Sharon Kendrick Collection. Sharon Kendrick

at the way he said her name.

      ‘And I don’t even know anything about you!’ she wailed, as if that mattered.

      The stormy grey eyes were turned on her in a steady stare and a hint of amusement lit their depths.

      ‘What do you want to know?’

      ‘Everything!’ she declared fervently.

      ‘What’s everything?’ he laughed.

      ‘Oh, you know! The things you like to do. . .’ She began to blush at the look on his face.

      ‘Shh,’ he instructed gently, lifting his hand to slowly pull out the tortoiseshell clasp which secured her hair, so that it tumbled in glossy profusion around the pale oval of her face.

      ‘I will tell you everything—anything,’ he stated unevenly. ‘Anything at all. But not now. Not when my eyes are dazzled by your beauty. . . my nostrils filled with your scent. . . my body aching to hold you in my arms once more, sweet, sweet Lola. . .’

      It was a combination of the things he was saying and the passionate way he was saying them which made Lola want to throw caution to the wind.

      She needed him now, more than she had ever needed anything in her life before. And explanations and life-stories could wait.

      She swayed against him and he caught her instantly, clasping her close to his chest. ‘Oh, Geraint,’ she sighed brokenly into his neck, neither knowing nor caring whether this was a decision she would regret for the rest of her life. ‘Please make love to me!’

       CHAPTER SIX

      GERAINT tipped Lola’s face up and looked deep into her eyes. ‘God, yes, Lola!’ he groaned. ‘Yes and yes and yes!’ And without warning he scooped her up into his arms.

      Lola had never been picked up as an adult before, and while she was absurdly flattered by such a display of masterful dominance she was also slightly worried about giving him a hernia! ‘P-put me down, Geraint!’ she spluttered.

      ‘Why?’ he queried softly. ‘Don’t you like being carried?’

      Lola sighed, tipping her head right back. ‘Oh, yes! I love it! It makes me feel just like Scarlett O’Hara!’

      ‘Well, then, just lie back and enjoy it.’

      ‘But I’m much too heavy to be carried all the way upstairs!’

      ‘Let me be the judge of that,’ he chided. ‘And anyway, how do you know I’m going to carry you all the way upstairs?’

      Her blue eyes widened into saucers. ‘You mean you aren’t?’

      ‘I mean that I rather thought you liked the sound of being ravished in the hallway. At least, that’s the impression you gave me a little while ago.’

      Lola flushed. ‘I didn’t—I mean. . .’ Her voice tailed off. Making love was an unknown quantity and all she wanted was the relative sanctuary and comfort of a large bed. For surely the kind of sexual gymnastics he was hinting at would be inappropriate for a novice such as herself?

      He bent his head to brush his lips lightly against her forehead. ‘I was only teasing you, Lola,’ he told her mockingly. ‘But I quite understand your having reservations about being here. Shall I take you next door to Dominic’s? Would you prefer that?’

      Lola shuddered. Prefer to be made love to in Dominic Dashwood’s house? No, thank you! She could just imagine the hordes of perfectly toned lovelies who had passed through that particular mansion!

      And in fact the longer they went on discussing things so cold-heartedly, the more self-conscious she felt about the whole situation. She buried her head in his soft, fragrant silk sweater and wished herself a million miles away.

      And perhaps Geraint could sense the sudden shyness which had paralysed her, for he dipped his head and kissed her again, full on the lips this time, softly and yet passionately and very, very thoroughly. ‘Let’s go to bed,’ he murmured.

      His words and his kiss made Lola feel so dizzy with longing that they were halfway up the sweeping staircase before she realised it.

      One of her hands daringly crept beneath his silk sweater and she closed her eyes in ecstasy as she felt that first touch of smooth, bare skin. She placed her palm flatly over the thudding strength of his heart, and she felt him draw in a deep, shuddering breath as her fingertips instinctively moved to knead distractedly at one nipple.

      ‘Mmm,’ he murmured appreciatively.

      She risked a peep at his face, and saw such a mixture of emotions there—pleasure and longing and, most curiously, that fleeting look of regret again—that she hastily shut her eyes, and did not open them again until she felt the soft resistance of a mattress dip against her back, and she found herself in the middle of the large bed in the spare room, with Geraint lying beside her, propped up on one elbow.

      Lola looked at her surroundings in confusion, momentarily disorientated by the anonymous, cream-washed walls and the nondescript paintings of a room which she had rarely been in.

      ‘But this isn’t my bedroom!’ she exclaimed in surprise. There were a number of rooms he could have chosen, including her own, which was decorated in soft, pale greens and peaches, and which she had chosen for its cool neutrality—it was feminine without being at all fussy. But at least he had not chosen to bring her to what she had always assumed was Peter’s old bedroom, with its deep crimson walls and its sporting prints and old, polished wood.

      ‘No,’ agreed Geraint quietly. ‘It isn’t.’ He shifted slightly, positioning himself so that he could stroke all the wayward curls off her face. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he told her.

      ‘No!’ She shook her head furiously. ‘You don’t have to say that just because we’re—’

      ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said again, very deliberately, and this time, largely because of the intense look which accompanied it, Lola actually found herself believing it.

      ‘And you’re still wearing your uniform,’ he commented, on a delicious note of anticipation.

      The anticipation struck an answering chord in Lola, and she found herself stretching indolently, opening her eyes very wide as she replied, ‘Mmm, I know!’

      He cocked his dark head to one side. ‘It must be a little hot and uncomfortable, surely?’ he quizzed.

      ‘Well, y-yes. Funny you should say that. It. . . is. . . actually,’ she managed, through lips which were suddenly parched.

      His fingers moved unerringly to the top button of the pale blue shirt which strained across her tender, swollen breasts, and he stared down at her, a question in his stormy grey eyes.

      ‘I think we ought to take it off,’ he mused. ‘Don’t you?’

      Even if she had wanted to say no, which she most definitely didn’t, Lola still felt that she would have been powerless to, especially when he was looking at her that way—with that smoky look of passion darkening his eyes, that barely contained hunger hardening his lips.

      ‘Oh, yes,’ she whispered. ‘Yes, please!’

      He gave a laugh of delight. ‘Oh, sweet Lola,’ he sighed as he trailed his fingers provocatively down to the first button. ‘I’ve dreamt of doing this to you since the first moment I saw you. Dreamt of this luscious, sinuous body and imagined it naked and compliant in my arms.’

      It was so close to her own fantasy that Lola trembled with excited recognition, wondering how a man with a look of such stark passion on his face could have the control to take so long to remove a shirt.

      Oh, yes, she was enjoying the teasingly provocative movements of his fingers as they grazed over the thin cotton—in fact, she was getting more and more turned on by