few hours were concerned. He made love to Salome in ways she had never been made love to before, demanding things she had never freely given before, each experience showing her there were sexual horizons still to be explored, plateaus of pleasure not yet reached, surrenders she had never even envisaged.

      * * *

      Sunlight filtered through the curtains behind the bed, landing in Salome’s eyes and stirring her to semi-consciousness. She sighed and rolled over, one limp arm encountering a wall of warm flesh. She froze, then pulled her arm back as instant memories of the night before flooded in, startling her to full awareness. Her eyes flew open.

      Mike lay naked on his stomach, his face turned away from her, his legs sprawled, his breathing deep and even. She swallowed as her eyes followed the line of his spine, down between the well-honed muscles of his back, down to where she could see the red marks her nails had made on his buttocks. Horrified, she glanced down at her own nudity, green eyes widening at the beginnings of bruises on her hips and thighs. Her fingers trembled as they lifted to feel her raw, puffy lips. Her tongue darted out to moisten them, and she was certain she could still feel the taste of him.

      Smothering a groan, she carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed, and levered herself up on to her feet. With a slow, silent tread, she made it across the plush white carpet into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. A hot bath beckoned, even though the tap running might wake Mike. Still, the door was locked, so he couldn’t walk in on her—a thought that made her shudder. How could she face him after all she had done and allowed? Only the most wanton women, she believed, acted as uninhibitedly as she had done.

      With a disbelieving shake of her head, she found some bath gel in the well-appointed marble cabinet, then snapped on the gold taps. Soon she was lowering herself into the invitingly steaming waters. With a low moan, she lay back, and gradually the seeping heat soothed her stiffening body.

      But not her troubled mind. What had she done, agreeing to be Mike’s mistress? He didn’t love her, despite the impassioned words he had rained on her during the night. And, much as she had fantasised she loved him in the throes of passion, in the cold light of day she knew she didn’t. She had loved Ralph, and it had been nothing like this. It had never frightened her. It had felt safe and secure at the time, filled with warmth and light. This feeling, though, was dark and dangerous and destructive.

      It was also very strong, much stronger than common sense or even shame. Already she wanted to feel what it was like to have his hands on her again, to experience that exquisitely electric release once more.

      It was just as well, Salome realised with bitter irony, that she couldn’t get pregnant. Though this was through sheer good luck rather than design, her doctor having recently put her on the Pill to regulate her periods. She did want to have children eventually, but only with a man who loved her.

      A sharp knocking on the bathroom door had her jerking upright, her wet curls plastering down her back. ‘You haven’t drowned in there, have you, Salome?’

      ‘No,’ she called back, grateful that single words didn’t sound shaky or nervous.

      ‘Just checking. Don’t be too long.’

      His tone of voice sounded perfectly normal. Clearly, he wasn’t bothered by the prospect of facing her this morning.

      What a naïve fool you are, Salome, she berated herself, worrying about what he might think of you. Goodness, all you did was act exactly as he expected you to act, and as, no doubt, all his lovers act. Do you honestly believe you are the first woman to have surrendered herself so totally to his extraordinary sexual appetite? Of course not!

      And for goodness’ sake don’t start believing all those crazy, glorious words he said to you about never having felt what he felt when he was with you. No doubt words of that ilk just fall from his mouth quite automatically whenever he makes love. What better way to make a woman come back for more, than by making her feel special and unique? The only difference between you and a host of others is that he’s had to wait for you longer than most, which is probably why he seemed so desperate on occasions last night.

      He doesn’t love you. Did you notice how carefully he avoided saying that he did? Oh, yes, he wanted you, needed you, adored you, found you exciting and sexy and breathtakingly beautiful. But he never mentioned the word ‘love’. So if you do this crazy thing and become his lover—and you’re going to, aren’t you?—then don’t ever start fantasising that he does. Try to remember you are dealing with a Don Juan here!

      Salome sighed and struggled out of the bath, wrapping her dripping hair in one of the huge fluffy cream towels, her body in another. She gave her teeth a thorough scrub with one of the spare toothbrushes lying in the top drawer, then straightened, turning away before she could catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She didn’t want to look at herself, didn’t want to hold in her memory the image of a woman who was about to do the most stupid, insane thing she had ever done in her entire life!

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      SALOME found a maroon-robed Mike in the kitchen, brewing even better-smelling coffee than she’d made the previous night. Its delicious aroma, however, ran a distant second where her senses were concerned. They were being filled with the man who was standing next to the percolator, tapping idle fingers on the marble counter-top. Obviously he had used the main bathroom to shower while she’d been in the en suite, for his hair was slicked back behind his ears in wet waves, the style giving her an unimpeded view of his very male profile with its strong, Roman nose and stubborn cleft chin. His mind seemed to be a million miles away, his furrowed brow indicating a serious train of thought.

      He must have seen her suddenly out of the corner of his eye, for his head jerked round, his startled gaze raking over her towel-clad body, lingering on bare shoulders before dropping to her equally bare feet. For a moment it was as though he didn’t recognise her, his eyes narrowing with a kind of disapproval as they swept back up to land on her freshly scrubbed face.

      Salome’s heart lurched, then sank. Apparently he preferred his women glammed up, even at breakfast.

      He was shaking his head. ‘You look about fifteen,’ he said. His dry tone brought a spurt of anger, and she pulled the towel from around her head, letting the red-gold curls spill in damp disarray around her face and shoulders. She knew if anything could destroy the illusion of youthful innocence it was her wild mass of hair. ‘Better?’ she snapped.

      His eyes raked over her again, and this time desire flared in those ruthless black pools. Salome was shocked. My God, hadn’t he had enough last night? She tore her eyes away from him, alarmed that recognition of his desire had stirred her also. If this kept up they would spend all their days in bed, not just their nights!

      A black wave of dismay rolled through her. What in heaven’s name was she doing, wasting more of her life on another man who didn’t love her? This was even worse than her marriage to Ralph. It didn’t even have the respectability of a wedding-ring, or the illusion of love! If she had any guts she would walk out of here right now.

      Her dismay grew, for she knew she couldn’t do it. She wanted Mike too much. All she could hope for was that their affair would be a short one, that her mad desires would be sated before he succeeded in ensnaring more than her bodily responses. In her present vulnerable state, it was within the realms of possibility that she might really fall in love with him. And that, she could do without.

      Irritation at her own weakness brought a surge of pride-filled resolve. Get a hold of yourself, woman! You’re an independent adult, not a simpering idiot with no will of your own. You call the shots. You decide what will be done and when. Don’t let another man turn you into