The Right Bride?. Jessica Steele

said softly, ‘Let me tell you something, chérie. A man who chooses to make love to a girl when her senses are dulled with alcohol is a fool. When you come to me, Alys, I promise you will know exactly what you are doing at every moment.’

      Her heart was battering her ribcage. She said thickly, ‘It will never happen.’

      His brows lifted. ‘You doubt my resolve, Alys? Eh, bien…’

      He reached for her almost casually, pulling her against him so that she was lying across his body. Then he bent his head, and his mouth took hers—slowly, but very surely.

      She knew she should resist. The need to do so was imperative. Absolute. But she had no defence against the warm, mesmerising power of his kiss. And the complete absence of any kind of pressure was her undoing. His lips moved on hers with a tantalising gentleness wholly outside her experience. The tip of his tongue probed softly, coaxing her to open to him. To allow the caressing mouth to take her to a new and more sensuous level.

      Almost imperceptibly Allie found her body relaxing against his, her breathing quickening unevenly as she yielded to the intimate exploration of the inner contours of her mouth, the delicate, provocative play of his tongue against hers.

      And when at last he raised his head and looked down at her, the blue eyes grave and questioning, she breathed, ‘Remy,’ on a little sigh, and her arms went round his neck to draw him back to her again.

      At once his kiss deepened, hardening into a new dimension of heated possession, and Allie responded passionately to his demands, her own mouth as eager—as seeking.

      The blood seared her veins as she clung to him, her fingers gripping the strength of bone and muscles in his shoulders through the thin shirt as she tasted—breathed with desire—the erotic male scent of him.

      His hand lifted to cup her breast, his thumb stroking its tender peak slowly and rhythmically, teasing it to quivering arousal until she moaned softly into his mouth, her body arching towards him.

      Hunger was burning her now—melting her with the first real discovery of her own female physicality. Making her aware of the scalding rush between her thighs. Rendering her defenceless against whatever he might ask of her.

      Slowly, almost lingeringly Remy took his mouth from hers, his hand from her body. Even moved back a little, pushing his hair from his face.

      She looked up at him, her eyes half closed, drowsy with need as she began one by one to unfasten the buttons on her shirt. To offer herself.

      Only to find his hand closing round hers, halting her.

      He said huskily, his breathing ragged, ‘You taste of strawberries and wine, Alys.’ He paused, shaking his head almost dazedly. ‘But now I think—I know—that I should take you home.’

      ‘But I thought…’ The stumbling words were out before she could prevent them, their bewildered message unmistakable.

      Oh, God, she thought, shamed to the bone. I’m pleading with him for sex when he’s already turned me down. Please—this can’t be happening to me.

      Words slunk from the past to haunt her. Useless—stupid—frigid… All the taunts, the accusations, coming home to roost. Branding her for ever with their terrible truth.

      Shocked blood rushed to her face as she realised, too, what she must look like, dazed with desire, her hardened nipples thrusting against the cling of her dishevelled blouse. Stunned, she scrambled away from him, clumsy in her haste. ‘Yes—yes, of course. I—I’m sorry. We should go. Tante will wonder…’

      And then the words ran out on a little gasp, and she could only put her hands over her face, unable to bear the renewed humiliation of seeing the pity in his eyes when he looked at her.

      Remy said something half under his breath, and his hands clamped firmly round her wrists, tugging them away.

      ‘You think, maybe, that I do not want you?’ The question was almost harsh. ‘But you are so wrong, Alys. I hesitate only because I do not wish you to think I am like that other man. That I ask only for the pleasure of the moment. For us, that can never be the choice, and we both know it. There must be more between us than just a meeting of bodies.’

      ‘Then—what?’ Somehow, Allie forced the question from trembling lips.

      He sighed. ‘I think that I need you to trust me, mon ange.’

      ‘I do.’ Her protest was swift.

      ‘But not enough. Believe me.’ His tone was quiet but forceful. He cupped her face between his hands, the blue eyes intense. ‘How can you, when you hardly know me? When we hardly know each other?’ He shrugged, his smile crooked. ‘So—that must change. And I—I will have to learn patience.’

      ‘So will I.’ Her admission was shy. She turned her head, pressing a kiss into the warmth of his palm.

      ‘Ah, mon coeur.’ He took her back into his arms, holding her close for a few heart-stopping moments, releasing her with open reluctance. ‘We had better go now,’ he muttered roughly. ‘Before I am tempted beyond endurance.’

      Allie’s glance through her lashes was mischievous as he helped her to her feet. ‘Isn’t that why you brought me here in the first place?’

      ‘Of course.’ His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘But I am only human, Alys, and therefore allowed to hope—being no saint.’

      ‘I’m glad.’ She glanced round at the standing stones. ‘The local variety took a tough line with straying girls. Maybe he could have used a little humanity too.’

      ‘Perhaps we were right not to risk his anger?’ Remy suggested. Then, as she turned away, he halted her. ‘Wait, ma mie, I need to tidy you a little.’ She obeyed, standing demurely while Remy carefully rebuttoned her gaping shirt and brushed tell-tale fronds of dried grass from her clothes and hair.

      ‘But I can do nothing about your eyes, chérie, or your beautiful mouth,’ he added huskily. ‘You look entirely like a girl who has been in the arms of her lover. I only hope your great-aunt does not bar me from her house.’

      She won’t do that. The words remained on her lips, unsaid, as she suddenly realised, with a kind of shock, that she could guarantee no such thing. Tante Madelon was a woman of another generation entirely, with strict views on marriage and its obligations, even when it was clearly as ill-advised and wretched as Allie’s was.

      And as it would remain.

      Because, all too soon, this brief respite would be over, and she would have to go back. Back to the misery of emptiness and blame.

      She glanced sideways at him as they drove away, thinking of the strength of the arms that had held her, the grace of his mouth. Feeling her starving body clench in a swift, primitive craving that screamed out for the ultimate fulfilment.

      She’d denied herself a normal life, she thought desperately, trying to appease her conscience. Surely she was entitled to some happiness—just for a while—wasn’t she? A little sweetness to comfort her in the barren time ahead? Was it really so much to ask?

      She saw, in the wing mirror, the image of the stone circle, pointing grimly, like so many warning fingers, towards the sky. And realised, as her heart skipped a beat, that her question had been answered.

      To hell with it, she told the unseen forces of retribution. I won’t give him up. Not yet. Because I can’t. And if there’s a price to pay, then I’ll just have to face that when it happens.

      They said little on the way back to Les Sables. The road ahead was empty, and Remy took one hand from the wheel, clasping her fingers lightly as they drove.

      So this is first love, she thought, turning to feast her eyes on him. Come to me at last.

      And she saw his mouth slant in a swift smile, as if he’d read her thoughts.

      As