Second Thoughts

Under her palms she could feel his heart thundering, the blood bounding in his veins. Sliding her hands up over his shoulders, she drew him back to her and lifted her face to his.

His mouth found hers with unerring accuracy, their tongues meshing, wild now with need, and he shifted her again so that he was lying half across her, one leg over hers, the imprint of his arousal hard against her hip.

He ran his hand up her thigh and over her other hip, drawing her harder against him, and his shuddering sigh mingled with hers and was lost in their kiss.

His hand moved again, over the inside of her thigh and up, his palm hot through the fabric of her jeans, cradling the unbearable ache that was building deep inside her.

She arched against him, his name a plea on her lips, and his deep, harsh groan answered her.

Then his hand moved, slowly now, up her side to her shoulders, and he lifted his head and looked deep into her eyes.

‘We mustn’t,’ he whispered, his voice tortured, and she whimpered and moved against him, beyond reason.

‘No, love, stop,’ he pleaded gruffly.

She reached up and touched his cheek with a trembling hand, his agony finally penetrating the fog of sensation that surrounded her. ‘What is it?’

He tipped back his head and groaned, his throat working. There was a dull flush lying over his cheeks, and his breathing was laboured and untidy. ‘I hadn’t intended — I never meant to go so far. Forgive me.’

‘Not if you stop now,’ she murmured huskily.

He groaned again, as if he was in pain. ‘Jennifer, I have to.’

‘No ——’

‘Yes. I didn’t mean this to happen ——’

‘Neither did I, but it has…’

‘No it hasn’t, not yet, and it isn’t going to — not unless you want to end up pregnant.’

She was shocked into stillness. ‘Oh, Lord. How unbelievably irresponsible — I didn’t even think of that…’

His chuckle was wry. ‘Neither did I — at least, not in time to do anything about it. Believe me, when I invited you for this weekend, nothing was further from my mind.’ His hands lingering regretfully, he re-fastened her bra, then drew the edges of her blouse together again with fingers that were not quite steady.

‘Perhaps it’s just as well,’ he said quietly. ‘I wouldn’t want you to wake up in the morning hating me.’

‘I could never hate you,’ she murmured, and laid her hand against his heart. It was still pounding, although more slowly, and he was still clearly aroused. The kind thing to do would be to get off his lap and go to bed, leaving him to cool off alone.

But she didn’t want to leave him, not when her body was still singing with need in the aftermath of his lovemaking. Reaching out her hand, she laid it against his chest.

‘Put the Requiem on again,’ she said softly.

He reached for the remote control, and the cool, pure notes poured over them like balm. She settled herself against his shoulder, her hand on his heart, and let the tension slowly seep away.

Lord, but she was lovely. Her body was soft against his, relaxed in sleep, and as he gazed down at her he remembered the way she had clung to him, the soft whimpers and little cries of ecstasy she had made.

How he had stopped he would never know, but he had found the strength from somewhere, and now he was profoundly glad. He would never have forgiven himself if she had ended up hating him, but it had just happened so naturally. It had felt so — right, as if their bodies belonged together.

The Requiem ended, the final notes dying away in the silence, and he lifted her carefully in his arms and carried her up the stairs to her room.

He debated leaving her clothes on, and decided that a little more self-control would be good for him. He removed them, careful not to wake her, and slipped her under the covers. He left her underwear, however, partly for her dignity and partly because he felt he had played with fire long enough and his self-control was getting singed round the edges.

Shutting the bathroom door, he turned on the shower and stripped, stepping into the scalding water with resignation. There was no point in even trying a cold shower. It would take the combined melt waters of both polar icecaps to cool him off tonight, with Jennifer lying almost naked just feet away from him. With a low growl of frustration, he dropped his head forwards against the tiles and let the hot water stream over him while his body throbbed and ached and called him a fool.

Sunday was another glorious day. For Jennifer it started, like Saturday, with breakfast in bed, this time accompanied by the feather-soft brush of his lips on hers and a husky ‘good morning’ to wake her.

‘We’ve had a population explosion in the night,’ he told her softly. ‘Tim and I are in the kitchen — come on down in a minute and see.’

She obediently ate her breakfast while she puzzled over the fact that she was in her underwear. She hadn’t been that drunk, surely? She could remember — her cheeks flushed, and she groaned. Had she gone to sleep and he’d carried her to bed? Oh, well, it could have been worse, at least she’d had decent underwear on — not that her underwear was any surprise to him after doing her washing.

She groaned again, and then, pulling on her dressing-gown, made her way downstairs.

Tim was sitting on the floor by the airing cupboard, his eyes like saucers, and on a pile of once-clean sheets the black and white cat who had adopted Andrew reclined with her four tiny little kittens.

‘Oh, aren’t they adorable?’ she breathed. They were all different colours; ginger, black, tortoiseshell and white, and black and white like her.

‘We mustn’t touch them or she might eat them,’ Tim warned her seriously. ‘Especially as she doesn’t know us very well.’

‘Perhaps we’d better let her have some peace now,’ Andrew suggested. ‘I’ll put the top sheet in a box and put them all back in it in a minute.’

Jennifer straightened up and met his eyes. ‘Six cats?’

He groaned and laughed softly. ‘Don’t.’

She smiled. ‘You’re just an old softie, aren’t you?’

‘That’s me. Why don’t you go and wallow in the bath for a while and Tim and I can make her a box and see if we can get her to eat something?’

In fact, the whole day revolved around the cat. They went out to give her peace, then came back to give her food, then went out again for another walk to give her more peace. Finally, at five, he took them home, complete with washing, homework done, and feeling more spoilt and pampered then she had ever felt in her life. He refused her offer of a cup of tea, saying he wanted to check on William Griffin again, so they said their farewells at her door.

‘We’ve had a wonderful weekend,’ she told him. ‘Thank you.’ And she stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

‘Thank you for having me,’ Tim said spontaneously. ‘I’ve had a lovely time — look after the kittens.’

‘I will,’ Andrew assured him gravely. ‘We must do it again.

‘Next weekend?’ Tim asked hopefully.

‘No, I’m sorry, I have to go away next weekend.’

‘And you’re with your father, Tim,’ Jennifer reminded him.

Andrew said, ‘Someday soon, though. We’ll sort something out, perhaps one day after school. OK?’

Tim nodded enthusiastically. ‘Can I feed the hens again?’

Andrew tousled his hair and hugged him to his side briefly. ‘Of course.’ He looked up at Jennifer. ‘Take care. I’ll see you tomorrow.’