“Why, I do believe, my darling Kieran, one day you’ll have it in you to become a fine painter. I’d be interested to see what Marcus thinks of all these drawings. Next time he’s in the country I’ll ask him.”
He might never rise to Marcus Denby’s lofty heights, but then he had a different vision. He wouldn’t mind struggling for a while. Just about everyone had to struggle for a while. His abrupt laugh sounded strangely harsh in the silence of the lovely room. He wouldn’t have to struggle with Alex by his side. Alex was a Radcliffe, an heiress, a glittering, impossible prize. He threw back the whisky with one gulp. A vision of Alex flashed before his eyes. Skin like a pearl. Eyes and hair like ebony. The pure face of a Madonna, yet she had sinned deeply. He walked to one of the upholstered custom-built sofas and eased his long body into it, staring sightlessly at the exquisite spray of cyclamen orchids. He felt his heart contract with his own kind of grief. That whisky had gone down too quickly. He’d have another …
Immediately he heard the key inserted into the deadlock he jumped to his feet. His heart was thudding, picking up knots. It was dark now. He had turned the lights on. How many times had he entered her apartment before she’d arrived home? He couldn’t begin to count.
She must have realised he was there, because she called softly, “Kieran?”
He covered the distance that separated them in a couple of long strides, watching her drop her leather handbag to the silk rug. He reached for her, pulling her into his arms, kissing her feverishly, hotly, hungrily, forcing open her softly cushioned lips.
“I’m crazy about you!” he muttered “Crazy. Is it ever going to stop?” He didn’t seem to care that he was overwhelming her with his intensity.
He had her moaning in his arms. To hear her moan meant everything to him. Somehow he had lifted her clear of the ground, crushing her in his powerful grip. She was tall, but so slender, she was a featherweight to him. Her beautiful pale pink suit had little covered buttons down the front. She wore a white silk camisole beneath the jacket. His hand swept rapaciously across her breasts as though it had a life of its own. “Alex, Alex,” he whispered. “What am I going to do about you?”
She breathed into his neck. “Just keep on putting me through hell?”
His response was to swing her off her feet, carrying her down the passageway into the master bedroom. He was desperate to be inside her. He couldn’t see straight until he was. He threw her down on her marvellous big bed, pausing for a moment to stare down at her as she lay back against the opulent cream and gold quilt. Oh, the ache in him! Every time he laid eyes on her he had the sensation that his heart was breaking. Her wonderful dark eyes were huge with emotion. He never felt guilty at seeing her drowning in it. She was the one who should feel guilty but refused to. Her arms were thrown back above her head, outstretched, imploring, pleading. She was imperceptibly trembling. Her long silky hair that had been arranged in some elegant knot was coming loose. A skein fell like a black satin ribbon across her pearly cheek.
“How beautiful you are,” he rasped. “Too beautiful!” But she could never wipe the slate clean.
He reached down to her, his long fingers beginning to burrow at all those little buttons. She made no effort to stop him. She lay quietly while he undressed her, wondering if there was ever going to be an end to this unquenchable desire.
“Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?” she whispered.
He made no reply. Instead he pulled her up so he could release the catch on her rose lace bra and expose her exquisite white breasts. How incredibly seductive a woman’s breasts were. Every time he undressed her it was like the first time. Such beauty! Always for him.
“Kieran—Kieran, do you love me?” Tears filled her large oval eyes.
He kissed them. “How can I love you after what you did to us?” he answered jaggedly. “I want you. I need you. Be content with that.”
They had everything and nothing. All the world lost. “How easily you’ve condemned me all these years. You had no difficulty at all, even when I told you the truth.”
He choked off a bitter laugh. “Don’t, Alex,” he said. “I’m supremely indifferent to your lies. They’ve all been done to death anyway.”
A glistening tear slid down her cheek. She arched her back to make it easier for him to take off her panties—rose lace to match her delicate bra. She always wore the most beautiful underwear. He thrilled to strip the delicate garments off her.
Finally she was naked, her white body as remarkably virginal as when he had first seen it when they were innocent teenagers. There had been no adolescent yearning, no clumsy gropings. It had been full on, wildly passionate sex—she surrendering herself completely, he taking her, penetrating her, as if he wanted his whole self to disappear inside her. Neither of them had been able to get enough of the other. Drunk on sex. Drunk on love. Alex had been his sun, moon and stars.
But almost seven years had passed. Years spent apart. Time they could no longer spend together. He wanted her more now than he had then—barely believable but utterly true. Not only that, he knew how to get more of her. Oh, yes, he did. Alex was his. His incurable addiction.
He fell to his knees beside the bed, still fully clothed, taking a coral pink nipple sweet as a fruit into his mouth, lightly between his teeth … “Alex, Alex, Alex …” he whispered, his voice fierce even to his own ears.
She shaped his golden head with her hands, sinking her fingers into his thick mane of hair. Her eyes were filled not only with an overwhelming desire, but with a deep, dark tenderness. She would have died for Kieran. He knew that. But he didn’t care.
He put one strong hand beneath her back, raising her to him.
“Why do I let you do this to me?” she gasped.
He pressed his open mouth all over her. “You know why,” he muttered, without a shred of sympathy. “Because neither of us can stop.”
The big car ate up the miles. Alana thought she might close her eyes briefly, but was stunned when she heard Guy’s voice murmur near her ear. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
She blinked and sat straight, looking around dazedly. “I can’t believe that! I fell asleep.”
“I’d say you needed it.” He didn’t mention she had been making little distressed whimpers that smote his heart.
“We’re home!”
“Right at your door, my lady!” Guy looked very soberly towards the darkened homestead. There appeared to be only one light on, towards the rear of the house. “I’ll come in with you.” He released his seat belt.
Voices said such a lot about a person, Alana thought. Who you were. What you were. Where you lived, even how you lived. Were you confident, self-assured, charming? Warm or cold, diffident, abrasive, a person to steer clear of. Her father was right. Guy Radcliffe was a prince.
They were walking towards the front steps when Buddy, stick-thin no matter how much he ate, emerged from the interior of the house and moved out onto the verandah. He lifted a hand to turn on the verandah light, splashing himself in a dull golden light.
“Miss Lana, I didn’t know you’d be comin’ home,” he called, then tiptoed over to the timber balustrade. “Good evening, Mr Radcliffe,” he added respectfully.
“Evening, Buddy.” Guy’s tone was warm and approving. He knew that approval gave the loyal youngster pleasure and confidence. “Everything okay here?”
They all knew it was nothing of the sort. Alana ran on ahead, up the steps, disappearing into the house.
Buddy’s liquid black eyes cut to Guy. “Mr Alan—he start drinkin’ a few hours back,” he confided in an unhappy voice. “I came to check on ‘im. He likes me around.”
“I