Out Of The Night

She intended to keep on her sweatshirt until the last possible moment, all too conscious that her bra was every bit as revealing as her briefs, and so she waited until she was quite sure that all the slithering sounds which she suspected meant that Matt was climbing into the sleeping-bag had finished, before quickly tugging off her sweatshirt and hurriedly diving for the protective cover of the sleeping-bag.

Only Matt wasn’t already in it. Instead, he was waiting grimly beside her. The sight of him—a shadowy, intimidatingly male figure with a bronze torso and a wedge of dark hair that arrowed downwards over a body that was less bulky and muscle-bound than she had envisaged to a pair of mercifully respectable boxer shorts—caught her unprepared. She froze and looked wildly for something to focus on other than his body, while he said frigidly, ‘If you’re quite ready, I think we’d both better get inside the sleeping-bag before either of us loses any more body heat.’

She was already shivering, her legs icy-cold from the knees downwards. Even so, she found herself hesitating, wishing there were some other way. But there wasn’t, and she had no other option but to crawl into the sleeping-bag which he was holding open for her, to find that he had already put the car rug inside—which would account for the rustlings she had heard and which had deceived her into thinking he was already inside it.

There wasn’t much space in the back of the Land Rover, and in order to get inside the sleeping-bag she had to wriggle past him. Her hip brushed against his arm, her skin quivering at the contact with the rough hairiness. Tiny flutters of sensation quivered to life deep in her stomach, an odd physical tension aching there. Shadowy insubstantial thoughts clouded her mind. Sometimes in her dreams she had felt like this, experienced this disturbing ache.

Shivering, she crawled into the sleeping-bag, keeping firmly to one side of it and lying with her back to its centre as she waited for him to join her. He was equally cautious—only there was a lot more of him than there was of her, and the sleeping-bag was not really designed for two people. It was inevitable that, as he slid down inside it, his body should brush hers, but what was surely not equally inevitable was the sensation that that brief contact should cause.

Once, she had desired Gerry, or she had thought she had, but even his most coaxing, skilful caresses had never aroused that sudden wanton spurt of awareness she had just experienced now. It must be her age, she told herself shakily as she lay rigid with shock. Either that or a reaction to Gracie’s engagement…or perhaps her body was simply reacting physically to the intimacy she had sensed between Gracie and Travis.

It was ironic to remember that once she had daydreamed about just such an encounter, just such a stranger coming into her life and stirring her to immediate and reckless need and desire. Then it had seemed an idyllic romantic daydream; a thrilling fantasy of instant mutual awareness and responsiveness. Now that she was actually faced with the reality of experiencing urgent and extremely wanton physical yearning for a man who was a complete stranger, she was terrified by the implications of that desire, unable to understand why she was experiencing it.

It was just proximity, she told herself frantically…just a dangerous trick that her body was playing on her; but, as she felt the warmth of Matt’s body reach out to engulf her, she held herself rigid with tension, genuinely appalled by the reactions of her own body, terrified of going to sleep in case in doing so she somehow or other betrayed what she was experiencing.

Matt didn’t need his already low opinion of her sex reinforced by having to wake her up and point out to her that he did not find her sexually desirable. She could just imagine his reaction, were she in her sleep to give in to the lustful impulses that were filling her with such extraordinary and unfamiliar sensations.

She, who had never once in her life felt the slightest desire to make sexual advances to a man, and yet who was now unbelievably struggling not to give in to the mental temptation of allowing herself to imagine how it would feel to run her fingers over that dark wedge of body hair, to press her lips to that strong male throat…to…

‘For God’s sake, relax. I’m not going to touch you.’

The harsh command made her jump guiltily. No, he wasn’t going to touch her, but she—she dared not make any response to him. It was safer to pretend that she was already asleep.

On his side of the sleeping-bag, Matt groaned and told himself that the discomfort in his body was caused by the fact that he hardly dared to breathe, never mind move. He could almost feel the tension emanating from the slim feminine body lying so close to his own.

What in hell’s name did she think he was going to do? Did she really think he had so little control, so little respect for her as a fellow human being? But then, perhaps she had after all been aware of that far too lingering attention he had given the sight of her half-naked body. He closed his eyes and then opened them again as he was tormented by a mental image of his hands reaching out to close on the warm curves of her hips, to draw her back against his own body and turn her round and…

What the devil was the matter with him? Here he was, indulging in the most erotic kind of mental fantasies over a woman he knew absolutely nothing about, who probably already had a whole string of lovers, and who had made it more than plain that she had absolutely no desire to include him in their number.

No. Honesty compelled him to admit that his own extraordinary responsiveness to her had in no way been caused by any overt or covert sensual invitation on her part.

He only prayed that he did not turn over in his sleep and put his erotic fantasies into action. If he did, he had no doubt at all that his sleeping partner would be very caustic and acerbic in her denunciation of him—and quite rightly so.

Half an hour later, still wide awake and no closer to subduing his unruly body, Matt knew what he was going to have to do.

Emily felt him move beside her and tensed as she realised he was getting out of the sleeping-bag. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked him woodenly. Had she somehow or other communicated her feelings to him? She had been so careful not to touch him…not to allow her flesh to even brush against his, and yet humiliatingly it seemed he must be aware of what she was feeling.

‘It just occurred to me that perhaps I ought to try and stay awake,’ he lied. ‘Someone might be trying to get through with the snow plough.’

Emily knew that he was lying. There was no way that they would attempt to clear the road until daylight. Outside the temperature was still dropping, and it was still snowing. She sat up, too emotionally disturbed for caution as she said shakily, ‘You’re lying. You know no one is going to attempt to clear this road tonight, and so do I.’

There was a small silence, and then he agreed almost curtly, ‘All right, so I’m lying. If you must have the truth, dammit, you might as well have it—but I warn you, you won’t like it. If I stay in here with you one more minute, I doubt that I’ll be able to keep my hands off you.’

It was said so abruptly, so reluctantly, and with so much self-dislike that it was several seconds before what he was saying actually sank in. When it did, Emily felt her skin flush with brilliant colour, her voice as dazed as her brain as she whispered huskily, ‘You can’t mean that.’

‘Perhaps I shouldn’t mean it, but I’m afraid it’s the truth. I want you in my arms, under my body—in the most intimate way it is possible for a man to want a woman,’ he underlined almost savagely. ‘And believe me, you can’t be any more contemptuous of me than I am of myself. I assure you, I’m not—’

He broke off, leaving Emily to wonder what he had been about to say. He wasn’t going to pretend he loved her…how could he? He wasn’t going to apologise for wanting her? He wasn’t going to actually put his physical desire into actions? Why not, when every sense she possessed was telling her how much she wanted that same intimacy with him which he had just described so brusquely. Wanted it…ached for it…yearned for it…She took one shaky breath and then another. This had to stop, and right now.

She opened her mouth to tell him so and instead, shockingly, incredibly, heard herself asking breathlessly, pleadingly almost, ‘Do you really want to make love to me?’ What was she saying? Where was she going? What was she doing, embarking down a road which could only go one way?

It seemed a long time before she heard his bleak, clipped, ‘Yes…why?’

She took a deep breath, not allowing herself to think about what she was doing, holding fast to a deeper, more primitive instinct, like someone clutching a lifeline in heavy seas.

‘I…I feel the same way.’ When he was silent, she added, ‘I want to make love with you.’

It was said…the need voiced. She had opened herself to him to accept—or reject—whichever he chose, and she could not begin to understand why she had done so. Only that she had responded to something within him that had struck an answering chord within her.

As she waited she said hesitantly, ‘I can’t pretend to understand why. I know I’ve probably shocked you. If you’d prefer not to…’

Opposite her, Matt tried to probe what lay behind the cool, well-mannered words—if she was simply playing a joke on him, trying to make a fool of him, or if she actually meant it. He tried to tell himself that there was no way he could feel this urgent, clamouring desire for a woman about whom he knew nothing at all other than that he wanted her, but his body refused to listen to such logic. His body was reinforcing what he already knew—his body…

Emily heard him mutter something under his breath and tensed, waiting for his rejection, her back held rigidly towards him.

And then, unbelievably, she felt his hands on her shoulders turning her towards him, his voice low and ragged as he said rawly, ‘We shouldn’t be doing this, you know…’ He held her roughly as though pleading with her to deny him.

‘No…I know…’ Emily responded breathlessly, knowing even as she spoke that there was no power on earth that could stop this extraordinary mutual need that was driving them both.

And most extraordinary of all, she marvelled dizzily as she felt his arms close around her and draw her down against him, was the feeling she had of being so safe with him…so free to express herself and her desires, so free from restraint and shyness, so in tune with him that it was as though she had known him all her life, rather than a space of time that could be counted in minutes and hours instead of days and years.

‘If you should change your mind…’ The words whispered against her lips, tantalising their soft flesh.

Here was her chance to hold back, to let caution and common sense hold sway, to withdraw from this madness which seemed to have possessed her—but ignoring it, rejecting the opportunity he was giving her, she heard herself saying almost fiercely, ‘No…no. I don’t want to change my mind…’

CHAPTER THREE

‘YOU’RE sure you want this…Me?’

The words thrilled against her skin, raising a rash of gooseflesh, making her quiver and then tense as she felt Matt’s lips tracing the shape of her mouth, exploring it, cherishing it so that her tension died in a flood of wonder and pleasure.

Why had she never known that it was possible to feel like this; that the delicate, almost hesitant touch of another mouth against her own could arouse her to such dizzying pleasure and need? It was as though this sensual exploratory meeting of their lips was something she had dreamed of—yearned for for an aeon of time, rather than knowing she wanted it only seconds before she experienced it.

Against Matt’s mouth she whispered back, ‘I want you,’ and another thrill of anticipation ran through her as she felt the answering tension in Matt’s body.

An unfamiliar heady eagerness to reach out to him and show him, with the touch of her hands and her lips, just what delight it gave her to have him near her overwhelmed her. She, who had never once initiated an embrace with any man—not even Gerry—had suddenly turned into a woman she could hardly recognise.

How had she known that the delicate touch of her fingertips against his skin would make Matt tense and groan against her mouth, tightening his hold on her, drawing her down against him so that her body was enveloped in the heat and maleness of his?

His hands cradled her head, his fingers sliding into her hair as his mouth explored the delicate contours of her face. His warm breath against her ear made her tremble and shiver beneath a shower of fiery darts of excitement. Sensations she had never known existed coiled through her stomach and swelled the soft curves of her breasts, inciting her to move with instinctive enticement against Matt’s body, as her wanton flesh silently begged him to free it from the final barriers left between them.

She wanted to feel him against her, she recognised. She wanted to feel the hard heat of his skin against her own, to experience the touch of his hands and mouth against her body, and to explore the alien contours of his with hers. Her needs suspended reality and her ability to rationalise, her mind reeling under the shock of the dominating demands of her body.

As Matt’s hand swept back her hair to lay bare her throat to the hungry assault of his mouth, she arched eagerly towards him, not in humble supplication, but in proud demand, knowing by some primitive instinct that, whatever the differences between them, in this their need for one another they met as equals.

The heat of his breath against her skin, the hard pressure of his mouth, the sharp bite of his teeth, the rough stroke of his hands on her skin, all of them were so perfectly attuned to her own needs that to experience them fed her desire at the same time as they momentarily satisfied it.

An instinct she hadn’t known she possessed told her when to draw her own mouth against his flesh, when to stroke it tenderly with her tongue and when to graze it more ardently with the subtle pressure of her teeth.

Their surroundings, the storm which had brought them together, the fact that they were strangers to one another—all these had faded into insignificance. All that was important was that Matt had at last removed the last barriers of their underwear, and that his hands were cupping and shaping her breasts. That his thumbs were stroking eagerly, wonderingly almost, against the sensitive hardness of her nipples as though he knew exactly the intensity of her need to have him touch her just like that; as though he knew that even another second’s delay in doing so would have stretched out the taut hot wire of desire that compelled her that little bit too far.

And, when he lowered his head and took one tender, flaunting nub of flesh into his mouth, caressing it gently with his lips and then his tongue, raking it less gently with his teeth and then finally sucking so erotically and rhythmically on it that her whole body turned fluid and pulsed in a shockingly arousing harmony with it, it was as though she had waited for this moment, this pleasure…this man, for an infinity of time.

What she was experiencing went far beyond right or wrong, far, far beyond worrying about doing the right thing…about defending herself from hurt and pain. This need they were sharing was so elemental, so fierce, so overpowering that it cut across every layer of civilisation, laying bare the deepest essences of their humanity.

The Emily she had always known, had always been, would rather have died a thousand deaths than cry out in a pleasure that was almost pain at the sheer impossibility of containing what she was feeling—what he was making her feel. The Emily she had thought of herself as being could never have imagined herself wanting to share with any man her joy in the pleasure he was giving her—wanting to tell him, to show him, to give to him in equal measure all that he was so generously giving to her. The Emily she had thought she was would never have eagerly and openly murmured her need when Matt turned his head to caress her other breast as he had done its twin.

‘Francine…I can’t believe this is happening. You’re…’

Emily tensed. Francine. She had forgotten about that. Would he have wanted her the same if she had told him she was Emily? A rose by any other name…

Francine. Perhaps it was being Francine that gave her the freedom to behave in a way that Emily could never have behaved.

Matt’s mouth touched her stomach, sending tiny pulses of electric sensation coiling through her, making tiny nerve-endings beneath her skin beat frantically in excitement. His hand stroked her hip; soon…

‘No. Not yet,’ she told him huskily. ‘I want to…’ She stopped, realising that she had almost said ‘I want to love you.’ What words did you use to tell a man that you wanted to explore and enjoy the sensation of his flesh beneath your hands and mouth the way he had done yours? That you wanted to give him the same pleasure he had given you; that you wanted to share with him your joy in the fact that he was a man?

If they existed she had no idea what they were, and so, while he hesitated, she simply asked softly, ‘Can I do this?’ and then placed her mouth against his body, tentatively tracing the aureole of his nipple, so different from hers—and yet, perhaps in some ways not so very different after all, she decided as she felt him shudder and move restlessly against her, his hands gripping her waist and then stroking up over her body before he buried them in her hair, silently urging her to repeat the caress, and then not so silently as she fulfilled his silent command and experienced the satisfaction of feeling his body shudder in immediate response to her touch.

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