Campaign For Loving Page 7

  ‘Blake, please, we mustn’t.’ She had to take hold of her common sense and stop him now before she was completely mesmerised by the desire glittering hectically in his dark eyes. It would be so easy to give in to her own need to be with him like this, to urge him to possess her body in the same way that he possessed her heart, but what about afterwards?

  ‘No, Jaime, you’re wrong. We must.’ His voice sounded hoarsely unfamiliar as though he were fighting to retain some control over his feelings. Drawn by some impulse she knew she ought to repudiate, Jaime reached up to touch his skin. His collar bone gleamed golden in the light from the lamp and she felt the powerful surge of response that rippled through his body at her touch. It was headily exhilarating to know that she still had the power to arouse him. Desire isn’t love, an inner voice warned her, but she chose to ignore it. She was too hungry for this intimacy, this magic that only Blake could work, to listen to any warnings.

  ‘Jaime, if you continue to touch me like that I’m going to make love to you whether we must or must not. Your fingers are telling my skin that you want to touch me as much as I want to touch you.’ He groaned suddenly as her nipples burgeoned into pulsating life in recognition of her physical response to his words.

  ‘You do want me,’ he said it with almost a fierce triumph, as though there had been a time when he had doubted her desire. How could that be? She had always been dotingly, almost embarrassingly, eager for his lovemaking, so much so, that she had practically trembled with anticipation every time he came near her.

  She didn’t draw her eyes away, suddenly made bold by the strength of her love for him, and then as though to underline her unspoken desire she ran her fingers lightly through the matting of dark hairs that covered his chest, following them downwards until she came to the barrier of his jeans.

  Burying his mouth against her throat Blake groaned. ‘Jaime, you witch, you must know how I’ve wanted you to touch me like that. You do something to me that no other woman can.’

  His admission gave her a heady power that drove out fear and shyness completely. It was as though some wild, wanton part of her had suddenly taken control, knowing without words, simply by touch, how to please and torment the male body above her. Her lips, delicate as butterfly wings, touched along Blake’s collar bone. The intimate male scent of him was instantly recognisable, heightening her responsiveness. Unlike in the past, when she had been content to let him take the lead, now Jaime wanted to share the same urgency that burned inside her. Her tongue brushed the strong column of his throat and felt the tremors shiver across his skin. She teased him again, feeling his muscles clench against her sensual torment, his hands sliding down from her breasts to her hips, anchoring her beneath him, his body surging helplessly against her.

  Her fingers found his belt, but it was Blake who finished the task for her, throwing aside the jeans he had pulled on to come downstairs.

  The nude magnificence of his body, coloured tawny teak in the glow of the lamp, made her catch her breath in awe. Almost wonderingly she let her fingers drift over him, drinking in the sensation of warm, male skin and sinew beneath finger tips and then palms, her touch an unconscious worship of his masculinity.

  ‘Jaime,’ Blake muttered her name in a thick protest jerked past tightly compressed lips, warning her that she was pushing him to the very limits of his control, but it wasn’t enough to simply feel the warmth of his body beneath her hands. Love and desire mingled inside her, raising her senses to such a pitch that she yearned to communicate her feelings to him, to pour out her love in such a generous libation that it would be a gift he couldn’t refuse. Her hand rested against his thigh and she could feel the tension the muscles were communicating to her. She bent her head and let her lips drift in wordless adoration over the fiat plane of his stomach, feeling the sharply indrawn breath he held until her own lungs hurt in response.

  ‘Jaime.’ Her name was a hoarse protest on his lips, lost against her hair. His fingers twined in its midnight silk as he tried to lift her away, and then, tensed instead, pressing her closer to his body as he yielded to the intimacy of her caress.

  A harsh cry, somewhere between pain and pleasure, filled the room as Blake writhed convulsively against her, his body hot with the desire she could feel pulsing through her, and then, suddenly, he was lifting her away; holding her immobile slightly above him, his mouth finding her breast and piercing her with sweet pleasure.

  The almost languorous need she had known to show him her love was gone, and in its place was a fierce, almost savage, hunger. They were lying side by side, Blake stroking her body with roughly urgent movements that mirrored her own desire, his mouth fiercely possessive as it moved on her breasts, his hand at last reaching the juncture of her thighs and remaining there to coax from her body the restless spirals of pleasure she had begun to believe must just have been a figment of her imagination.

  ‘My sweet Jaime, I’ve wanted this so much.’ Blake’s voice was raw with feeling, his body shaking as he stroked and caressed her into a mindless oblivion she knew could have only one ending. ‘You want it too, don’t you?’ Blake’s tongue flicked against one highly sensitive nipple, shudders rippling convulsively through her. Lean and powerfully muscled, his body was a welcome weight on hers, her mouth parting eagerly for his fiercely possessive kiss, her body responding blindly to the male thrust of his, welcoming the heat of him inside her, moving to the rhythm he had taught it, and which it had remembered ever since.

  Somehow, they had rolled on to the floor—and if anyone had told her five days ago that she would be here, making love with Blake, she would have shaken her head in astounded disbelief. But she was here: they both were, and Blake wasn’t making any secret of the fact that he wanted her as much as she needed him. An explosive climax gripped her body, and she cried out his name, letting his mouth steal the sounds from her and tell her of his instinctive male triumph as his own body shuddered in paroxysms of pleasure that left her sated and bonelessly feline.

  ‘Anyone would think we were two teenagers without a bed to go to, never mind two to choose from,’ Blake muttered as he pulled her closer within the circle of his arms.

  ‘Mine’s only a single,’ Jaime protested sleepily, ‘nowhere near large enough for you.’ Her sleepy glance encompassed his lean, male frame, as relaxed and supine as a jungle leopard’s.

  ‘You’ve changed,’ Blake murmured, his hand automatically cupping her breast in a gesture of instinctive possession. ‘Before, you never would have taken the initiative. Never have touched or caressed me as you did tonight.’

  ‘I thought it was unfeminine—that you wouldn’t want me to.’ She was glad that the darkness hid her flushed face from him.

  ‘Not want you to!’ Blake groaned. ‘My God, if you’d only known. There were times when I used to feel like going down on my knees and begging you for just a tenth of the loving you gave me tonight, Jaime. I know this isn’t really the time, but I have to say it. Leave that committee. I can understand why you feel so strongly about the Abbey, but you don’t know what you’re tangling with. . . .’

  ‘And you do?’ Jaime demanded angrily. Her mood of peaceful contentment had completely gone, all her earlier suspicions rushing back. Had Blake made love to her deliberately, hoping to get her to change her mind, knowing how malleable and weak his lovemaking always made her?

  ‘More so than you,’ he said brusquely, ‘and what I know, I don’t like.’

  What did he mean? That he had been a party to Caroline’s threats, but that he was now having second thoughts? Perhaps he had even suggested them, she thought sickly, and suggested to Caroline that she approach Barrons with them, for their help. She was sure now that the man who had come to see her had somehow come from Barrons.

  ‘Is that why you came. here tonight? To persuade me to leave the committee?’

  Blake had withdrawn from her, and she felt cold without the support of his arms. His withdrawal was almost symbolic of their relationship, she thought
bitterly, as was her shivering reaction to it.

  ‘No, it damn well wasn’t,’ Blake said bitterly, ‘but of course you’ll put your own crazy interpretation on my actions—you always did. . . . You always were full of crazy accusations. I thought you’d grown up, but I can see I was wrong. Well, just remember before you get up. on your high horse, that it isn’t just yourself you’re risking. It’s my daughter as well, and as long as you’re still my wife, I mean to see that someone keeps an eye on the pair of you.’

  ‘Then I’ll just have to make sure I’m not your wife for much longer, won’t I?’

  She could have wept. Not ten minutes ago, they had been as close as two human beings could be, but now it was all gone. A lesson to her not to be deceived into thinking that desire could in any way compare with love.

  ‘I think I know that what’s supposed to mean,’ Blake gritted at her through grimly closed teeth, ‘but you seem to have forgotten something—for a divorce you need either my agreement or proof that we haven’t cohabitated for over five years, and you have neither.’

  ‘Why do you insist on keeping me tied to you like this?’ Jaime cried out painfully. ‘What’s the point. . .?’

  ‘The point is, my dear Jaime,’ Blake responded cruelly, ‘that it prevents you from marrying dear Charles and anyone else from marrying me. And now,’ he announced, standing up, ‘I’m going back to my room to try and get some sleep for what remains of the night. If you get lonely, don’t bother coming looking for me, will you?’ With that last taunting remark he was gone. As she climbed the stairs in weary resignation, Jaime reflected that she would never sleep, but towards dawn she did.

  When she woke up the first thing she saw was a cold cup of coffee on the table beside her bed. In her sleep-fogged state her first thought was that her mother had brought it up, but then she remembered and she coloured hotly. Why on earth should it make her feel so vulnerable that Blake had watched her whilst she slept, when not half-a-dozen hours ago, they had been lovers?

  Through her open window she caught the sound of Fern’s laughter wafting up from the garden. It had been so long since Fern had laughed. On the verge of a sigh, she tensed and leapt out of bed, rushing to the window, relief warming her chilled bloodstream when she saw that Fern was playing with Blake. Whatever his feelings about her, surely he would never countenance any harm coming to his daughter, and if he knew of the threats made against her, he must know of Fern’s danger.

  As she stood watching father and daughter playing together, Jaime forgot that she was naked. This was what she had dreamed of for herself, a father who would play and laugh with her child, and she had tried to impose her own desires on other people she now recognised. A sudden stillness from Blake warned her that she was observed, but before she could move back from the window his eyes had roved with careless thoroughness over the exposed curves of her breasts. Quickly, she withdrew, her cheeks flushed and her temper high. He had looked at her as though he were remembering their lovemaking last night and wanted her to remember it too.

  She got downstairs just as Charles arrived on an unheralded visit. He was plainly disconcerted to find Blake so obviously at home in the cottage, although Jaime was sure that Blake had deliberately installed himself in the kitchen to reinforce that view. He even insisted on making her some breakfast, so that Charles was forced to sit at the table with her whilst Blake moved about in the kitchen beyond.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you privately,’ Charles hissed in an angry whisper, but Blake heard him, coming through to deposit a large plate of beautiful, fluffy scrambled eggs in front of Jaime, and saying, ‘Whatever you have to say to my wife that’s private can be said to me as well.’

  ‘Your wife. . . .’ Charles looked angrily from Blake’s face to her own, and asked Jaime, ‘What is he talking about. . .? You’ve been separated for so long that. . .?

  ‘That I’ve decided it’s time the separation was ended.’ To Jaime’s astonishment, Blake reached across the table, lifting up her left hand, and turning it palm up to his lips. The brief movement against the sensitive skin of her palm made her stomach lurch protestingly, ‘To our mutual satisfaction,’ he added in a husky, intimate tone that made Jaime colour up and curl up her toes to stop the response shivering through her body.

  She had to wait for Charles to leave to take Blake to task. He shrugged powerful shoulders when she demanded an explanation.

  1 was simply doing what any man would to defend his property,’ he said lazily, without a trace of remorse.

  ‘I am not your property!’ Jaime flung back at him.

  ‘No, but you are my wife, and as I said earlier, that’s what you’re going to stay. Face it, Jaime, you would never have been happy with him. He would never have been enough for you.’

  ‘And you are, I suppose?’ she demanded with bitter sarcasm.

  ‘Perhaps not, but at least I come one hell of a lot closer to it than he does. I didn’t notice any holding back in my arms last night,’ he reminded her cruelly. ‘Your response wasn’t that of a woman who already had a lover who satisfied her, Jaime. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that since you left me there haven’t been any other lovers at all.’

  ‘Go to hell!’ Jaime stormed at him, hating the soft laughter that followed her as she fled to the sitting room.

  ‘I wish Daddy hadn’t gone,’ Fern complained an hour later when the two of them were alone. Jaime sighed as she smoothed her daughter’s unruly curls. She and Blake had argued before he left. He had wanted her to leave the committee, but how could she? Already, several people had begun to show a marked loss of interest in the campaign, borderline cases who had promised their names for the petition the committee were organising and who were now saying that perhaps Barrons’ estate would be a good thing, bringing in all those jobs for the young folk, and modern, attractive houses.

  She was very low on bread and eggs—Blake had used the last of them for her breakfast—and she debated whether it would be wiser to stop in the village or go to the nearest town. She was reluctant to leave the house empty for longer than necessary, and opted, in the end, for the village.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘JAIME, MY DEAR, I’VE HEARD THE NEWS ABOUT THOSE HOOLIGANS. HOW HORRIBLE FOR YOU!’

  Jaime paused to accept the sympathy of the Vicar’s wife, trying to keep an eye on Fern at the same time.

  ‘Janice and the children are staying with us at the moment,’ she continued, referring to her married daughter. ‘Perhaps Fern would like to come round for tea one afternoon?’

  The Vicar’s twin grandchildren were approximately the same age as Fern, and, although Jaime was reluctant to agree, Fern was already so enthusiastic about the proffered treat that she felt compelled to accept.

  ‘You look peaky, my dear,’ Mrs Simmonds continued. ‘When’s your mother back? I wanted to ask her advice about a pair of candlesticks we’ve discovered in the attic.’

  By the time she had chatted with the dozen or so people who had stopped to commiserate with her over the destruction of her studio, and Jaime was ready to start back for the cottage, it was quite late. She was just on her way to the car when she was stopped by Bill Smithers, who dashed out of his office to catch her. Bill was the local insurance broker and handled both Jaime’s and her mother’s insurances.

  ‘Jaime, I’m glad I caught you! I’ve had a call from your insurance company. They’re sending out an assessor tomorrow. He wants you to meet him at the school.’

  Tomorrow! Jaime thought quickly. It was just as well that she had accepted Mrs Simmonds’ invitation for Fern. She could hardly have taken the little girl with her.

  ‘That’s quick.’

  ‘Well I told them that you would be pretty anxious to get started again. There’s nothing to worry about. You’re very well covered—which is more than I can say for some of my clients, and Rick Brewer is a pleasant chap.’

  After agreeing a time, Jaime hurried Fern back to the car. When they reached the cottages, Blake’s
car was parked outside, with Blake sitting in the driver’s seat. He got out as they drove up and Jaime felt her heart begin its familiar drum roll of reaction. He was frowning as he opened the car door for her, although he managed a smile for Fern when she ran towards him, calling ‘Daddy . . . pick me up, Daddy, pick me up!’

  Jaime hadn’t expected to see him so soon, and she bent her head to hide the swift rush of colour to her face when she remembered their lovemaking. Mrs Widdows was watching from her window as they walked up the path, and she wondered what the old lady thought of Blake’s constant comings and goings.

  ‘What did you want to see me about?’ Jaime marvelled at how calm her voice sounded.

  ‘I don’t like the thought of you and Fern being here alone—not after what happened at the school.’

  ‘So, what do you suggest I do?’ Jaime demanded flippantly, ‘Hire a bodyguard—I don’t think my income will run to it!’

  ‘I was thinking more along the lines of you and Fern moving in with me—at least until your mother gets back.’

  Jaime stared at him, completely astounded. ‘Stay with you—you mean move into the Lodge. Won’t Caroline have something to say about that?’

  The moment the bitter words were out, she wished them unsaid, knowing that they betrayed her jealousy, but Blake seemed to take them seriously. He frowned again and studied her.

  ‘What could she have to say? I have rented the Lodge for the entire summer and you are my wife, Fern my child.’

  ‘Blake, we can’t move in with you,’ Jaime protested desperately, ‘This is a very small village. If I do, people will think. . . .’ she floundered desperately.

  ‘That we’ve decided to give our marriage a second chance. What does it matter what they think?’