Claiming His Shock Heir Read online

  ‘Umm. He might have convinced himself and you that that is his motivation, but it doesn’t convince me. Give him a chance, Philippa, please,’ she begged huskily. ‘That’s all I’m asking from you. Just lower your barriers enough to give him an opportunity to lower his own.’

  Let down her barriers. If she did that she was openly inviting trouble, Philippa told herself and yet as she prepared for their dinner date she found herself unable to repress the tiny quivers of excitement rushing through her veins. She hadn’t felt like this since.… Since the summer she and Scott fell in love. Familiar appetite-suppressing nerve tremors seized her stomach, her heart thumping so heavily she could almost believe she could hear it. The pink dress swirled seductively round her body, her eyes shining with an excitement she was finding it difficult to conceal. What on earth was the matter with her? Surely she was far too sensible to believe as Eve did that all that was needed for Scott and herself to live happily ever after was the right Opportunity—the sort of opportunity Eve believed she had created by forcing this dinner date on them?

  She was ready ahead of time and deliberately forced herself to wait in her bedroom until her watch showed seven-thirty.

  Scott was waiting for her downstairs looking rather aloof and unbelievably handsome in his evening clothes. He didn’t say a word as he led her to the Ferrari, courteously opening her door for her, his only words as he slid in beside her his cool, ‘I see you wore the dress.’

  ‘It’s the only suitable one I have.’

  She just caught the faint gleam in his eyes as he put the car in gear and then they were drawing away from the house, encased in a heavy silence that frayed her nerve endings and left her bereft of the ability to make the normal social chit-chat.

  Scott took her to a restaurant in York itself, parking the car outside and then taking her arm as he pushed open the door. The decor was elegantly plain but Philippa caught her breath as she saw the tables, their pink and white colour scheme complimenting her dress, stifling the sudden shaft of disappointment that speared her as she wondered if this was why Scott had suggested she wear it. What had she expected? That he had made the request because he had liked her in it?

  Surprisingly, once they were sitting down Philippa found herself relaxing a little and it was only when they had finished their first course that she realised that Scott had been deliberately drawing her out, encouraging her to talk, subtly steering the conversation so that it never flagged, stimulating all her appetites, she recognised, shivering a little as she saw the danger of allowing herself to succumb to the lure of encouraging the smile curving his mouth to deepen as she described some of Sir Nigel’s more outrageous exploits. Just for a moment she had forgotten all that lay between them and instead had given in to the heady pleasure of stretching her intellect to match his, remembering how it had once been between them, and how their conversation had ranged to cover every conceivable topic, their views sometimes clashing, sometimes matching, and all the time steadily building inside her was a hunger and a need that couldn’t be satisfied simply with hearing him talk and seeing him smile. She wanted it all, she acknowledged numbly; she wanted his companionship; his conversation; the compatability they had once known both physically and mentally. She wanted his love.

  ‘Something wrong?’

  She stared at him, not realising she had replaced her wine glass after barely touching it to her lips.

  ‘No.… No… nothing’s wrong.’

  ‘So, what will you do when you leave Garston?’

  Pain seared her, scorching her skin like a living flame.

  ‘I… I don’t know.…’ Quickly she lowered her eyelids, not wanting him to see the weakness she knew she was on the edge of betraying. Was it only days ago that she had yearned to escape from him? And yet now here she was wanting with equal if not greater fervour for him to demand that she stay.

  It was late when they left the restaurant. Scott had barely touched his wine, but Philippa had finished hers. That was probably the reason she felt so muzzy, she admitted as she fastened her seat belt. She wasn’t used to drinking so much, but she had to admit it had a numbing, indeed almost a pleasurably anaesthetising effect upon her senses, deadening the pain which had been with her all evening.

  ‘We’re back.’

  Scott’s voice jolted her into awareness, and she flushed darkly lifting her head from his shoulder. She remembered an overwhelming urge to close her eyes, but it was galling to think that in giving in to it she had turned to Scott.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she apologised as she struggled to sit up. She saw him shrug as he reached across her to open her door. The male scent of him reached out to envelop her making her shiver with reaction. ‘Yes, you seem to be making a habit of it, don’t you? I’ll walk you up to your room. Just to make sure you don’t fall asleep again on the way.’

  The house was in darkness, completely silent, and she blinked when Scott reached for a switch illuminating the hall. ‘Come on.’ His fingers curled round her arm as he led her to the stairs. Ignoring the inner voice that warned her that it would be wiser to disengage herself Philippa gave in to enjoying the touch of his hand against her skin, no matter how impersonal it might be. Outside her room he stopped, opening the door. Later Philippa wasn’t sure why she had suddenly felt so faint, or swayed so instinctively towards him. Common sense told her that it was too much wine and too little food, but a deeper less easily brushed aside instinct said something else. Whatever the cause, Scott moved swiftly, supporting her weight as he pushed open the door, and half carried her inside.

  Closing it behind them he studied her in the soft glow of the lamp he switched on.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Philippa murmured weakly. ‘Too much wine I’m afraid. It tends to undermine one’s sense of balance.’

  ‘Along with other things,’ Scott agreed softly. ‘This…’ he touched the soft folds of her dress, ‘is an extremely provocative garment and one I’m no more immune to than any other male. I want you, Philippa,’ he whispered huskily, ‘and I’m not even going to ask myself whether my desire stems from seeing you in this, or consuming little more than half a glass of wine. Tonight I’m not going to give myself any excuses. I want you.…’

  ‘I want you too.’ The words sounded thick and unfamiliar on her tongue, and for a second she couldn’t believe she had said them. Scott seemed unable to believe it too. He simply stood and stared at her, and suddenly it became imperative that she make at least some attempt to wipe out the past, to show him, if she couldn’t tell him that he was the only lover she would ever want and ever had wanted. She moved slightly towards him, watching the small muscle pulsing in his jaw.

  ‘Philippa!’ Her name sounded harsh, almost desperate as his arms locked round her. She could feel the fierce thudding of his heart matching the impulsive rhythm of her own, and all the promises she had made to herself were forgotten as she lifted her face to meet his kiss.

  There was hunger and need, and yes, anger too, in the harsh pressure of his mouth on hers, but there was also, elusively and willpower-under-mindingly, a bitter sweet trace of the lover she had once known, and it seduced her away from all her intentions of withdrawing from him; of telling him that she wanted him to leave.

  ‘Philippa. There’ve been so many times when I’ve wanted you like this.’

  If she hadn’t known better she could have sworn that it was anguish that thickened his voice, slurring the words until they were a sensual purr against her skin, but it wasn’t her love that Scott wanted, and yet even knowing that it was impossible for her to reject him. Something more powerful than common sense and pride stirred inside her, some blind overwhelming emotion that was a combination of love, and regret, mixed with a helpless compassion for the agony he must have endured believing that she hadn’t loved him.

  Her hands touched his hair, caressing the nape of his neck, the physical sensation of his skin beneath her fingers so unexpectedly arousing that what was left of her resistance seem
ed to evaporate in the heat of her need.

  ‘The look and the scent of you has been driving me mad all evening,’ Scott muttered rawly against her ear, his teeth nipping gently at her lobe, ‘and as for that dress. How on earth was I supposed to concentrate on what was on my plate when all I wanted to taste was you?’ he demanded thickly, one hand entwining in her hair while the other unerringly found the rounded shape of her breast, caressing it until it seemed to Philippa that the heat he generated in her body would burn through the flimsy fabric, so great was her need to feel the warmth of his skin against hers. His thumb gently probing the aroused outline of her nipple through the soft chiffon, Scott muttered thickly, ‘Do you remember that first time, Philippa? How I undressed you? This time I want you to undress for me.’

  He looked down into her eyes when she tensed, and Philippa wondered if he could sense the conflict in her. More than anything else in the world she wanted to do what he asked, to tease and tantalise him with her body, but to play that game she needed the security and reassurance of knowing she was loved; only that would give her the self-confidence to do what he asked.

  ‘I can’t.’ The admission trembled from her lips.

  For a moment he seemed to hesitate and she half expected him to thrust her away and leave, but just as she thought he would he said softly, ‘Then I’ll just have to do it for you, won’t I?’

  The soft whisper of his voice against the vulnerable curve of her throat aroused tiny shivers of response, her whole body trembling as he undid the satin bow securing her dress with slow, sure fingers. It slid from her shoulders in a soft sighing movement that left her exposed and vulnerable, her involuntarily protective crossing of her arms over her breasts provoking a brief smile and a rapid darkening of his eyes.

  ‘If I didn’t know better I could almost pretend that you’re still as shy now as you were then.’ His fingers curled round her wrists tugging gently until she was forced to uncross her arms, her breasts rising and falling rapidly as she strived to control her unsteady heartbeats.

  ‘Philippa, I want you so much.’ The words seemed to be torn from his throat, her wrists released as he ran his hands almost fiercely over her body, touching her as though he had lost the benefit of his sight and was totally dependent on the pads of his fingertips to relay the shape and texture of her to himself.

  At his touch Philippa felt something quiver and snap inside her, breaking the seals she had placed on her own sexuality. This was Scott, her lover; the man she had hungered for unceasingly while they had been apart; the man she loved with a depth that left her frightened and vulnerable. She murmured his name dazedly as his hands slid down over her back, pushing past the brief barrier of her panties, biting into the soft flesh of her bottom, compelling her against the hardness of his thighs, leaving her in no doubt as to his arousal.

  Her body responded instinctively to the knowledge that he wanted her, her hips rotating rhythmically against him, her hands sliding inside his jacket to the fierce heat of his body, while the love she had tried to deny welled up inside her and drowned out the cerebral warnings which had tried to destroy it.

  ‘Dear God, Philippa, have you any idea what you’re doing to me?’ The thick slurred words reached her from a distance. ‘I want you against me—like this.’ Scott groaned, wrenching open his shirt, careless of the damage to buttons and fabric as he pulled her back into his arms, crushing the softness of her breasts against the moist warmth of his chest.

  The touch of him against her, the rough abrasion of his chest with its covering of fine dark hair stimulated the aching peaks of her breasts, making her writhe instinctively against him, prolonging and increasing the erotic pressure, mindless with the pleasure of it as she arched her throat to welcome the heat of his mouth against her skin.

  ‘Don’t do that.’ Scott’s thick mutter punctuated her delirium as he lifted his mouth from her throat. He watched her shiver, dreading his rejection, and then as though in answer to the question she hadn’t voiced, he said softly, ‘Because it makes me want to do this.’

  ‘This’ was the heated warmth of his mouth taking the tender taut peak of her breast, and teasing it until she cried out with pleasure, abandoning herself completely to his hands and lips, reaching for him totally unable to stop herself from touching him with a compulsive need which surely must have betrayed her love for him, if he hadn’t been equally blind, deaf and dumb to everything but the searing need she could feel pulsing through his body.

  There was no thought of protest in her mind when he carried her over to her bed, and kneeling beside her removed her briefs, his mouth skimming lightly across her stomach and then her thighs, his hands shaping, touching, smoothing, until she was completely lost in her desire for him.

  His kisses burnt her skin, her own lips hot and dry where she pressed them against his sweat damp flesh, feeling the shudders that convulsed him. Obsessed by the taste and touch of him, the barrier of the clothes he was still wearing registered only as an unwanted bar to the pleasure she was taking in touching and tasting him. Again as though he read her mind Scott helped her to remove them, muttering thick, unsteady encouragements, interspersed with brief kisses, barely able to hide the shudder of pleasure tormenting his muscles when he was finally free of his clothes, urging her to touch with her hands and lips the vibrant maleness of his body, and crying out with pleasure when she did so.

  It had never been like this before. Philippa felt she had strayed into new, uncharted territory. Both of them seemed to be enveloped in the same fierce compulsion; a feverish need which each fed in the other; a hunger that went beyond words. She knew what had prompted her own; her love, and she refused to allow herself to think about what had prompted Scott’s. A hope she had refused to acknowledge before burst into life inside her. Perhaps this was the way, with her body and her touch, that she could show him the truth, reveal to him her love.

  His mouth burned against her throat, making her shiver with heated pleasure, her palms sliding down over his back, her tongue finding and striking the flat male nipples surrounded by the soft darkness of his body hair, her already aroused senses leaping in immediate response to his body’s unprotected and open reaction as he gasped something unintelligible which could have been either a protest or a hoarse sound of pleasure.

  ‘Philippa.’

  If she hadn’t known better that raw groan of need could easily have been interpreted as coming from the throat of a man deeply and almost obsessively in love. Behind their fringe of black lashes his eyes glittered dark and unfathomable, only the restless urgency of his body betraying that he was as little in control as she was herself.

  His hand touched her intimately and she yielded to his caress not trying to conceal from him how eagerly she awaited his possession.

  ‘You’re so beautiful—even more so than I remembered you. I’ve dreamed of doing this.’ His tongue stroked her nipples tormentingly until her body arched and her fingers tangled in his hair in her efforts to prolong the teasing contact, but Scott was impervious to her mute plea, his mouth moving delicately down over her body until her blood ran liquid fire in her veins and she could do nothing but respond blindly to its incitement, ‘and this.…’ His fingers stroked delicate patterns on her inner thigh and then moved upwards drawing from her a reaction which she thought superceded everything she had experienced before until she felt the touch of his mouth against her so intimately that she tensed with the shock of it until she realised that he didn’t intend to stop and the ripples of pleasure she had felt before became a full-grown mill race.

  ‘Scott, please.…’

  He seemed to recognise her plea for what it was; to know how much she ached for his possession; the completeness of the maleness of him, but her own mind seemed to have lost the ability to think rationally because when the first fierce thrust of his body carried her with him upwards through the star-studded firmament around them, when his mouth captured hers it seemed to Philippa that there was tenderness; almost reverence
in its touch, and that surely could not be possible?

  The world shattered into a thousand shards of pleasure, her body so langorously replete, her eyes closing as she nestled into Scott’s arms and let herself drift into sleep.

  * * *

  When Philippa first opened her eyes, her first feeling was one of drowsy pleasure. Scott lay fast asleep beside her, his dark hair tousled, in sleep his face as relaxed as Simon’s, all the harsh lines washed away. Last night when they had made love she had almost been able to persuade herself that.… That he loved her? She shook her head over her own folly. Last night had been the result of an aberration Scott would no doubt regret the moment he opened his eyes and found her beside him.

  Suddenly she knew that she couldn’t endure watching his eyes open and fill with the cold anger she had come to recognise, rejection tensing his body as he turned away from her. Last night she had come vulnerably close to telling how much she still loved him; how much she would always love him, she acknowledged mentally. She had to leave now before Scott woke; before cold reality could spoil her memories of the previous evening. Moving swiftly but quietly she slid out of bed, not giving into an almost irresistible urge to turn her head and look at the sleeping man. This would be the last time she saw him, this would be her last chance to watch him unobserved. Last night he had seemed almost tender. Perhaps she was wrong to go, perhaps.…

  Perhaps nothing, she told herself sternly. He had spoken no words of love or regret to her; and that tenderness she had experienced so fleetingly probably owed more to her own imagination than any real emotion on Scott’s part.

  She dressed quickly, taking care not to disturb the sleeping man. She must go and wake Simon and warn him that they were leaving. Simon.… She bit her lip. How would her son react when she told him they were going? She slipped quietly out of her room and padded along the landing to the stairs.

  ‘Philippa.’

  The sleep-drugged, warm male voice stopped her abruptly, forcing her to turn even though she didn’t want to.