“Perverts. Isn’t that like incest for you two?” she said, but I could tell that she was intrigued.
“He’s hot around that little white collar, just begging to be corrupted. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”
She bent her head to chopping red peppers, her face stubborn. “Icksnay on the... Whatever. Don’t push it. Tarzan’s hardly my type. That pasty white skin and shock of red hair is scary. And does he even know what exercise is? He may be slender now but he’s the kind that grows a paunch on spaghetti legs. I met his dad at Brighton Hospital years ago. And Tarzan’s a minister for Christ’s sake.”
“So what?”
“Can you imagine me giving up my fashion sense for polyester and M&S knickers? Sitting through church services in a religion that would give my mother the heebie jeebies? Then there’s the little matter of whether he even knows the road to paradise. Quoting scripture ain’t going to satisfy my lustful loins, I can tell you that much.”
I picked up the salad bowl and backed away towards the door. “Don’t knock it. Those verses in Song of Songs are pretty hot. And besides, God knows you need some ‘hot and sweaty’ so why not with his representative here on earth?”
Marcia’s face was sceptical. “I don’t know if it would work.”
“If you want to know if the relationship will work...give the man some pussy,” I teased.
James and Tarzan walked into the kitchen behind me. “Wise words my child,” Tarzan said. “I’ll have to remember them during couple counselling.”
Both men dropped their shopping bags on the counter. Marcia’s cheeks turned pink. She glared at me and stuck her knife into the pepper like it was a Paisley voodoo doll. Smiling, Tarzan took the salad out of my hand and headed out, followed shortly by Marcia. James barely waited for them to be gone before he spun me around and clamped his hands onto my bikini-clad bottom, pressing me into him tightly.
“I always thought giving the man some pussy was excellent advice.”#p#分页标题#e#
“Finally admitting how you do your thinking, James?”
“Where my wife is concerned.”
Oh God.
His massaged my back, kissing my mouth, my neck and then the small triangles that covered my nipples. Honey and vanilla,” he murmured, inhaling the hollow in my collar bone.
I was melting, my hunger for food being overtaken by an all-together more basic urge.
“We can’t,” I said breathlessly. “The kids are hungry and we’ve got guests.”
“I’m going to make love to you, Mrs Scott-Thomas. Tarzan and Marcia can feed the kids.”
He slipped his hand under my bikini and sizzling hot pleasure spread through my body. He was on lawyer mode, cutting straight to the chase to get what he wanted. His other hand rested on the barely visible bulge in my abdomen. A little buzz zapped him through my skin. James jerked his hand back and stared at me, puzzled.
I pitched my voice to sex-education video flatness. “Reproduction for clueless toffs—when a lawyer of the human species inserts his penis inside his secretary’s vagina—”
James swooped down and covered my mouth with his, absorbing my words and letting me feel how ecstatic he was, how deeply he would love our new child. I had a bittersweet moment to think of how different my pregnancy would be this time with him to cherish me, and then it was gone, drowned by his passion.
When we broke off, his lashes were stuck together and his eyes bright. I took advantage to make a run for it. I was quick, but he caught me halfway through the sitting room, scooping me up as if I were no heavier than his hanky and laughing at my efforts to get away.
His arms were a strong bind of corded muscle, holding me tightly against the excited pumping of his heart. I twined my hands around his neck, inhaling his scent as he carried me up the stairs and through our bedroom door.
Would he ever let me escape? Slip through his fingers and swim away on the tide? He kissed my lips, setting me down on the bed and blanketing me with his warm, hungry body.
<<Never.>>
Epilogue
I stood on the balcony and watched the waves below. The tide was up and they were crashing against the shoreline, reminding me of the first time James had brought me to Casa Escondida. Reminding me of a different afternoon, when I’d stared at the Brighton shoreline and found no answers.
I transferred my gaze to the decking. James was devouring his second plate of hamburgers and salad as if he hadn’t eaten in months. Freshly showered, he was once more the civilised host, talking to Tarzan and Marcia while Ryan and Fleur Anise ran circles around them. He waved me down impatiently and I glowered at him. He laughed.