Second Chance with the Millionaire(13)

They drank to one another, and then to Lucy's book, when she told him how well her meeting had gone.

She ordered melon sorbet to start with, followed by salmon, ridiculously  delighted when Saul chose the same. It seemed a good omen that their  tastes should be so much in accord.

Knowing the reputation of the restaurant Lucy was sure the meal was a  poem of epicurean delight, but she barely registered it; she was too  absorbed in Saul, in listening to him, in just simply watching him.                       
       
           



       

He caught her doing so once, their eyes meeting, locking in a way she  thought belonged only to the world of films. Her heart seemed to stop  completely, and then bound into ecstatic life as Saul reached across the  table to curl his fingers round her own.

'I can't believe this is happening.'

His words echoed her own thoughts and she grimaced faintly. 'I know …  It seems faintly ridiculous.'

'Ridiculous?' He looked at her and then shook his head. 'No. Miraculous,  maybe …  but ridiculous-never. I've waited a long time to feel this way  about someone, Lucy, and now that I do I want to savour every moment of  it …  every second …  We won't rush things, grabbing greedily at sexual  fulfilment before we've tasted all the delicate ancillary pleasures of  courtship. I'm twenty-nine years old and I want more from this  relationship than sex.'

'More?' Her voice sounded husky and unsure. What was he trying to say to her? 'What sort of more?'

She watched him smile, knowing with an involuntary ache that no matter  how long her life might be she would never forget the way he smiled.

'Oh, commitment …  permanence …  That sort of more.' He said it teasingly,  but his eyes were serious. Her heart jolted and lurched within her.

'I'm rushing you-something I promised I wouldn't do. I don't want to frighten you off. Let's talk about your book.'

'I want to talk about you,' Lucy wanted to protest, but she felt too  weak to argue, to do anything other than follow his lead. Was this love?  This heady, almost delirious feeling that possessed her; this  ridiculous happiness that invaded her simply because they were together?

It was late when they left the restaurant. Because he was driving Saul  had insisted that Lucy finished off the champagne, and on top of the  wine they had had with their meal and the brandy after it, it had made  her feel faintly tipsy.

Sauls' hand closed over hers as they walked to the car, his arms coming  round her as they stopped beside it, his mouth warm as it feathered  softly on hers.

The urge to cling to him and go on clinging almost overwhelmed her and  she had to fight to remind herself that they were standing in a public  car park, and to step away from him as his mouth completed its  languorous exploration of hers.

'Very wise,' he teased softly, letting her go. 'Otherwise I might have forgotten all my good intentions.'

'Maybe that's what I'd like you to do-somewhere more private.' She could  hardly believe the provocatively husky words had come from her tongue,  but they had, and judging by Saul's arrested expression and glinting  eyes, he was nowhere near as shocked by them as she was herself. Quite  the contrary.

'One day, not very far from now, I'm going to remind you of those words,' he promised her, releasing her to unlock the car door.

They were more than halfway back before the heated excitement had faded  from her blood. She wanted him quite desperately, she recognised, to the  extent that if he took her home with him now, she would willingly go  with him.

The Dower House was reached all too quickly. Neither of them had spoken  since getting in the car, but words had been completely unnecessary. As  Saul brought the car to a halt, Lucy hesitated.

'Do I get invited in for a nightcap?'

Her eyes flew to his face. Had he guessed how reluctant she was for the  evening to end? As she met the look he turned on her face she knew that  he had.

There was something subtly exciting about knowing that beneath the  surface conventionality of the trite remark ran a deep and dangerously  powerful current of desire, something exhilarating and faintly wicked in  playing this game, to respond casually to his teasing comment and  invite him in, as though almost bored by his suggestion.

The house was in darkness and as he followed her into the hall while she  fumbled for the light switch she was intensely aware of him standing  behind her. Her fingers reached for the switch, her mind tormenting her  with vivid mental images of Saul reaching out towards her, turning her,  enfolding her in his arms.

'Having trouble?'

The calm casualness of his question was shatteringly down to earth. As  his hand reached unnerringly for the switch, by-passing hers to do so,  she wondered if she was suffering from some sort of self-delusion. There  was nothing remotely lover-like in his voice now, or in the way he was  looking at her.                       
       
           



       

At least there hadn't been. She tried to swallow as she saw the look in his eyes and found that she couldn't.

'Lucy … '

Her name was a tormented cry of wanting breathed against her lips, his  mouth smothering any verbal response she might have made. One of them  was shaking violently-or was it both of them?-the hot urgency of their  kiss overwhelmingly intimate. It got harder and harder for her to  breathe, but to tear her mouth from Saul's was to die. Her body leaned  on the strength of his, warmed and supported by it, frustrated by the  barrier of their clothes. His mouth released hers, his tongue tip  touching her full lips.

'Coming inside with you was an idiotic idea,' Saul whispered against her mouth. 'I should have known what would happen.'

His words made her go cold with rejection.

'You were the one who … '

'I know …  I know … ' The softness of his voice soothed her defensive  protest. 'I want you like hell, Lucy,' he told her rawly, 'And I know  damn well that when I leave here I'll spend the rest of the night lying  awake wishing you were with me, but we've got to take it slowly before  we become completely blinded by physical desire. I want to know you as a  person as well as a woman. Does that make any sense to you?'

It made beautiful sense, humbling and disconcerting her, making her throat close up on a wave of emotional vulnerability.

'I want more from you than sex,' he added huskily, 'Much, much more.'

He leaned forward, his mouth gently brushing first her eyes and then her  mouth, and then he released her. Her eyes opened reluctantly.

'Now, how about that nightcap, and while we're drinking it we can  reminisce about old times, and then, when I have drunk the cup of coffee  you're going to make me, I shall get up and say good night and go home  to my lonely bed!'

And that's the way it was. And later on, sleepless and too wound up  emotionally and physically to care, Lucy was torn between the happiness  of knowing that Saul wanted more for them than a relationship based only  on sex, and an aching disappointment that his self-control was so  resolute-far more resolute than her own, she acknowledged, feeling the  heat beat up through her body once more as she re-lived his good-night  kiss.

There had been a moment then when she had sensed that it would take very  little to push him over the edge, to incite him to abandon caution.

His hand had touched her breast, unerringly finding its taut peak, and  she had sighed her pleasure against his mouth, feeling in the fierce  clench of his muscles and the slow, reluctant way he drew away from her,  how difficult it was for him.

If she had refused to let him go they would have been lovers by now, but  Saul was right; their relationship, their feelings and trust of one  another were too new for them to plunge into the heady waters of passion  together yet. Tonight they would be alone again.

She fell asleep on that thought, clutching it to her while her features curved into an expression of anticipatory bliss.

∗ ∗ ∗

Following her discussions with her editor, Lucy had decided to make use  of her unexpected day of freedom from looking after the children working  on her second novel.

After a skimpy breakfast of coffee and toast, all she could manage in  her present highly emotional state, she collected her notebooks and  portable typewriter and made her way to the main house.

Mrs Isaacs greeted her cheerfully as she went in the back way. 'Mr Saul  told me to expect you,' she announced. 'Said you would be working in the  library, but that I was to make sure I dragged you away for some lunch.  He's had to go out himself, but he said to tell you he'd be back at  twelve.'

Saul seemed to be doing a fair amount of 'going out' at the moment. On  business connected with the house perhaps? As yet they had not talked  about the Manor and Saul's plans for it-they had been far too busy  talking about more important things. He would have to sell it, of  course, and finding a buyer might be difficult. The thought of the house  going out of the family did cause her a faint pang, but it was only  faint. Houses as large and old as this one was were too much of a burden  for anyone less than a multi-millionaire to own and run. However, no  doubt Saul would be anxious to settle his affairs and get back home to  his job.