‘It was her fault,’ she heard him telling Jon in a faintly whining tone. ‘She asked me to come over here. She told me she wanted to see me...that she wanted me to take her to bed—’
‘No! No...that isn’t true!’ She was sobbing the denial, unable to believe what Chris was saying. She saw Jon raise his fist and Chris cringe away and then the taxi driver was in between them. ‘Best not do that, guv,’ he told Jon warningly. ‘Let the law handle it...it’s always the best way.’
‘From a legal point of view maybe, but not from an emotional one,’ Jon responded rawly but nevertheless his fist unclenched and though he was not particularly gentle as he hauled Chris well away from her, Sophy saw that he had himself well under control.
It was the taxi driver who rang for the police.
After that Sophy lost touch with what was happening. All of them had to go down to the police station, where she had to give a statement. Jon wasn’t allowed to stay with her but she knew she had nothing to hide and managed to keep control of herself long enough to answer the questions.
When at last she was reunited with Jon, she was glad of the protective arm he put round her. It was sheer bliss to simply relax against his chest...so solid and safe, after the terror Chris had inflicted upon her.
‘Will you be wishing to press charges, sir?’
Jon replied immediately. ‘Yes, we will.’ He felt Sophy tense and looked down at her. ‘I know it won’t be very pleasant,’ he told her quietly, ‘but for the sake of his wife, and any other unfortunate woman who might come in contact with him, I think you should.’
Sophy knew that he was right but more important than that was the recognition that in speaking as he had, he was saying that he completely believed her version of what had happened. She had told him about it in the car on the way to the police station, and he had been so silent that there had been a moment when she had actually wondered if he thought that she was the one who was lying and Chris was telling the truth.
Neither of them spoke about what had happened on the drive back. When they got inside Jon detained her, by placing his hand on her arm.
‘I think you ought to go upstairs and try to rest. You’re probably still suffering from shock.’
‘I can’t rest,’ she told him honestly, ‘I’m far too wrought up. I was so frightened...’ she said it under her breath.
She shivered as he said roughly, ‘If he had hurt you...’
She stopped him, shaking her head, putting her hand over his in an effort to soothe him. ‘But thanks to you he didn’t.’ She shivered slightly. ‘To think I never really realised what he was like.’ She paused and then said huskily, dropping her head so that she wouldn’t have to look at him. ‘Thanks for...for believing me.’
She heard him swear under his breath, something he rarely did and her head jerked up. His mouth was white with strain, his eyes dark with anger. His hand cupped her jaw, his thumb stroking her mouth, the unexpected physical contact making her gulp in air, the raw ache inside her, suddenly mingling with a heady, delirious sense of release. If Chris had managed to deceive her so well about himself, perhaps he had deceived her in other ways as well. Perhaps she was not as sexually inadequate as she had always believed. After all, Chris had never ever made her feel the way Jon did. She had never ached for Chris the way she did for Jon, never melted at his lightest touch the way she did with Jon.
‘Sophy...’ The husky sound of his voice seemed to come to her from a great distance, almost as great as the distance that lay between them. With a small moan she moved, pressing herself against his body, feeling him tense in surprise and then unbelievably reach for her, taking her in his arms, his mouth hot and urgent on hers. He was kissing her as though he had never touched her before, as though he had starved for the taste and feel of her. She could feel his physical arousal and felt her own body stir in response.
‘Sophy...Sophy.’ Even when he had stopped kissing her, Jon didn’t seem to be able to let her go or stop saying her name. It must be the release of tension which was causing such an intense reaction in him, she thought hazily, shuddering as his hand touched her body, longing suddenly to be free of the constrictions of her clothes.
Almost as though her desire had communicated itself to him he stepped back from her and then picked her up. She was no tiny little doll but he took the stairs almost effortlessly, shouldering open the door to his bedroom and then turning so that he could use his foot to kick it closed.
‘No!’ Her protest was an instinctive female denial of the desire she saw glittering in his eyes, but he misinterpreted it, thinking it was him she was denying, and contradicted thickly, ‘Yes...’ reiterating, ‘yes, Sophy. Yes...’ as he slowly slid her body back down to the floor, keeping her pressed hard against him, so that she was hopelessly aware of every male inch of him.
Never in a thousand lifetimes had she imaged Jon capable of such intensely sensual behaviour and every pulse in her body quickened in response to it. There was no room for fear that she might somehow disappoint him, that was forgotten in the thick clamouring of her blood.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SECONDS, OR WAS it aeons, passed, Sophy wasn’t aware of which...only of the heavy beat of Jon’s body into her own, the timeless message of need and desire that passed from flesh to flesh and was returned.
She was dimly conscious of Jon reaching behind her to slide down the zip of her dress, just as she half heard the slithering sound the cotton made as it fell to the floor. All these were peripheral things, barely impinging on what really mattered, on the sensation of Jon’s hot flesh pressed against her own as she tugged open his shirt and sighed her pleasure at being able to touch him as he was touching her.
Neither of them spoke. They were too busy touching...kissing. An urgent, aching impatience swept through her commanding her to actions at once both totally familiar and totally necessary so that nothing short of death could have stopped her from reaching down and fumbling impatiently with Jon’s zip.
She felt his chest expand as he drew in his breath and for a moment teetered on the brink of her old insecurities but then his hand was on hers, helping her complete her task, his voice raw and thick with pleasure as she touched the maleness of him.
Then he was pushing her back against the door, muttering hoarse words of pleasure and arousal against her mouth, one hand sliding into her hair, the other curling round her waist as she melted into him...greedy for him.
His mouth left hers, long enough for him to groan. ‘The bed...Sophy, we can’t...’ but he was moving away from her and that blotted out the meaning of his words, leaving behind only the sound and her fear that she was going to lose him, so she arched her body into his, winding her arms round him, grinding her hips into his in instinctive incitement.
‘Sophy...’ She could hear the grating protest in his voice, but could take no need of it. To lose him now would be to die. Her senses clamoured desperately for fulfilment, her body out of her control and obeying a far more primitive command than that of the mind. She wanted him...needed him. Not just against her but within her, deep inside her, at that place where her body pulsed and ached.
Moaning feverishly, she ran her hands over his torso, arching her back until her breasts were flattened against his chest, her hips writhing against him in a sensual rhythm they seemed to know by instinct.
‘Dear God, Sophy...’
She felt the shudder run through him and saw the sweat cling to his skin. She could feel his heart racing and knew with a deep thrill of triumph that he had as little control over his response to her as she had of hers to him...less perhaps, she realised as he kissed her fiercely, his tongue eagerly invading her mouth. She could feel the frantic throbbing of his body against her, his weight pressing her back against the door and then suddenly he wrenched his mouth from hers, a harsh, inarticulate sound emerging from his throat. She knew, even without feeling him tug off her briefs that his need could not wait any longer.
She felt him lift her, balancing her weight against him and without having to be told automatically wrapped her legs around him, her hands clinging to his shoulders as she felt the first longed for movement of his body against her own.
Each driving thrust made her shudder with pleasure, her body eager to accommodate him, her muscles supplely responsive to the maleness of him.
Her spine arched her body taut as a bow in mute response to the driving force of him within her, the harsh oddly coordinated sound of their breathing an erotic stimulation she hadn’t even realised existed.
It was over far too quickly, their bodies escaping the rationale of their minds, moving frantically together, meeting greedily as though they had starved for this frenetic physical union , Sophy thought, as her body trembled in the aftermath of the convulsive climax that had so recently racked her. She could still hear Jon’s harsh breathing. She could feel the tension in his locked muscles as he slowly released her, letting her slide her feet back down to the floor. Neither of them spoke... She didn’t honestly think either of them were capable of speaking. Jon arched his back, relieving her of his weight, his arms rigid, his hands against the door either side of her head. He leaned his forehead against his arm, and she could see that his hair at the front was soaked with sweat.