Hired by the Playboy Page 14

  Every time she closed her eyes, the luxury of her cabin faded away and she was tortured by mental images of Samantha with Luke, of their bodies entwined, of Luke caressing her skin.

  Sweat was pouring off her own body, but she felt too weak to get up and take a shower.

  Muddled, confused images from the past mingled with those from the present.

  Gemma slept fitfully, constantly being woken either by rigours of icy cold shivering, or dreadful hot sweats. Occasionally she was aware of someone else in the cabin, touching her fevered skin, proffering cool drinks, talking to her and soothing her, but she pushed them away, knowing instinctively that the competent hands did not belong to the one she wanted.

  It was dark when she was woken by the low murmur of voices beside her bed. Her eyelids were far too heavy for her to lift, but she could hear the whispered conversation.

  ‘It’s heatstroke all right, and she’s had a bad bout of it.’

  ‘I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed.’

  That was Luke’s voice. Gemma wanted to call out to him, but she simply didn’t have the strength.

  ‘I know that, sir, but she kept calling out for you.’ The captain … The captain had heard her calling out for Luke. She could feel the embarrassed colour stinging her skin.

  ‘Her temperature’s come down now, and she’s through the worst of it.’

  ‘But you still disturbed me, despite my orders to the contrary. Why was that, I wonder, Captain?’

  Gemma wondered as well, but she wasn’t privileged to see the look that passed between the captain and Luke. The captain had a vast experience of human nature, and Luke O’Rourke was a man he admired more than anyone else he had ever worked for, but like all men he was only human.

  ‘You’re wrong, Captain,’ Gemma heard him saying savagely after a long gap. ‘The weakness is mine, not hers, and my absence … my absence was born of the purest of all man’s emotions.’

  Gemma was too exhausted to puzzle out what Luke meant by those cryptic words. All she really cared about was the fact that he was here at her side.

  She reached out her hand, and managed to croak his name.

  ‘Yes, I’m here, Gemma. Now try to go to sleep. You’re all right … now.’

  Yes she was, because now Luke was here. She closed her eyes and slid into sleep.

  When she opened them again it was still dark. She felt remarkably clear-headed, and grimaced wryly as she glanced at her watch and saw that it was only half past two in the morning.

  As she lay awake she heard the watch changing duty but for once the rhythmic roll of the yacht failed to lull her into sleep.

  She wanted to be with Luke, she acknowledged. She wanted to be held in his arms, to be close to him in every way there was. She wanted him, she admitted, and that wanting got worse by the moment.

  The captain, or whoever else had tended her when she was ill, had put her to bed in her underwear, she suddenly realised. Her skin felt gritty and uncomfortable, the nagging ache of desire deep down in her body refusing to go away.

  Restlessly she got up and paced her cabin. She needed a shower, or perhaps even better a warm bath. That might help relax her.

  Only it didn’t. As she soaped her skin she was aware of her body in a way she had never been before, and as she dried herself on one of the huge fluffy towels, she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like if Luke was touching her … caressing her.

  She dropped the towel and stood motionless. There was only one way to find out. Her heart was beating very, very fast, but outwardly she looked totally composed and in control.

  Somewhere she had a thick towelling robe. Where was it? She found it eventually and pulled it on. If any of the crew should see her … They would have to draw their own conclusions, she told herself hardily; after all, she was a woman, not a child.

  She knew where Luke’s suite was, of course, and as she hurried silently towards it, she sent up a little prayer that he had not returned to the site.

  The handle turned easily, the door swinging noiselessly inwards as she hurried into the sitting-room as silently as a pale moth.

  Everything was in darkness, but there was enough light for her to see where she was going from the moonlight outside.

  She had reached the door to Luke’s bedroom. She paused outside it, her heart hammering.

  The door opened inwards. She held her breath as she stepped inside and saw the figure lying on the bed. Luke was here. He moved and she froze, but he was still asleep, one arm flung out across the bed, the brown tanned length of his back exposed where the bedclothes had slid away.

  Her heart was thumping so loudly that Gemma felt sure it must wake him. She closed the door gently and made her way round to the far side of the bed. Luke slept facing not the door, but the porthole, and a silvery beam of moonlight highlighted the hard angles of his face. Shivering with fear and anticipation, Gemma only just managed to resist tracing the jutting outline of one hard cheekbone where the light slanted across it, knowing that if she touched him he might wake up, and she was still not ready.

  It was too late now for second thoughts, she told herself. She had come here because she wanted Luke to make love to her. If she left now, she would spend the rest of her life regretting her cowardice.

  She took a deep breath, and unfastened the tie of her robe, shrugging it of her shoulders so that it fell at her feet in a pool of white cloth.

  Just for a moment she stood there, trembling violently in a mixture of apprehension and excitement. Tiny goosebumps of flesh studded her skin, the moonlight gilding her flesh palest silver, and then she moved, lifting back the covers.

  Suddenly her control deserted her, and she scrambled into the bed alongside him as awkwardly and as nervously as a small child escaping from its night-time demons.

  His skin was warm, the male scent of him clinging to the air. He moved, opened his eyes, and then tensed as he saw her.

  ‘Gemma?’ There was no uncertainty in his voice, only grim comprehension. ‘What …’

  She touched her fingers to his lips and shook her head, her eyes pleading for the understanding she was still too shy to voice.

  And then, when she had commanded his silence, she touched his face with tender loving fingertips, willing him to understand all that she could not say, fighting to stop herself from drowning in the intensity of her own desire as she felt the hard warmness of his skin against her own.

  ‘Gemma … for God’s sake.’ He moved restlessly, and a thrill of awareness shocked through her as she felt the arousal of his body. He wanted her … he did want her. It was all the encouragement she needed.

  ‘Luke, make love to me. Please make love to me.’ She raised her face to his, her lips trembling against the hard planes of his face, breathing in the scent of his skin, and loving the faint rasp that was the beginning of his beard as he smothered a harsh sound of protest, and found her mouth with his own.

  It was like drowning, dying, and being re-born; it was all the pleasure she had ever imagined existed and then some more. The simple act of fusing her mouth with his brought her such delight that she thought she might die from it.

  Her hands lifted to his shoulders, savouring their warm silk texture, her body straining eagerly against his, her sensitive nipples hardening as they felt the heat and strength of his chest.

  ‘Gemma, for heaven’s sake!’

  ‘I want you.’ She said it fiercely, obliterating his shaken whisper, knowing with an instinct that went beyond mere knowledge that he was fighting against wanting her, that he was going to send her away. Only she wasn’t going to let him.

  She twined her arms round his neck and pressed herself wantonly against him, feeling the shudder of desire tense his body.

  ‘You taught me how to kiss, Luke … now teach me how to make love.’ She whispered the words against his mouth, and felt his reaction to them in the way his body tensed.

  ‘My God, you really know how to turn a man on, don’t you?
I’d have to be a saint to resist an invitation like that. What’s happened, Gemma?’ he demanded broodingly. ‘Why have you changed your mind?’

  She couldn’t answer that question, and so instead she rubbed herself sinuously against him with an abandonment that would make her cringe with embarrassment later, no doubt, but which now brought a harsh cry of pleasure from Luke’s throat, and made her own body tinglingly aware of how delicious just the mere contact of flesh against flesh could be.

  ‘Gemma, we shouldn’t be doing this.’

  ‘Yes, we should.’ Her nails dug tormentingly into his skin as she pressed her mouth against his throat, tasting the salty male flavour of it.

  ‘My God … What the hell are you trying to do to me?’

  ‘Make you want me as much as I want you.’

  He couldn’t stop himself from reacting to her words. She felt the unmistakable surge of his body against hers, and knew with exultation that she had won.

  ‘Oh, Gemma, I’ve dreamed of making love to you so many many times, but never, ever did I dream it would be like this. That you would be the one seducing me.’

  He muttered something else, but the words were lost against her skin as his mouth plundered the tender curve of her throat, sucking and biting on her soft skin until she was shivering with a pleasure that reached right down to her toes.

  Her inexperience, her lack of sexual expertise, were forgotten as she responded blindly to the inflammatory combination of his touch and her desire. Wherever his hand and mouth touched her, her skin burned, her body melting with heat and pleasure.

  His hands found her breasts, cupping their soft roundness, and she moaned with pleasure. His thumbs stroked the tight hardness of her nipples and she smothered the cry of need that rose into her throat by pressing her mouth into his shoulder. It was only when he shuddered against her that Gemma realised that she had bitten him. Her body flushed with shame until she heard him saying hoarsely, ‘Oh, God, Gemma, you want me as much as I want you, don’t you? Don’t you?’ he demanded thickly, rolling her over so that she was lying on her back and he was looking down into the vulnerable oval of her face.

  She didn’t need to say anything; her face and body gave her away.

  ‘I’ve waited so long … so long for this. I’m going to enjoy every second of it. We both are,’ he told her softly, and Gemma was surprised that he couldn’t actually see the frantic kick of her heartbeat as he bent his head and delicately anointed the pointed thrust of one breast with the moist heat of his tongue.

  It was pleasure almost beyond bearing, a wild symphony of delight that transcended mortality and lifted her into the realms of the gods.

  Her body arched in eager supplication, her eyes glazed with desire as they fastened on his.

  ‘You liked that?’ Her expression gave her away. ‘You’re so responsive to my mouth. What will you be like when I taste the secrets of your womanhood, Gemma?’

  She couldn’t stop the shudder of reaction that ran through her, and, as though he knew exactly what she was feeling, Luke bent his head again and deliberately took her nipple into his mouth, caressing it slowly until she felt she was going to go mad with need.

  In the silver moonlight, her body was arched up to him like a pagan offering. She hadn’t even realised that he had thrust back the bedclothes until she felt his hands on her waist and she looked down and saw the naked arch of her torso.

  ‘Perfect … so perfect that you make me ache … Did you know that, Gemma?’

  His hand slid down to caress the thrust of her hip, and lingered darkly against her slim thigh, his thumb slowly probing its soft inner curve, until she shivered feverishly, her body going weak and boneless, melting in the tremendous heat burning inside her.

  ‘Luke …’

  ‘Shush …’ He was leaning over her, looking at her, and wantonly she felt herself respond to that look, aching for him … wanting him …

  ‘Gemma!’

  Her name burst from his throat on a tortured moan of male need. His mouth captured her other nipple, not gently this time, but fiercely, wantingly, sucking and tugging on its swollen hardness until she could hardly bear the waves of sensation beating through her.

  Distantly she was aware of calling out his name, of her feverish response to the sensation of his hand stroking between her thighs as surge after surge of pleasure shocked through her, and she clung desperately to him, unable to do anything other than scatter pleading kisses against his skin and hope that she could somehow ride out the sensual storm battering her.

  ‘You’re so soft … so moist … I want to touch and taste all of you, Gemma. All of you.’

  She heard him moan the plea against her mouth as it parted to admit the thrust of his tongue, but its meaning was lost as his hands skimmed her body, stroking, coaxing, arousing, until she was on fire for him, aching for him to take her and make her completely his.

  When he moved, and she felt the absence of the hard abrasion of his hair-roughened chest against her own, she cried out, reaching for him, her fingers curling into his dark hair as he pushed her back against the bed and slid his hands beneath her hips so that he could lift her and caress the soft, quivering female centre of her with the moist heat of his mouth and tongue, until ripples of pleasure burned through her and her fingers relaxed their shocked grip of his hair and her body writhed in a paroxysm of delight so intense that she didn’t know how she could bear it.

  While her body was still enjoying it, Luke moved, taking her into his arms.

  ‘I wanted that so badly, Gemma. I’ve dreamed of it so often, seeing you abandoned to pleasure in my arms. Feel what you’re doing to me.’

  He moved slowly, entering her with what she knew instinctively was finesse and skill, but even so there was still a brief shock of pain to make her muscles tense, and her eyes dilate.

  Any hopes she had had that Luke wouldn’t realise that she was still a virgin were lost as she looked into his eyes, but it was too late for him to stop and withdraw; his body was as lost to his control as hers had been earlier. As he surged within her, she heard him curse and try to tense, but the pain was gone, and in its place was the faint echo of the pleasure she had known before, so she clung to him, letting her body adapt to the intimacy of his within it, letting her senses and her love guide her as the echo grew stronger, until she was able to move eagerly against him, and feel the triumphant climactic surge of pleasure spiral through her as he moved faster, deeper, taking them both free of man’s limited boundaries.

  ‘Gemma!’

  She heard him cry out her name as pleasure exploded inside her, as he moaned his satisfaction into her throat, sending an extra thrill of emotion down her spine. There was something so primitive, so satisfying, about knowing that he had achieved the highest pinnacle of male satisfaction within her, that in that moment she didn’t even care that their union might result in her conceiving.

  All she cared about was Luke. Luke whom she loved. Luke who had given her such pleasure … who had finally shown her why she had never wanted anyone else as her lover.

  ‘Gemma.’

  She murmured sleepily, curling into his body, a soft, satiated smile curling her mouth, unaware that he was looking down at her with a frown, or that he lay tense and sleepless for a long, long time before giving in to the relentless urging of his flesh that he take her into his arms, and enjoy the delight of holding her naked body next to his own.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘GEMMA … Gemma, wake up.’

  The harsh sound of Luke’s voice jarred through the sleepy daze engulfing her. Reluctantly Gemma opened her eyes, stretching her body in languorous pleasure. She felt so good, so relaxed, and yet so … so womanly. She almost wanted to purr. A ripple of amused pleasure ran down her spine, quickly changing to tense apprehension as she looked up and saw the grimness in Luke’s eyes.

  ‘You’d better get back to your room before the steward comes in with my breakfast,’ Luke told her coldly. ‘Here.’

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nbsp; He clambered out of bed, long-limbed, and so male that she could feel a reactionary shudder rippling through her sensitive flesh. There were faint dark bruises on his shoulder, and marks on his back, she saw as he turned round to pick up her discarded robe. Marks that she had left there last night.

  She moved restlessly beneath the bedclothes, her breasts a little tender. If she closed her eyes she could still remember what it felt like to have Luke’s mouth …

  ‘Gemma!’

  She couldn’t endure the icy bitterness in his eyes.

  ‘Luke, please, what is it? What have I done … said?’

  ‘It’s rather what you haven’t said,’ he told her in a clipped voice. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?’

  He was angry because of that. But why? Suddenly she knew. Luke thought that she might use her virginity as a means of trapping him into a commitment he could not give her. It hurt unbearably that he could think that, that he could not see that her body, like her love, was given freely. Numb with pain, she demanded listlessly,

  ‘How? It isn’t exactly the sort of thing one talks about. What ought I to have done? Hired a billboard?’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous,’ he said roughly.

  He was still standing holding her robe, and suddenly Gemma knew she had to get out of his room or betray herself completely by bursting into tears and telling him that she loved him.

  She pushed back the covers and snatched her robe from him, pulling it on with her back to him. ‘I’m sorry if the fact that I was a virgin disappointed you,’ she said tightly, adding with a bitter twist of her mouth, ‘At least it won’t happen again.’

  There was a tense pause and then Luke said fiercely, ‘You’re damned right it won’t. I don’t like being used, although I suppose I should be used to it—from you.’

  It was a dig at her adolescent plea all those years ago, and it was enough to send the colour scorching fiercely along her veins.