James and Paisley, Paisley and James. My mind sang it like a nursery rhyme.
“Shh,” James soothed, as if I really were a baby.#p#分页标题#e#
I might as well have been because there was nothing sexual in James’s touch. The heat at my hips was just that: the hot bulge of a man’s package, not the insistent prod of a raging hard-on. I felt his nearness all the same. Being caressed so tenderly was erotic in a way I’d never thought possible. I couldn’t help wanting to return the favour. My mind filled with the memory of how I’d raked him with my nails, of how I had kissed and straddled him. I forced my hands to rest lightly on his lower back.
We swayed together almost imperceptibly, as if we were slow-dancing to a whispered melody. A low hum vibrated over my skin as we moved but I don’t think James heard it. My body tightened, my nipples taut and tingling, chafing against the thin linen sundress.
James angled his hips away from mine. His breath was warm on my cheek.
“Still crying?”
I nodded and he stroked the nape of my neck. My hair unravelled and strong, lean fingers massaged the base of my scalp. His caress made my bones feel as languorous as my brain. All I could think of was how right it felt to be in his arms—and how painful. He rocked me slowly as the tears slid down my cheeks, wetting his neck and the collar of his shirt.
I knew he must be thinking of getting back to the reception and I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to move but it was time to let go.
“Thanks,” I said, speaking into his jaw.
He dropped his chin. “Are you okay now?”
I nodded and the action brushed my mouth against the corner of his. “Sorry,” I whispered.
A low noise came from James’s throat and he pressed his lips to mine, a touch so light and gentle, so fleeting I wondered if I’d imagined it. But I didn’t imagine the soft kiss that followed or the kiss after that. Or the way our bodies melded together as our mouths dipped and scooped in a longer, lingering kiss that was both tender and arousing.
When we broke apart we were both trembling.
“Kissing me better, James?” I said shakily.
He cleared his throat. “Apologising. My behaviour in the maze was abominable.”
“Too late. I hate you now.”
His eyes lit up with little golden flames. <<Liar, liar.>>
<<My pants are on fire.>>
James’s breath caught and we froze in a silence so charged I wondered if breathing would ignite the molecules between us. His thoughts zinged into my mind like rockets. Bed and sex and Paisley and now!
He wanted me naked against him, wanted to thrust inside me before we even got to the bed. And his desire was more powerful than the fact that he had just married Caroline. His hands were on my back and in his mind he was pulling my zipper down, pushing the dress off my shoulders and taking my breasts into his mouth. Losing himself as he entered me.
I bit my lip. He looked at my mouth and then at my cleavage, swallowed, and released me. We stepped apart and faced each other awkwardly. In his troubled eyes I read the decision to never embrace me again.
Friends! my mind screamed.
“Thanks mate,” I said, forcing a jovial tone. “There’s nothing like a friendly hug to cure the weepies. Red-eyed and blotchy is hardly a good look when you’re on the prowl.”
James looked relieved at my tone and then put out at my words. Ah well, it was the best I could come up with. At least he wasn’t scowling at me and I wasn’t taunting him. A definite improvement. Even so, I had to get out of there. I picked the Harrods bag up from where I’d dropped it and grabbed the doorknob.
“I can’t wait to see the first dance. I hear you’re a pro,” I said, dragging on a smile.#p#分页标题#e#
James grimaced. “Prepare to experience something unforgettable.”
Chapter Eight
I Did It Because It Felt Good
I dropped the gift bag in front of my mother and went back to my seat. What the hell was taking so long? As soon as the speeches were finished I would find Father Martin and beg him to help me. Then I would go to my room and try to sleep. Maybe I would wake up in fifty years and find that James and Caroline were only distant memories.
I took another sip of the dark yellow wine that had appeared during my trip to the bridal suite. It was disgusting: sickly sweet and cloying. All the same it went down my throat and I was soon back to feeling pleasantly numb. I poured myself another.
What’s-his-name on my right wasn’t happy. He picked up the bottle and pointed at the cursive writing on the label.
“This is Chateau d’Yquem,” he said snobbishly.
“It sucks.”