She was so amazed at his interpretation, she didn’t reply at all. At nineteen, and working as an au pair with a delightful couple in the South of France, she’d reacted the way most teenage girls would have on meeting the famous brother of her host. Raoul Fauré had been a Formula One driver as renowned for trophy girlfriends as he was for his racing trophies. His reckless skill on the circuit had brought him adulation from the public and envy from his peers.
She’d have been happy to worship from afar, but he hadn’t kept his distance; he’d told her she was the most beautiful girl in the world and she’d believed him. His declaration of love had been the fulfilment of all her adolescent fantasies—what followed had been inevitable.
The next week he’d come back to the villa, only this time he’d had a lovely young actress on his arm and in his bed. He’d treated her with the same avuncular affection as his brother; it was as if he genuinely didn’t remember. It was only later that she understood. At the time she’d been bewildered and miserable; her youthful idealism had suffered a death-blow. She’d developed a convenient dose of terminal homesickness about then and the Faurés had been sorry to see her go, but understanding. Happily for them, they were nice people; they hadn’t suspected anything.
‘Chastity has a lot going for it. Sex just isn’t important to me.’
‘Is that a fact?’ he said, not bothering to hide his scepticism.
‘I just said so, didn’t I?’
She realised about two seconds too late how easily her vaguely belligerent stance could have been interpreted as a challenge. It was one Benedict seemed very ready to accept. His mouth was hot and urgent—almost angry as it covered her own. The taste of him detonated an equally violent response within her; it ripped away all the elaborate barriers she’d constructed.
Her body arched as his strong arms lifted her upwards until her toes were the only things still in contact with the ground. His hard thighs ground rhythmically against her softer, more fragile frame. There was salty moisture on her skin as his dark head moved to touch, taste and torment her. Her fingers clenched tight in the dense thickness of his hair and a startled cry escaped the confines of her tight throat as her back suddenly collided with the wall.
He lifted his head at the sound. For a moment they were eye to eye and she saw the blaze of savage triumph in his dark, passion-glazed eyes. He nipped slowly at her trembling lip, letting his tongue slide into the sweet moistness within.
‘You’re…’ she whispered hoarsely. She could hardly breathe; this sweet ache was smothering her. Hunger, viscous and warm, nibbled away at her restraints.
‘I’m what? What am I, Rachel?’ he persisted. As she turned her face into his shoulder he drew back fractionally; with a finger under her chin he forced her to face him. ‘Tell me.’ His free hand slid up her thigh, pausing momentarily only when his questing fingertips made contact with the edge of her hold-up stockings. She felt the tension that coiled in his muscles hike up a notch and heard his razor-sharp gasp.
His hand settled around the curve of her taut buttock. ‘You’re cruel and very…very beautiful, Ben.’ He was cruel to make her want him like this…make her love… She gasped and suddenly went limp in his arms.
‘This wasn’t meant to happen here,’ he said thickly as he stared down into her face. Her eyelashes flickered against her cheek; she looked barely conscious. But she was alive; the vigorous rise and fall of her breasts were evidence of that.
It wasn’t the only thing that wasn’t meant to happen, she thought in dazed disbelief as his thumb and forefinger moved up her neck before coming to rest on the pointed angle of her firm chin. His right arm was taking almost all her weight.
‘Nothing’s going to happen,’ she said dazedly as she looked up at him. His taut features made it quite clear he was firmly in the grip of rampant desire. The evidence of this was pressed against the cradle of her hips. Trying to twist free only increased the intimate pressure. The heavy, dragging sensation had pooled low and deep in her abdomen; it was treacherously sweet.
‘I’ve heard of denial but this is ridiculous.’
She felt the deep shudder through his body and the shivery, hot sensations in the pit of her belly responded with mindless pleasure to this evidence of his own lack of control. The dark excitement didn’t respond to her wishes—at least not the wishes she consciously acknowledged.
She could see the dark pupil had swallowed up the colour of his iris completely. There was a faint sheen over his finely textured olive skin. Without thinking she reached out and ran a finger down his lean cheek. The light shadow on his skin had a fascinatingly abrasive quality. She pressed her damp finger to her lips and shivered as she tasted the faintly salty moisture.