Playing the Joker. Caroline AndersonЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER TWO

      BY EIGHT o’clock, Jo’s nerves were stretched tighter than a bow-string. Anne had gone with Colin, her nerves nearly as taut, and Beth, intuitive as always, had picked up on the tension and had been unusually awkward about going to bed.

      Now, at almost exactly eight o’clock, Jo was alone. Beth was finally asleep, the sitting-room was still dingy but the toys were put away and the cushions patted into shape, and she had washed up Beth’s supper dishes and tidied the kitchen.

      There were plates warming, the rickety table in the kitchen was laid, and there was nothing left to do but count her remaining marbles and wonder what on earth she’d let herself in for.

      She hadn’t changed—apart from anything else she didn’t want him to think she was making an effort to impress him, and dressing down wouldn’t have fooled him either. So she was still in the dark green linen dress with the red belt and the high-heeled shoes to match. Her feet ached, but after the events of the day she was unwilling to lose even the slight advantage of height to him.

      At eight o’clock precisely a big Rover pulled up smoothly outside and Alex got out and locked it. Jo stood at the kitchen window and watched as he walked towards the door, his easy stride bringing him closer with horrifying speed.

      He saw her and lifted his hand, and she walked slowly out into the hall, her heart pounding. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep, calming breath and then opened the door.

      He looked wonderful. He had abandoned the suit jacket and tie, and was wearing a soft blue cotton sweater over his shirt. One side of his mouth almost smiled, and her own mouth curved in response.

      ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’ he teased softly.

      She flushed. ‘I’m sorry—of course—come in.’ Whatever was the matter with her? She was behaving like a lovesick teenager!

      She led the way into the kitchen and he put the bag he was holding on the worktop.

      ‘I got Indian—mainly because it was the first take-away I found. Is that OK?’

      ‘Fine. I’m starving.’

      ‘Me too. It was a long time ago that you didn’t eat your lunch.’

      She laughed, a deep, husky chuckle that relieved the tension in the air between them.

      They dished up the meal and ate it ravenously, and when they had finished Jo pushed away her plate with a satisfied groan.

      ‘Wow!’

      Alex’s eyes flickered briefly over her and returned to her face.

      ‘My sentiments exactly.’

      Which brought the tension slamming back and clogged the breath in her throat and pooled the heat low down in her body. She stood up abruptly and made her trembling legs take her over to the sink. Perhaps she should have dressed down—to the shapeless garments he had talked about earlier?

      ‘Coffee?’ she asked over her shoulder.

      Thank you, that would be lovely.’

      She ran the water into the kettle, plugged it in and reached up to get down the coffee.

      She hadn’t heard him move but he must have done, because suddenly his hand closed over hers and he turned her gently into his arms.

      ‘Jo,’ he whispered against her hair, and her traitorous body sagged against him, revelling in the sleek hardness of his legs, the solid depth of his chest, the shift of warm supple muscles beneath her palms as her hands crept round his waist and came to rest each side of his spine.

      She had kicked off her shoes under the table and her eyes were on a level with his mouth. She could see the dark shadow on his jaw, and the slight sheen of his skin where he had just recently shaved. His lips were full and firm, and any second——

      ‘Alex, no,’ she moaned softly as his mouth closed over hers with infinite gentleness.

      He withdrew fractionally, but only to run his tongue lightly over the edge of her lips, then he drew the lower lip into his mouth and nibbled with tiny biting kisses, easing away again to soothe it with his tongue.

      Jo started to shake, her hands winding up around his neck to pull his head down, and then the kiss spiralled out of control and they clung to each other as the passion mounted in them, driving them with its frenzied zeal.

      She twisted against him and with a groan he pressed her back against the cupboards, imprinting his body on hers with a wild savagery that made her whimper with need.

      Eventually they broke apart, gasping for breath, and in his eyes Jo could see white-hot desire tinged with remorse.

      ‘Dear God, Alex,’ she whispered, shaken by the depth of her response. ‘Why did you have to do that?’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said raggedly, ‘but it’s been so damn long …’

      He let her go and she sagged back against the worktop, her legs like jelly.

      He turned away, and she noticed his breathing was still uneven. He was also still unmistakably aroused, and she had to grip the worktop hard to stop herself from running across the kitchen after him and throwing herself into his arms.

      ‘Why don’t you wait in the sitting-room and I’ll bring the coffee through in a minute?’ she suggested unsteadily, and with a brief nod he complied.

      Once alone, she dropped her face into her hands and stood motionless for a moment, willing her unruly body to submit to discipline. Then she gathered up the wreckage of their meal, threw it in the dustbin, put the plates in hot soapy water and scrubbed down the table before turning her attention back to the coffee.

      By the time she took it through to the little sitting-room, Alex was sitting in one of the chairs with one leg crossed over the other knee and his hands lying relaxed along the threadbare arms.

      He watched her thoughtfully, and she avoided his eye, unable to look at him for fear of betraying herself.

      She set his cup down beside him and retreated to the other chair, drawing up her long legs and curling them underneath her defensively. She knew she was doing it, but she also knew that if she didn’t sit on her feet the wretched things were quite likely to carry her over and dump her in his lap, and she couldn’t afford that sort of complication.

      She nursed her cup of tea and waited for him to speak. After a few minutes of tortured silence, he heaved a sigh and picked up his coffee.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said heavily. ‘I didn’t mean that to happen. I really just wanted to talk to you about the last four years—find out how you were, what you’d been doing, if you were married yet—all that sort of thing. I certainly didn’t mean to fall on you like a sex-starved teenager and grope you at the first opportunity.’

      She laughed reluctantly. ‘I wasn’t aware that you did grope me.’

      ‘Thank God for little miracles,’ he said drily, ‘because I certainly wanted to.’