Silver. PENNY JORDANЧитать онлайн книгу.
must leave. On the way home he asks you if something’s wrong. You hesitate and then admit to man-trouble. You’re expecting a phone-call or whatever. He then starts thinking he’s misunderstood the entire situation and suffers the consequent challenge to his ego. When you invite him in for a drink, he’s only too eager to accept and offer you his “brotherly” advice—–’
‘Oh, come on,’ Silver interrupted him acidly. ‘That wouldn’t deceive a five-year-old. It’s so obvious.’
‘Never underestimate the efficacy of the obvious. That is why it is obvious, after all.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ Silver told him sharply. ‘I haven’t come here to play these kind of games. What I require you to instruct me in is sexual technique. That’s all.’
‘If that’s the way you want it.’
He shrugged and seemed completely unaffected by her outburst. Silver, on the other hand, was flushed and angry. Did he think her such a fool that she hadn’t got the intelligence or the ability to be able to coax her prey into her carefully baited trap? She had seen others do it often enough.
‘I’m hungry,’ she said, aggressively now. ‘Do I get any dinner, or is that an optional extra?’
There was a small silence. She could feel him assessing her, and she cursed herself for so nearly losing her temper. He was probing her for her weaknesses as deliberately and cold-bloodedly as she had searched for his.
‘Board and lodging is inclusive,’ he told her unemotionally.
Over dinner neither of them spoke, Silver because she was still too angry, as much with herself as with him. His silence, she suspected, had a more dangerous and manipulative motive.
She didn’t offer to help afterwards as he loaded the dishwasher and deftly restored the kitchen to pristine order.
He hadn’t offered her anything to drink during dinner, or had anything himself, and he didn’t offer her anything now, saying briskly as he walked back into the room, ‘Well, we’d better make a start, hadn’t we? We’ll take all the opening stages as accomplished. Your victim has reached the stage where he’s ready to contemplate wanting to make love to you.’
She was sitting in one of the chairs in front of the fire, and as he came towards her he told her drily, ‘In order to facilitate matters, it might be advisable if I show you what’s possible, preferable—and desirable.’
He sat down on the sofa and added, ‘Come and sit here,’ and when she would have sat next to him said firmly, ‘No, not there… Here on the floor.’
Silver shot him a suspicious glance, but his face was perfectly grave and composed, as controlled and emotionless as though he were quite simply a lecturer instructing a rather dull pupil.
As she knelt ungraciously at his feet, he told her wryly, ‘In the harems of the East, the concubines used to be taught to wriggle snakelike upwards from the foot of the bed, adoring their master’s person with their hands and lips as they went.’
Silver was glad that he couldn’t see the betraying wave of colour that burned her skin. With great difficulty she managed to stop her colour from fluctuating.
‘Not that I’m suggesting you do the same thing, at least not at this stage, but it’s a point worth remembering. Now, sit in front of me, resting your back against my legs.’
Silver did as he instructed, sitting ramrod-straight as she stared into the fire.
‘Now, when I speak to you, instead of turning round to look at me you can tilt your head back so that, were I able to see, what I would see would be the undoubtedly tempting line of your exposed throat… your breasts… very temptingly within easy reach of my hand… thus.’
She wasn’t prepared for the brief, clinical touch of his hand, and her body flinched at the contact until she willed it into acquiescence. ‘I could, if I wished, lean down to kiss you, or, more probably, reach down to pull you up over my body, like so.’
His hands fitted easily beneath her armpits, and although she was so tall he turned her easily, so that for a brief, startling moment of time her face was pressed against his hard thigh. Then he was drawing her upwards, as though she were as fluid as a piece of silk.
‘At this stage if I were physically aroused you would be aware of it, and if I weren’t… Well, there are several options open to you, depending upon how much time you have and how far the relationship has already advanced.
‘If it’s still in its early stages and you think I’m drawing you up to kiss you, like so…’
He lifted her easily so that she was virtually draped across his body. One hand in the hollow of her back pressed her torso against his; the other found her nape and locked smoothly in her hair, his mouth cold and clinical on hers.
She wondered a little unkindly if he closed his eyes when he kissed her or if his perpetual darkness rendered it unnecessary.
Her own had closed instinctively, more to blot out the sight of him than to focus her awareness on his mouth, which was just as well, she acknowledged grimly, because there was certainly nothing provocative or erotic in its distant possession.
His eyes weren’t closed, but his lids were lowered so that his dark irises glittered between them. She lay totally unmoving against him, not wanting to remember how she had felt when Charles had kissed her—how joyously, frantically grateful she had been that he loved and wanted her; how eager to respond… to please…
‘You’re not concentrating.’ The harsh criticism jolted her out of her memories, her body tensing in dislike before she could stop it.
‘You’re supposed to be learning how to arouse a man to desire, not wallowing in self-pitiful memories,’ he derided her.
She stifled her rage that he should so easily have followed her thoughts.
‘Now listen and remember. You’ve gained an advantage—physical contact. Now you’ve got to make the most of it… turn a tentative embrace into an erotic enticement.’ When she said nothing, he muttered under his breath, ‘My God, what the hell happened to you when they were handing out good old-fashioned feminine instinct?’
She could have told him that she had never been encouraged to develop her femininity; that her father had treated her as the son he could never have; that plain women, ugly women, as she had heard herself described, were not given many opportunities to develop such instincts. But instead she folded her mouth into a hard line and reminded him coldly, ‘If I had those kinds of instincts, I wouldn’t need you to teach me, would I?’
He was still holding her, but there was nothing intimate about it, apart from the proximity of their bodies, his own all hard, solid, unyielding muscle, unprepared to accommodate her more vulnerable softness, so that leaning into him and being held there hurt her breasts. She tried to ease her discomfort by moving away, but the weight of his hand on her back wouldn’t allow her to put any space between them, and all she could do was move slightly sideways.
‘Let go of me,’ she complained. ‘I can hardly breathe.’
She felt his chest expand as he suddenly took a deep breath and she winced at the uncomfortable pressure against her breasts.
‘You can feel that, can you?’ he asked her.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, that’s a start, at least. Now this time, when I kiss you, I want you to move your body against mine. Here,’ he told her, the hand in her hair sliding unerringly to her waist and then upwards to the curve of her breast, touching her briefly before moving away. ‘And here…’ His other hand left the hollow of her back and traced the curve of her hip.
‘As rhythmically as you can manage. I trust I don’t have to tell you what kind of rhythm,’ he added under his breath, and Silver was glad that he couldn’t see the fierce flood of angry colour that burned her face. She wanted to wrench